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deathbxnny · 2 years

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Memories for the wind (Kazuha x reader)

Content: Angst, hints of a character death, more angst, Kazuha's friend being your brother, etc.

Not really proofread sorry!!

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The evening sun fell through the open windows, as you calmly hummed a soft tune, a warm breeze drifting through the kitchen and engulfing you in it's warmth. You wiped your brow, as you gazed out of the window, smiling as you watched the birds dance with the wind outside.

You lived in an abandoned house, that stood in a large field, far away from all of civilisation. It was not your choice to live here initially, yet after the fate of your brothers death and your lovers escape, you were forced to hide away as well. "Kazuha..." the name of your lover fell from your lips painfully.

He didn't allow you to escape the country with him. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting you by taking you along and decided to hide you away in his old childhood home. Your mind wandered to the fateful day of your brothers death and your lovers escape.

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"You do not deserve to suffer with me, dove. So hide away there, until I come to get you." he said, before he kissed your fingers, your golden ring glistening in the moonlight. "Kaedehara Kazuha. Don't you dare leave me-" you begged crying, as you grabbed onto his clothes, burying your face in his chest.

He looked down on you, closing his eyes tearfully, knowing that he can't show a moment of weakness. Time was running out and the shoguns army will be at their door any minute now. "I beg of you, please run. I'll come find you, when this is all over, I swear. So please... go." He grabbed you by your arms and dragged you out of the back door.

He pushed a bag into your arms and pushed you towards the dirt road behind the house. "I'll find you, my love. I love you." He shut the door quickly, leaving you behind to run through the woods, as he made his escape as well.

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You didn't remember how long it's been, since he left. Rarely did you ever leave the home, but when you did, you'd make sure you visited your brothers grave. Today was one of those days, that you dared to walk out of your hiding place and into the public eye. Pulling your hood over your head, you calmly took a hold of a small basket near and walked out of the door.

You hummed to yourself, as you watched the world pass by you. Inazuma was beautiful. It was something you were never able to deny. Yet you still resented it. It's beauty was insulting to your brothers brutal death. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to painfully relish in the soft wind that blew the memories of your brother's death away.

When you open your eyes again, you find yourself at his grave. "Brother..." you whispered, as you sat down on a small rock, your skirt pooling at your feet. "I'm sorry, that I wasn't able to visit as often... There are too many samurai in the area lately..." Your brothers white cat meowed as a greeting, as she rubbed your palm.

"Hello there Yuki... Did you take care of brother for me?" you softly chuckled, as the cat meowed again, before curling up at your feet. You tried taking her home with you, yet she refused to leave. And you didn't blame her. If you could've, you would have curled up at his grave all day too.

Suddenly, you felt your eyes grow heavy, as you slowly allowed yourself to lay down near the foot of the grave with Yuki. Tears softly blurred your vision, as a deep feeling of loneliness filled your heart.

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"Ah... This is quite nice... Kazuha! Come on! Sit down!" Tomo laughed, as he waved the samurai over to lay down under the tree with you two. You leaned against the tree, as you sighed in satisfaction. Kazuha chuckled, as he allowed himself to lay his head down onto your lap, making you giggle softly. Carefully, you pulled your hand through his silky white hair, ridding it of any knots. "Thank you, dove." he softly said, making you blush a bit, as you tried ignoring your brothers amused gaze.

"Now, now Kazuha... Courting my sister right in front of me is quite shameless, don't you think?" Tomo said teasingly, as he sent a wink your way, knowing your feelings for the poet. "Ah, not that you would mind if I did marry her, dear friend." Kazuha said chuckling, as he watched your face turn red. "You're the only one I'd accept anyways." Tomo retorted, as they both grinned at each other.

"You two are insufferable..." you grumbled, before closing your eyes to relish in the summer wind. "... You brought us here for a reason, didn't you, brother?" you added after a moment of silence, recalling how your brother dragged you and your lover here.

"Ah... Yes... I was thinking. There has to be someone out there, that can withstand the Shoguns rage and power, hm?" He said, as he started pacing. You furrowed your eyes at him, as you glanced down at Kazuha, who wordlessly watched with your brother thoughtfully.

"Perhaps so, but why are you telling us this?" The poet sat up, his eyes slightly narrowing.

"I want to duel the Raiden Shogun herself." Tomo proudly said, as his eyes glistened brightly with confidence. "You... What?" you whispered, as dread filled your heart, your body and mind. He can't be serious. There was no way he could be. You snapped your head to Kazuha, who sensed your horror. "Tomo... Scaring your poor sister isn't funny, you know?" Kazuha said, as he got up to look at his friend more clearly.

"I am not Joking. I truly mean it." "Tomo! Stop saying such things, I beg of you. Have you lost it?" you cried out in panic, as you got up and hugged your brother, hoping that he would find reason. Yet what you didn't see were his shared glances with Kazuha, knowing that he won't back down.

"Keep her safe." Tomo whispered to Kazuha before he left. "I will." The poet swore, as he gripped his sword tightly.

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When you opened your eyes again, it was already dark again. How long have you slept? For too long you realized, as you gazed up at the moon. Yuki was still curled up at the grave with you, which lend you some comfort. Sighing you gathered your things to leave. When you were done, you bowed to the grave out of respect.

"I'll be back soon brother... Goodbye Yuki, stay safe." You whispered, as the cat meowed as a farewell, before you finally left to get back home. You whispered curses at yourself for sleeping for so long. The activity of treasure hoarders and alike rose at night. And you didn't have much to defend yourself with either. Turning a corner, you were suddenly grabbed by the collar of your kimono.

A yelp left your lips as you were thrown into the dirt ground beneath you, before getting dragged upwards again by your hair. You whimpered painfully, as a loud evil laugh escaped your abuser. "Well, well, well... What do we have here, hm?" your eyes widened, as you stared up at the treasure hoarder. "Say... Do you have a problem if I take that pretty ring of yours?" he asked, as he watched your ring glisten in the moonlight.

You huffed annoyed, as you spit in his face. "That's a ring my husband gave me, you uncouth bastard." you hissed, as you watched his face contort to one of anger. Suddenly, you were slammed to the floor and kicked violently. The world around you deafened from the pain, as you curled your body up, in hope that your suffering ends soon enough.

"Hey boss, she's kinda pretty, ey? How about we keep her to-" yet the treasure hoarders muffled words suddenly stopped and were replaced with loud yells and screams. The kicking stopped and the sound of fighting raged on.

Weakly opening your eyes, you took in the fight before you. Did a soldier perhaps hear you and has come to save you? But the thought stilled in your mind, when you saw a familiar man leap into the air.

Your throat felt dry, as your widened and more tears spilled, this time out of relief and pure happiness. The world slowed down and as the man spun to face you in the air and the moonlight shone through his wiled locks, you felt his name leave your mouth thoughtlessly. He grinned at you, wild and free, as an anemo vision hung from his hip.

"Kazuha." you whispered and suddenly, the world was full of colour again and the painful memories got tooken away by the wind.

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Alright, I hope u guys liked it! If u have any questions or requests, let me know!^^

#genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin kazuha #kazuha x reader

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theladyofdeath · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter Two}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby's blogs! >> @snelbz

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

Trigger warning: death

The vibrations beneath her pillow had nearly stopped by the time Nesta dug it out and held it up to her ear.

“Hell-hello?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open, barely able to get the words out.

Her eyes adjusted as she sat up and looked at the alarm clock on Feyre and Rhysand’s bedside table.

1:26 a.m.

“Is this Nesta Archeron?” a quiet, female voice asked.

It was the tone that got Nesta.

It was the tone that had her sitting up straight, her heart slowing in her chest. “Yes, this is Nesta.”

“Nesta, this is Claire from Velaris Hospital,” she began. “There’s been an accident-.”

It was all she heard.

After that, everything became blurred and the words that Claire spoke made absolutely no sense at all.

Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be home the following evening, the last she’d heard from her sister, she and Rhys were going to dinner and then out dancing before heading back up to the cabin.

That had been a little before eight, almost six hours ago. She could hear the rain coming down, much harder than it had been when she’d gone to bed, even a few hours before. Nyx had been asleep by seven, only waking up to cry once or twice a night the whole time she’d been watching him. All in all, the weekend had been uneventful, but she was ready for Rhys and Feyre to be home, so she could go home to her townhouse, to peace and quiet and blessed, blessed silence.

But as she quickly tucked Nyx into his car seat, doing her best not to wake the sleeping baby up, she tried not to think about the phone call. She tried not to think about the firm, but steady tone of voice as she drove across town, to the hospital.

She had been to the hospital before.

Twice in the last fifteen years.

Once when her mother passed, once her sickness finally took her.

And once again when their father passed over complications from his heart surgery.

Nesta hated that drive, hated pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. She didn’t trust it, not one bit. She hated it. Hated the ground on which it stood.

As she parked her car in front of the building, she looked in the rearview mirror. Nyx was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was happening, completely unaware of the phone call that had just occurred only half an hour before.

There’s been an accident.

Nesta got out of the car. She shut the driver’s side and went to the back. She carefully unbuckled Nyx from his carseat and picked him up, holding him tightly against her chest as she covered him with his oldest, softest, favorite blanket.

The parking lot was nearly empty.

Nesta carried Nyx inside.

You need to come quickly.

She found Azriel by the doors leading deeper into the hospital, calling out his name as soon as she saw him. He turned, and she nearly froze at the look on his face, the paleness and hollow look in his eyes. But she couldn’t and she hurried to where he stood, with a stone-faced doctor.

We did everything we could.

The next few minutes were a blur of explanations and condolences, but Nesta could do nothing but hold onto Nyx, still sleeping soundly in her arms. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Azriel slid an arm around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort he could.

They’re gone.

They had been driving back to the cabin when the storm had hit. Both of them had been drinking, but not enough to even break the blood alcohol level. The winding roads leading up into the mountains quickly grew slick and when they hydroplaned, Rhys had lost control of the car.

With how hard it was coming down, he hadn’t even seen the ledge coming up, or how far the drop was to the bottom of the ravine.

Nesta prayed that wherever they had gone after their final breath that they were together.

And that Rhysand wouldn’t be blaming himself.

It wasn’t his fault.

She repeated that prayer one after the other until she had begun to doze in and out of sleep.

When she woke, it was nearly five in the morning.

Nyx had slept through it all, hadn’t even realized what had happened. When they got home, Nesta had laid him in his crib, where he had remained, sleeping soundly, ever since.

4:56 a.m.

Nesta had managed to sleep for nearly forty-five minutes.

That in itself was a blessing.

Yet, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed, Nesta felt guilty. How could she sleep after the news she had just received?

None of it seemed real.

Her little sister, her youngest sister.

Dead.

All that was left of their family was her and Elain.

Her, and Elain, and Nyx, and Seph.

Dad. Mom. Feyre.

Gone.

Nesta stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She didn’t feel a thing. After turning the faucet on, letting the cold water run for a minute, she splashed some on her face.

It didn’t bring her back to reality like she was hoping for.

She was hoping it was all a dream.

But it wasn’t.

Her legs carried her into Nyx’s nursery, where she sat for the next couple of hours, watching him sleep, peacefully. Not knowing, not realizing, not understanding his parents were never coming home.

She heard the front door open around seven-thirty, rushing down the stairs, praying that she had, in fact, dreamed it all and Rhys and Feyre would be coming inside, home a few hours early.

But it wasn’t Rhys, or Feyre. Instead, it was another familiar head of golden-brown hair, her eyes trained in the hardwood just inside the walkway. The door had barely closed before Nesta made it down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Elain.

They both collapsed, falling to their knees on the worn rug, as Elain sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.

The following days were a blur. A constant stream of people calling, texting, reaching out to see what could be done. Nesta and Elain handled the arrangements, with Azriel’s help, but none of them realized how prepared Feyre and Rhys had been for their own deaths.

Maybe it was because they’d both lost their parents young. Maybe it was because they didn’t want Nyx to ever have to deal with it on his own. All Nesta had to do was sign some paperwork and present their death certificates.

The funeral home had taken it from there.

She sat in the corner of the room, wearing a simple black dress that Feyre had always told her looked matronly on anyone else, but made her look like a badass CEO. It was one of her favorites. She figured Feyre would have wanted her to wear it today.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look into the caskets yet, to see what her sister and brother-in-law looked like, if they even looked like themselves.

She’d never be able to wipe the memory of their pale, lifeless bodies from her mind, as she and Azriel had to confirm that it was them in the hospital. Until that moment, she’d held out hope that maybe they had been wrong. That maybe someone had stolen their car and they were waiting at the bar for the rain to die down.

But even in death she couldn’t mistake their faces.

She couldn’t imagine that they looked anything like they once did, knowing that she’d never see Feyre’s bright smile or amusement sparking in Rhysand’s eyes.

The funeral dragged on, a preacher they had grown up with leading the crowd that had gathered. Nesta was asked if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. What was there to say? There was too much to say.

Nesta couldn’t.

So, she didn’t.

They carried the caskets out and loaded them up in the hearses.

Nesta didn’t remember getting behind the wheel, didn’t remember loading Nyx into his carseat, didn’t remember driving to the cemetery.

And yet, she ended up standing in front of a set of holes in the ground with Nyx on her hip. Only a few words were said before the caskets were lowered into the ground.

Nesta wondered what was going through Nyx’s head. The one-year-old didn’t make a sound, not a peep as the day went on. He simply remained perfectly calm, his head resting on Nesta’s shoulder as she swayed back and forth.

“I can take him, if you want to say goodbye.”

Nesta spun around, meeting the eyes of Cassian Nazari.

He’d been crying, she could tell. If it wasn’t for the redness in his puffy eyes, Nesta surely would have snapped.

“There’s no need,” Nesta said, with an empty calmness. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

It was a lie, of course.

Could you ever really say goodbye to someone you loved?

He didn’t push her, just silently stepped up next to her and stared at the mounds of dirt. Nearly everyone was gone, Azriel taking a silent, distant Elain home. Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, Amren, and Varian had left just a few minutes after them. The only ones still present were those who had filled the graves, the preacher, saying a few final prayers for peace, and the three of them.

“I don’t…” His voice was rough, in a way she’d never heard it. “I keep waiting for him to call me and tell me it’s all dumbass prank,” he breathed. “That this was all some elaborate joke to get back at me for something.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. She blinked, but was unable to stop the few silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, but for once she agreed with Cassian.

“If you, uh, need anything…” Cassian began, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Nesta nodded once. She knew he was just saying it out of kindness due to the situation, but she supposed it was still a kind offer.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after a moment had passed. Without giving Cassian another glance, she was turning toward her car, walking away.

Her legs became heavier with each step she took, but she continued onward until she was sitting behind the wheel of her little black car, Nyx buckled into his carseat.

He began to fuss.

Nesta understood.

Maybe he was beginning to realize that his mom and dad were never coming back.

As Nesta drove back toward the house, her vision blurred as the tears came.

The next few days passed by slowly. She and Nyx made it just fine, but the time seemed to drag on and on and on.

She had just put Nyx down for his afternoon nap when her phone began to ring, a number she didn’t recognize showing up on her screen.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure if she could handle another one of Rhys or Feyre’s friends offering their condolences. Their pity.

Ultimately, she grabbed her phone, swiping across the screen to answer the call.

