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lupaeus · 4 days

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Her and Andrei

send me a ship and i'll tell you . . .

who is more likely to hurt the other?

neither , he's so gentle with her ( in most situations lmao ) physically and they're both so conscious of each other's emotions it's just not even something they're at risk for

who is emotionally stronger?

andrei . this bitch is a wreck LMAO she's so traumatized and fragile when he finds her his emotional strength is one of the only things that helps her work through her ptsd / keeps her from coping recklessly

who is physically stronger?

again . be so for real lmfao idc if these girls are wolves have you SEEN him

who is more likely to break a bone?

again probably andrei just based on risk factor / healing time

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

neither of them really ever think to upset the other ( unless you count the beginning of this cruise verse but even then it's a unique situation lmao )

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?

they almost never argue , but emma . she's so scared of losing him and everything they've built it doesn't matter how small the argument is even if she was completely in the right she'll take time to cool off and then go find him and crawl into his lap and apologize ( and try not to cry )

who treats who’s wounds more often?

emma , and just like riley she sees him lying limp in her mind every single time . she's far worse at hiding it , especially when the wounds are really bad . there's generally a lot of tears and kisses and hugging ( and subtle siphoning ) involved and pauses to catch her breath when it gets to be too much before she continues fixing him up .

who is in constant need of comfort?

emma , especially during the first year or so . she's practically glued to his side while she figures out how to function again , and even once she's begun to heal emotionally she seeks him out first any time she's stressed or triggered .

who gets more jealous?

emma gets more jealous but she's less scary about it lol she worries more about losing him whereas he knows she's not going anywhere but it's a far worse day for someone trying to hit on her than someone trying to hit on him

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

no .

who will propose?

andrei ( except in the royal verse then it's kinda just like . implied lmao )

who has the most difficult parents?

emma's the only one that has parents , so . . .

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

both ; emma for comfort , andrei for protection

who comes up for the other all the time?

i still don't know what this means hang on . yeah no nothing on urban dictionary makes sense in this context i have no idea lmfao

who hogs the blankets?

neither , they literally sleep wrapped up in each other's arms . it's the way she feels safest ( which makes it incredibly difficult when he's away , but raz is nearly as comforting when he curls up with her )

who gets more sad?

emma , at least visibly . we've made it canon that she'll seek him out and just curl up and cry into his neck , and it's something that's not uncommon for her at all . for a good long while it's a nearly every day occurrence , and it's that way again almost immediately after she kills again .

who is better at cheering the other up?

andrei , all he ever really needs to do is hold her and tell her she's safe and okay and she believes him quicker than she's ever listened to anyone in her life . he's her absolute rock and the only person who can get through to her without any pushback whatsoever .

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

emma lmao but it's more like she'll make the silly joke and then wait for him to make a playful sarcastic comment in response to it and THEN giggle / lightly smack him

who is more streetwise?

andrei for SURE lmfao she grew up a rich american white girl in the suburbs and then went from from that to surviving with her pack to rely on she's never had to fend for herself before until she was taken , and in her mind at least , she failed then . she quite literally wasn't strong enough to be in the streets by herself much less learn how they work

who is more wise?

andrei send tweet

who’s the shyest?

emma send tweet

who boasts about the other more?

emma couldn't shut up about this man if she tried . she's so in love and so proud of him and everything he's survived and gotten stronger because of and everything he does for her and their family she tells anyone who will listen how incredible her husband is and how great of a dad he is and about whatever the latest amazing thing he's done is .

who sits on who’s lap?

this girl is 5'0 and 115lbs please be so fucking for real right now

#{ i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i love them i - }#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ › razorfst › ⌗ emma and andrei .#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ the intersection got a target and they’re calling it downtown ⌗ headcanon .#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ stayed on the line with you the entire night ⌗ answered .

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johnsamericano · 3 years

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𝓓𝓪𝔂 3:

ѕυн נσнииу

23 days of NCT masterlist.

warnings: tooth-rotting shit, Johnny is a dick at the beggining, inexperienced reader, fem masturbation, it's kinda bad but I hope you enjoy.

taglist: @notbeforelong @curieouscapt @whathamelon @unknown5tar

“I’m going out with my friends tonight, don’t wait up for me.” He commented while slipping his black, leather shoes on.

“Drive carefully .” You answered as you popped a cup of instant ramen inside the microwave.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath after the door closed behind him. Freedom finally.

You turned on the Tv, setting the volume louder than usual. Johnny didn’t like noise, to be honest, he probably didn’t even like you. He had so many house rules, you couldn’t even breathe without getting scolded by him. Not even three months had passed since your wedding and you already felt like you were in some sort of military camp.

“God, it smells so nice.” You murmured, pulling out the hot cup from the microwave and dumping the content in a bowl.

You ate on the sofa, another thing that Johnny hated, while watching your favorite series, enjoying your time alone. If it wasn’t for your parents, you would’ve never agreed to marry him, but they sounded so excited with the idea that you couldn’t refuse them, it wasn’t like you had a line of men waiting for you anyways.

You decided to have a little dessert, a mug cake, to be specific. You decided to make one for Johnny as well, the memories of you as kids eating all sorts of candies coming back to you as to mixed all the ingredients together. What happened to him during high school? All you knew was that he studied abroad and came back like a completely different man. He wasn’t your Johnny anymore. Of course, you were sad at first, but your sadness soon turned into anger as his attitude towards you got worse.

“Get lost.” Or “You’re so annoying.” Were some of the things you’d often hear.

You stopped trying after a semester, and it was quite healing to be honest. But then your parents had to bring him back to your life, and in the worst way possible. Nevertheless, they seemed happy, knowing that someone nice was living with you. Of course, they didn’t know the new Johnny.

After eating up all your food, you washed the dishes and laid down on the couch, your eyelids slowly closing as you drifted away. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later when a pair of arms woke you.

“Huh?” You opened your eyes a bit disoriented.

Johnny held you between his arms, carrying you towards your shared bedroom, which he almost never used.

“Go back to sleep, I got you.” He tucked you in with delicate movements. You could sense alcohol in his breath, but he wasn’t acting drunk at all. “Close your eyes.” He murmured as he felt your gaze over him.

“If alcohol was all it took for you to be nice, I would’ve poured some whiskey on your morning coffee every day.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remarks.

“I’ve been a bit rude to you, haven’t I?” He kneeled down in front of the bed, his thumb tracing the shape of your eyebrow. Now you were certain he was drunk. “I’m sorry, I still don’t know how to act around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you rejected me-”

“I’m sorry, what?” You frowned.

“You know, the letter I sent you when I was abroad...” He tried helping you remember, things getting clearer for him at your lack of response. “You didn’t get it, did you?” You shook your head. “Shit.”

“So you’ve been an ass to me for a letter I didn’t even get? Way to go, Suh.” Anger started boiling at the bottom of your stomach, sleepiness abandoning your system. “God, I wanna hit you so bad right now.”

“Please, do so.” He felt like a piece of garbage, having treated the girl he loved like his worst enemy for a misunderstanding. “But, hypothetically, if you had gotten that letter...what would’ve been your answer?” He fidgeted with the bedsheets, feeling your legs shift under them.

“I don’t know, what did it say?”

“I’m not gonna tell you what a lame 14 year old wrote to his crush.” He scoffed. “It was just a love confession, quite cheesy if you ask me.”

“If I had gotten that letter...” You cupped his soft cheeks, they were burning, probably because of the drinks he’d had, or maybe because of your touch. “I would’ve begged my parents to let me take a flight to see you, so I could answer to your confession in person.” His heart stopped, the answer he’d longed for so many years was finally about to slip from your mouth. “I did like you, John. But then you abruptly changed, and you hurt me so much during this past years.” Your words sounded unforgiving, and yet, you had the softest look on your moonlit face. “But I’m willing to let that go if you tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

He didn’t hesitate to pull your face closer to his, your noses slightly touching.

“I’m so glad you agreed to marry me, that way I get to spend the rest of my life with the woman I’ve loved for so many years. Only if you want that too, of course.”

“Will rude Johnny be back tomorrow morning?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together.

“Rude Johnny’s dead.” His sweet smile encouraged you to finally shorten the distance between your lips. It was your very first real kiss as a couple.

Your lips fitted perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces. He was the first to make a move, placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer as he climbed on top of your body. The kiss started getting heated, his tongue freely exploring your mouth as his hands got playful, softly kneading your breast.

The palms of your hands touched his well built pecs, a small gasp escaping your mouth as you realized how strong he really was. He was definitely not the skinny teenager you were in love with.

“What is it, baby?” He smiled, his cheeks turning slightly pink, your wide eyes looking attentively at him.

“Did you eat teenage Johnny or something?” He laughed, the prettiest and most genuine laugh you’d ever heard from him.

“No, but there’s someone else I’m surely gonna eat out tonight.” You smack his chest, a high pitched whine coming out from his mouth. “What was that for?”

“Don’t talk like that...it’s my first time.” He’d already guessed it by the fact that you’d never had a boyfriend or a proper date, but it was still shocking to hear it from your own mouth.

“Then I guess I’ll have to be gentle.” His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt right in front of your inexperienced eyes, cockily smirking at the way you’d unconsciously bite your lower lip. “Can I ask something?” You nodded, eyes still glued to his half naked chest. “The day of our wedding...was that your first kiss?” You remembered the lame peck you received as soon as the officiant declared you husband and wife.

“Sadly.” He felt as if a hundred needles were stabbing his lovesick heart.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, kissing your soft lips over and over again. “I stole your first kiss.”

“Then make up for it.” You raised your hips, your sensitive core meeting with his bulge and stealing a gasp from both of you.

His hungry lips attached to your neck, sucking several purple marks on it as your hands quickly worked through the remaining buttons of his shirt, helping him slide it down his arms. Even with the lack of light in your room, you could see his torso perfectly, the way his biceps would twitch as his hands slipped inside your shirt, thumbs caressing the soft skin of your tummy.

“Johnny.” You moaned, his hands moving upwards to play with your hard nipples.

“Turn on the light on the nightstand, I want to see you.” He murmured beside your ear, kissing the shell of it as you extended your arm to do as he said.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the new illumination. Johnny looked even more ethereal under the dim, yellow light.

“Why have you got to be so damn perfect?” Your fingers traced his well-defined abs, mesmerized by the shape of them. While you were distracted drooling over his body, he took the chance to lift your shirt just above your round boobs, moaning at the sight of the two, beautiful mounds. Reality stroke you as you felt your nipples harden from the cold air. “Don’t look at me like that.” You avoided his eyes, your body growing hotter under his intense gaze.

“How do you expect me to look at the woman I love?” You turned to your side, shirt still lifted.

“Stop it.” Johnny loved how shy you’d always been around him, specially whenever he complimented you.

“No.” He pecked your cheek, hands going down to remove your shorts, stopping right before lowering the waistband. “Are you really okay with this?” You nodded, still refusing to look at him.

“Are you?”

“What a silly question, of course I am.” Without any further delay, he pulled both of the pieces covering your lower half down. You pressed your legs together, trying to hide your wet center. “Why are you hiding yourself from me, baby?” He mocked, hands caressing your round ass.

“I’ve never been naked in front of anyone.” He was quick to dispose his remaining clothes, wanting to make you feel more comfortable.

“Look at me.” His big hand was holding the side of your head as you turned back to him, trying your best not to look down at his manhood. “Open your legs for me.” As he was the experienced one, you decided to let him take the lead, slowly revealing yourself to him. “Good girl.” His praises only sent electric shocks right into your core.

“Are you gonna put it inside now?” Adorable, Johnny thought, using his finger pads to tease your inner thighs.

“No, I need to prepare you first. Otherwise, it might hurt.” He’d done it thousands of times, but it somehow felt different with you, as if he had to be extra careful to make sure you had the most pleasurable experience, even if it meant having to endure the stinging pain between his legs for a while longer.

He first used his middle finger to run it up and down your slit, satisfied at how wet you were for him. He talked you through every single one of his movements, making sure you were comfortable with everything he was doing.

“Johnny.” You whined, three fingers pumping in and out of your entrance. It was definitely different than when you did it by yourself, his digits reached deeper, delivering a new kind of pleasure. “I need you.”

He hummed, pulling out his fingers to grab the base of his dick. He ran the tip over your slit, your hips slightly bucking at the contact.

“Tell me when it stops hurting.” He was only halfway in when you asked him for a break, already feeling overwhelmingly full. “Don’t worry, take your time.” He said despite feeling the urgent need to move.

It took you a few minutes to recover, letting him bottom out. The pain was bearable after that first break, so you almost immediately asked him to move. Johnny started off slowly, both of his hands beside your head as he rolled his hips against yours.

“Does it feel good?” He didn’t even need a verbal answer, your facial expressions were more than enough to let him know just how good he was making you feel. “I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me neither.” You held onto his biceps, the knot on your tummy becoming tighter as he picked up the pace.

He lowered his face to connect your lips, both of you moaning into each other’s mouth as you reached your high, bare chests touching each other while you tried to slow your heartbeat.

“I wish this would’ve been out wedding night.” He kissed your collarbone, pulling out to plop down beside you. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Let it go already, John.” You hugged his naked body against yours, letting his hand play with your hair. “As long as you’re like this from now on, we’ll be alright.”

You didn’t even notice when your eyes started closing again, falling asleep beside your now loving husband. The next morning you panicked as he wasn’t by your side anymore. Had it been a dream?

“Good morning, sunshine.” Johnny suddenly came through the door, a tray with food between his hands. “You must be hungry after last night.” He left it on top of your legs, smiling naturally as if this was your everyday routine.

It was definitely gonna take time to adjust to this Johnny.

“Heart shaped sandwiches? That’s so corny, Suh.” You laughed, staring at your food with sparkly eyes.

“Hey! That took me two hours to make.” He went to the bathroom and returned with a hairbrush. “Your hair’s a mess, let me fix it while you eat.” He sat down behind you, slowly going through your hair as you stuffed your face with food.

“Does this mean I’m not gonna have to add whiskey to your morning coffee?” He chuckled behind you, pressing his lips to the back of your neck.

“That won’t be necessary.” He tied your hair up in a not-so-messy bun, lacing his arms and legs around your waist once he was done. “You look cute on my shirt.” You hadn’t even noticed. Probably he’d cleaned you up and dressed you right after you fell asleep.

“I look cute in everything.”

“Yes you do.” More kisses. “Now hurry up, we’re going out today.”

“Where to?”

“I’m taking you out on our very first date.”

#nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios

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fandom-imagines-stories · 3 years

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Lesson Number 1: I am not him

Table of Contents

It was almost comical. The halls of the palace were almost completely silent, with the exception of a few maids scurrying here and there. After the commotion of the last few days, America couldn’t help but laugh to herself. While her body was still exhausted, she felt like she’d go insane if she spent another second in that bed. Her usually company of the newborn twins and her devoted, if not somewhat paranoid, husband.

All of whom, however, were no longer by her side. The twins, of course, had been approved to move into the nursery for now, but she wasn’t entirely sure where their father had gone. She hoped he wasn’t working. He overworked himself as it was and he couldn't have slept a wink these past two days. If she found him at his desk, she’d throttle him- king or not.

Luckily for him, he was not in his office. When America did finally find her husband, she felt silly for not checking the nursery first.

Maxon was sitting by the window, a bundle of blankets held snugly against his chest. Ahren was fast asleep in his crib and America reached a hand down, taking his smaller hand in hers. She made sure her movements were slow and gentle so she wouldn’t wake him. Though it was dark, she could have sworn she saw a smile cross his tiny little mouth.

“He’s got your smile.” She whispered, startling her husband out of his trance.

“My dear, what are you doing up?” He stood quickly, but his movements woke the infant in his arms. Little Eadlyn started to cry, which of course, elicited the wails of her twin brother as well. Maxon grimaced. “I’d finally gotten her to sleep.”

“Sorry.” America giggled, quickly scooping her son up in her arms. “There, it’s alright.”

“You were so peaceful a second ago, Eady.” Maxon groaned, lightly bouncing the screaming child in his arms. America smiled.

“She’s a fighter. I can tell.”

“Well, she is your daughter.” He gave her a smirk and sat back down, gently soothing Eadlyn back to sleep. America was successful with Ahren as well and took the chair across from Maxon. He gave her a stern look. “You just gave birth to twins, America. You should be in bed, getting your rest.”

“I’ve been in bed for two days now. I want to be here with you. Besides, it seems like you could use the help.” She snickered.

“I was managing.”

The two didn’t speak for a while. They listened to the slow breaths of their sleeping children and stared out at the night sky. Despite her efforts, America’s exhaustion got the better of her. She fell asleep with Ahren’s head against her chest, his little hands clasped around loose strands of her fiery hair. It was a brief, beautiful moment of peace.

Maxon soon felt the panic seize his chest. Suddenly the weight of the child in his arms was the weight of something else entirely. Something he couldn’t escape. He stood, slower this time so that he wouldn’t wake Eadlyn, and laid her in her crib. He ran a finger across the soft, delicate skin of her cheek. Even now, she looked like an echo of his mother.

There was still that familiar ache in his heart. An ache that had healed some with time, but he knew would linger in him for the rest of his life. His mother was gone. Her gentle heart and her loving gaze was lost forever. With thoughts of Amberly came thoughts of his father. Maxon winced as painful memories invaded his peace.

“Sleep well, my dear.” He whispered, kissing America gently on the forehead before escaping into his own personal panic.

She woke only an hour or so later, finding Maxon gone and Ahren’s tiny, fat fingers tangled in her hair. He was sleeping like a rock, so she was able to put him back in his cradle without waking him. Fighting through her fatigue, she once again roamed the dark hallways of the palace, but this time, something was driving her to one place. Call it instinct or a wife’s intuition, but she knew something was wrong and she knew exactly where to find him.

The last time they’d been up here was on their anniversary. Maxon had arranged for a very romantic roof-top picnic, followed by a sweet dance beneath the sunset. Now, America knew that this would be his safe place.

When she first opened the door, the roof appeared empty. She turned her head a slight shuffling sound, finding Maxon sitting with his back against the wall, hands resting in his lap. His gaze was distant, focused on something beyond the walls of the roof. His eyes- while still holding that slight glimmer of light that America had come to love- were filled with tears.

“Maxon, what’s wrong?” Again, her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“You’re supposed to be resting. It’s too cold-”

“Don’t avoid my question.” She said sternly. Maxon sighed.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Now, will you please go back inside and get some sleep?” America simply put her hands firmly on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at her stubbornness. “Very well. Come here.” He opened his arms and she settled into his lap, laying her head against his chest.

“Something is bothering you.” She said, pressing a small kiss to the edge of his jaw. “And don’t tell me it’s not my concern. I just birthed your children, so I think we’re past the brooding-in-silence stage.”

“Yes,” He laughed, “I suppose we are.” She poked his chest playfully.

“So spill, Schreave.”

His face fell and the playfulness of the moment quickly faded. His eyes became distant again, but this time, America could really see what was in them: Fear. Maxon was completely and utterly terrified.

“Maxon?”

“What if I can’t do this?” He looked at her, eyes wide and desperate.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I can’t be a father? I don’t know the first thing about fatherhood! I can address an entire country, but what if I don’t know what to say when Eadlyn cries? Or when Ahren asks me some important, life-altering question?”

“I don’t think he’s going to have any of those.” America smiled. “At least, not for a while.”

He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice cracked slightly, revealing the true source of his fear.

“What if I’m…” He gulped, a tear just barely escaping down his cheek. “What if I’m like him?”

“What?” America’s heart broke seeing him like this. The fact that he could doubt himself made her ache.

“My father. The crown and the power corrupted him and made him hateful and impossible and violent. What if it does that to me? What if I’m a no better father than he was?” His voice was shaking and America pulled him into her arms as his hid his face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her as he cried a little harder now. “I don’t want to be him, America. I don’t want our children to be afraid of me.”

