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purplesauris · 3 years

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A Moonlit Winter’s Night

This one took me a bit longer to write between work and everything else, but hoo boy am I glad to have it finished. Mostly inspired by a beautiful full moon we had the other night, and spurred on by my gorgeous friends. I guess you could also count this as day 4 of @witcher-and-his-bard winter prompts!

Read on AO3 here!

“Invite him, wolf, before we do.” Lambert is well into his cup, but if he has to spend another winter with Geralt dragging his ass he will end up killing his brother and he’d rather not.

“Hmm.” Invite him? What would Jaskier, bright, warm, stunning Jaskier do in a keep alone with witchers for the four months they’re snowed in? Well, there’s only one way to find out, he supposes.

This time, when Geralt heads down the mountain he’s the last to leave. While Vesemir has never said no to the guests they show up with, something in him hesitates to bring Jaskier here. He’s opulent, almost garishly so, and revels in the finer things when he manages to drag Geralt into a town bigger than the backwater villages they frequent. So he may or may not spend some extra time making up the guest room, Vesemir watching and putting Geralt to work until he finally leaves.

He heads for town after staying that extra week, hurrying a bit more than usual down the mountainside. He doesn’t want to miss their meeting, though he’s definitely going to be late, or else he isn’t sure he'll find the bard this year. He’s a days travel away from Oxenfurt when he’s stopped by a woman on the road, begging for someone to find her husband. She claims he was dragged off into the woods, and promises ample payment, and Geralt is unable to say no. Coin can be hard to come by, especially in the spring when so many monsters are still thawing out.

He brings her back to her village and gives strict instructions to watch his horse and watch her well. If he comes back to Roach missing, he says, there will be more problems than a missing husband to contend with. With Roach guaranteed safe Geralt treks into the forest, following the path that the wife relayed to him on the way back to the village. He finds the husband without much difficulty, shacked up in an abandoned hunting cabin with two other tittering, intoxicated women. The sight of Geralt stops their celebration, and one of the women screams, throwing her half full bottle at him. It crashes against the doorframe, shattering and spewing wine against his leg. He wrinkles his nose, looking at the three before him and doing his best not to flinch when they scream at the sight of him.

“Your wife is waiting.”

“M-me wife?” He nods, crossing his arms and tipping his head back toward town. The man goes with little convincing, stumbling past and shaking like a deer.

“P-please, we didn’t- didn’t know he were married, honest.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I’m not here to meddle, just find him. You live in the same village?” One of them nods, the one who threw the wine bottle, and Geralt sighs. “Sober up a bit before heading back, or they’ll know you were together.”

“Right, course.” The witcher stands there for another awkward minute before grunting and leaving out the way he came. He takes his time going back, knowing there’ll be a story spun and not feeling particularly inclined to dispute it. Despite the obvious lack of monsters, Geralt can tell there was activity, once. He can smell an old nekker nest a quarter mile from the hut, but nothing has used it in ages. There were also animal tracks, but nothing more than a couple of wolves, if he were to guess by the lack of rabbits about.

He gets Roach and double the payment the wife had offered when he gets back, the husband thanking him profusely for saving him. His wife hangs off his side the whole time, teary eyed with relief. Geralt leaves out of the village astride Roach, intent on traveling through the night to get to Ja- Oxenfurt. The contract took up more time than he would have liked, and he wonders how long Jaskier will wait before giving up on him. Roach isn’t one to complain about the long night, and by the time they get into the city Geralt has slid from her back to lighten her burden. He finds the tavern on memory alone, and spends some time brushing and getting Roach settled in the stables before finally heading inside to hope they have a room. The sky hadn't begun to lighten yet, but dawn isn't far off, and Geralt desperately needs some sleep

He reeks of booze, but the barkeep doesn’t care and says nothing when Geralt asks for whatever ale they’ve got that isn’t made with river water. He takes his usual spot in the back, tossing a look around the bar for a bright doublet or a flash of blue eyes, but either he isn't here or he's asleep. Geralt drinks himself into a light buzz and eats whatever stew is bubbling over the fire before going to get a room upstairs for the night. He tries to spend as much time as he can in the main room, but the room is quiet for once, devoid of it’s usual rabble.

He’s halfway down the hall when he smells the faint scent of sweat, lavender and a hint of chamomile, Geralt stopping and dragging in a deep breath. He follows his nose easily, backtracking to the room right next to the stairs. The scent in the hall is stale, but if Jaskier hasn’t been out since last night that would account for it. He wants to knock, to try the knob and show himself in, but that feels like too much a breach of privacy, and Geralt is too tired to think straight anyhow. He retreats to his room, shaking his head and berating himself. Jaskier is here, that much he knows, so all he has to do is go down sometime around dinner, where Jaskier will most likely be entertaining for his room and board. The plan is a good one, he thinks, and he props his swords up by the bed and lights the hearth with a twitch of his fingers. His armor comes off in pieces, left on the table in the corner of the room, his clothes following. He crawls into bed only after examining the sheets closely. Clean, thankfully.

Geralt is stretched out, languishing in a patch of sunlight a few hours later and wondering if he should try to sleep more when he hears footsteps pounding up the stairs. Geralt frowns, hand wrapping around the dagger under his pillow as the footsteps draw closer and closer. His grip tightens, pupils constricting to ease the shift of light as he watches the door.

The knob turns in slow motion, and the scent of sun- warmth and lavender hits him like a ton of bricks. He doesn't have time to do more than sit up in bed before Jaskier is slipping into the room, ducking and looking around frantically. He knows Geralt's first instinct is to throw his knife it seems. His eyes skim over Geralt's armor and the fire burning low in the hearth before he finally spots Geralt, motionless on the bed, dagger peeking out from under his pillow. Geralt hears Jaskier's heart stutter in his chest, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"Geralt!" Jaskier closes the door fully, grinning and padding over as Geralt swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He's about to get up when Jaskier surges forward, throwing his arms around the witcher's neck and squeezing him tight. Geralt goes still, eyes wide, before allowing himself a moment to enjoy and take in the bard. The warmth that seeps through his doublet, and the stronger lavender scent that Geralt inhales when he buries his face in Jaskier's hair is like being home again. He wraps an arm around Jaskier, holding him against his chest and squeezing gently. They stay like that for a minute, then two, Geralt refusing to be the one that pulls away first this time. Finally Jaskier seems to have had enough, because he pulls back, eyes misty and a wry smile on his face.

"You're late."

"Surprised you're here." He replies, and honestly he is. He's more than a little late.

"Where else would I be?"

He shrugs, not sure what to say to that, and Jaskier smiles fondly. "They told me a big brute with white hair came through early this morning. I would have come in earlier, if I'd felt inclined to nurse a stab wound."

Geralt huffs a small breath at that- it's as close as he'll get to a laugh this early, or late he supposes, in the day. He's fully awake now, but his muscles are loose and the scent and sight of Jaskier close has him relaxing, leaning back on a hand. He watches Jaskier puttering around, exploring the new armor he'd had crafted on the way up the mountain and looking at the clasps closely. He glances over at the bed, blue eyes curious, and raises a brow. "Good winter?"

Geralt shrugs, pulling the dagger from under his pillow and rising to his feet. "Mhm. You?"

"It was fantastic, if I'm honest. I'll tell you more on the road." Geralt takes that as his cue to get dressed, and he gently nudges Jaskier out of the way to do so.

-*-

Something had happened to Geralt. He wasn't sure what- he couldn't see any visible change, no knock to the head or magical influence, but something had changed. Jaskier hadn't been able to help himself when he found Geralt in the tavern, hair mussed from sleep and golden eyes vulnerable to whatever emotions played through his head. He hadn't expected Geralt to reciprocate the hug, allow it even, but he'd squeezed them close together and Jaskier's heart had soared at the contact.

He wasn’t much different on the Path, though. They still bounced from town to town, taking whatever pickings there were. Geralt was stricter on the bounties though, asking for larger sums than he had before. Despite it, when they agreed and stiffed him later he didn’t raise a hand. Instead, he seemed pleased with himself, and took the coin that they did offer. He also stayed away from towns if he could absolutely help it. He isn’t sure if the long winter made Geralt more skittish or he just doesn’t want to, but Jaskier tries his best not to complain.

They spend much of the year this way, pushing hard and taking any contract they can find. Jaskier will play for the bigger villages and stay back at camp mending when he has nothing else to offer. He becomes startlingly proficient with starting a fire no matter how wet the surroundings, and his game trapping could actually carry the both of them through the empty nights where they would have had nothing before. Through all of it, Jaskier finds himself happier than he was during the winter. They talk more, or at least Jaskier gets more replies instead of dead silence. A hum here, a nod and Geralt’s pretty cat eyes locking with his to let him know he’s paying attention. If Geralt sees the way he preens under the attention he doesn’t mention it, but he doesn’t stop either. Fall has come early this year and sunk claws into the land, and all around them is the smell of decaying leaves. It's Jaskier’s favorite and least favorite time of the year.

“We’re stopping in Novigrad.” Jaskier perks up at the first words Geralt has spoken today, smiling.

“Finally decided you missed the comforts of a bed, hmm?”

Geralt hums, tugging on Roaches reins to keep her from straying toward a particularly green patch of grass. “It’s for you.”

“Me?” Geralt nods, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Jaskier thinks he spies a bit of pink to Geralt’s cheeks, but he just swings his lute up into his arms and begins to practice. He’s going to need money to spend in Novigrad, after all.

-*-

Jaskier navigates the streets of Novigrad like he was born here; with a drunklike stagger and a grin on his face. He winks and waves at any strumpet that walks by, and laughs when Geralt tells him to stop teasing them. They stop in the main square to check out the notice board, and Geralt sighs out a heavy breath at what he finds.

“Something good?” Jaskier peers over the man's shoulders, up on tiptoes and wanting to see what could possibly make Geralt excited. Because he’s almost certain that’s what that noise means, and he happens to be an expert on his witcher by now.

“Something dragging townspeople away.”

“Drowners?”

Geralt shakes his head, and leaves it at that. He goes to see the soldier who posted the report, and tells Jaskier to get comfortable at the inn. He’s expecting it to be a long hunt, based on the bodies alone, and he doesn’t expect he’ll be back for a couple of days. Jaskier doesn’t like it, but that night he plays in the Kingfisher, and makes enough coin to pay for their room three times over. As he does the next night, and the next night after that.

Jaskier is nursing a hangover in bed on morning three alone when the door to the room swings open, slamming into the wall. He groans at the noise and influx of light, but the sight of Geralt stops him short. He looks… bad, for lack of a better word.

The sight is enough to have Jaskier stumbling out of bed, closing the door behind the witcher and hurrying with sleepy fingers to get the clasps to his armor undone. Geralt’s eyes are hazy with fatigue, and he doesn’t say a word when his armor drops in pieces onto the ground. Blood stains every inch of his clothing, and Jaskier has no clue what’s his and what could be the monsters. Fear shoots through him, cold and slimy, and he shudders at the thought of Geralt out there alone. Jaskier calls for a bath and a meal, picking all of the armor up and depositing it with the rest of their stuff. His armor seems to be intact, and the only blood is on his gauntlets and greaves. Whatever soaked into his clothes must be dead.

In the time it took for Jaskier to tidy up Geralt has stripped down and tossed his clothes into the fire. He doesn’t seem to care about trying to salvage them, and Jaskier frowns at the waste. Bloody grooves slash over the scars littering Geralt’s back and chest, and he can see two neat puncture wounds scabbing over on the meat of Geralt's shoulder.

“Shit Geralt, what the devil happened? What was the contract for?” Geralt doesn’t seem to hear him, staring glassily at the fire. Jaskier’s chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat. He’s never seen Geralt like this after a hunt. The tub and food are brought up quickly, and he drags it in himself, sending the attendant away. He doesn’t need anyone else seeing a naked, wounded witcher in his room. He’s not sure what Geralt would do to anyone else who saw him this way anyway. “In the tub.”

Again, he doesn’t respond, and Jaskier walks over, taking Geralt’s hand in his. The older man pulls in a breath as if starved of air, and his pupils are tiny slits as he stares at the point of contact. “C’mon love, lets get you cleaned up.”

This way, holding onto Geralt in some capacity, is the only way that Geralt seems to be able to focus. He hisses at the first contact of the hot water, but Jaskier uses a firm hand on his shoulder to keep Geralt from escaping. He uses the best washcloth they have to gently wipe him down, dabbing at the worst of the cuts and frowning at their jagged edges. The water goes murky and then pink as he works to get the witcher as clean as he can. Once he’s satisfied he leaves Geralt to soak for a moment, digging through their packs until he finds a small round bottle, a red band wrapped around the neck. Swallow. Relief washes through him, and he hurries back to Geralt, pulling the stopper and holding it to Geralt’s lips.

“Drink.” Geralt presses his lips together, twitching away from the bottle, and Jaskier frowns. He takes hold of Geralt’s chin, holding him still, and moves the vial closer again. “Don’t be an ass, or I’ll let those cuts get infected.”

Geralt’s pupils are still miniscule, and if he didn’t know better he’d think that the man was high on something. They stare at each other, Jaskier’s grip tightening bit by bit until Geralt’s hand comes up, taking the vial and tipping it back into his mouth. Jaskier takes the now empty vial and tucks it back away, taking a deep breath to hide the shaking of his hands. Water splashes behind him, and he has to avert his eyes at the sight of Geralt standing up and getting out of the water. The potion must be working, because even though he’s sluggish, he’s moving and acting better than before. He dries off with stiff movements, and grunts before collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you going to eat or sleep?” Geralt’s stomach growls loudly at the mention of food, and Jaskier gives a shaky smile. This, he knows better. He grabs the tray of food and moves back to the bed, humming a soft tune. “Move over.”

Geralt groans but wiggles his way over, allowing Jaskier to clamber up on his knees and tuck himself next to Geralt on the bed. Jaskier drags the nightstand a bit closer and sets down the tray as Geralt settles his head in Jaskier’s lap. He isn’t sure what to do with that, but Geralt holds his hands out for something to eat and Jaskier gives him what’s easiest. Fruits first, then the cheese and bread, and by the time he’s finished all that, even Jaskier can see that sleep is dragging at him. He’s expecting Geralt to move once he’s eaten his fill, but he merely stops asking for food and closes his eyes, his breathing settling down almost immediately. Already the cuts on his chest are sealing shut and fading, and something lightens in Jaskier's chest. He knows Geralt will be okay, he came back relatively whole, but the glassy, lost look sticks in the back of Jaskier’s mind. He’s stuck here for another few hours at least while Geralt sleeps, so he settles in for the long haul and closes his eyes. He trails fingers through Geralt’s hair, messing with the soft strands and gently tugging at any knots he finds.

Jaskier’s headache is gone when he jolts awake later, snorting and blinking his eyes open. The fire in the hearth has burnt to embers, but Jaskier is pleasantly warm even without the covers over him. When he looks down at Geralt he finds golden eyes staring back, and he huffs. He’s being watched quietly, a contemplative look on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Come north with me.” That’s about the last thing that Jaskier had expected, and he chokes on a breath, leaning away to cough and thump at his chest.

“Pardon? I don’t think I heard you right, because the Geralt I know would never ask that. You are Geralt, aren’t you? Not a doppler in disguise?”

The man in his lap wrinkles his nose in such a distinctly Geralt way that though he doesn’t say it, Jaskier believes him already. “No. The potion would have killed me.”

“Ah, so has a grievous head wound occurred?”

“I’m serious.” Jaskier laughs, shaking his head in disbelief, but Geralt is still looking at him with that same contemplative look. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I’m going. When do we leave?”

“Soon.”

-*-

Soon ends up being by the weeks end, once Geralt is sure Jaskier has warm enough clothes. Jaskier had objected at first; he’s weathered many a winter with what he has, but Geralt insists. Jaskier isn’t sure how they’re going to be able to pay for all of the clothes Geralt tells the tailor they need, but Geralt pays down to the last crown without complaint and without letting Jaskier help. Jaskier has a sneaking suspicion that all Geralt’s higher bounties had been an excuse to get the original sum without complaint. Once they get all they need and load Roach up, there’s nothing stopping them from heading out of Novigrad and toward Kaedwen.

Jaskier has never been this far north, though he’d always dreamt of going to Zerrikania or seeing the valley of Dol Blathanna for himself. He entertains himself with thoughts of far off lands while they trek through the forest, and eventually, rising toward the mountain peaks in the distance. Geralt had warned him before they left that the path up the mountain was dangerous, and that if Jaskier didn’t listen to him he was unlikely to survive the journey up, let alone back down. It wasn’t hard at first, though- it was as if they were on their way to another town for a contract. He’d kept telling himself that even as the terrain got rougher and the air biting cold.

They’re stopped for the night, huddled around a fire that Jaskier hasn’t left since Geralt made it when he speaks. He hasn’t talked much since they got well into the mountains, finding he needed his breath more than they needed conversation.

“I feel as though I’m going to shake my way off the mountain. How do you stand this- this cold?”

“Told you.”

“Yes, well, remind me never to doubt you again about anything weather related. When will it snow again, by the way?”

Geralt pauses then, looking up toward the sky and sniffing before replying in perfect deadpan. “Two hours.”

Jaskier smiles fondly, rolling his eyes and going to tuck himself away in his bedroll for the night. He doesn’t give Geralt the satisfaction of a reaction when snow begins to fall almost exactly two hours later.

-*-

When they finally crest the peak and Kaer Morhen comes into view, Jaskier thought he couldn’t get anymore out of breath. The sight of the keep nestled with its back against the mountain steals whatever air is left in his lungs, and he has to pause to take it all in. Parts of the outer wall are crumbling and he can see an entire side of the keep has collapsed in, but it cuts an imposing figure all the same. Almost more so for what Jaskier can see it’s survived. Like Geralt, the keep has seen more than most would ever know, and carries the battle scars to prove it.

“It’s… breathtaking.” He admits, looking back to find Geralt watching him, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t have any words to truly describe how he feels right now, but Geralt has never needed words, and he can see the understanding in the witcher’s eyes. He’s just as affected by the sight of his home, and he can’t imagine how homesick Geralt must feel climbing the path up to the mountain, or the relief at finally being here. “C’mon Geralt, let’s go see your home.”

Geralt nods, and they descend into the valley, Geralt letting Jaskier run a few paces ahead, breath puffing out ahead of him and ears red from the cold. He keeps a close eye out for any monsters that Vesemir hasn’t had a chance to come out and get, but the way to the entrance is blissfully clear. The gates are open when they finally make it, and two figures stand, arms crossed with twin swords on their backs. Jaskier slows his pace, suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting Geralt’s family. He’s never been to Geralt’s home or met his family, and suddenly he finds himself doing both. He smoothes a hand over his hair, hoping it isn’t too messy, and straightens his cloak a bit.

“I look okay, don’t I?” He looks toward Geralt for an answer, but a slightly higher voice calls out over the distance.

“Hurry it up you slow bastard! I’m freezing my ass off over here.” He hears Geralt growl and mutter something under his breath, but Jaskier raises a hand and waves to the two witchers waiting for them.

“Who do we have here? A paramour of yours?” Jaskier doesn't react to the phrasing, instead glancing to see how Geralt will react. He tries not to let his heart hurt over the fact that Geralt would never think that way.

“You know who he is.” Geralt grits out, glaring at the witcher before him. He’s a bit shorter than the others, hairline receded further back and nose hooked, broken at least twice. Despite that, he’s not bad to look at, and Jaskier mentally makes a note to try and meet an ugly witcher. Jaskier looks between the two obviously feuding witchers, noting the tension and seeking some way to break it. The other witcher though, stands there peacefully, as if he were used to this as an everyday occurrence. He’s handsome, though Jaskier is beginning to think all witchers are. Three wicked scars slash down the right side of his face, and that tickles at his memory. Jaskier stops for a moment, frowning, before a grin splits his face and he reaches out to take the man by the arms. He holds him still, looking him over, and laughs. Both Geralt and the unnamed witcher go still, watching the casual touch with barely concealed interest.

“Eskel! I should have known you were a wolf! I must have been drunker than I thought that night!” Eskel smiles, the scars bisecting his lips tugging with the movement, and draws Jaskier into a tight hug. It only lasts a moment, but Jaskier is rosy cheeked and bright eyed with excitement. Something twists inside Geralt at the sight, and he clenches his teeth together to keep from saying anything stupid.

“Good to see you again, Jaskier. The academy treating you alright?”

“Well they weren’t too happy to lose a professor for the winter, I can tell you that. Oh! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me Eskel was your brother?” Jaskier turns those blue eyes on him, and Geralt just shrugs, unsure of what to say.

“You didn’t tell him?” Jaskier looks over at the other man, and raises a brow when Geralt snarls loudly. “Did he tell you about me at least?”

Jaskier looks the third man up and down once, glances toward Geralt, and then shakes his head. “Must not have been important.”

“Not been- Oh, I like this one Geralt. I’m hurt you haven’t brought him sooner.”

“Lambert.” Geralt’s voice is full of warning, but Lambert gives a tooth filled grin and motions for them to actually come into the keep.

“Let’s stop standing around, your bard has a tour to get to and Vesemir has a thousand bullshit tasks for us to get done. I tell you, the old man had a list written down before I even stepped my ass into the courtyard.”