“Nesta Archeron speaking.”

A smooth voice came from the other end of the line. “Ms. Archeron, my name is Tarquin Hadrian.”

She paused. The name didn’t seem familiar, so she cleared her throat. “How can I help you, Mr. Hadrian?”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Archeron,” he began. Nesta sighed quietly, waiting for the words to continue, but he said something she wasn’t expecting. “I’m the Lunasa’s attorney. I was hoping to speak with you about their will.”

Shit. Nesta hadn’t even thought about a will, hadn’t thought about any of the plans Rhys and Feyre had made. If they’d planned everything, down to their burials and graves, surely they had prepared a last will and testament. “Of- Of course.”

“Are you free this afternoon?” He asked. “I know it’s short notice, but I’d wanted to give your family as much time as possible to grieve, however, there are some matters that need to be handled sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I can be there any time,” she said, looking at the clock. Nyx wouldn’t be up from his nap for another hour or so, but she could figure something out. “When would you prefer?”

“Is three o’clock okay?”

After Nesta’s agreement, he was giving her the address to his office and the call was over and Nesta was calling Elain, asking to drop Nyx off on her way over. She didn’t want to wake him, nor did she think a meeting with a lawyer was a good place for a one-year-old.

An hour later, she was pulling into the parking lot of the small law office, and she froze in her car when she spied a familiar truck across the lot.

What in the hell was he doing here?

Nesta made her way inside, letting the pretty receptionist know who she was here to see and she was escorted back to a plush office.

Cassian already waited inside, sitting across the desk from a handsome, dark-skinned man.

“Ms. Archeron,” he said, standing, extending a hand. Nesta shook it with her own. She didn’t miss that Cassian merely sat there as she entered. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” she nodded, taking the seat next to Cassian. Neither of them acknowledged the other, which was for the best.

There was a large stack of papers on Tarquin’s desk and as he sat, he began to lead through them one by one. Sighing, he laid his hands atop the papers.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” he said. “Did Feyre or Rhys talk with either of you about what should happen to Nyx in the event that both of them should die?”

A glance at each other, but they both shook their heads. Cassian said, “No.”

Another deep breath. “They...named the two of you.”

His blue eyes looked between them, and it took Nesta a moment to realize he wasn’t just speaking to her. Just as long as it took Cassian to realize the same.

As one, they both leaned forward, Nesta resting her hands on the desk, Cassian letting his elbows fall in his knees. Nesta said, “They picked us together?” at the same time Cassian asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Tarquin cleared his throat. “I tried to advise them against it. An unmarried couple, with your own personal history…”

“I don’t understand,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “I…don’t understand.”

“Yeah, me either,” Cassian added.

“Here,” Tarquin said, handing the two of them a letter.

Neither of them reached for it, but Tarquin didn’t back down. He held out the piece of paper until Nesta snatched it and opened it up.

Cassian hovered over her as she read.

Cassian and Nesta,

We are writing this letter in case of a tragedy. Of course, we don’t expect a tragedy to happen, but you never know.

In case something does happen, you’re to take custody of Nyx. Both of you. We know you two don’t get along, but if something were to happen to us, we need you. You see, we want Nyx to have a mom and a dad. We want him to have two people who love and support him no matter what.

There’s a reason we chose you both to be godparents.

Nesta, you have a heart bigger than anyone we’ve ever met, even though you don’t often show it. When you care about someone, you care about them wholeheartedly. You devote your life to them. You make them feel loved, make them feel wanted, make them feel protected. And we know you care about Nyx.

Cass, you love more fiercely than anyone we have ever known. You were dealt a poor hand as a child, and instead of making you bitter, it made you stronger. It made you realize how you want others to be treated, instead of the opposite. You would make an incredible father. Therefore, we made you godfather.

The two of you are opposite halves of the same coin. One of you cannot succeed without the other, even though you’d both probably argue against that statement.

Look.

If you’re reading this, it means that something awful has happened. If you’re reading this, it means that we are gone. And, if we are gone, Nyx needs someone. He needs his godparents.

We know you’re scared. We know you’re heartbroken. But, if you love us, the two of you will work together to create a family-like environment for Nyx.

We love you both.

We believe in you both.

Tell Nyx we love him, too. So damn much.

Rhysand and Feyre

Nesta’s hands shook as she lowered the letter. “We… The two of us can’t… We can barely be in the same room as each other, much less take care of a child.”

“As I said, I advised them against this, especially once they explained your personal history to me,” Tarquin said, leaning back in his chair. He laid a hand atop the paper on his desk again. “As I mentioned before, they were very thorough in their planning, even going so far as to put a sum of a portion of their life insurance to pay off the mortgage of their home. They’ve left it to the two of you as well, to ensure Nyx has the easiest time possible. No on and off weekends, no moving back and forth.”

Nesta was still processing his words, when Cassian asked, “Wait, so we’re supposed to live together? Not only take care of him, which I’ll do anyways, but live in the same house?”

With a blink, Nesta looked at him. “You’ll take care of him? I’ve been taking care of him for over a week now.”

“Well, he’s my responsibility, too,” he replied, practically snarling at her. “I’m not going to disrespect Rhys’s wishes by shirking it off on someone else.”

Nesta was about to say something else, was ready to snap, but Tarquin cut her off. “It was my duty to give you the letter, per their will. What you do with it is up to you.”

Nesta left twenty minutes later, ready to set the entire city on fire. She burst out the front doors but didn’t leave alone. Cassian was just behind her, right on her heels, calling her name.

“I’m his godfather and I’m not letting Rhys down,” he said.

She wasn’t backing down, either. “You realize this isn’t a part time job, right? This is a lifetime commitment, Cassian-.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, stopping in front of her. He paused and blinked, as if he’d just realized she didn’t have him with her. “Where is he?”

She scoffed. “With Elain and Seph. I didn’t want to bring him because I wasn’t sure what this meeting would entail. He’d just gone down for a nap and I didn’t want to mess his schedule up.”

She watched as the words registered, watched as he processed them. He probably didn’t even know Nyx had a nap schedule, and he sure as hell didn’t know what it was.

Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t known it the week before, when Feyre had explained it to her before they’d left. Before they’d-.

Tears stung her eyes, trying to spill over as they always did when she thought about her sister, about Rhys. The fire inside her, the will to fight with Cassian, disappeared almost immediately.

“I need to go get him,” she said, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder, stepping off the curb towards her car.

Cassian didn’t follow her, and when she pulled out of the parking lot, he was still standing in front of the law offices, looking as lost as she felt.

#nessian #modern au #life as we know it #fanfic #fanfiction #collab #shacmc #acotar #acosf #sjm

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Note

Can I place an order for Yandere Geralt de Rivia with the kind and loving reader who sees the best in people?

Yes lemme cook something up for our mans Geralt⚔️

Geralt of Rivia x reader - Full Moon on the Rise

Summary: You’ve never felt actual hate for others, you can’t even bring yourself to hurt a fly, and with Geralt, he’ll make sure you never have to.

Warning: a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective Geralt

Masterlist

“So what do you think? The green cloak or the black one....ohhh or maybe the red one?” You ask excitedly as Geralt stands next to you, looking around for any potential threats more then actually paying any real attention, “I mean, the green matches more with the woods, you know trees n’ such and that’s great for blending in. But the black gives off those scary vibes you have. But the dark red one just looks so good, and comfy too.” You raise a brow as he nods, “You know.”

“Right.”

You smile at his adorably lack luster reply, it’s just how he is and that’s perfectly fine with you, “I’m going with the dark red cloak.” You grin with a curt nod of self approval for your knowledgeable decision making skills.

Turning to the cloak vendor you hold up your prize, “Good evening ma’am, how much for this mysterious beauty?”

The old woman smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she beams, quite excited to have some business with you, “Oh, my dear that’ll be five silver pieces.” You nod, tucking your new cloak under your arm as you nudge Geralt for some coin.

He quickly snaps his head over to you, his golden irises showing concern before he realizes you’re completely fine, “Y/N what is it?”

With a small giggle you make a grabby motion with your hand, “Spare me five silver pieces my good sir.” You muse with a mischievous brow wiggle, earning an amused huff from your Witcher.

He politely grins, “Whatever the lady asks.” Feeling around he pulls out the exact amount of coin you need. Your palm is spread as he tilts his hand into yours, conveniently giving you the coin.

“Thank you my love.” You whisper softy as he simply hands you the flash of a smile before turning his head to scour the market place once again.

The old woman opens up a small sack of coins for you to dump yours in, “Thank ya dear, have a save eve’nin.”

Clink. Sounds the last silver piece as you hold your new dirt-less red cloak closer in your arm, “You too.”

She suddenly leans in a bit closer, her face going serious, “Best keep that Witcher close, never know what kind of beasts be lurking in the woods. Specially with the next full moons a com’in.” Her wrinkly complexion turning back into her original beaming old lady face, “Have a nice stay in Bellepav.��

Stepping away you nervously nod, “Uh, yes....I’ll try?” You reply, not certain if you should be concerned or ignore the weirdness of the locals.

Deciding to ignore the strange behavior of the kind old woman, you flash her a last generous grin before turning on your heel and walking over to Geralt. With the familiar sound of your approaching footsteps he turns an intrigued eye over to you.

His brows furrowing as you gently lay a hand on his arm, “You alright Y/N.” He worries, noticing the slight wariness in your step.

Lightly squeezing his forearm you send him a reassuring smile, “Of course, that old woman was just acting odd. Well not that odd, I’ve definitely seen weirder....she just had a strange look when she told me to keep you close and watch out for the next full moon.”

He moves to take your cloak from you, quietly swinging the thick comfortable dark red fabric around your shoulders, clasping the lock together that keeps the material from falling off your body.

After he’s done, does his beautiful golden eyes find your alluring ones, “Y/N, we’ll be fine. I wouldn’t dare let a soul touch you, you have my word.”

Reaching up to gently cup his scruffy cheek, you smirk, “I know you do.” Releasing your warm touch from his face do you turn towards the bakers cart, the smell of fresh bread wafting into your nostrils.

“Geralt!” You exclaim with an excited twinkle in your eyes, “Fresh bread....” Your skilled eyes land upon the shiny red apples displayed about on the stall, “Apples! Ugh, I haven’t had an actual apple in almost four months, what I would do for one.”

Your eyes stare dreamily at the bakers cart, your mouth watering at the smell and sight of the desired foods. Geralt chuckles at your adorable reaction before tugging at your arm. “Come on Y/N, I’ll get you something.” Speaks your kind Witcher with a tinge of humor in his gravely voice.

Snapping your head towards him, your eyes going wide in excitement, “Aww yes!” You shout before pulling him in the direction of the cart, joy flowing through your heart as you make hasty steps across the market place.

The red apples are even more beautiful then you’d first seen as you stand ogling them from your spot in the muddy lane, “Sir I’d like three apples and a loaf of that bread please.” You ask, your voice sweet as honey.

He nods, “That’ll be two silver pieces and a copper cent.” Inquires the baker with a friendly smile, casually looking you up and down though you’re to focused on the apples to even notice his slight creepiness.

Geralt does and immediately steps forward, his broad leather armored shoulder placing itself in between you and the lonely baker. His golden irises dark and deadly as he stares down the now noticeably frightened man.

The baker takes a step back, sending him a shy half grin, “Uh...I’ll get those apples...and uh...loaf of br-bread.” He stutteres, dropped his eyes to nothing else but his new task at hand.

You watch from behind Geralt’s strong body, your mind on those big beautiful apples as Geralt fishes out the coin, dropping it atop the wooden table as the baker hands him the loaf and a small bag filled with three juicy red apples.

A smile breaks out upon your face as Geralt hands you the food, you gratefully accept as he turns and practically death glares at the stunned baker, who’s notably averted his gaze to his fluffy loaves of bread.

Geralt turns back around to watch as you hug your valuables close, a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips at your obliviously cute demeanor.

Resting a hand on your shoulder he finds your beaming eyes, “Lets go find Roach.”

You gasp, “I bet Roach would love one of these big beautiful bastards.” Earning a chuckle from your silver haired lover as he walks by your side on the way to the front entrance of the small village.

You both wander past some more harmless villagers going about their business until a small dirty little boy races past the two of you, tripping over his own two feet and just like that does he abruptly fall into the dirt. His hands landing with a thwack sound as his stomach and knees reach the hard ground.

He lets out a pained cry once his chin hits the earth, you don’t have time to think before you’ve crouched by his side like a concerned mother. You gently touch his shoulder as he sniffles, his dirt smudged face turning to you.

“That was quite the tumble, are you alright?” His big brown eyes are filled with unshed tears as he moves into a seated position, his hands clutched tight against his chest as he holds in the pain.

“Y-yes.....sorry miss I should have been looking were I was going.” He mutters, his eyes downcast as he avoids Geralt’s hard gaze from right next to you.

Your eyes turn soft before you take one of your red apples from out of your thin ruck sack, “I have just the thing that would cheer you up, ever taste something as colorful as this crimson beauty?” You add with a raise of your brow, the young boy sniffles again. His face lighting up as you wave the shining red apple across his line of sight.

You smile, handing him the scarlet treat, “I think you need this more then me. Maybe it’ll sharped those senses so you won’t fall again, hmm.”

He holds the valuable in his small grubby fingers, his eyes wide in surprised wonder, “Th-thank you miss, I’ll try and not fall again.”

You breath out an amused snort, “Yes, I wouldn’t want to land on these streets again, considering horses are ridden through them daily.” The brown eyed boy gives you the shyest of smiles before you stand to your full height once again.

“Safe travels.” You add with a friendly wink before continuing on your way out of the village, Geralt trailing after you like the ever loyal lover that he is.

His large form keeps comfortably at your side, “That was our apple Y/N.” States Geralt in his titular gruff Witcher voice.

Turning an amused smirk to him, you nudge his arm, “Great observation, but the little beast seemed to need it more...poor thing just about face planted in the street. Did look quite painful.”

Geralt smiles, always bemused by your kind intellect, “Y/N you are too kind.”

Walking past the front gates and down the muddy village trail you let out a small laugh, “What? Can I not give a little, if you haven’t noticed my White Wolf...this world doesn’t like to be very kind to the innocent most times.” He hums in agreement, “So you see, I’ll do whatever I can to help those who need it most. And if that’s a clumsy child with a dirty face, I’ll be glad to make their day better.”

You can’t see it, but Geralt’s heart could just about explode with how much love he has for you in this very moment, the way you speak with such care and kindness for the people of the continent. He’s never met anyone like you, through it all, with all you’ve seen, your heart still goes out for the ones who need it the most and Geralt knows this.

Your whole aurora feels light and warm, excitement courses through your vessel as you think of how happy Roach is going to be once she gets a taste of your delicious apple. And especially how much you’re looking forward to taking a bite out of your own crispy red apple too. It’s the little things.

Boots press into mud as you finally find your way to the small stream where you both left Roach to nibble on some vegetation. You quickly set your loaf of bread onto a mossy log before reaching in your thin ruck sack to pull out one beautifully shiny crimson apple.

“Hello my dear Roach!” You exclaim happily as the mare neighs, “I’ve got a lil somethin’ for ya, it’s a...da da da daaaa....apple!” Geralt chuckles to himself in the background as he fumbles around in his black traveling bag, finding something to sharpen his sword with.