“Oh, Maxon, they aren’t going to be afraid of you. And you don’t have anything to be afraid of.” She pulled away so she could look upon his face. “You are not, and you will never be, anything like that man. You are kind and loving and brave and so many things he never was. I’ve seen the way you are with Kile and he isn’t even your son. Watching you with Eadlyn and Ahren now…” She ran her fingers through his blonde hair, messy from hours of excitement and stress. “It has made me love you even more.” She pulled his lips to hers for a kiss of assurance, comfort, and a reminder of who he really is.

After a few more minutes of quiet, Maxon scooped America up in his arms and carried her back inside where they could both rest for the night.

#maxon schreave #the selection #kiera cass #maxon and america #king maxon #parenting #king clarkson #the selection series #josh hutcherson #because that's how i picture maxon

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apprentice-maliya · 3 years

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soft and wounded and the night

pairing: asra/mali’ya cw: nightmares, amnesia word count: 3.4k song: solovey by go_a

In his dreams she’s always singing, though Mali’ya only hums.

I gathered the flowers, braided them into a wreath

She was facing him with her back in that memory, her attention to the sink while honey curls swayed gently under the green kerchief at every tilt of her head.

She’d let hair down, he noticed. That was rare. Once, she’d told him it would always get in the way when she was working.

Her hands washed the dishes in circular motions, slow and careful not to let one slip. Alone in her thoughts, Mali’ya breathes out the songs of her childhood in soft whispers and Asra wonders, each time they meet there, in the empty boundary between memory and reality, how could he ever forget that silvery sound?

He had heard her talk in her native language before, when she wasn’t yet fluent in Vesuvian and the confusion in her mind came out of her lips with frustration and embarrassment; he remembered the words being harsh and intricate and mysterious when she spoke to her aunt, words that crashed one against the other and merged together in a way so foreign to him that Asra could never completely understand.

But when Mali’ya sang, nothing else mattered anymore. All things faded out, all worries and thoughts, all shapes and colours; washed away by songs she knew by heart. It was then, only then, that Venterrean forgot all about its hardness, maybe lost to the water running down the sink or still lingering in her mouth in words of unspoken terrors.

Braided them into a wreath, the rue and the periwinkle flowers

Even after all that time, Asra could never really give a name to the feeling. He was sure, though, that there was nothing more enticing than the way Mali’ya’s voice would die out like candlelight.

After securing the last plate in the cupboard, Mali’ya turned to him with that indulgent smile of hers he so much loved.

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” she asked with curiosity, thinking about the days he would overhear her from his booth on the other side of the backroom’s wall, her own bedroom at the time. “It’s not the loveliest song. Or language, even.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early

Shaking his head no, Asra mirrored her smile from the kitchen table where he was sitting. “Actually,” he replied, lips up in a playful smirk, “It’s very, very lovely, if you ask me.”

Happiness was bright in the curve of her mouth as Mali’ya approached him, jade eyes dissolving for a moment into a line of thin golden lashes, pressed down in disagreement under her furrowed brows. He couldn’t help it. Instinctively, perhaps a bit too eagerly (but who was he to deny her?), the moment she made way between his parted legs to get closer and her hands ran up to cup his face, Asra leaned in to meet her touch.

Oh, how he’d missed this. The gentle palms, and the smallest hint of calluses on her fingertips; her thighs, too, which he held on to steadily, still so soft and welcoming as he remembered them. The scent of her freckled skin, something faintly floral, embracing him from every angle like a protection charm.

Carding her fingers through his hair in a way that it would give her free access, Mali’ya bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, and Asra tilted his head up to welcome what would come next.

So Mali’ya kissed him with no hesitation, her lips on his and his heart on a sleeve, the beats loud and attuned to hers, to the song her aura let out when their souls would meet.

It felt so right, it always did. It was the place to be. Always, forever, as long their bodies would last before turning to dust.

She smiled into the kiss and slowly began to pull away, while the smell of rain gathered gently around them. It was the same as when she enchanted her chamomile tea before going to bed, Asra recalled, hoping that the memories wouldn’t come back to devour her in her sleep; the same as when she found out about the kids, and healed the wounds on their knees with a simple ghosting of her fingertips. It was the smell of storms and worry, but she always looked hopeful when it rained.

I’ll stop soon, and you’ll be able to play outside again, she would tell Luz.

Asra wraps his arms around her. The song echoes,

My heart can’t feel good about this

Don’t go. Don’t go.

“Asra,” Mali’ya called, tender as ever. Any tinge of joy in her voice was gone already; and although she was trying to sound serene, and he couldn’t see the sadness in her eyes, he just knew it was there. He had learnt everything about her during the time they’d spent together; every gesture, every change in her behaviour when she would push aside what she truly wanted. And Asra knew this was for his sake alone, too. He’d been foolish to hope things could change; as if nothing could ever change, at last in his memories.

So he kept quiet.

Her hands were still caressing his nape when Mali’ya spoke again. “You have to wake up, love,” she murmured, returning his hug just as urgently.

She rarely called him that, Asra thought. Because she had grown up believing love was to be found in the little things, those unnoticeable acts of service towards the ones she cherished, Mali’ya had never been one for pet names or clamorous displays of affection. She would rather trust, offer, provide; pour her heart into everything she touched.

Love.

Four silly letters for one silly word. Asra still remembered a time before her in which it was just a meaningless concept he and Muriel did not dare to share with the world. But when she called him that, she made it sound like the poets had been right all along.

“You know you can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” He sounds like a whiny brat, of that much he’s aware. He holds her closer. Can’t they just go back to being kids? Can’t he make it right once and for all, can’t he make up for what he had destroyed with his own selfishness? Mali’ya squeezes her arms around him one last time.

In the distance, someone sings a song of longing and fear.

“Take care, love,” is her parting whisper.

Then Asra blinked and she was gone again, like smoke, bringing any trace of sunlight away with her. It was as if she’d never been there. As if he’d abandoned her once more. Shut her out. The one that had tiptoed so gently into his world, cradled his heart and soul in her hands asking nothing in return. She, Mali’ya, who was made of chopped roots and timid branches and radiated so much warmth he could drown in it. He’d taken her for granted from day one, apparently, because there was never a time in which she’d beg him to stay.

As though all strength had been drained from him, Asra leaned in on the table as the room dissolved around him, arms covering his face and fingers gripping his hair in a punishing hold because you killed her, Asra. You killed her and she’s never coming back. Never. And it’s all your fault.

It gets cold in the nightmare. The wind howls, scentless and cold, and this time the whiffs don’t carry any songs with them. Asra stays still. There are no tears he can cry; he dried them all a long ago, digging his hands until they bled on the black shores of the Lazaret.

If it hadn’t been for you, Mali’ya would still be alive. Breathing.

It took him but a second to put a face to the voice echoing in the void of his mind. It wasn’t like anything he had heard before, because now Mrs Heralia sounds angry, and disappointed, and her thick accent makes way among the words like it’s meant to stab him through his heart. And she would have all the reasons to do so.

Why did you leave, Asra? Why did you leave my niece alone? You promised you’d take care of her on my behalf. I entrusted her to you. Tell me, do you have any idea of what she must have gone through while you were away, warm and healthy and very much alive? Do you, Asra?

The voice was growing louder in his ears. Asra felt like his head was about to explode, but it was a blessing that his teacher wasn’t real, not physically there to make him stare into her soul and force him see all the hurt he’d caused to her only niece— The same he saw in his eyes every time he looked at himself in the mirror, a pretty wicked thing worn out by selfishness and anguish.

“I— I never wanted to— I thought she would—”

That she would come after you when you left? Oh, but do you know why she didn’t? Can’t you possibly imagine why she stayed?

Heralia let out a sigh, low and disappointed. Sharp. Asra could tell she was aiming for her killing blow.

Has she ever meant something to you more than a shadow that would follow you everywhere and console you in the dark?

Water gathered in Asra’s throat, setting it aflame as an apology fought its way out. He jumped up, forgetting about the chair he was sitting on; which, without making a single sound, fell quickly into the darkness rising at the edge of his consciousness.

No, he meant to tell his teacher. A last defence against the hatred dripping from her chin. She was more than that, so much more. But a choked sob came out instead, before another followed, and another, and another...

Suddenly he feels like a child again, out in the cold. Alone. Mrs Heralia has vanished, too, and in the wide, scary unknown around him that’s slowly drifting from pitch-black to candid shades of white, Asra feels it; death’s touch like ragged paper on his skin, passing him by, so his lungs are full of air again and his heart pumps louder in his chest. It could be heaven, just floating around aimlessly in pure light.

The first thing he hears is the familiar sound of cutlery clinking before him.

Asra opened his eyes, waking up to the small kitchenette on the shop’s first floor. Nothing had changed a bit since he came back from… Well, he couldn’t really remember. But small bouquets of dried herbs still hung above the stove, where the salamander was sleeping soundly, and familiar, colourful jars filled the cramped shelves.

Then he hears her. She’s singing, of course she is. She’s calling him back to her. And she must’ve been so close he thinks, maybe climbing up the stairs or folding some clothes in the other room, because her voice was all around him and he would have looked for her everywhere if only the kitchen hadn’t started spinning like crazy, merging colours and shapes and taking his breath away in heavy gasps—

In the end, like always, the dream takes over the memory too quickly to linger anymore. So Asra gives up. There’s no hope to win against his guilt, to pacify it once and for all. And he’s so tired. Tired of wishing for her to remember him. Or what they had. Her past, their past, the days spent together climbing trees and learning magic and holding hands. He’s tired of trying.

Asra falls in the cold, again, curled up in the white nothingness around him.

Take care, love.

That voice again. Just now, someone was calling out to him in the distance. But who? And from… where…?

All of sudden, memory and sleep parted from him. The cold, too, had disappeared. There was something warm and delicate holding his face, though he couldn’t tell what. It was soft and a bit rough around the edges, shaped like it was meant to be cradling him, and strangely enough, the air smelled like damp soil after a long night’s rain. His body felt heavier than before as well, out of his dream-like state, while his lungs still struggled to catch up with his frantic pants.

“Master? Can you hear me? I’m here, Master. You’re safe— Please, please wake up.”

A hand, that was it, carded through his bangs, pushing them aside so that his forehead could freshen up. As a matter of fact, he did feel a bit hot. Asra slowly cracked his eyes open to take in his surroundings.

He was in their bedroom. It was probably late night, or maybe early enough for the sun to rise. Not like he could tell. Fireflies swirled silently around him—no, not fireflies, but tiny spheres of light. Gentle hands cupped his face, thumbs slowly stroking his cheekbones.

A few inches above him, Mali’ya let out a long, relieved sigh. She was kneeling on the floor, probably feeling a little sore by now, nonetheless she smiled reassuringly in his direction. Her braids were messy, Asra noticed. A few golden strands curled on her cheeks, framing her eyes. How could anyone be so beautiful?

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a bit startled the moment their eyes interlocked. Asra couldn’t really see it, his vision hazy from the dream, but he knew of the hint of a blush that was about to spread on her face at the sudden realisation of their close, if intimate, proximity. Despite that, she didn’t pull away. If anything, Mali’ya’s aura grew warmer. “It was just a nightmare.”

Asra propped himself up on one elbow, but regretted it immediately. To leave him more space to move and stretch, her hands intertwined on her lap.

“’M sorry I woke you,” he blurted out, still fighting the remnants of sleep.

Mali’ya shook her head as to shush him, lips still up in the gentlest smile. “Don’t say that,” she coaxed him, but then she stopped, unsure, fidgety fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown. “Is there anything I can do? Like…”

Staring at her with an expectant look, Asra felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t help it, not with her being so thoughtful and sweet in her shyness.

“Like a cup of tea. Or I can brew you some chamomile, if you want, or...” Jade eyes pierced right through him like arrows from Cupid’s quiver, soft and sincere and always, always agonizing to stare into. “Would you like… a hug?”

Asra sat up, fully awake now, smiling teasingly as he raised an eyebrow. “A hug. You sure make it sound important, do you?”

“You always hug me when I have nightmares,” Mali’ya replied, not taking any of his playful tone, although the red deepening on her cheeks said a lot about the embarrassment coming from his remark. “Fine,” she sighed, stumbling back up to walk to the kitchenette. “The tea will do.”

Asra chuckled. She’d never been comfortable with displays of affection, had she? Even before this whole mess it had taken her a while to step out her bubble and hold his hand just because, or kiss him on a whim, let alone anything like listening to her body when the words would fail them. And Asra had been happy, oh, so happy to witness the rewarding growth of her blooming confidence.

When he stepped into the small kitchen, Mali’ya was already crouched down beside the stove. She was saying something in a quiet whisper, looking apologetic, and a moment later she got up to pick a flower from the ones he’d brought her from the forest a couple of days ago, for her to dry. She knelt down again, offering a wild amaryllis to the salamander, and beamed.

“Thanks. And sorry for troubling you, little one.”

“He must have a soft spot for you,” Asra pointed out as he sat at the table. “I never seem to bribe him right.”

Mali’ya let out a small laugh, adjusting the teapot on the stove. “Oh, it’s not hard to please him. After all, everybody wants to be pampered once in a while.”

Resting his chin on the inside of his hand, Asra hummed quietly. “So do I get to be pampered, too?”

There is a thin line between this and mere selfishness, he thinks, but his heart speaks before his mind can catch up and properly elaborate his thoughts.

“Will you sing for me?”

Abruptly, Mali’ya stopped in her tracks, her hand coming down from the shelf where their cups rested. She didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t think of any songs.”

I’m sorry I can’t remember.

Asra felt his heart sink in his chest. “No, it’s—”

“Do you… do you have any suggestions? They say you can make a song out of anything.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, now busying herself with the steam rising from the pot, but the resolve in her voice was strong as ever. From the moment she’d first woken up from her slumber, Mali’ya had made so much progress; she was curious, determined to learn and catch up to normalcy, and stopped at nothing. There was always a way with her. She’d always been like that.

“Master?” she called out to him, their mugs in hand, and Asra quickly snapped back to reality.

“You remember the song,” he started, carefully threading each word so as not to prompt one of her devastating headaches. “That I would sing to you when you couldn’t sleep? It’s been a while, though, you probably—”

“The one about the lovers and the nightingale. Yes,” Mali’ya cut in, gently pouring the tea in his cup before filling hers. She nodded, then handed him the honey jar. “I remember that.” A small smile that barely revealed her dimples curved up her lips as she blew on the infusion. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Ah,” Asra said. Was it just a coincidence? That she liked the same song she once used to love? His attention returned to the mug before him. “Is it?”

“Of course. You said you heard it from a traveller, right?”

“Something like that.”

Mali’ya looked down, pondering something. A tea leaf floated in the greenish drink in her hands, its corners burned by the hot water it had been thrown into. She tentatively took a sip. “Were they native? From—where does the song come from?”

“Venterre. I translated it,” Asra explained, though it wasn’t exactly how things had gone. There had once been a time in which he had been the one asking her to share the secrets of her mother tongue. A request Mali’ya couldn’t refuse him, no matter the difficulty of those foreign sounds. “And yes, they grew up there... but left at a young age.”

Mali’ya closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought. Hadn’t she been smiling in the while, Asra would’ve thought he’d said too much. So he did the same. “Something’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering, what does Venterrean sound like? I’ve never heard anybody speak it,” she confessed with a shrug, and took another sip from her cup. “Though I suppose it’s not the loveliest language.”

“It’s actually very, very lovely,” Asra replied.

Beyond the curtains the sun began to rise, idly bathing the kitchenette in its warm and golden light. Mali’ya still pondered something, chin on her palm as she looked over the window. And just like the first time they’d met, two strangers in the Market District fighting for their lives in their own way, Asra couldn’t stop looking at her as she glowed before his eyes, ethereal and strong and beautiful in the fiery red of dawn.

With a quick motion of his fingers he pinched the tip of her nose, causing Mali’ya to snap out of her train of thoughts. “I can teach you some words, if you so wish,” he suggested before taking a long sip, and lowering his gaze. “Although I must tell you, it’s not the easiest language either. It might take some time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mali’ya shook her head, a smile carefully concealed between her lips. “We have plenty.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early My heart can’t feel good about this Nightingale, nightingale, what do I do now? I came to love him once—and cannot forget him.

#the arcana #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #🏷 book i: mali’ya #💌 : can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland #i published this on here and ao3 like exactly one year ago does it ever draw you crazy how fast the night changes #dani writes

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dirt-cup-draco · 3 years

Text

Jaskier x Reader- Songbird and Dove

For love languages: Could I request Jaskier + Words of Affirmation, please? Thanks so much!!

Jaskier ran his calloused fingertips over the swoops and curls of every word. It felt unreal holding this cursed paper in his hand. He scoffed, trying to keep tears at bay. Geralt would have actually tried to see if the letter was cursed and Jaskier did wish it was something so easy to fix. Jaskier had to chew on his lip until blood welled up and shocked him back into a more stable set of mind as the iron hit his tongue.

He had a funeral to plan.

“And what’s a darling thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?” Jaskier had ambled over to your table where you picked at a stew, legs travel wary and mind numbed. No room for playful flirting with a drunk bard.

“Trying to eat in peace,” You said softly, no real venom attached. You would have been all for a nice time with the handsome man but you were simply too exhausted to enjoy anyone’s company.

What you weren’t expecting however was for the high energy man who had been tossing back another ale and belting it out on stage no more than five minutes before the sit down heavily beside you, his wide grin melting away to something far more gentle as he rolled his head on his shoulders to relieve some tension.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong but-” He was cut off by two men who had gotten into a fight near the bar, their raised voices interrupting everything as they began to throw punches. Soon enough they were thrown out and you turned your gaze back to the now exhausted looking bard. “-but it feels nearly impossible to find peace here,”

For some reason you felt like his words held more weight. It wasn’t just here that he was finding no peace. You got another drink and ordered one for him too, amused at the way his eyebrows raised to his forehead, gratitude and apprehension in his eyes.

“Where do you go for peace then songbird?” You teased, nudging his leg underneath the table glad to see that the stranger who had fallen into a sober melancholy moments before had a smile ready on his face again. It seemed more genuine than the charismatic smile he had approached you with.

“The name is Jaskier, feel free to wear it out,” He added almost like it was second nature and you rolled your eyes fondly. “But I’d let you call me anything,” You had to giggle. He was charming like this. Head thrown back as the impressing of his peers made him tired. His face gleamed with a layer of sweat but he wasn’t grimy like most of the patrons of the inn.

“Alright Jaskier, seeing as I’m too young not to live life-” You stood, hand stretched out to him and it only took a moment for him to accept your offer- his seat screeching loudly against the rough flooring. “I’ll give you my company for the night on the condition you take me somewhere peaceful.”

“Ah yes, waste your young years on an old man like me.” Jaskier winked playfully. He couldn’t be more than five years your senior so you couldn’t help but snort at the insinuation of his age yet envy burned in your heart and you had to stomp it out quickly before your own feelings of being in unfair world took over your mind for the night.

Squeezing your hand with a comfortable level of affection the many surprisingly didn’t take you to his room at the inn but instead lead you out the front door. You went to the stables and you wrinkled your nose as you could smell the horses long before you could see them.

“The stables?” You questioned. One hand in Jaskier’s, the other hovering near the dagger at your hip. He was a charming man with honest eyes and you had followed him this far yet you weren’t going to forget all caution.

He glanced down to your hand and laughed softly. “Please dont gut me in front of Daisy, she’d be horrified,”

“Daisy?” you puzzled.

“My darling and dashing steed!” Jaskier dropped your hand to take two more long and dramatic strides to a stunning dark horse with expressive eyes, a white spot on her rear somewhat resembling the flower Jaskier had mentioned.

He kissed her snout affectionately and she shook her head, making a fuss. “Attitude just like Roach I tell you,” Jaskier laughed but it seemed his words caught up to him and his shoulders slouched with a curious wait.

You kept quiet as shadows of the past darkened his demeanor but a stomp of Daisy’s hoof at not being given attention had brought him back and he sent you a sheepish look. “Would the lady like to sit in front or behind me?” He asked, drawing Daisy out of her pen.