Lambert takes off at a brisk pace, seeming more inclined to get out of the cold than chat anymore, and everyone else follows him. They pass through the training grounds first, leaving Roach at the stable, and Jaskier doesn't object when his arms are filled with a pack or two. He just shoulders the weight and trails along behind, eyes wide and flying to take in every detail he can. Geralt lingers behind a bit, occasionally pointing out a small detail Jaskier hadn't noticed yet, warmth blooming in his chest at the smile Jaskier gives in return.

"Is he always like that?" Jaskier leans over to whisper, eyeing the back of the grumpy witcher's head.

"Wait until Vesemir gets him going." Jaskier snickers, bumping their shoulders together lightly. His cheeks are red from the cold, and he's glad for the ability to hide his blush for once.

Jaskier wants to stop and look at everything as they head for the keep, but Geralt takes him gently by the elbow to keep him going. He would fight the grip, but Geralt reassures him he'll have plenty of time to explore while they're snowed in. For now, Geralt is obviously itching to get settled and see his brothers. So Jaskier tells himself to be patient, and doesn't voice any objections to their pace. He's going to have plenty of time to overturn every stone. Lambert and Eskel break off when they finally step inside the keep, giving Geralt a look before making a beeline for where a round of Gwent seems to have been abandoned.

"How did they know to stop and come out?" He doesn't realize he's voiced it aloud until Geralt answers, shrugging and heading for the far side of the room.

"Witcher senses."

"They can't be that good."

"They are!" Lambert calls after them, voice resounding through the room and bouncing off the walls. Jaskier scowls, throwing a dirty look toward the eavesdropping witcher before retreating into the next room. Geralt leads them up to where the guest bedroom is, pausing on the landing before the door. For the first time in years, Jaskier thinks that Geralt looks nervous.

“Is this mine?” He asks softly, not wanting to spook him but eager to look around. Geralt blinks a couple of times, swallows, and then nods. The sight of Geralt nervous is rather endearing, and Jaskier falls for him a bit harder. “Well, show me in, dear witcher.”

Geralt twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside and out of the way. Jaskier follows behind him, stopping in the doorway as he sweeps the room with a first cursory glance. It’s slow, but Jaskier’s bright eyes soften, and a smile curls at the corners of his lips. A large fireplace is tucked against the far wall, near it a bed that clearly hasn’t been touched in many, many years. The blankets seem a bit threadbare, but Jaskier bets they’re warm, and he could go for a good nap right now, if he’s honest. Old velvet, deep red and trimmed in gold hangs from the ceiling along the walls, making the room seem warmer than it actually is. The middle of the room is dominated by a fur carpet, and a wooden table is shoved into one corner, two stools tucked underneath.

“It isn’t much.” Geralt mumbles, growing more and more restless the longer Jaskier stands and stares. Jaskier takes a couple more steps in, dumping his things on the bed and turning to Geralt. There are tears in his eyes, sticking to his lashes and slipping down his cheeks in shimmering streaks. Geralt reaches up to brush them away without a thought, thumb sweeping gently across sun kissed skin. “Jask-”

“It’s perfect.” Jaskier leans into Geralt's touch, reaching up to cradle his hand as he places a gentle kiss onto the calloused palm. Geralt’s whole hand tingles pleasantly at the contact, and he takes a step closer as Jaskier closes his eyes, sniffling softly. “You did all this for me?”

“You deserve it. To be comfortable. I know we live a little- rough.” He isn’t sure what else to say, is choking on the warmth and yearning and love rising in his chest. Jaskier’s eyes are made even more brilliant by his tears when he opens them again, and Geralt loses himself in them. They’re inches apart now, and Geralt’s nose fills with the scent of cold, lavender and that edge of chamomile. Jaskier looks at him, searching for something, and Geralt is about to do something very stupid when Jaskier does it first. He leans up, closing the space between them and gently pressing a warm kiss to Geralt’s lips. His touch is featherlight, like Geralt could break at any moment, and in a way he does. A dam fractures in his chest at the contact, and Geralt uses the hand still cradling Jaskier’s cheek to guide him closer as feelings he’d hidden deep away rage through him.

Their lips press together harder, less hesitant, and Jaskier’s hands come up to curl in the edges of Geralt’s cloak. He presses himself up against Geralt, drawing him closer as their breath mingles and Geralt’s fingers tangle in his hair. Jaskier hardly knows where he begins and Geralt ends, and it isn’t until they hear a sharp whistle and an “Atta boy!” from the bottom of the steps that they break apart. Jaskier is breathing hard, and he laughs when Geralt growls, glaring toward the stairs. Jaskier tugs lightly on the cloak in his hands, and Geralt’s attention is drawn back as easily as that, golden eyes soft in the low light coming from the hall.

“You know, if I’d known this would happen when you brought me to visit, I would have insisted years ago.”

“Years?” Geralt hardly recognizes his own voice, rough and out of breath, and he leans to kiss the smile from Jaskier’s lips on instinct alone. Jaskier melts into the kiss, leaning heavily against Geralt. He slides his hands over Geralt's chest before pulling back and bumping his nose against Geralt's.

“You’re very dense, when you want to be. I don’t normally nurse witchers back to health for fun, you know. Blood isn’t my strong suit, nor are monster guts. I’m not very inclined to write dozens of songs about them just because I like fame either, though the stories do make good coin.” Jaskier pauses, smiling when he feels a rumble vibrate under his hands. He goes on tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on the corner of Geralt’s mouth in apology. “The fame is nice, I’ll admit. It makes it easier to travel with you, to provide something, even if it’s only songs that drive you mad.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier kisses him again, chuckling softly against his lips and just enjoying being close.

“I couldn’t agree more. Now, I know you’re eager to visit with your brothers, so go see them.” Geralt begins to protest, brow scrunching, but Jaskier silences him with a firm, hot kiss, and Geralt finds he’s rather enjoying being silenced like this. “You get to see me all year. They don’t. I’ve got some unpacking to do, and a nap to take. Come up later, if you’d like?”

“Mhm.” Though he’s still reluctant, he does as Jaskier asks, retreating back down the stairs with silent steps. Jaskier closes the door behind him and gets a fire roaring in the hearth, grinning like a fool. His whole body tingles, and he traces his lips with trembling fingers. He’s sure he’s going to wake up any minute, no matter how the cold pinches at his toes to tell him he’s really here. In Kaer Morhen, with a witcher who’s spent the better part of this year earning enough coin just to bring him home to his family.

Jaskier putters around unpacking as he told Geralt he was going to, and once the room has warmed sufficiently he sheds his outerwear. The velvet helps trap the heat in surprisingly well, and when he peeks behind them he finds windows. The fur is soft under his feet as he digs through their packs, trying to find something to wear to nap in. Near the bottom of the pack is a white shirt, something Jaskier has never seen Geralt wear, but it’s soft and warm and smells like him. He slips it on without a second thought, swimming in the fabric, and then tucks himself into the bed for a nap.

He’s woken up by the door clicking shut a little while later. There’s only one person he thinks that would come in without knocking, but for now he keeps his eyes shut and snuggles a bit deeper under the covers. He waits until he hears the soft clink of metal to open his eyes, and watches lazily as Geralt methodically strips out of his armor. His back is to the bed, and Jaskier enjoys the view more than he was allowed to before. When Geralt tugs his shirt over his head and glances over his shoulder, Jaskier doesn’t bother pretending to be bashful. His gaze is hungry as it trails over pale skin before meeting Geralt’s eyes, the man quirking a brow. Jaskier merely winks in response, warmth blooming in his chest at the soft chuckle he earns.

“How are your brothers?”

“Nosy.” Jaskier rolls onto his back as his witcher pads over, sitting on the side of the bed and leaning down to kiss him softly. Jaskier reaches a hand up to thread his fingers in Geralt’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and tasting the sigh that brushes against his lips. Geralt shifts, turning himself so he isn’t quite so contorted, and Jaskier moves with him, sitting up and letting the blankets pool in his lap. Geralt uses a hand to steady Jaskier, fingers splaying against his ribs before they bunch in the fabric of Jaskier’s shirt. Jaskier hears Geralt’s breath stutter and catch in his throat, and the kiss moves from soft and sweet to heavy and hot. Geralt laps at his lips, nipping gently until Jaskier opens up. He’s swept away by the way that Geralt is able to use his tongue, and heat pools low in his belly at the implications of it.

Jaskier’s side cramps with the way they’re sitting after a few blissful minutes, and he pushes the blankets back, breaking the kiss for a second to clamber into Geralt’s lap. Geralt scoots himself back a little bit, plants his feet better and grabs at Jaskier’s shirt again, yanking him close. Geralt leans up, trying to kiss him, but Jaskier smiles, taking a fistful of Geralt’s hair and tugging. The soft whine that he gets in response goes right to his groin, and he mouths at the sensitive skin just under Geralt’s jaw. When he nips at the skin, teases at leaving a mark Geralt’s whines again, arching his neck and pressing up into the touch. Jaskier can’t deny Geralt when he asks so nicely, and he kisses his way to a nice spot before digging his teeth in. His grip tightens in Geralt’s hair when Geralt’s hips buck, keeping himself from being displaced. The witcher keens needily underneath him, and Jaskier hums against his skin. Jaskier bites a bit harder before releasing and sucking at the mark, leaning back to admire his work. Witcher’s skin is hard to mark, but he's pretty proud of himself at the mark that he’s made. He leans down to add a couple more, enjoying the sounds that he coaxes out with each sharp point of pressure.

Bruises bloom in a pretty arc of teeth marks, darkest purple in the middle and fading toward a lighter pink at the edges along the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt is panting, hands clenching and unclenching against Jaskier’s sides, and Jaskier brushes his thumb lightly over one of the marks. Geralt’s eyelids flutter at the feeling, and Jaskier shudders at the rush of power it brings him to see Geralt this way.

“What got you so worked up, love? Hmm?” Jaskier keeps constant contact with Geralt in some way, sitting in his lap and rolling his hips lazily as the man comes back to him slowly. He’s sure Geralt is back when he blinks rapidly, hands grabbing onto him and holding him still. Geralt rolls his neck, stretching to kiss Jaskier before answering.

“The shirt.”

“Oh?” Jaskier purrs, rolling his hips down until Geralt tightens his grip again and presses him down firmly. Once Jaskier stops trying to move Geralt’s hands wander, skimming over Jaskier’s thighs and back up, hands sliding under Jaskier's shirt. Geralt's fingers tickle at the soft skin over Jaskier’s ribs before he brushes over one of Jaskier's nipples with the pad of his thumb. The younger man hums at the attention, draping his arms over Geralt’s shoulders and kissing the shell of his ear. “What about the shirt, Geralt?”

“S’mine.” Jaskier hums in encouragement, and Geralt shivers under him. “Makes you smell like me.”

“And you like that, don’t you? That all the others here know I’m yours?” The answering growl and roll of Geralt’s hips is all Jaskier needs, and he kisses just under Geralt’s ear, sucking at the sensitive skin until a faint mark blooms. “Geralt?”

“Mmm?” Geralt noses at Jaskier’s hair, breathing in softly as his hands wander once more, smoothing down Jaskier’s thighs. He isn’t wearing pants, and his smallclothes don’t hide anything and Geralt aches to touch.

“Can I- can I touch?” Geralt grinds his hips up, shuddering when Jaskier gasps so close to his ear, and Geralt does it again just to hear Jaskier make that same sweet sound.

“Only if I can.” Jaskier surges forward to kiss him then, whispering ‘deal’ against his lips as he fumbles to open the fly of Geralt’s pants. Geralt falls back against the bed, taking Jaskier with him and never letting him stray too far.

-*-

When Jaskier wakes up that next morning, he’s sore in ways he hasn’t been in months, and sated in a happy, boneless kind of way. Geralt is already up, no surprise there, and Jaskier groans, sitting up to get dressed. Geralt slips the shirt from last night on over his head, tugging his hair out of the collar and tucking the ends into his pants. It’s a bit rumpled, but Jaskier helps fix it as best he can while dressing himself for the day. He knows not to doubt how cold it is anymore, and dresses warmer than he would normally. Geralt waits patiently by the door, tying his hair back and holding a hand out to Jaskier once he’s got his boots on.

“Why are we up this early again?”

“Chores.”

“Right, right.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand and lets himself be guided, yawning and rubbing at his eyes down the stairs. He trusts Geralt enough not to let him fall, and together the two of them pad into the main hall. No one else seems to be around other than Eskel, toiling away in the kitchen, and though he eyes the bruises blooming along Geralt’s throat, he doesn’t comment.

“Vesemir’s waiting for you outside. Jaskier, you’re with me.”

“See you at breakfast.” Geralt presses a kiss into Jaskier’s hair before heading outside, leaving the bard and the other witcher alone. Jaskier wanders over, wringing his hands, and Eskel nods toward the space next to him.

“Roll up your sleeves, we’ve got bread to make.”

“Bread?” Jaskier does as he’s told though, and spends the better part of an hour learning the basics of doughworking from Eskel. Once they’ve got the bread in what Jaskier assumes is a huge version of a stereotypical stone oven Eskel has him wipe up and begin to cut up the vegetables they'll need for the day. Jaskier falls into the rhythm of work easily, moving past Eskel without crashing into him and tossing vegetables into a pot set to simmer over the fire until lunchtime. He even takes the time to tidy the kitchen up a bit until Lambert and Geralt come inside, shoving each other and laughing on their way to get food. Jaskier watches them fondly, snapping a spoon across Lambert’s knuckles when he tries to nose around the stew and shooing him away. Eskel gives him a proud smile and winks, heading off with his brothers to sit down and eat.

Jaskier leans against the counter watching them for a moment, and jumps when he hears footsteps come up next to him. The witcher next to him has to be Vesemir, based on the grey hair and fact that the only other witchers here are all at the table in front of him.

“So, you’re the bard he kept talking about, hmm?”

“And you’re Vesemir, his father?” Vesemir nods, arms crossed across his chest.

“Tomorrow morning, get up a bit earlier. The chickens need tending if we’re going to have enough meat and eggs for the winter.”

“Yes sir.” Jaskier is sincere, looking toward the witcher to find Vesemir looking back. He doesn’t feel trapped like he usually would; instead he finds it’s more like Vesemir is reading him, and hasn’t found anything particularly horrible yet.

“Hey bard! Eat before everything gets cold.”

“Coming!” Jaskier turns to Vesemir to ask if he’s going to eat as well, but the older witcher has disappeared, and Jaskier blinks in confusion before grabbing himself a plate and going to join the others at the table. He settles himself on the bench next to Geralt and digs into his food, enjoying the fluffiness of the eggs and the lovely crust on the bread from yesterday. Jaskier is halfway through his plate when a sly look comes over Lambert’s face.

“So,” he begins, and Jaskier looks up. Lambert uses his fork to gesture toward Geralt, raising a brow. “Was that you?”

“Lambert.” Geralt starts, but Jaskier holds up a hand and Geralt goes blissfully quiet.

“I would take care, Lambert.”

“What, is it crime to wonder who made my brother's neck look like an ekimmara's amateur work?”

“Unless I deign to tell you, I’d prefer if you keep your thoughts to yourself.” Jaskier’s eyes narrow minutely, and Eskel looks between the two of them. They’re two untested forces, and no one is sure who’s going to break first.

“What, can’t handle a few hard questions? If so, I’m surprised you made it up the mountain.” Jaskier stands up, pushing the table up against Lambert, and in spectacular form, punches him directly in the nose. Lambert goes crashing off of the chair and takes the table with him, swearing. Geralt stares, wide eyed at Jaskier with his fork still poised for a bite. Eskel had picked his plate up well before, and he's clutching it in mute shock as Lambert rages on the floor. He sits up, gripping his nose and shoving the table off of himself with the other hand. Eskel looks between his brother, then the bard, then back to his brother, and begins to laugh. Louder and louder until he’s doubled over trying desperately to pull in breaths between laughing at Lambert and telling him he finally got what he deserved.

Jaskier shakes his hand out as Eskel laughs, blood staining his skin red. He stoops down and plucks a napkin from the table, using it to dab at his knuckles with mechanical indifference. There’s a messy crunch as Lambert rights his nose, and Eskel finally stops laughing long enough to help him off the floor. Geralt has abandoned his fork by now and comes to gently take the napkin from him, inspecting the skin carefully. Most of the blood seems to be Lambert's, but Jaskier has split two of his knuckles, and the skin around them is already bruising.

Geralt wipes away the blood best he can and glances up at Jaskier when he flinches. "Okay?"

"Fine." Jaskier's voice is light, almost forcefully so, but he smiles wistfully when Geralt gently kisses the first knuckle, then the second. "You know that isn't sanitary."

"No, ancient magic. Mothers have used it for centuries." This makes Jaskier smile, genuine this time, and he grips Geralt's fingers weakly. Jaskier turns to Lambert, watching as he presses a napkin to his nose to staunch the rest of the bleeding. Geralt is ready to get between them if Lambert decides to be spiteful, but instead he sees something like respect in Lambert's eyes.

"You're alright, bard. You're alright. Never had a human knock me flat."

"Pray you don't see me angrier." Jaskier replies with deadly seriousness. This time it's apprehension that shines in Lambert's eyes, and he gives a curt nod.

While Geralt goes to get something for Jaskier's knuckles the bard helps right the table, picking up cups and plates off the floor. It's a good thing they don't seem fond of fine cutlery, or Jaskier would be picking shards of ceramic off the floor. Instead all he has to do is use another napkin to gather the eggs and bread off the floor and dispose of it. Lambert helps once his nose has stopped bleeding, and waves Jaskier off when Geralt comes back to finish tending to him.

Jaskier follows Geralt a few steps away from the table, hopping to sit on the tabletop. Geralt nudges at his knee and steps easily between Jaskier's legs, taking hold of his hand again to look at it.

"In the hall, Geralt? You could at least wait until they'd left." The joke is weak but Geralt takes pity on him and chuckles, shaking his head.

"I'm sure they know to respect your privacy now." Jaskier hmms at that, hissing when Geralt presses a thumb into the bones of his hand. They shift uncomfortably, but nothing moves out of place and Geralt seems pleased with that. Once he's certain Jaskier hasn't broken anything he smears a sharp, pungent salve over Jaskier's knuckles and uses a bit of cloth to bandage his hand. "Good as new. No lute today."

Jaskier gasps, affronted, and presses his injured hand to his chest. "Whatever shall I do without it? How else am I to write my newest ballad? 'The man who punched the Prick'?"

Geralt wrinkles his nose, and Jaskier nods sagely. "You're right, the name could use some work. Back to the drawing board I suppose."

"Whatever you do, it'll have to be left handed." Jaskier winks, raising a brow, and Geralt snorts. He doesn't say it, but he gives Jaskier a look that says later.

-*-

Jaskier fits himself into their routine without much of a fuss after that; he gets up to tend the livestock with Vesemir long before anyone else, and joins Eskel in the kitchen preparing the day's meals after he's done. After breakfast the boys head for the training grounds while Jaskier makes for the library where he pours over tomes no one has seen in decades and gathers information for his songs. Vesemir joins him when they're finished with training, and Jaskier spends an hour picking his brain before lunch. Despite his gruff exterior, Vesemir seems glad to have someone to talk to who doesn't try to piss him off. Lunch is a short affair, just a quick meal before everyone branches off to finish up final chores and take some time for themselves. Jaskier spends his time after lunch in the woods surrounding the keep, setting out traps for the smaller game and keeping Geralt close for anything bigger. Dinner is the longest affair of the night, where the ale is broken out and Lambert insists on at least three songs. The first time Jaskier had tried to sing Toss A Coin he'd been met by three golden glares, and hasn't touched the song since. That was fine though, because Jaskier had plenty to sing about and more that no one had ever heard yet.

It’s nearing the end of their first month that the keep seems to get busier than ever. The snow has fallen thick and there’s no more going out into the forest, so Jaskier spends most of his days stuck inside. The witchers still train despite the biting cold, and Jaskier insists on helping them clear the training grounds of snow when he has time. None of them will let him stay outside for more than an hour, not when he shakes the way he does even with three or four layers on. The other witchers seem to grow more distant too, as if the end of the month meant something that Jaskier wasn’t privy to.

They’re in bed after retiring early from dinner, Jaskier in one of Geralt’s shirts when Geralt tugs him a bit closer and tucks his nose into Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier hums softly, never glancing up from his book but reaching to take Geralt’s hand in his.

“Hmm?” Neither of them need many words anymore, and Jaskier doesn’t want to break the cozy atmosphere they have by talking. Geralt presses a kiss against his temple, and Jaskier smiles. Geralt doesn’t seem to want to say anything either, he just seems to want to hold Jaskier a bit closer and smell his hair. They sit that way for a little while until Geralt sighs, tugging on his shirt and whining softly. Jaskier turns, kissing Geralt gently before going back to his book, but that doesn’t seem to sate him this time. He whines again, and Jaskier finally closes his book and tucks in on the floor under the bed. “Bed time?”

Geralt nods, and Jaskier slides down further under the covers, bundling Geralt into his arms and closing his eyes. Geralt tucks his head under Jaskier’s chin, nose pressed against his collar bone, and throws an arm over Jaskier’s stomach. The fire in the hearth is still roaring merrily, but the light isn’t enough to bother either of them and Jaskier drifts off to sleep warm and cozy.

A breeze rustles Jaskier’s hair later that night and he shivers, huddling under his covers to try and block out the cold. He’s almost drifted off to sleep again when he realizes there shouldn’t be a breeze at all, and he sits up in bed. Moonlight floods his room, washing out the color of the velvet and casting everything in stark contrast. The bed next to him is empty, the sheets cold, and Jaskier frowns. Where in the devil could Geralt have gone?