“How bout’ them apples..” you burst with laughter at your admittedly cheesy jest, “Okay, okay...here ya go Roach. A prize for the best lady in all the land.” Her head bobs up and down as you bring the red apple near her face. She quickly devours the fruit in a matter of seconds, the speed and her clear delight enough to earn a giggle from you.

“Roach.” You tut with a shake of your head, “Those manners are something else. Wonder who you learned them from?”

You turn an eye to Geralt who’s stopped sharpening his sword to find your humored gaze, “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” He mutters, doing his best to hide his growing smile.

Turning a flustered face away from him you gently pet Roach’s soft mane, “He thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he?” You whisper to the mare.

After tending to Roach for a bit do you walk down to the stream, washing away the dirt and grime from your hands and face as Geralt starts a fire close by. You can feel his golden irises watching you as the cool water washes away the worries of the day.

Finishing up your nightly routine, you stand once more, turning around to face the loving smile of your dear Witcher. You walk over to his glowing fire, a small smile upon your lips, “Room for one more?”

He scoots himself down the log, patting to the extra spot, “There’s always room for you.”

Sitting yourself next to him, he quickly wraps a protective arm around you, pulling your body close. The both of you do nothing but enjoy one another’s company and the crackling of the campfire for what seems like hours. You couldn’t be bothered to remove yourself from Geralt even if a whole war party was racing past you both louder then a giants scream.

Though you’re just about certain without a doubt in your mind that Geralt feels the exact same way. His breathing his steady and calm, it’s a comforting rhythm that you could listen to for hours. Even his large muscular arm is warm against your body, he’s like a furnace on the coldest night. And all yours.

You’re just about to drift off into dreamland when a sudden loud howl is heard in the near distance causing you to jump. Geralt hugs you closer, “Fear not Y/N, it’s just a damn wolf, nothing to be afraid of.” He assures you with the kindest of smiles, not a note of falseness lacing his words.

Resting your head against his broad shoulder once again, you gently squeeze his hand, “Right, of course. Just a stupid old wolf who apparently feels it the time to howl at the full moon tonight.” You affirm with a curt nod, “I mean, it’s beautiful out and whatnot, guess it just startled me is all.”

“There’s nothing in these woods to be afraid of, except for me.” Grumbles Geralt as he stares into the embers of the fire.

“Oh, my love I could never be afraid of you. Never.” He smiles at your truthfulness, his chest filling with warmth at your kind words.

In reply he places a gentle kiss atop your head, earning a content sigh to leave your lips at the feeling, he is too good to you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not once has he ever made you uncomfortable or in fear for your life because of him, Geralt makes sure of himself to always put you first. He couldn’t bare to ever see you in pain.

The grip on your Witcher’s arm goes tighter at the sound of another piercing howl, this time much too close for your liking. Geralt can sense the fearful uneasiness radiating off of your smaller frame, how your heartbeat has picked up with the rush of your nerves. You’re not one to scare that easily, but this wolf is most definitely getting closer for whatever reason.

“Geralt!” You whisper yell, “That sounded close!”

With one arm wrapped around your torso and the other one clasped around the hilt of his silver sword, he looks around him as they two of you keep seated atop the log, a grand moon cloaking the land in a strangely beautiful whiteness. Revealing enough light upon the ground so that not all of the forest is covered in darkness and shadow.

“Don’t worry Y/N, I will protect you.” He swears to you, giving a light squeeze to your hip in a small act of comfort, “And anyways, if this was anything to be truly concerned about, Roach would show it. We are going to be fine. This wolf is simply just passing through.”

Your eyes glance over to Roach who’s casually nibbling on some grass, “Alright. Perhaps I’m overreacting, it’s just a wolf going on a nightly stroll as you do, nothing weird about that.”

“Precisely, now how about we get ready for bed? I’ve got the bed rolls already layed out for us....so don’t worry Y/N I’ve got you.” Reassures your Witcher as he removes his arm from your side to rest his sword in the grass right next to his makeshift bed.

Feeling much better now you eagerly follow suit, the roughish cloth of your traveling bed roll is a cherished luxury of journeying across the vast lands of the continent. Though a tavern mattress would be more inviting, the arms of Geralt are always enough in your eyes, or perhaps arms in this case.

Even on the coldest of nights out here would you never really feel a shiver or the icy touch of the cool night air upon your skin. For your Witcher’s large frame seems to always be enough to block out the chill with his body heat when pressed closely against your back.

Just like he is doing now, holding you securely to his large chest, his arms wrapped around your torso. Pulling yourself firmly counter to him, a thick blanket holding in the needed heat that nicely covers over the both of you.

With Geralt so near, your wandering and worrying mind has subsided those troublesome thoughts away from you, the howling wolf from earlier now finding it’s way into the back of your head. Giving yourself time to forget and find the call to sleep once again. With the warmth of Geralt holding you close, your eyelids flutter shut in a matter of seconds, the pull into the dark void of unconsciousness taking hold of you quickly.

Soon you’re out like a light, Geralt falling asleep not long after you do, leaving only the dull glowing embers of the campfire to keep watch over the two of you. Sleep is peaceful and full of strange images presenting themselves as dreams in your head, you can hear the soft sweet calling of Geralt as he speaks sweet nothings into the bleary grey void.

Suddenly you’re standing in a large field of the greenest grasses flowing at your feet, large beautiful mountains surrounding you on all sides off in the far distance, you look to your left and find a single small tree with a branch sticking out.

Walking closer, a black raven materializes right before your very eyes, breaking the silence with a gravelly shrill caw as it nods in your direction. Like it’s trying to communicate with you in the birds own way, furrowing your brows, you trek closer to the mysterious bird. You don’t appear to feel afraid or scared, you’re not even sure if you feel anything at all. Guess that’s just how dreams are sometimes.

Taking another step closer the raven lets out a thrilling caw before the dark bird spreads its black wings, you stumble back as the bird jumps from its perch to take flight. It flaps past you before landing on the short green grass where it is immediately clouded in dark smoke of blues, purples, and deep reds until everything clears to reveal the dirt smudged face of the little boy from earlier that day.

You gasp, surprised to see the little guy standing right before you once again, he looks up to you now, the tiniest of smiles crossing over his face. You stand perplexed, ready to ask him why he’s here when suddenly he points to the blue sky.

“Hold your silver close.” He speaks softly, in that unassuming boyish voice of his.

Hugging yourself, you glance back down at him, “Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

He simply points his little stubby finger back up at the sky, you follow, bewildered to find that the sky is now dark and full of stars, though you can still see around you like the sun is still out. How odd.

“Hold your Witcher close.” Warns the small child in the calmest of voices.

Furrowing your brows in confusion you meet his stoic gaze once again. “Uh....I’m kind of lost, sorry.” You mutter, “I’m not certain what you mean.”

The child smiles a beaming grin, letting out the most adorable of giggles before pointing up at the night sky for the third time, you shift your gaze to find nothing but pitch blackness. And a huge milk white glowing full moon, it’s the largest you’ve ever seen and it’s absolutely magnificent.

You don’t even notice the smile that's fallen onto your face when you suddenly hear the flapping of feathers, snapping your sight back over to the young boy, you’re perplexed to be greeted with the beaming wrinkly face of the old woman from the market.

She nods, acknowledging your presence, “Watch for what lurks in the woods dear. The full moon is here.” She whispers, the warmest of smiles gracing over her aged face as she nods to you once again.

Taking a step closer you take a nervous fistful of the red cloak that’s covering your body, how strange you didn’t notice the material before hand. “Oh, uh hello there....it is quite beautiful isn’t it.” You stammer, “There was a little boy just here moments ago. Do you know where he went?”

She tilts her head to the side, walking a couple steps forward so that she can reach out to clasp both your hands with hers, a kind twinkle in her eye, “My dear, he will always love you, through land and sea, from woods to meadow, and far beyond what makes us human.” She gently squeezes your hands in reassurance, “No matter the cost, he will always love you. For you are his moon, and he is your sun.”

Your brows scrunch together at her poetic words of wisdom? Or, well you’re not entirely so sure, “Sorry. I’m not confident on what you’re getting at ma’am, uh...thank you, I guess.” She smiles once again, showing you a nod of approval before letting go of your hands.

She takes a step back, clasping her palms together, “He is here.”

“Who is here?” You wonder.

“You will see.”

Without warning she abruptly bursts into a flurry of cawing ravens that squawk and screech as they press and flap their dark wings against your face, causing you to fall back into the grass from the jolting intrusion. Suddenly you suck in a quick breath of cold air, your eyes shooting wide open, only for you to find the snoozing face of Geralt.

His tangled dirty white hair a mess over his handsome face as he lets in slow and calming breaths, you relax, letting out an audible sigh of relief. What a strange dream that was, you’ve never had anything like it before. And your dreams are far from anything normal most times.

Though Geralt feels rather nice snuggled next to you, your body feels hot and sweaty, like you can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed and cornered at the moment. Wanting to get some air and cool off, you quietly and skillfully slip from your Witcher’s sweet embrace. You slowly cover him back up with the thick blanket, tip-toeing over to Roach who’s itching her furry bottom on a tree.

You take small steps towards her, a half smile pulling at the corner of your lips, “Hey there girl, having fun?” You chuckle to yourself as she does her thing.

“Nice night huh, I hope no one’s come around to bother you.” She leans her big soft nose into your gentle touch as you pet her, “I got a little too warm, guess Geralt’s a lot hotter then I anticipated. Well, I mean...he’s always hot if you catch my meaning...but you probably already new that and uh....you’d probably rather not listen to me ramble on about how attractive your rider is, hmm? So don’t fret, I will stop.”

She snorts, nudging her nose into your opened palm, “Okay girl, I think you’re great too. I’d say you’ve helped us out quite a bit and not to mention when...”

Snap.

Your head leers to the left at the abrupt sound, nothing but milky white darkness and shadow is to be seen as your eyes trail over the wood line. That was certainly very close, what the hell even made that stick break? Was it a deer, or maybe a coyote?

Your nerves prick when Roach suddenly takes a wary step backwards, her leather reigns pulling to their limit as she takes another step away from you. Thinking quick, you rush to her side, pulling out Geralt’s other silver sword just incase some weird shit is about to go down.

Grasping the blade in your tight grip, you take cautious steps towards the heavy pines that seems to be the place where the stick snapped. You swallow nervously, your heart just about beating out of your chest as you travel closer and closer to the green bristles.

Y/N what are you doing? Have you learned nothing from what those weird dreams were telling you?

Blinking hard, you stop, turning an apprehensive glance over to your peacefully sleeping Witcher, why wake him this could be a simple deer? Letting out another shaky breath you turn towards the thick pine trees, squinting your eyes as you try and do your absolute best to locate the intruder. Walking past a small evergreen, your heart feels like it’s about to explode when suddenly you hear a gentle rustle of leaves directly in front of you.

Turn back idiot.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you blink again, attempting to focus enough that maybe you’ll be able to see what’s making that noise. But as you’re leaning in to the pines, does your eyes finally catch the sight of a large black figure standing on the other side of the tree. Without warning the shadow leaps, you don’t even have a chance to scream before the flash of pearly white fangs reveals itself to you in a raging blur.

The beast shoves you back into the clearing, emitting a blood curdling howl of agony as it steps into the moonlight, your eyes widen in fear at the chilling sight of a huge dark-grey werewolf. It’s inhuman eyes that of glowing topaz, it’s fangs bare and mouth dripping with saliva. Your chest rises and falls with heavy terrified breaths as the wolfman stands on two legs, its strong hand going to its stomach where a thick human like paw pulls out your silver blade.

Steaming red hot blood pours to the frost covered earth as the beast drops the shinning silver to the ground, its wound showing in the bright moonlight as it eyes you down like you’re nothing more then a lost sheep. You shiver at the sight, desperately scooting yourself backwards towards the fire as the werewolf growls a low but haunting note, falling onto all fours as it takes a step closer.

A frightful tear falls down the side of your cheek, you see nothing but hunger and pain in this creatures eyes, he’s slowly dying, but you know he will kill you before his last breath is had.

The wolfman growls again, readying a last charge when all of a sudden a shimmering silver sword is thrust deeply into the beasts throat, the source of its demise steps in between you and the wounded bastard.

Your eyes are wide as you watch the werewolf sink to the earth, gargling and choking on it’s own blood as it dies, twitching here and there before finally it goes still as stone. Not a sound emitting from it’s vessel but the heavy breaths of yourself and Geralt, who’s walked over to the beast now. Crouching down to observe it better, he hums, pulling the blood covered sword out of the monsters throat with a gross meaty sound.

You let out a shaky breath, slowly pulling yourself to your feet as Geralt drags his bloody silver over the beasts fur to clean the wet red from the blade. You swallow thickly, eyes watery from the whole frightening ordeal, “So not a deer as I had hoped.” You mutter, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips causing you to gasp in pain at something on your ribs.

Geralt pierces his sword into the soft dirt, his face a mask of frustrated anger as he turns to you, “Y/N what where you thinking? You could have been killed, you didn’t know what was lurking in the dark, why wouldn’t you have just stayed by the fire?” He grumbles as you avoid his troubled gaze.

Another tear slips down your cheek causing his face to immediately soften, “I don’t know?” You whisper sadly, “I...I shouldn’t have thought to walk in the dark alone like that, it was foolish of me Geralt, truly...I’ll think better of it next time I promi- agh ugh...”A sharp jolting pain rips through your body right down the side of your right ribcage, feeling like someone has just burned you with a cast iron.

More whimpers slip from your tongue at the searing violent stinging of your flesh causing you to press your hands against the area, your face contorting into one of agony while Geralt’s expression reveals deep concern. Not understanding in the slightest why you feel such misery all of a sudden, your eyes slip down to the dreaded area where you take notice of how your dark coat appears to be torn in jagged slashes where the pain is coming from.

Your brows furrow as you slowly remove your tied overcoat, Geralt’s big golden irises studying your every move for what the problem may be. Your hands make quick work of the lacing, now your arms move as you remove the jacket, you gasp in fear once it falls to the ground.

“Y/N.” Whispers Geralt in the softest of voices as a lone tear slides down your cheek.

Slowly you raise your weary head to meet is saddened gaze, “I’ve been bitten.” You rasp, lifting your bloody hand up into the silky moonlight, the burning ache of your wound making itself more present then ever.

Suddenly a surging spike of white hot torment angrily tears up into your side once more, though this time it’s too overwhelmingly excruciating that you fall to your knees, desperately grasping your wounded side when Geralt takes quick steps forward. Pulling you into his strong arms before you’re able to even hit the cold earth completely, his eyes never leaving your distressed face.

“Y/N look at me love, I’m right here...” He speaks gently while holding you close, though you can’t look at him, “don’t be afraid I’ve got you.”

More fearful tears fall freely now as you press your face into his shoulder, a numb and dark feeling finding it’s way into your soul while your arms wrap themselves around his waist, “No, not this.” You cry, shaking with fright, “This cannot be, I-I cannot be a wolf beast....I won’t ever harm anyone Geralt I swear to you on my life, I would never! I-I could never, it isn’t in me!”

“Oh Y/N, my dear Y/N..” His voice surprises you with how uncharacteristically tender it sounds, “Look at me love.” He pleads calmly, pulling you from his shoulder so that you may look into his kind-hearted gaze, “Do you think now, that I would dare lay my blade against your precious skin?” Your lip quivers as your watery eyes slip from his to the werewolf laying dead near the two of you.