You shrugged but then thought on it a moment before helping yourself onto Daisy’s back as Jaskier kept her calm and steadied. “I think I’d like to if you’ll only tell me where to go,songbird”

Jaskier hoisted himself up behind you, his arm now soothingly tight against your midsection, your back relaxing against his chest. Your stomach did flips and you decided it was no waste to spend your time with this man even if you suspected it would only be for a night.

Jaskier ran his fingers down Daisy’s mane, a gash in his chest that he couldn’t heal. Oh how much simpler it had been to be Geralt’s companion when all he had to do was make coin, be a nuisance and slap a bandage on whatever bled whether it was him or his grumpy companion.

He couldn’t place a bandage over his heart however and so he was steadily dying from the inside out. “I’d join her but who would take care of you?” Jaskier sighed, forehead pressed against Daisy’s neck, a smile twitching at the man’s lips as she let out a huff of air as if she was telling him he better not go anywhere.

The letter stayed folded neatly in his doublet yet it felt like it had caught fire and was now burning away through him. Even as Daisy began to trot steadily Jaskier couldn’t come to terms with his destination.

“Where next?” You skipped alongside Jaskier as he waded through a field- Daisy tied to a tree nearby- sometimes catching sight of an herb or flower he collected. You had noticed in the few weeks youd been traveling with him that he had a sharp eye that seemed out of place for such a silly man.

However you had also found that Jaskier was far more than a bard. He was intelligent and quick and every night you two settled down too far away from an inn he’d be quick to get a fire going, food already caught in a trap he’d set. You’d asked the first night you’d stayed together where he’d learned such things but he had fallen silent before changing the subject to a certain star in the sky and you hadn’t tried again.

Jaskier thought on it a moment, grabbing a daffodil before you trampled it. He paused for a moment and you lingered with him. “The coast maybe,” He mumbled, eyes searching yours as he tucked the yellow flower behind your ear his other hand warm against your cheek.

“Will you be coming with me?” Jaskier hesitated to ask, eyes now focusing on the swaying blades of grass as a breeze swirled around you. You grinned wide, pulling him closer to you into a hug and resting your ear over his heartbeat with thumped wildly with his insecurities.

“What would a songbird be without their dove?” You jested, having grown fond of the nickname he’d given you the night he’d taken you to a quiet spot in the woods declaring it to be his peace, his muse. You hadn’t realized then that you would follow Jaskier wherever he traveled.

At your words he settled down considerably, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead that made your heart leap. There wasn’t need for words between you two as you walked hand in hand back to Daisy and began picking up. To the coast you would go.

Jaskier never thought he would go back to the place that had been haunting him for four months. The small cottage was nestled close to the edge of a cliff that made way to sand that seemed to glitter in the sun at high noon, the water stretching endlessly into a view that he had missed and longed to return to.

The daisies and daffodils you’d planted were now overgrown and took over the stone pathway to the front door and Daisy stomped impatiently as he approached the door slowly. Jaskier felt guilt tear at him. It was as if his steed was waiting for you to leave the home any second now and the three of you would go on another adventure.

His hands shook as he knocked on the door he had painted the day you two had settled in.

“Y/N? I’m here.”

You had never meant to grow so attached. Yet the months had melted away so easily in his presence and you couldn’t help it. Jaskier had become the whole part of you and you wished you could be whole for him too. You knew that would never be however as you excused yourself from your place at his side to wander into the woods.

Traveling had made an easy excuse for when you had to go off on your own. With the guise of needing to relieve yourself you would walk until you couldn’t see or hear Jaskier anymore and then you’d finally let out the harsh coughs that you forced yourself to hold in when you were with him. You didn’t need him to worry and the crimson that had started to paint your hand when you pulled away would do just that.

You wiped your hand on some grass, cleaning your mouth against a dark cloth you kept tucked away. “I’m back!” You called to Jaskier and your breath was stolen (before you could even really catch it again), from his beautiful grin as he met you halfway, picking you up and twirling you in his arms.

“I didn’t think I was gone so long to get such a greeting,”

“My dove, I need to show you something,” Jaskier said, peppering kisses all over your face until you were giggling but you had to step away before you were forced into a coughing fit.

“Then lead the way,” You smiled, hand stretched out to his knowing that there’d never be a time where he wouldn’t take it.

You couldnt withhold your gasp as Jaskier led you with sweating palms to a beautiful cottage that sat atop a cliff. The sea was gorgeous and gleaming in the distance and you were overwhelmed with it’s beauty.

“Oh Jask...” You sighed, looking back to your starry eyed lover. “It’s gorgeous but what are we doing here?”

Jaskier cleared his throat, cheeks gone red as he squeezed your hand. You had come to recognize he did it to comfort you but also when he was nervous and you didn’t quite know which time it was now.

“Y/N, I’m amazing with words as you know-” He began and you laughed, kissing his palm. “but I’m at a complete lost right now. You deserve poetry and songs and art all dedicated to you and your beauty. I’ve never met a more perfect soul and I want us to live here, together. I don’t care if we go in the right order, marriage could be next week or in five years or never. It doesn’t matter to me so long as you’re by my side,”

Your heart sped up and you melted at the same time the blood turned to ice in your veins. You’d been lying to him for so long, you had lied to him not an hour previous as you’d hid your biggest secret from the person you loved most.

“Jaskier...” You were speechless.

“I know! It’s marvelous isn’t it? We’ve been hopping towns and sleeping on shitty bed rolls for far too long my love, and now we can have this,”

“No, Jask- darling I-” You couldn’t formulate a straight thought and you could see his expression fall.

Then with your next words you froze him to the core.

“This was never supposed to happen,”

And there you left a shaking Jaskier with tears in his eyes and tears streaming down yours.

“Come in,” Came your voice, gentle as always but more exhausted than the day he’d found you, slumped over the inn’s grimy tables.

It took him another moment to open the door, but when he did he couldn’t combat the smile at his surroundings. This was how he’d pictured it, a home with you. Your shoes were at the door, the small space filled with flower pots and sunlight and his heart shattered as he saw sketches of Daisy and him scattering the walls.

“In the bedroom,” You called out and Jaskier strained his ears once again to catch your voice. He didn’t think he’d felt warm since the day you’d left him at this very cottage.

“Y/N-” He paused in the doorway, eyes wide and fists clenched at the sight of you. It was almost as if you were dissolving into the sheets and pillows around you. Your cheeks were gaunt, eyes sunked and skin gray. Your lips however were a rosy pink and Jaskier wanted nothing more to gather you in his arms and makeup for the time you two had been apart.

Makeup for not looking for you after you’d vanished.

“Songbird,” You cooed fondly, eyes brightening and you sat up at the sight of him. Jaskier startled and went to you, helping you and fluffing the pillows against your back. You playfully swatted his hand away before keeping hold. Your hands were warmer than he thought.

He sat beside you, free hand going to your cheek. You broke eye contact.

“I can sit up alone, I’m not weak- well too weak,” You laughed and it had a rasp to it he hadn’t realized before.

“You came back,” Was all he could say and you nodded.

“I think that’s what’s kept me going this long, imagining us here,” Your voice had gotten quiet and clipped and you were scared he couldn’t forgive you. “Once I realized the cottage was still under your name and that you were still paying to keep it I just...moved in. I know it’s wrong but I’ve been putting away payments so that if you can’t forgive me at least you haven’t lost your coin,”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Jaskier couldn’t help the anger as you started to approach the real reason you two hadn’t gotten the chance to make this a shared home. The tears were already falling and he had thought he’d been over them. “I-I thought you were just like him. Abandoning me because I’m too much, because I’m a problem and a nuisance and, and-” He was breathing heavily as the tears poured out and he slumped over, burying his face in your chest as you carded your fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t want to chain you to me, I was dying Jask and you wanted to start a new life with me and I was scared of abandoning you after building so much so I left before the damage was more,” You explained once his sobbing grew quiet even though his tears continued to dampen your shirt.

“I loved you, I love you,” Jaskier whimpered into the cotton. “We’ve lost the past- I could have been here before you- you... Why me Y/N? Why ask me here?”

His baby blue eyes were burning holes into you and you cupped his cheeks with steady hands. “Who else would I want to be here? I love you and never stopped... I know it was unfair of me to leave after Geralt but you are everything to me songbird. You’re my moon, my stars, my peace.”

“A-and thats it? You need peace?” Jaskier sniffled. “I haven’t heard from you in months and now you want me to be here so you can what? Move on peacefully?”

“I’m ready to leave this chapter of my life, it’s been weighing on me for years and I need you to be by my side when I do. I want to start a new chapter with you Jask,” You croaked, fear cutting your air supply off as you began to fear he truly couldn’t forgive you.

“You want to start-” He dropped off, looking puzzled. “But you’re dying Y/N.”

Your laugh was clear as a bell and acted as a slap to the face. “Oh darling, of course you think I’m- well instead of explaining myself why don’t you read the back of the letter I sent you?”

You plucked the letter easily from his doublet, having hoped he was still as sentimental as ever. He had mentioned he held things he cherished close to his heart and you had been praying you hadn’t lost your place.

He took the letter from you immediately, careful hands gone as he pulled the paper from the envelope. You winced seeing the past’s tears staining the paper. Oh how your poor Jaskier seemed to have been grieving.

“My songbird, please come to the cottage. I need you here with me” the front read and Jaskier had taken it as a clear sign that you were fading that he was startled to realize that he could see the faint outline of ink on the back of the page. It seemed with tear-blurred eyes he hadn’t noticed you’d written more on the sheet of paper.

“You may be halfway across the country or maybe you’ve found someone who you want to settle with again. Maybe Geralt realized his loss and you two are off battling bruxas and chimeras. I have time however, my illness having been cured by a witch who had come to the town, promising medical relief to those who couldn’t afford it. Triss, her name was. A young boy in town who brings me my meals got her attention and brought her to me. She stayed for two months working as hard as she could and I’m weak still but I’m healed Jaskier, I’m whole. Please come back to me, “

As Jaskier read this he couldn’t help but pull you into a more firm hug. You were going to be okay! And gods he was grateful you hadn’t had the chance to meet Yennefer. It seemed your faith in sorceresses was pure and he couldn’t let bitter years change that.

“You want me?” He couldn’t help but ask. The opposite had been on his mind ever since youd left him.

Your tears were renewed as you noddded fiercely, kissing the bard with more passion than ever before. “You are the best part of me Jaskier and I have never not wanted you. You are my muse even if I don’t think I’ll ever be able to compose a song or write a poem. I loved you then, I love you now, and I”ll love you forever. You gave me back life when I knew my years were running out. Now that I have time I want it to be spent with you,”

The words stuck to Jaskier’s ribs and he felt it was hard to breathe as he was overwhelmed with love. Holding you closer he vowed you two would never be parted again whether your sickness returned or not.

You were his and he was yours, after all what would your songbird be without their dove?

#jaskier x reader #jaskier #witcher #fluff #angst #i am sorry darlings its all i know #whats a timeline

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danddymaro · 3 years

Text

To Have it All | Risotto Nero x Reader

Word Count : 2210

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

After the fight with Doppio/Boss | In what are his final moments Risotto Nero refuses to give in.

To have it all

"Ris..." (f/n) grunted, her sweet face looking both tired and aged by the pain and stress that coursed through her stilled body.

In fact, everything about her seemed drained, making his heart tighten, so much so, that he couldn't help but succumb to the stinging pain of the pesky, little pinpricks jabbing at his oddly colored eyes.

Warm, stray tears fell down the side of his face as he looked towards the (h/c) haired young woman, his glazed orbs glued to her barely breathing form, not wanting to miss a single breath.

With his scarlet irises attentively pointed to her, he forcibly moved his hand, desperately attempting to grasp at her chilled one in order to give her some sort of comfort, as meager as it may have been, pushing past his own sweltering pain to do so.

- He owed her that much, and it was the least he could do for her now.

After all, he'd failed, making their every effort of La Squadra feel futile, in turn, his will gone as his final move was met with even more disappointment. The boss had managed to slip through his fingers, and he cursed at the fact, moreso as he understood that the reason why she lay beside him in such a bloody heap was because of him.

To think, the same man that assured her they'd not only get their victory but also prosper had led his every member to their deaths.

"(f/n)..." He murmured, truly sorry, his voice weaved with a hurt that was pressed far beyond that of physical pain, "I'm sorry," He told her, feeling pathetic and helpless while silently crying.

For just a moment he saw her chest fall, (e/c) colored eyes closed at what he thought to be her final breath. However, before it could truly settle onto him that she was gone, she chuckled wearily, blinking up at the azure sky with fondness,

" D..Don..." she struggled to say, " You...You will be the Don," she said softly, her own eyes tearing as she continued to stare up at the bright sky, her (dark/light) orbs brainlessly following the sight of a few traveling birds, watching them soar freely.

"-Just like you said," she said with certainty, "Remember?" She asked, for just a fraction of a second, her (e/c) eyes having the lively glow to them they typically held.

"Yeah," She breathed as she lazily turned her head to him, "Just like we wanted," she added with a small smile delicately lifting the corners of her mouth.

'Because if anyone can do it...It's you, ' She thought with certainty, thinking the world of him.

" And I'll make sure of it," She said declared, her small smile growing into a triumphant grin. "So make us proud," She said to him, tightly shutting her eyes, forcing every bit of her into her final act of loyalty to her dear Capo.

He could then feel a friendly warmth spreading throughout his body, his eyes widening as he felt the familiar embrace shell over him, covering him from head to toe. It was eerily similar to the same one he'd been embraced by before, yet somehow stronger, and filled with much more purpose,

' This feels different,' He thought to himself with certainty, having become familiar to its former attentive care to know it.

- Whenever he'd come back harmed, she'd patch him back up, a soft smile present each and every time he found himself under her care.

Lovingly, she'd drag her hands over his torn, tanned skin, her sweet face glowing all the while, indicating that it wasn't just a sense of duty that urged her to aid him.

And it seemed as though it wasn't just a chore she had as an obligation.

There were a few times he could count that he actually needed the care, but even so, it meant the world to him because she always seemed so ambient in making him feel better, no matter what the situation was.

She always looked so happy to heal him, eager to make his life easier, his smile being all she could ask for in return.

It was all she ever asked as payment from him when it came to the personal treatment,

And of course, he always wondered ….Why?

"Because we're family Ris," She said rolling her eyes, a small smile coming into view as she answered him.

He wasn't the only one to ask, and she always had the same answer to give, as well as the same expression of serenity she presented during then.

She never lied, but she never told the whole truth either,

"...And I love you because you are a part of my family," She added, a little secret hidden within her words, one that was innocent and pure, all meant for the man that asked to know her reasoning.

"Really?" He asked her, eyeing her with narrowed eyes, just knowing that it wasn't the entire truth.

However, It wasn't like he didn't trust her, but for some odd reason unknown to him, he felt the need to dig further. He felt there was much more to that, and he pegged on, wanting to know why it seemed that it'd been her life's goal to make his life easier,

" Didn't you hear me?" She asked him, " I already told you why," She said with a little sigh, trying to look annoyed by all his questioning, but there was a little undertone of bashfulness that existed, causing his stomach to twist and turn, curtesy of the same strange reasoning behind his persistence.

'Why can't I just let it go,' He asked himself swallowing down hard as he watched her organize his paperwork, yet another thing he was grateful for.

'She already explained it. But it's as though I want to find another answer,'

Begrudgingly, he'd chosen to push it all aside, accepting with reluctance that perhaps he was thinking too much about it. However, there were also his snack breaks, the ones she'd set up for him through the day.

It was yet another thing he'd slowly come to question :

He rarely held an appetite to begin with, but despite that, she'd been faithful with her small, made-up schedule, knocking on his door with a plate of snacks, which included anything that would get his attention and give him a small craving.

And it came to a point that he expected it, feeling annoyed when she 'Forgot,'

"I thought you didn't want anything?" She asked cheekily, her eyes glowing with playfulness, and it just made him want to hide.

Sometimes it felt like he was playing a silly game with her, one that always left one of them stupidly tongue-tied and vulnerable.

'I hate it,' He told himself, swallowing hard, 'But it's familiar. It's...ours.' He added, happiness existing within his chest, living there and making itself known whenever he so much as thought of her.

- He'd always insisted there was no need to serve him, but when it came time to it, he would enjoy every bite.

"Just get me something," He muttered lowly, putting his chin on his knuckles as his propped-up elbow supported the weight. "Anything," he added, drawing his eyes away from her and the sweet, joyous grin she wore.

"Alright..."She sang, sounding triumphant and proud, quick to retrieve him the little meal she'd set aside for him earlier on.

'I'd never forget,' She thought to herself, shaking her head at just how bashful he looked while inadvertently admitting that he looked forward to the breaks.

He wanted an answer that would settle just why she was so quick to run to him to say their goodbyes when she knew he'd always come back.

It was yet another thing she'd gotten him accustomed to, enough so he made sure to stay long enough to catch her and not miss a chance at leaving without her blessing.

"Stay safe," she said softly, hesitantly taking a step towards him before she bit her lip, drawing back with a small shuffle instead. It happened each and every time, and after he left he felt a piece of him missing, a small bit of him residing there with her, anxious to become whole when he returned.

Unknown to her, he'd always stay just a minute longer, feet planted firmly on the ground right outside the closed door, not wanting to go.

Slowly, during the longer periods of time he was away he came to understand that after all the time they'd spent together, he got used to her, detesting having so much time wedged between them.

"- Don't," he gritted, watching the color dim from her (e/c) eyes.

"Stop it!" he ordered her, his voice raw with the power of his command.

Because he had nothing aside from her.

Before he'd been convinced he had nothing, wanting every bit of power that came with the sought out title he'd hoped to obtain, but now he could see the error of his ways, he understood that no bit of fortune had been as precious as her and his former team.

Her hands touched his stiff shoulders and it felt as though his body melted right at the contact, relaxed beneath her small, yet firm hands. Unwillingly, a small groan fell past his partially open mouth, reaching her ears and causing her to grin,

"Better?" She mused, having noticed how stressed he'd been earlier, knowing he needed just a small bit of comfort.

"Yeah," He muttered, feeling his knotted muscles un-tense, rolling his shoulders while his back lightly ached for her to reach his trouble spots with more ease.

Just outside of his slightly cracked door he could see the rest of his crew lounge, not doing anything in particular but sit around and banter with each other, which was pretty much a regular day occurrence when they hadn't been given any assignments.

A soft sigh drew out from his lips as slowly, a gentle smile lifted his features while for just a moment, everything felt at peace, just right and perfect in a sense.

"(F/n)" He said lowly.

It took all of his willpower to move, but slowly he did, his body rolling over hers, his arms trembling to support his body above hers,

"I can't have it all...not without you," He admitted, having had wanted to share his every bit of fortune with her.

- If there was anyone he wanted at his side, it was her.

"If you die...I die," He told her, and when the words fell onto her, he could see the tears begin to flood her eyes, falling heavier as she looked up at him and the sincerity swimming within his own glazed orbs.

'...Do I mean that much to you?' She wondered, her heart though faint, soaring.

She could no longer properly see him through the amount of wound-up tears falling from her eyes, but she could hear his strong, heaving breaths.

She could feel the warmth radiating from his body as well.

Furthermore, she could smell his scent, far past the heavy iron scent of both vibrant and rustic red clinging to their bodies and the ground alike, she could smell the sweet comforting scent of his body.

'I'm with you...' She thought to herself. 'I'm really here with you,' She added, ' And If this is the closest we were ever destined to be...Then I'll take it.

I'll take this final moment with you...'

"Risotto..." She said back, being left at a loss for words.

'I'd rather have this final moment be the one I eternally live in than exist in a world without you in it.

It's the reason why I'd rather die here to save you.

It's also why I kept myself at your side, despite all the fear I had while being At the boss's opposing end. ' She mused.

'I was fine with rotting here while you ascend.

But you want me to be with you right?

You want us to be together through it all, yes? ' She silently said to him, 'Then I'll give you just enough of me to stand by....and I'll trust in you to give us a future,' She said while lending him more strength, making sure to be left with just enough to stay breathing.

"Well be together...right?" She asked him, receiving a soft, comforting smile from him that swore it'd be what lay ahead,

"There's no other way," He told her, nodding.

