#the way her claw als curls into a fist >

[adelaidedrubman]

COMFORT MY CHARACTER. (from this prompt list) + jestiny +☀️ - a nice day outside (requested by @simplegenius042) + 🧸 - a soft plushie (requested by @blissfulalchemist) + ✋ - a hand carding gently through their hair (requested by both!)

notes: hello hello, look who is coming in three months later to finally answer these. i am sorry for the delay and ofc no pressure to read, but i decided this would be good to pivot and post for valentine’s day. also, avoiding spoilers but if you want a visualization on 🧸 you can find it here. this is set in hook, line, and sinker verse, but the only context from it you really need is that john and jestiny are fake dating. wordcount: 2.3k warnings: animal death, fleeting detailed fantasies of violence against humans, and threats to do violence to humans. pretty tame all things considered.

A gentle breeze kicks up to ease the heat settling into Jestiny’s cheeks and tickle her jaw with the feathery ends of her hair, and as she draws in a deep inhale of the scent of pine carried on the air it dawns on her that this truly is her definition of a perfect day. 

The sun beats down on the back of her neck to bake the skin and draw a pleasant coating of sweat that flushes cool with the wind. The glittering waters of Snowshoe Lake lap gently at the thick heels of her boots stuck into mud. 

Three trout float defeated and bled dry in the cooler she pulls a fresh beer from, a fourth cutting ripples into the water as it moves to flirt with her hook. The glass on her bottle of Two Hearted Ale kisses her inner thigh with its crisp coating of frost as she props it against her leg. 

Hank is tucked away in the bib pocket of her overalls and firmly in the grips of a food coma courtesy of the extra scoop of bait Adelaide threw in for him, pointy pink fingers still curled around the batch of crickets he grew too full to finish. 

And any threat of tranquility stagnating to tedium is kept at bay by the sudden plop of her bobber to sink into the water, causing Jestiny to perk up and brace herself just in time for the satisfying tension of weight pulling against her rod. 

Jestiny licks her lower lip as she begins to reel, muscles of her arms tensing and tugging on instinct with the perfect amount of pressure to meet the force of the fish in a smooth, elegant dance — a back and forth quickly rewarded as her catch leaps from the water. An opportunity she gladly seizes, reeling it to its doom. 

She feels Hank begin to slowly stir against her chest as she pierces her knife through the fish’s brain, his head poking from her pocket for his whiskers to brush against her chin as she drops the trout into her cooler. 

A somehow still surviving cricket leaps from Hank’s clutches as he unfurls his fist in a waking stretch, landing at the top of Jessie’s head as the rest of the insects fall lifelessly into the depths of her pocket. 

“Hank,” she chides without malice, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she grins down at the opossum. “What did I tell you about goin’ and wastin’ bait?” 

Hank claws his way up Jestiny’s chest as she rewards herself with a hearty gulp of beer, climbing over her shoulder to cling to the back of her head and reach to pluck the cricket from her hair and plop it into his mouth. 

And to Jessie’s relief he doesn’t scramble back down to grab for the bait she slides onto her hook, instead remaining perched on her shoulder as she casts her line, his fingers tangled in her hair. 

Hank combs the fingers through short locks as Jestiny leans back to settle in and watch the water, his snout nudging against her as he sniffs for more bugs, licking to groom out anything he finds. 

His sharp little claws send a relaxing tingle along Jestiny’s scalp as they rake along the skin, gliding down her spine to ease the tension from her shoulders. 

Yes, in Jestiny’s mind it is truly a perfect day. And with the bright blue of the sky stretching out without a cloud in sight, she felt certain that nothing could happen to ruin —

The low rumble of an engine tears Jestiny from her thoughts, followed by the thud of a car door slamming that tells her the driver is close. 

“The fuck,” Jessie mutters under her breath as she glances to her phone. “Shouldn’t be a fuckin’ soul around here but —” 

“Ah, there’s the fisherwoman I’ve been looking for!” a devastating familiar voice calls, the surface of the water suddenly busy with the ripples of fish swimming away. 

“No,” Jestiny says before she’s even turned around. She jumps to her feet to face the man strolling towards her and shout louder, “No. Absolutely not!” 

“You certainly know how to give a lover a warm welcome,” John replies as he plants himself in front of Jessie. 

“Never fuckin’ call yourself that,” she says with a grimace, taking suspicious note of the giant, glossy gift bag slung over his shoulder. “Never call anyone that,” she tacks on, a disgusted shudder texturing the words. “And never fuckin’ bother me when I’m fishing,” she snaps. “How did —” she runs a frustrated hand through her hair, pushing it back into the face of the opossum still clinging there. “How did you even find my spot?! You stalkin’ me now?”

A sharp grin carves itself into his face to push back the modest rounds of his cheeks and deepen the sag of his laugh lines, his eyes lighting up with an irritatingly proud twinkle. 

He slides a hand beneath his vest, pulling out a sleek smartphone with a cross insignia on its case. “Scathing negative reviews of Snowshoe Lake suddenly popped up last night on Fishbrain, FishHub, ANGLR — even AllTrails and 27 Crags mentioned the nearby mountain pass being subpar.” 

“You saw somewhere with shitty reviews and figured you belonged there?”

“I figured it was the work of my clever, reclusive little angler slyly marking her territory.” A slow, dramatic bat-batting of his eyelashes punctuates the statement. “And lo and behold, here you are.”

The hinge of her jaw; her nose twitches. “I like my privacy,” she drawls slowly, so that he may understand. “Now that we’ve gone over the how, maybe we can move on to why the fuck you’re here? And when you’ll be fucking leaving?”

If it’s within the next ninety seconds, perhaps she can still salvage her perfect day. 

“Why, you haven’t been keeping track?” His tongue clicks against his teeth with a furrow of his brow in a contrived display of woundedness. “We’re celebrating our one month anniversary today!”

She snarls and bugs her eyes. “Great! Our fake relationship reached a fake milestone I wouldn’t even celebrate if it was real!”

“Do you think that attitude could have been a contributing factor to the death of your real relationship?” 

She thinks how beautiful her fishing knife would look lovingly buried to the hilt in his jugular, the sweet glug glug glug he would make choking on his own blood. She thinks about how pretty he would look with that sharp grin sliced to gape and droop like a catfish’s mouth. 

“I think interrupting my fishin’ time is about to be a contributing factor in your death,” she settles on. “The only way you’re gonna be any good to me around here is if I chop you up into little bits and use you as bait for my fucking hook.” 

“Well, for all that empty posturing you’d think you would better understand the importance of keeping up appearances,” he muses as he rifles through the bag at his side. “We’re pretending to be a happy couple — the kind that would spend their anniversary together.”

“Well, nobody’s here! So how ’bout we don’t and say we —”

Jestiny is interrupted by a hand shoving a bundle of red roses against her chest, full enough to block her vision so that she must snatch them by the tissue paper and ribbon wrapped stems to lower enough for her to glare at the man stepping back to gaze at her with a self-assured smile. 

“Aw, John,” she coos with a sweet flutter of her eyelashes and beaming smile. “You shouldn’t have,” she fusses as she leans in to stick her nose in the petals and inhale. “You really shouldn’t have. Because anyone who’d actually been dating me for a month would know —” she hurls the bouquet to the ground, stomping a foot down atop it. “That I! Fucking! Hate! Getting! Flowers!” she screams as she grinds the blossoms into the dirt beneath her boot. 

“Ah, well,” his unaffected sigh draws her attention to the repetitive shuttering sound filling the background. “Luckily, I don’t think anyone would suspect as much from looking at you.”

She looks up from crushed petals to see John holding up his phone with screen pointed towards her, her own sarcastically smiling face as she clasps a bouquet greeting her. 

“And image is what matters,” he purrs, stepping back and tucking his phone into his vest pocket just as she swings for it. 

“Then how about you get the fuck out of here before I wreck that phone and that pretty face of yours?”

He positively glows at the threat. “Come now, you didn’t really think I’d call it quits at a puny dozen roses, do you?”

“I’ll shove the next bouquet so far up your ass your mouth is gonna win an award for best rose garden!”

“Not roses,” he replies, holding out a bright red heart-shaped box. 

“Great,” she grumbles, snatching the box. “Another thing I don’t fucking wa —”

He catches her hand as it moves to throw the box to the ground. “Just open it.”

“I don’t fucking like chocolates,” she replies, holding no particular distaste for chocolates. “Especially this stupid fucking February 15th drugstore clearance aisle —”

He lifts the lid himself with a huff. 

She sees there are in fact no chocolates in the container. Instead, its five sections are filled with a menagerie of bait — a tangled ball of earthworms in the left round at the top, a school of dried minnows in the right, one pile of crickets and one of grasshoppers in the center, and a cluster of doughballs at the pointed bottom. 

“Mm,” she grunts in begrudging appreciation. She pinches the leg of a grasshopper between her fingers, lifting it above her head to offer up to Hank before she grabs the lid from John to place back atop the box. 

“Doesn’t make no goddamn sense to have doughballs and insects in the same damn container — where am I finding catfish and trout together outside of a stocked pond?” She snorts with laughter at the ridiculous thought of fishing at a stocked pond before clearing her throat and setting the heart-shaped box down by her cooler. “Still, I guess it keeps me from using you to bait my hook.”

That proud glow of his brightens until he’s absolutely luminous at her walking back of the death threat. 

“Don’t oversell the proclamations of love, Jessie dearest — it has only been a month,” he says with a dreamy sigh, leaning into her as if blooming towards the sun itself. 

“You wanna quit while you’re ahead?” she offers with a tilt of her head towards his car.

“Rule of threes, my love,” John answers breathily. “What would flowers and chocolates be without a cute stuffed animal?” 

Her eyebrow twitches. “Should have quit while you’re ahead,” she snaps. “I am a twenty-eight year old woman, not a schoolgirl looking for a teddy bear to hug at —”

Another flourish of his hand cuts her off, palm outstretched to display a soft plush of pink and gray. 

“Not a teddy bear,” he purrs. 

It’s not a teddy bear. Its round little ears are bare felt and marbled pink and black, the beads of its eyes pinpoint tiny beads, bubblegum pink tail curling around its body. It’s — 

“An opossum,” she mutters to herself, a small, giddy huff of a laugh passing through her lips against her will. She brushes her fingers against its soft faux fur before she can stop herself, and John’s free hand reaches out to cover hers and wrap it around the plush to hold it on her own before retracting his. 

She coughs and shoots him an obligatory glare before looking back to the opossum plush, eyes drawn to take notice of the opening in its middle — finding a second tiny opossum head peeking out. 

Her eyes widen, and in spite of herself she laughs out under her breath, “It’s got a baby in its little pouch…”

She pulls the smaller stuffed opossum from its place nestled inside the larger plush, holding both up in proud display to no one in particular. 

She feels the scraping of claws and a the tickle of tiny, sniffing exhales against her cheek as Hank climbs down to perch atop her shoulder and inspect. 

His clawed little hand reaches out to grasp the smaller opossum, holding it to himself in ownership, then tucking it into the pocket of Jestiny’s overalls before climbing down her chest to curl up beside it. 

“Ha!” Another laugh bursts out before she can stop it, looking up with a delighted grin on damnable reflex to check that her company saw the precious sight she did. 

Blue eyes sparkling bright with pride meet her. Jessie’s cheeks sear under their unbearable heat. 

She clears her throat. 

“Well, Hank likes it,” she mumbles, spinning on her heels to turn her back to him as she tucks the larger plush into her overalls. “Gotta keep it, I guess.”

“Is that all it takes?” John asks, his breath falling hot along the back of her neck as he crowds behind her with every step she takes back towards the shore, like a trout chasing a lure. “Perhaps Hank can put in a good word for me, then?”

“Opossums can’t talk, dumbass,” she scoffs in reply as she reaches into the heart-shaped box to pull out an earthworm to slip onto her hook. “And people who expect to be allowed to hang around while I fish shouldn’t either.”

Another dreamy sigh and a rustle of clothing against grass as weight sinks beside her in the mud. 

She focuses herself on the pleasant plop of her bobber landing in water, breathing in the crisp mountain air and ignoring the encroaching warmth of a knee casually pressing against her own as she spreads her legs to shore up her fishing stance. 

Perhaps her perfect day would have to be chalked up as another one that got away. 

An arm stretches out behind her to press its palm onto the ground on the opposite side, its owner’s head indiscreetly turned to the side to stare at her rather than the water, and this time she chooses to blame the heat crawling along her cheeks on the afternoon sun rather than the scrutiny of his adoring gaze.

But a bad day of fishing beats a perfect day of anything else, after all. 

#also was my excuse to force myself into playing around in present tense more thinking ‘‘oh this will be quick and easy so’’ #three months later…… #oc: hank the opossum #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #praying to the valentine’s gods this queues correctly

[primofate]

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days. 

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again. 

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move. 

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things. 

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you. 

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters. 

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo. 

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment. 

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days. 

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now. 

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you. 

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty. 

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep. 

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background. 

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone. 

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you. 

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,” 

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,” 

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now. 

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

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[aithorin]

An Exception to the Rule - All Smite x Reader (18+)

Summary: Now All Smite was by no means a hero. In fact, he was quite literally the opposite, but for you he might be willing to make an exception. 

Warnings: Mentions/threats of rape (nothing actually happens), Villain Au, Villain!All Might, Blood and violence, Threats of violence, Slight gore, hostage, Protective!All Might (i.e. he basically goes on a rampage cause someone tries to hurt you), Soft ending with hurt/comfort

Rated M for violence

Flying through the city, a smirk made its way onto All Might’s face as he heard a scream echo throughout the night. God, he reveled in the chaos. The chaos that he created. His very presence had allowed the chaos in Japan to fester and grow throughout, and thus every time he heard crimes being committed, his chest swelled with pride. It made his ego surge to watch the fruit of his efforts be harvested and taken advantage of. There was just something so immensely satisfying about it, knowing that every villain in Japan owed the success of their crimes to him. It provided a rush of gratifying adrenaline like no other.

Deciding he had a few minutes to spare, All Might quickly set course towards the sound of the disruption. At the very least, it would provide some entertainment. But, depending on what they were doing to the unfortunate soul, he might even decide to join in. It would be a nice way to unwind before going home to you. God knows how much fun he had seeing the way people cowered at the very sight of him.

Landing silently behind the group, he quietly observed the scene unfold, trying to decide if he wanted to step in.

“Eh this one’s a looker, isn’t she boys? Before the night’s over, I think I’ll use her for the whore that she is.” The one All Might assumed to be the leader taunted, stepping forward to tower over their victim.

Manic laughter floated throughout the air as the two lackeys accompanying him moved in to completely surround their target. “That sounds like a great idea boss! You always have the best ideas. Can we get a turn too? Please. Please. Please!” The one on the right begged.

“Maybe once she’s unconscious. You know it’s only fun for me when they’re awake so I can see the look of fear in their eyes. God, just the thought of it is giving me a hard on already.” The leader chuckled out.

”Pl-please,” A woman’s shaky, frightened voice whimpered out, “let me go. I-I have money. Just tell me what you want!”

At the sound of the woman’s voice, the blood in All Might’s veins turned ice cold. That-that was your voice. And just like that, the overwhelming pride he had been feeling moments ago withered away, consumed by something much more deadly-a feral rage. How dare they talk to you like that? How dare they even try to lay their hands on you? Fists clenched and shaking in anger, All Might stalked towards them, blue eyes blazing and filled with an unquenchable, seething bloodlust.

Unaware of their impending doom, a harsh slap echoed through the night as the leader thug slammed your head into the dumpster you were backed against. He looked down at you, sneering, “Shut up, bitch! You’ll be lucky if you make it out of here alive tonight. You should be grateful that I’m even considering it.”

“I’d leave the girl alone if you know what’s good for you.” A gravelly voice spoke from behind.

Turning around halfway, the leader scoffed, not even bothering to see who the person was. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? This one’s ours, so why don’t you scram before I decide to kill you t-”

He was cut off as a hand shot out, quick as lightning, to wrap around his throat. Before he could even register what was happening, the thug’s eyes bulged as the hand began choking him. He felt himself being lifted 3 feet into the air, and soon came face to face with a set of flaming blue eyes. At the sight of them, his body went stiff in fear. The rest of the newcomer’s face was hidden by the shadows of the night, but just the sight of his eyes were enough to make the thug cower.

“Who….the….hell….are….you?” The leader gasped out, vision going spotty from his quickly draining air supply.

Letting out a sinister chuckle, the newcomer stepped into the light emitting from a nearby streetlamp. Seeing who it was, the leader’s mouth went dry as a sweat broke out on his forehead. His already tight throat closed up even more causing his breath to come out in wheezes as a chill of fear worked its way down his spine, causing his body to tremble in mid-air.

“Al-All...Might” He rasped out, hands pointlessly tugging on the one large hand curled around his throat.

A wicked smile crept onto All Might’s face. “Good,” He purred out, “You know who I am, so there’s no need for introductions. Maybe you aren’t a complete imbecile.”

Tilting his head to study his prey, All Might reconsidered, “Although it is hard to believe you actually possess a brain, considering you tried to steal something of mine.”

Nodding his head toward your shaking, huddled form a few feet away, All Might’s face hardened. “That girl over there belongs to me, and you just tried to touch her. Now if you remember anything about me, you should know that I don’t share. Do you want to know what happens to people who try to take things that belong to me?”

Eyes darting back and forth, the thug frantically shook his head as much as he could while being held in All Might’s grip. “Pl-please… I-I… didn’t know!”

Ignoring the man’s pleas completely, all the previous traces of being dangerously coy with the thug were wiped away as All Might murderously intoned, “They die.”

With that, All Might began to squeeze the hand wrapped around the man’s throat even tighter. Garbled chokes escaped the man’s lips as with each passing second All Might added more and more force. Reveling in the sound, a sadistic, twisted grin made its way onto All Might’s face. If he was feeling generous, he could have just snapped the man’s neck and been done with it, but that would have been too easy. The bastard had to pay for what he did, and so All Might made sure to drag it, delighting in the way the man’s neck slowly began to crack in his grasp as the life drained from his eyes. Sickening sounds floated into the air, mixtures of bone breaking and strangled gasps as the man gagged on his own saliva. His hands flailed, desperately clawing at the limb wrapped around his neck in a futile attempt to break free. Much too soon for All Might’s liking though, the thug’s efforts slowed before stopping altogether, his hands falling lifelessly back down to his side.

Letting out a sneer, All Might finally released him from his grasp letting his body carelessly crumple to the ground with a revolting thud. “How pathetic, he didn’t even last 2 minutes.”

Taking one last glance at the body, he kicked it to the side before turning his attention toward the two lackeys trembling in the corner. Blinded by bloodlust, he stalked toward them, licking his lips in anticipation and clenching his hands together, imagining their necks were in between them.

All Might was almost upon them when a flash of movement captured the corner of his eye. Momentarily ignoring his prey,  he shifted his body slightly and caught sight of you, shivering in a seated position with your arms wrapped tightly around your legs while slowly rocking back and forth. Gooseflesh had broken out along your skin from the chilly night air, only agitated by the cold sweat that had broken out upon your brow from the night’s events. Stray hairs stuck to your skin as wide, fearful (e/c) eyes looked up to lock with his own, and instantly All Might felt his bloodlust melt away, replaced by an overwhelming need to go to you.

Spinning back around, he addressed the two lackeys quivering in the corner. He pointed a disgusted, raging scowl at the thugs before thundering his ultimatum. “You have exactly 5 seconds to get out of my sight. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up like your boss over there.” He stated, throwing a finger back over his shoulder in the direction of the corpse.

Leaning down, he pulled both of them up by the collar of their necks. “And if I ever catch you even looking at this girl, trust me when I say you won’t live to tell anyone about it. But, feel free to tell your buddies about what happened here tonight. It’ll be a good reminder to everyone out there about what happens when you try to take something that belongs to me. Remember boys, I. Don’t. Share. So spread the word that this girl’s mine.”

Then, without another word, All Might threw them towards the opening of the alley. Not needing to be told twice, they scrambled back, hightailing it out of there. Watching them go, a small smirk passed over his face at their show of naivety. He’d let them go, for now. He had more important matters to take care of. But come tomorrow, they’d be dead. All Might was nothing if not a man of his word, and so they, too, would have to pay with their lives for trying to steal from him. He could see it now. The look of shock their faces would portray at his appearance tomorrow. The way it would morph into a look of fear as he approached them. And finally, the acceptance that would fill their eyes as he squeezed the life out of them, realizing, at last, that he had never intended to let them truly escape. Yes, tomorrow would be a very good day indeed.

Turning around, he started to approach you, making slow, small steps when your face darted up in fear, like a deer caught in headlights. Seeing that it was just him, All Might watched your tense body start to relax as you buried your head back into your legs. Reaching you, he squatted down to be eye level with you, hesitantly reaching an arm out to place it on your shoulder. Now that you were no longer in danger, All Might felt unsure of what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort someone in distress as he was much more used to being the one causing the distress. Finally, he decided to settle for asking basic yet somewhat obvious questions.

“Are you alright?” He gruffed out.

Hearing no reply, a worry that he tried to push away started to creep into his mind the longer you stayed silent. Were you hurt? Had he gotten there too late? Had they touched you? He started to become lost in thoughts until a sudden force jolted him out of it. Looking down, he saw that you had attached yourself to his body, clutching at him like your life depended on it. He debated with himself for a few moments before choosing to reciprocate the gesture, wrapping his large arms around you and encasing you within his body heat. At his touch, your body started to shake with silent sobs, tears from your eyes beginning to wet his shirt. You stayed that way for a long time, bodies holding onto each other as you tried to process the events from the night. All Might didn’t say anything, choosing to offer you support quietly for as long as you needed it. Eventually though, your cries subsided and your frame slumped against him, exhausted from everything that had happened.

Eyes heavy, you were vaguely aware of your body shifting as All Might stood up. Lifting you with ease, he placed you into both of his arms, saying “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Slowly being lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his footsteps, a feeling of warmth and safeness washed over you. Right before you drifted to sleep, an inkling of a smile crossed over your face as you thought of the irony that you felt completely protected in the arms of the number one villain. With him, you knew that he would always be there to keep you safe. Although he was a villain, if tonight had proven anything, it seemed that you were an exception to the rule.