The floor is icy when he slips out of bed, and he tosses a few more logs on the dying embers of their fire and hurries to yank on pants. He shoves his feet into his boots without socks and grabs whichever cloak is closest, which happens to be his. He heads out of his room with the singular task of finding where Geralt has gone, wrapping his cloak tight around him and shuffling down the steps. Geralt’s room a floor below his is empty, even more barren than he would have expected, so Jaskier carries on. He’s never been up this late in the night, and the keep is eerily silent without any arguing witchers or the crackle of a fire. He pops his head into the kitchen, thinking Geralt, with his bottomless stomach might have wanted a snack, but again he finds the room empty.

He’s about to head up to the library when he hears wood splintering and cracking outside, and Jaskier is heading for the huge doors of the keep without a second thought. He wouldn’t be cutting wood would he? The barn out back is full up, and besides, why would he do it so late? Jaskier follows where he thinks the sound came from and trudges through a couple of inches of snow to the courtyard. He hears the sound again, and this time he can tell it’s coming from the training yard. He doesn’t bother being quiet, breaths puffing out in front of him as he pulls in sharp, jagged breaths. He didn’t dress to be outside long, if at all, and he hurries to the training grounds so he can get Geralt to come back to bed.

A snarl ripples through the air as Jaskier gets closer, and he stops at the low wall of the walkway to peer over the edge. He looks just in time to see Geralt toss both Eskel and Lambert off of him, the two witchers flying through the air and landing nimbly in the snow. They charge back at him, and Geralt sweeps Lambert’s feet from under him, slamming the palm of his hand against Eskel’s chest. Eskel goes down wheezing, and Jaskier is running before he can think about what the hell is going on. He slips and slides down the path and rounds the corner into the training yard, staring in open mouthed horror as Lambert sends Geralt crashing into the scaffolding on the far side of the yard. Wood groans and cracks under Geralt’s weight, and judging by the damage it isn’t the first time he’s been tossed that way either.

“Melitele's tits, stop.” His voice is shrill in the cold air and he’s beginning to lose feeling in his toes as he stands ankle deep in the snow. “What the hell are you guys doing out here?”

Three pairs of cat eyes lock on him at once and he gets three different kinds of growls. Lambert starts toward him, snarling when Eskel grabs his shoulder and digs his fingers in. Eskel hasn’t looked away from him, but his voice is rough and full of barely concealed rage. “Go inside.”

“What are you guys doing out here? Beating each other in the middle of the night? For what?”

“Jaskier, you don’t have much time. Go. Inside.” Eskel’s voice is strange, strangled and blurry. The witcher glances behind him, toward the sky, and Jaskier glances back too. The moon is huge and yellow and so, so impossibly close this high in the mountains. The sight would be mesmerizing if it weren’t for the snarl and feeling of something warm and very, very riled up emanating behind him. He swallows, heart fluttering in his chest, and turns around slowly to find Geralt inches from him. Jaskier relaxes a bit, smiling, and jumps when Geralt’s hand comes up and grabs his arm tightly.

His fingertips dig in mercilessly and he gasps in pain, turning and placing a hand against Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, let me go.”

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He grits out, grip loosening only marginally. “Inside.”

“Not without you.” Geralt snarls, shaking his head, and finally releases his grip.

“You don’t want me with you. Not tonight.”

“I do. Geralt, tell me what’s going on. Please.” His voice is pitifully soft in his own ears, and Geralt lets out a sharp breath before jerking his head toward the keep.

“Geralt.” Eskel’s voice is sharp, afraid, and Jaskier isn’t sure why. Lambert is shaking under Eskel’s grip, and Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand, leading him out of the snow and back toward the keep. Well, it looks like he’s leading, but he has a feeling Geralt is really herding him back inside instead. Jaskier grips Geralt’s hand tight, afraid that if he lets go Geralt is going to bolt back outside and he won’t get his answers. He shivers as he makes his way back upstairs, slipping into his room and shutting the door as quickly as he can to keep in the heat from the fire. Geralt stands resolutely by the door, back rigid and fists clenched. Jaskier tosses another log on to keep the fire going strong and unclasps his cloak, tossing it on the table.

“Geralt, what’s going on? I woke up alone and- and I’m not sure what I did or what’s happening to you but-” His voice wobbles, betraying him, and he turns around to see Geralt trembling. Jaskier pads closer, taking one of Geralt’s hands and kissing his knuckles one by one. He can feel the fine tremor that goes up Geralt’s arm at the contact. “Talk to me, please. Don’t lock me out.”

“It’s a witcher thing. We- monsters are strongest during a full moon- but- so are we. Energy has to go- somewhere.”

“So this happens every month? Is that why you always took longer contracts around the full moon?”

“Yes. Don’t wanna- hurt you.” Jaskier huffs, stepping a bit closer. Geralt takes a step back, Jaskier following, and he growls when his back hits the wall. “Jaskier, don’t-”

“You won’t hurt me. Not in any way that can’t be fixed, or any way that I would mind.” Jaskier rises up on his toes, brushing his lips against Geralt’s gingerly. He presses himself bodily against the older man, and Geralt’s hands come up to grab at his sides. Geralt whines, shaking, and Jaskier’s grin is serpentine. “You said the energy has to go somewhere, right? Well, I happen to know a couple of ways to get rid of energy without having to be in the cold.”

Geralt groans then, breathing out sharply and drawing Jaskier tighter against him. Jaskier captures his lips in a firm kiss, slipping a hand up into Geralt’s hair to tangle his fingers in the silver strands. Geralt leans forward, away from the wall, and Jaskier bends with him. “Jask, if I-”

“You won’t.” He whispers, and Geralt can feel his smile as Jaskier kisses him briefly. “And if you do, you’ll be back out in the cold for the night. Deal?”

Geralt nods, heat roiling under his skin and hands grabbing roughly at Jaskier. They’re about as close as they can be, but Geralt presses him closer anyway and catches his lips in a filthy, heated kiss. Jaskier moans into the kiss and laps into Geralt’s mouth, tasting his breath and jolting at what he finds. He isn’t sure whether it’s the moon or Geralt, but his fangs are long and sharp, and the way Eskel’s voice sounded garbled makes more sense now. It doesn’t deter Jaskier in the slightest, and heat licks down his spine at the thought of those teeth leaving pretty marks. Jaskier breaks away to kiss down the length of Geralt’s jaw, nipping gently.

Geralt moans suddenly, fingers digging into Jaskier’s sides as Jaskier kisses his neck, palming him through his pants and using his other hand to pin Geralt’s hips back. His head tips back against the wall, baring his neck, and Jaskier spends some time leaving small marks. Deft fingers tug at the ties of Geralt’s pants, and the older man jolts when Jaskier takes him in hand, tugging him out of his pants. He almost complains that his fingers are cold, but the temperature difference between them does something funny to his stomach, and he isn’t sure he wants Jaskier to stop touching him.

Jaskier huffs hotly against his neck, stroking him slowly and pressing his thumb against the head. He listens to every whine and twitch of Geralt’s hips, adjusting his grip and speed until Geralt is writhing back against the wall, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. One of Geralt’s hands lets go of Jaskier and he cups the bard's cheek, tipping his head up and kissing him desperately. The kiss is messy, but neither of them care, Geralt groaning into Jaskier’s mouth when Jaskier pulls back too soon. Jaskier’s eyes are dark, the pupil swallowing most of his iris, and he turns his head, nipping at Geralt’s thumb and smirking when Geralt twitches in his hand. “Be good.”

Geralt isn’t sure what in the hell he’s doing to be bad, but then Jaskier is sinking to his knees in front of him and all his breath leaves him at once. Jaskier glances up, gauging his reaction, and leans forward to place a wet, openmouthed kiss on the side of Geralt’s cock. He doesn’t stop there, humming and licking a long strip up the underside before taking the head into his mouth. Geralt’s hips twitch forward and Jaskier raises an eyebrow, lapping at the slit in what Geralt supposes is reprimand. He only whimpers in response, mind going blank when Jaskier hums, taking him further into his mouth. He bobs his head achingly slow, enjoying the weight of Geralt’s cock in his mouth and his taste on his tongue. Jaskier can feel his jaw complaining already, but he welcomes the soreness. They’d done a lot in the month that they’d been here, but Jaskier seems particularly fond of being on his knees whenever he can.

Geralt buries his fingers in Jaskier’s hair as he pushes deep but stops short of all the way, eyelids fluttering at the feeling. Jaskier’s mouth is so incredibly wet and warm around him, and he’s unable to help himself this time when his hips twitch forward. Much to his surprise Jaskier moans, hands coming up to grab the sides of his thighs and urge him forward. Geralt is gentle at first, pressing forward until his cock hits the back of Jaskier’s throat and then pulling back. Jaskier doesn’t let him get far, chasing him and swirling his tongue around the head. Geralt growls, fingers tightening in Jaskier’s hair in warning, but Jaskier is persistent, only stopping when Geralt snaps his hips forward roughly. The vibrations from Jaskier’s moans rock through him, and Geralt tips his head back, setting a rougher pace than he’d thought about before.

Jaskier doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, swallowing around him and tilting his head to make the angle easier. Geralt glances down, and the sight of Jaskier’s lips stretched around his cock, drool on his chin as Geralt fucks into his mouth makes his cock twitch hard. Pleasure washes over him in steady waves, pooling in his belly and making his muscles clench as he lets out a shaking breath. His hips stutter, Geralt moaning and tugging on Jaskier’s hair. He mumbles Jaskier’s name in warning, closer than he’d like to admit, and Jaskier moans, fingers pressing into Geralt’s thighs and urging him forward again. Geralt grips Jaskier’s hair tight, and he’s sure Jaskier will tell him to stop, to let go, but Jaskier bobs his head and sucks harder, all too eager to please. He doesn’t bother trying to warn Jaskier again, grinding into his mouth and shuddering as his release hits him, heat searing from his head to his toes. Jaskier takes him as deep as he can, nose pressed to his skin and throat tightening around him as Geralt comes, hips stuttering. His vision whites out as Jaskier pulls back, sucking and lapping at the head until Geralt is overstimulated and has to use his hold in Jaskier’s hair to keep him still.

He can feel his thighs trembling underneath Jaskier’s hands, and he tries to regulate his breathing as best he can as Jaskier pants, leaning into Geralt’s hand and whining softly. Arousal, sweet and heady, overwhelms any other scent in the room, and Geralt guides Jaskier to his feet. He uses his thumb to wipe Jaskier’s chin before leaning in, kissing him thoroughly and tasting himself on Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier whines into his mouth, shifting, and Geralt stoops a bit, scooping the bard up easily. Jaskier wraps his legs around Geralt’s hips, muscled thighs flexing as his kisses harder, nips at Geralt’s lower lip and only pulls away to yank Geralt’s shirt up and over his head. Jaskier’s cock is hard against his stomach, and he grinds up, craving friction as Geralt carries him to bed. Geralt walks without really looking, and he grunts when his shins hit the bedframe and he tips forward. Jaskier gasps as they sway, and Geralt catches them before he squishes Jaskier on accident. Jaskier’s nails dig into his shoulders as his heart thunders, and Geralt snarls, pressing him back into the bed and grinding down.

“Fuck- Geralt-” Jaskier arches up against him, digging his nails in harder and gasping when Geralt bites at his neck. Geralt’s chest rumbles against his, and Jaskier realizes with a jolt that he’s purring. Jaskier drags his nails down across Geralt’s chest, leaving angry red marks, and Geralt trembles. Jaskier uses his heels to push at Geralt’s pants, sick of clothing being between them, and Geralt moves to help. Geralt is now blissfully naked, but Jaskier is still fully clothed and he fumbles with the fly of his own pants. His hands are batted away so Geralt can make quick work of the ties, and Jaskier groans when some of the pressure on his cock is lessened. He’s hard, painfully so, and he feels like he could come just from Geralt looking at him with those cat eyes of his. When Jaskier moves to take his shirt off Geralt stops him, eyes dark at the sight of Jaskier bare but wearing Geralt's too big shirt.

“The- more I hurt, the rougher I get-” He’s trying to explain best he can when his mind isn’t quite so jumbled, and Jaskier’s scent spikes with what Geralt can only describe as love.

“I won’t break.” Jaskier promises, cupping the back of Geralt’s neck and dragging him down into a kiss. And he won’t- he knows his own limits better than anyone could imagine, and he also knows what he wants. What he wants just so happens to line up with what Geralt needs in the moment. Jaskier slides his fingers up into Geralt’s hair and grabs a tight fistful, pulling and reveling in the snarl and snap of Geralt’s hips, arousal sweeping over him in waves. Geralt sits up, Jaskier losing his grip, and Jaskier tries to go with him, but Geralt pushes him back and leans to grab something from the nightstand. Jaskier knows instantly what it is and his cock throbs. “Wanna fuck me?”

Geralt growls low, nostrils flaring, and Jaskier is the one to crowd into his space this time, thighs bracketing around Geralt’s hips as their cocks slide together. The friction is delicious and Jaskier spends a moment just grinding down until he hears the pop of the stopper. Geralt has hooked his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder to see what he’s doing, and Jaskier shudders when oil-slick fingers dip between his cheeks, drawing tight circles around his rim. He croons at the sensation, grinding his hips forward and gasping when Geralt’s chin digs into his shoulder. Jaskier takes Geralt’s earlobe between his teeth and tugs, gasping into his ear when Geralt presses against his rim with a warm finger. Jaskier goes still, focusing on that one sensation as Geralt slowly pushes in. Jaskier moans, rocking his hips down, and Geralt presses a second finger in quickly after the first.

Jaskier whimpers at the stretch, squeezing around Geralt’s fingers and rocking between his fingers and his groin. Geralt shifts, pressing sharp teeth against Jaskier’s neck and rumbling when Jaskier’s cock twitches between them. Geralt thrusts his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way that Jaskier squirms and begs, whining when Geralt teases a third finger before pulling back and thrusting his fingers in again. Geralt’s skin is flushed, hot with the roaring fire at his back, but Jaskier has left the velvet pulled back and a cold breeze sweeps through the room. Jaskier is so close to coming, moving desperately between grinding down on Geralt and riding his fingers, and he still hasn’t added another finger. Jaskier slides his hands down Geralt’s back, over the many ridges of his scars, and rakes his nails back up fiercely, Geralt howling.

Jaskier is expecting more, aches for it, but he cries out all the same when Geralt shoves a third finger in him and crooks his fingers, rubbing mercilessly against his prostate. Jaskier’s release builds rapidly in his stomach, scorching through him, and he whimpers pitifully when Geralt’s other hand clamps around the base of his cock, squeezing tight.

“Wh- no, nonono Geralt please. Please.” Jaskier begs, writhing in Geralt’s lap as fingers crook inside him again, rubbing hard and making his cock dribble. Geralt doesn't seem to hear him anymore though, and he pulls his fingers out completely, waiting until he knows Jaskier isn’t going to come. Jaskier’s cock is flushed an angry red, and even the breeze coming from the old window makes him whimper. Geralt lifts him from his lap, turning him around and rearranging him the way he likes. Jaskier moves pliantly under his guidance, tucking a pillow under his chin as Geralt slides a hand down his spine and presses Jaskier’s chest into the bed. Jaskier hears the pop of the cork again, and he tries to turn his head to look back at Geralt to watch what he’s doing.

Geralt drapes himself over Jaskier’s back, fitting them together and lazily grinding his cock between Jaskier’s cheeks. Geralt has used plenty of oil, and every time the head catches on his rim Jaskier tries to angle so that Geralt can slide in, but Geralt just hums and adjusts his own angle, denying him a little while longer.

“Told me to be good, but then did that.” Geralt’s voice wavers with the purr that’s taken residence in his chest, and Jaskier whines. “S’like you don’t want to walk tomorrow.”

“I’d consider it a failure on my part if I can.” Jaskier gasps out, sliding a hand back to scratch at Geralt’s thigh. That small movement costs him, and Geralt snarls in his ear, bearing more of his weight down on Jaskier.

“Stop it. You don’t know-” Jaskier does it again, and then again, raking over that same spot until he’s almost certain that if he does anymore Geralt will actually begin to bleed. Geralt trembles against his back, jerking with every scratch, and Jaskier chokes on a breath when Geralt suddenly begins to press in, cock twitching weakly. He goes fast- hardly gives Jaskier time to adjust to the heady feeling of stretching so deliciously around his girth before he’s snapping his hips. One hand braces beside Jaskier’s head and the other grips his hip with almost crushing force, Geralt snarling and panting in Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier moans and whines at each hard press of Geralt’s hips, spreading his legs wider to create a more stable base as Geralt desperately tries to pound him into the bed.

Jaskier can feel his orgasm rushing up on him again, and he reaches back, grabbing a fistful of Geralt’s hair and tugging him down to kiss him desperately. He keens into Geralt’s mouth when Geralt shifts his hips, slamming against his prostate and shoving him over the edge. Jaskier clamps sinfully tight as he comes, pulling at Geralt’s hair and sobbing against his lips as he spills onto the bed sheets. Geralt doesn’t let up though, sitting up and planting Jaskier in his lap. This angle has Jaskier shuddering with each thrust, eyelids fluttering madly as Geralt grinds directly against his prostate. The feeling quickly becomes pleasurable to the point of pain, and Jaskier whimpers. Geralt’s lips curve into a smile against his, and he wraps one hand around Jaskier’s softening cock. Jaskier shies away from the touch, it’s too much, too soon- but there’s nowhere to go, and Geralt continues to roll his hips, grinding against his prostate and forcing Jaskier to fuck up into his hand.

Jaskier rocks between those two torturous sensations, crying out when he’s forced very quickly into a second dry orgasm that has him shaking like a leaf in Geralt’s lap. Geralt drops his hand from Jaskier’s cock finally, petting at his stomach and allowing Jaskier to settle heavily in his lap. He purrs in Jaskier’s ear, tugging the collar of his shirt out of the way and leaving soft, gentle kisses along the column of his neck. Jaskier focuses solely on breathing so he doesn’t pass out, whining whenever he shifts and Geralt’s cock presses deeper into him.

“Okay?” His voice is thick with arousal, but Geralt nuzzles sweetly at his neck and Jaskier can’t help but squeeze around his cock.

“Cruel, torturous witcher.” His voice cracks, wrecked from Geralt fucking his throat, and Geralt chuckles throatily.

“I warned you.” Jaskier hums, knowing he’d brought that particular punishment on himself and finding he can’t stop himself from pulling on the handful of Geralt’s hair he still holds. Geralt growls, pressing sharp fangs against the meat of Jaskier’s shoulder in warning. He mumbles against Jaskier’s skin, warm breath making him shiver. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll be okay. Haven’t even finished yet.” Jaskier pulls again and tightens around Geralt’s cock, calling Geralt’s name when he snaps his hips up roughly. Their skin slaps together obscenely as they settle into a rhythm- Jaskier lifting himself off as far as he can before Geralt drags him back down, thrusting up to bury himself deep. He can’t say he’s ever had someone fill him up quite like Geralt does, and the angle is more heavenly than he’s ever had before. It doesn’t take much more coaxing from Jaskier for Geralt’s hips to stutter, Jaskier giving one last harsh pull on his lover’s hair before Geralt is snarling, shoving up and spilling inside of him. Jaskier cries out when pain lances through his right shoulder, Geralt’s fangs sinking deep into the meat near his neck as he comes, holding Jaskier tight against him. Jaskier’s not sure that pain on this level is supposed to be hot, but he melts bonelessly back against Geralt, shivering as something akin to an orgasm washes through him. The feeling makes his legs tremble and his cock give a valiant twitch, but Jaskier is thoroughly spent and it’s all he can do not to fall asleep in Geralt’s arms right now.

Geralt rolls his hips up, grinding as he works himself through his orgasm before finally going still. Moonlight washes over the both of them, but it’s weaker, and Jaskier knows dawn isn’t too far off now. Jaskier releases his hold on Geralt’s hair, petting the tangled fibers down flat and crooning softly as Geralt comes back to himself. It takes a few minutes, but once he realizes Jaskier’s blood is in his mouth and his teeth are still very much sunk into Jaskier’s flesh he pulls back gingerly. Jaskier hisses at the pain that trickles through his shoulder as Geralt lets go, and twin lines of blood drip down his chest and soak into the black fabric of Geralt’s shirt. Jaskier tries to twist his neck to look back at Geralt, but the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through his shoulder and more blood trickles from the wounds. Jaskier settles down again instead, reaching to take one of Geralt’s hands in his for a moment and peeking out of the corner of his eye.

There’s blood on Geralt’s lips still, and some smeared along his chin, but the sight doesn’t bother Jaskier as much as it should. Geralt on the other hand, looks stricken, eyes wide and scared. He can smell the harsh copper of Jaskier’s blood, can taste it on his tongue, and shame sweeps through him when his cock twitches inside of Jaskier against his will. “I’m- I-”

Jaskier shifts in his lap, lifting up until Geralt slips out of him and he can turn to sit face to face in Geralt’s lap again. Despite Geralt’s growing horror at what he’s done, Jaskier’s eyes are bright and full of love, and he tips forward, kissing at Geralt’s neck before sinking his teeth deep in one smooth movement. Jaskier’s teeth aren’t nearly as sharp as Geralt’s and he hears Geralt’s skin crunch horribly before giving way. Despite the waning moon Geralt lets out a noise somewhere between a growl, a snarl and a hiss, grabbing at Jaskier’s thighs and wrenching their hips together. His shoulders twitch madly as fire lights along his nerves all over again. It’s hard to stay coherent with pain surging through his neck, but the moon’s influence is weaker and Geralt masters himself with a couple of deep breaths. Jaskier’s mouth and chin are bloody to match when he pulls back, and Geralt watches in helpless fascination as Jaskier licks his blood off his lips.