“I am one of them now Geralt. How can I live as this now, I am not a monster. I can’t hurt innocent people, I can’t.” You exclaim, your voice breaking as you speak, “All the years we have been together have been the happiest of my entire life, know this Geralt. You bring me so much joy and light that I never imagined I could ever feel, you have given me your heart even when you first claimed you could not love. I will never forget that.” His heart breaks in two at your truthful words of honesty paired with how somber and dismal you appear.

Not being able to stand you looking away from him for much longer, he carefully lifts a hand up to turn your face to his, leaving his palm on your cheek in a comforting manner, “Y/N my love, you will never be a monster in my eyes, not once not ever. I may be a Witcher, but you will not meet an untimely end due to this curse that has made it’s way into your vessel.” His eyes are soft and serene, full of absolute love and adoration for you.

Y/N he will not hurt you, but you cannot hurt others.

You sniffle, your voice thick as you speak, “I will not let others suffer a violent death because of me Geralt, it’s not in my blood.”

“You will not, there is always another way..”

“There is no other way!” You interrupt, sure of yourself that this new affliction will be your inevitable demise, “A werewolf cannot be broken of their curse once it is had, there are no known antidotes!”

“Y/N..”

“This bite cannot be undone Geralt.”

Eyes softening, he pulls you in closer to rest his head against your own, “My dear Y/N, your life means more to me then you know. I will find you the cure, I have seen a vial of it myself long ago when visiting an experienced alchemist who taught me many things about potion making. He will surly know how to rid this she-wolf within you, I am sure of it.”

Lifting your face away from his, you finally show him the tiniest of relieved smiles, your heart bursting with joy at this refreshing news, “You never fail to surprise me, even now. I trust you...I love you Geralt of Rivia with my entire being, every part of me from now until death. I guess this world has yet to bring me down.”

Studying your newly determined expression, he grins with eyes full of love, “I do not doubt it my dear one.”

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #my work

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windhamsrotunda · 3 years

Text

Roman Reigns - You Look Even Better Than The Photos (FULL PART)

KEY WORD(S) - R/N MEANS READER'S NAME LIKE YOUR NAME {Y/N}.

Pairing(s): Roman Reigns x Female Reader!

Category: SMUT / NSFW

Summary / Theme: Roman is frustrated tonight, but the head of the table will get his frustration changed quick when he sees his girlfriend in the middle of the night.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Smut! | Angst! | Aggressive Dom! | 17+ READERS ONLY!

Word Count: 4,000k+

Tagging: @ringer04 @lghockey @saccreigns @ziasaph @ava-valerie @bayley-no-friends @blueberrycane21 @hungmanhorsecarriage @demonqueen29 @papireigns-05 @kingswitchblade @writtingrose @junglecassidy @riveliciousx @squirrel666 @enigmaticandunstable @flesheatinglette @kaileyjade and any others who wants to be tagged!

As he stepped into the luxurious shower of his bathroom, Roman cleansed himself with body wash. Scrubbing down those dead skin cells layered on his skin, the scent of strawberry and peppermint spewed the room. White fog sprays the whole bathroom, the temperature of the shower scolding hot. Roman’s fingertips stroked against his scalp, digging in deep roughly as the water from the pearly white shower head screamed down on him. A few minutes later spent in taking the shower head off the holder to wash himself down, Roman turned the knob to the shower off and grabbed a towel off the towel rack.

Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped his body like a grave digger wrapping a deceased human in soiled dirt. Shaking off the excess water from his hair, then he blow dried his masculine, black Samoan long hair. Setting the black blow dryer down, Roman stared at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, unrecognizable to see. He sprinted a hand through his hair quickly and got the remaining tangles out of his hair. Fingertips delicate like layers of daffodils overlapped over fields of fresh green grass. Eyebrows furrowed downward, he got dressed to head out to the real world.

Running out the door with keys in one hand grasped and phone in the other, the tribal chief headed towards his richened black Lamborghini car and got in. Turning the key to the ignition, he backed out of the driveway and put on GPS to go to his girlfriend’s house. Scuffing his face while driving, Roman glanced at his phone receiving a message from his girlfriend:

Reader’s Name {R/N}: ‘’You coming to my party?’’

Roman: ‘’Perhaps I will’’.

Focusing on driving after the little text he received, he thought about her. He did not know she was having a party at 9:30pm at night; Although he got backhanded by her text, he thought it was just going to be him and her alone. No, he was pissed. She should’ve told him she was going to invite friends over. Arriving at her house at about 9:45pm, Roman kept his cool. Not making a ferocious scene, his girlfriend opened the door to where the house was filled with busy activity like bees in a beehive. ‘’Hey babe,’’ she greeted with her drink in her hand, going in for a grasped hug. The head of the table clamped his arm around her, fingers dug into her back. ‘’You okay?’’ she winced a tiny bit at his fingers digging into her back.

‘’Keep our business on the low-low,’’ Roman whispered, taking her hand into his.

‘’What...?’’ His girlfriend said slowly, walking into the crowd of different people she invited over. Approximately 30 people in the house, the music overpowered their conversation.

‘’Let’s go into another room,’’ He suggested to his girlfriend.

‘’I want to hang out with my friends, though----’’ He cut her off abruptly.

‘’No, you’re staying with me whether you like it or not!’’ Roman boomed, his lips pressed together.

‘’I’m leaving.’’ She pushed her way through the tribal chief, he was left with a sour attitude. Crossing his arms pressed against his chest, Roman Reigns was not the man to mess around with tonight. He walked away from where he was standing on his own two feet and went around to find his cynical girlfriend.

‘’R/N!’’ He hollered through the buzzing music, his pupils large and filled with anger and hate. He now couldn’t find his girlfriend; his plans were ruined! A tall adult jock had bumped into Roman, spilling his drink onto his darkened clothing.

‘’Oops,’’ He sarcastically said, as he went on his way. He scowled, Roman gritted his teeth to attempt from violently throwing the jock to the ground viciously. He moved on to keep searching for his girlfriend R/N in the crowd of people at her huge house.

‘’Have you seen her?’’ Roman’s eyebrows furrowed; his face heated up with angriness. He was about to explode if she didn’t come announced.

‘’No man, what I am assuming is she probably went outside,’’ One of R/N’s friends told him, pointing with one finger towards the slider door.

‘’Thanks,’’ He scoffed, storming off to the white slider door, forcefully sliding it open and slamming it shut behind him. ‘’R/N!’’ his lungs shacked in his vocal cords; his eyes were an orange fire. Steam blowing off on the top of his head.

‘’What do you want?’’ She turned her body frame to face Roman, there, she was sitting on a wooden log with her legs crossed next to a blazing campfire.

‘’It’s you that I want to speak to!’’ He grunted, forcefully coming at her. ‘’They don’t call me the tribal chief for nothing,’’ Roman stated, as if he were giving a promo. R/N cocked her head up from her iPhone, setting it down.

‘’Listen, sweetheart. I am sorry----’’ He cut her off with a firm ‘’You better be sorry,’’ look. Aggressiveness and dominance in his whole complexion, his shoulders laid back, his mean pissed off look meant something to her. In order to calm the Samoan man down, she had to actively spend time with him, and him only.

She was shaken by his aggressive tone, ‘’P-Please, if there is anything I can do to make this better.’’ She stuttered, her facial expression a sudden change from content into complete horror.

Roman pulled something out of his pocket, a familiar-looking object that was once his girlfriend’s.

‘’Remember this?’’ He asked, sly smirk curled upon his lips. R/N looked down at the bulky necklace hesitantly, she mouthed the words:

‘’Yes, yes I do.’’

‘’SPEAK TO ME!’’ Boomed Roman, his eyes poured into the soul of his girl which caught the attention from the other people inside. ‘’No, don’t look at them, look at me.’’ A small whimper came from her, she felt deep down inside she was being taken control over. She stood there motionlessly, arms stiffly by her sides. Not wanting to make eye contact at the head of the table, she cried quietly so he couldn’t hear her. ‘'Come on,’’ He urged, tugging away at her motionless arm stuck by her side. R/N was in mixed emotions as of yet, she didn’t know how to express herself towards her boyfriend. She had the courage to finally say this:

‘’R-Roman... I don’t feel comfortable, it’s just that—I need to go.’’

He mimicked: ‘’I don’t feel comfortable. Why? Is it because I showed up unannounced and you decide to leave me after we didn’t spend time together in over 2 months? Is that what it is?’’ Before leaving, Roman realized his actions. How he affected her, she was left in tears. He needed to fix this or make this up to her. Being a heel was never an answer to solve for your problems. Especially his. The blazing campfire still lively, the heat pressed against Roman’s face from being so close to it, he had to sit down, think about what he did. Running a hand through his long, black hair, he had his arms clamped behind his back. Wanting the stormy rain that was about to arrive to take him alive. A huge lightning bolt struck across the gloomy sky; Roman wasn’t intimidated by this weather. All he wanted was R/N.

Back in the house, the party had seemed to die out. Besides, it was 11pm at night and it was storming. Everybody who attended her party had to scurry home to avoid from being caught by this hellions storm.

’Hey, you seem inconsolable. What happened?’’ R/N’s best friend asked in concern, stroking her shoulder.

‘’My boyfriend,’’ Her shallow breath vocalized as she fought back her choked up bottled tears.

‘’Oh, sweetie. Come here.’’ Her best friend pulled her into an embrace, telling her it would be okay and perhaps he will get over his hot-headedness. Roman, however, was still outside.

‘’Where is my boyfriend?’’ She asked out of nowhere, sensing he might be still outside, in which he was.

‘’He’s outside,’’ Her best friend explained, looking at the outside of the slider door. It was hard to see Roman outside, there was no glow in the orange, red fire. But her best friend knew for a fact he was outside. She scurried on her feet to open the slider door half open, she proclaimed:

‘’Roman! Come back inside!’’ He turned his head like a deer in the headlights, nodding in response. He got up from the log he was sitting upon and came back inside.

‘’I am so sorry...’’ R/N’s tears began to form in the creases of her e/c eyes, Roman’s hair was drenched from sitting in the pouring hard rain, almost shocked by a lightning bolt. He gave all his attention on her, but not her best friend. He wanted to be acknowledged. Walking up to her, he grazed his thumb across her jawline as her best friend watched.

‘’Leave,’’ he muttered, eyes on her best friend. She backed away and left the house. It was now him and her. Roman took notes mentally of his girlfriend, how her posture was, and how heavy she was breathing. Skipping breaths, she took a step closer to her boyfriend Roman. The terrifying, once called baby face, she first met when he was considered a ‘’good guy’’. He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, then eyes back on r/n.

‘’Roman....’’ She breathed; her eye contact was on point so she made sure he didn’t do anything hell-riding. She could feel his presence, how desiring he was not to say ‘’no’’ to.

He grabbed a chair from the empty person kitchen, and straddled the chair.

‘’Sit,’’ he firmly said, eyes furrowed this time. As she made her way to Roman, he lifted her body weight up and sat her on his lap. Legs stretched over at the end of the chair; r/n was surprised by a deepened kiss from her boyfriend Roman. He kissed her deeply, there they sat, in the chair the two of them comfortably. She straightened out her narrow spine to adjust in his lap, his fingertips touching her bare back. Her fixed gaze focused on the tribal chief; he could feel her heart beat rapidly pound in her chest. R/N was tensed up, he gave a question: ‘’Why are you so tense?’’

She blankly stared into his pupils, snapping a finger in front of her face, she unfocused on him and shook her head.

‘’I said, why are you so tense?’’ This time with more aggressive tone, he chuckled lightly at the reaction she gave him. ‘’Now that you’re acknowledging me, I say I am your tribal chief.’’ He brushed up against her, he rubbed the nape of her neck, earning a slight whimper from his girlfriend r/n.

‘’I-I am nervous,’’ she states, being completely honest with the head of the table rubbing the part of her neck where he touched her there. He laughed at her response; he crinkled his nose up.

‘’You’re telling me, I’m making you nervous?’’ He cooed, his hand wrapped around her hair now. ‘’What if the blinds are open...?’’ r/n panicked, wondering if her best friend will come back and find her straddled on Roman’s lap.

‘’I’ll make damn sure they’re not.’' He growled, getting impatient with her. ‘’After all, you’re in the hands at the head of the table now.’’ She nodded slowly, finally acknowledging what he was telling her. It’s like she was deeply under his spell. Roman shifted his body weight facing the front of the chair, with r/n still on his lap. He got up quickly, scaring her for a second like he was about to drop her on the hardwood floors. '’Chill out,’’ he growled deeply, rolling his eyes. Tension grew between r/n and Roman as she hugged his leg. ‘’Off,’’ he demanded.

‘’Yes, tribal chief.’’ She stammered, crawling on her hands and knees now away from her boyfriend. The 6’3 Samoan man followed her to where she was going, perhaps to the upstairs basement. He smirked, watching her crawl up the stairs in awe as her bottom swayed in front of him. He grew with desire, wanting her. His veins throbbed in his neck, his bare chest from where he removed his shirt off bellowed up and down. Roman’s shoulders slugged back, basically enjoying himself. His girlfriend finally got up off the floor from army-crawling, walking normally towards the upstairs basement where she stored her necklaces and jewelry and other things in there. He followed right behind her, then closing the door to the basement and flipping on the light without any effort.

‘’God why you have to do this to me, baby girl?’’ Roman fingers tapped on his leg impatiently, waiting for some slight approval. She was getting rid of her shyness, then she placed her phone on her big wooden dresser stored in the basement where there was nothing on it. She gave the ‘’one second’’ finger gesture to him, and put on: ‘’The Hills – The Weeknd Slowed and Reverbed’’

INTRO:

Your man on the road, he doin' promo

You said, "Keep our business on the low-low"

I'm just tryna get you out the friend zone

'Cause you look even better than the photos.

This was r/n and Roman’s song to dance to, he blinked slowly while she swayed back and forth in front of him. The song slowed speed wasn’t any ordinary slowed verbed song to dance to, but it was meant to be in a romanticization way. He growled, she turned the volume up to drain his groans and growls of frustration. He took it out on her by slamming her on the dresser, she winced in pain as he grabbed her neck softly.

‘’You’re going to be a good girl for the tribal chief, got it?’’ He firmly states, she nods in response, enjoying a little bit of pain produced in her body. She choked softly, crying out the words:

‘’Yes.’’

He lifted her up and set her down on the dresser top, he kissed her deeply enough to sweep her off her feet. Her garden was in heat, her face flushed bright red wanting the head of the table to take over her. Feeling extremely confident, she laid her shoulders down on the head of the surface of the dresser, body shifted upwards.

I only call you when it's half past five

The only time that I'll be by your side

She arches her head up, he kisses her neck gently, biting down earning a yelp from her. A bead of sweat pooled down the side of the face of Roman, his fingernails dug into both of r/n’s sides until she yelped more. Wincing at the pain again, he smacks her across the face.

‘’Who is your head of the table?’’ He asks her, smacking her again this time on the rim of her bottom before she could answer.

‘’Y-You.’’ She choked; teary eyes filled like a waterfall lasting for a lifetime.