#all might x reader #villain all might x reader #all smite x reader #all smite #mha #my hero academia #yagi toshinori #all might x you #villain au #villain!all might #my hero fanfic #my hero x you #all might imagine

[babylooneytoonz]

monster

part two of bear

Ft. Geralt of Rivia x Reader

summary: when Geralt loves the monster inside of you, you think you have nothing to worry about. But what happens when someone frames you when you are innocent and poisons your lover's mind, turning him against you?

warnings: angst

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

The smouldering heat from the fire warmed your blood and bones to no extent, but what was the point of it? You looked at the blanket of the stars above you, but the brittle tears in your eyes made your vision blurry and difficult. Bringing your fingers gingerly to the side of your blood stained face, you pinched the bridge of your nose, waiting for the midnight to strike once more and your wretched curse to take over you.

He was your respite, in this cruel world of harshness. He, in his own different way, his outer shell hard and impossible to crack; used to be soft and gentle just for your eyes. He was like your little flicker of fire, that reflected in your eyes, warming up the cold in your heart. Geralt of Rivia. Fucking White Wolf. The bloody bastard that did this to you, and now you were out here, in the middle of nowhere, hunched underneath the canopy of the trees, warming yourself up by the little fire that you had lit, afraid of being caught.

The deeper you stared into the sizzling embers, your chin resting unceremoniously against your knees, that you had pulled up, and had an arm locked around, the more the thoughts and the memories plagued you, of the countless times the Witcher had shown you how he wasn't like the others.

The way he made love to you that night he found out about your curse. It was gentle, and raw. He held you close to his chest after that, the heat radiating from his body warming up your frame, as his lips tenderly explored your shoulders, and your lips. He held you to his chest, his thick, beefy fingers stroking through your course sweaty locks, his firm body pressed to you as he shared your bed, night after night, except for the days he was out on a monster hunt.

Geralt of Rivia looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. His fingers delicately traced the line of your lips, down your neck, over the valley of your breasts, and his breathing hitched, his lips pursing together, his golden orbs radiating with a warmth every time he was around you.

After midnight struck, and you turned into the bear you turned every single night into, Geralt didn't run away. Instead, you did. The first three nights of being with him, you ran away every single night the second you transformed, and it was a more a feeling of disgust on yourself, than a fear that you would end up hurting Geralt.

Then, from the fourth night, and the fifth, he began following you; his adept, athletic form running after you, jumping over the hedges and the thorns, just to make you stop running from him.

The sixth night, he finally stopped you, cornering you to a stone hill, his hands raised slightly, on either of his side, his chest heaving up and down, "It's me, my love." You knew it was him, but he was trying to make sure. You turned your animalistic front away from him, turning your back towards him. Geralt didn't go away, instead he took a step closer until you felt him place a hand on your back, the first touch barely grazing you, but it was as if he was waiting for your reaction. When you didn't flinch or try to attack him, he began stroking your fur tenderly and a growl emancipated from your snoot.

He was taming the monster in you, slowly yes but he sure was. You didn't run away from him this time.

That night, or the few nights after that, Geralt didn't leave your side even as you turned into that bear again. He stayed, nuzzling the side of your massive face with his nose, his fingers gently scratching your neck, just beneath your snout.

Your mornings with him were the best, especially when you changed back into your own human form upon the touch of the first sunlight, Geralt was with you, holding your hands in his as he watched your bear form melt away. He smiled, as though welcoming you back after a long journey, pulling your tiny, naked form against his chest to give you the warmth as he took his shirt off and let it slide over your frame. Holding you close to his side, he walked you back to the shared shack the two of you now lived in.

What had gone wrong so terribly that you were forced to hide in the thick woods, away from the humanity and away from Geralt?

Geralt didn't know what to believe. He didn't want to believe. There was blood everywhere the smell of it so strong, it was making him sick. Little children, young adults, women, no one was spared. The entire shack now lay abandoned, with bodies lined to the front door with massive claw marks that looked like that of a bear. His heart sank.

She was never like this; she was never a monster but he wasn't so sure anymore.

The stench was unbearable, the whispers of the villagers growing louder and louder into Geralt's ears. He could feel their hatred piercing through his flesh, their fingers pointing at him, blaming him for sheltering the monster they should have dealt with a long time ago. Was it a mistake saving her? Was she actually a monster hiding her true self under a blanket of kindness? For the first time, Geralt of Rivia had no answers.

Dejected, his head hung low, his mind dazed, not with the amount of ale he had had to drink, but rather the plague of his unrelentless morbid thoughts, Geralt walked back to the shack he shared with you, dreading coming face to face with you for the first time.

As he stepped into the shack, he could hear the utensils cracking against each other as you hunched over the sink, cleaning the brass vessels under the running water, your palms scrubbing the oil off them. You were humming to yourself in a low voice, and usually Geralt melted at the sight, wrapping his thick, veiny arms around your waist as he pulled you to him and kissed all the knots and the stress from his body away. But this time, things were different. You were the cause of his stress.

"You're home, love," you whispered, finally aware of his presence. Geralt wasn't specifically silent, with his heavy, burly frame and the armour that was in the least extremely noisy, "I'll get your bath. And the broth is almost on the last boil."

Geralt didn't respond, instead he began stripping down his armour until he was dressed in just his underwear. By that time, you had warmed some water in a metal tub for him, and Geralt stepped into it, hissing slightly as some old healing wounds on his feet came in contact with the warm water; as he sunk in comfortably, placing both his hands on either of the sides. He had a lot to think about.

You regarded him carefully. His shoulders were tense; his body hunched slightly and the old scars on his back were glistening under your candle that lit the room. You strolled towards him, pulling up a stool behind him and came to sit down, your fingers gently trailing over his back until you were scrubbing his back. He stiffened to your touch, and your touch suddenly felt foreign to him.

"Geralt, what's wrong?" Your lip quivered, and your heart sank, at how distant he was being. Yes, Geralt had always been a man of few to no words, but where his words fell short, his actions told you how he cared for you. But today, it was like you had been left to stand in a cold winter night, and Geralt had locked himself away, with the only source of warmth with him.

Suddenly, he stood up, splashing water all around the tub, soiling the flooring and you stood up too, frowning as to what had come over him. He leapt out of the bathtub, his naked form flashing in front of your eyes as he turned his bum towards you and began drying himself off with the cloth you had laid out for him. Once done, he pulled his tights up his toned legs and turned briefly towards you and started wearing his shirt, "Leaving."

"But Geralt, you just –"

"I need a fucking drink. I'll be at the tavern. Don't wait for me," He cut you off, brutally tearing through the soft coating of your tender heart, and you couldn't help but swallow his rudeness, and nodded. You grabbed a mop, and began cleaning the mess he had made on the floor, only to glare at him as he sat down against the side of the bed and began throwing his boots on.

"Leave, and don't even think of coming back into bed in the middle of the night, shit drunk and stinking like a pig," you snarled taking a sharp breath through your nose as you turned away from him and began mopping with your back turned towards him, your shoulders rigid and tense, your arm movements fast and angry.

"I sleep with a fucking bear, can me stinking like a pig be worse?"

You dropped the mop unceremoniously to the floor with a loud clash and turned towards him, your eyes narrowed down and you felt an unrelentless rage inside of you, and this rage was mixed with hurt.

"Get the fuck out, Witcher," your voice was low pitched and dangerous, and with one glare in your direction, the steps of the Witcher faded into nothingness.

That night, as you laid in bed, waiting for that cruel minute when you would turn into an animal, you couldn't help but let your eyes bleed with hot , salty tears, running down your cheeks, soiling your bedding. You whimpered and curled into a ball, burying your face into your hands as you began crying.

You pressed your fisted palm to your mouth, pressing it tight against it so your cries subsided, for you could suddenly hear the sounds of footsteps outside your home. Of course it wasn't Geralt, you were sure of that; the footsteps weren't of a single person, and it felt like an entire army was marching down on you.

You sat up in bed and slid to the edge, standing up as you ran to the window. The villagers were all heading your way, holding lit torches, their faces angry and most of them were yelling.

You cried in pain, looking down at your bleeding thigh were a villager's dagger had managed to cut you. They had found you hiding in the forest, and since you hadn't transitioned into your animal form yet, they had tied you up in chains and were dragging you along the muddy path, their movements fast and calculated. They had to reach the prison before midnight.

The walk to the prison didn't take more than a few minutes, and soon you were pushed face first into one of the empty prison cells. It stank of piss and blood, and you weren't sure which smell was stronger and you couldn't help but crouch into a corner as they tied you up and let your head rest against your knees.

The villagers gawked at you like you were a specimen on display as you turned into that bear, but the restrains that were holding you still were stronger than your bear form, and you couldn't break them, no matter how hard you tried to free yourself.

Geralt hated the tavern, he hated the village and the villagers that lived in it, but when he needed the ale, his hatred was forgotten. He had a lot running through his mind as he drank the last of his ale, and turned towards one of the windows in the tavern. The sky had turned a pale orange, and within the next few minutes to an hour, the sun would be gracing the world. He wondered if you were still in the shack, or you were out running in the forest somewhere. The images of the impaled and clawed out corpses came spiralling into his mind, and his grip on the pitcher almost tightened in reflex.

He was almost about to leave, when Jaskier pushed open the door, his panic stricken eyes scanning the interiors of the tavern until his eyes spotted the white haired man. He pushed a man aside, making his way towards him.

"Geralt, listen–"

"Not now, Jaskier," Geralt growled at him, his eyes glowing with anger.

Jaskier lowered himself into the chair opposite the Witcher and just looked at him, exasperated.

"Aren't you just one bit concerned on [Y/N]'s wellbeing? You're getting yourself drunk, and the villagers are planning to kill her for something she hasn't even done–" Jaskier added.

"the villagers know what they are doing," Geralt took a deep breath, shifting his gaze from Jaskier, and staring idly at the sun that was now rising.

"You what? You–" Jaskier fumbled; he couldn't believe his ears. "They poisoned you too, didn't they?"

"I saw those bodies, Jaskier," Geralt stood up, his chair noisily clattering against the cold floor of the tavern. Ignoring Jaskier, who was now sitting with his palms curled into tight fists, he made his way to the tavern owner, shelling out his pouch of coins. He pulled out the coins and placed them on the counter, and without glancing back at Jaskier, he began walking out when Jaskier came running towards him, and began following him.

"I don't want to be a part of this, Jaskier."

"Listen to yourself, Geralt. That's [Y/N]. She is being framed. I know it in my heart, she cannot do this, please Geralt. They will kill her and once you come back to your senses, it will kill you."

Geralt grunted under his breath as his palm swiped over his jaw. He stiffened as he heard a few villagers began speed walking towards the right, and Geralt frowned, grabbing one of them by their collar.

"Get your hands off me, Witcher. What the fuck–"

"Where are the villagers going?" Geralt grumbled.

"Why? To the market of course. That cursed bitch is to be publicly killed for the murders of our children–" he pulled his shirt off the Witcher's grip, and without giving him another glance, he joined the other villagers and they walked off.

"Wake the fuck up, you monster, and get your tits off the floor," someone threw you an old looking dress, and you opened your eyes to the commotion around you, only to realize that the villagers were all standing outside your cell. You sat up, hurriedly pushing yourself to the wall as you brought your knees up to cover your breasts. You hurriedly reached for that torn dress they had given you; for something was better than nothing, and your own dress was now nothing but pieces of torn fabric strewn here and there. You pulled it over your head, bringing it down to your body, when someone grabbed your arm and pulled you up.

"Can't wait to finally get rid of you, you Satan's spawn," one of them spat on the floor just next to your feet, as one of them began walking out, your chain in his hands. The other one held you by your arm, yanking you to move out and you had no choice.

"Why?" You whispered, your eyes already beginning to cloud with your tears, your eyes widened in fear as you stepped out of your cell and the men began walking out.

Outside, it felt like the entire village had gathered just to watch what was going to happen to you. The looks on their faces were far from sympathetic, there was hate in their eyes and you closed your eyes and let out a cry, as a stone hit the side of your face, just beneath your temple and blood started oozing out of the cut the stone had given you. The villagers were now chanting the words 'kill the beast' again and again, as you were being pushed through the crowds.

The realization was beginning to sink in, as blood trickled down your temple; your heart raced mercilessly. This was the end, it finally was. You couldn't help but think of Geralt as you walked with them, you wondered where he was and if he cared enough. The fight last night had been strange but even stranger was the fact that he wasn't here to save you from these people today.

Even bigger was the realization and the hurt that arose as a result of it; that Geralt too thought of you as a monster. Maybe you deserved this.

"fucking bitch," someone yelled from the crowd, and just then, a massive stone was hurled at you, right at your face, hitting you square in the jaw. Your body twisted when it hit you, your face falling to your right as the pain grew. Your face felt like it was on fire. When you looked up, you realized that you were standing alone; so hopelessly alone, and the villagers all stared at you with venom laced in their eyes. Their leader or whoever this man in the front was, had his sword drawn out as he spat, "any last wishes, you monster?"

You closed your eyes, your body giving up, when you heard the galloping of a horse. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Roach pushing her way through the crowd; though technically the people were moving out of her way , for they didn't want to get crushed under its legs. Geralt's white hair flew due to the wind, and his lips were pressed together, as Roach galloped towards you. When Geralt was close enough, he suddenly flung himself to his side, his legs still secured by the saddle as he grabbed you by your waist and flung you up onto the moving mare.

Angry cries of disdains and yells sounded from behind you, but you weren't looking. Your eyes were fixed on Geralt, as you were clinging on him for life, but he was looking straight ahead, as Roach galloped away.

The air hit your face like ice lollies, and Geralt's body felt nothing like the warmth it always gave you. Although you were now sat in front of him on the mare, the distance between you two felt like two ends of a river bank.

Finally, the mare lowered it's pace as it came to a halt and you squinted your eyes only to realise that you were now on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the forest.

"Get down," Geralt's cold voice said.

Without a word, you got down, and following you, Geralt hopped off Roach.

"Geralt," you mumbled.

"Leave this village. Go anywhere. I won't be around to always save you from them."

You looked at the man's sublime face. The sun shone down on him, making him look even radiant than he already was. You bit your lip, your face contorted in hurt as you nodded and ran your hand across the side of your face to straighten your ruffled up hair.

Geralt turned away without saying another word ad he began climbing on Roach's back once more but your words stopped him,"Just why Geralt? What did I do wrong?"

He turned but not completely. It was like he couldn't bear the sight of you any longer.

"You're a monster, and the next time, I don't think I will be the one saving you."

You blinked, watching him ride away, his fiery white hair flowing with the wind, his shoulders tense, until he was out of sight.

Henry Cavill All Characters Taglist + Bear Taglist:

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#geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x reader

[peachtree-dish]

A Te Che Sei Il Mío Grande Amore

Chapter 3: Senza che tu mi dica niente tutto si fa chiaro

Luglio 01, 1969

Luca’s birthday rolled around faster than anyone expected, the day arriving with clear skies and high temperatures. Luca awoke to his mother’s voice echoing through their home as she prepared breakfast. Stretching, the fifteen-year-old shook his nonna as gently as he could to wake her. She grumbled at his attempts and swatted at his claws.

“Nonna,” he sighed, shrugging with a smile and swimming into the kitchen to greet his parents. During his time in Porto Rosso, Luca enjoyed every moment he could swimming and spending as much time in the water since he couldn’t do as much in Genoa. He, along with Giulia and Signora Mia, had snuck to the shoreline in the early hours of the morning every few weeks or so just so Luca could refresh his scales and get the nutrients he needed. It was especially necessary when the temperature had become too cold and made him lethargic and ill. Luca shook his head softly, sending bubbles rippling above him in search of the surface. Signora Mia had been just as kind as Massimo, and just as headstrong in a lot of ways. He made a silent promise to call her with Giulia to make sure she was doing well, even if he were sure nothing could fell the infamous Mia Berni.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Daniella kissed Luca’s cheek and handed him a plate full of seaweed and fish flank on his way to the table. Returning the sentiment, the youth sat beside his father and informed his parents that grandma had decided to sleep in a little longer.

“Ugh, she does this every time. MA!” Daniella shouted in frustration, only to be startled by her own mother swimming around the corner.

“You’re being dramatic, dear. I only do it when I think it will annoy you.” The elderly sea monster smiled toothily at her disgruntled daughter who muttered, “Which is every day,” and finished setting the table.

“So, how does it feel to be another year older, son?” Lorenzo floated a piece of fish to his mouth and chewed animatedly, his gaze never leaving Luca’s. Luca shrugged in response and picked at the seafood drifting across the coral table.

“Not any different than last year, honestly. I still feel like I’m fourteen, so nothing special.” He slurped the seaweed into his mouth, much to his mother’s chagrin, and instantly missed the taste of pasta.

“Fifteen is a pretty big deal, though, you’re becoming a young man and that means changes and more responsibility.”

“I hardly think now is the time to discuss any of that at the table.” Luca’s grandmother scoffed before he could reply.

“What, it’s just the basics; Longer tail and fins, not to mention attracting the pretty lady gills, eh?” Lorenzo nudged Luca in the side who nearly choked on his food and spluttered white bubbles over the table, his scales flushing darkly.

“Lorenzo!” Danielle cried, her claws slapping the table in mortification.

“What? We were around his age when we met. If I remember correctly, you thought I was quite the catch.” He batted his eyes at her, pursing his lips teasingly.

“I was young and silly; I didn’t know any better.” Try as she might, Daniella couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to break her scowl. She busied herself by shredding the fish flank and wrapping it in seaweed. Undeterred, Lorenzo lifted from his chair and leaned in closer, trying to further fluster his wife.

“Yeah, maybe, but you still accepted my courting pearl after the Spring Swim Festival.” Lorenzo pulled a reluctant Daniella out of her chair and began to lead her around the room in spins and pivots, grinning madly as she shrieked with laughter. Luca watched with a mixture of amusement and confusion, his discomfort fading as he pushed the idea of ‘lady gills’ far from his mind. When he peered at his grandma, she appeared nonplussed and continued munching on her food although a genuine smile lifted her aging scales.

“You were skinnier and more handsome then, of course, she fell for you.” Lorenzo pouted at his mother-in-law and led both he and Daniella back to the table.

“I simply grew into my man body,” He emphasized his point by sticking his gut out even farther and patted it proudly. The table burst into laughter and Luca quickly finished eating after, his stomach nearly as full as his heart.

After he finished, he turned to his mother and asked, “Is it ok if I go visit Alberto and Giulia for the afternoon?”

Daniella conceded with a content nod, “Just don’t forget about our dinner tonight at Massimo’s, we don’t want you kids to be late.” Luca agreed cheerfully and kissed each family member on the cheek before swimming out the entrance.

“Hey!” Luca turned mid swim to see Daniella at the entrance. “I love you.”

“I love you too, ma!” Grinning, Luca took off, the water gliding past him as he made his way to the surface and his friends. As he leaped through the blue waves, he imagined he was like the superhero from the newspaper comics that Giulia and Mia both read. Pointing both fists forwards, Luca broke the surface with a whoop, water streaming behind him like a cape.

When he arrived at the Marcovaldo residence, the only beings there to greet them were Machiavelli and a few of his kits, each of whom wanted his attention and brief affection. Finding some of his spare clothes in the drawers of Alberto and Giulia's shared room, Luca quickly left the house and wandered the streets, eager to find his friends. Judging from the sun, he knew the morning fishing trip had come to an end not too long before which should mean Giulia, and Alberto was out delivering. Walking through the town square, Luca waved to a few of the patrons he recognized, mentally wincing as he remembered his first attempts at greeting Porto Rosso’s patrons. If anyone had been the stupidi, it had been them.

Chuckling as he went up the city’s hill, Luca caught sight of two familiar heads of curls along with two faces he was not expecting. Tensing at the sight of Guido and Ciccio, Luca prepared himself for a fight and made to run the rest of the way before he heard laughter. Guido was laughing at something Alberto had said and lightly touched his shoulder. Somehow, the movement was worse than if he had punched Alberto instead. A dark and ugly feeling reared its head within Luca’s belly, causing his face to burn and his hands to clench. Clenching his teeth, the young sea monster marched up the cobblestone pathways, intent on not showing his discomfort.

“Ciao,” he muttered shortly, arriving beside Alberto, and instantly causing Guido to lift his hand from Alberto’s shoulder. Giulia nodded hello from her seat on the bike as Alberto wrapped an arm around Luca’s shoulder.

“Oh, hey Luca,” Alberto cheered even more so upon seeing Luca. “You remember Guido and Ciccio, vero? I helped their families in the off-season while you were away.” Luca looked at the two teens who stood abashedly in front of him and offered his hand after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s good to see you both again,” Not, he thought as he shook the brunette’s hand. Ciccio spoke up, his round features coloring.

“We realize we never officially apologized to you before you left, si? We’re really sorry about last summer, Luca.”

“Si, Ciccio, and I were very foolish and ignoranti, we hope you can forgive us, and we can start again.” Guido smiled warmly, his gaze sincere. Taking a deep breath, Luca felt his earlier feeling of… whatever it was, fading away. If Alberto and Giulia both felt they could trust these boys again, then he could follow their lead.

“Lo apprezzo. I know being around Ercole wasn’t the easiest either, it’s all water under the bridge now anyway.” He smiled genuinely this time, heartened when the two ex-henchmen immediately relaxed.

“Bah, no lie, I’m so happy to be rid of that jerk,” Guido nodded at Ciccio who nodded and twisted his hands anxiously.

“He ate so much of my family’s bread,” Ciccio whispered horrified, his gaze wide. Giulia shared a weirded-out expression with Alberto who only shook his head.

“I didn’t know your family baked,” Luca interceded, ignoring his friends’ lack of subtlety Snapping back to the present, Ciccio grinned widely showing his perfectly white teeth.