“There,” Jaskier says, sitting back a bit and smiling. “Now we match.”

“Jaskier, I could’ve-”

“Hurt me? As I said before love, you didn’t do anything that won’t heal, or that I didn’t want.” Jaskier’s gaze is soft and patient, and he presses his forehead to Geralt’s, just breathing for a minute. Geralt matches his ragged breaths with Jaskier’s slow and even ones, and soon his heart settles back into it’s slow, heavy patter.

“You- wanted that?”

“Every bit of it.” Geralt stares, waiting for Jaskier to break down and admit how scared he was- is- but Jaskier does no such thing. He only presses a soft, coppery kiss to Geralt’s lips and slides from his lap. “But, I wouldn’t mind if you felt inclined to sneak us a bath.”

Jaskier stays behind in the room while Geralt tugs on pants, feeling filthy but knowing he can’t wander the keep naked in this cold. Geralt has a tub in his room, and he brings that up the stairs before venturing down to hope that there’s enough hot water left in the kitchen to get the both of them sufficiently clean. His neck throbs with every step that he takes, but his wounds have already clotted and by tomorrow they’ll be halfway healed. Jaskier won’t have the same luck, even with the salve they have, but they’ll have to take it one step at a time. He’s in the kitchen, dumping more water into the pot and using Igni to hurry the warming process along when Lambert and Eskel come in, arms crossed.

Geralt ignores them, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms as well. Neither of them say anything as they go about grabbing a late night snack, but as always, Lambert is the first to crack.

“So,” He starts, and Eskel groans. “What happened to the whole not hurting him thing?”

Geralt shrugs, uncomfortable with the reminder, but Eskel comes to his rescue. “Please, look at his back and neck. I think Geralt had more to worry about than Jaskier did.”

That makes Geralt chuckle, and Lambert takes another good look at him before whistling low. “Damn, the White Wolf looks awful red.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt says, but there’s no malice in it and he has to keep himself from smiling. Eskel doesn’t let Lambert say anything else before dragging him away, and Geralt lugs the hot water up to the room. Jaskier is sitting at the table, staring at the bloody wound on his shoulder through the small mirror he’d brought with them. Geralt’s stomach flops as he nudges the door shut, and he pours the hot water into the tub to cool down some before they climb in. Jaskier has finally shed Geralt’s shirt, and he smiles when Geralt comes over to gently touch the skin near the wound. Jaskier shivers lightly at the touch, snagging Geralt’s hand and pressing a warm kiss to his palm.

“Right as rain, love. Want to help me with the sheets?” Geralt grunts, but doesn’t actually let Jaskier help in stripping down and changing sheets. The only thing he lets Jaskier do is get himself in the tub, sinking low into the water and sighing happily. He keeps his shoulders above the water, and when Geralt strips to join him Jaskier winces. “Sorry love.”

“Hmm?” Jaskier gestures for him to come close, and he traces soft fingertips over the marks on Geralt’s thigh. The blood vessels beneath his skin have burst, leaving dots of red-purple in nail shaped trails down the side of his thigh. Geralt bends down to kiss the top of Jaskier’s head, slipping into the bathtub behind him and resolutely ignoring the way the heat prickles uncomfortably at his thigh. “Right as rain.”

Jaskier laughs at the mimicry, leaning back against Geralt’s chest and closing his eyes. “So, this happens every month?”

“Making plans?”

“Well, I’d hate to get us banned from every inn we stay in.” Geralt laughs softly, tucking his cheek against Jaskier’s and gently kissing at his shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #major sluttiness #nsft #winter prompts

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vee-vee-writes · 3 years

Text

Reunions (Part 3)

The Hardest Day - Part 3

Part one & Part two

Y/NN = your nickname & Y/N = your (real) name

Taglist: @thewhiteladyofrohan @tschrist1

Word Count: 1.8k

It had been a long day of travel and it was safe to say that Y/NN, like most of the company, was exhausted. However, they were given no rest before Thorin began barking out orders at the company. Fili, Kili, Ori, and Nori were told to collect firewood and water. As the resident cook Bombur had begun to prepare the stew, likely to avoid being snapped at by Thorin. Others shuffled around the area setting up the campsite.

Sighing the dam got up from her spot on the soft grass and made her way over to Bombur, offering to help prepare the nights stew. Bombur smiled widely as she approached. "Do you need any help making supper?" Y/NN questioned gently. He nodded and patted the grass down beside him. "If you could scrape the carrots and potatoes and peel the onion, I will cut them up. I'll get you a bowl to put the peelings into and a knife from my pack" Bombur requested before retrieving the items for her. Although she was unused to the work, the girl made quick work of the vegetables, making small talk with Bombur as they worked. As she was polishing off her work the group of four returned from gathering the nights supplies.

Y/NN rose to meet them, wanting to help in way that she could. Fili and Kili had begun to set up the campfire in the middle of the site. Retrieving the flint and steel from her pack she was quick to shuffle over to them. Kili was the first to notice her approaching and grinned cheekily at her. The two had become close on the journey, Y/NN spending many long days travelling together. "How are you feeling?" Kili inquired as he helped assemble the campfire. "Tired" Y/NN teased, plopping down next to him, and handing the flint across to Fili. Kili snorted at her answer and Fili smirked a little. Thanking her for the flint and steel, Fili began striking it together to light the fire.

"Well, I better get back to helping Bombur before that uncle of yours comes after me" Y/NN sighed tiredly. Rising from her spot on the grass she gazed around the campsite. Trios of dwarves sat on logs they had rolled over from the surrounding area. On the outskirts she observed Thorin and Balin deep in discussion. 'They're probably pouring over the details for the rest of the journey' she decided. Thorin caught her gaze and raised a thick brow at her. She regarded him for a moment before trudging back over to Bombur to help finish the stew.

-//(Half an hour later)//-

Y/NN wiped her brow with the sleeve of her coat as she admired the hot stew bubbling away over the fire. "Thank you for the help. It took half the time it would have taken me on my own" Bombur thanked as he patted her gently on the shoulder. "It was no problem Bombur, I enjoy helping" Y/NN beamed. He smiled back before beginning to dish out supper.

One by one each of the company members trekked up to them to grab their bowl. Y/NN picked up her bowl from the three-remaining bowls. Making her way over to the log the Durin brothers were sitting on she noticed Thorin and Balin still wrapped up in their discussion, oblivious to the rest of the company. 'If they are still there when I have finished dinner then I will bring it to them' she promised herself.

The brothers greeted her and made room on the log for the dam. Settling down in between them on the log she began eating her stew before pausing. She questioned whether Fili and Kili would think her nosey asking after other people but then her curiosity got the better of her. "What do you think your uncle and Balin are talking about?" Y/NN queried, "they've been far too long to just be discussing tactical movements and supplies for the journey." The brothers seemed taken aback by the question but then Fili admitted, "To be honest with you, I am not completely sure. I tried to speak with them earlier but was promptly sent away." "Whatever it is then it must be secret." Kili concluded.

Hesitating Fili sucked in a breath before uttering "It was about you, Y/NN." The dam's eyes widened. "What about me? I know Thorin doesn't like me but surely I have proved my loyalty to the company by now" Y/NN exclaimed frustrated. "I didn't hear much but he was…suspicious of your identity. He thinks you are some sort of noble lady" Fili disclosed, "So are you?" Both young darrow looked at her, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of her answer.

"My mother belongs to clan Stiffbeards so yes by association I am a noble lady" she confirmed, "but I'm not here for money or my own gain. I'm here because a long time ago I made a promise to someone" she confessed. "And who would you have made this promise to" a strong baritone voice spoke from behind her. Whipping her head around Y/NN was confronted with Thorin standing staunch, clench jawed, and arms crossed in front of her. His eyes bore deeply into her as if he was judging the very fabric of her sole, weighing up her existence.

"Well?" he boomed at her. Never had she ever thought those eyes that had once regarded her with love and compassion would look at her with such harshness and anger. "Thorin, calm down. Let us go about this in a calm manner" Balin stated, attempting to appeal to Thorin's more rational side. "It is bad enough that Gandalf has forced this woman upon us but now she is keeping secrets too" Thorin snapped.

By now all of the company was watching the unfolding events. Mixed reactions painted their faces as she scanned them. Many adverted their eyes as she met them, but others met her gaze in defiance, distrust clear in their eyes. As panic welled up inside of her, her lip started to quiver. "I-I can explain everything please. I promise that there is a good reason that I am here" she choked out. Thorin cocked an eyebrow but motioned for her to continue. "I am here for you. The promise I made was to you. My real name is Y/N" Y/NN cried out, a flurry of tears beginning to drip down her cheeks.

His expression remained neutral but anyone who knew Thorin well enough could see the array of emotions that danced through his eyes, confusion, realisation, and excitement. "Y/N, my nathith (daughter)?" Thorin questioned alarmed. By now a flurry of tears was streaming down her cheeks but she nodded as she choked out a sob. Reaching out with a shaky hand she fumbled with the buttons to the pocket on her coat before managing to undo it.

From inside she retrieved a small white handkerchief which she unwrapped to reveal a small silver bead. Thorin let out a strangled cry before dropping to his knees in front of her. He cupped her hands with his larger warm calloused hands, staring at the bead sitting on the handkerchief in her hands. "I-why are you here? You should be safe with your amad's (mother's) kin" Thorin managed. "I missed you adad. It's been over 60 years since amad and I left…I thought you'd forgotten me since you never visited" Y/N whimpered.

Thorin's eyes snapped up to meet hers and he brought one hand up to cup her cheek. "I would never forget about you mizimith (jewel that is young). Not a day has gone by since your mother took you away that I have not thought about you" Thorin soothed. Gazing into his eye’s Y/N watched the storm of emotions stirring in his eyes as they became red rimmed. This eased her mind a bit, he had missed her as much as she had missed him. With no face-to-face visits it had been hard to tell how he truly felt, her adad had always been more reserved emotionally.

Y/N turned her attention back to the bead in her hand, "I brought this back for you. You once told me that this bead symbolises the future of our kin and that when you took back our home that I should bring it to you." "We haven't taken Erebor back yet so why are you giving it to me now?" Thorin's tone was laced with confusion.

"No, we haven't. But right now, the fifteen of us hold the future of a race in our hands. No matter what our actions will decide the fate of all dwarves. Take back our home or not, this is the course we have set, and we must stand together and strong as we charge ahead" Y/N preached, looking to all of the company. Focusing her attention back to Thorin she tenderly stated, "If this bead really does symbolise our future, then you should wear it with pride as we carry on." With that she freed her hand from within his grasp and used it to place the bead in the centre of his hand. Thorin curled his fingers around it, playing with the bead for a moment.

A stray tear began to streak down his cheek. "Forgive me for the way I have treated you, I thought so ill of you when you had the purest of intentions for our kin. I thought you were a noble woman looking to improve your station" he croaked out. "I forgive you adad, even if your misgivings hurt me, I understand wanting to protect your own" she murmured to him before pressing her forehead to his in an intimate familial gesture. Thorin brought his hand up to the back of her head to hold her closer together then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Would you braid it into my hair for me?" Thorin whispered to her. Y/N nodded, a large smile creeping over her lips.

The company went back to catching quietly around the campfire to give the two a moment of privacy, Fili and Kili moving to sit amongst them. Thorin sat down cross legged on the grass while Y/N went to retrieve a comb from her pack. After finding her comb the dam went back to perch by her adad's side, getting to work on combing and braiding his hair. They sat in silence as she worked, revelling in one another's company at long last. Eventually she broke the silence, "I need the bead to cap off your braid adad." Wordlessly Thorin handed it to her with care. She capped the braid off and took a moment to admire the braid. It was the signature braid of Durin's heir's, worn by all members of the King's close family. "Thank you Khajimel (gift of all gifts). I will wear this bead with pride, knowing that your words have given it more weight" Thorin smiled, eyes soft with adoration for his daughter. "Now come I will adorne your hair with the braid of our house and kinship so that any dwarf who sees you knows how precious you are."

#I don't know why this posted weird #the hobbit #lord of the rings #thorin x reader #thorin x platonic!reader #Kili and Fili #fili #bombur #kili #royalty #thorin durin #durin #nevermind i fixed it

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yeochikin · 3 years

Text

good morning. | c. san

a/n: don’t mind me, just having SO MUCH san feels lately jfsjf also idk what to put as the title so uhh,, excuse that fdbdj

main focus: san x fem. reader

word count: 1.4k

warning(s): none, really! but do tell me if there are any :)

your irises admired the way the leaves fell ever so elegantly to the ground from your seat on the couch of your quiet living room, situating yourself right next to the window as your favourite songs played softly through the speakers. despite the cold morning air, the knitted wool sweater, that somehow looked a tad bigger on you, was enough to keep you warm.

the tip of your index finger absentmindedly traced the lip of your favourite ceramic mug, filled with hot chocolate. the marshmallow you plopped into the hot drink was slowly melting away without your knowledge, much thanks to the constant staring out of the scenery that was held in front of you.

but how could you not do so with the way orange, and brown, and even a tinge of red decorated the windy streets just outside of your house?

how could you not admire the scenery outside with how time seemed to slow down, feeling as if the wind blowing the fallen leaves from the shedding trees moved ever so slowly as if they had their own little lazy dance?

bringing the mug up to your lips, they soon formed into a gentle smile as soon as the warm, sweet hot chocolate coated your tastebuds, loving how the hot drink managed to make you feel all warm on the inside. if you could describe it, it would have been you saying it felt as if someone was giving you a hug on the inside.

speaking of hugs, a pair of arms suddenly encircled themselves around your waist, causing you to tense up ever so slightly in surprise. but soon, your muscles relaxed as soon as the familiar cologne wafted into your nose, finding yourself leaning your back to rest itself against the person’s broad chest as you felt them nuzzling their nose against the crook of your neck.

“you weren’t in bed when i woke up.”

choi san, your lover, mumbled against your neck, lips brushing against the skin to which, caused a shiver to run down your spine. you merely let out a chuckle in response, tilting your head so your lips could press a fleeting kiss against the male’s temple.

“i’m sorry, love. but byeol wanted to go out earlier.” you giggled as san playfully nipped onto the exposed skin of your shoulder.

you felt his fingers playing with the hem of the sweater, pulling his face away from your neck with a quirk of his brow.

“this is mine, no?” he asked, you tutting him in response.

“i am merely borrowing this from you.” you laughed at the way your lover deadpanned down at you, knowing that it would always end up being yours either way.

but of course, san never complained about it as it gave him some sort of pride growing in his chest whenever you wear his clothing.

the both of you lifted your heads up as a soft ‘meow’ along with scratching noises against your front door made itself present. quickly placing your mug on top of the coffee table next to the couch, not after giving your lover an apologetic kiss on the lips to leave his arms momentarily, you then rushed to open the door.

you watched as your boyfriend’s cat made herself at home as soon as you opened the door, grinning to yourself at how adorable the little furball looked as she stretched her little paws out before lightly pawing against your leg, standing on her hind legs.

“my little byeol, where did you go, hm?” you heard san say, not even realising how he had already made his way to stand next to you, him now leaning down to give a few strokes on said cat’s head.

a quiet meow was heard from byeol as if understanding what san had asked her, moving from your leg to rub her body against san’s side, standing on her hind legs once again to give the tip of san’s nose a little nip. a habit of hers that you had found out after spending more time with her, along with san’s explanation of how it was her own little way of ‘kissing’ you.

or rather, a way of telling either of you that she wants something. be it wanting food or wanting to go out.

but in this current situation before you, with the way how loud her purrs were, and how she kept butting her head against san’s lips as he playfully puckered them out, you knew that she wanted to bid the both of you a good morning in her own little cat body language.

the raven haired male couldn’t help but to emit a low coo at his feline friend’s actions, now gathering her in his strong arms before standing back up, laughing at the way byeol’s tail twitched when your lover playfully bounced her in his arms, his dimples making their appearance from the reaction along with how his eyes crinkled with happiness.

the two of you stood near the doorway to play with byeol for a little more before you suggested san to freshen up as you made prepared breakfast. with a little salute then a kiss on your cheek, san let byeol hop out of his arms before making his way to the bathroom, singing a familiar tune underneath his breath as you watched his retreating figure.

once he was no longer in your line of sight, you made your way to the small kitchen, hands busying themselves to roll the sleeves of your, or rather, san’s, sweater up to your elbows so it’ll not be a disturbance while you cook.

throughout the little moment, you hummed to whatever song that played through the speakers until a favourite song of yours came on, causing you to subconsciously smile in response as your hips swayed from side to side to the beat of the song, yet also making sure you were careful near the stove as to not burn yourself.

as you waited for the stew to cook itself for a little while, you spent the spare time to sing your heart out as the jovial tunes, the large spoon in your hand acted out as a makeshift microphone. you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out the giggle that bubbled out of your lips, dancing in a silly manner around the kitchen as the song played its second chorus.

it was only when you turned around to twirl that you froze in place, hands up in the air, while your eyes were wide opened in surprise at the figure standing against the doorframe.

there, choi san was leaning against the doorframe with his arm crossed in front of his chest. an amused smirk was clearly etched on his features, as if containing the laughter that threatened to leave his lips upon witnessing the sight before him.

thinking that he would make fun of you, your arms slowly dropped to your sides as you quickly turned back around to face the stove, cheeks burning from the embarrassing moment until you heard an airy chortle leave your lover’s lips.

to your surprise, san placed his hands on your shoulders so that you could face him once more. with his hands now taking yours in his, you mentally admiring at how perfectly they fit together like two puzzle pieces, san surprised you once more by shaking his shoulders to the beat of the song. you watched at how his eyebrows wiggled at you, promptly twirling you around, causing you to grin brightly. it was no doubt by now the kitchen was filled with the sounds of san’s and your laughter mixed in with the both of you singing along to the song.

it truly felt as if time had slowed down in this very moment, you giggling at the way san belted out the lyrics in such an.. ‘extra’ manner, san laughing his high pitched laugh from the way you almost stumbled down on your own feet from the numerous twirling around, and just the two of you enjoying each other’s presence once the song neared its end.

his arms were wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible while you stared up at him with fondness evident in your eyes, leaning against san’s touch as he lifted a hand up to caress your cheek affectionately.

“god, i’m so in love with you.” he whispered, turning his hand slightly so his knuckles brushed against your cheekbone.

without waiting for a response from you, his lips were already on yours, your arms reaching up to wrap them around his neck to give you a little more leverage to return the kiss, both smiling lazily against each other’s lips.

there was no need for a response. the both of you knew, just how in love you are with each other.

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blue-bird-kny · 3 years

Text

Day 4: Love Me Tender

Day 4 with Obi! As I write this it is in the 50′s which is SUPER low so I am living my best life.

Warning: None

(1k+ words)

↳ {The long, chilly nights are no match for warm cuddles}

You’d been gone for sometime now, off leading a small mission a few villages over. You weren’t supposed to be gone so long, however the torrential blizzards that had been pounding Japan were difficult to get through and as the mother figure of your younger subordinates, you refused to even try. Alas, the snow did let up enough for you all to trudge your way back, your team trailing home looking like traveling penguins.

You were exhausted, feet numb and swollen from the thick boots you wore, the muscles in your cheeks taught from the cold wind. “I’m back….” your words wavered after you swung open the door to your home only to find it dark and lifeless. “Obanai?” you warily moved through the house, the eerie darkness eating away at your sense of practicality, “Obi?” you called again only to be met with silence. “I thought he’d be home” you noted in disappointment, reaching out to light the tall candle sticks. The flame didn’t provide much, however when the light illuminated the small area, two eyes appeared underneath a large heap of clothing and blankets. You had to suppress the smile trying to make its way onto your lips as you spoke camly, “My Love, what are you doing?” instantly recognizing the pair of two-toned orbs staring back. “It’s freezing” his words were muffled by the fabrics that surrounded him; you couldn't stifle the laughter that bubbled up from your stomach, falling past your lips in a great belly-laugh. “Why-why didn’t you just light a fire” you struggled to compose yourself, wiping tears as you were unable to get past the marshmallow man that had become of your husband. “It's too cold to go outside.” he pointed towards the woodless fireplace that aligned with your wall. Your fits of giggles settled to a gentle close-lip grin, “I’ve married an idiot” you thought fondly as you watched Obanai slither out of his fortress, clambering out of the tangled sheets.

You moved closer to him, his cheeks dusted in pink and when you grazed them with your knuckles, they felt cool, “You’re such a kid sometimes” you cupped his cheek for a moment before he pulled away hissing at your chilly palms. “I’ll be fine, I didn’t ask for your help anyway” he started firmly walking away into your shared bedroom. “That's not what I meant,” you followed standing in the doorway, “you’ll get sick at this rate and you hate being sick” you assured the man as he went around lighting candles. “Let me help you” you silently asked. Obanai was never one to be ‘babied’ as he referred to it; never liked to tell you he was injured or sick because he knew you’d worry and fret over him. Once, many years ago, he claimed that his mission had ‘been delayed’ when in reality he was at the Butterfly Estate receiving treatment for three broken ribs. Things did eventually get better as time progressed and you got married, he became more honest and didn’t conceal his ailments, however he always down played them.