His lips curled into a smirk, her legs stretched and wrapped around his torso, r/n’s hair fell upon his tattooed chest, strands of hair touching delicately at the peak of his nips. The song continued to play through the speaker of her phone, he made fiery love to her on a cold wooden dresser, he was rough and quick; Roman’s body weight sprawled on top of her, wildly thrusting in her treasured garden as she cried out. Her acrylic nails dug deep into his flesh of his back, giving one last thrust his collapsible lungs screamed out: ‘’R/N!’’, spilling and pulling out of her.

‘’Da-Damn.’’ He wheezes, a look of concern appears on the face of his girlfriend.

‘’You--- You okay?’’

‘’Now that I’ve got you to admire me, yes.’’ He chuckled darkly, breath all weakened out.

Attempting to stay in character, Roman’s chuckle switched over into a devious smirk. ‘’I’m not done with you, yet.’’

A look of surprise read all over the face of r/n, thinking mentally: ‘’Fucker.’’

She kissed him passionately, then pulling away to catch her breath. He twirled her hair with one finger,

‘’Pretty baby girl.’’ He spoke. She blushed in response, the dominant, Samoan man had her on her knees. He pushed her head towards his manhood, "I can see you're soaked for me? Huh?" He cooed once more, "You can release that anger out all on the chief anytime, baby girl."

R/n whined in response, like he was teasing her. Before diving her mouth onto his manhood, Roman reached down her garden, rewarding her by rubbing her folds softly.

"Mhhh!" He growled, yanking her head deeper by making her choke on him. "Good, that's it. Adknowledge me as your chief." She bobbed, her jaw getting sore from fucking him. "Ah-ah yeah...." Roman mouthed his girlfriend harder, releasing and pulling out again. His face looking like this:

"God." His breath all weary, the tribal chief spent hourless sex with his girlfriend r/n, rough and dominant until his body collapsed onto her.

"Yes! Yes!" R/n exclaimed, the four walls echoing throughout the basement while she's getting pounded. Flesh hitting against flesh heard through the upstairs basement, Roman growled in her ear,

"You like when you're claimed by the chief!? HMM!?" He exclaimed back, slapping her rear end dominantly. Crying in response, she nodded.

"I-I love you----" Before finishing off her sentence, she passed out heavily in his arms. He strokes her hair with one hand, arm draped over the naked torso of his girlfriend r/n.

"That's how it's supposed to be," he whispered into his sleeping girlfriend's ear, leaving a hickey on her pale neck before getting changed and exiting her house. He left her a little note saying:

"Hope you had a fun time tonight. Love, Roman"

R/n woke up the next day, finding the note by her stomach. She picked it up, smiling softly to herself. "I'm the luckiest woman to be considered his girlfriend."

Roman was at home, he texted r/n:

Roman: Hey baby girl, I am sorry I gotten all dominant on you last night; it was to teach you a lesson and claim you're mine. You know, there will be consequences once you piss the head of the table off.

A buzz came from her phone, she read and text back.

R/n: No, it's okay honey. I love your dominant side; It's sexy as fuck on you anyway.

Roman: That's my girl.

A/N - Thank you for reading! Hoped you guys enjoyed!

#romanreignssmut #romanreigns #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x reader #wwe #wwesmackdown #wweraw #wrestling fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wweimagine #headofthetable #tribalchief #universal champion #roman #reigns

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gojology · 3 years

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Jealousy. (2/3)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | I AM MAKING THIS A 3 CHAPTER STORY CUZ IM TOO LAZY TO WRITE EVERYTHING TODAY. anyways, jealous mad gojo is so, so cute. i was considering making this super angsty and sad but i figured ill save that for another time. ALSO THERES LIKE 0 ROMANCE HERE IM SORRY 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Teen! Gojo Satoru x Gender Neutral Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1186 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | Cursing, mentions of body parts. ALL CHARACTERS HERE ARE AGED DOWN FROM PRESENT ANIME/MANGA INTO WHEN THEY WERE TEENAGERS. 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Shoko, confronting Gojo about her theory on Gojo’s crush, attempts to get an answer. Unlucky for her, you and Geto crash the occasion. Gojo, being the little angry baby he is (gojo slander is acceptable), rage quits and storms away. Geto comforts him about you. Gojo gawked, turning over. The can tumbled down his face, leaving a trail of water behind, water droplets rolled down Gojo’s pale skin. Shoko’s grave eyes glared directly back, her usual laid-back atmosphere had evaporated into thin air. The can landed on his t-shirt hem, cursing to himself in his head as the water seeped into the fabric. Gojo gulped, an unbreakable, heavy silence loomed over the two. Could he ever catch a fucking break from Shoko’s smart ass? Gojo could hear all the rustling of the leaves, the screams of (Y/N) and Geto, and never before had he realized how much he hated Geto’s screams and laughs compared to yours. All he had wanted to hear was you, and no one else. “Why would I have a crush on them?” Gojo laughed awkwardly, impulsively flicking open the can of pink lemonade. He took a light sip in an attempt to appear casual and nonchalant. “Are you being sarcastic Shoko? I legit can’t tell.” Shoko exhaled dramatically, leaning onto the tree as well. Pulling her knees toward her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, enjoying Gojo squirming and trying to appear as if he wasn’t panicking. She was sure to relish the feeling of power, because usually, with Gojo destroying everything in sight, he hogged all the power. “No, I just notice how you’re always staring at them, and even though Geto’s your best friend you look like you want to use the extent of all your powers and pulverize the guy with a flick of your wrist.” she stuck her hand in the icebox, shuffling around and looking for a drink, letting out a shudder as the icecubes rubbed against her. Gojo spat out his drink. “You are smoking some HAIRY ASS FUCKING COCK, Shoko. Geto’s my best bud, shit we even compared dick sizes once! If he wants to go after (Y/N), it’s whatever, I don’t care.” “Didn’t need to know that Satoru, back to the point.” she yanked out a carton of apple juice, stabbing the straw into the carton. She took a long sip, setting it down before crawling up to Gojo. She looked directly into his eyes, her tone unwavering. “I’m afraid you’re the one who’s smoking... You know, I prefer not to use vulgar language like that. I’ve always realized that you stare at (Y/N) more often then you don’t.” Not knowing how to respond, Gojo turned around, looking for anything to occupy his time. Firmly gripping onto the picnic basket, scavenging inside of it, trying to forget Shoko’s piercing eyes. He took a deep breath in, turning over with a bag of packaged red bean filled mochi in his hand. You know what? Maybe he did have a thing for (Y/N), fuck how could he know? He didn’t really have any experience with intimate relationships, the closest he had gotten was fucking a few girls in bed, maybe for a few weeks. That was the extent of it all. He tore the wrapper open, opening his mouth to speak. “Okay, fuck, maybe you got me. I-” Suddenly, Geto and (Y/N) burst into the scene. Panting heavily, Geto’s hands on his knees, sweat pouring from his forehead. (Y/N)’s hand over their stomach, you crumpled to the ground, thankfully on the picnic blanket, in a fit of laughter and tears in your eye. “Heard something about hairy cock, Satoru.” he grinned, extending his arm to his best friend. “I got some, if you’d want it.” Silence pounded in everyone’s ears, no one even dare breathed a word, aside from heavy breathing from Geto and (Y/N). The trees rustled and whistled with the wind. “Geto!” you laughed, desperately trying to make conversation, slapping his hand away. You looked at Shoko and Gojo, hoping for some form of reaction, you were almost sure Gojo would chuckle a bit, shaking Geto’s hand. Instead, both appeared disgruntled and were incredibly close to eachother. You felt your gut twist. “...Do we have any ramune?” you timidly mumbled, the atmosphere was incredibly serious, you noted, a far cry from the bright, cheerful one you just had with Geto earlier. “Yeah.” Gojo calmly replied, a tone of negativity carried in his voice, tossing you a bottle. You caught it, fumbling with it a little before it dropped to the ground, dirt rubbed the bright, colorful design printed onto the glass bottle. He strode off, hands shoved into his pockets and mumbling about something. Geto blinked. “What’s wrong with that guy?” Geto looked down at Shoko, who was now playing with her hair. He gestured to Gojo’s figure disappearing as time passed by. “Dunno, why don’t you ask him?” Shoko playfully suggested, drinking from her carton with a small smile on her lips. “Thanks, smartass, will do.” ‧₊˚✩彡. “Yo, Satoru!” Geto jogged over, feet repeatedly hitting the pavement, it sorta sounded like a rhythm. Gojo glanced over his shoulder, begging to all things good that it was (Y/N) about to dramatically confess his love to him. On any other day, Gojo would welcome Geto with open arms, ready to go pick up chicks in Tokyo and take them to the bedroom, but an anger was brewing inside of him instead. “Hi.” he muttered, anxiety now overfilling out of the brim of his body. What did Geto have that he didn’t? Geto strode up, spitting at the ground as he did so. “What’s with the long face, didn’t get any pussy recently?” he joked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Gojo, in response, jerked his shoulder away. Geto looked at Gojo’s face, a mixture of confusion before a look of understanding settled in. “Hey, man, you good?” Gojo nodded, glaring at a group of pigeons eating scattered bread. Staring back at Gojo, they hopped backwards, small bits of bread in the hold of their beaks. Even Geto didn’t know how to respond to such a serious Gojo. He smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “Um, well, you know there’s a shit load of time left for the picnic. You can come back whenever, (Y/N)’s been meaning to talk to you about some bullshit.” Gojo perked up, his slump disappearing. It seemed like the guy had a whole new personality. “Really?” a tinge of hope in his voice, he tried hiding it. Geto nodded before grinning, looking down at Gojo’s feet, and then looking up. “What, you checking me out?” Gojo scoffed, a hint of relief at the casual talk. It had been a while since he had really talked to Geto like a best friend. “Nah.” Geto faced towards the picnic area, his back now facing Gojo. He glanced back, long black hair blowing in the wind. “I’m gonna assume this is about (Y/N), good luck..” Gojo watched as Geto casually walked back to the site, as if he didn’t just say weirdly serious sounding shit, like he didn’t carry all the worries in the world with his shoulders. “What the fuck could (Y/N) want?” Gojo murmured to himself, kicking at some pebbles as he looked at the ground.

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thecheesiestcheese23 · 3 years

Text

the will to live ( was only a whisper before i went )

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TECHNO'S PHIL'S QUACKITY'S AND SAM'S LORE STREAM

Rumors were hard to ignore.

They spread around, scattered in the wind as more and more people started to believe its faulty truth.

Rumors were hard to ignore, especially when the truth started to leak out. Technoblade had been gone for three months. Three months too long, in Phil’s opinion, but there was nothing he could do now. All he would do was wait and hope that Techno would be able to survive in the prison.

However, Phil would not worry so much if he didn’t know one key factor.

Techno was at one life. He had foolishly lost two of them in hypixel when he was a kid, too cocky and too confident for his own good. One misstep and one swing later, he rested at two lives. One faulty move and one arrow later, he was on his last life. He had learned enough from his mistakes, he told Phil one day, and he made sure to never make them again. He hid it from the rest of the world, joking around and acting as if he was still at three lives, rushing into battle at a moment’s notice.

Phil knew the possibilities of Techno coming back to him alive, and he knew that Techno knew that too. He had seen it in his eyes and in the way he moved, had seen right through him as if he were looking through ice. But he had let him go with a forced smile and a promise that they would see each other again, no matter how long that may be.

A will was placed in his hands with a promise to not open it for three months, but those three months had come and gone, and now the will rested in Phil’s hand, waiting to be opened and read.

Dear Philza Minecraft, the will began with.

I am going to the prison to visit Dream and make sure he’s alright. If I do not return within a few days, activate the pearl I left in our book club’s meeting room.

Of course, their pearl stasis chamber, how could Phil have forgotten? A laugh bubbled up and out of his throat, relief flooding through his body. There was hope after all, and a chance of getting Techno safely back to the Arctic. Not wasting a second more, Phil threw on his coat and ran outside, his wings taking flight.

His wings beat against the harsh winds, snow entangling itself between his feathers and his hair, clutching on for dear life at the speed he flew. Not soon enough, he was at the entrance of the stronghold. He barreled down the lava and landed in the water that rested below. He skidded on the ice, sliding through the corridors as he made his way through all the twists and turns.

He finally made his way to the portal room, hope coursing through his veins as he made his way to where Techno’s seat was and-

Oh.

The pearl was gone.

And with that, Philza broke, collapsing on the stone floor. Cries of anguish echoed throughout the empty room, never to be full again. At least then no one was there to witness him break. Techno was gone- gone for good this time.

And Phil had a strange feeling that even if the pearl was there, it would only teleport back Techno’s remains.

If the pearl is gone, well, it was nice knowing you. Look after the others for me when I’m gone.

____________________

I left my valuables in a barrel hidden in the top floor’s ceiling and a chest under the stone in a corner of that one weird room under the house with the potions. Distribute them as you see fit. Please keep Steve and the foxes well-fed, the wolves can be released into the wilderness.

Steve was curled up on his owner's bed, the bed creaking against his weight. He whined, nose burying itself between his paws.

The foxes pulled at their leads, searching for the one with pink hair and kind words, but to no avail.

Yipping sounded throughout the forest, the once blood-hounds exploring the forest. They searched all around, but could not find the one they had gone to war with.

Tell Ranboo and Niki that they’re stronger than they know.

A knock sounded throughout the near-empty mansion, causing Ranboo to jump. He recognized the pattern of the knocks, a grin forming on his face.

“Phil! You startled me-” Ranboo smiled at the other as he opened the door, but it slipped off of his face as his gaze landed on Phil.

Phil’s hair was ruffled and dried tear tracks covered his face. He avoided eye contact as he spoke, voice wavering.

“Techno’s gone.”

____________________

Niki was working away at her city, beads of sweat forming on her face as she moved objects around. Her city was coming together nicely, and she just needed to put some finishing touches to complete it.

However, she was interrupted by a knock at the entrance. She looked up in curiosity, recognizing the pattern as Phil’s.

“Phil! How nice of you to visit-” She said as she climbed up the staircase, coming face-to-face with Phil. She paused as she took his appearance in. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head wordlessly, “Techno’s gone.”

Tell Tommy that I hope he finds what he’s looking for, whatever that is.

The day was calm with a slight breeze rustling through the trees, a perfect day for Tommy to bring Shroud out.

“Remember what I taught you, big man, stay close to me, don’t wander off, if you see anyone, anyone at all, you alert me, and if I get into trouble, you run all the way back home and hide, okay?”

“Okay!” Shroud happily chirped from where they sat. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tommy clutched Shroud’s hand, opening the door to reveal Philza, hand raised like he was about to knock.

“Philza Minecraft.” Tommy said, voice cold. He gestured at Shroud to leave the room, which they reluctantly did. “What do you want?”

“It’s about Techno.” Phil looked defeated as he spoke.

Tommy’s heart started to hammer in his chest as a pit started to form in his gut. If Phil was coming to him about Techno- then something was horribly wrong.

“What’s wrong with Techno?” He demanded.

“He’s gone.”

Phil, I’m glad I met you in this life.

“Where is he?”

The Warden looked up from where he sat, not surprised to see Phil’s face.

“Philza, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here to the prison?”

“You know full well why I’m here, and I’m only going to ask once more. Where is Technoblade?” Phil spat out, rage coursing through his veins.