“Oh, si, Pasticcini al sale Marino is the pride and joy of Porto Rosso and my family. Our baked goods bring customers from miles around; you should see the line of people who want to buy my mother’s Sfogliatella.” He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “My siblings and I have been helping since we were little, so only we know the recipe.” He puffed his round chest out proudly, only to be poked by both Alberto and Guido.

“Knowing a recipe and following it correctly are two different things, Ciccio. Your batter was not very good the last time you tried to make Bombolini.” Guido teased and Alberto nodded knowingly.

“I still don’t know how you mixed up salt and sugar,” the older sea monster screwed his face in disgust, remembering how the supposedly sweet treats and mistakenly been made with copious amounts of salt. “Seriously, Ciccio, even the ocean’s not as salty as those things were.” Ciccio pouted good-naturedly as the group laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as the time Guido set the auto garage on fire,” the blond argued mildly to which said boy grimaced.

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again; I thought my papa was going to skin me alive.”

The teens chatted a bit more and Luca began to warm up to the two boys who had hurt him so much the past year. Perhaps, he reasoned, they had been good all along and had simply needed the chance to prove themselves.

Bidding Guido and Ciccio farewell, Luca joined Alberto and Giulia as they made the rounds. Luca asked a question that had been on his mind since arriving in Porto Rosso.

“So, whatever happened to Ercole? I haven’t seen him since we’ve been in town.” Alberto placed the cash from his previous sale into the leather pouch of the cart before answering.

“Honestly, the guy kind of disappeared after the race. I think he was embarrassed enough to keep his head low for a while, but other than that, I’m not sure. Maybe he left?” Giulia thought for a moment, her gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Maybe, I don’t think he went away to university, but he could have. His family is really wealthy, so they could afford it no matter the grades he got.”

Luca kicked a pebble, his thoughts skipping back to that one word: university.

“What’s the point of grades anyway, doesn’t that, like, stress you out more?” Alberto mused.

“It certainly does for me,” Giulia huffed. She bid Buongiorno to a young mother who bought the last of their fish and both Luca and Alberto filled the empty space as they headed back down the hill.

“I think it’s mostly competition, to see who really wants to be an academico or no,” she contemplated. “Sometimes if you have really good grades, the universities will pay you to study in their schools. That happened to mama when she moved to Genoa.” Alberto winced slightly at the mention of Giulia’s mother, the story of her separation from Massimo fresh in his memory.

“I wonder if I was good enough, they’d do that for me?” Luca hummed, his eyes following the drains that spread across each building they passed.

“Well, duh, they’d be stupid not to; you’re better than good enough right now,” Alberto bumped his shoulder with a smile. Luca blushed and tossed his friend a grin.

“Hey, happy birthday by the way. It’s about time you got to my age,” the older boy winked and wrapped his arm around Luca again, causing Luca’s skin to hum with energy.

“Oh, yeah! Are you excited for tonight?” Giulia asked over her shoulder.

“Thanks, you guys, really,” Luca felt warmer with Alberto’s arm around him, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He wondered briefly if said boy could feel how hard his heart was pounding. “Should I be excited, I thought we were just having dinner?” Luca asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He twisted around to face Giulia as she pulled into the plaza and made her way towards the small coastal home. Alberto lifted his arm when Luca turned away, causing him to feel its loss.

Giulia glanced at him and grinned excitedly. “Papa saved some fireworks from the Festa Della Repubblica since we were in Genoa, and he wants to set them off for tonight.” Luca gasped and jumped in his seat.

“Santa mozzarella! Are you serious?!” He shared an animated glance with Alberto who smiled as he hopped off the cart.

“Of course! I mentioned to him how much you had enjoyed the fireworks during Vigilia di Capodanno last December. He decided that would be his gift to you this year.” Giulia locked the bike and carried their bag of earnings inside, the two boys following after her.

Inside they found Massimo at his stove, his presence filling up the majority of the room. He turned to greet them as they entered, placing a kiss upon Giulia’s curly head.

“Buon cumpleanno, Luca. May you live to see many more,” Massimo rumbled fondly, patting Luca on his checkered shoulder. Luca returned the sentiment and wrapped a short hug around the large man, his arms too small to wrap fully around him.

“Grazie, Massimo. For your wishes and for your surprise gift,” Luca pulled away while Massimo smiled happily, his eyes disappearing behind his bushy eyebrows.

“Giulia,” Massimo chided lightly, turning to his daughter who was counting out money, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret until after dinner?” Giulia smiled apologetically.

“Scusa, papa, we were just too excited,” She and Alberto began counting the coins on the table while Massimo ushered Luca over to the stove.

“Come, Luca, you will help me prepare dinner,” Massimo handed him a bag of clams and ordered him to wash them thoroughly in the sink. Luca would be the first to admit he was not a cook, but Massimo was gentle in his orders and easily guided Luca in making a perfect pasta dinner.

Once the Paguro family arrived along with Ciccio and Guido, once again to Luca’s surprise, the night was filled with much laughter and filling food. The linguine pasta alle vongole was instantly a hit and paired nicely with the red wine Ciccio had brought on behalf of his family. To the teens’ disappointment, the adults were adamant that they were still too young for alcohol. At one moment, Lorenzo laughed so hard, he inhaled his pasta and sent part of it into his nose much to the delight of the children. After dinner, the group trouped outside with fireworks and dessert in hand. While Massimo and Lorenzo set up the fireworks near the edge of the waterline, Daniella, Giulia, and Ciccio helped serve gelato and watermelon.

With a happy sigh, Alberto nestled himself into the sand alongside Luca, happily chewing on the red-fleshed fruit. Luca’s eyelids were drooping as his body felt full and warm, accompanied by his own friend’s radiating heat. His gaze lingered as Alberto licked gelato from his lips, the cream dripping from the corner of his mouth. Forcing his eyes to look anywhere else, Luca shifted closer to Alberto. Instead, his gaze landed on his father asking animatedly about the fireworks in Massimo’s hand, the larger man looking both confused and entertained by Lorenzo’s energy.

“I know I already said it, but happy birthday,” Luca dragged his eyes back to the tanned boy next to him and smiled. He jumped slightly at the first explosion, watching in delight as the light of the fireworks made his friend’s skin glisten with multicolored hues.

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” He replied easily. Neither made comment as their arms brushed or as their hands splayed out behind them with barely any space between. Up above the merry group, bright color after bright color bloomed across a starlit sky, the stars twinkling their own delight.

#luca #pixar luca #luca fanfiction #alberto scorfano #disney #alberto x luca #giulia marcovaldo #luca 2021 #luca x alberto #my fic tag #my favorite siblings #my fish bois #mutual pining #queer fanfiction #massimo marcovaldo #Daniella Paguro #lorenzo paguro #found family #a te che sei il mio grande amore

[hannah-and-the-jets]

I have been reflecting on the fact that cursed child was terrible, so, with that, I have taken it upon myself to rewrite it lol. Here’s a little snippet of the beginning and I hope to start posting on AO3 soon!

Before the Daily Prophet was delivered that morning, Harry knew that it was going to be a bad day. Sometimes he thought Ron was not joking when he called Harry a Seer, as there were times that he just knew it was going to be a terrible day. 

If his tea was delivered by his assistant, Ms. Biggs, and it was cold, Harry knew that he would be swamped with paperwork. If there was too much milk, Auror Richards would be stopping him at least twice that day. Not enough sugar meant he would be in the tabloids again. And if his partner stopped and picked up breakfast, well, then he would be expecting a new one soon. 

 However, Harry felt it deep in his gut that morning when he woke up, Ginny draped over his chest still and loose limbed. His heart was racing from a lingering nightmare; his skin felt too tight over his muscles and the back of his neck was drenched in sweat. The nightmare was not a new one. Harry would find himself back at Hogwarts, wandering the sewer pipes under the school. The sound of scales sliding against the stone walls, the whispers from the basilisk calling out to him, and his own childish screams rang through his ears. The creature never caught up to him, but Harry would wander the familiar pipes searching for Ginny. In all of the years that the same nightmare plagued him, he never found her. 

But waking up to her leg thrown over his hips, her hair tickling his face, and her breath against his neck was usually enough to ground him back to reality. That morning it wasn’t enough. The fear and panic clawed at his chest and lungs, begging to be released. Harry did not move a muscle out of fear of waking Ginny. The small puffs of air escaping from her mouth indicated that she did not wake when Harry jolted to a start, and Harry was thankful as he turned his head to look at the clock on his nightstand. 

Harry had to squint to make out the numbers 4:53am glaring at him in bright red from the small alarm clock. He sighed and wondered if he could even fall back asleep for the next thirty minutes before the alarm would sound. With a shaking breath, the fear still lingered deep in him. A piercing cry came from the baby monitor on the dresser across from the bed. Harry could feel the moment Ginny woke, as she tensed for just a second above him. 

“I’ll get him,” Harry whispered into her hair, “Go back to sleep.” 

“Thank you,” Ginny murmured, not quite awake but not quite asleep. Al’s wails bounced around the room as they untangled themselves from one another. Harry found his glasses on the nightstand, and his pajama pants on the floor where he had left them only hours beforehand. With a flick of his hand, the baby monitor went silent, and Harry slipped out of the bedroom. 

In the hallway, Harry could hear Al from the room on the right, but went left first to the third bedroom of the house. Harry carefully opened the door, and panic in his chest quieted for a second as he watched his first born, James, snoring lightly. His wild hair that matched Harry’s was thrown in every direction on the pillow, and his covers had been completely discarded to the floor at some point in the night. At three years old, James Sirius Potter was a little terror, and slept like one too. Harry grinned fondly at the sight as James let out a shockingly loud snort for a three year old; however, Al then let out a particularly loud cry. Harry closed the door, and made his way down to the almost toddler’s room. 

At one years old, Al slept most nights pretty comfortably, but lately he had been waking them up again. Harry made his way into the bedroom, where Albus sat in bed, wailing while holding his plush dragon. “Oh, buddy,” Harry grabbed him and held him close, “What’s going on?” 

Al just blubbered his response and dug his face into Harry’s shirt. His little fist had a death grip on his dragon, as Harry moved them to sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. The chair faced the window that led to the view of the street below them. They lived in a town near the Burrow. It was easy to be connected to the Weasley’s for if they needed help, or just wanted someone else nearby. 

Harry had sold Grimmauld Place back to Narcissa Malfoy two years after the war. He had cleared out Sirius’ stuff with Ginny one Saturday afternoon, and it was the last time he had set foot in the house. Then there was the apartment he shared with Ron for Auror training, then Ron had moved out to live with Hermione after he dropped out. Then came this home, and it was truly a home. Bright yellow exterior paint, a big backyard, rooms for the children, and a large kitchen as the heart of the home. They could not have raised the kids in Grimmauld, no matter how much Harry missed it. 

With the panic in his chest starting to subsided, Harry focused his attention on Al completely. He patted his bottom to see if he was wet, rested his hand on his head to see if he was too hot, but it came down simply because he just wanted to be comforted. Harry kissed his jet black curls and murmured to him slowly, “It’s okay, Buddy. Did you have a bad dream? I got you. It’s okay now.” 

They stayed in that position, slowly rocking, until the sun started to peak over the houses across the street. Albus had fallen back asleep at some point, but Harry couldn’t. He felt it. It was going to be a bad day, but he would enjoy this moment rocking his youngest child back to sleep. 

The morning preparations went by in a blur. Eventually, Ginny came to take Albus down to breakfast while Harry got ready to go to work. He got ready quickly and efficiently, the same way that he had since he had completed his training seven years beforehand. He paused only briefly to kiss the boys and Ginny goodbye before leaving. The tightness of his skin never went away. 

When he had arrived at the Ministry, it seemed to be a normal day. Witches and wizards buzzed all around him, finding their way to their offices and cubicles. Harry navigated his way with ease, and rode the elevator down to the Auror floor. Like every morning, he was greeted by various members before he reached his office. While not Head Auror, yet, he was a Senior Auror, and it meant a shared office with a partner and an assistant to support. However, his last partner, Auror Eickles, had brought two cups of coffee with him last week, and was still in Saint Mungos as of this morning.

Ms Briggs sat behind her desk, happily clicking away at the keys on her computer. She was an older woman who insisted on wearing a muggle skirt suit set everyday in bright colors. Her lipstick was always a bold pink, and every gray curl of hair was never out of place. Ms Briggs enjoyed her work, Harry thought. At least she was always happy to see him. 

“Good morning, Auror Potter,” She said without looking up, “I’ll bring a cuppa and the Prophet in just a second. All messages are on your desk, and Auror Richards has requested a meeting at 9am.” 

“I have that meeting with the Bulgarian Senior Aurors at 8. Tell Richards to reschedule.” 

“No can do,” Ms. Briggs looked up from her computer screen as Harry passed, “He gave your meeting to Auror Spencer. He said it’s urgent, and Kinglsey is also supposed to be there.” 

There was that feeling, that bad feeling. After the war had ended, Harry tried to live his life without assumptions; however, an urgently scheduled meeting with the Head Auror and Minister of Magic was never a way to start the day. Harry nodded to Ms. Biggs, and made his way to his empty office. 

Half of the room housed Harry’s things. Pictures of family and friends, random nicknacks, and lots of paperwork. The whole thing was in disarray, at least Hermione thought so when she would stop by, but Harry just thought it was organized chaos. The other half of the room just sat empty. Auror Eickles had unpacked his stuff when he was assigned to be Harry’s partner, but his wife had come by to collect the few items that he had in the room. Harry thought about maybe sending a letter today, seeing how she’s doing. 

Harry was catching himself up on memos and notes from the weekend, when Ms. Briggs entered the room. She set his tea and the Daily Prophet on the corner of his desk, with a disapproving click of her tongue. 

“It’s bad enough what those families did to us, but now they want to come crawling back begging for work.” She shook her head as she read the top headline. Harry thought she didn't even know she was speaking out loud, “I bet they dried out all their little trust funds and family vaults.” 

Harry snatched the paper as she left the room. They had a longstanding thing were Harry would insist that the Prophet was garbage, but Ms. Briggs still brought it anyway. 

Ministry Approves Purebloods With Deatheater Ties May Work In Government Again! How This Affects You. Harry gravitated towards the corresponding picture. There were three individuals, two men and one woman. The men were young, possibly fresh out of Hogwarts, but the woman is what made Harry stop completely. She was not as tall as the others, and was a slender build. Her features were dark, with strong eyebrows, intense eyes, and a perfectly cut nose. Her hair was pulled into a bun so tight that it made Harry’s head hurt. But there, on his morning newspaper, was Astoria Malfoy signing her Auror training papers. 

#harry potter #harry potter and the cursed child #cursed child #cursed child rewrite #astoria malfoy #the malfoys #draco malfoy #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley #i am so excited #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #albus potter #scorpius hyperion #unbeta'd #unbeta

[nonbinary-renfri]

Geralt learns that loss always comes early on in his life.

His mother, long red hair and soft tones his vague impressions of her memory, vanishes while he fetches her water.

So many of his friends and brothers in the witchers’ keep are lost to the deadly maw of the Trials. They die from the Grasses with tears of blood weeping from their eyes and agonized screams on their lips. They die at the hands of Old Speartip, and if a corpse comes back at all it is in mangled, gory form. Of those that survive, the boys they lived as so briefly die too, becoming unfamiliar, hard men with countless scars and cold yellow eyes.

Taking to the Path is a whole sort of loss in itself. Geralt leaves behind the stone walls of what has become his home and everything their solidity brings- a comfortable bed to sleep in at night, regular hot meals, relaxing baths in the hot springs below, companionship in the bitter cold hours of midnight- and the sense of security Kaer Morhen exudes.

The elders never sugar-coated the hardships of a witcher’s Path during their training, but Geralt quickly finds he isn’t as prepared as he thinks he is for the true loneliness of traveling the road alone. It’s jarring, departing from a place you’ve come to love full of the people you’ve come to know into an unfamiliar world that recoils from the mere sight of you. His eyes mark him as something to be hated more than his hair, but its pale hue is often what draws people’s attention towards him first. Ordinary humans are…  generally unfriendly in their interest in him, and for years during the long consecutive months spent on the Path, Geralt rarely feels another person’s touch except for in the throes of combat, as claws and teeth gouge at his flesh and one of the more humanoid monsters he hunts gurgles out its life on top of him. He aches for something more than this violence that clings to him, but doesn’t know what that could be or how to find it; not when the pitchfork scars carved into the round muscle of his shoulder are still raised and pink.

Traveling the Path means there are no longer mentors to consult, friends to spar with as a way to relieve the tension crawling up his spine, or trusted healers to ensure that a troublesome wound truly isn’t infected. There are just long, cold stares and harsh words and the wet snap of spittle hitting the floor. And sometimes there’s a howling, slavering mob and too-hot flame too close to his skin as blood soaks into his clothes.

Geralt quickly becomes very grateful for his extensive training in wound treatment, especially as he realizes most healers have next to no knowledge of a witcher’s biology, but plenty of dubiously-inspired interest. He spent too much of his youth playing science experiment to fall back into that horrific role again.

A life spent hunting monsters is hard, generally thankless work, but what keeps Geralt’s feet on the Path going forward is the way the clues itching at his brain can become the smallest lick of satisfaction when he solves the puzzle rankling him, curling in his chest like a sun-warmed cat. That, and the creatures with stories and reasons for what they’ve done that would break his heart if he had one that could feel, though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he cleans his sword of their viscera, discontent acrid on his tongue. There are times where he’s not fast enough, not smart enough, not powerful enough to kill the monster quickly, and there’s dead humans and sometimes dead children strewn in pieces at his feet. He’ll flee the town with stones sending up puffs of dust as they thud onto the road behind him and the voices of mothers howling and sobbing echoing in his ears. The guilt aches nearly as bad as the bruises forming across his back and shoulders. He doubts his mother cried that way after leaving him.

Witchers save whole towns from their worst nightmares and scrape by with a palmful of coin, with which they buy an ale the barkeep’s spat in. Returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter is always a breath of fresh air in comparison; every time the sense of kinship washes over Geralt as he sips White Gull by the fire with his fellows and they all swap stories of their most ridiculous contracts from the past year. They laugh and joke, as much as witchers do, and knees and shoulders and fingers casually knock and brush each other as they jostle and elbow their neighbors. The room is loud and raucous and more comfortable a space than any human inn or tavern is for monster slayers such as these, without the blatant glares or the stench of fear or the insults muttered under the breath as they go past. It’s part of what makes stepping back out onto the Path as the weather warms bearable, spring snarling its green teeth at winter’s snowdrifts; the idea of coming back next year with a ridiculous yarn that could make the grizzled, stoic elders chuckle in disbelief and your brothers pound their fists on the table in mirth. This is the closest thing to family many of them will ever know.

And then. The wanderers return to the witchers’ keep one late autumn, to cracked open walls and shattered skulls in the dried-up moat and not a single living member of their guild in sight. The realization hits slow, that they are all that’s left of the School of the Wolf, and the sorrow they all lock behind their clenched teeth hangs heavy in the air.

Most of them don’t stay, that winter. Living for a season in the mangled skeleton of their home among the corpses of their friends and teachers is an untenable prospect for many. They vanish silently for the most part, night after night, taking their horses and whatever supplies they need with them. In the end, a few days before the mountain pass will become untraversable with the season’s snow, Geralt and Vesemir are the only two left in the hollow, broken fortress.

It is somber, grueling work, laying many of their fellows to rest. The dark sadness of the Path doesn’t flee Geralt’s mind like it would’ve among the warmth and clamour of his kin; if anything it becomes even more oppressive, roiling above his thoughts like an overhanging storm cloud. He finally leaves the keep on an eggshell, blue-white dawn when the wind tastes of threatening but still distant snow, making certain to say farewell to Vesemir before he departs.

Geralt can’t remember the old witcher ever having embraced him like this before, but the warm crush of his father’s arms is somehow familiar to him all the same. The weight of the darkness in his soul lessens ever so slightly.

The Path is even harder after that, with their safe haven and respite defiled so and lost to many of them because of that. In the years following the massacre, Kaer Morhen is always even emptier than it ought to be come wintertime, with many of the surviving Wolves abandoning it as a ruined den. Occasionally a silver medallion will find its way back to the keep, devoid of its living owner, but many of the witchers simply disappear into the vastness of the Continent without a trace. Years later, as Geralt searches for a monster to kill for coin, he is shown an eyeless dead man wearing the medallion of his school. He cannot recognize the remaining facial features; no familiarity murmurs in the corners of his mind as he stares at the wrecked visage. A witcher of his ilk is dead and his name isn’t even a hint of a whisper on Geralt’s tongue.

Perhaps in the past that wouldn’t have brought him such anguish, as he expected his fate to someday be much the same. But his moniker is widespread now, thanks to Jaskier, and anyone to find his body is more likely than not to loudly declare, “The White Wolf is dead!”

Or, if whoever it is feels particularly spiteful and a certain bard isn’t within a day’s travel distance, they might name his corpse “Butcher” instead. Despite dozens of songs attempting to convince the people to the contrary, that is one title Geralt still cannot lose. It clings to him like the sucker on a leech, swollen full of bloody deeds.

It’s fitting, he thinks, as he cuts out two of the cornerstones in his life with the neatness of a blunted cleaver. A whirlwind of raven hair and wisteria eyes, tart berries and flowers sweet in his nose; Yennefer leaves because he wished for her to stay but couldn’t simply have asked it of her. And the man who has so desperately tried to change the public’s opinion on witchers runs at the bite of barked untruths from between the white-haired man’s bared teeth.

Geralt has looked loss in the eye many times throughout his long life, but he turns his back before he can watch the second half of his heart walk away, the whole of it carried in the strum of a distant lute’s strings and the perfume fading from his senses. In his youth he thought the organ was needed to feel, but the gaping raw wound in his chest where his heart sat once teaches him that he can hurt almost more without it.

#i decided i was gonna sit down and write and finish something and this is what we got #was like i guess i'll just go through my inspo tag and write whatever Hits #so. geralt angst i guess #the witcher #geralt of rivia #vesemir #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #writing #my writing #mine #angst

[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 4

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3

Al time Al time

(also Mei is sick and tired of these motherfucking homunculi in these motherfucking teenagers)

=

Mei's gotten blood on the splintered ruin of his chest. Her small hands trace the rough edges of his damage with soft and hurting sounds. Alphonse lifts one hand to pass a thumb across her eyebrow, smearing the cut before it can spill into her eye.