It was then that his lips fell over hers, and far, deep within the mix of metallic bitterness lay a sweetness that made his slowly dying heart push forward, willed to stay alive so long as she continued to bask him in the same tender love and care she always did,

"I won't leave you to die here," He swore to her, intent on not letting her rot away.

'No...This Won't be our final goodbye,' He told himself, convincing himself that against all odds he'd strive forward. 'And I'll thank you for everything you've done. I'll repay you with just as much devotion.' He added,

' I'll hold you close....and I won't ever put you in harm's way,' He swore.

｢(#Φ益 Φo)∩ :

And then Giorno and his crew fucking come and heal them and they live happy cause they hunt down the bossu together and all is good and well cause it’s my AU where no sexy, big tiddie goth boys die.

(This includes Abba)

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iceeckos12 · 4 years

Text

a study of hands

thinking about jon’s burned hand. warning for graphic discussion of burn/burn scars.

edit: had to remake this post since i accidentally deleted the read more when i was editing it a;slkdfal;skdjf

Georgie isn’t there when Jon gets home.

Small mercies, he thinks hysterically, distantly, squeezing his wrist. His right hand doesn’t feel like a hand, doesn’t feel like skin layered on sinew and meat and muscle layered on bone. It feels like someone stuck a ball of agony, a ball of pain so incandescent that it transcends his comprehension, on the end of his arm. He doesn’t dare look at it. Just the smell is enough to make him feel sick.

He staggers into the bathroom and fumbles with the tap, turning the water on as cold as it will go. He doesn’t have the strength to get ice cubes from the freezer, even though he knows that it will help. (He’s not sure how he knows that it will help, but some part of his brain is screaming don’t cover it, that will trap the heat in, put it in ice water and keep it there, but it won’t do much for a third degree burn, you need a skin graft, you—)

He stares at the bottom of the tub for a moment, wondering why it isn’t filling up the way it should. Then he remembers that he needs to plug the drain, because otherwise the water is going to keep swirling away, away, down the plumbing and deep into the earth, like—like—

He twitches his hand. He doesn’t mean to, or maybe he does, he’s not sure, and the pain is so intense that he immediately vomits into the water.

The drain wasn’t plugged, he thinks hysterically. Small mercies.

He doesn’t go looking for Mike Crew the next day.

He can’t. Georgie had poked her head in when he woke up, and he’d rasped, “I’m going to have a bit of a lie-in.” And he’d said, “I’m fine, just not feeling well.” And he’d whispered, “Don’t worry about me, just...just—don’t worry about me.”

His whole body feels like it’s been lit aflame, like he’s on the shore of a burning sea that keeps lapping in and out, in and out. The waves keep crashing in and out, in and out, breathtaking and exhausting.

The burn, when he can finally bring himself to look at it, is ugly, even worse than the worm scars. Blackened and charred around the edges, red and mottled in the deepest parts. An actual, literal brand in the form of a handshake. He wonders if, whenever he shakes someone’s hand, their fingers will slot neatly into the confines of the scar.

Come on. It won’t hurt.

He chokes on a sob and rides the agony into oblivion.

Jon used to have pretty handwriting.

He knows that’s a weird thing for a boy to have. It was just another thing that they used to make fun of him for in school, but he used to be defiantly proud of it. It was something that he worked for. He used to open calligraphy books and copy each painstaking letter onto the paper, his tongue poking out from between his teeth, until they looked just right, every time.

He’s not sure why he cherished it so much. Possibly because he had so little to be proud of when he was young. He was stubborn and a know-it-all and difficult, but at the very least he had gorgeous handwriting. His classmates used to pay him to write love letters.

It’s not something that he thinks about until he gets back from that whole debacle with Mike Crew and Daisy and Elias—and reaches for a pen. His right hand throbs in agony, and his fingers don’t bend quite right, and the pen skitters to the ground and across the floor.

He stares at it numbly for a moment, frozen in place, lips parted. Then his hand throbs, and he sinks into his chair, breathing through the pain, as he’s become used to doing.

He hadn’t thought about—about his fingers not quite bending all the way anymore, about his grip not having the same strength that it used to—

Even after the agony subsides into a low, manageable simmer, he keeps breathing, counting the beats, head bowed over his curled and mangled hand.

He uses Institute funds to buy a machine that makes labels for him. In the meantime, he practices with his left hand when he thinks no one else is looking, putting each painstaking letter to paper.

He’s been wearing button-ups since his first day at the Magnus Institute.

He remembers wearing a rented suit to his job interview, nervous and fresh-faced and eager to please. Elias had taken one look at him, smiled, and told him to relax, that they were a little more casual around here, that it was fine.

Jon had insisted on the button-ups. He’d turned their care into a bit of a ritual, making sure that each one was starched and ironed, lines crisp and precise. That was how he wanted to be seen: crisp and precise. Qualified.

The execution of that intent had been flawed, though. He had sabotaged himself by shutting his eyes to the truth of the supernatural, and it had eventually turned against him.

He looks at his many shirts now, and all he can feel is dread. Each button is shaped like misery, the starched fabric sandpaper. He knows without trying that he will be on the floor, breathing through the pain, if he tries to put one of those shirts on.

He tries anyway.

He wears things to work that he never would have in the past. An open jacket layered over a t-shirt, tucked into the hem of black jeans. A chunky cardigan made of smooth, comfortable fabric over a long, serious skirt. Enormous sweaters that he can bury himself in. Things that are easy to put on, easy to wear.

His skin itches when the others look at him.

He thinks that he understands what Elias means about choices now. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to become a monster, the choices he made lead to him becoming one. Regardless of whether or not he wants to be vulnerable, he chooses to do so.

(The other choice is struggling over the buttons of one of his formal shirts, his hand going more and more clawlike with effort. It doesn’t feel much like a choice at all.)

Jon picks up the mug, and Martin lets out a shout of horror and scoops it from his grip.

“Jon, that’s really hot, be careful!” he admonishes. He’d seized the tea roughly, but his grip goes gentle as he carefully lifts Jon’s scarred palm, fingers fluttering over the warped scars. “This is your bad hand, too—does it hurt?”

Jon stares at his hand too, at the still healing skin, at the way the reds bleed into pinks bleed into more red. The scars create deep rents in his skin, almost to the bone in some places. He thinks about monsters and pain and emotions and apathy, and the indistinct lines they create.

“No,” he says honestly. There had been nothing to feel.

”You used to plait your hair,” Daisy says.

It’s been quiet for several hours now. Jon thinks that’s the thing he likes best about Daisy: her presence is undemanding now. Not calm, perhaps, but not frenetic or wild, either. Focused. Unconcerned until you give her a reason to be otherwise.

She gets concerned about a lot more than Jon thought she would. Her patient, searching gaze seeks out the exhaustion in his bones, the hungry way his body curls in on itself, increment by increment. She is in stark opposition to the cold and uncaring Eye, who would let Jon cannibalize himself just for a little entertainment.

(She is in stark opposition to herself less than a year ago. A blunted knife, a dulled edge.)

“I did,” Jon concedes.

Daisy waits, because he usually elaborates. It’s about choices, though. Choices are something that he’s thought about a lot in the past few months, especially after his coma, especially after the Buried. He wants to tell Daisy, but he doesn’t want to feel as though he was guided into it.

It’s ridiculous. It’s—he knows that it’s silly. Nonverbal cues are a language that he had to learn, so he should respond. But—he wants to be asked.

After a beat, she asks, “Why don’t you anymore?”

Jon lets out a gusty sigh and raises his right hand so she can see the twisting, ropey mess. He concentrates hard, pressing his lips together as he closes it as far as he can, shaking the whole time.

Daisy sighs, a sound sympathetic to his own.

Jon lowers his right hand again, letting it rest on its side, half curled.

“I could do it for you,” she says.

Jon hesitates for a second—

(Georgie was the person who taught him how to plait his hair. His gran had always cut it short herself, insisting that this was easiest and it saved money anyway, even though Jon had always wanted to grow it out. By the time he met Georgie, his hair was loose around his ears, and he had no idea how to take care of it.

A year after they met, Georgie drunkenly tripped over the couch and told him that she was going to plait his hair. She’d tried to do something difficult, too difficult for her inebriated state, before dragging Jon into a clumsy, playful kiss. He’d responded enthusiastically, but in the back of his mind, he remembered the tug, the sensation of twisting strands, and it had felt good.

She’d done it for him for almost two years. She’d force him to sit on the floor while she sat on the couch, and then she’d bodily drag him as close as possible before turning his ever-growing hair into something beautiful and complicated. Just like you, she’d told him, half-serious.

One day, she’d laid her hands over his and said, “Let me show you how, for when I’m not here.”)

—before nodding, and forces himself to remain very still as Daisy gets to her feet and approaches him from behind.

In the Buried, Daisy’s hand had been small and tight. He hadn’t been able to feel the warmth of it, or the minute scars pricking her skin. He’d gripped back as tightly as his burned hand could, which he’s sure wasn’t very tight at all. There’s a lesson in that, too, but it’s more specific. Intent and execution.

Daisy’s thumb had carefully rubbed the edges of the scars, touching patterns in the divots in his hand. Her hand had fit kindly.

Jon shivers at the first gentle touch in his long tresses. He thinks about the duality of knives and let’s go through the voicebox, and about gentle understanding in the crushing sensation of the Buried. Execution, with nebulous, incomprehensible intent.

Martin holds Jon’s hands in his and looks at them like they’re beautiful.

Jon’s still getting used to that. The soft, fond way Martin’s eyes alight on him when he’s barefoot in the kitchen. The teasing grin when Jon glares mockingly across the space between them. The exasperation whenever Jon skips a meal or stays up until the darkest hours of the night.

He wants to be with Martin and he chooses to be with Martin. His intent is synonymous with its execution.

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. He takes long walks in the burgeoning light of dawn, the hem of his skirt getting soaked in the morning dew. He retreats into himself when his leg and his hand and his everything are all screaming at him in tandem, a symphony of past and current aches.

Martin always welcomes him home. Martin’s gaze is that of the dawning sun, soft and radiant. He tucks Jon’s fingers over his and sweetly kisses each scarred knuckle, reverent, like he’s holding something precious.

Jon learns by example. When Martin wakes in the middle of the night, his eyes distant and hazy, Jon clumsily turns up Martin’s hand and presses his lips against the warm, smooth palm. When the fog rolls in around them, Jon carefully holds Martin’s face between his hands (one half-curled, the other firm and steadying) and leans their foreheads together.

#tma #tma spoilers #jon #jonmartin #daisy #my writing #fic #warning for burn description

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romioneficfest · 4 years

Text

An Unbreakable Vow

Title: An Unbreakable Vow Prompt/Day: Day 2 Prompt (Pants. Hermione’s Office. Ron talks about the Snatchers.) Tumblr name: Rating: T Brief summary: A wardrobe malfunction at the Ministry leads to a discussion about a, not so secret, secret Ron’s kept about his run-in with the snatchers. (AKA, that time I was really dense and thought I had to work in all the word prompts into one story). Any possible triggering/warning tags: Partial nudity, extremely mild suggestive language, and discussion of violence.

“Ron?” The red head turned around at the sound of Hermione’s voice. She stood frozen in the doorway of her office at the Ministry with several rolls of parchment tucked under one arm and confusion beaming from her face. Ron watched as her eyes traced up his form until she caught his eyes and fixed him with a scrutinizing glare.

“Why are you practically naked in my office?” she asked, still holding onto the knob of the open door.

“Hello, love,” Ron called back to her as he picked up an oxford shirt he had draped on the back of a chair and began slipping it on. “Do you mind closing the door? I don’t fancy your whole office seeing me in my pants.”

Hermione jolted at his words and quickly moved inside the room and shut the door. She walked over to her desk and dropped off the parchment she’d been carrying without taking her eyes off him.

“Sorry, about this.” Ron motioned to his state of undress. He finished buttoning his shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone and grabbed a pair of trousers off the chair before sitting down to put them on.

“I ran into some kid handling confiscated doxy pheromones after I got to the Ministry,” Hermione wrinkled her nose at those words. “Exactly, even scourgify can’t undo that smell. So I changed into the spare outfit you keep for me when we go out with your ministry stiffs. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ron finished buttoning his trousers and walked around the desk to stand next to Hermione. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and then her forehead.

“I would say sorry for running late to lunch, but it seems you’re a bit late yourself,” he mumbled against her forehead. Ron started to pull back but froze when Hermione grabbed him by the bottom of his untucked shirt and tugged it up.

“Saw something you liked?” Ron started with a wry grin, but he quickly noticed something was off as Hermione merely continued to tug up his shirt with one hand while the other hand gently turned him around.

“What is this?” Hermione asked in a low voice. She ran cool fingers along the lower left side of Ron’s back. Her fingers ran over a particularly painful spot, and Ron couldn’t help but flinch and suck in a pained breath between his teeth.

“What happened?” Hermione asked again.

“Oh, I think that happened a few days ago,” he said nonchalantly. “Fell in the stock room and hit my back.”

“Why didn’t you or George properly heal it?” Hermione asked after a few seconds.

“It didn’t really hurt at the time, and I just sort of forgot about it.”

Hermione groaned disapprovingly at his response and he could hear the rustle of her robes just before the healing heat from a nonverbal episkey charm radiated across his back.

“So, a few days ago.” Hermione said pointedly and Ron turned to face her. She stood a little farther away from him than he remembered with her arms crossed over her chest. “Ron you know the rules. You’ve always followed the rules before.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s our little unbreakable vow,” he joked but stiffened after Hermione fixed him with an unamused stare. “I’m supposed to let you know of any injuries no matter—”

“No matter how big or small.”

Ron closed the distance between them in one step and ran his hands down her arms before pulling her into a firm hug.

“I promise, I wasn’t hiding anything,” he said, pressing his nose into her hair and breathing in her apple cinnamon shampoo. Ron had learned various techniques over the years for calming Hermione before she had a chance to lecture him, and a good cuddle was top of the list.

“It wasn’t a big deal, honest,” he continued in the soothing voice he always used when Hermione was especially stressed. “It probably looked worse just now than it did that day.” Ron figured he’d achieved his objective, when he heard Hermione let out a sigh and felt her wrap her arms around his waist.

“Do you know why I always ask you to check in with me about these things?” Hermione asked.

“Besides an excuse to see me naked?”

“Don’t be silly, I never need an excuse for that,” Hermione replied. Ron looked down at her with a grin and leaned in to kiss her lips, but she leaned back and shook her head.

“This is serious,” she said. “Do you remember the story you told Harry and me about the snatchers?” she continued. “You said they weren’t that bright—”

“Part troll were my exact words,” Ron interjected.

“And you said that you were able to get away from them with two splinched fingernails as your only injury, but I know you lied because of this,” Hermione said as she pulled back the collar of his shirt and ran her fingers across a small scar on his shoulder that was almost obscured by the larger swirling scars running down his arms. “I know it wasn’t there before the tent.”

“How would you have known that?”

“We may not have been together, Ron, but let’s just say I was well acquainted with your…erm…form even then.”

“Good to know,” Ron replied with a crooked smile.

“Focus, Ron,” Hermione commanded but seemed to be biting back her own smile.

“It was after you came back,” she continued, her fingers still tracing the edges of the old scar. “One morning when you came to take over a shift for me, I saw it there. It was a lot more noticeable. It had that bright red look of a recently healed scar. At first, I figured you probably just splinched yourself worse than you wanted to admit. Besides, I was still trying my best to ignore you. But when you weren’t looking, I couldn’t help myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still watched you all the time even if I wasn’t speaking to you. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“I might have.”

“Naturally, the more I watched you the more I realised that this was a wound from something sharp. Like a knife—and the only time that could have happened…” Hermione sniffled. “I’m right, aren’t I? This is from the snatchers?”

“You’re not wrong that it was from the snatchers, but I swear most of the encounter went as I said. They really were quite daft, but when they first grabbed me, one of ‘em held a knife to me. In the struggle to get away he did nick me a bit—”

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Alright, yes he stabbed me—once, but it was shallow and my adrenaline was so high at that point that by the time I knew what happened I was already safe.”

Hermione frowned at him. “Was the knife cursed?”

“No,” he answered. His mouth was set into a grim line for the first time since their conversation began.

Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly at his response before resting her head back on his chest. They stood in their embrace for a few more moments.

“I always just figured you thought it was part of my scar from the brains.” Ron finally broke the silence. “You weren’t mad that I never said anything?”

“I was, but mostly I didn’t say anything because I was still stubbornly trying to avoid speaking to you at the time.” Hermione chuckled, and Ron smiled at the memories of her futile efforts to stay mad at him.

“But, a part of me realised that you didn’t want Harry and me to worry. So I decided to respect that,” Hermione added. “It’s something of a habit for you.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“It’s one of my favourite things about you, but it also makes me worry. That’s why I made you promise me, back when you became an Auror, to tell me about every scrape, every scratch, every—”

“Splinched eyebrow and fingernail, were the words I recall.”

Hermione pinched his side but otherwise didn’t break their embrace. “And I meant it,” she mumbled.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured back. “But I’m not even an Auror anymore, doesn’t that cancel the agreement?”

“Are you joking? Working with George makes it even more important. At least as an Auror I could count on Harry to keep you safe, and honest.” Hermione looked up at him and brought her hands up to rest on his neck. “So you better not forget it Ron Weasley, or else…”

“Or else?”

A playful smile crossed Hermione’s lips and she rose up on her tiptoes. Ron bent down to meet her, stopping just before their lips met.

“Next time it will be a real unbreakable vow,” Hermione said just before pressing her lips against his.

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated T #Not quite Ace Safe #See CW notes

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sol-tinyrayofsun · 4 years

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Zutara Week Day 3 - Fuse: Healing Treatment

Alright, this prompt kept running through my head until this came out of it. Though I'm pretty pleased with the results. Well, I'll let you get right into it. Enjoy! And thank you for reading! A03

Title: Healing Treatment

Rating: G

Summary: Two days after the Agni Kai, Katara and Zuko´s healing sessions are already part of their routines. But talking about what he did for her is not as easy as teasing each other. Some intricate truths are hiding behind their lighthearted attitude. Perhaps those moments when it’s just the two of them will end up bringing a little more amelioration than initially expected.

------ “Why are you being so stubborn?” Katara asked, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up.

He was not acting in such way. Maybe just a little anxious. Being injured made him feel powerless, paralyzed, like something that needed to be taken care of. And Katara had embraced that task very seriously. Twice a day since the Agni Kai, which had somehow been barely two days ago, she would chase him all over the palace to get him to make time for their healing sessions. It wasn’t that he disliked her attention, not in the slightest, he just wanted to have everything ready for his upcoming coronation.

“I'm not stubborn,” Zuko replied, letting out an exasperated sigh as he sat back on the bed. “You know I have an endless amount of work to do.”

“Zuko, I’m aware of the fact that you haven’t even been crowned yet and you’re already on the verge of becoming a workaholic,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “But you need to be able to walk without feeling constant pain if you want to be a decent Fire Lord.”

“Fine. Do your thing, but please hurry,” he complied.

Katara raised a brow. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

“Oh, so now it’s your job to heal me?” Zuko made a playful smirk, a strain of nervousness detectable in his voice. “I’m not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Shut up and let me heal you already. Unless you want to be even later for all that work you seem so desperate to get done.”

The soon to be crowned Fire Lord nodded in response, wondering if she could tell just how on edge he was. Work was getting in his nerves, sure. But Katara caring so much about his injury had put him in an unusual position. After all, he did jump in front of a lightning bolt for her. Almost dying in the process. Saving her, only to have her save him a few minutes later.

After undoing his robe, he laid on his back, heavily breathing. There was an unspoken intimacy to that moment. It wasn’t the first time Katara had seen him shirtless, and Agni knew it wouldn’t be the last one since his injury was taking its sweet time to heal, but with each second the air seemed to become heavier around them.

Session after session, Zuko has found himself feeling more and more lost for words. It was the time of their day to be alone together. During the remaining hours, there was always someone else with them, or they just weren’t together at all, each of them busy with someone else from the team. After all they had gone through, he was somehow the most nervous about that part of their routine. Unbelievable. And somewhat unexpected.