The Warden remained silent, the only sound filling the room being keys typing away.

“Listen, if you don’t give him to me, I’ll destroy this prison bit by bit until all that’s left of it is its charred remains.”

“You want him so bad? Fine.” With that, The Warden typed some words into the computer, and a circular tube similar to a coffin appeared out of the wall.

His heart dropped as he saw the tube, mind screaming as he dared to look at what was inside. He didn’t want to confirm his suspicions- but something urged his body to peer into the tube.

It was Techno’s body, scarred and burnt but still recognizable. He knew that Techno was dead, but confirming it just hurt so much more. “Who.” His voice was quiet, almost muted.

“Quackity.” The Warden simply said, eyes focused on the computer. “He’s in Las Nevadas.”

Phil wordlessly nodded, carefully picking up his body and cradling him in his arms. “Thank you,” with that, Philza walked outside and took off, tears slipping down his face.

For you, the world.

Techno’s grave was placed atop of the mountain.

The gravestone was carved with care, with the prettiest flowers blooming above it.

Five people came to his grave.

Ranboo mourned the loss of his mentor, and at the missed chance of showing Techno his family. He was sure that Michal would have loved Techno, even if the other was cold towards children. Techno’s axe was clenched tightly in his hand, his tears and the snow burning his skin, but he found that he didn’t have the energy to care.

Tubbo stood from afar when he visited, fists at his side as he felt both anger and sadness at the one six feet below. His mind screamed at the other for hurting him, for taking his childhood away so soon, but yet his body stood still as if he was made of stone.

Niki visited when she was sure no one was there, and she cried. She screamed at Techno for leaving and screamed at the world for taking her friend away too soon. She cried and yelled for what seemed like ages until her throat was sore and it felt like she swallowed shards of glass.

Tommy visited when it was still day out, allumins clutched tightly in his hand. He wordlessly planted them in the ground, dirt and tears staining his shirt. When he left, the Axe of Peace rested next to Techno’s grave.

Philza visited last, his feet dragging in the snow. He sat there in front of the grave, mind numb. He didn’t know how long he sat there but he knew that when he got up, it was day once more. Phil didn’t want the world if Techno wasn’t going to be in it, but he knew that Techno would want him to move on.

But there was something he had to do first.

____________________

Clouds of smoke filled the air as a fire raged on Las Nevadas. Three people stood in front of the fire, gazing at the sight before them. Quackity laid dead beneath their feet.

“For Techno.” Phil said.

“For Techno.” They echoed.

I love you.

#technoblade angst #technoblade #philza minecraft #ranboo #niki nihachu #nihachu #tubbo #tommyinnit #quackity #awesamdude #mcyt #angst #dream smp

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ghostlywritten · 3 years

Text

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Twelve

James Potter x OC

A/N: At last, the long awaited chapter. Sorry for the wait, my laptop has been failing on me. Hope you enjoy.

Words: 3,8k

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

It was the last weekend before the beginning of the exams for literally everybody. The library was packed with not a single seat unoccupied as well as the common room, where people had even taken to sitting on the floor to study, the dorms being too sitfling.

I had been one of the lucky ones to get a seat at a table, revising my notes with James next to me.

"How do you brew the Elixir to Induce Euphoria?"

"You add shrivelfig, porcupine quills and stir four times anti-clockwise. Then you add a sprig of peppermint, Sopophorous beans and wormwood and stir six times anti-clockwise," James recited, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers.

"That is correct."

"Yes!"

"Alright, your turn-"

"Hey, what about my reward?" James asked and I looked at him questioningly, "My kiss?" He pouted and I gave in almost immediately, not being able to resist his big earth-coloured eyes as I leant forward to press my lips against his.

"Hmm, that's it," he hummed approvingly and it made my face grow as I thought of him saying it during certain other circumstances. I was a girl, a sixteen year old girl, and of bloody course my mind would wander towards certain things that I could be doing instead of studying, now that I had a boyfriend...things, that I couldn't have had managed before on my own. And with a boyfriend as hot as mine I couldn't help but let my gaze linger whenever he stretched himself during Quidditch warm-ups, causing his shirt to deliciously rile up and reveal his abs, or watching him bite his lips whenever he concentrated hard on something, wishing he would bite me-

"Love? Cec? Hellooo?" James snapped his fingers in front of my face and I blinked. "Are you spacing out on me? Siriusly? After you dragged my ass to sit and study with you? Jeez, then ungratefulness stinks," he huffed in mock-annoyance and I shook my head to get the thoughts out.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"It's my turn. What colour does the Potion have and what is it for?"

"The colour should be a bright yellow and as the name implies, it's supposed to induce the drinker in a sudden euphoria."

"That is absolutely correct!"

"Of course it is," I replied arrogantly, flinging my hair before giggling. James smirked, leaning forward. "Come and get your reward then." My heart leaped in my chest but I managed to stop him with a hand on his chest. "Nah, I'm good," I teased with a shrug, briefly wondering where Marlene was. She would have been so proud of me right now. James frowned for a second before promptly throwing himself on me. "Uff, James!" I exclaimed, pearls of laughter escaping as he snuck his arms around me to lessen the blow of landing on the hard floor, pinning me down effectively with his body.

"How dare you reject my generous offer of rewarding you with a kiss?" James said gravely, chuckles drifting through his words, "You shall be punished with more rewards."

"Bite me!"

"Gladly!" I squealed as he started attacking my neck, nipping playfully at the sensitive skin.

"Can you stop with your childish antics?!” Lily's voice ripped through our laughter. She stood up with a peeved look, gathering her things. "Some people are actually trying to study!" She stormed off before any of us could form an answer.

James sprang up, adjusting his glasses as he held out a hand for me whilst looking after her. I brushed off any dirt from my clothes and went to sit down.

"I should probably go and check on her," he suggested and I wanted to ask why when he was already taking off.

"Alright," I said lamely to his back, watching until he disappeared through the portrait hole. I plopped back down on my seat, glancing at Alice, who was completely immersed in her notes, not even aware her best friend's departure. Looking down at my own notes, I tried to focus but my eyes kept drifting from word to word without taking anything in as my mind kept replaying the way James ran after Lily with little to no hesitation.

'You're thinking too much into it...

...I wonder what they are doing right now...'

I sighed loudly, frustrated that I couldn't let it go. Peeking at the only studious girl at the table, I stood up. "I'm...gonna go to the loo," I excused myself and left when I received no response.

Walking out of the common room, I promptly slapped myself on the forehead.

Was I really going to follow them like a creepy, insecure girlfriend? Obviously.

Was I going to find them with the head start they had now? Obviously not. Dumbass.

Glancing back at the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding our entrance, I pondered whether to go back inside or try looking for them. Lily was most likely heading to the library to join Remus at his study table that he had occupied since this morning. I cringed at my own behaviour when I decided to look for them. 'Im just making sure she's fine so I can focus back on my exams,' I reassured myself, 'Nothing creepy about tha-'

"Ow-!"

"Oi, Cec," Sirius greeted me gruffly, holding onto my arm until I steadied myself as he had bumped against me quite strongly, "Sorry about that. Didn't see you from the corner."

"It's all good," I replied, glad for the distraction as I straightened my robe and looked up at him. He seemed distraught, his hair unkempt and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. I would have guessed he had a good snogging session if it weren't for the sad glistening in his eyes. "Hey Sirius," I called softly as he fidgeted, already turning away, "Is everything alright?"

"Hm?" he looked over his shoulder, his expression carefully blank, "Yeah, of course. Everything is fine. Why?"

I shrugged, not wanting to point out how he seemed less than his usual joyful facade. "Just asking. Where you've been anyway? I thought we would study together in the common room?"

His face twisted into something akin to anguish and I furrowed my eyebrows. "I was with Reg..ulus," he said, turning away.

"Did som-"

"Look, I don't wanna talk about it," he snapped.

"Sirius..." He stormed off towards the portrait hole and I was left staring after a back for the second time this day. I felt the worry built up, sensing that something bad must have happened. Because, no matter how hurt or angry Sirius was, he was always very good at hiding it. Unless he was drunk or something major had happened. And since he didn't seem drunk right now...my feet started moving before my mind had been made up, walking back towards the Fat Lady and pushing every thought of James and Lily into the back of my mind. This was urgent, my platonic soulmate was in pain after all.

Stepping into the common room, I spotted the black-haired boy rush up the boys dormitory and steeled myself before following him upstairs, hoping nobody saw me step to left instead of the right passage towards the rooms. I tentatively walked down the small hallway I had never dared to step in in all my six years before, searching the signs on the doors for the Sixth Year's dormitories. Pressing an ear on one of the doors, I listened for any sound. Fortunately, there were some shuffles and the familiar voice of my friend cursing as he dropped something heavy. Just as I contemplated on whether to knock, the door swung up revealing Sirius, who had rid himself of his robe and jumper, holding a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand and the other tightly wound around the door handle.

"What are you doing?" he asked, narrowing his shining eyes.

"I-"

"Just leave," he grumbled, his voice tense as he was holding back the tears that hadn't fallen yet. Dread filled me now as he rushed past me to the bathroom, shutting the door soundly behind him. Something was seriously wrong. This time, I didn't hesitate to follow him, pushing back the cringe at opening a boy's bathroom and peeking in. The room was empty except for one shower cabinet in the far back where the water was turned on, running at full blast.

"Sirius, I hope you are not naked, because I'm coming in," I warned, giving him a second before I opened the cabinet to find him sitting on the floor, drinking from the bottle of Firewhiskey as the water pattered down on him.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he mumbled, his voice thick and croaky from the burn of the alcohol, "I don't want to talk about it." He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the water trickled down on his face and further, drenching his clothes.

"We don't need to talk," I said quietly, hoping he could hear me over the water, "I just wanna be here for you." And with that, I stepped in fully-clothed and closed the cabinet door behind me, sliding down next to him as I proceeded to get completely wet in a less than a few seconds. Sirius kept quiet, only raising his bottle to me before pressing it against his own lips when I shook my head, wondering which of the drops trailing down his face were from the shower head and which from his sorrowful eyes.

I wasn't sure how long we sat there but Sirius got up after what seemed like hours, clearing his throat as he lowered the water volume. "I'm...gonna get you the Invisibility Cloak so you can sneak out. Wait here." I nodded. "And don't turn the water off or someone might come in." I nodded again and he stepped over me, pushing the door open and disappearing from sight. I sighed as he left, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of my clothes sticking to my skin. He came back after a few minutes with cloak and wand in hand, casting a Hot Air Charm over me as I got up and turned off the shower head. It was completely silent, but somber in some way as we proceeded to walk out of the bathroom with me under the cloak and him at the front. He held the door open, squinting to see if I had passed and I mumbled a quiet 'thanks' when I was out.

Nodding, he stepped out as well, shoving his hands into his pockets, having dried himself as well. "I will...see you around," he said, a softness in his voice and slightly slurring, "I'm just gonna head to bed."

I nodded before realising he couldn't see me. "Okay. Sleep well, Sirius."

"You too."

Turning away, I took a few steps when I heard Sirius whisper my name. "Cec, I- thank you. For being there," he stammered, seeming uncharacteristically unsure of himself. I wondered then, how many people he had shown his emotional side before. Guessing from what I knew about him, I would say it dwindled down to the four people he kept the closest plus maybe Regulus. It warmed me, that he now included me into that circle as well even if I kind of forced him to as I had followed him around. "Cec?" he called out questioningly, his grey eyes flittering around as he pondered whether I was still there or not. I quickly stepped back towards him, carefully taking his hand and squeezing it slightly. "You're more than welcome, Sirius," I whispered and his eyes softened when I raised my cloak to let him see me for a split second. "Good night."

"Good night."

Walking down to the common room, I noticed a considerably less amount of people were gathered around to study, mostly Fifth and Seventh Years. But Alice was still there and even Marlene had joined her, though her face rested on her notes as she drooled on them, fast asleep. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I noticed it was past nine o'clock. The thoughts of Lily and James that I had pushed into the back of my mind resurfaced and I swept the room with my eyes in search of either of them. There was no way Lily would have gone to bed so early on the last days before the exam and I briefly remembered all the times we had together to study until past midnight for our O.W.L.'s last year. 'Was she still at the library?' But the library had been closed for an hour now.

My stomach grumbled in that moment and the sound resonated throughout the otherwise quiet room. I blushed, despite the fact that no one could see me under the cloak, as a few heads raised in confusion. Only now did I realise how hungry I was since I had missed dinner and also skipped lunch earlier this day. 'A quick snack from the kitchen it is,' I decided, walking towards the entrance and out of the common room. 'And on my way I can make a short detour to see if Lily actually managed to convince Madam Pince to let her stay past the closing hours to study. Wouldn't put it past her to play the Prefect Card for this.'

Skipping down the stairs, I took the corridor to the library and found it entirely deserted. I sighed relieved, not knowing what exactly I was relieved for, as I turned away to head towards the kitchen. The halls were empty and dark, with the occasional light of the half-moon breaking through the tall windows and I breathed in the fresh air of a summer night, enjoying the peaceful silence as I strolled towards the kitchen.

But the peace would only last for so long.

I reached the corridor with the painting of the fruit bowl, fastening my steps as my stomach gave another protesting growl. Just when I was about to tickle the pear in the painting, anticipating all the good food the elves would cook in a matter of minutes, the door opened from the inside, nearly banging against my forehead. I stumbled back as the door swung to the side, revealing James. My heart skipped a beat in surprise but also at the sight of twinkling eyes that seemed unnaturally light in all the darkness surrounding us. Grinning, I grasped at the hem of the cloak, ready to spook him when he turned back towards the kitchens, engulfing his face in a warm glow of light coming from the big room.

A shadow crossed his features and he held his hand out for Lily, who was laughing softly as she took it, letting him help her out of the hole. "Thanks," she said.

"You are very welcome," James replied with a grin as the door shut close, engulfing us all in a sudden darkness. I blinked, squinting in hopes to see better as my eyes adjusted. For a second everything was silent before the two started walking. Biting my lip, I followed them before I could think about what I was doing. 'We are all headed to the same direction, I can't help it that I need to walk behind them. And since I'm not hungry anymore- oh, who am I kidding, I'm starving,' I complained to myself, cursing my brain for having the urge to spy on the two in all my insecure glory.

They walked in silence for a while before standing on the staircase.

"Thanks for the food," Lily spoke up as they waited for the stairs to stop moving, "I really needed it."

"Figures. You didn't eat anything today," James replied.

"How do you know that?"

"Eh," I could practically feel him blush as he stammered for an answer. "I just saw you and Cec studying all day, so I guessed that you hadn't eaten anything yet. Cec hasn't at least."

"Right," Lily said quietly, walking up the stairs as they stopped moving. I followed silently, watching the moon reflect on her brilliant red hair and noticing James did, too. "You know, I was surprised how you two suddenly got together."

"Hm?" James hummed, looking at his shoes as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"I mean, one day you were asking me out and the other you were suddenly hanging around with her and started dating," Lily said in joking manner and James chuckled along, though I couldn't grasp the joke in it. "It was...surprising, yeah," she ended awkwardly and the mood turned somber.

"Well, I guess it surprised a lot of people," James chuckled again, seemingly nervous as he ran a hand through his messy mop of hair. "But, Cec is great. She is amazing, really," he added, his voice turning steady and gentle, tugging at my heart strings. I felt a smile form on my face.