"I'll be okay," he assures her. His body might be broken again, but that's nothing to be worried about. Pain has been an absence in him for a long time now, and here she is spilling over with it.

"Lay still!" She admonishes, then whimpers. She's small, smaller than Ed was when he was her age. She must have bones like a songbird’s; easily broken. "Y-you're going to fall apart even more if you aren't careful!"

"I'll be okay," he repeats. Maybe she'll hear him this time. "You need to get out of here. You're too hurt to fight anymore."

"So are you!"

He's not hurt, not really, and as long as the blood seal isn't damaged he'll be safe laying here until the battle's over. He's not sure if there's enough of him left for Ed to transmute without risk, but that's a concern for later. His armor rings with the furious rattle of nearby gunfire, the thunderous booming of mortars. Mei Chang is small and wholly human, and this isn't her fight at all.

"I'll be okay," he repeats again. There's nothing else he can tell her. He's always okay.

"If we're careful, Xiao Mei and I can—"

"Stop," he interrupts, not unkindly. "You're hurt and I don't have legs right now. I'm too big for you to carry."

Her dark eyes are shiny with pain but she still manages an impressive harrumph! "You doubt the strength of the Chang princess? I'll have to prove you wrong on the honor of—oh!"

"What?" She's gone rigid and breathless, hunching over him as she looks at something further off than he can strain to see. "What's wrong?"

"There... there's three of them again," she whispers. "Three homunculi."

"But—" Father's one of them, obviously. And Greed, him and Ling are out there fighting too. The third though, that can only be—

"It's definitely Pride," Mei confirms. She's slipped a hand into her sash, no doubt readying a fresh fistful of knives. Just in case. "But I can't see him anywhere. Can you?"

"No." The last place Al saw him was down in Father's throne room, a ribbon of shadow wrapped brutally tight around Ed's left arm. He strains to sit up, to get a better look, to see— "My brother—do you see him? Is he okay? Mei, please—"

"He's fine! Please don't exert yourself!" Her small hands touch his shoulder, trying to force him down again. He only knows because he happens to see her doing it in his peripheral. "Their Father attacked Edward, and your Teacher too, but the soldiers saved them both! I swear!"

Relief floods him, a tension that isn't exactly tension as he remembers it easing in him. It isn't relaxing, it isn't easing. It's like allowing himself to forget for a moment the enormous weight his small blood seal is carrying. He sinks back, ignoring the scrape and clatter of his pieces. "O-oh. Oh, thank goodness. Thank you. Where are they now?"

"Two soldiers took your Teacher elsewhere for a few minutes. She's fighting again now, and she seems to be doing fine. Edward ran toward, ah, Central Command?"

"Yeah," he confirms automatically, wondering why Ed would run away from the fight. It's not like Ed to run. Does he have a plan, maybe? Something he needs some distance for? Or a better angle? He can usually guess what Ed's thinking, but this is….

This doesn't make sense.

"I lost sight of him in the smoke." Mei hesitates, looking toward the western wing of Central Command that's still standing. "Alphonse, I'm sorry, but that's where I'm sensing Pride too."

It's an easy conclusion from there. "Oh, of course! Pride must have run from their fight, and Brother's making sure he doesn't get away!" Al's relieved laughter is nearly lost in another burst of firepower—literally, as the Colonel's taking point again, Lieutenant Hawkeye directing his attacks. Mei dips low as wind whips her braids wildly, her little hands white-knuckled on his sharp edges. The armor must be getting painfully hot with how close the Colonel's attacks have come. He desperately wishes he could get up and protect her, join in the fight again, something. But he's simply too broken now. 

It strikes him out of nowhere, how absurd everything's become. Barely a year ago his biggest concern had been getting his body and Ed's limbs back, and keeping a running list of tasty-sounding food to try once he could eat again. That all seems so long ago, now.

Mei stiffens, Xiao Mei snarling on her shoulder. "He's getting closer!"

Al doesn't have to ask who she means. Father hasn't moved from the center of the parade field, and Greed's made it clear which side of this fight he's on. "Get out of here! Before he sees you—"

Ed strides out of the thinning smoke, hands fisted at his sides and jaw stubbornly set, and the world makes sense again.

Al struggles to his elbows, wishing he could run, desperate to pull Ed into a brief but fervent hug. "Brother!"

"Look, he's fine," Ed drawls in a tone of voice that's distinctly other in a way Al couldn't describe if pressed, yet all the same dread knocks the joy clean out of him even before ink-black shadows rise, serpentine, behind Ed. When Ed looks down at them his yellow eyes are empty tunnels. Then his face shifts, the shadows twitch, and Ed's rushing to his side. "Are you crazy? He's not fine, he's in pieces! Al, hey, are you—"

One of Mei's knives appears in Ed's left shoulder like a magic trick, its pink ribbon fluttering. 

"Get away from him," she orders imperiously, on her feet with another three knives at the ready. Her face is a wax mask of pain, but her outstretched hand is steady.

Ed looks at her, not surprised but—resigned? He brings his right hand up to touch her knife, a ting of metal against metal. Belatedly, he winces. "...Jeez, Mei. You didn't have to do that."

All wrong. This is all wrong. Ed wouldn't act like this—wouldn't react like this. He'd holler hurt, curse up and down, insult Mei horribly. But he just stays kneeling, a curl of something like—like shame to his mouth. "Ed...?"

Ed's face shifts again, his right hand dropping like dead weight. Ed sneers. "Are you really so oblivious?" He reaches left-handed for Mei's knife, yanking it out without a flicker of pain on his face. Al doesn't see so much as a drop of blood before red light heals the wound like it never existed. The unmistakable crackle of a transmutation, and red light can only mean one thing. Another bizarre expression crawls across his face, settling on a far more familiar sneer. Ed's derision. Ed's disappointment. Ed's bitter laughter. "If this is a win in your book then it's no wonder your Promised Day has turned out to be such a shitshow." 

Ed's voice warps and warbles, gaining and losing an awful, malicious echo. Distantly, Al registers the familiar shapes of Teacher and Major Armstrong giving it their all against Father not so very far away. The outcome of today's battle seems, suddenly, wholly unimportant. "You...? Edward, you're—you're a homunculus?"

Ed's face softens as his hands hover over his armor. "Al—Alphonse. Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't—it wasn't like Ling, okay? Pride forced his Stone into me. I couldn't—I tried to fight him, but—" Ed takes a shivering breath, knocking his right hand's knuckles against the shrapnel of Al's chest. Ting. "Jeez. What even happened while we were down there?"

"He protected me," Mei pipes up, glaring fiercely.

Ed smiles. "Did he? I'm glad." He shivers again, shuttering his eyes. When he opens them again they've gone horribly flat, a mirror to Selim's cold cunning in all but the color, but his voice still sounds Ed-adjacent. "Can you keep an eye on him for me, Mei? There's no time to fix him now."

"I'm not sure I'd let you try even if there were," she retorts. "Not with one of those monsters inside you!"

Another shift of Ed's face, and then thick shadows splash inside Al's broken chest like waves on a beach, skirting his blood seal. He feels the barest brush of tiny claws scratching at the metal around it. It's all he can do to keep from crying out. "Foolish girl," the monster possessing Ed spits. "Do you really think so little of Edward Elric? He's fought me every step of the way. I've had to take a firm hand with his soul to get this far."

Pride gestures. Mei gasps, failing to smother it behind her bloody hands. For a moment Al thinks Pride's hurt her, sunk his shadows into her skin beyond where he can easily see, but she's not bleeding or writhing or anything like that. She's just—staring, horrified, at Ed. Al strains for a better look and feels the world stutter in terrible shock.

Ed has two legs again.

His left pant leg has been cut short, all the way up to his mid-thigh, and the entire leg is just... normal. There's a perfectly normal, flesh-and-bone leg where Al's become accustomed to seeing layered steel. There isn't even a trace of the thick scar tissue that's darkened Ed's thigh since his outfitting.

"He—he cut it off," Ed whispers. "To—stop me from—I mean, I—I kinda woke up, inside the—his Philosopher's Stone, or whatever, and he was.... I heard him and I looked out and he was… he’d killed—" Ed shudders again, gasping. Teeth split the black shadow curling at his knees, and Pride's voice echoes his. "What did you do, Pride? What did you do to them?!"

Al wants to grab hold of Ed, wants to shake sense and sanity into him again, but the shadows pooling inside his armor are circling even closer to his blood seal. Unbidden he finds himself thinking of stories he's read of sailors and pirates on the high seas, of shipwrecks and dark water and sleepless predators circling. He knows that if he moves now they'll all regret it. "E-Edward."

Ed snarls. After a tense few seconds the shadows pull back. "Sorry, sorry, I—I'm sorry." His exhale comes out loud and shaky as he drags his hands over his face. "I asked you a question, Pride." 

A pause. 

"Are you lying? If you are, I swear I'll—" 

A pause. 

"What about him? You think I'm gonna trust anything he says either?" 

A pause.

"Shut up, stop laughing. They went where?"

A final pause, and then Ed sighs heavily, glancing at the hole in the parade field they'd all come out of. "Fine. I'm holding you to that."

Did Greed and Ling ever speak like this? It's frightening, to see Ed clinging to control over his own body. Fresh explosions ring in his broken armor and Al forcibly puts his concerns aside. Ed's alive. That has to be enough, for now. "Pride?"

Ed twitches, his eyes going flat and cold. "What?"

"You—you could have killed Edward, but you didn't."

"Not for lack of trying."

How cruel. How indifferent. Al can't begin to understand this thing wearing his brother's face. He's not sure he even wants to try. "I don't think that's true. Promise me, please—"

Guttural screaming from shockingly nearby cuts him off. Dazzling red light fills his vision briefly; when it clears he catches sight of Teach and Major Armstrong again, scattered like autumn leaves. 

Ed swears, already on his feet and running off, and this time Al can't go chasing after him to make sure he doesn't do anything crazy. "There's no time! Mei, take care of Al for me!"

"Ed—! Brother!"

But Ed doesn't look back.

#fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #my writing

[fivegoldpieces]

"Do we have a deal?"

The hag leans forward and extends her hand, fingers hooked unnaturally as she grins. Saliva pools at the corner of her mouth, constantly dripping on the table.

"Deal."

Soulless eyes pin the monk, but Beau doesn't flinch, not when she feels the leathery texture of too-old skin, not when fingernails dig into her bruised knuckles, not when shadows move towards her as she shakes the hand offered.

The hag reclines in her chair, head thrown back in satisfaction, a bark of almost-laughter pulling itself from her chest. She waves, and the monk hears the thud of the door open behind her, "Better start saying your goodbyes soon."

"How long do I have?"

The grin on the hag's face grows impossibly wide. "As long as I give you."

Beau says nothing, does nothing but turn around and walk out of the hut, jaw clenched and fists shaking.

---

She manages to ignore the burn at the corner of her eyes, up until she closes the door to the hut. She feels rather than sees the Nein - the prickle of attention on the back of her neck, the bated breaths as she turns to to them, the itch in her throat begging to be let out as she sees the fear on their faces.

She tries not to cry when she tells them, she does, really.

But Fjord is making the same face he does when he's about to collapse during their workouts, and Caleb is staring off into space - his hand twitching as if he's looking for her shoulder to hold onto, and Yasha has the same expression she did when she woke the day after they left Lorenzo dead, and Caduceus looks more scared than he had ever been on the Ball Eater, and Nott is looking at her with such loss and gratitude and pain, and -

Jester has drawn back, her tail rigid behind her, the tinkling of jewelry familiar to the monk's ear absent, her hands slowly curling into fists, her body shuddering with each breath as if she was being punched in the gut, her eyes full of hurt and confusion and anger, fangs almost poking out in a snarl, the ground below her starting to harden and freeze.

A sight to behold. Something she had hoped to see more than once.

Beau falters, lets whatever words on her lips tumble out into silence. She steps towards Jester, hand reaching out for hers -

Her hand grabs nothing but air.

---

Beau blinks and she finds herself standing in a room, boots tracking mud onto hardwood floor, hand falling limp by her side.

Her stomach churns and the room is spinning, so she finds somewhere to sit, let's her eyes jump around the room. In the corner, a large bed meant for a dog. Shelves all around her full of trinkets and books. A familiar statue tucked in between a book and a potted plant. Almost unnoticeable, if Beau hadn't been privy to how it was hidden.

She feels the tingle of magic climb up her spine and curl around her ear - Sending.

She sucks in a breath as she hears Jester, asking if she's alright, asking where she is, asking her what she did, sent one after the other.

"-don’t you answer-"

She tries to make a sound, a noise, something, but pain sinks its claws into her neck, chokes her until she can barely breathe, the voice in her head the only thing keeping the shadows of unconsciousness at bay.

"-love you so much, Beau, why-"

The tears come slowly, warm like the rain in Kamordah.

---

Reani finds her in the living room, hours later. Her delighted smile fades into worry at the sight of Beau: alone, freshly-bruised knuckles, scratches from brambles and thorns, clinging scent of swamp, eyes puffy. She sits down next to her - gentle, as if she's afraid Beau would run away.

Beau almost laughs. There's nowhere for her to go now.

---

Beau tells her the gist of what happened and Reani insists on letting her crash on the couch as long as she needs, says it’s the least she could do for a friend. Beau doesn’t know how to thank her, so she resolves to make herself less of a burden than she already is.

She may not be a monk anymore, not in name at least, but she'd always been quick on her feet and smart with her fists. The guard reckon her too skilled for perimeter watch, so they send her out with the patrol groups to fight dire wolves, wyverns - any creatures that get too close to the mountain.

Some days she visits the forge with Reani, learns how to communicate with her hands from Deilin, even picks up some smithing skills from Umi. Other days she finds herself deep in the stacks of the Vellum Steeple, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. A couple of times she helps the archers with target practice - Fen always manages to land in a few good shots.

Days blend together. Umi doesn’t glare as strongly when she calls him Umi. Fen even shoots her a not-frown every once in a while. She falls into routine.

---

Early mornings she works out behind the house and tries not to think about tusks and the scent of seawater. She helps take care of the plants and tries not to think of carefully pressed flowers or the taste of freshly-brewed tea. In the Archive, she finds herself listening for the rustle of pages and the scribble of ink on paper to accompany her own. The thwack of arrows and bowstrings remind her of the thud of crossbow bolts and the swish of alcohol.

She refuses to set foot inside the bakery.

---

Everyday, magic crawls its way into her ear and whispers of what she gave up. Sometimes it’s Caleb, bringing updates about the war. Other times it’s Caduceus with cryptic messages that make her head hurt. Most of the time it’s Jester, talking about her day, who they saw, what they did.

Some days all she hears are snippets, their voices broken up like waves against rocks. Other days it’s as if they’re right next to her and she has to fight the urge to talk back, the pressure in her lungs growing unbearable if she even entertains the thought.

On those days, she finds herself wandering around the city. Every society has a criminal underbelly, and Uthodurn is no exception. Beau pieces together locations and meeting places from conversations she and Reani have over dinner.

She joins a fighting ring, let’s the crunch of bone and the warmth of blood drown the voices out. Afterwards, she steals mail. She never gets caught.

From criminal, to monk, to Expositor and hero of a nation, back to where she was before. She expected as much.

---

It’s almost impossible to see stars from the back Reani’s house, but if Beau presses on her eyelids hard enough, explosions of color paints the barren ceiling of rock above her. In a way, it reminds her of Hupperdook - this time, she doesn't have flower necklaces, but goodbyes she has plenty. 

She wonders how Kiri is, wonders if her and Luc and TJ would’ve gotten along.

Reani joins her sometimes. Sometimes they just stare at the ceiling, sometimes they talk. When they do, it's mostly Beau listening and Reani talking.

"Your friends are strong," she says one night, the light of her halo making interesting patterns in Beau’s vision, "The war is over now. I'm sure they'll find a way to break the curse."

If they still wanted to.

Beau bites her tongue until she tastes metal and stares up until the explosions blur together.

---

“Beau, I know you can hear me. I don’t know why you won’t answer, but I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. We’re trying to-”

“- find a way --- the hag --- traveling to ---”

“- be fine --- Just hold on, okay? --- you so much. I wish --- showed you --- I’m sorry.”

---

"You loved her didn't you?" Reani asks one night as they limp towards her house - dire wolves had caused trouble in the woods north of Uthodurn.

Beau pauses by the door, then bends down to unlace her boots. Distantly, she thinks of her first battle against a remorhaz - fists burning with each punch, taking note of the half-orc, keeping track of the tiefling in the creature’s grasp, ears tuned to the murmur of arcane magic, hardened bone sinking into her side, taste of metal filling her mouth, then warmth as her muscles stitched itself together, strong arms holding her, purple eyes full of anger directed at the slithering creature.

She pulls herself out of her memories, the weight of the Aasimar’s stare still trained on her making her shoulders tense. She places her boots by the door.

“Yeah,” Beau croaks out, coughs to clear her throat, turns and meets her gaze “I- Yeah.”

Reani simply nods, something akin to understanding in her eyes. She shuffles closer to Beau, lays a hand on her shoulder and pulls her into a hug.

---

The Sendings stop coming.

One shot becomes two becomes five becomes ten becomes twenty becomes more and yet the dullness doesn’t come, doesn’t drown the burning in her lungs nor the searing ache in her chest nor the tiny bit of relief that she doesn’t have to listen to her friends move on without her. 

A dwarf is eyeing her, brown eyes and light brown skin, smirk playing on her lips. Pretty. Beau smirks back.

She places a platinum piece on the bar, feels the confused stare from the dwarf as she leaves.

---

One hit against the jaw, two steps to the right, five jabs in a row, ten seconds to take a breath, twenty minutes deep into the forest.

She cleans her boots outside, leans them against the house to keep the floors clean. Reani is nowhere to be seen, but there's a healer’s kit on the table waiting next to a plate of food. 

She swallows down the scream in her chest and curls up on the couch until morning comes.

---

Reani tells her to wait at The Broken Stool, said she had something exciting to show her. Why she told her at the crack of dawn, Beau didn’t know.

She moves to drink her mug of ale when a hand yanks on her shoulder, bringing the tankard down to her lap. She swears, snaps her head up -

- but then -

The clink of jewelry. Strong arms around her shoulders. Rough pointed bone against her cheek. Cold weight on her wrist, hot tears on her collarbone, the scent of pastries and blood and sweat and smoke -

"Jes’?" Beau chokes out, muscles locked and heart pounding because this can't be real, "Is this- Is it really you?"

The hold on her tightens and Beau feels a nod, a horn jutting into her chin. The pressure in her lungs leaves with one breath and she melts against the tiefling, wraps one arm around her waist, runs her fingers against the base of Jester’s horns. One moment stretches into two, and the stares from the other patrons make her skin itch but she doesn't care.

Jester pulls herself from the embrace, just enough to be able to face her. Soft hands cup her cheeks, thumbs tracing the dark circles underneath her eyes. Purple stares so intensely, flit everywhere its gaze could reach - lips to chin to temple as if the tiefling was committing each shape and feature to memory, like she's scared Beau would disappear if she looks away.

Her lungs ache, breathless in the best and worst way, and she can’t stop herself -

"I'm sorry." 

The gentle strokes against her skin stop. She catches a flash of something in Jester's eyes, too quick for her to figure out but potent enough to make her shoulders tense. She averts her gaze, tries to chase away the sudden feeling of cold creeping into her stomach.

Silence seeps in, floods the space between them until she feels like a ship chasing the horizon. Beau finds herself eyeing the entrance, the windows, muscles locked and ready to flee but she doesn't want to leave.

A quiet sigh barely reaches her ears. She feels Jester's palms slowly drop from her face to her hands, their fingers intertwining.

"I was mad at you, you know?" says Jester softly, rueful smile tugging on her lips, "So so mad."

Beau tears her gaze away from the window calling to her and turns to Jester, slew of words ready to run out of her chest - apologies, explanations, neither. She meets her gaze, expecting to see anger, hurt, disappointment, all three even.

Yet all she sees is tiredness, a mirror to her own, and suddenly all the words on the tip of her tongue vanish.

Jester watches her own fingers trace circles on the back of Beau’s hand. “I think I scared the others a bit, how angry I was” she laughs, short and subdued, “I wish you were there to see it, you would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m still mad. And we still need to talk. All of us.” she looks up at Beau, gives her hand a squeeze, smile growing a little bit brighter, “But right now I’m just really glad you’re not like, dead or something. Like, the hag was saying all of these crazy things when we were killing her, like she was all like ‘she’s already dead!’ and we were all like ‘fuck you!’ and then she was like ‘her soul is bonded to me for eternity!’ and - ”

“Wait,” Beau interrupts, “You guys killed Isharnai?”

Jester rolls her eyes. “Well duh. How do you think we got to you?” her brows furrow, “We Sent to you like, right after it happened, did you not get it?”

“No. I got the other ones, and then they just kinda stopped coming, like a few weeks ago,” Beau shrugs, rubs the back of her tingling neck, “Honestly, kinda thought you guys were dead. Or finally got tired of me.”

Jester jerks back, sputtering, “Tired of you? Beau, we would never, we love you so much!”

Beau makes a noncommittal hum, shrugs again.

“We do,” she insists. “I love you so much,” Jester finishes quietly, blinks once, twice.

Beau feels dizzy, the somersaults in her stomach doing nothing to help. “I love you, too, you know that.”

“No!” Beau’s face falls, and Jester panics, lets go of Beau’s hand and waves her arms around, “Wait, no, I mean, yes! I know, you love me, but I mean -”

“BEAU!”

They jerk away from each other, the shout clearly heard over the din of the tavern. Her heart stutters - she knows that voice.

Nott bursts through the entryway first, almost unrecognizable to Beau in her halfling form, if not for the crossbow on her back and the jade bracelet on her wrist. Yasha runs in afterward, Frumpkin resting on her head, almost trips on Nott in her haste to get inside. Caduceus hurries inside, nearly hits his head on the door frame. Caleb and Fjord stumble in right on his heels, both of them out of breath.