“You know, if you would just listen to me and stopped running around all day, this would heal much faster,” Katara reprimanded him.

“Just get me to be healthy enough in time for the coronation, alright?” he pleaded, crossing his arms under his head.

“For such a whiner, you look pretty comfortable,” she said as she straightened on the bed, sitting next to him. She made sure to be close enough to do her work, but she left a cautious distance between them.

Katara then leaned onto him and placed her hands over his bare torso as her fingers summoned the water from the small bowl she had brought to his room. She held the liquid over his chest, creating a soft, vibrant glow. Her fingertips brushed his skin in the most gentle way possible.

“Auch, careful there,” he groaned, allowing a little frown to take over his face.

“Here?” She caressed the spot right beneath his upper left rib.

He flinched at the added pressure on his wound. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, the damage’s still recent.” A concerned look appeared in her eyes.

“Sorry? Don’t be silly, you saved me.” He made a light smile. “It’s doesn’t hurt that bad anymore.”

“But you’re still weak, Zuko,” she insisted. “You know, we never really talked about it.”

“Talk about what?” he asked, fearing the direction the conversation was about to take. “There’s not much to say about it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He tried to sit up, causing Katara to grasp his shoulders and gently push him back down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed, eyes wide open. “I’m not done yet.”

“Nothing - I... I don’t know.” He fought a stutter as he said this. “I’m sorry.”

Their eyes met again, sharing an intense glance. There seemed to be a lot of unsaid things between them. Katara looked like she had something else to state, but remained quiet. Time seemed to slow down. It was only them, in an empty room, vaguely illuminated by the dying light of the afternoon’s sun.

The waterbender continued treating him, allowing her skilled hands to press down the water onto his chest. Zuko felt her fingertips melting into his skin, already used to the contrast of the cold liquid against his body. Softly breathing in and out, he closed his eyes, easing into the moment. He felt safe under her care, even more, he felt loved. Jumping into a lightning bolt for the girl caressing his bare skin in that exact moment had been the easiest decision he’d ever made. Truth was, he felt weak, exhausted just from even sitting straight during the multiple councils he had to attend. But he couldn't complain. In fact, he would do it all over again. For her.

The sound of her voice caused him to open back his eyes. Much to his delight, he found her staring. Her blue eyes were glistening, inviting him to get lost into its ocean. The tenderest of smiles framed her face.

“I was just trying to say…” Katara mumbled. “Thank you. A million times over. What you did was… It meant everything to me. I know you don’t want to talk about it but still, from every bit of my heart, thank you.”

Zuko blinked, words falling through him, failing to react. He had tried to avoid talking about it. It was because he knew there would be no turning back if he allowed his feelings to come to light. Saving her had been like saving a part of himself. In a split second, he had chosen to give it all up for her. It frightened him even, to recognize such intense emotions racing through him. His willingness to do anything because, Agni, he needed to see her happy with every fiber of his being. It scared him in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. Warm yet nerve-racking at the same time.

“Zuko?” Katara asked, noticing his silence. “You alright?”

In what could only be described as a sheer impulse, he placed his hand over hers, gently brushing his fingers through the water.

“Katara, it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just - It’s done. You saved me, I saved you… I would do it again. We’re even now. We can move forward.”

“Still, I’m not about to just forget about it.” There was a strain of earnestness in her voice.

“Great, because I wouldn’t want you to stop treating this annoying injury. I’m not sure if I would make it without your help.”

She raised a brow, making a soft smirk. “Is the mighty Fire Lord admitting he needs me?”

“Well,” he started to say, his hand still pressing onto hers. “I thought that little secret was out already.”

Katara took a good look at him before tilting her head to stare at his new scar. A mark on his chest he had received to protect her. She seemed surprised at his words, a bit unsure of their meaning. Maybe the implications of the sacrifice they had made for each other frightened her too. After all, neither of them would be there without one another.

Zuko stood still, allowing her to take all the time she needed. The water was still flowing through his bare torso, carefully repairing the damage that had been inflicted on him. Agni, he wanted to say something, anything. He wanted her to know every thought that was running through his mind at that very moment. But, how? How to explain everything she meant to him when he barely understood it himself? Still, he was sure it would kill him if she didn’t know a part of him was complete with pieces of her.

She finally looked back at him, a little misty-eyed. “Zuko, I - I could’ve lost you.”

He frowned, surprised by her sudden statement. “And I could’ve lost you, Katara. But we didn’t.”

“I swear if something happened to you… I don’t think I would’ve been able to get past it.” Her eyes shifted to the window as her voice started to shake.

“Hey, look at me.” He extended his free hand to softly cup her cheek, calling for her attention. “I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ll even let you add a third daily session to my schedule if that helps you feel better. Who cares about work, I don't ever want to see you sad.”

His fingers caressed her skin, both on her cheek and the back of her hand. Amid the coldness from the water and the heat of their bodies, their eyes found each other. Zuko felt a wave of relief flooding right through him as Katara made a soft yet tender smile.

“I think I’ll take the extra healing session. You need to be in shape for your coronation,” she said, chuckling.

He tugged her hair behind her ear, hesitating about what to say next. He could barely believe what was happening. The familiarity of the situation, the way they had gotten so used to such proximity between them. That closeness took his breath away. She took his breath away. The girl he had jumped in front of a lightning bolt for. The same girl that had risked everything to be able to save him. She was everything.

“Katara, I…” His voice trailed off.

Why was it so hard to confess his feelings?

“Yeah?” she asked, leaning closer and closer to him. “What is it?”

“Um, nothing important,” he mumbled. “Just - Just that it means a lot that you take the time to do this and…”

Without even realizing it, he had been getting closer as well. They were just centimeters away now, their noses almost touching, her hands pressing down on his chest. His fingers still brushing her skin, bringing her warmth.

“And?” A strain of eagerness was detectable in her voice.

Oh, screw it. The time was now. Right there and then. Together.

“And I’m dying to kiss you,” he blurted out, fighting a stutter. “I mean, as long as that’s okay with you.”

Katara’s eyes widened, a welcoming expression taking over. Then, she kissed him. It was a soft kiss, almost timid. But Zuko could feel himself melting on the spot. He had never been so flustered, yet the water resting on his chest offered a refreshing polarity to the rising temperature of the room. Even the air that surrounded them seemed heavier. His lips pressed onto hers as if he was clinging to dear life. But the rest of his body laid flat in the bed, frozen, melted, in complete awe of the situation.

When she finally pulled apart, the brightest of smiles framed her face.

“So what do you say?” she teased. “You think it’s okay with me?”

He let out a soft laugh, still trying to believe his luck. What did he do to deserve her?

“Let me tell you what,” he replied with a playful smirk. “Try again and I’ll get back to you on it.”

“I think I can work with that. But first, let me get this out of the way.” With a simple movement of her wrist, she returned the water to the bowl resting on top of the nightstand. “I think you’ve had enough healing for today.”

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you say.” He laughed as he moved over, leaving extra room for her next to him.

Katara giggled, burying her hands into his hair as she leaned over him even closer than before. “I’m taking note of how relaxed you suddenly seem about all that work you claimed to have.”

Zuko didn’t even have time to respond because she rapidly proceeded to kiss him again, this time with more intensity. He didn’t care though, all that mattered to him was right there. He ran his fingers through her hair, her cheeks, her neck, everything about her made his heart skip a hundred beats.

They had finally allowed their feelings to come to the surface. It had only taken a lightning bolt, multiple healing sessions, and an elliptical conversation. After saving one another, that simple kiss could be translated into a thousand different words. Truths that would be said at the right time. But at that moment, melting away into each other seemed more than enough

----- I hope you enjoyed this! Remember that feedback is always appreciated. Happy Zutara Week everyone! <3 @zutaraweek

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #every week is zutara week baby #atla

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august-anon · 4 years

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Beauty in Strength

Hey hey, here’s that Witcher fic, the scar-tracing idea came from @inconveniently-placed-cactus. I hope y’all enjoy

(Also, I know Foltest's sister that had the striga child was named Adda and I don't think they ever said so in show/book (but who knows I have a bad memory lol), BUT if you play Witcher 1 you meet that striga girl again, a young woman now, and Foltest had creepily chosen to name her Adda as well. So that's why it's "Adda's scar" in the fic, instead of just "the scar from the striga girl." Also, she's nuts, lol. Tried to have me killed lol)

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier (Geralt/Jaskier)

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geralt/Ler!Jaskier

Word Count: 2271 words

Summary: Jaskier's found a new game: brushing against scars and asking after them. If only it wasn't so ticklish when he did so.

[ao3 link]

---------------------

The first touch startled Geralt.

He had stepped out of the bath and into his small clothes and had sat on the bed to dig through his bag for something at least somewhat clean (or, at least, not currently soaked in harpy guts and goop) when he heard Jaskier shuffle up behind him. He assumed the bard was simply preparing for bed himself, so he paid little mind to the sounds and the shifting of the bed. He very nearly lunged for his sword at the first feather-light touch on his shoulder, against an old scar.

“What’s this one from?” Jaskier said gently.

Geralt settled his nerves and cleared his throat. “Don’t know if I recall.”

“Come, now,” Jaskier said, a playful lilt to his for-once quiet voice. “Surely you must remember.”

His fingers traced around the raised skin before gently dancing along it, and continued to repeat that pattern. Geralt found the room suddenly oddly warm and was grateful, not for the first time, for the fact that witchers were unable to blush. There was also an odd fluttering feeling in his stomach that he knew he must’ve felt once or twice, what felt like lifetimes ago, but no longer had the name to describe.

“Must I?” Geralt asked, finally pulling a shirt from his bag.

Jaskier huffed and Geralt knew he was discontent. His fingers vanished briefly from his shoulder, but reappeared at the back of his ribs, tracing three long, raised scars. Geralt had to hold his breath to keep in his gasp, but he couldn’t stop the involuntary twitch of his skin under Jaskier’s ministrations. He fumbled and dropped the shirt.

“What about this one?”

Geralt cleared his throat again, worried he’d be unable to speak if he didn’t. “Werewolf. Few years back.”

Jaskier hummed. He dragged a single finger around each claw mark before laying his fingers over them in the shape of a claw once more and dragging his hand back and forth, back and forth. Geralt’s breath was coming out in quiet puffs and if Jaskier continued in that spot, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could control himself. The urge to squirm, to give in and chuckle, was becoming overwhelming.

Luckily, Jaskier seemed satisfied with the information he got and his hand lifted from the scar. His hand then touched down low down on his back, just behind his hip, and Geralt couldn’t help the minute flinch at the unknowingly teasing touch. Jaskier traced the circular scar (mostly circular, at least. Nothing healed that perfectly) before spiralling into the center with a single finger, then spiralling back out.

“Kikimore,” Geralt said without being prompted, figuring the faster he spoke the faster Jaskier would move on and give him another brief moment to rebuild his defenses.

“There are different kinds, right?” Jaskier asked, not moving on.

Geralt tried to take a deep breath, but it kept puffing out. He locked his joints in place so as to not squirm and give himself away. “Yes. Workers, warriors, and the queen.”

Jaskier placed all his fingers in the center of the scar and slowly dragged them outwards to the edges, then repeated the motion going inwards. Geralt couldn’t help but gasp and jerk at that, one hand making an aborted movement to reach back and pull Jaskier away while the other went up to hover over his mouth in case he needed to muffle any more sounds.

“Which one did this?” Jaskier asked, a grin evident in his voice.

Geralt inwardly cursed. Jaskier knew exactly what he was doing.

“A-a warrior,” he managed, having to bring his hand away from his mouth to speak.

The hand granted him a brief moment of mercy, but not nearly long enough. It touched down again against his shoulder blade, a series of old puncture wounds. The fingers on the hand spread out so as to touch each of them and nails scratched gently at the centers.

“And here?”

Geralt took a shaky breath and resisted the urge to roll his shoulders. “Harpy. Like today.”

“How’d it do that?” Jaskier punctuated the question with a particularly sharp scratch that had Geralt gasping again, back arching.

“Got it’s talons into me and tried to fly off.”

Jaskier hummed sympathetically, taking a single finger to trace around each raised, uneven oval individually. “I assume it didn’t manage, or these would be much larger.”

Geralt hummed shakily, lungs spasming with repressed titters -- witchers didn’t titter.

Geralt tried not to jump as Jaskier’s head hooked over his shoulder, hands snaking around to hug him around his middle. Palms flat, they rubbed up and down his torso for a few moments and Geralt foolishly allowed himself to relax, even though he knew it wasn’t over.

Jaskier started out easy, a thin line on his pectoral. It wasn’t too terribly ticklish, but the tingles still spread out under his skin. He brushed a fingertip back and forth over it a few times before switching to lightly scraping his nail along it.

“Knife,” Geralt said softly.

Jaskier scritched briefly at his chest with four fingers, making Geralt twitch, before moving on. He decided on a knotted scar on Geralt’s side, right around his waistline. Geralt twitched and huffed, a smile sneaking onto his face. The already sensitive spot combined with the even-more-sensitive scar tissue made it very hard to keep his composure.

“What about here, darling?”

Geralt tried to remember, and then huffed out a quick breath of a laugh that had nothing to do with the ticklish touch. Jaskier must’ve sensed it too, because he stopped the teasing, just resting his fingers against the skin and looking at him curiously. Geralt couldn’t help the grin on his face.

“Eskel and I,” he said. “We were fucking around, and I tumbled out a window. Vesemir was pissed as all hell.”

Jaskier chuckled in the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Of course you were the Kaer Morhen troublemakers.”

Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but at that exact moment, Jaskier scribbled those calloused fingertipss against the scar and Geralt was too caught off-guard to keep himself composed. He barked out a laugh and jerked to the side, curving his waist in on one side and trying to twist away, but Jaskier followed him easily.

The boys at Kaer Morhen played rough, even when doing something as silly and fun as tickling. It was all throwing each other to the ground and pinning each other into the floor and digging hands deep into weak points. They got away with playing by telling Vesemir it was teaching them where to defend themselves, since ticklish weak points were often directly correlated with places you did not want to get injured, like arteries and organs, but Geralt was sure he saw through that.

But experiencing it as such, Geralt wasn’t prepared for just how much such a gentle touch could tickle. It was unbearable, it was maddening. Geralt didn’t know how to handle it. And Jaskier never went deeper, never went harsher, just kept his touch feather-light tracing around and teasing his scars. It wasn’t a sensation he had any reference for to help his defense, so he was utterly helpless in the face of this caring bard with his gentle hands and soft smile.

Jaskier stayed in that spot for what felt like a while to Geralt, now that he finally found somewhere to make Geralt crack. He squeezed his hands into fists to avoid reaching for or swatting at Jaskier, not willing to ruin their little game. As embarrassing as it was, Geralt may have been having a little bit of fun, and he wasn’t quite willing to give it up so soon, even if he had lost at holding back his reactions.

After an eternity, Jaskier pulled his hand away. He gave Geralt almost no time before he moved to the next scar, meaning Geralt had no time to recover. He almost snorted as Jaskier’s fingers touched down and traced around a scar curving against his stomach. Then he traced his fingers in a line up and down the curve, leaving Geralt wiggling in place in a very embarrassing way, for someone who tried so hard to remain composed.

Geralt was so focused on trying to rebuild the dam to contain his snickers and being flustered over his squirming, that Jaskier played with the scar for over a minute before prompting Geralt with an evil grin against his neck.

“This one, dear heart?” He punctuated the question with a quick wiggle against the deepest part of the curve, and Geralt had to swallow a terrible squeal.

“D-devourer,” he struggled to get out.

“Oh, poor thing,” Jaskier cooed. “Ugly bastards, those ones. Nasty claws on them.”

At the word “claw” Jaskier formed a claw with his fingers and scratched up and down against various scars around Geralt’s stomach. Geralt’s choked snickers turned into full laughs as he squeezed his eyes shut. Doing that, however, only made things worse for him, because he couldn’t tell where Jaskier was moving next, so they immediately shot back open.

Then, Jaskier dropped one of the weaponized hands and dipped a finger into his bellybutton. This time, Geralt couldn’t quite successfully bite back the squeal that tried to escape, and it came out choked and giggly. He laughed and jerked, doubling over a little at the sensation.

“That’s not a scar!” He protested, but still didn’t pull Jaskier’s hand away.

Jaskier chuckled against his neck and vibrated the finger even deeper. “Sure it is! Remember where it came from?”

“My-- my birth!”

Jaskier pulled away, giving him a break. Geralt leaned over his legs, working to regain his breath through his leftover chuckles.

“Your giggles are so cute,” Jaskier said, nipping playfully at Geralt’s exposed shoulder and neck.

Geralt was so wound up that he even jerked away from that touch, feeling quite ticklish even though it didn’t usually bother him so much. “I don’t giggle.”

Jaskier fluttered his fingers against the knotted scar on his side once more, and Geralt burst into giggles. “I beg to differ, darling. They’re all deep and rumbling, nothing like my giggles, but giggles nonetheless. Your chuckles are quite a bit deeper, not quite so bouncy.”

“Quiet.”

Jaskier gasped, pulling his hands away. “As if I could ever!”

Before Geralt could retort with some sort of scathing or teasing remark, one of Jaskier’s hands made itself known on his thigh, tracing a long, deep scar. Geralt hadn’t had time to compose himself yet again, and immediately tumbled back into quiet laughter. His leg twitched, but Geralt refused to show enough weakness to let it squirm and bounce about like it wanted to, to escape the sensations.

“Cockatrice,” Geralt fought to get out through his laughter, knowing Jaskier was trying to draw out the playful torment before asking.

“Poor thing,” Jaskier murmured against the skin of his neck, lips and teeth tracing the scar that Adda had left there after he’d saved her from her striga curse, the bite marks having healed in quite the ugly fashion.

This time, Geralt did snort, trying to shrug up his shoulders and crane his neck so that Jaskier didn’t have access, but the man was stubborn. His hand also still fluttered away at Geralt’s thigh, finding other scars to trace briefly, but not asking after them.

“You’re beautiful,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt didn’t reply, suddenly debating pulling away from Jaskier’s touch. Jaskier made the decision for him, pushing him down onto the bed and staring down at him, fingers tracing a few scars in a way that, for the first time since this little game started, weren’t meant to be ticklish. They still were, of course, but lightly enough that Geralt was able to actually focus.

“You are. Your scars don’t detract from that beauty.”

Geralt caught one of Jaskier’s wandering hands off his bicep and the other froze where it was on his chest. “I’m a mutant and a monster.”

Jaskier scowled at him. “Next time you say that, I’m going to tickle you until you have to gasp through your giggles about how good and wonderful a person you are, and how drop-dead handsome you are.”

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

Left with no time to argue his point again, Jaskier’s hands touched down again, finding some of the more sensitive scars he had explored. One hand went to the knotted one on his side and scribbled away, the other slipped under him to the kikimore scar on his back and started up that maddening in-and-out dragging of fingers once more. Geralt tossed his head back in laughter, eyes squeezing shut.

“Or maybe,” Jaskier said, cheeky grin evident in his voice and mirth dancing around in his scent, “we’ll just do that now.”

Jaskier’s mouth attached to Adda’s scar once more and Geralt was lost. His hands danced between scar tissue, tormenting away, while his mouth pinpointed any scars in the vicinity of his neck, shoulders, and collarbones to nip and kiss at. Geralt wheezed and cackled and giggled, but he never made an effort to squirm away from the touch. He knew how to get out of it, after all, even if he believed saying it would be a lie. Besides, Witcher stamina was nothing to bat an eye at. So Geralt simply gripped Jaskier’s hips and let himself go, just this once, to have fun with his lover. Their laughter mingled together late into the night, causing them to have a much later start in the morning than they had originally planned.

Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed.

#tickle fic #My writing #the witcher tickling #lee!geralt #ler!Jaskier #ticklish!geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier | dandelion #geraskier

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smearsyd · 3 years

Text

Safe in Your Arms | PCY | Part Two

Lee Seoyun had scars.