"She is quite great, yeah," Lily agreed softly. Now I felt bad for eavesdropping. 'You're siriusly messed up, dumbass,' I scolded myself. But I didn't stop. "I'm happy for you guys. It's nice to see Cec so happy and seeing a normal side of you."

James scoffed, "Normal?"

"What?" Lily giggled.

"What side of me has not been normal before?"

"I'm just saying, it's refreshing to know a side of you that wouldn't enchant cupids to read me sappy poems and throw pink glitter all over me," Lily recalled, laughing to herself as James blushed beet-red.

"Well, normal is overrated anyway," he muttered into his tie, smiling as Lily bumped her fist against his arms.

"I kinda miss it," she said and I noticed her eyes widen as soon as the sentence left her mouth. James' lips quirked up, his eyes shining. "Do you now?" he asked smugly, laughing as she slapped his arm.

"I mean," she started but paused. The mood turned slightly somber as she fiddled with her sleeve.

"You mean?" James prompted almost eagerly and I bit my lip, the tugging in my heart strings turning to harsh pulls.

Lily sighed, "It's nothing. Just, now that I know the 'normal' side of you, the one, you probably show to your friends and Cec...I think, all the stuff you used to do was quite endearing."

James kept quiet for a second. "You mean, when I endlessly chased after you?"

"All the things you did to ask me out. The cupids, the flowers, the sweets...," I distinctly heard Lily gulp as she stopped and turned towards him, causing him to falter in his steps, too. "I didn't recognise it back then, but it must have cost you a lot of effort and I think that's sweet..." James held his breath. "...and a little bit excessive." They both chuckled lightly before turning quiet, staring at the other.

"So, it was not for nothing after all," James muttered softly, almost as if he were dazed as he stared into her eyes. I clutched at the cloak tightly, feeling cold all of a sudden.

Lily cocked her head to the side, strands of red hair gliding over her shoulder like ocean waves. "Yeah. It did not get me to say yes back then, but..."

"But?" James pressed, taking a step forward.

Lily took a deep breath as if she were preparing herself for something, "But...if I had known this side of you before, I might have agreed. To- you know." I stilled, my tight grip on the cloak loosening slightly. James' eyes widened and I could see the elation spread through his face even if he didn't smile.

"To going out with me?" he asked breathlessly. Lily hesitated before she nodded. For a minute, we all stood in silence as James stared at her, dumbfounded. Lily's eyes flickered around as if she were scared to get caught. "Anyway, it doesn't matter!" she stated, too loudly for the quiet atmosphere, "I mean, you are with Cec now and you guys are happy."

"Yeah...yeah we are," James said, still in stupor.

"Yeah, so..." Lily gestured forward, turning to start walking again.

"But what if we aren't?" James spoke up, causing her to halt in her footsteps. My heart stopped.

"What?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

It was James' turn to take a deep breath as if he were preparing himself for something, "What if Cec and I weren't happy?"

Lily furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean? You guys look besotted with each other."

"Yeah, that's the thing," James said firmly, determination flooding his features. "We look like we are besotted with each other. It was an act." I swayed slightly as if I had been punched in the chest. "It was just an act." It was just an act. The words seemed to echo in the hallway, pounding relentlessly into my eardrums as I stood frozen, staring the bespectacled boy.

"It was an act?" Lily asked incredulously. James nodded. She turned towards him fully in disbelief. "You were acting like you were together?!" James nodded again. "Why?"

"I was trying to show you a more civil side of me," he said and my eyes widened. 'Be civil' I heard my own voice resonate through my mind. I tried to keep my breathing even as my chin trembled. "I wanted you to see what kind of guy I am since you wouldn't go out with me. I wanted you to see the real me. How I would be if we were together."

Lily stared at him. "I don't even know what to say...," she trailed off.

"Since you appreciated all the efforts I put into asking you out, you could appreciate this as well?" James asked hopefully and I was starting to feel sick. It was just an act. Something in me shattered. I turned away, trying to shield the little, constricting organ in my chest from his words.

"But wait, is Cec part of this? How is she managing to pretend this whole time?" she pondered and James' face fell. Noticing this, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Is she pretending, James? Does she know about your relationship being an act?"

James tensed up, biting his lip as he glanced away and it was all the answer that Lily needed. Her emerald green eyes widened. "James...," she breathed in disbelief, "How could you do this to her?"

"Listen, Cec won't take it too hard," James tried as Lily shook her head in disbelief, "She knows it's nothing serious. We've grown closer, yes, as friends."

"I don't think she sees it like that," Lily responded and I chose that moment to walk away. Because she was absolutely right.

Chapter Thirteen

#james potter x reader #james potter x oc #James Potter #james potter fanfiction #Sirius Black #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #marlene mckinnon #harry potter #marauders

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winters-void · 3 years

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A Real Father

relationship: Geralt x OC! Daughter (or reader)

a/n: Requests are open! Thank you for reading!

warnings: abusive father (not geralt), minor character death, angst, fluff at the end, violence, mentions of blood.

_____

Geralt found his heart pounding in his ears. He watched as the Striga fell to the ground, shriveling up and dying. It had curled around itself in a fetal position, protecting itself in it's final moments. He realized sadly that there was no saving this cursed being, anyone who knew anything was dead or 100's of miles away and before he found answers this whole town would be dead. It had almost killed half of them anyways.He'd already been paid so he needed to finish the job. As his potion wore off and he felt his eyes return to normal, he heard whimpering coming from one of the rooms and looked around confused.

As he walked around a corner and into a corridor he heard a young girls cries get louder and louder each passing second. "Mama!" A young voice squeaked. He entered the room from which the cries were coming from. A young girl was sobbing over the body of a woman who was presumably the mother she was crying out for. "Mama wake up!"

Geralt slowly entered, trying to not startle the girl as much as possible. The girl heard him and turned around quickly. "Sir! Help my mama! The king made us come in here, please help!" " Even from where he stood he knew there was no helping this girls mother."Still, he knelt down on the other side of her body and felt for a pulse. Already knowing the answer he sighed looking at the girl.

"I'm sorry." Geralt told her watching as the young girls eyes grew larger and filled with more tears. That's when the floodgates broke and the girl began to wail. Despite being the mere age of 6 the girl knew what his tone of voice and choice of words meant. He put a gentle hand on the girls back and she fell into his arms. "Why did the king make you come here?"

"My mama stole some bread to feed us." The girl whimpered into his chest. "We haven't eaten in days and he punished us."

Geralt felt his blood boil. He knew the king of this place was a no good piece of shit. He took a deep breath before helping the girl to her feet. "Where's your father?"

"Please don't make me go to him." She spoke, visible fear appearing on her face. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck and the girl visibly flinched. It was that moment he noticed how underneath all the dirt and grime on her skin were bruises ranging in various shades of purple. On her neck there was a scar going up to her cheek and down to her collar bone. It was a shiny pink meaning it was fairly new and healing. "Please." She whimpered.

He felt his shoulders tense up and he looked up at the sky taking in a deep breath. He knew he'd never let this girl go back to her father, based off of the condition she was in now; starving, bruised and smaller than the average six year old he'd just be sending her to her death. Especially with her mother dead, this girl was surely about to receive every beating her mother would get.

"I won't." He spoke gruffly. "We should bury your mother. Then we'll figure out what to do with you."

The young girl nodded wiping away a tear before looking towards her mother. She was bloody and had some organs missing. She closed her eyes knowing this image of her mother would be engraved in her mind forever. She had protected her daughter with her dying breath from this Striga. Part of her blamed herself for them being here in the first place. The young girl had been complaining about being hungry for a long time. In an act of desperation her mother stole a loaf of bread and block of cheese. They'd been caught and the King sent them to be food for the Striga.

"Can it be under a tree?" The girl sniffled. "She'd always tell me stories under trees."

"Sure." He grunted, he hoisted the girls mother into his arms gently holding her in a bridal carry and led the girl outside. Roach was tied to a tree branch, gently he set the girls mother down and hoisted the girl onto roach. "I'll bury her. Roach will keep you company"

"Thank you-" The girl paused realizing she didn't know this silver-haired mans name.

"Geralt." He told her and she nodded.

"I'm Rielah" She told him. "Thank you for burying her."

Geralt only nodded and picked up her mother once more. He went a little ways away to a suitable tree and buried the girls mother in a peaceful place, he gently lowered her into the ground and covered her back up with dirt before placing a yellow flower on top of the fresh grave. When he returned back to the girl she was petting Roach's mane lazily. Looking back at her, her pale skin was streaked with red from her tears and her hair was disheveled.

The road was no place for a child, but possibly he could find somewhere that would take good care of her somewhere along the way. For now though, he supposed she could stay with him.

____

If someone had told him nearly a decade ago that he would be taking care of a teenage girl he would have laughed in their face. But now, watching as Rielah pouted in the booth of the tavern they were staying at he realized that she was technically his responsibility and had been for quite a while. It was quite obvious that the young girl had grown on him over time, and he loved her as he would his own daughter.

"Stop that." He mumbled sitting down next to her with a drink in his hand. The girl only glared at him before turning to face the bar again.

"Stop what?" She asked coyly.

"Pouting." Geralt scolded and Rielah only huffed again. "You're staying at the inn while I hunt this Selkimore."

"Fine." Rielah spoke adjusting herself so that her back was facing him. Ever since they had arrived in this dreadful little village Rielah had been off. She was moody and irritable and didn't seem to want to be left alone for more than a minute.

Ever since the girl had joined him on his journeys he'd made it clear that she would be safer wherever they were as far away from the monsters he was fighting as possible. When she was little he did his best to find someone to take care of her but it was blatantly obvious the girl had become his daughter and he didn't trust anyone when it came to her wellbeing. He watched as she picked at the meal he bought her and he shook his head.

"May I go back to the room then?" She asked

"As long as you stay put." Geralt said nodding and by the time he got the words out she was gone and rushing to their room at the inn. "Teenagers."

Rielah looked over her shoulder as she opened the door to their room, making sure no one had followed her and holding the dagger Geralt had given her for emergencies close to her chest. When she was inside the room safely, she locked the door quickly- debating on whether or not to push something in front of it. She decided against it, realizing she didn't want Geralt to question her motives as to why. She knew she'd been acting odd since they got here but this was the place she was born. She didn't want to run into her father; she'd heard some of the townspeople mentioning his name in passing and felt her blood run cold.

Geralt knew she was from around this general area, they'd met in a rundown castle where the Striga resided and they traveled on from there never really discussing her past unless it was about her mother. Even that was rare though. Their relationship didn't offer much speaking, sure he spoke to her more than most but they were both quiet natured people so it worked out. Most of their communication existed by body language. A raised eyebrow typically asked if one was okay and a gentle hand on the back told the other they were there.

After drawing the blinds and doing all the other precautionary measures Geralt had instilled from a young age she sat down on the bed and waited for Geralt's return. She felt as if she wouldn't get much sleep this night and decided to read one of the novels they had picked up for her on their adventures. Geralt realized she would need some form of entertainment while he was away on his hunts and taught her to read. It was an easy way for her to pass the time.

Hours passed and Rielah set down her book bored. She knew she should go to bed but she didn't want to let down her guard down if Geralt wasn't there. Part of her felt like her father had been watching them ever since they arrived. The scars he had left on her both physically and mentally from when she was a child were still left littering her thoughts and skin. She heard the doorknob begin to twist and sat up straight. Logic told her it was just Geralt seeing as she had locked it and he had the only key, but fear told her it was her biological father.

The door opened, daylight seeping in behind it and Geralt stepped in covered in the guts of a Selkimore and she wrinkled her nose. "You've got something right-" She hesitated before gesturing to his body "everywhere actually, and you smell."

"Nice to see you too Rielah." Geralt said with a grunt before walking to the tub full of bathwater. She scrunched her nose once more and turned around to give him so privacy. "There's some Oren's in my pouch. Go get some food we can eat in between villages and whatever else you'd like. I'll meet you out when I'm clean."

Rielah nodded, gulping slightly. She hadn't been alone here without Geralt other than last night in the room. This was different though, being in the village would be putting her into a vulnerable position if she ran into her father. Grabbing Geralt's pouch out of the saddle bag she grabbed her black cloak and pulled up the hood over her head. She walked through the village, remaining as unnoticeable as possible until she found a man selling bread and cheeses.

"How much for two loafs?" She asked. Bread typically got them a long way on the road. They could pair it with meat Geralt hunted and eat it alone.

"10 Oren" The man grumbled and she fished it out of her pocket, not letting the man how much she actually had in case he tried to raise the prices. She took the loafs of her choosing and handed the man the money. He took it and shoved it into his own pocket.

Turning around she noticed a woman selling some clothes. She thought back to Geralt coming back drenched in the Selkimore guts and blood and decided he'd probably need a new shirt. She saw a black long sleeve shirt and decided that one would do. Next to it she saw a handmade necklace with a purple stone attached to it. She knew she'd never be able to afford it but it was pretty to look at.

"It's a pretty gem." A man said from beside her causing her to jump.

"Yes, it is." She said backing away cautiously.

"Suitable for a girl like you." The man spoke. "Maybe to draw attention away from that ugly scar Rielah." Her blood ran cold at the usage of her name and her eyes grew wide. Geralt was the only one who should know her name here. She tried not to show it, but she was petrified. There was no need to guess who this man was, it was her father. The man she'd been doing her best to avoid. "I've been waiting for you to show your face. Without that dastardly Witcher."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." She told him playing dumb attempting to make her voice sound as normal and unwavering as possible. "I really should be on my way my f-"

"Your father?" He sneered coldly. "You're right I have been looking for you. Ever since you ran off a decade ago you little shit. It's time you return home."

The man grabbed her wrist and jerked it harshly. At that moment, the hood of her cloak fell off revealing her face. More importantly though, it revealed the scar he had left many years ago. It had healed nicely over the years but there was still a thin white line from the mark he had made. Looking at the girls face and the fear showing in her hazel eyes. She felt herself retreating to the tiny young child terrified of her father. The one before Geralt; who taught her that a father is supposed to love their daughter unconditionally even when they make it hard. Not beat them for no reason.

"Sir-" Rielah spoke trying to jerk her hand away from her father only for his grip to get tighter. "I really must get going."

"Theres really no denying it now Rielah." The man sneered. She didn't even know her fathers name. What kind of a father did that make him? "You've been gone for a long time, but I'd know that scar from anywhere. I oughta give you another one for being away for so long with that damn Witcher."

"Rielah!" A deep voice called out and her head whipped around, golden tufts of hair getting in her face as she noticed Geralt making his way through the crowd.

"Geralt!" She shrieked watching as he looked back and forth for the teenager. "Daddy!"

That was enough to get Geralt's heart pounding in his ears. The girl he cared for was shrieking his name in fear. Pushing through the crowd he spotted her golden hair, getting closer he noticed a man holding her wrist in a death grip.

"Quiet girl." He heard the man grunt as he tried to get her to budge and walk.

He reached around to his back where his sword was kept and drew it upon the man. "Get your hands off of her."

Noticing the sword, Rielah's birth father let go of her hand and she let tears fall as she ran behind her true father; Geralt who ushered her directly behind him.