Caduceus sees her first and begins to squeeze his way towards her, murmuring apologies to the bar patrons he jostles. Fjord follows suit, dragging Caleb by his coat sleeve. Yasha and Nott keep close behind them, Frumpkin slinking between a half-elf's legs. 

Jester pulls away from her, keeps a hand on her back and her tail wrapped around Beau’s wrist. The somersaults in her stomach are back again, except this time they’re jumping on her lungs and scratching under her skin and beating on her throat and -

She closes her eyes, imagines the resounding splash of breaking waves, gritty sand in her mouth, the blast of wind against her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. She counts one, two and breathes a little more loosely.

Her eyes blink open.

Standing in front of her, panting, sweating, questionable stains on their armor, growing grins of disbelief - the Mighty Nein.

---

A second passes, then two, then more - no one saying anything. The longer the silence stretches, the more her stomach drops, the more the door calls to her.

"Um.” Better that it’s her who breaks the quiet, she figures. “Long time no see?" Her voice cracks, and her eye twitches, "Fuck, shit, I mean-"

Then. The shape of buttons against her calf. Calloused hand on her shoulder. Scent of incense and ink and saltwater and tea. Furry chin digging onto the top of her head. Strong arms around her. Mix of green, pink, white, blue, ginger, blurring together.

The tears are sudden, but she welcomes them all the same.

---

Reani arrives later, knowing grin on her face as she slides next to Beau at the table. The rest of the Nein waves, busy playing a Xhorhasian dice game Yasha was trying to teach them.

“Exciting enough?”

Beau snorts, nudges her on the arm with her shoulder. “You’re such an ass for not telling me,” she says, no actual malice in her voice.

Reani just laughs, shoves her back, Beau doesn’t even budge.

“Really though,” Beau says, tapping the table, “Thank you. For this. For everything. I owe you.” She coughs, rubs at the corner of her eyes.

Reani pretends she didn’t notice Beau’s voice crack, her grin settling into a smile. "We're friends. You don't owe me anything," she pulls Beau into a quick side-hug, lets go. "Just visit more often and take care of yourself."

They watch Fjord lose against Nott, cackling as he gets even greener, being forced to drink a mix of Caleb’s ale, Nott’s whiskey, and Jester’s milk. Nott slams her flask onto the table, flings the dice towards Beau. She catches them easily, rolls them around in her palm.

“I challenge Beau to this - Bunions and Dice? Whatever this game is called - and whoever loses has to pay for the drinks of everyone in this tavern,” the halfling gestures wildly, nearly toppling Yasha’s ale. Nott holds out her hand, eyes squinting, “Do we have a deal?”

Beau stares at the hand, smirks, and squeezes the hand offered to her.

"Deal."

#critical role #beaujester #fic #my writing #I've been staring at this for too long

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.3 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch was only two steps out of the elevator and already he could taste his own sweat heavy on the back of his tongue. It was fine, no big deal, it was only a bunch of equipment, right? The harsh gleam of the overhead fluorescent lights on stainless steel shouldn’t be that damn upsetting, it shouldn’t.

Shoulda woulda coulda, and fuck it all, because it damn well was, and the bitch of it was that Stretch wasn’t even sure why.

He started to turn around. Not to get back into the elevator, no, he wasn’t peacing out. Only to breathe for a minute, use those hard-learned tactics for controlling an incipient panic attack that Doc Lee spent the past year trying to pound into his hard skull. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but Stretch got the idea that they’d all been thoroughly tested already on Sans.

Close his sockets, focus on breathing deeply through his mouth. In for four, hold it, out for four. He was supposed to be so damned good at math, he could manage that much.

What felt like a hard, rubbery fist clenched in his chest was starting to ease when he heard someone calling his name.

“Stretch!” He turned to see Alphys almost scurrying up and her smile was warm enough despite the trifle of worry in her eyes.

Yeah, okay, better to keep her worries on the right path. Stretch hung on a 100-watt smile and beamed it right her way, “hey, lizard lady, how’s it going? i didn’t even have a chance to ring the bell.”

She held up her phone. “I g-get an alert when certain k-keycards are used in the elevator. C-come on, come to my office.”

Going to her office sounded like a super plan.

Stretch followed after her as she led a path through the maze of metal tables and equipment, the other scientists in their long white coats. He knew the way to her office, but it was easier to focus on the long yellow tail poking out of the back of her lab coat, concentrate on keeping that breathing nice and even.

Alphys wasn’t always the most observant person out there when it came to social cues, but she sure as hell understood anxiety. She knew he wasn’t keen on the labs. Not from anything Stretch said, not fucking likely, but he was pretty sure Ass-gore had a top-secret file on him somewhere with a nice long list of his skills sets and another one of his phobias. He kinda thought the skill list was longer, not enough to bet on it. He hoped whatever pictures they stuck in it caught his good side, namely his ass.

The second Stretch was through the office door, Alphys closed it, shutting out all the bustling sounds and reflections, and the relief of it being out of sight, out of mind, made Stretch let out an explosive sigh.

Alphys gave him a nervous smile as she gathered a stack of folders out of the guest chair. “So-sorry about the mess.”

On her desk, bookshelves, and even the chairs were cluttered piles of papers and diagrams, surrounded her computer monitors like flimsy skyscrapers, the bright corners of manga books poking out from random levels, and empty coffee mugs standing around like statues.

There were toys, too, statues and plushies both, one that looked distinctly like smiling piece of poo, another of dragon, curled around one of the coffee mugs. On her desk was a figure from ‘Mew Mew Kissy Cutie’ and that gave Stretch a little pang to see.

Back home, (no not home, not for a long time now) it was ‘Bow Wow Smootchie Beauty’, the main character an anime girl with adorably floppy ears. For the first time in longer than Stretch could remember, a longing twinge for Undyne rose up in him. Not this world’s Undyne, his Undyne, and he hated phrasing it that way, but he couldn’t think of something better.

He and Undyne hadn’t been besties, but they’d still been friends. Close enough that he’d gone to her place a few times to hang out, watch anime, and chatter on about the episodes and what was the best kind of cup noodles. So many words tossed back and forth about nothing at all. So long as they stayed in her rooms and out of the lab proper, it didn’t bother him, and Undyne never brought up her work, even when it was kinda obvious she wanted to.

That wistful look started showing up more and more, and Stretch stopped going even before everything went to shit in Underswap. There was something for his regret bucket. That he hadn’t taken the time to keep up his end of the bargain, hadn’t invited her over to his place for some movie viewing and yeah, she hated Snowdin, but he hated Hotland, so it was a fair trade. What wasn’t fair was knowing that if he’d been in Underswap, he would’ve gone to Undyne about this problem, without ever letting her talk about her work. Watched her nervously rub her hands together, half her face obscured by her long hair, hiding behind that curtain.

Stretch blinked hard, tearing his gaze away from the little figure and focused back to Alphys’s concerned face. Underswap was a long time ago and he needed to keep the count his of personal issues to one hand, thanks.

“hey, so thanks for meeting with me,” Stretch said. He plunked down into the chair while Alphys sat at the one at her desk, specially designed to allow for her tail. He didn’t bother resisting the urge to reach for his lighter, letting the rhythm of weaving it through his fingers soothe him.

“No problem,” Alphys said, “we got off c-course with t-tracking your HP. Is it t-troubling you again?”

“let me get straight to the meat of it,” Stretch said, “i want you to run another scan on my hp, then you can tell me.”

She nodded. “Have you been h-having any symptoms?”

“i’ve been really tired lately, run down,” Stretch admitted, “i take a nap and i wake up still tired. i can fall asleep anywhere.”

Alphys hummed thoughtfully, “S-sounds like Undyne r-right now.” She gave him an unexpectedly teasing look, "Are you s-sure you aren't p-p-pregnant, too?"

"har, har, al." Stretch about sprained an eye light rolling them as hard as he could. “unless i grew some unexpected equipment, there won’t be any knocked up at my door.”

"Well, in theory, s-soul mating c-could result in the c-creation of a souling, there were experiments—"

"in theory, sure,” Stretch interrupted, unreasonably annoyed; he didn’t want to talk about experiments, thanks. “but that requires rubbing two souls together long enough to make a fire. since edge and i stick with rubbing pelvises, i'm going with not." Stretch shuddered; just the thought of it was nightmare fuel. "sorry, preggies is okay for people who want it, but i'd rather donate a femur to the cause.”

"I th-think I wouldn't have m-minded," Alphys said, shyly. "But Undyne has better HP than me, so we d-decided she should be the one to c-carry the baby.”

Even talking about this was making him a little uncomfortable, but Al had the look of someone who wanted to talk, maybe needed to. She was doing him the favor, here, the least he could do was listen. Probably Al didn’t get to talk about it much, since she wasn’t the one with the bump.

The memory of his Undyne made him push aside his discomfort. Stretch forced a chuckle and said, "heh, if that's the deciding vote, then if we were gonna baby it up, Edge would be the pregnant one."

"He would have very f-fashionable maternity clothes. He and Undyne c-could bond over prenatal yoga." Alphys looked at him curiously, rocking back in her office chair, “P-pardon me for asking, but are you t-two looking for a surrogate, then?”

“fuck, no!” Stretch blurted. Yeah, that might have been a little excessive, Alphys winced, cringing into herself. Stretch tied on his smile again, “sorry, sorry, that was rude.”

Alphys shook her head, and her words were gentle and nonjudgmental, “N-not at all, it’s a p-p-private decision, I shouldn’t have p-pressed.”

Probably not. He and Al weren't specifically close, as friends or anything else, so Stretch wasn't sure why his stupid mouth chose to add, "i really don’t want kids and edge…i mean. he says he’s fine with it.”

If Alphys was surprised to hear him toss out that conversational gambit, it didn’t show. She only leaned in, her eyes kind behind her glasses, “You d-don’t believe him?”

Wasn’t that the ten-dollar question? Stretch really wished he was sure about the answer. He wanted to believe Edge, maybe Edge even believed himself, tried to, anyway. Stretch looked down, away from Alphys’s gaze, and said in a small voice. “i don’t know.”

“Hm.” Alphys stood and waddled over to stand next to him. Even sitting, he had to look down at her as she settled a clawed hand on his shoulder, “I really want this baby,” she said, clearly, “But I th-think if Undyne d-didn’t want to have kids, I’d be okay w-with that.”

There was enough quiet sincerity in that to make him swallow hard against a knot settling in the back of his throat. “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alphys smiled, a loving, brilliant smile meant for someone else, someone tall and brash, with a lot of red hair. Not his Undyne, but hers. “I f-fell in love with her, n-not her DNA,” Alphys said, firmly. “Although she does have very n-nice DNA. So maybe you should b-believe him.”

Stretch offered her a smile of his own, one that felt a little wobbly, but hey, it was there. Look at him, communicating back and forth like a grown up and all. Doc Lee would be so proud. “thanks al. congrats by the way. how are undyne and the bump?"

"Impatient," Alphys sighed deeply, and wasn't there chapters of meaning in that one word.

“know much about the sprog yet?” Stretch teased and it felt okay. “gonna be twins? tadpoles?”

She giggled and shook her head. “N-no, the ultrasound is showing one baby. She’s d-due anytime now, it can be d-difficult to gauge with mixed Monster species.”

The scientist in him was a little curious about that; he’d gone for physics over biology. He wondered who they’d gone with for the dad juice, but he wasn’t the kind of asshole who would ask.

“i do like kids,” Stretch admitted, “i just don’t want part ownership with one. bet edge would like to babysit.”

She hummed thoughtfully, “B-be careful with that offer, I’m s-sure we’ll take you up on it. Now, we’ve g-gotten off-topic.”

Stretch winced. “yeah, sorry, sorry, i know you’re busy.”

“Not so busy that I can’t h-help,” Alphys countered. She turned around to scrabble through the clutter on her desk, came back with a notepad and a pencil. The tip of the pencil hovered over the paper, ready to write, “Now, you’ve been t-tired. What are you getting when you run a Ch-check?”

Of course she’d ask that, it made sense, it was the very first thing to be done to see a Monster’s stats. Quick, painless, and loaded with info, and Stretch didn’t really have a good reason for not doing one already, past ‘don’t wanna’.

Time to face the tunes. “i haven’t run one,” Stretch admitted quietly, “i know, i know, i’m wasting your time--”

“Hm? No, I don’t think so,” Alphys scribbled something down on the notepad. “Anything else out of the o-ordinary?”

“i thought about it and the only thing i can think of is i’ve been doing a lot healing lately, more than usual.” He didn’t say why and Alphys didn’t ask. “a lot of shit’s been going down. honestly, i don’t even know if something is wrong, but if there is, i wanted to get a leg over on it, get checked over before anything worse crops up.”

“You’re t-tall enough to get a leg right up over my h-head,” Alphys said, and the gentle tease soothed. Right up until Alphys set aside the notepad and picked up a tablet with a pair of electrodes dangling from it. “Right then, l-let’s run some t-tests. Can you summon your soul?”

Fuck, he hated this part. Or maybe hated was too strong a word. It wasn’t that bad, really, Stretch was used to a certain clinical touch on his soul from time to time, he got sick too often not to be. Used to the feel of gloved hands holding it steady to slip in an IV needle, or to attach leads, or to take a minuscule sample to study under a microscope, checking for what kind of germ hooked its wagon to his personal shining star this time. He was pretty numb to the whole ordeal at this point.

If he were honest with himself, and hey, sometimes he was, it hadn’t felt quite so invasive until he’d let Edge go hands-on with it. No one else had ever cradled his soul in a gentle hand, gazed at the silvery light that poured out of it with adoration. Sure as hell no one else had ever seen it during sex, rubbed a careful, bare thumb across its smooth surface and dragged such toe-curling pleasure out of him he’d damn near fainted from it.

Yeah, it was hard to sit back down in the waiting room once you got a glimpse of paradise.

He summoned up his soul, and didn’t watch as Alphys went to work. She was professional and gentle, hooking up the leads with barely even a pinch. She tapped the tablet and almost instantly, her expression changed into something... complicated. Um. That didn’t seem good. “what?”

“Oh, it’s n-nothing, let me--”

“it’s not nothing, you look like someone gave you a pinch on the ass. what is it?”

“It’s n-nothing bad,” Alphys corrected. “L-let me finish first, hasty c-conclusions lead to bad r-results.”

True enough but that was easier to deal with when it came to his experiments on growing better yielding plants through hydroponics, not so much when it was his soul on the line.

He waited impatiently while she poked at the tablet and managed to give her all of three minutes before bursting out, “okay, so what’s going on?”

“See for y-yourself.”

She held out the table and on it was a screen was a visual display of all his stats, from his soul pulse (running too fast) to his defense (sitting at its normal too-low), to his HP, displayed down to the tiniest decimal.

His HP, which had been slowly ticking upward for the past few weeks, was still doing it. Only now it was above five, closer to 5.3453367883. The last three crawled upward as he stared, turning to a unaccusing four.

“it’s going up,” Stretch said blankly. Way to state the obvious, there. His mind wasn’t calculating anything past that, nothing beyond his initial shock. He’d been expecting bad news, braced to hear the worst, and this was the exact opposite. It was like a trash bag breaking open to reveal piñata candy inside.

“Y-yes!” Alphys said happily. She tapped a clawed finger on the tablet screen. “It’s s-still going at the same r-rate as before, only it’s traveled p-past your base HP!”

“but…why?” Pointless question, what did it matter so long as it was going up, but Stretch didn’t like mysteries, not on television and not in life. He liked answers.

“That’s harder to d-determine,” Alphys admitted. “You d-did say you’ve been getting more rest lately, but th-that usually causes a one-time boost, n-not a cumulative effect. You said you’ve been using your m-magic a lot m-more, yes?”

“yeah, more than i usually do around the house.”

“M-maybe you should keep that up.” She snatched up the notepad and started scribbling furiously, leaving Stretch to gingerly remove the leads himself and allow his soul fade back into his chest. “T-take more shortcuts, practice a few a-attacks. We aren’t meant to hoard our m-magic in our souls, we need to l-let it out, k-keep it from going stagnant.”

“i guess i could.” Shortcuts, anyway, Stretch wasn’t really keen on making any sort of attack, not even for the magic drain, thanks.

“I think you should t-t-try it,” Alphys said decisively, “For th-this week, work on using your m-magic more than usual, then come back and we’ll r-run another test. It’s worth investigating.” She paused. “Of course, there is a-another possibility.”

“what?”

Her smile was a little tremulous, “M-monster souls response well to h-happiness.”

Before Stretch could say anything to that, his phone rang, showing an incoming call from the main source of his current happiness.

Fuck, he’d told Edge to call on his lunch.

He held up a shushing finger to his mouth and Alphys nodded, even as he swiped to answer it, “babe! i was just thinking about you—”

“I hope they were kind thoughts and not nefarious plans.” Just the sound of his voice was soothing, the soft underlying humor wrapped around his concern, “How are you feeling?”

Too much enthusiasm was going to set off alarm bells, so Stretch settled for, “better, i think. more myself, anyway.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, love,” Edge said warmly. “Then if you’re feeling better, perhaps you’d like to come upstairs to my office and have lunch with me?

Welp, so much for secrets. He should have known better to even try at the Embassy. If the spy gear didn’t get you, the gossips sure did. “who tattled.”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my source.”

Yeah, about the only person that took out of the running was Andy, and only because he’d promised not to tell. “yeah, i’ll be up in a mo’.”

“Wait,” Came unexpectedly from Alphys. “C-could you ask Edge to c-come down here? For a few m-moments?”

“um, sure, al,” Stretch said slowly and all his relief about his HP started to curdle until she hastily spoke up again.

“It’s n-not about you. O-or it is, but n-not in that way, it’s n-nothing bad, only an experiment I’m doing. I c-could use both your help.”

That didn’t sound at all ominous or anything, did it. But he owed a favor and Stretch did like to pay off his tabs. Eventually.

“babe, can you come down to the labs, to alphys’s office?” Stretch said into the phone. “she says it’s nothing bad.”

“Of course,” Edge replied, surprised, “I’ll be down in ten minutes.” The call disconnected and left him alone again with Alphys for ten long minutes, ten minutes that he didn’t really want to discuss experiments in until Edge was here. He could give Alphys that much, more than he’d ever given his Undyne.

But only when Edge was here, that was the thing and it was okay; Edge might be the one with all the strategy, but Stretch had a trick or two up his sleeve, too.

“did you see the last mew mew kissy cutie holiday special?”

Alphys brightened visibly and took the bait, babbling her way excitedly into his trap. Stretch settled back into his chair to listen, for at least ten minutes, but his wandering thoughts were more on his HP and that slow upward tick.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[theperditioncrasher]

My Pretty Carnival Girl (2/2)

Jaskier x Reader

Hey Guys! Thank you so much for your amazing response to my first part, I was honestly in shock! Here is part 2 as promised. I apologise for the wait, I had hoped to get this finished by Sunday but last week got a little hectic! This is my first time writing smut so please be gentle with me! Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: smut, adult themes, +18s only!

word count: 3680

You can find part 1 here

The door burst open, Jaskier crashed into the room, a giggling Y/N in tow.

Y/N fell back against the door. Jaskier’s arms caging her in as his palms pressing against the door by her waist. they stared each other, breathing heavily. Jaskier’s gaze dropped down to her lips, wetting his own as his mouth went dry.

Jaskier stuttered “So about carrying on from what I was about to say downstairs, I-I-“ Jaskier suddenly felt nervous, an alien experience for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was nervous to be this close to a woman. But this wasn’t just a woman; this was Y/N.  She looked up at him, patiently waiting for him to finish, her luscious lips parted slightly in anticipation. Her breath caressed his cheek, like a gentle whisper, invading his sensing and clouding his head. Her eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, the pure love and adoration swimming in them shot through his heart.

“I love you” he breathed, his nervousness dissipated as he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. She gasped. His song had all but confirmed his feelings towards her, but to hear him say it out loud sent a shiver through her body. Her heart leapt into her throat, She moved her hands from where they had been resting on his chest to the open collar of his shirt and curled her fingers around it, holding him in place.

“Jaskier,” she murmured, pulling him closer. He lifted his hands from the door to place them on her hips, clutching the fabric of her shirt as his body pressed up against hers. Y/N’s body thrummed, hunger curled in her gut. The heat of his body pressing up against every part of her set her nerves ablaze. Everything she had dreamed of in those long lonely nights: his large hands on her soft skin, his arms wrapped around her, his angelic voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear. It was so close she could taste it on her tongue.

“I love you too,”

The words were barely past her lips before they were claimed by the bard in a passionate kiss. His arms entwined around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. Her fingers travelled up the nape of his neck and tangled in his damp curls. His tongue swiped across her lip, pulling a small whimper from her, causing her knees to buckle beneath; without his arms around her, she would be a puddle on the floor. The taste of ale on his tongue made Y/N’s head spin, making her feel giddy. She tugged on the curls wrapped around her fingers, causing a growl to rumble in his chest, one that rivalled the white wolf himself.

Breathless, they pulled back from the kiss, foreheads still resting against each other. Jaskier dragged his lips across her cheek, pressing gentle kisses across her skin. The breath caught in her throat as his lips nipped her jaw and glided down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse. His thigh pressed between her own, she could feel the muscle pressed against her core twitching. She could feel herself dampen as he pushed his thigh harder against her, her hips began to gently grind against him. Her head was spinning, her chest was tight. She had never felt like this with any other man, and her clothes were still on. If it carried on like this, she felt like she would spontaneously combust.

“I don’t think I can bear another second without being inside you” he groaned into her skin, his arms so tight around her, she feared she might shatter. Her core pulsed at his words.

“Then why are you still talking?” she hissed, using her grasp on his hair to pull his head up and capture his lips again. Her pull on his hair caused him to moan into her mouth. His hands released her waist and grabbed her thighs, hoisting her up against the door with a strength that surprised her. The rough wood scraped her back with a delicious sting. Y/N wrapped her legs tightly around Jaskier’s hips, pressing her now dripping core against his hardened member.