Perhaps she had been saved from physical scars, but they were visible enough to her. Thick reminders stood out in her mind that made words like worthless, not good enough, not grateful enough, unloveable, feel like a second skin. She didn’t think she was capable of healing— her parents had told her that she would always be broken, and weren’t your parents the ones who were supposed to know you the best?

So years ago, when Seoyun tragically spilled her hot chocolate all over the front of poor Park Chanyeol’s winter sweater, she was expecting severe backlash— not a forgiving smile and definitely not a new friend. Muchless, Seoyun never in a million years would have imagined that Park Chanyeol would soon be falling in love with someone like her. To be the person who made her, for the first time, feel safe in his arms.

This is Seoyun healed, despite her scars.

characters:

+ park chanyeol (exo), you as lee seoyun (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + boyfriend!au + fluff and romance

length:

+ 3 parts, bonus drabbles + 25kish in total

warnings:

+ sensitive topics + mentions of traumatic past + smut on part two

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ part one + part two + part three + bonus + masterlist

author’s note:

+ i hope you enjoy it ❄️

if you want to be tagged, please reply to this post!

@bbhmystar @itsmesa

Christmas Eve

Perhaps Seoyun couldn’t explain to anyone exactly why, but she despised being late regardless. To her, being late was like turning all the burners on the stove on to high and walking away; being late is accepting possible disaster.

She didn’t have the mental security to deal with lateness. Even if she was trying.

“Please hurry.” She was pacing again. He looked like he was trying not to drop the soap.

“Seo,” he lightly chuckled like her predicament was somehow endearing, “we won’t be late.”

She glanced at the clock again and wondered if it would eventually wear out from her abundant attention. “We will if you don’t get ready in the next ten minutes and are walking out the door.” She gave him one of those pointed looks, the real distinct one. “Your parents live thirty minutes away and dinner is at six and—” the clock looked like it was glaring at her, but maybe that was her imagination, “— it’s 5:22!”

Chanyeol turned the water off, grabbing the towel that was extended from her hand. His fingers were sinking into his wet locks when she noticed the slight curl to his lips and the growing shine in his chocolate eyes.

She knew what was coming before it even happened, but that didn’t actually stop anything, or rather, it didn’t stop him.

Chanyeol was pouncing on her and landing small kisses all over her head before she could get out that he was going to crush her hair— that didn’t really matter, but at the same time, it did when you couldn't help but worry that people were going to notice and would they ask and what would she say and would they think that she can’t put herself together and what if Chan—

“—Baby?”

Seoyun hadn’t noticed his grip slowly waning and his once playful eyes dulling down to frosted worry. When did everything get so heavy, she thought? When would things change?

His fingers brushed back lines of distress from her forehead and worked what felt like a failed sigh from her lips.

“Sorry,” she breathed out, not wanting to seem like a burden, “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t always easy to tell what he was thinking, but sometimes, like now she would say, she could simply feel it. She could feel it in his calm eyes and that slight head tilt, and the stronghold he has around her as he pulls her against his chest. She could just feel it.

“Tell me what’s wrong, so we can fix it.” He murmured into her hair, his breath soft in the powerful kind of resignation that made it hard not to trust.

“I—” she started, but stopped.

It was hard to explain what was wrong when she didn’t even really understand it herself. Was it that she was worried about being late? Or was it actually something else? She should be thinking more about it and why it impacts her— wait, was that therapy talking? She’s too jumbled to be sure.

“I think it’s just this time of year… it’s not easy for me.” That sounded like a confession.

He hummed, patterns being drawn over her tensed shoulders.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can call it a night on the couch, order that good Chinese from down the street. Watch cartoon reruns. I’m easy baby, and whatever makes you happy will make me happy.”

“Easy, huh?” A smirk finds its way onto her face as she involuntarily lands a resonating smack onto what she is now realizing is his bare bottom.

He sucked in his bottom lips with a chuckle, “I set myself up for that one didn’t I?”

“Ugh, huh.”

He didn’t move from around her when he tilted his head, waiting patiently for her real response. “What’s it gonna be, Seoyun?” He was gentle like that.

She couldn’t resist when she tucked her forehead under his chin, just resting there for a second in his embrace.

“Let’s go,” she finalized. “I want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

She was sure, she knew he could tell too. But it was his after thought of wanting to be sure that warmed her up on the inside, that made her fall for him in the first place.

Maybe it was that part of him that she was thankful for the most, the part that just wanted her to be happy.

Simple, really. Yet so hard to find.

“Yeah, Channie, I want to make you happy too.”

…

Seoyun looked down at her heaping plate with an internal sigh. Not only had Mr. Park insisted that she take extra helpings, but Baekhyun had somehow weaseled all of his vegetables onto her plate as well. Almost everyone was done and yet she still had plenty left to go.

Although somewhere deep inside her she knew that there was nothing wrong with that, she couldn't seem to get rid of the feeling that she was committing some terrible crime by possibly making them wait.

She could hear a nagging voice, almost too strongly in her ear, one she had thought she wouldn't hear again. It whispered in words of anxiety and hurt, telling her what she would be able to rationalize as not true if she could just take a breath. The whole morning had been so chaotic and nerve-wracking to Seoyun that she couldn't seem to get a grip when she needed it the most.

Christmas wasn't easy, it was hard to get over the fact that it was a time to spend with family and be thankful for one another. It was even worse when she thought of the fact that not only does she not get to do that now, but that she had been ripped of that right for her whole life.

Seoyun felt herself tensing up, her hands clammy in her lap as she struggled to take a reasoning breath. The claws were setting in again and instead of feeling lost in desperation, she was just left feeling angry. A raw, blood curdling angry. What did she ever do to deserve to feel this way? She never asked to be born into a house where she would never be understood. She didn't want to live a life where she had no control over her emotions and yet, time after time, no matter how strong she gets, a simple plate full of food at a table where everyone else is done is enough to set her over the edge.

It's not fair. It doesn't make any sense. She hates it more than anything else because in the end she knows that the cause of her anguish is only herself.

Those insistent voices telling her that she is a worthless burden are long gone. And even if they were still here, she knows now that it isn't the truth anyway.

But somehow she finds herself like she is now, chest aching, heart racing, tongue twisted, into a hole she isn't sure how she got into in the first place. She doesn't know what's worse anymore, feeling the claws of anxiety or knowing that they are always looming right around the corner.

And then his hand was in her lap and like a sail finally pulled up, the storm wasn’t so capable of knocking her overboard.

She watched through half-lidded eyes as Chanyeol reached over and discreetly exchanged their plates, placing his empty one on her setting and digging into her previous dish. Any other day, and maybe she would have nagged him for being greedy, but as his hand tightened around hers, soothing circles pressing into her palm, she understood.

She felt silly then, maybe even a little ridiculous, but it was hard not to think it when looking around the table. Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s best friend since high school, was talking animatedly about his new teaching job, saying something about how one of his students was basically a piano prodigy, better than me even. And then there was Chanyeol’s parents, their smiles and comments filling the room with a welcomeness that she never got to experience as a child.

The whole atmosphere— it was kind, it was gentle, it was accepting, it was loving. She didn’t have anything to worry about.

Chanyeol’s eyes met hers willingly, though they bore a tinge of worry, and she nodded a sign of ease to say I’m okay now.

Chanyeol leaned over and placed a delicate kiss on the side of her mouth, nuzzling his nose there before retracting his warm touch. Seoyun let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and let him guide her back to shore.

“Seoyun darling,” his mom called, “please tell me you want leftovers, there’s so much left.”

She was right, the food on the table was enormous despite the amount they all ate. Regardless, the comment fell flat against her and she couldn’t help but to smile at the irony.

“Don’t harass my girlfriend,” Chanyeol whined around a mouthful of rice, sending his mother a meaningless glare.

“Girlfriend? Isn’t she more than that by now?” She retorted with a wink in Seoyun’s direction. “I’m expecting grandchildren by next Christmas, you hear me?”

Baekhyun pretended to be grossed out as Chanyeol’s food came spewing from his mouth. Seoyun patted his back, trying to hide her smile.

“Mom, stop.” He groaned.

Chanyeol's mom only chuckled silently before beginning to pick up the mess, including Chanyeol's now discarded plate. Seoyun and Baekhyun stood up to help, taking dishes in and out while carding the leftovers into individual sealed containers to be taken home. Baekhyun, for once, offered to wash the dishes and so Mrs. Park excused herself with a yawn, sending Seoyun a second wink before leaving the room.

Seoyun was just about to go scold Chanyeol for not helping out when she saw his animated silhouette talking with his father on the balcony. They seemed to be in some kind of deep conversation, Chanyeol's hands making wide gestures while his father smiled fondly. The whole exchange made her heart warm, but she did wonder what they could be talking about.

“Ugh, Seo? Anyone in there?” She heard from her left ear, a hand and face popping into view. She shrunk back, peeling her eyes from Chanyeol before sending Baekhyun a look that screamed bro, boundaries.

“You gonna help with these dishes or keep eye fucking Chanyeol from across the room?”

“You may be taller than me, but not by much so I’d watch what I say if I were you.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at her, obviously not threatened at all. “Woah, is this your way of saying that you’re a closet dom, because damn, I could get behind that.”

She reached over and was punching his arm before he could even bask in his own joke. Baekhyun relented with an open mouthed laugh, the one everyone knew him by, and went back to drying the dishes.

“Seriously, though,” he started up again and she glared so quickly he almost dropped the plate, shaking his head at her. “I was about to say thank you. What were you thinking?” He wagged his eyebrows.

She ignored the second half of his statement, “thank you? For what?”

Baekhyun sat the towel down and faced her; his playful demeanor was slowly molding to something more serious, but still soft and sunny like how she imagined him in her head.

“Thanks for taking care of my best friend.”

Seoyun couldn't help herself when she smiled in relief, though she wasn’t sure what she was relieved of. “I’m pretty sure he takes care of me, not the other way around.”

He looked as if he was pondering that for a second before letting a long nah drop from his mouth. “It may seem that way to you, but take you out of the equation and then suddenly there’s nothing left.”

He said it so simply. And yet—

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he dragged out, “that he loves you, like a lot.”

She knew that, right? She knows he loves her, but of course, sometimes a reminder is nice.

“Now that, I can’t deny.” Came a voice from behind her. Baekhyun simply smiled that innocent, but not so innocent smile of his and dipped out of the kitchen, leaving her and that voice alone.

“What were you two talking about?” Chanyeol asked, coming into view with a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

“Oh nothing,” she breathed out. “Just about how I haven’t been kissed under the mistletoe yet.”

He hummed, wrapping her in his arms and swaying them softly back and forth. “Well,” he smiled, closer now than ever, “I guess I’ll have to do something about that…”

Yeah, she thought, reminders are nice.

…

Seoyun lets out a loud laugh at Chanyeol's impression of Baekhyun's mortified face during dinner when he saw that the first course was cucumber salad as they enter their home, barely remembering to kick the snow off of their shoes or hang their jackets in the right spot.

Seoyun's heart feels light and happy as she lets Chanyeol lead her upstairs into their room, his hand snug in hers. She realizes that this is a feeling she only seems to be able to experience when she is with him. It feels special, like a treasure they dug up together.

"Thank you for tonight."

He sent her a soft glance as he closed the bedroom door and began to hang his suit jacket. She began fiddling with the buttons on her dress, her gaze down towards the floor. She's never been good with expressing what she means, not with so much constantly running through her train wreck of a mind, but right now she feels like she has to get something off of her chest.

Maybe it was the way Chanyeol had looked at her earlier under the mistletoe, or when he exchanged his plate for hers, but either way, she feels so loved and cared for that it almost hurts. Hurts in the way that she’s expanding, growing, and trying to tell herself that she does deserve it. Chanyeol means everything to her and she is ready for him to know that her love isn't what it once was— that after everything she thinks she is finally accepting that love and giving it back just as equally.

She thinks she knows her worth now, which is saying something.

Comparing how she first felt for him to now would be like setting a candle and a forest fire next to each other, you can't deny either, yet the difference is almost laughable. She wants to be able to tell him that her love is deeper than the first kiss they shared in her stuffy car, the cup of hot chocolate he made when he came home to her shivering under his doorstep as a crying mess, when she spent the night for the first time and he sang her to sleep as she fought off nightmares of screaming parents, when she told him about what really happened to her before she met him.

Each memory shared made her love for him grow deeper and deeper, but something has changed now and she isn't sure if she can contain how she feels any longer. She wants to be with him for a long, long time, she just doesn't know how to express it when they’ve already been together for so long.

“Seoyun?” She hears him call, his voice tender and laced with something so raw that she can’t seem to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

Seoyun looked up with confused eyes and found Chanyeol's worried ones as he came to her side, his large hand resting on her small cheek. She felt him brush away tears that she didn't know she had shed. She sniffed and let a secretive smile stretch onto her lips.

"I just love you a lot, that's all."

A surprised look fell onto his face and he opened his mouth to respond, but promptly shut it closed again. She knows this is because she rarely ever tells him how she really feels. Partially because she had never said those three words growing up, but also partially because she was afraid. What if her parents were right and she really was unloveable, worthless, not good enough? Would he leave her for someone better and she would have to pick up all of her broken I love you's?

"Say it again." He whispers, the shock now gone from his face and now in place of it were candles flaming to life. Seoyun doesn't mind saying it again because unlike then, she is sure of Chanyeol's love and now she wants him to be sure of hers.

"I love you."

"Again." He persists with a throaty voice, pulling her so close she could only look into his swirling eyes. He rubbed his nose into the skin beside hers, taking in a deep breath that stirred something in her stomach awake.

"I love you so much." She half moaned when his hands trailed slowly down her body, squeezing her in all of the right places to feel his love. The look in his eyes was something stronger now, stronger than the times before, as his lips planted kisses on the side of her open mouth.

She thought then that he must understand.

She felt her hands unbutton his shirt and slip inside to explore his smooth chest. He hanged his head on her shoulder, bringing his lips up to line her neck with fiery kisses.

"Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me how you love me."

"I love that you always know what I’m thinking, what I need." She gasps out when he sucks on that spot on her neck. "I love that you stay up late just to make sure I don’t have to fall asleep alone. I love that you always tell me you missed me even when I’ve only been gone a few minutes." Chanyeol urges her to continue, his hand coming under the hem of her dress and playing with the waistband of her underwear, making her mouth go dry as she tries to speak.

"I love how you will pretend not to know me in public if I accidentally burp even if you had just done it too.” He pinched her where it counted, a half chuckle falling from his open mouth. “I love how you touch me so softly and carefully like you want me to know just how precious you think I am."

She could feel Chanyeol's fast heart beat as she palms his chest. His breaths have gotten quicker and he was letting out deep groans that were doing something dangerous to her as he moved against her.

"Tell me I'm the only man you'll ever love." He gets out into her skin, nipping lightly at her ear with a sense of desperation as his hands roam greedily around her body. "Tell me that you're happy here in my arms, that you won't ever leave me."

She’s not afraid anymore. She wants all of it.

"Tell me baby, I need to know." He whispers again.

The words catch in her throat as waves of what reads as desperation and an aching need swirls within his aflamed eyes. She can’t bare it any longer.

And then Seoyun was reaching up and smashing their lips together. She wasn't sure what came over her, but it seemed inevitable in the moment that they would kiss.

Chanyeol stood motionless, shocked by her actions, before easily giving in. A deep groan escaped his mouth that she felt down in her stomach as he moved his lips in sync with hers, putting his hand softly on the back of her head to deepen the kiss. He desperately clutched her to him as he traced his lips around hers, as if rediscovering her all over again.

Seoyun has always loved his hair and now that she could run her fingers through it anytime she wished, she buried her hands into it, twirling the locks around her nimble digits. There was no more space between them, but she wanted to be closer, close enough to feel like they were one.

Chanyeol seemed to understand her want, or really, her need. She pulled at his unbuttoned shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and running her hands hotly over his milky skin. He latched his mouth on the base of her collar, his favorite spot, as his large hands ran up the side of her thighs and settled on her midriff with one gruff word, off.

Seoyun's mind was reeling with desire as she reached down to tug the dress off of her body, not caring any longer if it ended up crumbled or not. Her bones felt like they were breaking from relief as she fell back onto the bed, arms open for him as he followed.

Chanyeol was flush against her, all barriers between them vanishing, her body shivering in want for him. Her ankles became locked behind his, his mouth planting soft, lingering kisses on her exposed torso. His breath warm as it traced all of her skin as if trying to implant her whole self in his mind forever.

"Tell me," he whispered against her lips as he inhaled her greedily. "Tell me what I want to hear and then let me show you how much it means to me."

Seoyun felt over the edge already, her stomach tight in a knot, but his words were close to pushing her over. She wanted him almost more than anything, but she didn't want him to show her, she wanted to be the one showing him.

"You know I love you," she moaned into his rough cheek. "Without you," she confessed. "I don't make any sense."

Her hands ran along his arms and she swore she would leave bruises on his skin. He felt strong, though, and steady above her as he pushed into her like a wave crashing into the ocean.

"You're mine.”

"Always," came his immediate response, his voice like smooth honey as he kissed the back of her hand and fell into her once more.

Seoyun felt like her chest was ripping apart, she loved him so much. Fire was raging up and down her body as she tried to file each gesture into her memory. His hands gentle against her bare legs, the undoing gasp he made into her shoulder from her confession, the way they lost themselves into one another— she would remember it all for a long time.

Seoyun swore she would never forget, for the rest of her life, this moment. The way he called her name like every other word had been lost and the final kiss they shared before he collapsed into her arms, tired but full of one another. He kissed the crown of her damp forehead and she realized that he was home, and always would be. He was big enough to shield her from the nightmares of her past and she was finally enough, more than enough, for someone else.

"You promise?" He asked one last time, his voice soft and fragile-like.

"I promise."

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monbangisland · 4 years

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PAIN RELIEVER by GF

J-hope Scenario

J-hope x Reader

“Ow” you exclaimed to yourself. You were horribly sore on your neck and shoulders for some reason and you didn’t know exactly why. Everything had been going well at college, your classes were fine and you didn’t seem to find a reason for that much tension on your body. “Ow!” It hurt whenever you moved too quick and even when you didn’t, there was a lingering amount of pain enough to be too uncomfortable. You massaged your neck again for the tenth time today and tried to crack it lightly to see if that would relieve some of the pain, but it was of no use.

After a while, you took some pain killers hoping they would help to keep you at least through the day until you get home to your comfortable bed.

The day passed and it was time to go home, the pain killers had lessen the pain in a small amount enough for you to forget about it during lectures. The drive home was irritating. At six in the evening, there was a huge amount of cars already in traffic making it hard for you to get home fast. You felt how the pain started to arise again on one side of your body and more intensely on your neck, right below your head. You were desperate, there was nothing that you wanted more than getting some sleep on your bed to forget about the uncomfortable feeling on your neck.

Finally you arrived home. His car was parked on one of the two spots they give you at apartment complexes, he must have been back from the studio. Little butterflies floated around your stomach, you hadn’t been able to see him that much at all in a month, so knowing he was home that night made you feel giddy inside.

“Hoseok?!” You screamed after opening the door in a rush.

“Babyyyy!” He called out coming around from the kitchen. He embraced you in a tight hug before kissing your lips. “Ugh, I’ve—-missed you—-too—- much!” He said in between kisses.

“You’re finally home to me! How was the studio? Did you guys got everything you needed to work out?” You asked running your fingers through his hair.

“Yes! I’m so excited about it, you need to listen to everything! You’ll love them!” He said throwing you one of his breathtaking smiles.

“Of course, I will! But first, I need food” you pouted.

“Well, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t feed my girlfriend with delicious food after not seeing her for a long time?”

“Food?” You grinned

“There’s pizza, hamburgers, pasta and some desserts in the kitchen” he said leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes!!!” You exclaimed and rushed to the kitchen.

“And here I thought you had missed me, but the only thing you missed is all the food I always bring for you” he pouted.

“What? Uh yeah yeah, missed you too” You said distracted while looking at all the delicious plates in front of you. He turned around chuckling and started walking towards the living room to continue looking through movies. You reached for the cupboard to get a plate and felt a new wave of pain go from your arm to your neck making you wince.