“Come on,” you stood in front of the man, he stiffened for a moment as you freely wrapped your arms around his torso, “let's eat something warm and sit by the fire, please” your eyes bulged and lips fell into a pout. His pale hand came to rest on the crown of your skull, his thumb running gently against the hair there, his voice low as he mumbled “Ok.”

He gathered a few things you couldn’t see before walking past you, stopping only to offer a curt “I’m glad you’re back safe”, disappearing into one of the other rooms of your home. You sighed in frustration, how could something so simple become so dramatic? There were certain things your husband had overcome in your time together, but relying on your care too heavily was not one of them. You were right though, if he continued like this he seriously could catch pneumonia and because of that you refused to give up.

The large living space flowed with warmth and the mouth-watering aroma of meat sizzling, the soulful smell of vegetables stewing in the brass pot caused his stomach to grumble in anticipation- it was completely different from the cold space he’d created in your absence. Dinner was spent in an energetic banter between the two of you, tales of the hilarious moments you experienced on your trip filled the time and obanai clung on to every word, chiming in from time to time. Obanai spooned soup past his lips as you went on about your ‘greatest failure’, “I told them I’d deliver the final blow and then I missed my target… right in front of them” you spoke as a fallen war hero, eyes cast far off into another world. Obanai couldn’t help but chuckle at the dramatics, the deep sound reverberating past his parted lips.

After the heavy meal, the two of you lounged lazily in front of the blazing fire who’s flames sputtered from time to time. “We should cuddle..ya know for warmth’s sake” you claimed casually. Obanai rolled his eyes, the glint of a smile reflected in his eyes as he opened his arms wide waiting for you to slought yourself against him. Your eyes wandered over your husband, committing to memory every ounce of his form and touch as if for some reason you’d forget and all the time spent together would be lost, eventually landing on his face. “You don’t have to wear the mask if you don’t want to” you words were gentle and kind; Obanai hadn’t even realized he still wore the ever present weight against his mouth, so used to its familiar wrapping. His index finger hooked itself into the bandages, tugging down the only thing obstructing your view of his handsome face. The fire danced along your orbs to a tender song, his cool pair pulling them further into his orbit. “Are you feeling better?” you whispered, thumb grazing of the skin of his lips, Obanai pressed the faintest kiss to your finger, leaning into your palm.

“Much”

Holiday Event Masterlist

#fluffy feelings holiday event #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #iguro obanai #obanai x reader

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wrightaboutthat · 3 years

Text

Unnecessary Yearning ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: "You should have heard him talking about you after the Steel Samurai case! He kept saying 'Wright...Wright...Wright' over and over!"

Stricken with new feelings, Edgeworth attempts to carry on with his work and make do. Only, visions of a certain attorney lead to methods turning a little less than professional.

Written from Miles' POV.

Tags: Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Longing, Arousal, It's what the kids call, Denial, Mr 'I'm saddled with unnecessary feelings' Edgeworth lol like YEAH OKAY SIR, How's that going for you, Canon Compliant, Yearning

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first work in the Ace Attorney fandom. Glad to be tipping my toes into the universe, and super excited to finally be writing the boys. Thank you so much for reading! <3

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

It’s going to be a long night. My brain feels utterly thick and heavy from all which weighs down on me: evidence to sift through, cases to win, and losses to be recuperated. The latter two earn a stiffening of my figure, bits of bitter venom surging through my veins to match. I try not to mull over them too much however, what with all the deeper implications they carry. No; far too complex and far too unnecessary.

I instead focus on the present, focus on the current matters that await within my office. My silver gaze momentarily scans the various files atop my desk, before drifting over to my stewing tea. I straighten a bit, attempting to hone in on the delightful fumes, the tantalizing call of work to be done..

...But still, does my mind feel oddly muddied. Unsurprisingly, a scowl furrows my face as a result.

Walking to grab the warm tea, I momentarily turn my attention towards the world beyond my window. The lights of the city below glimmer and flash as activity bustles on. The last bits of setting sunlight cast dramatic colors upon the horizon. Unfortunately though, as I continue to stare, something else tantalizingly flashes within the reflective sheen. Or someone else, rather.

Him. Him.

Ahh. The man who rose from the ashes of my past. The man who viciously inserted himself back into my life. The man who dared to make me question my own reality. So he’s to blame. He’s the culprit. He’s the reason behind the present strangeness. He was indeed the trigger behind previous emotional oddities, so it only makes sense that he’s tormenting me now.

...Or does it?

My frown grows- particularly when the swirling imagery doesn’t fade away. In fact, it grows all the more detailed, all the more vivid. It’s like my brain genuinely teases me for a few fleeting moments, letting me see him and all that he is. That sickeningly corny grin on his face. The way he sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair. The image of him behind me, slamming us into the very surface providing such visions...

I startle something terrible, backing away with a bubbling mixture of revulsion. How unexpected and heinous. How dare he. How dare he affect me so. How dare he insert himself into my workplace where he’s not welcome.

And how ludicrous that I let him.

I clench my jaw and walk back to my desk, fingers knotted through my hair. There’s work to be done. There are matters to attend to. There are things that call for my attention. And none of them should deal with him.

But they do. Dammit, of course they do; with my subconscious stumbling from their presence, they scream the loudest of all. They dare to surge to the forefront. Because while case papers are visibly scattered before me, while knowledge swims within, he’s there in front. Flashing before my trembling vision, waltzing to the tip of my subconscious, and settling in the worst possible manner between the apex of my thighs.

No...

This cannot be happening. There’s no possible way this can be happening. I try to think of something else, anything else. All the work that needs to be done. That vile security guard from our case prior. But I can almost hear him chuckle at my lackadaisical efforts. And thus, does my strangely bewitched body mewl in delight, persuading me to hopelessly swell further.

I fume and begin to walk around the room, hoping to shake it off. Perhaps laps will serve me better. Perhaps getting my blood flowing will pull it from more problematic locations. But alas, I see him, I hear him, I feel him. I begin to bulge something terrible against my pants, the tight fabric no longer comfortable. It’s painful even, especially with all my movement, chaffing and rubbing atrociously.

But I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to fall into such vile acts. I don’t want him to hold such power over me.

And yet...

It’s like he materializes behind me, his hands gently yet firmly grasping my hips. He stills my furious stride, before I can practically feel his breath against my ear.

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

I grit my teeth. I want to argue. I want to deny it. But when I feel his hands starting to guide mine, when I’m lead to the fly of my pants, I really have no objections to his point. I can feel his grin against my neck then, and I can’t help myself; I shudder despite the rampant denial.

I still try and stop. I still try and hesitate. But the more I wait, the more painful it gets. The more I stall, the more vivid the visions become. A confusing and overwhelming mixture of emotion bubbles up then. I’m furious, but desperate. Appalled, yet curious. I consider things just a second more...

And then I’m deliciously coaxed; with my back facing the window, with my body towering over my desk, I unzip myself and allow the product of his doing to spring free.

The typical groan of relief departs my throat, but it’s hushed, captured as I bite my lip. A second later, my brow furrows something fierce, continuing to dance between enjoyment and revulsion.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I can picture him saying, leading to a furious blush and stronger swell. Would he say such a thing? I cannot be certain, yet all rings clear within my subconscious. So much so that I growl at him.

“Shut up, Wright...”

“Yeah yeah. Now shhh,” he murmurs back through reveries, “Just enjoy yourself, Miles.”

Miles.

My name, so rarely uttered, growled off his lecherous tongue...

My eyes roll, and I grasp myself then. I wrap my fingers around the taut, soft skin. I firmly grab the stiffness was as he likely would. And it takes every bit of my power to not release a growling groan into the quietness of my office.

My office.

My eyes, slick with both a furious and midnight sheen, fly back open at the notion. I stare at myself in horror, stare at how utterly erect I am. All because of him. All because of him.

I grit my teeth; how long will this dreaded back and forth go on? And which side will come out on top? Naturally, I careen for the reasonable, for the chaste maturity. But unfortunately, and unbelievably, my mind is no match for my body. My mind is no match for his spell. Because just as my grip lessens, he manifests behind me once more.

“I worry about you. You work way too hard, Miles,” he subconsciously murmurs in my ear, his vocals deeper and more honeyed than usual.

“Wright...”

“I like you saying my name like that,” he chuckles, and I can almost feel the flick of his tongue against my earlobe, “But I like you putting all your troubles to the side even more. So relax, dammit. Don’t be such a hardass...”

His tease, his care, his sultriness...It’s all too real. It all feels too real. I release another growl of frustration, but feel myself being tugged into the rabbit hole further. I begin to relent, begin to cave, allowing his very image to guide me down and down and down.

And so when I finally begin to move, when I finally begin to pull and tug, it’s entirely his essence.

He works me. He strokes me deeply. He topples my body towards the awaiting mahogany desk. Though I wish to deny it, though I wish to bellow in protest, it feels...utterly incredible, like it never has before. It’s intense, and electrifying, and unbelievably arousing. Once more are my eyes rolled away from view, noises of pleasure circulating around my chest. I have to fight against them, swallow them down, but yet again, does the attorney come out on top. The vision of his fingers, of his work, naturally pulls a centered vocalization from my lips.

“Wright...” I growl, “Wright...Wright...”

I’m rewarded with his voice in my ear once more. “Just like that...Fuck, Miles...”

My stomach clenches; would he even stoop to such naughty vocabulary? Would he even dirty his softer tongue so? Hearing it feels forbidden, yet so very divine. My hips practically buck, riding the reverie and falling deeper.

“Wright...Wright...Wright...”

The passes become harder, faster. His name grows louder, deeper. My mind falls grayer, darker. But of course, similar patterns are followed. Of course, the tug-of-war that is my reality is suddenly yanked in the opposing direction once more.

Because a series of loud raps on my door yanks me far harder than my own hand, startling me something terrible. My head whips up towards the mahogany barrier just in time to hear the reason, the culprit.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

Magma still burns in my veins. Evidence still twitches betwixt my fingers. His voice still moans in my brain. So very quickly, despite it all, do I bellow back to the damned detective.

“NOT NOW.”

Despite the fire I’m standing in, I can feel the saddened deflation on the other side of the door.

“B-but, sir...”

“PAYCHECK, GUMSHOE,” I snarl, attempting to instill as much threat and as little waver as possible.

He whimpers like a gloomy pup, before finally, thankfully, backing away.

“Y-yes, sir...”

His footsteps depart, but a bit of my fantasy is stolen along with him. It’s like pieces of foggy bliss are yanked out the door and down the hallway, loosening my grip on myself and the situation. Am I safe? Am I free from them?

As if to taunt, I feel myself twitch, and he manifests once more. I feel him again: the heightened movements of his panting chest against me, the ragged groans in my ear, the twinge of his teeth against my neck...

No. Safe from Gumshoe’s interruption perhaps, but still locked deep in the throes of Wright’s intrusion. How utterly strong he is. How much of a hold he has on me...

“Nngg...”

I groan in both frustration and persistent arousal. I want to stop. I want to latch on to the interruption and calm back down. But I can’t. I’m transfixed. He has me.

“Accursed attorney...” I growl through my teeth.

Right on cue, I can see that smug grin of his, sending droves of new warmth barreling down my body. And thus, does the cycle begin again. It only takes a few strokes to fully get back into it, but then I’m unimpeded, unshakeable beneath his spell. The angry, shaky breaths manifest once more, and my hips are coaxed back into movement.

I’m what they would refer to as “pent-up” I suppose, everything zinging to life at the thought of that damn man. His energy, his confidence, his very essence...

My lips curl into a snarl, coupled with the tightening of my hand. Anger and disgust towards the situation does no good; in fact, it only serves to amplify. And as such, I’m thrown into an endless loop, the fiery emotions driving me higher and higher. The more I push away, the more he pulls. The more he pulls, the higher the inferno roars. I’m practically jerking, practically trying to fight against the inevitable. But it’s no use.

I can see myself furiously pounding him into the very desk I’m leant upon. I can picture him folding me over the couch and having his way with my sorry form. I can imagine my angry body knelt before him, marveling in what I’m about to consume...

My entire lower half gives a mighty quake, and I tighten in a plethora of places. I’m going to finish. He’s going to make me finish. My ebony-soaked eyes reel about my surroundings, before flashing with a realization. I need to capture the evidence. I need to halt its sullying path. I need to be utterly inconspicuous about this.

So in perhaps the last allowed second of logical thinking, I snatch a handkerchief off my desk and blanket it over the incrimination. And there I hold as I utterly plummet into flames. My face wretches, my muscles tense, and consequently, comes a most forbidden hiss.

“Phoenix!”

And out it all spills. My anger, my deeper complexities, those wretched feelings...It floods against my fingers and into the handkerchief, my vision flashing white with every sharp burst. My jaw clenches something terrible, the temptation to yell through the release so very tantalizing. But I stay hushed. I manage to keep it contained to shivering grunts and rolling snarls. Instead, my body takes the brunt, my hips jutting with each intense crest. My legs begin to liquify, and my form begins to shake, so with a final spurt, do I collapse forward on my desk with a hand, the wretched evidence in the other.

I heave and gasp through the aftershocks, straining for normalcy to return. I claw my way down from the mountain, trying to get away from the outrageous act. It’s very difficult to do so when I can picture him stroking me into utter completion, whispering lecherous praises and deeper affections into my ear...

I straighten myself and slam my hand on the desk, disgust desperately surging through my veins to block it all out. One look at the soiled handkerchief and my equally dirtied hand amplifies this, my face contorting into a deep scowl.

I was really just enraptured by my urges like some hotheaded grade schooler. I really just turned my place of work into a place of dirtied fun. I really just pleasured myself because of him.

Because of Phoenix Wright.

Damn him. Damn him damn him damn him...

My clean hand comes to capture my face, my fingers harshly grasping my temples. I take a moment to hide away from it all, perhaps in a better attempt to deal with the rampant feelings flowing through. Regret, disgust, anger...But where the icy emotions exist, as do the fiery still, to my dismay. Deeper desire, longing, yearning...

I’m no better off from such an act. The more primitive urges are satiated, yes, but I’m still atrociously in limbo, atrociously in the middle.

I tuck myself back in, clean my hand with tissues, and throw the wretched handkerchief away. I focus on adjusting my attire, on straightening my cravat, on re-composing myself...

...Yet I still find myself unable to do much else than stand with both hands leant against my desk, deep in thought and emotions. I heave a harsh sigh, trying so hard to make sense of it all.

How did this happen? Why did seeing him after all these years lead to this? How could I be so foolish? I doubt we’re really even considered friends, and he’s certainly not...mine.

My eyes widen at the mere thought, before I force further bile to manifest. No. He’s not. And he won’t be. He’s my rival, if anything. Nothing more. Perhaps I was simply carried away by the excitement of our banter, the passion brought to the table. Perhaps my body simply craved an outlet for stress and tension. Yes.

But despite the logic that presents itself, despite the perfectly sound explanation, I still can’t move. I still can’t put it aside and simply get back to work. Nor can I rid my thoughts of that idiotic, passionate, absurd, torturous man.

Dammit indeed.

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elles-writing · 3 years

Text

The Sounds of Home - Kili x reader

Kili x reader

Requested: Yes, by @terri205

Request: Hello there - I read one of your previous posts about taking requests so here i am asking for a drabble or oneshot with some domestic life / husband x wife with children with Kili even though his character died I really cannot get over him. Hope you are still writing for him . ( dwarf x human if that helps .. also can the height difference be erased for now ? Yk Aidan is a tall boy 😁🙃 ) wish you having a great day!

Word count: around 3k

A/N: Of course!! I write a lot for Kili, because I feel like there’s not a lot of fanfics for him, that people actually think more of Fili and Thorin, but hey, this little cute pup needs love too! (Just like Lindir. He’s also adorable.) And I’ve red somewhere on Pinterest that Thorin is actually tall 5′2 ft, which is like only solid 2 inches smaller than me (okay, I’m barely 5′4 ft)!! And Kili’s only a bit smaller than Thorin!! I’ll look for that picture and if I find it, i’ll put it here.

A/N II: I feel like my writting sucks at most of this one, I’m so sorry! I wanted it to be much, much better, but I just somehow don’t really know how to rewrite it, so I’m posting it anyways. I want to write something similar in the future, so I’ll tag you to it.

A/N III: I wrote some extra part and edited it, so now I can say I’m quite happy with it!

Tw: pregnancy, mentions of sex

Okay, so here it is. I found it on pinterest, but it’s from tumblr @richardarmitagequotes . Here is the link to it.

Playlist you don’t have to listen, but I was writting during listening to these songs: Taylor Swift - cartigan, Taylor Swift - exile, The Chainsmokers - Paris, Porcelain Black - One Woman Army, Taylor Swift - august,

It was such a long time ago when did this happened...

This was how you started your children’s bedtime story, which was their favourite - it was the story of how did their parents - you and Kili - have met and long adventure that was avaiting behind them to reclaim Erebor. About you, a young human girl, who was curious and wanted to see the world, and him, young dwarf prince, who wanted to help to reclaim his home again. And surely wasn’t counting on finding love, but yet you were here - Kili, you and your children - living in a cottage a bit aside from Erebor and Dale.

It was a sunny day, you and your children working at the garden. You were in the middle of placing tomatoes to your handbasket, when a loud scream came to your ears. You looked up and sighed at the sight of your son scaring your daughter with earthworm on a stick, which was moving around.

“Vili, stop scaring Ainiel with that earthworm. Go back to taking out the carrots out, alright? And let Ainiel to pick the berries.” Your son shook his head and went back to taking out the carrots, putting the earthworm to his hand and mumbling something to it before putting it back to the hole, where was one big carrot before.

You looked at him by the corner of your eye. He has the same hair as his father, face features, very similar personality, the only thing was his eyes - they were brown with slight e/c in them. Your daughter has gotten her father’s hair texture, face shape and a bit of his joking personality, but from you she’ve gotten her bookworm-self, able to read all day, and thinking carefully about things. Otherwise, she would be your dupe.

You looked over to your youngest child - your second daughter, who was sitting in the grass and creating a flower tiara from daisies. When she was done, she jumped up and with squealing runned to her sister and putted the tiara on her head. She let out a bubbly laugh, as toddlers do, and runned to you.

“Mama, Ainiel is a princess! I am a princess! Mama is a princess!” And placed flowery tiara she finished earlier in your hair. You smiled and she sat down to you, looking up to sky.

“Is there going to be a storm?” You looked up and noticed the dark clouds, quickly approaching. You took your youngest daughter to your arms, your basket hanging from your forearm.

“Vili, take the carrots, Ainiel, take the basket with berries, Lila...” you looked in the toddler’s eyes.

“Hold your tiara, dearie.” You looked over the garden and noticed movement on the other side of the garden on your backyard. Then someting let out a ‘meow’.

It’s probably just some cat, you thought when a typical little furry tale glimpsed through the grass. It wasn’t unusual for cats to be wondering around your house, since in a Dale many people were having cats as pets.

When you were inside, a hard rain started. You sighed out, placed Lila and the basket with tomatoes down in the kitchen, and went over to fireplace to start a fire.

Once the room was filled with warm light and sound of cracking wood, your children started with washing and clearing the vegetables. Vili and Ainiel only, because Lila was sitting on the chair cuddled in blanket. She was afraid of thunders and storms, and even though there was no thunder, there was sometimes a lightning across the sky and she squealed and jumped up.

You made a luke-warm tea for Lila and while she was sipping it, you were cutting the vegetables and meat and cooking stew.

Once the meal was done, you looked out through the window. It was raining really hard still, so you decided to take your children and cuddle behind the fireplace with tea and either read to them or tell them some story.

Once you and your children sat down, blankets were all over the place and Vili and Lila fighting over one of them.

“Lila, give it to me, you have it all the time!”

“No, I want it! Give it to me!” Vili teared out the blanket from her hands and she squealed when she fell down. She started sobbing and then vailing. Vili’s eyebrows furrowed and he kneeled down to her.

“I’m so sorry, Lila, I didn’t wanted to hurt you! Look, you can take the bla-” She teared the blanket from his hands and stick out her tongue on him. He was surprised and inhaled, but Lila jumped on him and started beating his chest by her little fists.

“I’m as strong as you!” Vili squealed when she took his hair and started to pulling them. You quickly took her off of him, careful not to pull his hair more, but a few of them stayed in your daughter’s grasp.

“You’re getting way too energetic, young lady. What’s all this about?” You sat down and she was sitting in your lap.

“He wanted to take my blanket and I fell down.” She didn’t dared to look up at you.

“It’s because the two men in Dale two weeks ago were doing this?” She mumbled a response and you shook your head.

“Lila, that’s not how you are supposed to solve problems. First, you need to talk about it. Don’t be that-” then a loud thunder and sharp lightning scrossed the sky and Lila squeaked.

“M-momma, I’m so afraid!” She nuzzled to your chest and you wrapped a blanket around the two of you. Vili and Ainiel sat next to you, wrapped in blankets.

“Will you tell us the story, momma?” Ainiel asked you, breaking the silence. A slight smile stretched your lips.

“You already know that one backwards.”

“That’s not true, I cannot say it backwards!” Vili protested and Ainiel shook her head.

“That means we already know it really well, you dumb dwarf.” Lila let out a laugh.