The friction between them had the lovers whimpering against their swollen lips. Her sweet kisses drove him insane. With one hand squeezing her thigh, the other travelled across her hip and underneath the seam of her shirt, revelling in the smooth skin of her back. The callouses on his hand scrapped across her skin, sending a shiver across her burning body. The barriers of clothing were becoming too much to bear.

“Let me take you to bed, my love,” Jaskier huffed against her lips, capturing her bottom lip with his teeth. Her mind was so clouded with pleasure that all she could do was nod.

Holding onto her tightly, he carried her to the bed and slowly lowered her onto the sheets. On his knees above her, he revelled in the sight before him. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, like a halo. Her lips were shiny and swollen and her eyes were dark and hooded as she stared back at him. Her chest heaved, and her neck shone with light pink marks; his marks.

She pulled at the shirt tucked in his trousers and slipped her hands beneath the seam, pushing it up. Catching her intentions, Jaskier pulled his shirt off the rest of the way, leaving him bare-chested. Y/N drank in the sight above her. His arms were lean but muscular, dark hair smattered his chest, trailing down his torso to more lean muscle. Her mouth watered at the sight. Her arms wrapped around him, pressing on his shoulders to bring him down into a kiss.

Releasing her lips, Jaskier trailed kisses down her neck, passing his tongue over the small marks he had left earlier, adding more to the collection, nipping and sucking at her skin. Pushing up her own shirt, he continued his worship of her skin down her stomach to the edge of her trousers, nipping her flesh lightly, but it was enough for her to buck up towards him. She could feel his smug smirk against her skin. He pressed kisses back up her torso until he reached her bunched shirt.

“May I?”

Y/N nodded and he pulled the shirt up, over her head and threw it in the corner of the room beside his own.

The cool night air bit at her skin, goosebumps spread across her skin, her nipples hardened. Jaskier pressed a soft kiss between her breasts

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” He whispered against her skin.

He sucked one of her hardened nipples into his mouth, Y/N arched her back and moaned. Jaskier’s shoulders tensed and he breathed through his nose heavily. After the countless nights he had dreamed about the noises she would make, nothing could compare to the real thing. The sound went straight to his groin, his blood boiling with lust.

He rolled the bud with his tongue and graze his teeth across the peak, causing her to moan again. His hand grazed down her ribs, across her hip and grasped her thigh, pulling it over his hip and grinding his groin harder against hers. The damp heat of her core caressed his clothed cock, enticing a moan from him, the sound reverberating across Y/N’s nipple still in his mouth. Her nails dragged across his shoulders as they arched into each other, delicious friction setting fire to her skin.

Once Jaskier had shown her other nipple the same loving attention, he moves up to claim her lips in a deep kiss.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me, my love?” He groans against her mouth, pressing his cock harder against her mound, “Can you feel how much I want for you?”

“Jaskier please…” she begged, clawing at his sides, pulling him closer to her.

Jaskier needed no more encouragement as he tugged at the ties of her trousers, and dragged them down her legs before discarding them over his shoulder. His eyes raked over the goddess before him, her naked body looked soft and supple in the candlelight, her chest was flushed and her nipples were pert. The insides of her thighs were slick with her juices and it made his cock pulse painfully and his mouth water.

The roughness of his palms scraped deliciously up her calf, moving it to rest on his shoulder as he settled on his front between her legs. Y/N felt the blush creep up her neck and singe her cheeks at the sight of Jaskier between her thighs, his dark curls unruly and his eyes dark with desire, his mouth so close to where she needed him she could feel his hot breath on her slick folds.

Jaskier pressed a small kiss to her clit, testing the waters. Y/N’s breath stuttered, her toes curled against his back. Loving Y/N’s reaction, pressed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked gently. She gasped and bucked her hips towards his sinful mouth. He peaked his tongue out and grazed it across her clit. The soft ministrations made her head spin, the sensation was overwhelming and yet not enough, she desperately needed more.

“Jaskier, please, “ she whined, “Don’t tease me,”

Jaskier’s cock hardened even more at the sweet sound of her begging, her loud moans were beautiful music to his ears. What he would do to hear it all night as he stayed nestled in between her gorgeous thighs? Perhaps he could save that for another time? He shuddered in pleasure at the thought of having endless nights embracing her body, wrapped in her arms. He gave in to her pleas and swipes his tongue across her clit, circling the aching nub.

Heat pooled in Y/N’s belly as Jaskier devoured her clit, drinking in her juices like a starved man. All too quickly the coil in the pit of her stomach began to unravel and she grasped a fist full of his hair, pushing his face closer to her, desperately chasing her orgasm. He pushed a finger into her and curled it, rubbing against that spot inside her that made her see stars.

He added another finger and she moaned louder, clenching around him. The combined ministrations of his tongue and his fingers had her panting, her clutch on his hair tightening, roughly tugging on his curls and her thighs trembling. The moans that escaped her swollen lips grew louder and more desperate as she tilted further and further over the edge.

Jaskier rutted against the sheets, desperate for friction, her noises driving him insane with hunger. Y/N bucked her hips and pushed his head harder against her as his teeth grazed her clit, causing him to groan wantonly. The vibration around her clit pushed over the edge and she came hard with a loud moan.

He continued to fuck her with his long fingers through her orgasm. Her tight grip on his hair relaxed as her body fell limp in satisfaction.

“Now I see why you’re so popular among the ladies at court,” she teased, out of breath.

Jaskier snorted, leaning up to place a soft kiss on her lips, the taste of her arousal on his mouth made her stomach flip with desire.

“I’m sure many a tear will be shed once they find out that I belong to another. I am yours, Y/N. Yours and no one else’s,”

A lump formed in her throat, her heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks burned and her lips formed into a hopeful smile.

“Promise?”

“With all my heart,” he whispered, “It belongs to you,”

She captured his lips in a deep kiss.

“Would you like me to prove it to you?” he groaned against her mouth, her bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Running a hand between their bodies, she brushed her fingertips against the leaking head of his cock. Jaskier’s breath stuttered and a shudder travelled up his spine as she slowly began to stroke his thick shaft. Her touch was light against his sensitive member, but the pressure she placed on the engorged vein on the underside of his cock and across his leaking tip had his head spinning.

“Don’t you think it’s my turn to prove it to you, my love?” she teased, pressing kisses along his jaw.

In an instant he snatched her hand away from him and pinned it above her head, panting heavily. His pupils were so full in pleasure his eyes were nearly completely black.

“Gods, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he growled, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

“We can save that for another time,” he huffed as he pulled back from her delicious lips and pressed his hips further into hers, “but right now I don’t know how much longer I can last without being inside you,”

He aligned himself with her core, then recapturing her mouth in a passionate kiss, pushed slowly inside her. Y/N’s head dropped back against the pillow, her mouth open in a gasp as he stretched her open, sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. They stayed like that, panting heavily. Jaskier gritted his teeth as he held himself as still as possible, he didn’t want to hurt her but he didn’t know how long he could control himself with her fluttering deliciously around him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N pressed her hands into his shoulder blades and shifted her hips to bring him in deeper.

Jaskier held her knee with a tight grip and began to thrust inside her. His rhythm was slow but his thrusts were long and deep, hitting her in areas no one had reached before. The moans fell from her mouth, their skin was slick with sweat, gliding against one another. Y/N’s mouth travelled down his neck and across his collarbone, littering them with kisses, his stubble pricking at her lips. She lapped up the saltiness of his skin under his ear, causing him to gasp and thrust harder. Her nails scraped down his back as she pushed her hips up to meet his as his thrusts sped up, coming harder and faster, the familiar warmth already unfurling in her gut.

She moaned his name in his ear, over and over like a prayer. Her hot breath on his skin and her wrecked voice in his ear sent shivers up Jaskier’s spine, pushing him towards the edge at an alarming and honestly embarrassing rate. He was so caught up in the feel of her fluttering around him, he nearly stopped breathing when she used the grip on his shoulders to roll them over. Her hair cascaded across her bare shoulders as she sat up in his lap, her eyes wild and bright with pleasure and her lips were red and swollen. This new position pushed him even deeper inside her and it took all of his energy not to come right there.

Using her newfound leverage on his chest, she began to circle her hips. Jaskier dropped his head back and cried out in pleasure as she quickly caught up with his previous pace, panting wildly and gripping her hips tightly with white knuckles. He snapped his hips up to meet Y/N’s, her own head thrown back as she cried out in pleasure, her toes curling as each hard snap of his hips sent electric shocks through her.

Jaskier shot up, capturing her mouth with his own in a deep messy kiss, teeth and tongues clashing together as they moaned into each other’s mouths.

“I love you,” he huffed, tumbling towards the edge, he was so close.

He slipped his hand between them and began to rub circles on her clit. Y/N gasped and whined wildly as she bucked against him, the coil in her stomach finally snapped.

I love you, Jaskier,” she cried as she came hard, her body trembling in his arms, her vision turning white.

Jaskier and gasped and groaned loudly as her core clenching tightly around him sent his crashing over the edge, coming inside her. His entire body felt like it was about to snap with the ferocity of his orgasm; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard.

The room fell still as they remained wrapped around each other, breathless and sated. Slowly, with their arms still wrapped around each other, Jaskier lowered them back down on the bed, his softening cock still inside her, revelling in her warmth.

“I do mean it,” He whispered as he pressed a small kiss to her hairline.

My heart belongs to you. It always has, my pretty carnival girl,”

Y/N blushed and buried her burning face in the crook of his neck, causing him to chuckle and gently rubbed her back, tightening his arms around her. How he could still make her blush after what they just did, she couldn’t fathom.

They stayed entangled for a while longer, basking in each other’s warmth until the dried sweat on their skin began to itch and the cool air began to bite. Reluctantly releasing her, Jaskier got up to retrieve a damp cloth from the basin at the other side of the room. Y/N watched his movements, her eyes drinking in his naked form. His slim waist, his strong shoulders and arms. The way the freckles on his skin danced in the candlelight. How could she let him wear clothes ever again when she knew that gorgeous body hiding beneath? Even his legs, she now noticed, were strong and lean, the muscles rippling as he moved; for someone so slender he was quite muscular. She was so caught up in her appreciation that she was too slow in her reaction when he turned back around. He smirked and winked at her but said nothing.

He used the damp cloth to wipe her down, shivers running across her over sensitive skin as he gently cleaned between her legs. He pressed a soft kiss to her hip once he was done then got back up to rinse the cloth, wiping himself down.

Both clean, they slipped under the blanket. Jaskier’s arms wrapped back around her in an instant and pulled her to his chest. She nestled her cheek against his warm skin, the dark hair on his chest tickling her face. He traced small circles across her back as he inhaled her scent, his body relaxing into hers.

He began to hum softly under his breath, the tune making her smile; it was her song. Her eyes drooped closed as exhaustion swept over her. The world disappeared around her as she slipped into slumber, in the arms of the man she loved as he sang his own love to her.

 Y/N felt herself being pulled from her slumber to a warm sensation on her shoulder blade. She scrunched her nose as she clung to the remnants of sleep. Another warm sensation, this time further down her back tingled across her skin, then another and another. She groaned and buried her face further into the pillow. A low chuckle vibrated across her lower back as Jaskier pressed another kiss to her cool skin, branding her with his hot mouth. He peppered heated kisses up her spine, each spot tingling until he reached her neck.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered in her ear, placing a sweet kiss behind it.

Everything about last night came back to her in a rush. Her lips felt raw and swollen, her thighs ached deliciously, the woollen blanket scratched against her bare skin. A grin spread across her face as she peeked an eye open, squinting in the morning sun to look up at the man leaning over her.

“Good morning my love,” she echoed, her voice hoarse.

A dark blush glowed on Jaskier’s cheeks as his grin matched hers, looking down at her with eyes full of adoration. He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed in her intoxicating scent, so warm, so familiar.

“I take then that last night wasn’t the result of too much ale?” he questioned, his voice wavered with a slight vulnerability.

Y/N shook her head and rolled over to wrap her arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. He sighed in relief, relaxing into her arms.

“Were you worried I’d kick you out come morning?” she teased

He closed his eyes, guilt flashing over his features.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted.

He gasped suddenly as Y/N ran her bare leg up against his own, pushing her hips up to his. Her bare core brushing against his morning glory.

“Would you like me to show you how wrong you were?” she breathed, her lips brushing his lightly.

Jaskier groaned wantonly as he captured her mouth in a deep kiss, plunging his tongue past her lips and pressing his hips further into hers, sparks of pleasure already shooting up his spine. This woman was going to be the death of him, not that he minded. He would welcome death with open arms if it meant he could meet his demise wrapped up in this beautiful woman; his beautiful woman.

The door burst open, crashing against the wall. The two jumped apart with a cry, desperately clinging to the blankets to cover themselves.

In the doorway stood Geralt, a small teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he stared at the pair, arms folded against his chest.

“If you two are finished, I want to get moving before noon,” he sniggered, turning back the way he came, the door falling shut.

Jaskier buried his burning face into Y/N’s shoulder and laughed. He pressed a quick kiss to her skin and sighed.

“We better get moving before he drags us out by our legs,”

He rose to get up but squawked when Y/N pulled him back down by his neck, kissing him.

“I reckon we have at least 10 minutes before he comes looking for us,” she purred, nibbling his bottom lip lightly.

“Oh gods, I love you,” Jaskier moaned, throwing the blankets over their heads as he kissed her again.

Hope you guys enjoyed! Once again, I cannot thank you all enough! Please feel free to like and leave a comment down below!

Taglist: @power-of-words23​

#witcher #jaskier x reader #jaskier #netflix witcher #the witcher #fancition

[lovehugsandcandy]

In Sickness (N*FW, Colt x MC, RoD)

A/N: I have been super sick recently and just found out Des was too so, babe, this is for you.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~2900 words

Rating/Warnings:N*FW (sex, swearing)

Summary: When Ellie is sick, Colt tries to help (tries being the operative word here).

Ellie is barely cogent the entire walk down. She knows she checked that Logan was fast asleep in a sprawl on the couch. She thinks she gingerly made her way down the steps, gripping the handrail the entire way. She’s pretty sure that she shuffled down the hall and barely knocked before pushing the door open without a word.

“Ellie?” Colt is a blurry shape, all bare chest and bed head as he pushes up on his elbows. “Baby? That you?”

“I don’t feel well,” she croaks, forward progress halting as her legs hit his mattress.

He flops against the bed and opens his arms, an unspoken invitation she’s unsure if she would have received had he been fully awake and aware of the chills ravaging her body. But she doesn’t even think twice, falling into his bed and sliding into his arms, burrowing under the covers and pulling him closer by the dig of her nails so she can fall into a delirious sleep.

~~~~~

Colt blinks open his eyes and is befuddled by the shape in his arms. He blinks again, and she is still there, unmoving; if it weren’t for the warmth in his arms and curls pouring out of the blanket, he would have confused it for a massive pile of sheets.

“Ellie?” The heap doesn’t move, so he sticks out his index finger to poke. “Ellie? When did you-”

A clawed hand comes out and swats him away before slithering back under the sheets; he edges backwards, waiting to see if the monster will make another attempt before leaning closer again.

“Ellie?”

“Ishick.”

He can’t tell what the hell that means but she sounds like shit, throaty and hoarse, voice low and pained. “Are you ok?”

“I’m sick.”

“You’re don’t feel well?”

“I feel awful.”

He peers closer, still seeing only dark strands on his pillow, and he can’t stop the question from coming out. “Why are you here?”

The hand whips out, and he has to dodge again, quickly, as she flails about trying to whack him. After a few shakes of her fist, it feebly drops to the mattress. “I’m sick and I want to feel better.”

“Oh.” He furrows his brow, opening his mouth to speak, before closing it again. He has no idea what to do. He is not the first person (or second or third, if he were honest) that anyone has ever gone to for any kind of comfort. He’s never had a sick girl lying piteously in his bed, and this situation beyond his comprehension. She hacks a cough under his blanket and he runs his hand through his hair.

“I just…” Her voice trails off, and she sounds close to crying; something in his gut positively twists. “I just want to get better.”

He frowns. He hates feeling helpless. So he lies there, unsure and confused, until her breathing slows again, catch in each exhale making him wince. Silently, he crawls from the bed, dressing quickly, and makes his way into the sunlight for the first thing he can think of. 

The store is crowded, 11am apparently being a prime time for hoards of shoppers, and he needs to fight through at least two bickering families before he gets to the aisle. He finds what he is looking for but stops, confused, at the garish can in his hand. He sighs and turns it over before giving it a hearty shake. It sounds like goop. Even he knows that chicken noodle soup is supposed to be good for someone who’s sick, but the mass inside sounds gelatinous, inedible. This can’t be what they mean.

He wanders through the aisles again, glaring back at the asshole cashier who is keeping a close eye on him. Obviously, the kid considers everyone with a leather jacket a potential thief. Colt rolls his eyes. Unless this kid had a stock of unreleased luxury vehicles in the back room, his shitty food was safe.

Finally, he wanders over to a meager fresh food section and stops when he sees steaming tins of soup. ‘Made Fresh Every Day,’ the sign proudly proclaims, and he looks closer at the large case of chicken noodle, opening the lid. It looks hot, comforting, and it has to be better than the shit in the can. He ladles some out into a tub-crap, Ellie hates celery, he’ll have to scoop it out-and grabs a few packages of oyster crackers.

He groans before fighting his way back through the crowds to the front of the store. He hopes this works.

~~~~~

Colt rubs the sleep from his eyes as he heads into the packed break room. After he had given Ellie the soup, she had fallen back into a fitful sleep and he had stood there, watching her toss and turn for a minute, before slipping into bed next to her. Once he pulled her against his chest so he could thread his arm around her waist, she had stilled, breath coming deeper and the tremble in her limbs ceasing. So, of course, he couldn’t move, not when her hair was pillowed underneath his chin and she was wrapped tight in his arms; then, when he opened his eyes again, hours had passed, the sun sliding through the sky to mark afternoon through his window.

“Where is she?” Logan looks up, eyes hard, as Colt falls into a chair.

“Asleep.” 

“In your room?”

“Yeah. Said she’s sick.”

Logan glares, jaw working a grinding beat, before he stands, the chair scraping on the floor behind him. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“Don’t wake her up, asshole!”

Mona shakes her head as Logan strides out of the room before fixing Colt with a bemused look. “Why is she there? You are the last person I would go to when I was sick.”

“Thank God. That would be awful,” he spits out, offended, but can’t help the voice in his head that thinks she’s right. He is the last person anyone should go to. Who in their right mind would want Colt Kaneko to nurse them back to health?

“I’m sure you’re doing fine.” Ximena rubs a strong hand on his shoulder and Colt has to focus on not wincing. Once she drops her hand, he is free to shrug, pulling out his phone to avoid Logan’s eyes as he storms back into the room.

“She’s sleeping.”

“That’s what I just said.” He has to bite his tongue to stop the childish ‘don’t go in my room’ from leaving his lips; his dad needs locks on these doors, for fuck’s sake.

“You better be keeping your hands to yourself, bucko.”

“No one says that anymore, asshole.”

Logan glowers but doesn’t respond before thundering back out of the room.

“Did she eat anything?” Ximena asks.

“I got her soup.”

“And are you keeping her hydrated?”

His mind skips and he stands, not even answering the question. Fuck. Something to drink. This is why Ellie should have trusted someone else, anyone else, anyone but him. He doesn’t know shit about sick people. He trudges back to the grocery store, unable to pull the petulant glare from his face, boots stomping a hollow beat on the pavement the entire way. The automatic doors have just slid open with a mechanical swoosh when he pulls out his phone.

“What helps someone who’s sick?” He is storming up and down the familiar aisles again, and if that asshole cashier glares at him one more time, he’ll have a lot more to worry about than Colt shoplifting something. He clenches the phone tighter in his grasp.

“Hmmm. It depends. What do you have?”

“Uhh ...tap water? And soup.” The whiskey in his desk drawer surely doesn’t count and, even if it did, it’s not something he would divulge to his mother.

“No,” she chuckles over the phone. “I mean, what are you sick with?”

“Oh, it’s not me.”

“Ok, then. What do they have?”

“I don’t know, ma. Do I look like a doctor?”

“No, but it’s not too late to go back to-“

“Ma!”

“Fine, fine.” Her sigh is long suffering, twenty years of stress imbued in the huff. “What are their symptoms?”

“I dunno. All she’s doing is sleeping. She had a cough?”

“Ohhh.” His mother’s tone immediately makes him realize his mistake. “Who is she?”

“Ma. Focus.”

“She must be someone special if you’re calling me for advice.”

“Jesus, Ma.”

“Ok, ok. Does she have a fever?”

“Maybe?” He thought back to their nap, when he had awoken with their legs and arms intertwined in an array that took minutes to untangle, movements gentle to make sure not to wake her. She had been warm; then again, so had he, his skin flushed at every contact, her curves skating over his chest, his legs, every point of connection sparking slow warmth that make his nerves shimmer. “I think so?”

“Rest and fluids are probably your best bet.”

“What kinds of fluid?”

“Water. Ginger ale. Gatorade if she can keep it down.”