“Baby, are you okay?” He asked pausing what he was doing to look in your direction.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I burned my finger with the pasta” you said massaging your neck. ‘It’s just a little stress, I need to relax and I’ll be fine’ you thought.

You grabbed your plate and walked to sit in the couch next him. He had chosen a movie and was now enjoying a piece of chocolate cake. He looked happy and it made you smile. It was nice to have him home with you.

You ate your food and watched the movie, moving your head every now and then to ease some of the tension on your shoulder.

“Baby, is there something wrong? You keep moving a lot, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, my shoulder and neck have been playing games on me lately but I’m good” you smiled.

“Are you sure? You should get some rest maybe” he said putting the plates on the coffee table.

“No, no, I’m fine, you’ve been away for so long I don’t want to spoil the evening, I want to spend some time with you”

He was not convinced by what you said but he let it slide. Another movie had began and you were both now laying on the couch with you in between the back of it and him. Your head was resting on his chest and you could feel yourself falling asleep.

You woke up to the movie half way through in need of some water. You tried to sit up but you made a harsh movement with your arm making your shoulder and your neck tense up making you wince.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Your neck again?” He asked sitting up next to you with a concerned look on his face.

You managed to nod while trying to massage the pain away on your neck when you felt his hand grab yours making you follow him, after turning off the tv.

“Where are we going?” You asked confused.

“You can’t be in pain, Y/N, I don’t like seeing you like that. I’ve let it slip too many times now, sit on the bed” he said walking to the bathroom and back to the room, before sitting in the middle of the bed, with a bottle of body oil and lotion. You blinked not sure of what was about to happen.

“Come on, baby” he nodded “I won’t bite... too hard” he smirked.

“Very funny” you said, going to bed and sitting in front of him making him raise an eyebrow.

“Very cute, silly head. Turn around” he said chuckling. You turned around looking at the pillows in front of you, while a sigh left your mouth. “Take your shirt off”

“Uh, what?” You asked looking back at him “Ow” Bad idea.

“Take your shirt off, I won’t do anything, I just want to help, I promise” he said in a soft tone.

You took your shirt off, self-conscious cause he had never seen you like that.

“It’s okay” he said caressing your arm with his thumb as reassurance. He moved closer to you, putting his legs on either side of you making you nervous. You heard him opening the body lotion bottle, squeezing a little bit of it on his palm and then putting it back next to him after closing it. He rubbed his hands together before slowly putting them on your shoulders spreading the lotion. You felt his fingers making slow circular motions on them, a few seconds at a time before relocating to a new position on your neck, making you wince.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. It is too hard?” He asked stopping. You shook your head “No, it just hurts when pressure is applied on it”

“Have you been under a lot of stress lately, love?” He asked softly, you could hear concern in his voice.

“I don’t know, I had midterms but they were like a week ago and I had some projects due this week, plus a little cold, but nothing I haven’t done before” you said thinking about the past few weeks. You hadn’t realized that you had been missing too much sleep lately with all the projects and you hadn’t let your body heal completely from the cold since there was so much stuff due. You body must have accumulated tension from all of it and it was reacting now.

His hands felt like heaven, you could feel the tension slipping away while he massaged your neck and shoulders. Every now and then, you would wince whenever he touched a soft tensed up point on your neck and you would hear him whisper “I’m sorry” every time. He was so gentle with you, it felt nice to have him close to help you to ease some of the stress. You felt his hands started to move downwards to your lower back and back up again in circular motions. Your back was facing him and you still had your underwear on but it made you blush and shiver, since his touch felt so intimate. You heard him chuckle.

“What are you laughing about?” You asked trying to look at him. You felt him put his hands on your waist, his fingertips leaving burning sensations from his touch. As soon as you turned to look at him he brought you closer.

“Am I making you nervous, Y/N” he asked slyly in a whisper.

“N-no” you stuttered while shaking your head slowly. His face was so close to yours. Your eyes wandering to look at his soft lips and then back to eyes again.

“Then why are you stuttering and shivering” he whispered getting his lips closer to yours. His thumbs started rubbing the spot on your waist on each side. His hands moving slowly upwards. His nose caressed yours softly, his lips slightly touching yours in a playful way. You opened your eyes to look at him to find him already looking back at you, there was so much emotion in his eyes, making your heart melt for him.

With a quick soft move, he had turned you around making you sit on his lap getting a little gasp out of you. You bit your lip making him grunt at the sight, when you felt his lips crashing unto yours. It had been too long and you could feel it in the kiss. It was soft, full of longing as if none of you wanted for it to stop. You had missed the feeling of his tender lips on yours. You felt him biting your lower lip lightly making you whimper, only to have him smile in between the kiss. This is exactly what you needed. Him, and only him. He knew how to make you always feel better, make you happy. His hands never left your waist, rubbing it lightly with his fingers. That’s when you remembered you didn’t have a shirt on.

Breaking the kiss you reached for your shirt and held it in front you. He looked at you confused before noticing what you were doing making him chuckle.

“Don’t be shy, baby” he said softly “you’re beautiful, inside and..... outside” he said biting his lower lip while looking through your body gaining a slap on his shoulder from you.

“It’s okay, love” he said chuckling, bring you closer to kiss your forehead “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, I’m the luckiest man alive”

He grabbed your shirt and helped you put it on, you blushed at the sweet gesture. “Maybe later” he winked.

“Baby!” You said slapping his shoulder again.

He laughed again and pecked your lips. “Come one feisty baby, you have to get some rest, I don’t want you tired and stressed out, although maybe I’ll be able to massage it away every time” he said with a sly smile on his face.

“Mmmmm..... maybe not” you said pecking his lips and getting off the bed from his lap.

“Party pooper” he pouted.

“Whiny baby” you called out “Come on, you sly man, get ready for bed”

“Aye aye, captain” he said with a salute making you laugh. You were looking through your pajamas trying to choose one, while you heard him walk behind you, putting his arms around your waist.

“I do, hope you feel better, I missed you” he said kissing your neck and walking to the bathroom to get a shower. He left you smiling like an idiot and you realize the pain was gone, you couldn’t be more thankful for this man. He for sure knew how to make a comeback after a long time of not seeing each other. Happiness getting the best of you knowing you had your awesome man next to you again.

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thenocturnalmushroom · 4 years

Text

Time to Heal - AshEiji (Chapter One)

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Banana Fish Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji Characters: Ash Lynx, Okumura Eiji Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Lots of fluff, Angst/Comfort, Lots of comfort, Healing, Mentions of past child abuse, Happy Ending

Read on AO3

“Is this city even on the map?”, Ash couldn’t help but ask after what seemed like long hours looking at the same empty landscape; dirt road and wild grass was all he could see passing by the window of the car, except for one lost cow or another.

Ash's entire life had happened among the skyscrapers of New York, and he had never imagined that it would ever change - not until a month ago. It wasn’t like he had anything left in the Big Apple; anything but bad memories and a past he'd like to erase from his mind. Even so, New York had been his whole world for seventeen years, and the prospect of being confined to a small town in the middle of nowhere made him feel a sort of reverse claustrophobia; the ridiculously high and imposing buildings of Manhattan added to the sea of people that flowed daily through the lively streets of his home island made him feel grounded to something solid and real. Without that to tie him to the world, the boy was afraid to float away and get lost forever in the immensity of the endless sky.

“Don’t be silly, kiddo! It’s obvious that Greenriver is on the map!”, Max laughed for a moment, but soon he seemed not to be so sure about that. “I mean… It must be there.”

Ash looked at the man next to him with a discreet side glance; he still didn’t know what to think about Max Glenreed. The boy had seen him only twice in his life, and now he was going to live with the man’s family, which he knew almost nothing about. Max seemed to be a little awkward and a bit distracted, as if he always have too much in his mind to think about, but he was kind enough to welcome the stepson of his deceased younger sister into his house - maybe being kindhearted and compassionate would be part of their DNA. Ash felt a pang in his chest at the thought, like a cold needle piercing his heart.

No, the boy refused to let those memories emerge to the surface of his mind, pushing them back to the bottom of the hole where he had tried to chain them and hide them from his feelings. Not here, not now, he begged to his own mind, stirring nervously on the hem of his black sports wristbands.

To Ash, having to deal with those feelings was like having a giant snake wrapped around his body, paralyzing him and choking him, while it piercing his skin with its fangs, letting its poison penetrate his veins, burning the life that there was within him until it turned everything into ashes.

Ash must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again, the empty landscape that had accompanied him for the last few hours had finally been replaced by some low builds and a few dozen human beings, strolling around, enjoying the sunny day. They had finally arrived at Greenriver city, and the setting was as disappointing as the New Yorker boy had imagined; Ash felt more as if he was in a movie set or a "boring small city" theme park than in a real city. He had the weird feeling that if he looked behind the buildings he would find out that they were no more than false facades made of wood and cardboard.

Deep in his heart, the boy knew he should be grateful for start a new life in a place as quiet as that one, away from all the hecticness and chaos of his hometown. After everything he had passed through in the last years, Ash felt he should crave some peace and security, but it seemed so far away from the reality he was used to that it made him feel uncomfortable, as if something essential was missing. It was as if he had left the chaos behind, but the chaos had not left him.

In a few minutes, after crossing a few streets through the residential neighborhood, Max's car finally parked in front of a house painted with a so faded blue that it could be mistaken by white for a less attentive person. The Glenreed family house wasn’t the biggest nor the smallest house on that street; it seemed to be the perfect size to comfortably accommodate a family of three on its two floors and little more than half a dozen modestly sized rooms. Ash couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to fit in there, if his presence there wouldn’t just disturb the pacific life of that family’s members.

“Be welcomed to your new home, Ash!”, Max's words brought the boy back from his thoughts only to leave him lost in front of its kindness, for the strangeness of having such warm words being addressed to him - even more in a so sincerely and genuinely way – as well as for him didn’t know how to respond to them. Would one thank you be enough? Ash couldn’t tell, but since nothing better came to his mind, it was what he answered in an awkward murmur.

Since he didn’t have many belongs, getting Ash’s luggage out of the car didn’t take more than a half minute. Everything that was really important to the boy fitted into his old shabby backpack; the other suitcase he had brought with him had just a few clothes and things of no value from his old house inside it, things that Max had practically forced him to bring with him - the man had insisted that if he didn’t do it, he would regret it one day. Ash just gave up trying to argue, but he insisted on not touching that suitcase; he had plans to find a good hiding place for that thing and keep it out of his sight.

Max called for his wife as he passed through the door, pushing Ash's suitcase into the house, not bothering to look back. Ash felt grateful for that, for having no one to witness his moment of hesitation in taking the first step into the house that would be his home for only-God-knows how long. The boy allowed himself to take a deep breath before crossing the front door.

Ash had about half a second to let his eyes wander through the interior of the first floor before the figure of a tall woman with long blond hair tied in a messy ponytail came up from the back of the house, catching his attention.

“Hello, Ash!”, the woman smiled friendly, approaching to the newcomers. She wore a slightly dirty gardening apron with a pair of gloves hanging from the front pocket, as if she had begun to work with the land just before they appeared and hindered her in her task. “I’m Jessica, Max’s wife. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”, she made a small movement to stretch her hand out to greet Ash, but she stopped herself in the middle of the gesture, looking a little embarrassed. Max must have warned her about his discomfort at being touched. “Please, make yourself at home. This house is also yours from now on.”

“Thanks.”, his voice came out small and a bit unsteady, not knowing how to respond to gentle words once again. He blamed the lack of custom for that.

“Where’s Michael?”, Max asked to his wife, making Ash feel relieved for not being the focus of the conversation, even only for a brief moment.

“He went to John's house, but he must be back soon. I told him to come back early to welcome Ash.”, and, once again, the eyes of both were on the boy. Although their gazes were affable, Ash wished he wasn’t their target. “You must be exhausted from the trip, aren’t you?”, the boy nodded, but the truth was he didn’t feel so tired; he just wanted to have an excuse to have a few moments alone. “Why don’t you take a nap before dinner? Max will show you to your room.”

“I was about to do that.”, the man took Ash's suitcase one more time, heading for the back of the house. “This way.”

The former guest room, now Ash's room, was behind the last door in the narrow hallway at the side of the stairs, near to the first-floor bathroom and what appeared to be Max's office. The room was small and square like a box, containing only a single bed, a four-drawer chiffonier with a round mirror on top and a small desk in front of the window, with a view of the backyard. Ash could see through the butter-colored curtains the shiny of the sun reflecting on the surface of a small pool and a sort of shed in the end of the backyard.

“I know it's not that big, but... I hope you feel comfortable here.”, Ash could hear the silent apology in Max's voice. The man looked nervous, as if expecting a negative reaction from the boy.

Ash just shrugged, putting his backpack on the bed. “It's way better than a cupboard under the stairs.”

The boy didn't expect his silly attempt at making a joke would be effective, but it had Max letting out a good, loud laugh as result.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, the Glenreed family is more like the Weasley Family than the Dursleys.”, he assured him, forgetting for a moment about Ash’s issues of being touched and patting him on the back, making the boy shrink as an automatic response. “Oh, sorry!”, the man quickly pulled his hands away from him, a guilty expression on his face.

Ash shook his head, dismissing the apology. “So, can I have my own owl?”, the boy allowed a small, playful smile to reach his lips.

“If you’re talking about the plush ones, you can have as many as you want!”, Max laughed again, but more restrainedly this time, visibly watching himself out. Keeping a smile on his face, he pointed around the room and then to the boy in front of him, while he let out some more of his unending warm words: “This is your room, Ash. You can decorate it the way you want. If you want it, I can take you to the nearby town on the weekend to buy something to make this place look more like yours. They have a good furniture and decoration store there."

“This room is great.”, Ash affirmed and he was being honest. It had been a long time since the boy had stopped care about material things; a plain room like that was all what he could wanted.

Max's smile lingered on his face for a few seconds longer, before it start to fade away, making his lips taking the shape of a thin, stiff line. It was so weird to see him wearing such a serious expression that Ash couldn’t avoid the feeling of uneasiness that struck him as he faced it.

“If you want or need something, anything, please, don’t hesitate to tell us.”, both the face and tone of the man transmitted a mixture of concern and a hard determination - the same determination Ash had seen on his face the day he had declared that he was taking the boy's custody. “You’re part of this family now. Please, never forget it.”

Trying to swallow the hard lump that had formed into his throat, Ash just nodded, not trusting his own voice. Actually, he couldn’t trust any of the many feelings that were swirling inside his chest at that moment, seeming to be trying to force an exit out of the boy's body through his eyes. But he couldn’t let them out, not after he had promised not to shed any more tears for himself.

“Well…”, Max started to say as slowly as his expression started to softened again and the corner of his lips started to give life to a new smile. “I'll let you rest for a bit. The trip was long and, well, I’d like to rest a bit before dinner too.”

Making some effort, Ash managed to find some stability to his voice, at least enough to say a few words:

“See you later.”, and before Max closed the door, he added: “Thank you again. For everything.”

The man smiled the kindest smile to the boy. “No problem, kiddo.”, and then, he disappeared behind the closed door, but the feeling of welcomeness in his voice continued to hover in the air for a few more seconds.

Ash took a deep breath.

So, that was the beginning of his new life.

#Banana Fish #Asheiji #Ash Lynx #Eiji Okumura #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fic #Coffee Shop AU

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evien-stark · 4 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 90

Knowing Tony would not rest until you were on your feet, you made a valiant effort to get out of bed the next day. Just to make it easier on him. He deserved to heal, too. You told him you were going to take a shower and get something to eat, tried to coax him to bed. But he protested. “I’ll wait- and then go with you.”

Hands on his shoulders, you gently eased him from his standing position to sit on the bed. “I’m just gonna go down to the kitchen.” Not outside. Just in case. A thought that put both of you at ease.

He still seemed a little unsure, frowning up at you. “...you sure?”

Leaning in, you pressed a tiny delicate kiss to his forehead. He was almost gone in that moment. “I’m sure. Rest. Please.” He’d been up for who knew how long at that point. And he looked like he wasn’t going to last another few minutes awake anyway- though he would absolutely force himself. Only for you.

Slightly convinced, both by you and the weight of his own body dawning on him, Tony sagged until he moved to lie down. Before you could fully turn away to go to the shower, he held a finger up. “Just don’t expect some sort of grand feast downstairs. Those people don’t know how to keep a fridge clean- or full- let alone even know what to fill it with. You might be looking at some literal green eggs and ham.”

The sound of your giggles surprised the both of you. It felt like an eternity since you’d last laughed. ...since you’d last been able to- but most of all, since he’d made you. A wonderful feeling indeed. You rewarded it with another kiss at his temple. “I’ll make do with Dr. Seuss style lunch. Don’t worry.”

His smile was dazed, eyes half closed, as his hand took yours, pressing a kiss to the back. Not really hiding that he was hesitant to let you go. “I love you.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze. “I love you, too, Tony.” With your free one you pulled the covers from the edge of the bed up to his shoulders. “Sleep. Please. Just for a little while. I’ll be here, when you wake up.” Looking up at you with full attention very suddenly, his gaze was more focused. It broke your heart. And even though he didn’t ask you to, “Promise.” A small murmur accompanied with another kiss to his temple.

Just enough to soothe him. He was out before you even left the room.

The shower you took was long and extremely wonderful. You didn’t have to worry about time constraints. About cold water coming down on you if you took too long. Or too hot just to punish you. Or anyone interrupting you. Or even how you took it. God. What a feeling to just be a normal free thinking person, huh? It was terrible, to be grateful for just a normal shower, but you found yourself very much so.

After you’d finished- a solid hour and a half (and very deserved)- you made sure to keep as quiet as possible when you crossed through the master bedroom to the closet. Tony was in a heavy sleep by that point and you had no intentions of ruining it. Fresh clothes were also a god send- yours- another gentle reminder of a normal life that had been taken from you. Gathering them up, you went into the living room to get dressed- but not before spying the Stark Industries zip up of Tony’s that had been left on the back of the chair still scooted close to the bed. No one could fault you for borrowing it, right? So you snatched it up and then just as quietly left, closing the bedroom door behind you.

“JARVIS, set the Do Not Disturb protocol. Cancel anything Tony has going on for the day. And anything that needs his immediate attention route through me. Please.” He’d done more than his fair share. He’d suffered more than enough. He needed rest. And you’d allow him that, where he wouldn’t have himself.

“Yes, ma’am. There are several things that require your attention, now that you’ve returned. Ms. Potts has been requesting to see you for some time.” It wasn’t Pepper you made a grimace over. It was that company duty was calling, and you couldn’t think less you’d like to focus your energy on. Luckily, JARVIS caught your expression. “However… I think it prudent to extend the DND protocol to yourself, for the time being. There’s no use in addressing everyone until you’re ready.”

Now he was giving you the same sort of self-permission to heal that you’d tried to give Tony. All looking out for each other. That certainly had you smiling. “Thanks, JARVIS. And- Pep can come up, if she’s here and wants to. But… I just don’t want to talk about work, okay?” “I shall let her know.”

All dressed, stepping into some flats while you zipped up that hoodie of Tony’s- taking a self-serving moment, finding a little bit of peace and calm and familiarness breathing in the front as you held it to your face. Touched with his cologne and wear, warm, even though he hadn’t had it on for hours now. Just it being his made you feel safe. It was probably silly, but… it made it easier to go to the elevator to depart the penthouse.

It only occurred to you as the elevator signaled its arrival that you were about to come face to face with the family you hadn’t seen in months. The very same people you’d went back and forth on- wishing they’d come get you and then praying they’d never find you so that they could stay safe. And the one person who came closer than anyone else stood inside the elevator as the doors opened, and the two of you stood stock still.

For only three seconds total, and then in mirror moves, you and Bruce both stumbled into each other, arms wide open. His hug was not as crushing as Tony’s had been, but you’d put money on that no one would ever squeeze you as tight as he had. It was still a nice squeezy hug, though. Mutually warm and also somewhat bittersweet. The only thing that bothered the moment was the chime of the elevator doors trying to close and then opening again as the two of you stood right at the threshold.