“Will you tell us the part with Master Baggin’s home? The beginning?” Vili made a pleading puppy look, that he surely got from his father, and you sighed.

“Okay.”

“And that one when you confessed your love?” Ainiel asked. You smiled and nodded.

“I will. So, I came here with Balin, and I didn’t wanted to be rude, because, as you know, hobbits are peaceful beings and they don’t like when someone is rude, so I just sat aside. Then, there was another knock on the door, and I told him I will open. I opened the door, and there were two young dwarves, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the other one with dark hair and brown eyes. Me and the younger one froze in spot and the whole Shire must’ve hear us, because we both screamed: ‘YOU?!’. It was that dwarf I saved from two orcs and kicked his butt before, calling him very...spicy names for doing such a stupid thing.”

“How did you called him?” Vili pleated. You’ve never told them, that first words adressed from you to their father were ‘What were you thinking, you fucking fool?! Two big orcs twice your size?! If I wouldn’t save you, you would be dead by now!’.

It was a few days since you’ve left your home for an adventure, where Gandalf invited you.

You were thankful to the few of dwarves that lived near the village you’ve lived in, whom teached your father how to fight, which he teached you. You could get a few nice hours of sleep at night, because you didn’t have to worry about not being able to defend yourself.

The next day, around a down, settling down your things to prepare for a camp, a loud scream cutted the silence. You looked up. It sounded as if somebody needed a help.

You quickly and as quietly as you could, runned to that spot. You looked through the bushes and noticed somebody - a male - trying to fight with two orcs double size of him. One of them was holding his leg, the other one his arm and he was trying to fight with them, but you assumed they took his weapons, since he had nothing but a dagger. You quickly let out an arrow, which went straight through orc’s head, and he fell dead. You jumped out of your hiding spot and the other one chuckled darkly in black speech. You growled and jumped aside when he was trying to catch you. He tried to stab you with his sword, but you were way too quick. You jumped up at tree stump and stabbed him by your sword in it’s back. The orc fell dead, down to the ground.

You looked over to that male - a dwarf, you thought, because of his ears and he was as tall as you - and he was staring at you with awe in his eyes. Adrenalin was still in you from the fight in your veins and you got angry.

“What were you thinking, you fucking fool?! Two big orcs twice your size?! If I wouldn’t save you, you would be dead by now!” He snapped from his expression and quickly started gathering his weapons.

“I didn’t needed help, you know?! I could-I would be able to win over them!” You snorted in very un-lady like way while taking out your sword and arrow.

“Of course, but before that, you would be their dinner.” You looked over your shoulder and shook your head. No. He has just stupid brown puppy eyes.

“That’s not true!” He got angry, slightely offended. You smirked.

“All right then. You’d be their midnight snack.” You chuckled when noticed his face to redden and looked away to get to your place where you wanted to camp.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that man since then. And your angry behaviour, which you were quite sorry for.

“That’s not appropiate for your ears, children. So, where did I ended? Oh, I know!” Vili and Ainiel shimmed closer to you.

“Then, the blonde one looked at both of us and asked: ‘Where do you know each other from?’. The brown-haired muttered something under his breath and I sighed. ‘I didn’t wanted to be so rude, you know?’ He looked up at me, eyes wide, mouth slightely open and cheeks red. I got into house and...who do you think was that?” You asked your children and Ainiel, the quick thinker, was first one to answer that.

“Uncle Fili and Adad, mommy!” She grinned and you stroke her hair.

“Excellent. Now-” You inhaled to talk again, but Ainiel interrupted you.

“Now the wedding, mommy! How was the wedding? Was it big? Was it beautiful?” Her face lighted up in happiness, that was her favourite part. Vili just snorted.

“Girls. Why the wedding? It’s so boring!” You chuckled.

“One day you will find your own significant other and you won’t be snorting at the mention of weddings, because you will be the eager one to plan it all out.” Said voice behind you. You and your children turned around and found your soaking-wet, but madly-grinning husband. Vili squealed, excited, and while trying to get to him, be tripped over his own legs and blanket and landed at the floor. Lila’s fluttered open and she yawned as she woke up from her slumber, and once she noticed her father, she squealed in joy and tried to get to him, her arms opened for a hug.

“Adad! You’re home!” He picked Vili up from the floor and with a grin on his face, he picked up Lila too and spun them around. The sight of him with your children, his face lighted up with joy and absolute adoration for them was a thing that made you to appreciate every single moment like that you had.

Kili placed his two children to the ground, and even if all three of them were wet now, they didn’t really cared. You stood up.

“Now, I see, you are ready to change in something dry.” Kili looked over to Vili and Lila.

“Who’s going to be the first one changed, gets the most cookies!” Before you could even blink, Vili and Lila were already rushing to their rooms to change, and Kili went to your bedroom to change, too.

Ainiel turned to you.

“What about the wedding, mommy? How was it?” You sat down to her.

“So, at first, it was before the battle of five armies. Me and your father, your uncle, nobody knew if we will survive, so we decided to do it without unnecessary formalities. We just changed vows, gifts, kissed and braided each other’s hair.” And lost our virginities that night.

“After the battle and when Dale and Erebor was rebuilded, we got married with all of the formalities that are necessary in royal family. It was a big and eventful wedding, very loud, too. Something like celebration on Durin’s Day, but three times louder, with more dancing.” She nodded with a serious expression.

* Extra *

After the dinner (and promised cookies, which got Vili and Lila) and when your children went to sleep, you and Kili stayed together in the living room, cuddled under a blanket.

„How was your day, amralime?“ You asked him while making circles inside his palm. Kili softly kissed the top of your head.

„Uneventful and boring, givanshel. Meeting got longer today, and thanks to the storm, I was even more late than I would be. How was today for you, my precious queen?“ You felt his hand lazily making circles over the fabric on your stomach and smiled.

„Just like any other day, my dear husband. Two out of our three children took their personality after you, making every day an adventure,“ He softly chuckled and kissed your temple from the back.

„It all started with one adventure,“ He said in a low voice. You sighed softly.

„Yes, indeed it did. But I saved your butt before that adventure,“ His fingers started to make way to your hips and sides.

„Of course, my dear wife,“ He started tickling you, and you tried to giggle as quietly as possible to not to wake the children. You turned around, so you now faced Kili and sat on his lap. You kissed his nose, then his lips, and he smiled to the kiss. He pulled you closer.

„Mhmm, amralime,“ He whispered when you pulled away for air. You pushed a few strands of his hair out of his face, looking deep to his loving brown eyes

„You should go to sleep. You are tired,“ You said. He raised a brow.

„I can stay awake as long as you’d like me to.“ His eyes got that mischievous spark you knew way too well.

„I may be in love with you, but you cannot fool me, my precious prince.“ You kissed his cheek softly.

„So you want to say you’d turn down an opportunity for making love on the floor, or just right here, right now?“ You gasped and punched his shoulder softly.

„Kili!“ His sparkling eyes were watching you, while his lips tugged up into a smirk.

„You didn’t minded that when we moved in,“ He winked at you and your cheeks burned red.

„You’re right,“ You muttered and he laughed.

„But I wanted to talk to you about something...something else,“ You nervously rubbed your hands together. He furrowed his brows and cupped your cheek in his palm, making you to look at him.

„What’s wrong, Amralime?“ You felt his body tense. He was fully awake, and you just shook your head with a small smile.

„Nothing is wrong.“

„What is it, then?“ You placed his palm to your stomach. Kili’s eyes widened in realization, experiencing this for the fourth time.

„Are you-are you really-do you mean-?“ You slowly nodded.

„Around a week,“ A grin stretched across his lips and he took you to his arms, kissing your whole face, dancing around your living room.

„We’re going to have another baby, I cannot-oh Mahal, I can’t believe that!“ He kissed your lips with a smile.

„You need to rest, givanshel.“ He started walking towards your bedroom.

„I can walk on my own, Kili.“ You laughed and he kissed your temple as he kicked the door to your bedroom open.

„Well, you need to rest a lot now, so no walking for you, my love.“ He placed you down to your shared bed and you giggled.

„I need to walk at some point. Who will cook?“ Kili kicked off his boots and laid to you, placing you to his chest and resting his palm on your still flat belly. He kissed your temple and blinked, so he wouldn’t start crying out of pure happiness.

„You know how it ended up every time you ever tried to cook,“ You reminded him and he grimaced.

„Oh, c’mon amralime, I’m not that bad at cooking!“

„You cutted yourself while cutting the vegetables and then burned the soup.“

„Oh hush amralime,“ He muttered and you laughed.

„Amad was giving me a cooking lessons,“ He blurted out suddenly. You raised a brow and turned to him.

„When we were over for Durin’s day last year. Well, rather Amad was teaching me, while Lila and Ainiel were watching over the kitchens in general, and Vili, well,“ He looked sleepishly down on you.

„Vili was messing around with Fili,“ You rolled your eyes.

„I’ve noticed them, of course. I’m glad Erebor is still standing,“ You both chuckled and he started rubbing small circles on your belly. You sighed and hugged your husband closer. He kissed your forehead.

„Sleep, Amralime. You need to rest.“

„You too, Amralime. Good night.“

„Good night, my princess.“

#kili x reader #kili x you #kili #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit au #kili durin #kili-x-reader #request

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trojantoast · 4 years

Text

Cold is the Night (Day One: Reunion)

Zutara Week 2020

@zutaraweek

AO3

“Once he's gazed upon her, a man is forever changed

The bravest men return with darkened hearts and phantom pain

Ages come and go, but her life goes on the same

She lives to see the sun and feel the wind and drink the rain

Her colors change to mark the passing of the days

No Earthly sight can match the beauty she displays

And when I die I want her lying by my side

In my grave, in my grave”

- La Belle Fleur Sauvage (Lord Huron)

___

The arctic wind was bitter cold, but the sight of the Southern Water Tribe as he rounded the iceberg filled him with warmth. Unlike its northern sister, with its white, impenetrable walls. Only a wide harbor filled with ships and sea birds, separated the frigid ocean from the village.

No great citadel greeted him, no sparkling palace. Yet, it was not the same tribe as years past. Gone were the huts and animal skin tents. A broad path in the snow led from the port to a neat cluster of igloos nestled at the snow covered foot of the mountains, cradled by a low wall. The only permanent settlement was the low rotunda of sculpted ice and snow that crowned the village. The home of the Southern Tribe winked with fire light in the eternal dawn.

Fire Lord Zuko breathed in the crisp, familiar scent of brine and metallic snow, as his cruiser dropped anchor in the harbor. In minutes his motor boat reached the shore, and his breath of fire was the only thing keeping him from shivering right out of his parka. Summer or not, Zuko was chilled to the bone.

Three figures greeted him on the docks of ice. All were male, tall and broad. One broke away and as he grew closer his voice carried over the arctic wind, until he was only a few feet away.

“Gran Gran will be happy to see you wearing the parka she made you, though… the matching toboggan seems to be missing.”

Zuko smiled as he was enveloped into an embrace, “Hello, to you too, Sokka.”

The warrior gave him a quick squeeze and pulled back, his characteristic grin plastered on his face. Zuko looked down at his previously mentioned navy blue parka. It was cut in the Fire Nation style, and lined with white fur. “Well, I couldn't refuse a gift from a foreign dignitary, especially one that was handmade for me.”

“Certainly not, parkas of that quality can take an entire winter to hand stitch. To have one made for you is a declaration of trust and allyship, sacred to our tribe.” Zuko looked up to the second Warrior, taller than Sokka, but narrower in the shoulders. The firebender bowed formally,

“General Bato,”

There was a bark of laughter, and the third man joined the group, “General... that’s a good one.”

The tall warrior rolled his eyes, “What would you prefer, Hakoda, ‘Igloo-maker in Chief’?”

The leader of the southern Water Tribe threw his arm around the warriors shoulders and smiled, “As long as it's not my igloo.”

There was another round of chuckles, and Hakoda grasped Zuko’s forearm in a formal greeting.

“You really should take care of that parka. Bato’s not kidding, they do take all winter and you know how long those are around here.”

“I’ll be sure to express my gratitude to Kanna when I see her.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hakoda smiled softly, but his eyes turned more earnest, and he placed a strong hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The Fire Lord’s guards didn't even flinch. Snow swirled absentmindedly around the group in the moments before the chief spoke, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Zuko nodded, his hand dipping unconsciously into the pocket of his parka, “yes, we do.”

___

Talking could wait, apparently, as Zuko and the rest of his crew were loaded up into sleds (recently reintroduced to the tribe's way of life, after they finally had enough food to feed arctic dogs as well as themselves) and taken to the village. It was bigger up close, but barely larger than the smallest of villages in his home country. Children trailed after them, and Zuko smiled as Captain Jee sent little spirals of sparks, like fireworks, towards their awed faces.

Sokka was giving him a very speedy tour, pointing out new landmarks and trying to explain who lived in what igloo, before they passed by in a shower of kicked up snow. The main gathering building of the tribe was circular and sprawling. Multiple branches and bubbles of different rooms peaked out of the drifts of snow. The ship's crew was taken to the temporary barracks to get cleaned up before the feast that the tribe's women had prepared. Zuko was led to the guest house he usually occupied on his visits.

Zuko tried to refuse any big ta-do about his arrival. It wasn't even an official visit. He knew that even if the tribe was quickly bouncing back after the war, that there wasn't much food to spare. However, the tribe members had been insistent, and he couldn't really argue.

He followed Sokka around the backside of the rotunda to the igloos and huts that Chief Hakoda’s family and visitors used.

He tried not to let his eyes drift to the home nestled between his and the chief’s. It’s doorway was dark, no smoke curled from its chimney, and from the snow drifted against the door, it had not been entered in a while.

That’s a good thing, he said to himself.

He wasn’t very convincing.

“You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked about her yet.”

Zuko stilled at the door of his igloo, a now familiar place. He let his eyes linger on the other home.

“I know she’s not here, and that’s how I wanted it to be, so…” he trailed off.

“What has it been? Six months?” Sokka continued past him carrying Zuko’s trunk with little effort. He set it down by the large cot and bed roll. Zuko sighed and followed suit. The space was immediately warmer than the outside air. The curtain of a door settled behind him.

“Seven… and three quarters.” He grabbed a tea kettle and set it on the small cooking fire at the center of the single room house. Sokka plopped down on the cushions around the pit, arranging them so he could comfortable lounge back.

“Hey, I haven't seen Suki in almost five months. I mean,” there was a grunt as Sokka removed his boots, “It's not quite the same, since me and Suki are technically married and you guys…” Sokka seemed to struggle for the right thing to say. In the meantime Zuko removed his own boots and parka, which had grown hot, and ran a hand through his unbound hair. He had kept it roughly the same length for the past five years.

“We agreed that this was the best thing for everyone. Katara’s where she's needed, and so am I.” Sokka raised a critical brow, but just shrugged.

“And, I'm sure your visit here has nothing to do with ‘being where you're needed’” Zuko shot him a withering look. Sokka had the decency to look sheepish.

“Hey,” the warrior raised his hands in surrender, “I only speaking the truth.”

Zuko wasn’t quite ready to face the truth.

He wasn’t ready, because the truth frightened him. It kept him up at night. It made him lose focus in meetings and it made him count the days between every time he saw her. He knew the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it.

“Well, buddy, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Zuko looked up from inspecting the tea pot, and smiled, ever so slightly,

“Me too.”

___

The meal was no feast or ball, but the entire village gathered in the largest and center-most room of the rotunda. The tribe’s numbers, with it’s warriors returned, and half a decade of peace, had grown to nearly 200. Yet, the room didn’t seem cramped as everyone piled onto cushions around low dining tables. Even when Zuko’s crew and personal guards (who where only there on principle, Zuko had never felt safer than among the Southern Water Tribe), joined the company, the crowded space felt comfortable and warm.

Zuko had been placed in the seat of honor, at the left hand of chief Hakoda, and the right hand of Kanna, the chief's mother, and the village’s elder. As per tradition, the youngest of the group and the unmarried women served the rest of the tribe before eating. Sokka told him once, that the action was to reinforce loyalty and represent how they serve their tribe first, until they marry, or become adults.

The food was traditional water tribe cuisine, made by collective effort of the women, both married and unmarried, of the tribe.

Platters of roasted fish, and savory rein-caribou meat was served, alongside various stews and cooked greens. sea prunes, clams, and other crustaceans were also distributed. The food, like the tribe who made it, was hearty. It was salty, and fatty, and so unlike the hot spices and complicated recipes of his Zuko’s homeland. The Fire Lord hadn’t had a meal as delicious in a long time.

The room was filled with chattering voices and laughing children, muffled by the animal pelts and cushions they all lounged on. Everyone had striped their outer clothes off, and the parkas joined the piles of furs surrounding the group. People moved from table to table, catching up on the day's activities and trading jokes and stories. The older warriors took special interest in comparing notes with his crew on sailing techniques. Every member of the tribe, from the oldest widow, to the mother’s with their tiny babies, came to Zuko’s table and greeted him formally. Zuko gave them a warriors handshake or a bow, according to their age. Some of the children brought him tiny, crude, carvings of bone, made in the shapes of animals or people. In return, he bestowed a carefully wrapped cake from the satchel at his side into their tiny hands. The pastries were crunchy on the outside and impossibly soft on the inside; shaped like lotus flowers. They were straight from the royal kitchens, and Zuko pretended not to notice when they came back for seconds.

Zuko barely had time to eat the food that had been piled onto his plate, between greeting the tribe, and joining into the discussions at his own table, but he made do.

“So, young man,” Zuko turned from giving a little girl her third pastry, to Kanna. The older woman had finished her bowl of stew, and was now working on the delicate and complex embroidery on a deep blue parka. “What is it you plan to do with all those carvings the children are giving you?”

Zuko smiled, and turned to look at the small army of animals he had absentmindedly arranged in rows next to his table setting.

“I’ll probably put them with the others. I have a glass bureau in my office that holds some of the gifts I’ve received from other dignitaries. The children’s carvings have their own shelf.” The carvings had become a sort of tradition every time he came to visit.

She chuckled, it was a rumbling, gravelly sound, “I can’t imagine these next to the rich items you must get.”

Zuko picked up the carving closest to him. It was a black wolf-whale. The little boy who had given it to him, had charred the bone to mimic the pattern of black and white splotches of the animal in real life.

“Yeah, but these are my favorite.”

He ran his hands along the upright fin on its back.

Kanna smiled quietly to herself and returned to her embroidery.

Slowly, as the night went on, the children grew tired, and their parents bid last goodbyes to the members of Zuko’s table. And as the kids were rebundled up and carried, sleepily, back to their own homes, the rest of the village filed out as well. The younger men and women left in groups, or pairs, laughing heartily together, to spend time among themselves. The widows and widowed warriors bore their own farewells. Soon, even the village elders grew sore of sitting and talking and eating, and went their own ways, wishing the guidance and protection of the spirits in the dreams of their chief, his family, and the Fire Lord.

The dishes had been cleared away much earlier in the night, so when Hakoda led them into a hall toward a small study, they left the gathering room quiet and empty.

Zuko rose from his seat, and extended his elbow to Kanna, who excepted it with a pat to his for arm and a smile.

“Such good manners.” She praised. Zuko felt himself blush.

The adjacent room was furnished with low couches and a stone fireplace that peaked out of the white ice walls. More thick pelts lined the floor. Zuko recognized the large maple shelves and desk as those he gifted Hakoda himself, made of the finest Fire Nation lumber.

Sokka, Kanna, Bato, and Zuko all settled into the couches, as the Chief pulled out a dark blue glass bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk. He poured each member of the group a drink of the clear liquid, before he sat another one of the couches, instead of his high backed desk chair.

Zuko took a sip, and tried not to wince as the alcohol burned his throat. Immediately, he was warmer than before. He watched the others. Zuko knew what was coming.

Hakoda took a very slow sip of his drink, and turned to the firebender.

“I’m assuming you didn't sail all the way down to the South Pole to take in the scenery.”

Zuko swallowed, as they all turned their attention to him.

“No, no I didn't.” he took another drink, stealing his nerves, then placed the glass down.

“Me and Katara have discussed it, at length.” Zuko found that Kanna’s stare was level and calm, he felt reassured. “She thinks it’s the best thing for us, and I agree.” Zuko looked around the room.

“We want, no… we're going to get married.”

Zuko didn’t know what reaction he would receive. He had been obsessing over what Katara’s family would say, what they would do, since the idea of marriage first entered his mind. He expected it would involve being forcefully thrown into the arctic ocean. The sensible part of his mind knew there was nothing to worry about, since almost immediately after him and Katara had announced their courtship her family, and her tribe, had taken him in as one of their own (Bato had even teased them about step-grand children). Yet, the other voice in his head still haunted him with fears of rejection. But, Hakoda only sat up, placed his glass down, looked into Zuko’s eyes, and waited for him to continue.

So Zuko did.

“We know that it’s not going to be easy. We know that it will be dangerous. We know that we each have responsibilities and duties, and I respect hers and she respects mine. We’ve been considering it for a while now, and it's what we both want. I know that relations between my nation and yours, are...tense, but they're getting better, and there's people where I’m from that won’t like it, but I think that together, we can show that the four nations can coexist and that the Fire Nation cares about reperatio-”

Hakoda held up a hand, Zuko went silent, he swallowed again.

The chief looked deep into his eyes, Zuko didn't break the contact.

“I don’t care what your union means politically. I don’t care what message it will send to the other nations, what message it will send for your people, son. I just want to know one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Do you love her?”