“Ok. Fine.” He grabs two bottles each of ginger ale and red Gatorade, the only acceptable flavor, and treks back to the registers, back to the heavy eyes of the cashier, and back to the garage, groaning the entire way.

~~~~~

The drinks are all in an array on his bedside table when he slides back into bed next to her. She had eaten some soup; though, as he eyes the bowl, it doesn’t seem like enough for one person to eat in a day. However, he is mollified when he realizes she is awake, gauzy eyes blinking at him beneath slow lashes.

“Hey.”

Her grin is pained but true as she looks up at him. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

The smile immediately fades into a scowl. “Not good.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No.” She shakes her head, fingers dipping up the back of his shirt to clutch at the skin on his back, pulling him closer.

“I got-”

“I don’t want it.”

“Ok, fine.” 

She shivers and nestles even closer, a line of warmth burrowing into him, and he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby,” he mutters into her forehead. How is he supposed to tell if she has a fever? Yeah, she’s warm, but Ellie always burns bright. He frowns.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t feel goooood.” She’s whining now, shifting closer, wrapping a leg around him.

“I know.”

“No, Colt.” She looks up at him, eyes wide and unnaturally bright, and links their fingers together, sliding their joined hands down, past the elastic of her pajama pants, down to where she is undeniably hot, heat lacing up his fingers as she gazes at him. “Make me feel good.”

“Ellie…”

“Please, Colt.” And, just like that, he is helpless to obey, capturing the moan from her lips as he eases her pants off her legs. He drags his lips down to her shoulder as her eyes fall shut, hair settling around her face in haphazard designs as his fingertips walk their way back up her inner thighs. She shivers and, this time, Colt knows it isn’t the illness taking control of her body. 

His thumb traces gentle circles over the cotton, gently, so gently, focused over the spot that makes her thighs clench, but he can’t pull his eyes from her face. Her eyes are screwed shut and soft sighs are being pulled from her mouth. The noises are almost satisfaction, almost satiation, something deep and warm made auditory, captivating pleas and gasps that encompass words he doesn’t know, vocabulary he never learned. 

Or maybe there aren’t words for the contentness in her brow, the slow circles made by the seam of her lips.

He is helpless to do anything but move his hand just so, just to pull more of the soft noises from her throat, and he is surprised when her nails dig into his thigh and a gush of moisture dampens her underwear.

She is always compelling, an angel made real in the hell of this place, but when she lies pliant against his sheets, glowing with pleasure, limbs relaxed and languid? She is majestic, an angel and queen wrapped in the guise of his deepest desire.

He is so caught up in staring that the touch of her hand on the front of his pants is a shock. His stomach clenches as he feels her soft skin reach it’s target and fuck, he’s hard, he hadn’t even realized, mind so caught up in admiring her. She wraps thin fingers around him and his traitorous cock leaps in her hand, moan catching in his throat.

“Ellie…I don’t think...” 

He moves to pull away but her plaintive voice stops him. “Please? Please, Colt. I feel so bad. I just want to feel good. Please.”

He moves before he processes his reaction, hands sliding fabric from her skin, pulling his sweats down, crawling between her legs, operating on sole instinct. He has never been able to deny her and now is no exception, not when those hands reach out to grasp his hips and her mouth moves in the shape of his name.

Her eyes are still closed as he slides into her and it is hot, so hot. She is boiling, the sudden flush instantly sending flames up his spine, heating him to the core until he is about to burst, a phoenix fully destroyed by her touch. 

He can’t help but thrust into her, again and again, as the soft noises drive him mad, almost to the point of insanity, until they are shuddering together and he has been fully engulfed by the flames. When he comes back to himself, reborn anew, he is gratified to see the soft smile still gracing the bow of her lips.

Not for the first time today, he selfishly hopes she never feels better.

~~~~~

“Come on. Shower.” Colt tries to keep his hands gentle, but he’s not sure he manages when she winces as he pulls her shirt over her head. “Come on.”

“No,” she pouts petulantly,  but she takes his outstretched hand anyway.

“It will help.”

“No. I want to sleep.”

“You will, after,” he promises and shuffles her over to the bathroom. 

When the water is warm, he leads her in and she sags against him, his body supporting hers so she can balance on two unsteady legs.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “is that how this is gonna go?”

“I wanted to stay in bed.” Her eyes flutter closed as she leans on his shoulder and he takes his time rubbing soap over her back, her arms, every spot of skin he can reach.

She mewls her contentment as he runs shampoo into her hair, soap and curls tangling in his fingers as his nails dig gentle circles in her scalp. She has so much hair, volumes of it sliding through his fingers, that the lather isn’t fully out before she starts sinking, a slow, sleepy lean that turns into Colt holding her up, taut arms bracing her limp form.

They sink, slowly, until they are sitting on the shower floor and her toes dig indents into his thigh. He musses her hair until all the suds flow down the drain and then pushes her off his chest so he can part the curtain in front of her face. A wan smile greets him and, even though she’s slept for the better part of 24 hours, he can still see dark smears under her eyes, as if someone had fingerpainted exhaustion across her features.

“Come on, let’s go back to bed.” He tugs her up, wrapping her into his one clean towel, and barely manages to wrangle her into one of his t-shirts and a pair of basketball shorts before she flops onto the bed.

He shakes his head and turns to the bedside table. “Drink,” he admonishes, holding a cup of ginger ale to her lips and she manages three meager sips before she pushes him away with a weak hand. He puts the cup back on the bedside table and, by the time he has turned around, she has flopped against the pillows and is breathing slowly into his sheets.