It made it easier to pull away, a little awkward laugh from the both of you. But instead of going down, he stepped closer into the penthouse, so you eased back to allow him in. “It’s great- that you’re up. I was just uh- coming to check on you. And Tony. Is he around?” “Sleeping.” You held your hands together in front of you. “I’d like for it to stay that way, if that’s okay.”

He waved a hand at you. “You won’t catch me bothering him. I think in all the time you were gone he slept maybe five hours total.”

“I believe you.” A wave of sorrow that was too hard to overcome splashed over you, bringing tears that you wished would just stop. Raising your hand to gently wipe some away, “It’s good to see you, Bruce.”

“You, too. There wasn’t a moment there that any one of us wouldn’t have done whatever it took. ...you know?” Yet as he said this, he hung his head a little, and it wasn’t just you who was feeling blue anymore. Not to mention the rising tide of guilt stewing inside him. “I uh… I heard the address, that the team went out to-”

Reaching out you laid a hand on his arm. “That wasn’t your fault. It was better- anyway- that you got sent away-”

“Guy scrambled my brains, right?” He didn’t exactly shrug you off, but he did step aside and start moving around. Not pacing yet, but… getting closer with every word. His hands were waving around, as he began speaking. “I don’t even remember going out there. Or coming back, really. I remember… Tony drilled everyone that went out scouting- every time they came back, he had a million questions. But. Not me. I told him once and I just- ...watched him give up.”

This is not what you needed right now, but you weren’t the only one suffering. Which was a tough thing to deal with. “He trusts you.” That had to be why, right?

“He trusts everyone else, doesn’t he?” Looking up at you for answers. “If he’d just… if he’d just prodded a little more- maybe I would’ve remembered something…”

Walking the few feet or so that he’d spun away, you reached out again to lay a hand on his shoulder this time. “It wasn’t your fault. That guy-” Even thinking about him now made you feel sick. It put a halt to your words, and luckily also to Bruce’s pacing and wandering guilt-ridden mind. “...that’s what he does. That’s all. There wasn’t anything you could have done. It was better that way- anyway-”

“It wasn’t.” He looked up at you over the rim of his glasses, pleading. “I would have made peace with Hulk tearing down that whole neighborhood- if it meant saving you.”

Your smile was weak as you nudged him. “No you wouldn’t have.”

His own smile matched yours, with a huff of small laughter, head shaking as he dropped it. “No. I guess not. But it would’ve been easier than all the other times, at least.” Finally removing his glasses, he wiped them on the corner of his shirt. “I just keep… trying to think back on it. And it’s just. Gone. It’s hard to live with that.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

He looked at you for a long moment, and the hug that he pulled you into was a little surprising, but not unwelcome in the slightest. “You first, alright?” Once he let you go, he put his glasses back on and gave you another faded smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to uh… come up here and put all that on you. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot.”

It was easy to assure him. “It’s okay. Will it help if I release you from thinking about it?” Trying to make some playful hand gesture, two fingers tapping at his left shoulder then at his right. You realized too soon that that was the gesture for-

“I think you just knighted me but. I’ll make do.”

“I’m no queen.” Stepping back in line with him to the elevators, you were both relieved when you let some genuine giggles escape.

His smile was warm, then. “Tell that to everyone else around here. Especially Tony.”

He was over-exaggerating, you were sure. You couldn’t let such a thing go to your ego. They were just your family. And they would have done anything to get you back. That didn’t make you a queen. It just made you lucky. And loved. He touched the button for the labs only after you pushed the one for the living quarters below. And since you weren’t headed to the same place… you decided to try and release what you couldn’t stop thinking about. “Hey… what was the reason you showed up at that place in Brooklyn anyway? I’m assuming following some lead- neighbors heard screaming or something- saw me in a window?”

The episode that had occurred had been fuzzy. And the more you thought about it… the more you realized you were losing. You did remember Bruce being there. And you did remember that man telling him to go away and forget about it. But everything else was surrounded by extensive depression that ensued almost immediately after. A low point that had fogged over everything else.

And part of you was now worrying… had he told you to forget, too? Some point? Somewhere? How would you even know…?

“He just told me to go. The longer time passes the more I’m losing on the event, but- you know Tony. I’m sure he had drones out all over the city. Probably was a noise complaint he caught on a police scanner. He was taking any lead he could get at that point.” The doors opened to the labs and he stepped out but turned back to give you a smile and a small wave.

So you waved back. “Thanks, Bruce.” At that he seemed to wilt a little. You caught the whisper of thought here- thank me when I actually do something. Another little chip in your heart. But the doors closed before you could follow him, and you let yourself let it go. For now.

Easy to do, a little swell of anxiousness in your gut, as the elevator descended and then opened up onto the floor with the living quarters and the family Mess Hall. You didn’t know who would be there, but as you stepped out near the back of the room, you saw Clint sitting at the table with half a sandwich in hand- who spied you, a little arch of his brow and a light grin.

He then snapped his hand against the back of Steve’s thigh- who had been pouring himself what looked like a glass of lemonade from a pitcher. Jolting a little he half turned with a little bit of frustration, “What?” And when Clint nodded towards you, Steve turned.

And the feelings he projected were almost like… it was sort of like a puppy, no disrespect meant of course- but just the way he brightened and the excitement and relief that poured out of him- kind of like a puppy who had been waiting for someone to come home for quite a long time. The feeling swept you up along with his bright smile and you risked looking rather stupid in front of Clint as you rushed from the back of the room and into Steve’s arms as he opened them for you- Promptly leaning down to accommodate the difference, so that he could scoop you up. It was strange, it wasn’t like you doubted how much your love for these people had grown in the few years now that you’d known them- but in moments like this- where Steve was crushing you to him (though still not as tight as Tony had), you knew. You really were family.

“It’s good to see you out of bed.” Murmured somewhere at your shoulder as he still hung on to you. He held on for just a little bit longer before setting you down on your feet. “Where’s Tony?”

“Taking up my spot.”

Clint snorted and stood up from the table. “See? Told you she’d put him down.”

Steve just made a face at him and then gave you a little anxious smile. “We were worried. About the both of you.”

At this you shied back. “I’m sorry- about this- all of it-”

The fridge door pulled open and Clint huffed out a noise. “Don’t start with that. If we all blamed ourselves for everything out of our control, we’d all be in a lot of trouble.”

Steve’s strong hand went to your shoulder. “He’s right. From what we’re getting, the guy was dangerous. No one’s puttin’ any blame on you for getting caught up with him.”

You gave a weak shrug. “I think at least Fury is mad at me.”

Clint shut the door of the fridge. “Fury’s just frustrated because the guy got away.” Putting some provisions on the counter, he pulled a loaf of bread from a cabinet. “Believe it or not, he was right behind Tony the whole time- on gettin’ you back.”

“Not that we weren’t.” Steve seemed to take some soft offense to this. “Every hit we got, we went out looking.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Reaching up to give him a light pat on the arm. You didn’t think any of them had given up. How could you? “I just can’t help feeling like- ...out of everyone- you know. Me? I should’ve been able to… figure it out.”

“You’re standing here, aren’t you?” Steve’s voice went softer, asking this, eyes imploring as he looked at you.

Finished doing what he was doing, Clint turned, handing to you a pristine looking sandwich on a plate. And Tony thought these guys were animals. “Mind control is a shitty thing. There’s no point in asking why me or why didn’t I get out sooner. Trust me. At least you got out.”

Remembering a time when he had to get knocked around to escape from someone else’s control. Realizing, only then, he probably understood more than anyone else you knew. When he jiggled the plate at you, you laughed apologetically and took hold of it. “Thanks.”

“Looked like you could use something to eat.” Giving a shrug. About as don’t mention it as it got.

You regarded his offering. “You know… Tony was pretty sure I was gonna get served up some green eggs and ham, coming down here.”

And at this, Clint really did laugh, shaking his head as he sat down again. “We’re not as bad as he thinks, you know.”

Steve stood there, brow raised. “Green eggs?”

In the midst of a bite of his sandwich, Clint answered with another laugh. “A little after your time.”

“Dr. Seuss.” You, hopefully helpfully, answered.

Sighing, Steve put his hands on his hips. “I’ll put it on the list.” After that he gave you a long look. “...you staying?”

Though it made you feel guilty, “I think I just need some fresh air. Hope you don’t think I’m cutting and running.”

Clint waved a hand. “We’re all good.”

Steve nodded, a small little pat at your arm. “We’ll catch up later.” Giving you an offering of the lemonade he’d poured for himself, which you gratefully stole off with to the balcony.

It was nice, not really being alone, knowing Steve and Clint were still in the kitchen back the other way- not that anyone could come up here and hurt you- because even if they tried, the Tower had defense- JARVIS and LUNA would keep you safe, you were sure. And… Tony would be down here in a matter of seconds should anything happen… Really. Truly… you were okay… it was just, little things. You couldn’t help but be nervous. Scared still. ...only a little.

Here you were safe. You were home here. Two thoughts you let repeat over and over as you tried to force yourself to eat something. The city was alive and well beneath you, sprawling in all directions. People running around in their busy lives. And, briefly, you wondered if… he was down there, somewhere…

The sound of the sliding door behind you gave you a little jolt, and you twisted quickly- eying Natasha as she stepped out, plastic bag in her hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You ducked your head. Ashamed. Natasha out of all of them, you supposed, probably sensed your own guilt. Your need to have been stronger. She had trained you. And one moment in time you’d gotten lucky, and almost escaped through your own means. But… that hadn’t worked. And instead, in the end, you hadn’t fought anyone. You’d just run away.

When you didn’t answer her she came over, sitting close but not uncomfortably so. “It’s good to see you up.”

Everyone kept saying that to you, and you had no doubt they all meant it. “It’s good to be up.” Knowing now that you just weren’t going to finish it, you pushed your plate of quarter eaten sandwich aside and turned your attention to her. “What’s that?” If she’d come out here with it, you assumed it was for you.

But her face when you asked- crestfallen and that feeling of apologetic told you you might not have wanted to ask. “It’s um… I was coming upstairs to talk to Tony but, JARVIS told me to go away.”

You aimed a bit of mock surprise at her. “Is that what he said exactly?”

“Even harsher, if you can believe it.” Truthfully, with the smile she was wearing, you weren’t sure if she was joking or not. “But-” And now that the fun was over, “...they’re the clothes you came in with. We took them for testing. DNA… anything we could get.”

Immediately your mood soured. Your eyes dropped, avoiding hers, and you felt like sitting back on the bench so you could hug your knees to your chest. Instead you forced yourself to sit still. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Well, the lab’s done with them, so…”

“I don’t want them.”

“I figured.” She said this in a deep sigh out. “Tony was adamant he’d never seen them before, so we knew they must’ve come from… where you’d been.” She really was trying her best to be delicate.

You really did appreciate it. The thought of Tony also knowing your extensive wardrobe- although, you had disappeared in a party dress. So. Maybe it wasn’t that deep. ...you pretended that it was. “For all I know he ordered a woman in the street to strip. They could belong to anyone.” Was that man the sort of man who went out to a store and bought a dress for his little p̶̠͙̤̠̤̺̌͑̇̂̋̊̄̂͗͊͘͘u̸̧̘͎̳͓͖̳̹̤̺̙̘̭͓̦͒̍͑̈́p̸̢͓͓̳̭͎̥̹̝̙̰̺̯̀̏̆̑̾̎ͅ-

In one single moment your thoughts spiraled out of control. It was too hard to think- and in the next it was too hard to breathe- he was there. Somewhere. You’d heard his voice. He was still here. He was still in your head. He could order you off the balcony- he could- he could-

“Hey.” Natasha’s strong voice caught you at just the right moment, as did the hand on your shoulder, close to your neck, squeezing just enough. “Eyes on me. Breathe.” So you looked at her. And followed her instructions. In- and then out- until the noise died.

Until it was just you. Your shivering. And your shame. Looking away from her, unable to live with yourself, “I’m sorry- I’m just- still-”

“You’ll get there. Don’t apologize.” She held you like that for a few moments longer, until finally she got up. “I have an idea. Hang on.” Then she got up and left. Leaving you with that bag. Staring at you. Stained and bloodied clothing waiting inside. Little summer dress- underwear- It took everything in you to not go back to that place.

Thankfully she came back, metal grated waste basket in hand- along with- “Is that lighter fluid?” Why did the kitchen have lighter fluid?

She set the basket down and then sat down next to you. And, then finally, she picked up the plastic bag and handed it to you. “It is. Here.”

Natasha was trying to give you back control. With trembling hands you reached out to take it, and then pulled the contents from within. You held on to them, perhaps a little longer than you should have- if there was a measurement somewhere in the universe for such things. She steadied your shaking with a hand on your arm.

“Don’t rush this.” Giving you permission. To take as long as you needed.

So you did. You sat there with yourself. Your sadness. Your guilt. Your shame. And your darkness. Shivering. Long minutes passed until finally you drew a long breath in and then let it out, dumping the dress and undergarments into the basket. Once you let go of them, she gave you the little yellow bottle, and you squeezed perhaps a little too hard. Dousing them completely.

Instead of a lighter, she’d brought a box of matches, and held it up to you. And then waited for you to take hold. Once you did, it took you a few tries with your trembling hands to get a strike. But once you did you held it, briefly, the wind almost snuffing the tiny light out. You waited… and waited… and then tossed it in.

The flames caught almost immediately. And so you sat there. Watching it all burn. You weren’t sure when the crying had started. But you knew the moment it had, Natasha had put an arm around you and guided your head to her shoulder.

And the two of you watched. You sat there together and watched until there was nothing left but ash.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Ninety

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maiuoart · 5 years

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Romance & SF!Brothers

These are romantic things, so be prepared for that silly fluff ♥

First deals with Gestures the brothers would do; Second is a little bit more tasty~ ;)

GLAD YOU ASKED, NONNER!

Mutt would always shower his S/O with kisses, cuddles, and even back rubs! He’s touched starved and anytime he gets the chance, he’s right up against his sweetheart. He’s a chill guy; So doing random things like taking them out and everything? Eh, he’s not really too fond of doing that... However, if the time calls for it, like his lil’ Kitten is seriously down in the dumps and nothing he does helps? Even the bedroom things you both enjoy to do?!

Mutt will sweep his S/O off their feet, cover their eyes, and take them to a place that’ll have them forget their worries. Simple places. Everything simple! Be it just on top of the roof to view the stars for a little bit with your favorite desserts and warm drinks, in Waterfall to view the gorgeous rocks as they twinkled down and maybe skip some stones in their glowing rivers for fun, go to a secluded place where both can adventure around together (He actually enjoys to venture around buildings and other secluded things for-... Special reasons.), or if his S/O is a huge extrovert, he’ll take them to their most favorite place to get their favorite cup of hot drink or dessert and share some of their treats together and people watch.

After that? He’ll bring them home for a much needed relaxation... Until the bedroom opens and then relaxation is out the window~

Mutt will aim to have them smiling and laughing during their alone time; Wherever they end up. Soft nips and gentle caresses on their back and head no matter what; He’ll always have them tucked under his arms and pulse soothing warm intent through their contact...

Even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it himself.

Black enjoys to surprise his S/O. Loves it when their face lights up and the joy radiates off them. It soothes his own Soul and helps him forget himself for a little bit... Maybe selfish, but as long as they both are getting something out of it; He’ll continue surprising them anyway he can.

Be it random acts of small gestures; Their favorite flowers or something to add to their collections if they have one, buy them a game or movie they’ve been wanting for months and watch/play with them, wrapping his arms around them in a surprise hug, a nip on their cheeks for a playful little squeak to escape from them, or taking them to the movies or a nice restaurant...

But what he really enjoys to do? Call him the Great and Horrible if you so wish, but he enjoys bringing them to those-... Haunted houses and scary movies if they’re ever up for it. Only if they are; Because he not only enjoys the horror aspects the humans have created- But he seriously loves it when his S/O tucks themselves into him for his protection.

However, if they’re too much for his S/O to handle? Well, that’s alright... Black will stick to softer things; Romantic movies, late night talking, but above all; Will fully give all his attention to cuddling his S/O.

Cuddling and touching is actually a large ordeal for Black... He can be very scared of harming his lover on accident with his claws and sharp features; Doesn’t have all that good experiences and would worry about if his claws would scrape just wrong or his jagged bones piercing their skin or flesh when he moved. So, for him to cuddle and nuzzle and get touchy is a huge ordeal; But he’ll still give it a shot, dammit! Just... Slowly, ever so slowly, he’ll become more to cuddling his S/O.

It’ll be more of a shock to them both when he begins to show just how much he loves them after he’s settled his fears of accidental harming; And able to find that right amount of pressure that it feels good to both without the fear!

Okay. So. Both of them would be shocked to say the least.

The one who would be more shocked?

Black. Black would be flustered as all hell to see his S/O laid out. For him. In their bed. He would not know what to do or say at first; Even after so many times of love making; He would be. Utterly. Speechless. And that is a HUGE FEATURE to pull on this loud Skeleton!

After the initial shock, he would try and stutter something out, but then practically say fuck it and just... Wow, okay. He wants his S/O more and more the closer he gets, like oh MAN. It’s such a sweet and loving gesture and godDAMMIT DOES HE LOVE YOU??

Wait, oh dear god, his S/O was wearing-... Frills.

He’s a type who enjoys the frills, the soft lace, the gentle, white, pink, extremely feminine and sweet looking lingerie. That gets his magic flaring a HELL OF A LOT. The innocents, the wonderfully weak fabric that if he just traces his claws against, he could feel the fabric break under his touch. God, he enjoys that and he will rip it off his loving S/O without so much of a scratch on them... Oh lord, take a betting pole; His S/O will not be walking for a god damn week after surprising him like this...

He’s soft for his Lover and all... But he can’t fully control his urges to mark and break them if they sent that much of a shock his way... But, he’ll take care of his S/O afterward. Over the edge or not, he’ll be making sure their well pleased just like him... Whoo, boy.

Now, the Hounddog Mutt is a bit different...

Mutt would be surprised for a second; But he’ll easily relax and go into a state of his natural hunger the more his eyelights travel his S/O’s body. He’s used to the frills, the lace, the dark types, the soft types... He’s used to his bedmates surprising him like this, used to others showing their hunger in their positions and will happily go and please them.

But what would he not be expecting?

Leather. Oh dear god, you surprise this boy with leather and anything hard for him to try and scratch and tear off?? That will get him begging. Mutt actually enjoys to be the bottom; Power or not. He loves the leather, he loves the ability of not being able to rip that damn teasing fabric off his lover. The spice of seeing his Lover wanting to be the power top makes him melt.

Extra brownie points if your leather outfit is mixed with magic damping abilities. Then he really CAN’T do a damn thing!

Mutt can be pretty-... Needy. He’s always been needy, wanting to touch, to paw, to play; Though ripping things off his bedmates has served as a small turn on for him; Nothing can get him going more however than him trying to tear and use stronger means to try and tear off clothing. He loves using his full strength, though it can-... Sometimes-... Get his bedmates harmed, but that's alright because he can easily heal them up... He’s careful, but he can lose sight if it gets too strong... He’ll take care of the wounds though, lovingly... Extra care, he would have to remind himself to hold back or watch what catches what.

Still yet, it stands that Leather with Magic damping mixtures tend to make him go wild. He wants to feel his power practically be useless in some sort of way; Not enough to be-... Defenceless. But just enough to allow some sort of power given to his S/O, trusting them that they will please them both...

Yeah, he’s all for doing the dom side, but dammit-... He likes to be a sub-... Sometimes. most of the time. Just give him all the love and chide him when he tries to rip your leather, and damn... He’ll be a puddle~

#Swapfell #Swapfell AU #Swapfell Headcanons #Swapfell HC #Mai replies #Mai talks #Mai rambles #Romantic gestures #Lingerie preference #Sweet boys #Blacks more prone to not lose control #Mutt will just-... Nope #he's lost #Both brothers will take care of their S/O's though #Blacks a total dom #Mutts a switch #The floodgates of perversions are opening now #I can feel it #Thanks for asking!

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