Immediately, he answered, “Yes,” his hand settled on his chest, between his two lungs, where he knew the scar sat, “with all my heart.”

Zuko looked around the room, each pair of bright blue eyes were fixed on him.

“I don’t know when I started to, maybe it was the day of the comet, maybe before, maybe after, but when I asked her to come with me to fight my sister and regain my throne, I knew it had to be her that came. I love Katara, but before that, I trust her. I trust her with my life. I trust her with my people and my country. I would die for her.”

Zuko felt it then, the ghost of the pain, the exhilaration, the fear as he watched Azula take aim. “Taking that lightning was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I would do it again, ten thousand times over.”

Bato spoke next, “And she feels the same way?”

Zuko thought, for a second, replaying the last five years in his mind. The image that lingered in his mind was the flashes of blue fire through clear water as she battled Azula, risking her life to defeat the most dangerous firebender in the world, just to save him.

He smiled, gently, “Yes, I know she does.”

Kanna’s face was stone, “You swore an oath to serve your people and your country? Is that correct Fire Lord Zuko?”

He nodded. The elder looked him in the eye. He felt like she was looking deep into his soul.

“In our culture, the marriage vow outweighs any oath to lord or land. Katara must come first, before your throne, before your crown. The binding of two souls is far more ancient than any border or king, as old as the very first marriage of the spirits Tui and La. The promise you will make to each other trumps any other loyalty, and will last beyond your last breath, into the next life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” he instinctively reached into his pocket, “The only reason Katara doesn't know I’m here is because she would say that asking for permission from the bride's family was an outdated tradition” Sokka smirked at that, “but I also know how much your good opinion means to her, and I don’t want to hide anything from you.

“I want to do this by the book, so I’m here, to ask you personally,” he looked from person to person, “do me and Katara have your blessing for our union?”

There was silence in the room. No one moved. Zuko barely breathed.

Then Kanna rose, slowly. Instinctively Zuko moved to help her but she held up a withered hand and crossed over to him.

“Kneel, and close your eyes.”

Zuko did.

He felt her brush her fingers across his forehead.

“Now,” he looked up, “I, Kanna, matriarch of the Southern Water Tribe, mother to Hakoda, grandmother to Sokka and Katara, grant you my blessing, and the blessings of the spirits for your union.” She looked behind her, “Does anyone present of the bride's family object to the bestoying of the blessing?”

The only response was Sokka’s wide grin. Kanna nodded, and returned to her seat. Zuko stood, he couldnt hid the joy on his face, he bowed, low, to each person in the room.

“So,” Hakoda dawned a smile for himself, “have you carved the necklace?”

___

Later that night, Sokka walked Zuko back to his igloo. After Zuko’s announcement there were multiple rounds of celebratory drinks, and the pair was distinctly drunk. The southern warrior threw his arm around the other man’s shoulders as they neared the entrance.

“You know, Zuko…” He burped, “we all knew it was a matter of time before you asked her. Dad just put you through all those formalities to make you sweat.”

Zuko chuckled, “Well, it worked.”

His friend, and soon to be brother-in-law, turned to him, seriously, "You also have to know Zuko, that if Katara was here she would object to you asking us not just because it's and 'outdated tradition' but because there's no question that our answer would be 'yes'."

The Fire Lord looked at the ground, "I just... wanted to be sure."

Sokka shook his head, placing a hand on Zuko's shoulder, "We love you, Zuko. Everyone does. Honestly, I think Gran-gran likes you more than me, which hurts, but whatever," he shrugged, "bottom line, your an important part of this family, and you were long before you an Katara started sucking face." Zuko couldn't hold back a snort of laughter,

"I know, but sometimes it's hard, I'm not used to the whole 'unconditional love' stuff." he looked back, across the shining tops of the tribe, "you all just make it look so...easy."

Sokka laughed, "Yeah, tell that to dad the next time I loose blueprints."

He ruffled Zuko's hair, and returned to his position leaning on him.

“So, when are you formally popping the question?”

Zuko’s eyes traveled over to Katara’s igloo next door, then to the lights of the harbor beyond, and the twinkling stars and moon reflected in the still water.

“She comes back from Ba Sing Se in three weeks, so I figured as soon as she got home.”

Katara’s brother nodded, then grasped each of Zuko’s shoulders, making him look into his eyes, “That means you're staying long enough for bro time?” his brow was furrowed in absolute seriousness.

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

___

!!PLEASE REBLOG WITH THOUGHTS AND CRITICISMS!!

You guuuuuuys... it’s officially Zutara Week!!! YEE HAW!!!

Anyway, I’m sorry there was only indirect Katara in today’s submission. That will be rectified tomorrow. My plan for this year (though I haven't followed any plan for Zutara Week yet) is that all of my submissions will be apart of a linear narrative. It starts with today’s prompt, five years after the war, and goes from there. All of the submissions can be stand alone, but thay can also all be tied together. The only day that won’t follow this is Day Three: Celestial. I really love that particular one so its special. All of this could change, so don’t quote me on that. I hope you enjoyed :D

P.S. I’ll be tagging all my Zutara Week submissions for this year #ems zkw2020

#ems zkw2020 #Zutara week #zutara week 2020 #zutara #Zuko and Katara #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Zuko #katara #sokka #hakoda #bato

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luna-redamancy · 4 years

Note

Hi lovie💙💙 if you still want some requests I'm in dire need of a bit of angst and you write it so well!! You can choose whichever character you fancy💙 How about the reader having like a necklace, a ring or bracelet from a dead relative who meant the world to them and the character accidentally breaks it or loses it? What would happen?

Hiya lovebug ❤️ I chose Kili for the character, and because of that it’s not as heart-wrenchingly angsty as some of my fics because I just can’t hurt my heat when it comes to him haha but here you go:

“I don’t understand why we need Bilbo,” Kili huffed, taking a large gulp of his ale mug. Fili raised a brow in question as he continued to drink out of his respected mug. “What do you mean?” Fili finally asked, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.

“We both know I’m just as quiet and sneaky.” Kili was glaring now, a pout on his lips as Bilbo conversed with Gandalf by the fire.

Fili chuckled, shaking his head. “You mean to tell me you’re jealous that uncle didn’t ask you to be our burglar? Was a warrior and travel companion not enough?”

“You don’t think I’m as skilled as Bilbo?” Kili looked betrayed as he stared at his brother with wide eyes.

“A hobbit can go unseen,” Fili stated, taking another gulp.

“I’ll prove to you I can go unseen too!” Kili felt more determined than ever to prove his skill in order to gain his brother’s admiration and respect on a new level.

“How will you do that?”

Kili paused, thinking for a minute before his eyes locked on the ring you always wore. He knew it wasn’t a marriage ring that he had seen some humans wear, but you never seemed to take it off.

“I’ll steal (Y/n)’s ring.” He said with a smirk, confidence clear on his face.

Fili’s eyes widened, “You’ll never be able to do it.”

“I bet I can,”

And so the bargain was struck. If Kili could get your ring without you noticing, then Fili would take his dish duty for a week.

It was relatively easy, helping you onto your pony, you didn’t even notice his hand lightly tug on your ring to let it come loose and fall into his hand as you pulled free from his grasp to hold onto the saddle and adjust yourself.

“Thank you Kili,” You smiled down at him, ever unknowing about his robbery. Kili felt guilt begin to bubble in his chest, you were so trusting of him, so happy to let him help you. Forcing a smile, Kili nodded, “Anytime for my favorite lass,” He winked before moving to get on his own pony, patting the breast area of his vest to hint to Fili of the item’s location.

“You really did it?” Fili was astonished, never in all his years could he imagine you wouldn’t notice your ring being taken off. “It was relatively easy, however, my lovely brother, I believe you owe me now.”

“I’ll owe you when you give proof.”

“Proof? Alright then,” Kili reached into his vest’s inner pocket, pulling out your ring with a satisfied smirk.

Fili groaned, tossing his head back as Kili put your ring away. Or so he thought.

“Where is it?” The company heard you whispering to yourself as you frantically tore through your bedroll and your pack.

“What’re you looking for, lass?” Bofur called out, worried about your frantic searching. “M-my ring… I swore I had it this morning,” Your voice was on the brink of tears as you kept looking for it, not noticing Kili’s look of guilt.

“I’ll help you look, (Y/n),” Bilbo sat his stew down next to the fire to keep it warm while he looked with you, carefully unfolding your blankets to see if it possibly fell into them.

Reaching into his vest, Kili was ready to pretend he found it when he discovered his pocket was empty. His face went pale as he began to pat down his vest.

“Oh no…” He whispered, looking to Fili who’s eyes widened when he realized Kili had indeed lost your ring.

“I don’t think we’re going to find it,” Bilbo said after helping you go through everything and eventually repack it. “Do you think you lost it on the ride up here?” Bilbo questioned, squinting to look how far you all had ridden today, frowning when he realized Thorin wouldn’t let them double back for a ring.

“It’s just a ring lassie, when we get to Erebor you can pick out any of the millions in Thror’s hold,” Gloin tried to comfort you but it was pointless.

“It’s not just any ring,” You spat at him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “That ring was gifted to me from my grandmother, she died last winter…” You fought the crack that threatened your voice, your vision growing blurry with tears. You still hadn’t moved on like how your family expected you to. “That ring holds more sentimental value than anything I have ever owned in my life,” You sighed in defeat, having to deal with the grief that now you had lost your grandmother again. Fate had taken her from you twice.

Kili’s jaw dropped, he hadn’t even thought that your ring could hold so much value. The grip he had on his bowl tightened, he knew what he was going to do.

“Fili… Could you take over my watch tonight?” Fili didn’t have to ask what his brother was going to do. Silently nodding, Fili sent a mental prayer for Mahal to watch over his brother as he snuck away from the company late at night.

That morning you were silent, grief taking its toll on you as you grabbed breakfast with only a small thank you being the words you spoke all morning.

“(Y/n), may I talk to you?” Kili was nervous, fiddling his fingers as he awaited your response. “Go ahead?” You questioned, not in the mood for any playful banter or mindless flirting so early.

“In private?”

You paused, examining Kili more closely. “I guess…” You stood up and allowed him to lead you away from the company and into the treeline.

“The first thing I want to say is how sorry I am,” Kili began, jaw clenching as he fought the urge to look away from your eyes like a child being scolded. “I didn’t know how much your ring meant to you,” Kili pulled out your ring, freshly polished. Your eyes widened in relief, but before you could say anything, he continued.

“I was trying to convince Fili that I was as good of a burglar as Bilbo and I told him I could prove I was by taking your ring, I-I.. I’m so sorry,” He held it out to you, waiting for you to yell at him.

You were silent.

Taking the ring out of his grasp, you put it back on your finger, a piece of you feeling whole again from having it on.

“Why didn’t you give it to me last night, when you saw me going crazy trying to find it?” You broke the silence, anger clear in your voice as you clutched your hand to your chest as if he were to rip your ring off your finger again.

“I wanted to--”

“Then why?!”

“I lost it…” Kili responded, not meeting your ferocious gaze. “I realized that after somewhere on the path from yesterday it must have fallen out of my pocket-”

“Wait… You doubled back… Three leagues, because you felt bad you lost my ring?” Your tone softened as you tried to wrap your head around the whole situation.

Nodding, Kili kept his eyes on his boots.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/n), I completely understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore.” You were silent again, causing Kili to nod once more.

“I won’t disturb you anymore, I hope you can forgive me one day.” Kili looked up to give you one last smile before he would leave you alone for good when your lips pressed against his cheek.

“Thank you for returning it to me,” You grinned at him. “Although I don’t agree with why you took it in the first place, you went so far to make sure I had it again, and… That means a lot to me.”

Kili broke into a shy smile as you began to tug him back to the company.

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@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18@raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @underthemoon-imagines @ladylouoflothlorien @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @bad268 @legolaslovely @bthtallmadge2 @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf

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cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

Text

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page?

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to.

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I.

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing.

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid.

So very afraid.

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down.

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending.

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today.

So it is Written.

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know.

I'm sorry.

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen.

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers.

I'm sorry.

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands.

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms.

Or die trying.

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten.

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair.

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful.

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other.

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet.

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter.

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you.

Death is not merciful.

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable.

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water.

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING.

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering.

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain.

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water.

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings.

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least.

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't.

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name?

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin.

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit.

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you.

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together."

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling.

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors.

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer.

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me.

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption.

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive.

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly.

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier.

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth.

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for.

It's beautiful and terrible all at once.

Like me.

Like you too, I suppose.

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces.

You're becoming a real thorn in my side.

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you.

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick.

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose.

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even.

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden.

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me.

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black.

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name.

It's said that Demons possess.

But Angels abandon.

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for?

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple.

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence.

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse.

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it.

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you.

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate.

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful.

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands.

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced.

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving.

Something oozes between my fingers.

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be?

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for?

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp.

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity?

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close.

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now.

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke.

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please.

I'm scared.

I'm so scared.

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go.

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel.

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper.

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again.

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds.

The Horsemen are sealed away again.

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done.

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently.

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep.

#ic #action post #the end is nigh #blood #death #religious imagery //#blasphemy //#cannibalism //#police brutality //#ask to tag #body horror #dismemberment //#impalement #submission

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ikesenrambles · 4 years

Note

And for NSFW: MC suggesting spicing things up in the bedroom for Ieyasu, Kenshin, and Masamune

Hi Serene~! It’s been a while, so I hope that you are doing well! I am sorry for taking so long to get to this request o(╥﹏╥)o

Thank you for sending in this request - I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope that you enjoy reading it. ^^

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡

The following is NSFW:

Ieyasu

He’s bothered, a thousand questions on his mind. A frown silently appears on his face as he looks away, avoiding your expectant gaze. Has he not been satisfying you lately? Are you tiring of him? The thoughts send him spiraling.

Sex with Ieyasu is almost always in the same position. With you in his lap, he can hold you tight against his naked body; he can feel your hands tangled in his soft blond hair; he can kiss you until you’re both out of breath, gaze into your face when you’re convulsing in his arms, stroke your cheek until you fall asleep on top of him.

But now you’re suggesting switching things up. Had he been wrong to think all this time you were enjoying the sex as much as he was? He feels a pang of guilt, a flood of jealousy. He clenches his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. You were talking to Masamune just this morning - could he have filled your head with sexual fantasies, promising that he could better satisfy you–?

Only the sound of your voice pulls him out of the downward spiral and back into reality. He sighs, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. If it will please you to have him another way… he’d do it. He’d do anything for you. Finally meeting your eyes, he stares at you with conviction though his cheeks are burning with embarrassment: “What did you have in mind?”

When he asked you that, he certainly wasn’t expecting this. “You want to… watch me?” For a moment, he considers refusing your request, telling you to choose something else. But seeing that hopeful glimmer in your eyes, he finds himself agreeing instead. “F-fine…”

His face grows hotter yet as he disrobes himself on the futon, shuffling the hakama down his legs, his fingers loosening his kimono until it falls down his shoulders. He reaches for himself: one hand first, slow strokes up and down, then two hands… He can’t bear to look at himself anymore, not when he can see you watching him from in his periphery; biting his lip, he stares shyly at the ground, but his hands continue to work. Rubbing himself more roughly than before, he pants softly, beats of sweat forming at his temples as pleasure pulses through him in waves, almost making him oblivious of his surroundings. Before long, he’s closing his eyes, legs trembling as he edges himself closer and closer, as his hand moves faster and faster.

Then just like that, your name is unraveling on his tongue in a series of soft whimpers and moans - he had been imagining it was you touching him the entire time. When he finally comes to his senses again, he looks away flusteredly. “Now you know,” he mutters, blushing furiously as he avoids your gaze.

Kenshin

Sex with Kenshin is almost always spur of the moment, a hot culmination of the passion he possesses for you. Your most intimate moments with him are rarely ever planned. At times his desire for you is so overwhelming that it’s nearly impossible to resist. In these moments, your bodies both seemingly surrender to the carnal lust and urgent craving. Close is never close enough for Kenshin, and the need to mark you and make you completely his, drives his movements like an animalistic instinct.

Still, he’s never let himself completely lose control when the two of you are intimate. Knowing just how intense – and how rough – he can get, he has always kept himself back. After all, he would never want to hurt you, even if it were by accident.

That being said, he’s a little surprised when you ask him to spice things up in the bedroom, and he has his reservations. You trust him enough to let him take control of you in between the sheets, and he’d never want to do anything to break that trust. He’s worried about the possibility of going too far or pushing you beyond your limits.

But you quickly put his fears to rest. The feeling of your hand gently rubbing his thigh comforts him; he relaxes under your touch, calmly meeting your steadfast gaze. You give his hand a squeeze, smiling up at him reassuringly. “It’s nothing too crazy,” you tell him, a little sheepishly. “I was just wondering… if we could use maybe use the ropes tonight…?”

He’s thrown aback by your suggestion, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He lets out a quiet sigh, squeezing your hand back. As your eyes meet once more, you realize there’s a tinge of excitement behind that emerald green and ocean blue. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought, but the heat of his cheeks make it all too obvious that the idea thrills him. For a moment, a silence lingers between you two. Then, he shifts, his gaze meeting yours intensely. “When you say things like that…” he whispers in a low voice, “It makes me just want you so much more…”

Kenshin’s confession makes you blush furiously. Suddenly, your daring hands move, placing his around your waist. “We don’t have to wait until tonight,” you tell him, staring back at him with just as much conviction. Hurriedly, he picks you up and places you on the tatami mat. He leaves your side only to retrieve the ropes you asked him to use.

Of course, when it comes to tying you up, both of your worlds seem to slow down immensely. As reckless and harsh Kenshin can be, nothing demands more delicate attention in this moment than your body. Although he desperately wants you, he makes sure to take his time admiring every inch of your body as he undresses you. Finally positioning your wrists behind your back, he begins to arrange the ropes about your chest and waist, his nimble fingers binding you in the most beautiful way.

Masamune

The two of you are in the middle of preparing dinner together when suddenly, a puff of flour hits you in the face. You cough, shaking your head in playful disdain as Masamune’s deep laughter fills your ears. “Masamune, really?” you scoff, lightly shoving his shoulder before getting back to stirring the stew. “Come on, our guests will be arriving soon.”

You expect him to ease up on the play fighting, but it only seems to intensify as he blows more powder into your hair before scurrying away. This time, it’s on for sure. Holding the big wooden spoon in your hand, you wave it at him. “Hey, get back here! Don’t make me use this on you!” You’re both laughing, enjoying that familiar bubbly feeling in your chest as you chase one another about the kitchen. Still caught in your fit of giggles, you feel Masamune’s strong arms wrap around you from behind in what seems like an innocuous hug. He buries his face in your neck, his arms draped around your waist, as he sways side to side. “Quit fooling around and let me know how the stew tastes already…” you mumble, though admittedly the feeling of his arms around you provides a comfort you’re not quite ready to pull away from.

That’s when he presses his lips to your cheek in a soft kiss that’s sweet enough to make you melt. There’s a flurry of butterflies in your stomach as soon as he pulls away. “Come on, kitten,” he murmurs, the deep hum of his voice making your heart flutter. You grow quiet as soon as you feel his warm breath tickling the side of your neck. His fingers move to gently clasp yours, and he lowers the spoon back down to the kitchen counter.

You let go of the spoon, reaching back to comb your fingers through his beautiful brown hair. He grins, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you, and brings his lips to your skin once more… lower and lower, along the sensitive areas of your neck. You feel your body heating up faster and faster as his fingers suddenly dig into the flesh of your hips, his tongue flickering out to tease the side of your neck. Then he grabs your waist roughly and pulls you back against him, and that’s when you feel him… pressing up against you. “Masa…–” you gasp, only for your breath to catch in your throat as soon as his arms lift you up and place you on the tabletop.

“Yesterday, you said you were thinking of spicing things up a little, yeah?” he breathes against your neck, that sexy smile still on his lips. “How about right here, right now? How about for dinner, I have you instead?”

You’re caught off guard, but something as spontaneous as this is so characteristically Masamune that you couldn’t even say you’re really surprised. So you let him taste your lips and skin again and again (until of course, dinner time really does come around). Although, admittedly, by then… The two of you are already quite full.

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikemen sengoku headcanons #headcanons #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen kenshin #ikesen masaume #ikemen ieyasu #ikemen kenshin #ikemen masamune

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Christmas, Missions, Snowed In, Oh My! {Steve Rogers One-Shot}***

Steve Rogers x Avengers Reader

Warning: Heavy Cursing, Smut, NSFW, Blood

Words: 4.9k

Summary: Everyone on the Avengers and in your circle knows you CANNOT stand Steve Rogers. Steve isn’t losing any sleep over it because he can’t stand you either. Everyone completely understands this and makes sure the two of you are rarely on missions together. Unfortunately, a mission during Christmas leaves only the two of you to handle it. This does not help matters at all!

Note: Next up on Christmas With Lee is this amazing request from @sonjashuterbugjohnson I hope you enjoy this!

***Loosely Edited/proofread***

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“Unfuckinbelievable!”

Your shout echoed around you, bouncing off the snow-covered trees and the mountains behind you. The anger you felt was indescribable. This was not the way you wanted to spend Christmas. You wanted to be inside, with several bottles of whiskey and a fire, music, and food from your favorite restaurant. You did not want to be here wherever the hell you were with no whiskey, not even an ounce of alcohol, no fire, or music or food at all.