He shakes his head and slides in next to her, torn between hoping she feels better and hoping for just one more day of this.

~~~~~

Ellie opens her eyes and, for the first time that she can remember, the sunlight doesn’t hurt. She breathes in and is stunned when the urge to cough doesn’t overwhelm her. She breathes out through her nose and her mouth fall open.

“Colt!” She turns to the lump next to her. “Colt, I can breathe through my nose!” She was exceedingly excited about her admission into Langston, but this is a close second in terms of lifetime achievements. However, the lump barely stirs, making no move to celebrate.

“Colt?” 

“Huh?” He’s half asleep but his voice is hoarse, scratchy. Her eyes widen. She pulls back the cover and looks over to where he hasn’t budged. His mouth is open, breathing raspy, and a flush is covering his cheeks, spreading over his sharp cheekbones with a ruddiness that belies a familiar fever. She gingerly puts a hand to his forehead and frowns at the sharp heat meeting her palm. He still doesn’t move but a wracking cough makes its way from his lungs.

She shakes her head and settles back into bed. Looks like she’s staying here for a little while more.

.

Tags:

Perma @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard

ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko

Colt

@deimosensblog @alegria1580   @thefarrari @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @zaira-oh-zaira @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices​  @maxwellsquidsuit  @liamzigmichael4ever​ @octobereighth @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

#playchoices fanfic #colt x mc #colt kaneko #n*fw #ride or die: a bad boy romance #lemon #30 diamond scene #amy writes

[bisexualdaemon]

In Her Louboutins

a/n: Yes! This IS a follow-up to In His Calvins (link in masterlist)! This is also a belated present for my dearest @harryandmolly for her Shawniversary. Molly loves a little soft sub!Shawn. So it is only right that I give her this to celebrate one year with our boy ❤

warnings: 2.7k of filthy sub!Shawn smut (with a little switch)

“I’m at the end of my rope, I need your help.”

Tightening the belt on your trench coat, you thought about your earlier phone call with Andrew. Gertler, manager extraordinaire, had been panicking. He knew something was wrong with Shawn, was pretty sure how to fix it, but needed to call you to make sure. His international rockstar had been moping for days. They’d been on the road for weeks now, stopping every other day for a hotel night but always on the move, never long enough for you to come and visit. You had to be in LA for your job, no negotiations. Not even international rockstar sized ones.

You hadn’t seen him in almost two months, not since the Calvin Klein shoot.

It had been excruciating for both of you. Shawn had been sounding more and more tired on the phone with every passing day but you hadn’t thought it would spread beyond that. He was usually so good at compartmentalizing. But Andrew said he could see it in Shawn’s performances, see it in his face every morning meeting fans outside the hotel. The army was starting to notice. Andrew had deemed it necessary to take extraordinary measures and pick up the phone, beg you to take a long weekend and come out.

So that’s how you ended up here, in this luxury elevator headed up to Shawn’s room. A complete and total surprise. You impatiently clicked your red-bottomed heel against the marble-tiled floor, the lift attendant giving you an annoyed side stare. When the elevator opened finally onto a floor of keyed suites, you sighed in relief. The carpet in the hall muffled the sound of your shoes as you walked down the hall, searching for room 2504. When you finally found it, nestled in the corner, you had to pause and take a  deep breath. You closed your eyes, counting to ten and burying the nerves. Opening them, a confidence settled in your shoulders and an ache throbbed between your legs. He was right behind that door. Shawn. You made a fist and knocked. A couple of seconds passed. You knocked again, a little more urgent. Irritated rustling sounded behind the door before you heard the lock pop.

“What the fuck, Andrew,” he started before even opening the door, “it’s still hours before we’re supposed to go—” His mouth hung open, caught on wherever they were supposed to go this evening. You’d never seen his honey-brown eyes so wide before.

He looked fucking delicious. Clearly just woken up from a nap, he was shirtless, that light dusting of chest hair a little less manicured since the last time you saw it. A pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, just low enough to see your favorite pair of black Calvins peeking out. His curls were unkempt, sticking out in crazy angles like he’d already been fucked today. It was evidence of how fitful his sleep had been. You were glad that was about to change.

“Hey, Shawn,” you said, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Your confidence surged like it always did around him as you tapped a finger underneath his chin, a signal for him to close it. He snapped his mouth shut, not daring to speak a word and shatter the moment in case you were a hallucination, an oasis in the middle of his depression desert.

“I’m here, baby,” you read his mind, pushing a little on his chest to back him into the room, closing the door behind you, “just for you.” As soon as you flipped the lock, he was on you, pressing you into the wall next to the couch in the suite. His mouth immediately latched onto the valley above your collarbone, licking and sucking, tasting the sweet skin he’d been missing for weeks on end. He whimpered desperately, clawing at the fabric wrapping your body. When he untied the belt on your coat and let it fall open, he sucked in a quick breath and held it, hands stilling.

“Oh my God, what are you wearing?” He stepped back, his eyes roaming your body shamelessly. You couldn’t blame him.

“Oh, this? You like it?”

You had to admit, changing in the airplane bathroom had been difficult but the look on his face in this moment was worth it. Underneath the coat, you weren’t wearing much of anything. Just a black lace demi-bra and a black lace thong. That wasn’t what had him gasping. It was the garter belt. The garter belt that led to a pair of little fishnet thigh-highs trapped inside your six-inch—

“Honey...are those...Louboutins?” You could hear him swallow in the quiet of the room. You popped your foot back to show him the bottoms, the distinct red color flashing in the low light. An involuntary groan erupted from his chest.

“Jesus fuck.” His forehead dropped against yours, his breathing ragged. You didn’t need to see his pants tenting to know that he was painfully hard for you.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he whined, his fingers exploring your stomach with a touch so light it was just a whisper against your skin, a promise of more. So much more.

You let your coat fall off your shoulders, where it pooled on the floor, quickly forgotten. He was so hungry, so eager to get you into his bed. Eager to please you.

“Shawn, baby,” you tugged on his curls to halt his frantic sucking on your neck, a mark sure to blossom by morning, “look at me.” He reluctantly pulled away and looked down at you. His eyes had darkened, dark chocolate, almost black pools brimming with desire. You took his hand and walked him into the bedroom, pushing him to sit in front of you on the edge of the bed. The sheets and blankets were rustled and half strewn onto the hotel floor. You wondered the last time he had a good night’s sleep, probably the last time you held him in your arms. He’d rest this weekend—but he was going to have to work for it first.

“Tell me what you want,” you said, firm but with a sweet like to your voice, “and I’ll decide if I'm going to give it to you.”

“Uhm…” he chewed on his full lower lip, the sight making your thighs unconsciously rub together. You desperately needed friction and were about to lose patience with the tease in front of you. He rubbed his hands over the top of his thighs, still wearing those damn sweatpants, “I want…” he was dragging this out, suddenly nervous, “I wanna taste you.”

You had to bite back a moan, not wanting him to know how much his coy behavior affected you. Instead, you smiled and leaned down to remove your shoes.

“No!” Shawn objected, taking you by surprise, “I want you to keep those on!”

“Kinky boy,” you crawled onto the bed, stalking past him like a lioness taunting her prey. Settling against the headboard, you planted your heeled feet into the rumpled sheets, your thighs spread wide and waiting for him. Slick moisture clung to the lace fabric, evidence of what he was doing to you. “Now come up here and worship me.”

He clamored up the bed between your thighs, peppering kisses on the soft skin until he reached the promised land. At first, he just looked at you. You could feel his hot breath, feel his gaze lingering. He ran his nose up your covered slit, the hint of friction sending you into a fit of moans. Unable to take his teasing anymore, you had to remind him who was in charge.

“Shawn,” your tone was firm, commanding. He stopped to look up, struggling to not glance down at your pussy, and waited, fingers gently caressing the inside of your thighs.

“Rip them.”

“What?” his eyes were unfocused, unable to process what you said when your pretty pink cunt was right there.

“You heard me,” you held his chin between your fingers, forcing him to listen, “be a good boy and rip my fucking panties off.”

An inhuman growl forced its way out of his chest. He took a fistful of the fabric, taking care to run the back of his fingers up and down your drenched heat, and quickly yanked the lace from your body. The sound of fabric ripping and the quick bite of it against your skin caused you to hiss. He pressed his hands flat against your inner thighs and forced them all the way open, your knees butterflied flat against the bed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered before he lost himself in you. The sensation was immediate, from nothing to everything, shallow breath to heavy mewls, you struggled against his hands. He devoured you, vibrating moans around your clit, lapping his tongue at that soft stretch of skin above your entrance. The noises coming from him were indistinguishable, lost in your wet folds. You threw your head back and threaded your fingers into his damp curls, holding him against you, needing more. His hands finally left your thighs. He spread your lips open and teased your entrance, circling with one finger slowly, languidly while his mouth made the filthiest noises you’d ever heard against your clit.

“Shawn,” you gasped, battling for words over your overwhelming pleasure, “fuck me with your pretty fingers.”

He sank two of his long fingers inside of you, groaning when some of your wetness ran down his palm. Pumping gently, he stroked your walls in an alternating pattern with his greedy suckling on your clit. Your toes curled inside your shoes, staving off an orgasm rushing toward you like a freight train. He could sense the tension, feel your thighs quaking beneath his heavy shoulders, so he plunged a third finger inside, determined to make you scream.

“Fuck! Shawn!” you cried when he curved all three fingers, knowing just where to stroke to get what he wanted, “I’m gonna come!” He stilled his fingers inside, pressing on that spot, while flattening his tongue against your clit all at once.

You shattered when the wave overcame you, sputtering curses, gripping his hair like it was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the earth. He pulsed his tongue and fingers together, working you through your orgasm. You couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything. All you could do was feel him inside you, against you, lost somewhere between euphoria and satiation. Somewhere, far away, you heard fabric tearing, the sound of a six-inch heel shredding a hotel sheet.

When you finally came down, trying to wriggle away from his fingers that still pulsed inside, you heard his whimpers, his unfocused gasps. You looked down and saw him rutting his hips against the sheets, two layers of fabric from any kind of satisfaction. Tugging at his curls, you tried to get his attention, but he was so disoriented, so deep in your pleasure that he didn’t even feel it.

“Shawn,” you cooed, “Shawn, baby, come back to me.” He stilled then and looked up at you, his mouth glistening in the light. You moaned at the sight. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, still committed to making you come hard. Taking his face in your hands, you drew him up your chest and pressed your lips to his, a slow, burning kiss, full of his taste and yours. He melted into you, bringing his arms around your middle. When you let go of his lips, he rested his head above your heart and synched his breath with its regular beats.

“You were such a good boy for me,” you caressed his face, tracing a line from his temple to his jaw and back again, “made me come so hard.” He hummed in agreement, content to give you everything you wanted and take nothing for himself. For that, you wanted to give him the world, or at the very least, the best orgasm of his fucking life.

“Shawnie,” you whispered, the nickname getting his attention, “I want you to fuck me. Need to feel you inside.” He snapped his head up, the question clear in his eyes. Are you sure? You nodded, giving him all the permission he needed. He fumbled with the sweats and underwear that still clung to his lower half, stripping down and letting his straining, leaking cock free. When he returned to you, his eyes were almost black with desire. You knew he wasn’t going to last long, but you didn’t need him to. You wanted him to take his pleasure quick and hard, wanted him to punish you for leaving him alone for weeks.

He ran his hand up your thigh, lightly fingering the garter still holding up your thigh-highs, letting it pop against your skin. You drew him to your mouth again, communicating everything you wanted into that one searing kiss as he lined himself up. Pushing inside in one quick motion, you both cried out. He stilled, closing his eyes tight to calm himself and giving you time to adjust and stretch around him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing your fuck-me shoes into his ass, inviting him even deeper inside. He groaned, dropping his head to that spot on your neck already purpled with his earlier devotion and placing a sweet, soothing kiss on top of it.

“God, I fucking love you so much,” he murmured, low enough to sound like a prayer, slowly withdrawing his hips, letting you feel the loss before pushing back in to the hilt. He repeated the motion with careful control, making sure you felt it all, felt the burn of being stretched and the emptiness of the loss. That was his punishment for you—not a quick fuck, but one that felt like it might never end. Your head thrashed, your hands roamed everywhere. Down his back, around to his chest, to your own stomach and chest, pushing your bra out of the way to free your tits, circling your own nipples to add some sensation.

“Does that feel good, baby?” his breath was ragged, his voice pinched with the effort it took to not fuck you deep and hard into the mattress.

“Oh God,” you pleaded, “please.” I’m here now. The unspoken words hung in the air. You pushed your heels into his ass again to make him feel, make him see that you weren’t going anywhere.

He growled, thrusting into you hard.

“Right there!” you sobbed, catching one of his hands and bringing it above your head, letting him press you further into the pillows as he railed against your hips, skin slapping. The wet noises of your lovemaking echoed off the walls in the quiet hotel room. He grunted in rhythm with his thrusts, twitching inside of you. It was only a matter of time. He needed a push, needed you to tell him when.

“Baby,” you squeezed his hand, “come for me.”

His hips stuttered, his rhythm broken into erratic thrusting. The orgasm ripped through him, a deep moan sounding low in his abdomen and vibrating through him. Hot streams of come throbbed inside of you. He ducked his head to your hard nipple and bit down, jump-starting your own orgasm around him, yelling his name. It was overwhelming, coming at the same time so intensely. Riding the wave to completion, you both washed up onto shore in that hotel bed, limp and sated. His heavy body rested on top of yours. Both of you were sweaty, both bore the tell-tale marks of a proper reunion. You with your collarbone bruises and him with his red welts from your shoes, livid and raised on his toned ass. He caught his breath, turning his head to leave one last kiss on the nipple he’d bitten.

You let out a little giggle.

“What?” he sounded alarmed, like he’d done something wrong.

“Oh no, honey,” you reassured him, “it’s not you. I just...I left my bag at the airport to rush here and...I don’t have any panties.” He lifted himself off of you onto his elbows to look at you, cocking an eyebrow.

“I don’t think that’s much of a problem,” he said, grinning while he reached down to pop the buckle on one of your garters, “you won’t be needing them this weekend.”

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272  @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @rodneywaber @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @the-claire-bitch-project @mendesromano @fromthicctosticc @esoltis280 @grittyisaho @softmendesss @sinplisticshawn @nedthegay @september-lace @itrocksmysocks @disaster-rose @mendesoft @luvluvxx

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing

[sailorshadzter]

What if Jon gets struck by Ramsay's arrows in the leg, shoulder, and side during their one-on-one combat but it didn't bother him because his adrenaline is on an all time high. He pummels the Bastard of Bolton, as he should, and everyone is in awe, but then he sees Sansa. He gets up, his eyes get a blinding vision, he blacks out, he collapses. You know the rest 🥰🥰🥰

thanks for the request!!

i used it as an excuse to rewrite the forehead kiss scene because it just FELT RIGHT. 

anyways, i hope you enjoy!

send me prompts

He doesn't feel the first arrow pierce his right thigh.

He doesn't feel the second one either, when it pierces him through the left shoulder.

He doesn't even feel the third arrow as it embeds itself into his left side.

A moment later, his fist connects with Ramsay's cheek and now that he feels. Over and over again, he punches the monster that had taken his home, his baby brother, and his sister's light until he's just barely breathing beneath him. Ramsay bleeds from a split lip, a broken nose, every inch of his face swelling from the dozen or so punches Jon manages to land before his attention is taken elsewhere.

It's as he draws back for another hit that he catches sight of her; she's pale and drawn, red hair just barely contained in its single braid that hangs over her shoulder. Her sapphire eyes are wide as their gazes meet and her name is a whisper on his lips... Sansa... His lips move, but he cannot find his voice. And so he stumbles to his feet, staggering forward two steps before the first wave of pain rushes through him. "Jon!" He hears her voice a moment before her hands are on his shoulders, warm and strong, her grip steadying him. "Jon..." Softer this time and he can see the tears clinging to her lashes, can feel her grip tighten as he sinks towards the ground, darkness consuming him before he can say a single word.

She knows he's going down a moment before he begins to fall.

Though she holds fast to him, he is heavy, limbs like lead as he falls unconcious, and all she can do is ease him down to the frozen ground. "Take him in chains!" She commands the nearest men dressed in Stark and Mormont livery and at once they spring into action, rushing forward to slap irons on the fallen Bolton, who lays there bloodied beyond recognition in the snow. "Jon..." She whispers then, peering down at his bruised, bloody face, knowing she would never be able to repay what he's done for her this day.

"Let me help, little lady."

It's Tormund standing at her side then and she looks up into his eyes for a long moment before she finally nods. Edd appears next and he and Tormund stoop down and with Sansa's hands guiding them up, they support Jon between the two of them. "Take him upstairs, to the Lord's chambers." She says softly and they both nod, before beginning the slow walk into Winterfell, Sansa trailing just behind them.

She stops for only a moment, suddenly feeling anxious as she recalls the last time she'd been inside her home. But then she thinks of Jon and knows she cannot feel fear, not right now, not when he needs her so much more. And so she crosses the threshold and steps inside Winterfell, speaking only to direct Tormund and Edd down another hall and up a single flight of steps that lead up to the corridor where the Lord's chambers are. It's been years since she walked these halls, walked down to these rooms. Back then... With Ramsay... He had kept her in another wing, far from where anybody might hear her screams. These rooms that once belonged to her mother and father... She's not stepped foot inside of them since they once resided within.

But now, she throws open the door so Tormund and Edd can enter, gesturing for them to place Jon upon the neatly made bed. "Send someone with water and linen. Bring me wine from the kitchens," she says to Edd who nods and slips from the room without another word. "Find Agatha, ask her for a needle and thread," she tells Tormund, the oldest living maid in the palace had always been kind to her, even when commanded by Ramsay and Sansa knows she will help. Tormund hesitates only for a moment, long enough to spare his comrade a quick glance, but then he too is gone.

As she sinks into a chair at his bedside, Jon softly groans as he claws his way back into the waking world. "Soft, Jon. You're safe," she murmurs softly, reaching out a hand to brush a sweat drenched curl from his forehead. To her surprise, his hand shoots up and takes hold of hers, his dark eyes opening to look up into hers. His mouth moves as he tries to speak, but she shakes her head, shushing him quietly. "Save your strength." She whispers as she leans over him, brushing a gentle kiss to his temple.

She's like a dream come to life; she's beautiful there at his bedside, her blue eyes dark and damp with worry. He hates that she's crying for him, he doesn't deserve her tears. "Sansa... I..." He only wants to tell her he's sorry, he only wants her to know how badly he hurts knowing Rickon is lost to them. But she shakes her head, pressing a single finger against his mouth. It's as if his words are too painful for her to hear him say. In truth, they're too painful for him to say.

"Tomorrow," is all she says and Jon nods, because at least they have tomorrow still.

[ x x x ]

When he wakes up, it's to sunlight spilling in through the window.

His body is tight, aching, bandages wrapped around his limbs and ribs, though the pain reminds him that he's alive. He glances around the room, wondering for only a moment where he is; it's been years since he's been in these rooms, but he knows them to be the Lord's chambers. It's the room where his father and Lady Stark had once stayed. Back when they had been children, he and Robb would sneak into the room to steal swigs of ale from their father's jug. The room is the same and yet, entirely different. Jon knows the papers that litter the desk against the eastern wall are not addressed to Lord Stark, but to Lord Bolton. He knows that the clothes hanging on pegs on the other wall do not belong to his father, but to Ramsay Bolton.

For a moment, he contemplates destroying the room, starting with tossing the clothing into the hearth, but he stops only when he hears Ghost's soft whimper from the side of the bed. He's been so preoccupied by his surroundings, his direwolf has gone noticed where he sleeps on the floor beside the bed. "Good boy, Ghost..." Jon says softly as he leans over the bed to pat the wolf on the head, surprised to find that Ghost doesn't lay there alone.

With a thin sheet draped over her body, Sansa snores softly on the floor beside the bed, her head resting comfortably against Ghost's shaggy fur. Jon realizes a moment later that she's been there all night. A smile tugs on his lips and he swings his legs over the bed only to sink down to where she lays, tenderly stroking her hair as he softly calls her name. "You shouldn't be moving," she admonishes in a sleepy tone, breathin in as she rolls her face up to face his. Her eyes are tired and her cheeks are pale, but her rosy lips curve with a small smile at the sight of his face.

"And you shouldn't sleep on the floor," he quips back and he's elated to hear her laugh. He stands upright then and extends out a hand for her to take, which she does, and he helps her back onto her feet. For a moment, they stand there in silence, dozens of thoughts rushing through their minds. "Sansa, I..." He begins and she looks down at her feet, as if already knows what he's going to say. "Thank you," he goes on to say and her head snaps back up, surprise etched into her features. "You saved me... You saved all of us." She blushes and looks away, focusing her eyes instead upon Ghost, who's now stretching on the rug before the dying fire. "But Rickon..." Her face hardens and she shakes her head, closing her eyes against the tears that threaten to spill.

"There was no saving him." Sansa whispers when she opens her eyes, staring into his dark Stark colored ones that remind her so much of her father, of Arya, that it nearly takes her breath away. "It's just us now." Her words are sharp, hollow, and they break his heart. But she's right. Arya is missing, as is Bran, and in a world like theirs... They are most likely dead, though neither one of them wish to admit it. Robb and Rickon were already gone and that left she and Jon as the last remaining Stark's. "The last of the Stark's."

"I'm not a Stark." He says at once, but her face contorts with anger and she shakes that magnificent red head.

"You are to me." She replies forcefully, her tone daring him to disagree.

Jon can't stop the relief that rushes through him at her words, the feeling of acceptance stronger than it has ever felt between them. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Jon finally says the only words that make any sense at all. She smiles then and nods, their father's words an echo all around them. For a moment, it was as if Ned Stark was there, guiding them on to whatever it was that would come next. There are no more words that he can say and so he cups her face into his palm and draws her closer. The space between them minimal at best, he presses his lips against her forehead, lingering far longer than he might have done only a few weeks before. When he draws back, her cheeks are flushed and his feel just as warm.

They might be alone in this world, but at least they had each other.

#anon asks #jonsa #jon x sansa #writing prompts #prompt request #my writing #i wrote this

[solaneceae]

EGOTOBER DAY 2 - Trap

Jump, fall, grab, swing, let go, turn, fall again. 

The cold night air whistling in his ears, catching on the edges of his suit. The smell of asphalt and smoke, of cosy coffeeshops and dirty alleyways.

The cacophony of people walking far, far below him, of cars honking and tires shrieking, of thousands of lives happening all around him, each one the protagonist of their own story.

To those citizens, he is but a bright red blur in the corner of their eye. A cameo. An extra. He’s okay with that.

Grab a windowstill, push himself up onto a rooftop, run, jump, fall head first into the void, eyes closed. An ecstatic grin pushes his mask up his nose, the street’s neon lights reflecting in his bright blue eyes.

In this moment, when time seems to stretch and stop, when his heartbeat synchronizes with the busting and thrumming of the city, his city... Jackie knows freedom. Pure, unconditional freedom.

Then, as fast as it started, the moment is over; a shrill scream from somewhere below reminds him of his mission, and his elated gaze turns steely and focused. He twists his hips to reposition himself, grabbing a street lamp in his fall. He lands before two struggling silhouettes in the dim, sickly lights of your generic shady back alley. 

A quick glance tell him everything he needs to know: male figure manhandling a smaller, slimmer one. His body has moved before he knew it, ramming his fist into the larger form’s stomach with a vengeful grunt. The figure is shoved backwards, crashing down on a pile of dry cement, sending greyish dust flying everywhere.

Jackie huffs, and straightens up a smirk growing on his tanned, fleckled face. “Didn’t yer mom tell you not ta lay hands on a lady?”

Only a dazed grunt rewards his taunt. Seemed like the guy wouldn’t get back up anytime soon. That was easy, he thought, brushing dust off his arms before turning to the woman. “Are you al-”

He barely had time to register the metal pipe coming his way before pain exploded across his skull. He let out a startled gasp, the impact sending him flying; his vision swam, tiny fireflies dancing all over the alleyway. It hurt.

His back slammed against a wall as gravity took its hold on him, and everything went dark for what seemed like a second. He blinked back into awareness, a pained grunt clawing its way up his throat; his mouth filled with a metalling tang; he must’ve bit his tongue at some point.

“Shit, the bastard’s got a mean right hook.”

The hero looked up, his features twisting in pain and growing confusion; the male had gotten up and stood tall above him, scowling down at him. His arm clutched at his stomach. “Hear that, asshole? I’m gonna feel that punch for a week!” the man snarled before kicking the red-clad ego in the ribs. 

Jackie’s eyes widened, curling up in an attempt to protect himself. God, it hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight, his thoughts were all over the place and his reflexes shot to death… what the fuck was happening?!

“Frank, enough.”

He froze. The new voice was quieter. Softer. Colder. Through his blurry vision, he caught sight of a smaller figure standing next to the man. Indubitably feminine. And holding a metal pipe.

It finally clicked, and he cursed himself for his recklessness. A trap. This whole “aggression” had been a setup to catch him off-guard. He groaned, straining his muscles in an attempt to get up, despite the growing nausea threatening to make him lose his lunch here and then. Fuck, he probably had a concussion.

The woman tutted, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The vigilante bit his lower lip, not gracing her with a response, and rose up a few inches. His action was rewarded by a heavy foot slamming into his chest, slamming him back on the asphalt with a sickening crack.

Jackie’s nerves went alight with overwhelming, white-hot pain. Someone was screaming, though that was probably him. The shock sent him into a coughing fit as his brain switched back and forth between duty and basic survival instincts.

get out get out run get out FIGHT STOP THEM run run run run get away GET UP get away-

“You see,” the woman started, her voice muffled by the cotton surrounding his head, “we’re trying to run a business here. We can’t have you swinging around where you don’t belong, beating up our men and ruining everything we worked so hard to achieve, now, can we?”

Jackie didn’t see what or who exactly she was referring to, but he decided that, in this moment, it didn’t matter. Those guys obviously planned on getting rid of him, and given how fast the alleyway spun and how bad his skull pounded… He spit out a mouthful of blood onto the grey asphalt. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was in no shape to fight them off. So the next best thing would be…

“Heh.” the man smirked, crouching down in front of the fallen hero. “That looks like it hurts.” he taunted, reaching out to roughly poke at his ribcage -the green-haired ego managed to stay silent this time, only a hissing intake of air betraying how he really felt. The criminal’s eyes shone with malice. “Guess you won’t be running around messing with out plans no more, huh?”

Jackie coughed again, more blood dribbling down his chin. He hoped he hadn’t punctured his lungs again, the doc would never let him hear the end of it. He braced himself for what was to come next, clutching something on his utility belt. Please work, please work, please work for the love of god.

He looked up at his foes, his cut up lips stretching in a crooked smile. “Maybe not.” He fixed his gaze somewhere above the man’s head. “But they will.”

When the two turned to look behind them, their faces twisting in surprise and rage, he pointed his grappling hook at the sky and pressed the button. The metal grip shot up, further and further from the ground. C’mon, c’mon-

The telltale clank of the hook catching on metal filled him with relief, and before he knew it he was airborne, angry screams echoing in the alley below him. He ignored his burning arm, the possibility of a dislocated shoulder, the pain radiating from his chest. He ignored his darkening vision, his growing nausea, the sticky warm liquid running down his temple and soaking his hair and beard.

He ignored it all, letting his body fall into the flow of familiar motions, rehearsed a thousand times and more. Swing, let go, catch, fall, land, run, jump. Again, again, and again. Tripping on a loose wire, falling, getting up. Running.

Get away. Get back. Get home.

His thoughts scattered, his world becoming foggy and distant. Time, space it no longer mattered. Just the colorful lights flying past him -or was he flying past them?- and gravity grabbing and letting him go over and over in a soothing rhythm, like a heartbeat. 

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up…

***

Henrik run a hand down his face, reclining in his seat with a weary sigh. Finally, his shift was over. Like every thursday night the ER had been packed with drunken teenagers carrying in their comatose friends. He should really stop covering Edward’s shifts whenever the other ego decided to disappear god-knows-where every now and then.

He got up and left his office, gruffly saluting his colleagues on the way out. He couldn’t wait to go home and pass out on the couch, granted the thing wasn’t already claimed by either a drunk Chase or a territorial Anti.

He shook his head, stepping out of the clinic and into the cold night air. His own family were a handful by themselves, between them and his dumbass patients it was a miracle he hadn’t gone insane yet.

The walk back to the house was uneventful enough, the distant rumble of an oncoming storm soothing his nerves. But as he climbed up the stairs to the front door and shoved the key into the lock, he froze.

As a legitimate, respectable, 100% real doctor, he was familiar with the sterile, chemical scent of hospitals; hell, he’d been inhaling it for so long he barely noticed it anymore. But one smell he could never really get used to was the distinct, heavy tang of blood. A smell he’d just caught a whiff of.

He frantically turned the key and pushed the door open, the emotional man overtaking the calm and calculating doctor. This was his home, his kin, this was different-

He rushed inside, flicking the lights on. There was someone laying on the couch alright. Cladded in bright fabric and leather, wild green strands escaping his hoodie, framing a light blue mask.

Covered in a lot more red than what was considered normal, even for him.

“Scheiße, Jackie!” Henrik called out, rushing to his most reckless brother’s side. Said brother stirred and looked up at him, a cocky smirk displaying his blood-covered teeth. Fuck, this looked bad. The hero raised a hand in greeting. “Hey doc-” he croaked out, before a wet cough cut him off.

“Verdammt Jackie, shut up and don’t move an inch!” Schneep ordered, kneeling in front of the couch. He gently -well, gentler than with his usual patients at least- grabbed the hem of the vigilante’s hood to get a clear look at him; the left side of his face was coated in blood -dry, good, so he wasn’t bleeding out from here at least- and his gaze were clouded and unfocused. Henrik frowned, taking his phone out of his lab coat to shine the light in the hero’s blue eyes, making him wince.

“Pupils aren’t behaving normally. Concussion.” the doctor mumbled. Jackie chuckled. “Ah- yeah, that’s a thing. Shoulder might be fucked up a bit. Also pretty sure I broke a few ribs. ”

“WAS?!” the older ego shrieked in disbelief “What the hell? What were you doing out there? Taking down a drug ring?!”

“Shhhh,” Jackie hissed, lifting his hand in a placating gesture, “Tone it down doc, you’ll wake up the others.”

“Tone it- are you joking? You’re hurt!”

“Please, just…”

The hero grimaced, averting his gaze. “I… don’t want the others to see me like this. Especially Robbie.”

Henrik stopped, considering his little brother’s words. They seemed to mostly come from a place of pride, but there was something else here. Worry. Last time the youngest member of their household had seen one of them injured, he’d been inconsolable. Jackie was right; bringing the others into this would only cause more chaos and distress.

He sighed, surrendering before the other’s pleading expression. “Alright. We’re going to your room, I’ll patch you up and take care of those stains on the couch. But I swear, if you move around while I’m gone, I will pump you so full of sedatives you’ll be out for a week!”

Jackie let out a painful wheeze and smiled. “Sounds fair.”

------

@tabbynerdicat @lilakennedy (cuz this one has your dad in it :D ) @egopocalypse @humblecacti

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#jacksepticeye #egotober #egotober2019 #trap #jackieboy man #henrik von schneeplestein #jse egos #jacksepticeye egos #tw blood #blood #whump

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 9 (wc 1612)

Alibaba stared in mute shock at the black magic beast that had somehow appeared from the swarm of dark birds that sprang up around the assassins. At first, he was not alone in that, as even Valefor seemed taken aback. But even as the others sprang into action, readying their weapons and taking defensive positions, he couldn’t make himself move. 

Something... something was... 

A black blade. Blood. A monster, howling. 

Something was pressing on his mind. Not from outside, but from within. 

He recognized this. He didn’t know why, but he did. Blindly, he hit his chest, trying to grasp Amon’s dagger and missing. Finally closing around warm metal, his fingers clenched tightly. The noise in his ears faded just slightly, but his breathing refused to slow, still fast and shallow -- and he didn’t know why. 

It wasn’t the black monster’s nature. The others had already regained themselves. So why... 

“Stop!” Sinbad yelled as Drakon pointed his strange magic tool at the beast. 

But the command came too late, almost drowned out by the bang of the lightning shot. Darting forward, Sinbad managed to deflect it with Baal’s sword, which went skittering away across the treasury floor as he lost his grip on it. 

“What are you doing?!” Drakon demanded. “Can’t you tell what kind of situation this is?” 

“They’ve already become my people! And I won’t leave anyone behind! I won’t let my comrades die!” Sinbad shouted back. 

Dry, nasty laughter came from somewhere within the shadows. 

“You don’t have a choice,” the rustling voice of the court magician spoke. It was impossible to tell where she was, no matter how frantically they looked around them. Suddenly, a spike of erupted from the ground, surrounding Baal’s sword, and a female figure emerged from it. 

Falan’s eyes curved in a hidden smile, as she held Sinbad’s metal vessel in her arms. “It’s their fate to be consumed by our magic beast. And it’s your fate to perish here!” 

As if at her command -- and maybe it really was -- the beast lunged for Sinbad, sword-like black claws extended 

“Sinbad!!” 

Three voices rang out at the same time. Alibaba finally regained his senses enough to scramble to his feet and draw Amon’s dagger. But the one who made it to Sinbad, shoving him out of the way and into Drakon was Hinahoho. The magic beasts claws closed around his head and torso, lifting him and squeezing him painfully. 

“Hinahoho! Hang on!” Sinbad shouted, struggling to disentangle himself from Drakon. “I’ll get you out!” 

And how was he planning to do that without his metal vessel? Alibaba knew that Sinbad also carried a knife, but it trying to use it in this battle would be like poking the beast with a needle. However, judging by his expression, Sinbad was more than willing to try. 

Cursing mentally, Alibaba gathered up his magoi -- and paused. 

Hinahoho was moving. Reaching up, he dug his fingers into the magic beast’s claws and, unbelievably, began to slowly and painstakingly pry them apart. 

“You...” he grounded out between clenched teeth, “are always... like this! Why?!” 

Shoving himself loose, he grabbed hold of the beast’s wrist and managed to twist it with a sickening crunch. The monster roared furiously, flinging Hinahoho away, but he landed safely, skidding back. 

“You’re small and weak! So how can you be this strong? You’re just a kid who doesn’t know anything. So how can be this determined and this sure of yourself?” Hinahoho yelled, ignoring the beast to glare at Sinbad. “Do you really think I need help more than you? You’re the one who’s running off to do something insane like changing the entire world!” 

“W-well, I...” Sinbad blinked at him. “Um...” 

“You’re really something,” Hinahoho said, his furious tone unexpectedly calming. His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. “I can’t help but admire you. You’re right -- you are the most suited to be king.” His lips quirked up in a wry smile. “You have the strength to achieve your dreams, no matter whether anyone supports you or approves of you. Not like me...” 

After all, Hinahoho was someone who had been deeply pressured by the expectations of those around him, trying to live up to them, falling short of them. Not like Sinbad, who only looked ahead and persisted in his own path. 

Watching him, Sinbad’s eyes widened and his expression brightened, as if something clicked into place. 

“So it’s like that...” he murmured to himself. Raising his head, he stepped forward and unexpectedly took one of Hinahoho’s much larger hands. “That’s right, I’ll achieve my dream. But only if I have comrades like you at my side. Hinahoho, join me! I need your strength! To save those guys, and to change the world!” 

So he had finally figured it out. 

Without looking, Alibaba could imagine Hinahoho’s response. That was what he’d meant before -- that sometimes, what people wanted to hear wasn’t that they could just depend on someone else. Hinahoho especially, as a proud Imuchakk warrior, no matter how much he doubted himself. Sometimes, what people wanted was for someone to tell them they could succeed, that they were strong. 

As expected, Sinbad was amazing. 

“Tch!” Falan clicked her tongue, even half-hidden, her expression twisting with disgust. “As if I’ll allow it--!” 

“As if you can stop them!” Alibaba countered, magoi engulfing his dagger and transforming it into a black greatsword. The wave of flames he released struck Falan before she could react. There was a crack, and shattered pieces of a doll fell to the treasure floor. Snatching up Sinbad's sword, Alibaba stared at the doll fragments with a frown. 

"That's not her real body," Valefor said grimly. 

Falan's laughter rang out again. "That's right," she said -- as the flesh of the black beast's shoulder rippled and an exact replica of her form emerged from it. “The real me is far out of your reach. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, or this beast.” 

Valefor snarled, its previously lazy, soft shape returning to the fearsome wolf they had seen at first. “You think you can run wild in my dungeon? I remember that disgusting stench of yours! I won’t let you do as you please!” 

“Wait!” Sinbad protested, moving as if to put himself between the djinn and the magic beast. “Those guys are still in that thing! I won’t let you destroy it!” 

“You can’t save them,” Falan said. Even with the veil, Alibaba could tell her lips curled into a smirk. “And what right do you think you have to interfere, slave of Solomon? You who already failed once and are now nothing more than a puppet...” 

“Shut up! How dare you bring up what you and your ilk did to Alma Torran!” Valefor roared. 

“That’s fine,” Sinbad said, cutting through their argument. “They’re our comrades, so we’ll be the ones to save them. We’ll find a way!” 

For a long moment, Valefor stared at him, a growl rumbling in its throat. 

“Fine! Fine, if you’re that sure! Prove to me that you have what it takes to be a true king vessel!” the djinn snapped finally. “You can save them if you destroy the beast’s core! Based on the flow of magoi, it should be in its chest!” 

Sinbad grinned. “I knew there’d be a way!” 

“Leave the core to me,” Hinahoho said. “The great harpoon will pierce straight through. This time I won’t miss.”

“Then I’ll--”  

“Enough!” Falan barked. The black beast slammed its fist where they had been standing, forcing them to scatter. “I won’t give you the chance! Thalg Al-Salos!” 

“Amol Saiqa!” Flames engulfed her rain of icicles, melting them before they could come near Sinbad and Hinahoho. Hefting up Baal’s sword, Alibaba threw it toward its owner. Sinbad caught it easily, shooting him a grin. 

Alibaba smiled back and made himself step away. It was hard not to interfere. In truth, although he couldn’t explain it, he felt like he could defeat the black beast on his own, matching Falan’s ice with his flames and piercing it straight through. The name of the right spell was tugging at the back of his mind. In the same way he could strangely use his metal vessel’s power to an even greater extent than Sinbad, he would be able to overcome this. 

But this wasn’t his battle. This was Sinbad’s challenge to prove himself to Valefor, to his comrades, and to his dreams. And of course, the legendary Conqueror of the Seven Seas would succeed. 

Even with Baal’s power and Hinahoho’s support, it was a struggle. Sinbad alone couldn’t counter Falan’s magic and suppress the monster long enough for Hinahoho to get a clean strike. Every time he tried, Falan would attack, interrupting them and forcing them to scatter. 

“Dammit!” Sinbad cursed as another cluster of ice spears headed toward him. 

Small blasts of lightning intercepted them in midair. “What are you doing?” Drakon scowled. “All that talk, and this is the best you can do?” 

It seemed he had become fed up with standing around passively. And that his heart had also been moved by the future king of Sindria. 

Sinbad didn’t waste the opportunity he was given. When the magic beast tried to move, he quickly attacked it with Baal’s power, keeping it pinned in place. “Hinahoho, now!” he shouted. 

“Right!” The red rampaging unicorn horn in Hinahoho’s hand glowed brightly as he channeled magoi through it. The stone cracked where he stomped down to anchor his stance, and his eyes shone with an inhuman hue. “Take... this!!” 

The spear and the powerful magoi surging through it ripped straight through the beast’s chest. 

#nanowrimo #My writing