You’d been walking four hours and still, everything looked the same. All you could see was white snow, snow that was more than three feet high. Snow that was cold, wet and getting into places it should not be. You kicked the snow pile in front of you sending frost and flakes in the air for it blow right back at you in your face.

Behind you, there was a stifled snort. You felt big enough to take down a polar bear. Turning around there he was with the most annoying smirk on his face. it was a smirk he tried to hide but he did a shit job of it. the wind blew again and knocked you over into the several feet of snow. You sank into it screamed. Instead of getting up you just laid there. Then you heard it again, this time he had the balls to laugh. You’d had it. pulling yourself up you glared at him.

“What the fuck is so funny Steve!?” He raised his hands and shook his head as he approached you with his hand held out offering it to you.

You couldn’t believe this, you were in this shitstorm, well snowstorm because of him and he had the nerve to laugh and offer you help. You slapped his hands repeatedly then scuffled around the snow nearly drowning yourself in the process. Finally, when you stood up you were covered in snow.

“That was unnecessary,” Steve retorted with little to no emotion in his voice. Typical, you thought.

“Unnecessary? You’re unnecessary! Your whole existence is unnecessary! What is the point of you!?” Your anger was bubbling to the top. Everyone knew when you were angry it was not a pretty sight. You had a bad temper.

“Well, I am Captain America. I was created to be the beacon of hope and goodness in a time where it all was fleeting,” he responded. Your lips rose in a disgusted scowl. You wanted to throw a snowball in his hairy face, then sweep his legs out from under him so he could get another face full of the stuff. Shrieking out you turned your back and continued trekking through the endless snow.

“You’re ridiculous! This is all your fault!”

“I’ve apologized Y/N. What more do you want?”

“You to have been severely disfigured in that crash would have been nice!”

You heard his huff but ignored it.

“I mean if you knew you couldn’t have taken over for five minutes why did you say you could? I should have listened to my gut and just put on autopilot. I don’t know why I even allowed you to take over.”

“Maybe because you don’t allow me to do anything. I’m not your solider, we’re on this team together.”

A groan escaped you. You hated being on the same team as him. You hated him!

“I wanted to help.”

“I didn’t need your help; I could have done it myself. If I had we wouldn’t have crashed in the middle of god knows where in this fucking snowstorm! God, why are you even here!”

He didn’t respond. It was a good thing. If he would have said anything else you probably would have turned around and decked Captain America in his supposedly perfect super solider face. you continued walking and stewing in your anger. It was enough to keep you warm for now, but you knew you’d be frozen soon, or bleed out.

Another hour or two passed with you walking aimlessly. You used the device that mapped the terrain before you and calculated which route was best and most plausible to take you to civilization. You were almost sure it had been damaged in the crash but right now it was the only thing you had.

“Y/N.”

Ignoring him you continued forward.

“Y/N.”

Rolling your eyes, you focused on the device in your hands.

“Y/N! Stop now!”

Oh, hell no, you thought as you reared around with the only bitch look.

“Who the fuck do you think—”

“Shut up. Look!” You looked down but saw nothing. You lifted your foot and saw the clear sheen of ice.

“Shit.”

“Exactly. I can hear the rush of the water. Come,” Steve ordered.

Your defiance was in prime form right now, but you also had common sense. Slowly you walked back toward him but on your third step, you heard the loud crack which forced you to pause. Steve’s eyes were wide as he scanned around you. After a few moments, his eyes returned to yours.

“It’s going to break. From the sound of the water I’m guessing, for the most part, it’s not controlled by a current, but you will drift.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is your fucking fault!”

As soon as the words left your mouth the ice underneath you broke, and you plummeted into the below freezing water. Thankfully you’d been able to catch a mouthful of air before your fall. You tried to grab onto anything you could but there was nothing but water around you and ice above.

You reached your hands up hoping to break through the ice, but it was solid above you. you began to panic sensing your imminent death. You had maybe a minute of breath left. Your limbs began cramping up from the coldness of the water, your movements and attempts to push through the water to counteract the chaos was futile. Just as you were beginning to blackout a pair of strong arms yanked you up out of the water and onto your back. You coughed trying to rid your lungs of water and take in air at the same time.

“You’re okay. I got you.”

Your choughs continued until your chest hurt and throat burned. When they quieted and you got some semblance of calm in your body you realized you were lying back between his legs with him behind you. Rolling from him to a nearby tree you leaned against it and glared at him.

“It’s my fault, I know.”

“Damn right it is!” He nodded, stood and approached you with his damn hand held out again.

“Take it.”

Before you even thought about it you heard a growl and saw a wolf pounce onto Steve taking him to the ground. You sat there completely dazed as to what was happening. Steve groaned and rolled around with the wild wolf wrestling it in the snow. For a few moments, you lost them in the mountains of snow. Slowly you stood. Most of you was frozen.

“Stay—back!”

Steve grunted and shouted loudly. His shout echoed around you. It was so loud some of the snow fell from the treetops to the ground around you. The growling was so loud you were almost certain Steve was a goner. After a few seconds, you heard a yelp, then a loud snap and then silence as the growls stopped. All was quiet and still; you didn’t know what to expect. Steve crashed through the snow with blood on him. His blonde hair was a mess and he was panting. He looked like he’d fought a wild wolf and won. For a second you forgot your hatred for him and just marveled at him standing there like a triumphant Olympian. You didn’t recognize the feeling in the pit of your stomach, so you ignored it which allowed your anger to return.

“This is your fucking fault!”

“Jesus Christ Y/N!” His shout was loud, and you could have sworn you saw anger behind his steely eyes.

“Let’s keep moving, where there is one wolf the pack is close by.” He walked to you his intent clear to help. You pushed off the tree and walked ahead before he got a chance to get too close.

Another hour passed and your movements were tortuously slow, as was the ache by your torso. You’d refused Steve’s last twenty suggestions to walk with him so he could help keep you warm. You refused to let him touch you, refused to go anywhere near him. Part of you knew it was stupidity, survival skills said hate and anger would get you killed, emotion was the enemy in life or death situations. You were clinging hard to your hate and anger.

It was the reason why you collapsed into the snow before you. Steve was beside you in seconds.

“You’re so stubborn!” Without explanation, he began lifting you into his arms.

“Let me go. I can—walk.”

“You can’t even stand.” He attempted to lift you again, you groaned out in pain. He caught it and scanned you.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He began checking your body for injuries beginning at your head, then arms, skipping your torso to look at your legs. When he didn’t see anything, he unzipped your suit then saw the bloodstain soaked into your undershirt.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft but filled with worry. Steve put his fingers to your pulse point and waited a few moments.

“You’ve been bleeding out this entire time!”

He zipped you back up, stood and pulled you into his arms. Then he took off running through the snow. You felt the first few meters but after a few minutes, you stopped feeling the jerk of your body in his arms. The heat of his body wrapped around you began penetrating through your suit. Being a serum enhanced super solider really had its perks.

“Stay awake, Y/N. Stay awake.”

His voice sounded far away but you heard it. Soon you heard the breaking of wood and the sounds of footsteps on wood. He was still speaking but you didn’t hear anything he said. You felt taps on your cheek and your eyes fluttered open. He was blurry but he was there.

“Stay with me. Don’t give up on me. You hear me!”

As you drifted in and out of consciousness small details registered. The smell of alcohol, the sound of wood breaking or being ripped apart, the warm glow of fire dancing across a ceiling, the softness of something that felt like an animal, a hard piece of wood being put into your mouth then excruciating pain that went on for far too long. Every time you came to the pain was still present, so you passed out again. This process felt endless and you had no idea how long it went on for.

“Don’t leave me. Stay here beautiful. Stay and bother me.” The voice was echoed, slurred even but it was the last thing you heard.

When you opened your eyes the tightness and pain in your abdomen had you groaning loudly.

“Fuck me!” The scuffle of feet echoed around you then there he was. Steve Fucking Rogers. He looked different, a lot more rugged, and worried.

“Y/N.” His face focused and you groaned again.

“Oh my god. What happened?” You tried to sit up, but Steve stopped you.

“Stay down. You’re going to pop the stitches.” Your eyes bugged and you really tried to sit up then. Sensing you were not going to stop Steve helped bring you to a slouched position. You looked back realizing you were leaned against a wooden headboard. For the first time, you realized you were in some sort of cabin.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Some cabin. After you collapsed about forty minutes later I found it. I was able to get a fire started, melted some snow for water, found a pretty archaic first aid kit and coupled it with the basic one in the suit and stitched you up. You’ve lost a lot of blood. I wasn’t sure you’d make it. I had to give you a transfusion.”

Again, your eyes bugged. “A transfusion?”

He looked sheepish. “You’d lost too much blood Y/N. I had to give you some of mine.”

You looked to your arm and saw the makeshift transfusion needle and cord, but it was no longer hooked to him. a slew of things ran through your mind, but you couldn’t speak any of them. You were in shock. You knew it.

Fifteen minutes passed without a word. You remained still looking around, taking in everything you saw. The mess of medical supplies, the firewood, the top of Steve’s suit on the floor, plenty of bloodied clothes and bandages, the fur on the bed that you were laying in and your clothes on the floor. When you realized that you looked over your body. Your top half was bare, as was your bottom half.

“What the actual fuck Steve!” His eyes snapped back to yours then he stood and held his hands high in surrender. He knew what you’d just noticed.

“Why am I naked!?”

“I didn’t look. I had to get you out the wet clothes, you were hypothermic. I had to get you warm and get to the wound. I swear I didn’t see anything.” You hugged the fur blanket to your body as you glared at him. The annoying thing was that you believed him. He was that self-righteous, that good and pure that he wouldn’t dare sneak a peak or cop a feel while you were unconscious and incapacitated. It made you want to vomit then kick him in the balls.

“I would never dare compromise you like that Y/N.” You closed your eyes and shivered.

“You’re still hypothermic.” He approached and you gave him an evil look.

“Stay away from me. This is all your fucking fault. It’s your fault we’re even here!”

“For fuck’s sake Y/N. I know, I know, I know! I know it’s my fucking fault. I know I should have spoken up and said I couldn’t take over. Kill me for wanting to impress you, show you that I am not some incompetent fool or whatever you think of me to make you hate me so much. I’ve taken every horrible thing you’ve said to me for hours, years, I’ve taken it, gritted, bared it, I listened to your complaining this entire time, I withstood your stubbornness. I ignored all of it but fuck Y/N!”

You were shocked. Not only had he just expressed some sort of emotion that wasn’t chivalry, or politeness but he’d cussed. Steve “watch your language” Rogers just cursed, three times. As you looked at him you were filled with something strange. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was but again the pit of your belly responded. He looked angry, what more he looked emotional and flustered.

“What more do I have to do? I’m trying to save your life!”

You held your head high refusing to fall for it, refusing to feel bad for him. Rolling your eyes, you turned your back to him and laid down while breathing through the pain you felt. You gritted your teeth as your body shook with the deep chill you still felt. You would not cave. You lost consciousness again.

When you opened your eyes again the cabin was still glowing warm with the fire. You could hear the crackling of the wood as it burned and smelled the smoke it gave off, it smelled like pine and it gave the cabin a Christmas like scent. You also noticed the hard body that was behind you. It made you stiffen. Slowly you turned and saw Steve behind you with his arms wrapped around you. The heat from his body was delicious and with the fire, it worked to take all the cold from you. You could feel your feet and other body parts. As you were going to pull away you stopped. His smell took over. He smelled like the pine of the wood, but also like whiskey and the outdoors. It wasn’t a bad scent; in fact, the smell made your belly flutter.

Slowly you turned to face him. he was asleep. He looked peaceful as if he hadn’t slept in days and now that he was, he had no cares. You could tell he was still clothed which spoke volumes. He was still being the perfect gentleman. you trailed your eyes over his face then looked away when you felt your edge fading. Rolling back to your back you took several breaths. The stitch job on your abdomen was still tight, every move you made almost made you blackout. You could feel your strength returning though which made you feel so relief.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“You’re just a hatable guy.”

He didn’t respond but you heard the sharp intake of breath. Closing your eyes, you shook your head.

“In the real world people cuss, they throw tantrums, they have uncontrollable rage, they get shit-faced drunk, they lose control and have premarital sex sometimes with more than one person at a time, they are not perfect, they are not little robotic super soldiers. You live in this completely unrealistic world in your head. In the five years I’ve known you I’ve never seen you throw a tantrum, never seen any uncontrolled rage, or even seen you get shit-faced drunk, I’ve never seen you lose control or god forbid have premarital sex. I have only seen this perfect, self-righteous, polite, happy to serve, whatever it takes, I can do this all day, put my life on the line guy. Until this trip, I’d never even heard you curse.”

“Some would call that being the best of humanity,” Steve filled in. you scoffed.

“I would call it pure and utter bullshit. You are not real Steve. You are—a test tube. It is impossible to work with you or live up to you because you’re a false ideal made in a lab. Would it kill you to say shit once in a while? Get so fuming angry that you punch a hole in a wall, and not just knock a punching bag off its hook? What about have a drink, of four, have a hangover, or try for one even if you can’t get drunk because of that medical cocktail in your veins that is now in my veins? Would it be so bad to not be so perfect, show some humanity or even god forbid fuck someone? Jesus just fuck up!”

You were not standing and close to the fireplace holding on to things to not topple over. He was still in the bed. He looked as if he were thinking, looked as if he didn’t know what to say.

“So, you’re saying you want me to fuck up and hate me because I’m not reckless, or irrational, or emotional?”

“Do you feel emotions, Steve? No one knows. Bucky was missing, your best friend it didn’t look like it phased you except as a nuisance. You woke up after a hundred years, everyone you knew was dead or dying, you didn’t react, you just suit up and went fighting again. Do you feel anything?”

He was up with the quickness and walking to you. backed to the fireplace not thinking about the fire there. Steve pulled you to him. “Do I feel Y/N? You’re kidding me, right? Of course, I feel. I feel everything, I’ve always felt everything, but I do not have the luxury of throwing tantrums of refusing to help save the world because guess what, that is what I was made for.”

“Fuck what you’re made for. Be human. Have a human emotion, do a human action. You’re over a hundred years old and you’re just some glorified lapdog of SHEILD and the government that fucked you over!”

Before the words were out his lips crashed to yours. You were stunned and unable to move as his lips moved across yours. It didn’t take long for your body to react to him and kiss him right back. Through your anger and annoyance, something else shined through, something else that Steve soaked up. You felt his tongue delve into your mouth and you moaned. Steve’s arm wrapped around you pulling your closer holding you right where your tailbone ended.

Neither of you slowed or paused the kiss continued and became even more frenzied. The hand that was holding the fur blanket to your body moved allowing it to fall to the floor. You dug your hands into his hair groaning when you felt the pain the stretching produced. Steve was there to hold you up. You lifted your leg against him, and his free hand gripped up and lifted it and you higher into his arms. You wrapped your legs around him and kissed him more passionately. Steve moaned and turned back toward the bed. Once there he laid you onto the mattress and hovered over your body. He broke the kiss and kissed your neck then your shoulder and back to your neck to suck your flesh into his mouth.

You moaned and slightly arched, not enough to cause yourself pain though. Steve went lower to your breasts then ran the flat of his tongue across an already pert nipple. You moaned and hugged his head to your body. It didn’t take you long to get lost in the pleasure he gave with his mouth. He went lower over your stomach carefully avoiding the fresh wound there. When he got to your pelvis he placed soft kisses along your skin as he spread your legs. The first feel of his lips between your legs had you gasping loudly in the tiny cabin.

“Oh my god.”

Steve kissed, licked, and sucked your sensitive bud as he set a dizzying pattern. It was a pattern that your body could never get used to, a pattern that kept you guessing, a pattern that made goosebumps prick your skin. When your hands rested at the top of his head Steve moaned on your sex and slurped onto you. The new sensation made you whimper and drop your thighs back to meet the bed. Again, Steve moaned on you which set you off even more. It felt so good. You didn’t know how much stress you’d been under the last few years let alone since the crash. Steve was at the root of it all, right now he was at the root of your pleasure.

Steve sucked your clit into his mouth, and it was the straw the broke the dam on your desire. Suddenly an orgasm tore through your body sending your thighs clamping around his head holding him in place. Steve moaned and sucked more forcefully. Your high-pitched moans echoed in the cabin. When Steve pried your thighs apart he looked up at you and traveled back up your body with kisses. When he made it back to you, you claimed his lips in a searing kiss and moaned when his tongue fought for dominance over yours. You lifted the shirt he wore and pulled it off then trailed your hands down his smooth skin.

The man was like a baby’s ass, smooth and soft. You sat up and kissed his neck and down his chest across each perfect pectoral muscle and down each and every single one of his abs. He was the perfect male specimen. He was made with perfection in mind. Steve stood at the foot of the bed giving you complete access to his body. You pulled the rest of his suit down his body until his manhood flopped free. You almost gasped. He was packing and you shouldn’t have been surprised. Wasn’t it a side effect of the serum, didn’t it make everything bigger? You bit your bottom lip as you admired his length. Steve didn’t move a muscle. Closing your mouth around his need. Steve groaned every inch you slipped into your mouth he shivered. When he was mostly into your mouth he groaned loudly and gripped the top of your head.

“Mmmm.” Pulling your head back you slowly brought your lips to the tip of his cock then sucked on it.

“Shit!” You smiled on him and dipped your mouth lower taking him in again. This time you were able to accept his full-length something you could tell brought him deep pleasure from the way he held your head onto his hardness.

“Mmmm, Y/N!”

Getting tired of the slow pace you sped up and fully enjoyed every moan, shiver, groan, grunt and whimper you drew from him. after less than five minutes Steve was thrusting himself into your mouth and down your throat. Every connection with the walls of your throat had him fist your hair until he pulled back from you letting his spit slick need bob between you. Steve kissed you again, but you pushed him to his back then climbed on top of him. When you rose onto your knees you locked eyes with him. He looked vulnerable and drunk off of desire and need. You’d never seen him like this before and you really liked it. this was not the Steve you’d known all these years. As you slowly slid onto his need his mouth dropped open, his head arched back, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Fuck! It was a loud shout, it vibrated off the walls and you heard some of the snow fall outside. It turned you on immensely, so much that you intend to slowly guide him into your body, but you were now unable to go slow. As his wide girth stretched you his superior length filled you. soon you were rotating your hips on him and groaning every time his cock nudged your g-spot.

“Mmm, fuck!” Your pants did not stop or slow down and when your hips picked up the pace to bouncing on his need, Steve’s hands were there to squeeze onto your hips. The force of it made you groan. Steve suddenly pumped his hips up into you sending a new set of pleasure waves.

“Steve, yes!” Once the words escaped you were on your back with Steve taking control to snap his hip forward. His repetitive actions built a steady friction that you knew would bubble over any minute.

“Shit, yes, yes, yes, right there Rogers. Right fucking there!”

“Mmmm Y/N, you feel so good. So good!” The pitch in his voice was high. Forgetting the wound on your abdomen you pulled him to you and kissed him. His body collided with yours knocking the wind out of you, but you didn’t care, with he was doing to you felt too good.

Steve went to your ear and kissed it. “Of course, I feel Y/N, I feel what you’re doing to me right now, what you’ve always done to me. Do you feel this?” He slammed his hips forward feeding you all of him. You grunted and clenched around him which made him grunt as well.

“Fuck!” You smiled again and nodded, you couldn’t lie, you felt everything right now.

“Mmm, fuck yes, yes,” was all you could muster, you felt your release building.

“You make me want to lose control which makes me hold on harder to it. You bring out these human emotions I’ve buried for those hundred years.” Steve’s thrusts were getting sloppy and you knew he was close. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. The sweat rolling down his body made him look like a God and it turned you on even more.

“Fuck Steve yes, make me come, I’m gonna come!”

Your moans merged together creating a symphony of their own. You dug your nails into his back when you felt your release wash over you like a wave of fire. You shrieked out and clenched around him. Steve grunted and groaned and bucked his hips as he released everything he had.

“Fuuuuck!” Steve collapsed next to you and the two of you panted.

“Oh my god, that was incredible—you were incredible,” Steve rambled. You smirked, pinched your lips and looked at him.

“You’re not so bad yourself Cap, once you let go.”

There were three knocks, the two of you stilled.

“Eh-em, Cap, Y/N—um, rescue is here.”

“Do you still need that rescue? From the sounds coming from in there sounds like you’re good,” Tony chided.

Your eyes were closed. This was never going to be forgotten. You would be teased about your hot hate fuck with Captain America in some abandoned cabin forever.

“Y/N is injured. She needs real medicine,” he announced.

“Ready when you are. By the way congrats on your first time,” Tony added. Your head snapped to Steve.

“This is your—I was your—. You looked away and tried not to focus on any of it.

Ten minutes later you were dressed and hobbling to the quinjet with Steve following close behind with a hand at your back. Once aboard Nat and Wanda helped you to a seat where Vision was waiting to assess you. Once you laid back and Vision took a look at your wound Steve approached.

“How’s she doing?”

“Pretty good form you have here Cap,” Vision said.

“Thanks, it was hard as shit to do. I was sure I fucked it up.”

All eyes swarmed to him in pure shock. You just smiled.

“Language!” They all shouted in unison.

He smiled and looked to you before he winked.

“Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas Y/N.” You felt all heated and flustered. You had no idea what you’d just pulled out of Pandora’s Box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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