"I believe you have what's mine Witcher" The man sneered. "You took my daughter from me, cost me nearly a fortune to replace her hands at the fields. I bet you killed my wife too."

"Your wife was killed protecting Rielah, who is no longer your daughter and hasn't been since the moment you first laid a hand on her." Geralt gritted out. "If all you're worried about is the profit she can bring you in the fields you're a sorry excuse of a father." Geralt said pressing his sword closer to the man's neck. "She's been my daughter for the past decade, and if you lay a hand on her ever again it will be the last time you touch anything." The man glared at her from her place behind the silver-haired Witcher and she shuddered underneath his gaze. "I suggest you move along."

Spitting on the pair, Rielah's father turned around and walked off and Rielah let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "So that's why you wanted to come on the hunt. This is your home."

Guiltily, Rielah nodded and Geralt clasped a hand on her shoulder. "I wanted to tell you, but-"

"You don't need to explain yourself little one." Geralt said fixing the girls cloak and stroking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I see no need to return to this disgusting place anyways."

"Thank you Geralt." She said wrapping him in a hug. Rarely did they ever show physical affection to another but she felt like a hug was in order. Geralt was tense but eventually let down his guard and hugged the girl back."You've always been my father."

"You've been my daughter for a long time Rielah," He told her as they began to walk to Roach. He helped her up before getting on behind her. "That man has never been your father, and I'll never hesitate to protect you and I sure as hell will never lay a hand on you."

She nodded, grabbing Roach's reigns and leaning back against Geralt to steady herself as they left the girls hometown. As they left, she didn't look back once knowing that place was never her home. Her home had always been on the road with Geralt and Roach. He'd always been her father. He'd been the one to raise her, teach her, feed her. Everything about him was what a father should be doing for their daughter.

"I love you Geralt." She whispered quietly.

"Hmmm." He grunted refraining towards their usual silence on the road. She knew that was his way of saying it back, it was their language. He knew her better than she knew herself at times. She stared at the road ahead, wondering where it would take them next.

#geralt of rivia #geralt fic #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt x oc #the witcher #The Witcher fic #The Witcher fanfic #The Witcher x reader #fanfic #oc tag #OC fic #geralt x daughter! reader

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draconic-ichor · 3 years

Text

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 27: Lessons in House Beneviento

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, hints of trauma

Summary: Juniper takes a visit to the Beneviento house for sewing lessons.

Feedback appreciated. 18+

“It’s not too late to cancel,” Heisenberg pointed out, almost hopeful, as he watched Juniper get ready.

“It is.” She insisted, combing her fingers through her hair.

“Nah, I have a phone right over here!” He strode over to it, “I can give her a quick call in no time flat.”

“Heis.” Juniper’s voice was a warning.

He seemed to deflate, shoulders sagging. “There’s no way to talk you out of it?” He pressed.

“Nope.” Juniper stuck firm, tying her curls back into a poofy ponytail.

It didn’t stop him from trying. He badgered her the whole way through the village, ever worried he wouldn’t be with her. Juniper kept firm, knowing she needed to learn this. His constant pestering didn’t cease until they were at the dilapidated wood bridges. Juniper gulped as she started across. The closer they got to the far side the more the mists thickened. By the time her boots made contact with solid ground again the air was heavy with it.

The path was narrow with overgrown hedges, small garden statues covered in ivys here and there.

Something drew Juniper’s attention. She paused as Heisenberg kept walking, turning to squint for better visibility.

A human stood in the mist, almost obscured from view. As Juniper came closer she could make out everything but the face.

It was a woman, about Juniper’s height and sporting the same ebony curls, but the other woman's hair was mostly tied back into a messy bun.

Juniper sucked in a breath, even without a face the woman pulled at a deeply familiar string of her heart.

The woman’s featureless face looked down, her light almond hands bunched into her floral skirt. She almost made a weeping sound.

“My dear….my angel.” The woman cried softly, “I've missed you.”

Juniper felt frozen, a tear running down her cheek. She wanted desperately to remember her face, her smell…anything.

“I’m sorry.” Juniper’s voice wavered.

She suddenly felt a strong hand on her shoulder, she turned enough to see Heisenberg chin almost on her shoulder.

“They aren’t real, buttercup.” He soothed, whispering into her ear, “Only hallucinations.”

Juniper tried to nod, blinking away more moisture from threatening her eyes.

She shook to clear her head a bit, the other woman fading.

Heisenberg saw his own share of ghosts among the mists, though he did his best to ignore them.

A sturdy outline of a man stepped forward down a fork in the path.

“Du bist so groß geworden, mein Kleiner.” The man smiled.

Heisenberg grimaced. He looked away, ignoring the shadow. It wasn’t who it pretended to be, it was just a cruel twist of his heart.

He led Juniper ever forward through the mists. Eventually their path opened onto a clearing. A mound of stones and flowers occupied the center, while a door stood on the opposite side’s rock wall.

“It looks like a grave…” Juniper frowned, seeing the dolls stacked up around the large stone.

“It is.” Heisenberg trudged forward, around the delicate stones and blooming yellow flowers.

Juniper read the stone:

Claudia

Juniper gulped, picking up her pace to rejoin Heisenberg. They went through the small door, following a cave path to an elevator. It looked out of place but was still alive with electricity.

Boarding it, Juniper looked around. This elevator was much more lavish and comfortable then the ones in the factory, more suited for recreational use.

Leaving the elevator and darkness of the caverns, Juniper gasped in awe.

“It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed.

Before them the old estate sat on a hill surrounded with blooming yellow flowers. A large waterfall thundered behind it, it’s mist coating the valley.

“Mhm.” Heisenberg agreed almost dismissively. His sour mood worsened with every step towards the estate, knowing every boot length was that much closer to not turning back.

Juniper stepped up onto the wooden porch, closing the distance to the heavy door. Before she reached for the knocker she glanced back to see Heisenberg did not step onto the porch himself, instead grimacing at the edge like an old dog.

Juniper turned back to the door, lifting the heavy knocker, drumming it a few times. Almost instantly Donna answered, pushing open the door, Angie close behind. They looked happy to see her, Juniper worried she had kept them waiting.

“Hello!” Angie exclaimed, “We’re so happy you came!”

“Hello.”Juniper smiled.

The sound of a throat clearing drew their attention. The three turned to look at Heisenberg.

“Return my girl in one piece.” Heisenberg spoke with his lips a thin line.

“We will.” Angie nodded.

“And no turning her into a fucking doll or some shit.” His voice was a steely warning.

“We know that!” Angie snapped.

He gave a cold look at the doll, “I wasn’t talkin’ to you.” His pale eyes shifted upwards, “Donna I’m serious, take care of her…she means an awful lot to me.”

Donna gave a slow nod before raising a single finger to her chest. She made a little ‘x’ motion over her heart.

Heisenberg nodded back in understanding, mimicking the gesture, “Cross my heart.”

Juniper watched them closely, never seeing him act in such a way with another person before. The small interaction was almost childlike.

Whatever weight that gesture held seemed to be enough for Heisenberg. He tipped his hat to the three before turning back and heading into the mists.

They watched him disappear until Angie started hopping. Her tiny feet made a tapping sound as she happily spoke, “Come on, come on!”

Donna pulled open the thick wooden doors, a warm glow cascading over the porch from within.

Juniper walked behind her as Angie trailed closely. The door seemed to close on its own after they all entered.

“We made cookies!” Angie exclaimed.

“Oh, thank you.” Juniper stammered, being led into the main hall. The estate house was very cozy inside, with ornate woodwork and flowery designs on the rugs.

The air held the smell of spices and herbs, a heavy hanging of dust as well but Juniper was used to far worse.

Where Lady Dimitrescu’s home was a lavish palace, a place of showy status-ship; and Heisenberg’s factory was raw and hazardous, a cesspool of secrecy and honed functionality. Donna’s home was neither.

It was smaller but looked to be well lived in and even held remnants of a loving family. Juniper had known this house once belonged to Donna’s parents but was very unprepared for it to still hold the shadows of normality to it. Certain things looked to be completely untouched since the time of the previous owners, left to sit as a time capsule to happier days.

Juniper was led into a parlor of sorts, a heavy table set with linens and dying flowers was in the middle. A smaller sitting room lay off to the side. The whole place was covered in porcelain dolls. Not surprising, considering Donna was called the Doll-maker, but Juniper thought she saw one more out of the corner of her eye. She stifled a shiver, wondering if Angie wasn’t the only sentient one.

“Come sit.” Angie instructed, “We’ll get the tea.”

She did as she was told, sitting and waiting as the pair went out the far door.

The manor was eerily quiet, Juniper hadn’t realized how used she was to the constant hum of machinery. It almost made her anxiety thicken.

Was this what Heisenberg felt like whenever he was away?

She thought. He’d been living in the sounds much, much longer then she had.

The sound of an elevator piqued her interest, a small sliver of something familiar.

They returned rather quickly, Donna holding a tea tray and Angie pushing the door open for her. Donna set the tray down, busing herself with preparing three cups.

“Donna makes her own tea!” Angie told Juniper, hopping up in a chair.

“Oh?”

“Yea! She’s really good at it.” The doll gushed proudly.

Donna set a porcelain teacup in front of Juniper, offering her a bowl of sugar cubes.

“Oh, thank you.” She smiled, putting two into her tea before stirring it.

She brought it to her lips almost tentatively, the liquid dancing over her tongue. It was nothing like the prepackaged stuff Heisenberg kept around, no this was fragrant with floral notes and hints of herbs. Juniper took a deeper gulp, smiling.

Donna offered her a plate of cookies neatly stacked.

The cookies were a type of butter cookie, small and crisp with an aftertaste of vanilla. Juniper took a big bite.

“We made them from scratch!” Angie announced proudly. She happily picked up a cookie and began to dip it profusely into a cup of tea. She cackled as tea splashed out onto the lace tablecloth.

Donna seemed not to notice, lifting her cup up. She carefully moved the veil eough to take a sip.

After they enjoyed their tea and cookies, Angie telling Juniper so many random things during, they started to head towards Donna workspace.

They took another elevator, the one Juniper had heard earlier, down to the basement. They led her down a hallway lined with white painted doors before opening one.

The room had dirt floors and a heavier curtain of dust. The walls were lined with heaving shelving, filled with all assortment of fabrics and sewing supplies.

Angie excitedly showed Juniper the rarer fabrics, things the Duke had brought from far off places, as Donna cleaned off the table in the center of the room

The three sat down with a little pile of supplies before each.

Donna nodded, picking up a needle and threading it easily.

It took a while for the woman to find her voice, and when she did it was breathy and strained. Juniper thought it must’ve been a long while since it was used in any stretch.

Donna frequently forgot the proper words for items or techniques, having to stop for a moment to think how to explain things. Juniper was ever patient, just thankful the woman was taking the time to teach her at all.

When she did get going, Donna’s fingers were nimble and quick, making even intricate stitching look simple. She could put a sewing machine to shame.

Juniper tried to keep up, showing her results. It was lopsided and messy, earning a concerned little “Oh!” From Donna. It sent Angie into a fit of giggles.

“Take your time.” The woman instructed, “Make every stitch the same size.”

Juniper nodded, trying again.

“Not like that silly!” Angie pointed to the cloth, “Tinier! Make them cute and tiny.”

“Ok.” Juniper smiled at the doll’s enthusiasm.

“Practice stitching is im-important.” Donna nodded, “Mother made me sew for hours on spare fab-ric.”

“How do you make the clothing for the dolls?” Juniper asked, thinking clothes that size could easily be augmented to fit a baby.

“Are you making dolls?” Angie asked excitedly.

“W-well…” she thought, almost sweating, “I may, there’s not much to do around the factory you know.” She lied.

“How do you deal with living in that grimy old factory?” Angie asked.

“I've gotten used to it.” Juniper shrugged, “Its home now.”

“But what about Heisenberg?” The doll pressed, “He’s so mean!”

“Oh he’s not all bad.” Juniper looked at her hands, cheeks gaining a rosy blush, “He’s just a bit rough around the edges.”

“And loud!”

“He is rather loud.” Juniper agreed, giggling.

“But Donna is super good at making cute outfits!” Angie got back on topic.

Donna nodded, standing to look on the shelves behind her. She pulled a handmade book free, brushing dust or before setting it on the table.

“These are my patterns for the common clothes I make for them.” She opened the book.

Juniper looked it over, seeing many small measurements around the sketches. It reminded her of the schematics Heisenberg made of his Soldats.

She asked little questions here or there. Mostly about how Donna found the correct sizes and how to properly measure an object to make clothing for it.

She soaked everything the quieter woman said like a dry sponge. Even pulling out a sketchbook to make notes. Donna and Angie loved to have someone care so much after so many years of solitude.

Eventually Juniper’s eyes caught the clock overhead. She gasped, “Is it that late already?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun?” Angie laughed.

They cleaned up her workspace before heading back up into the estate.

Donna sent Juniper home with a better stocked sewing kit, easy patterns to practice with, a bag of scrap fabric, and a container of cookies for Heisenberg.

“Thank you for taking the time today.” Juniper’s voice was genuine.

“Oh it was fun!” Angie gushed, “Come back soon, ok!”

Juniper nodded, taking the bag thankfully from Donna. It was very sweet for her to provide so many spare materials.

Heisenberg was already waiting on the end of the porch, looking irritated as he smoked the last bit of a cigar.

He dropped it, tamping it out with the end of his boot before he stepped towards the three.

“You’re late.” Heisenberg growled when he was close to Juniper.

“And you didn’t send the Lycans?” She smiled playfully.

He gave a huff.

Juniper handed him the bag, he took it questionably. “What’s all this?” He asked.

“Sewing supplies for me and something for you.” Juniper answered.

Heisenberg glanced into the bag, making a little sound of surprise when he saw the parcel of cookies. He quickly looked up to Donna and Angie, almost embarrassed.

“Thank you!” He stammered, cheeks a bit rosey.

Donna nodded happily, waving them goodbye.

Juniper smiled, taking Heisenberg’s free hand and started the walk back to the factory.

“Not used to gifts, are you?” She giggled, seeing how flustered he was at the simple gesture.

He made a grumbling sound, not entertaining her with a real answer.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

Text

Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

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lovebarelyhuman · 3 years

Text

Smells Like Teen Spirit [Drabble]

Pairing: Sister! OC x Sam, Sister! OC x Dean

Summary: Sam, Dean, and their eldest sister -- Evelynn Winchester (or Lynn for short) set out to find their father, who went missing on a hunt. Or a scene from my current series, "Mission Colorado," a re-write of SPN.

Warnings: Gory Imagery

Word Count: ???

The funeral is small.

A family crowds around the coffin, hoards of her friends standing nearby. Sam doesn't say much at the event, but the sympathetic glances were thrown his way say enough for everything he can't.

Some of her professors are there too, saying words about how Jess had been the kindest and intelligent student they had the honour to teach. There isn't a body to bury, and a coffin filled with her memory is lowered six feet into the ground, a gravestone of marble set into place with her name on it.

She and Dean stand to the edge, silent and thoughtful. She's hated funerals for as long as she could remember - she had far too much experience with them.

The sun is out again, and she wonders if Sam has felt the same anger she did that afternoon. She watches as each crowd slowly melts away from the grave, some sending her and Dean scornful looks. When they finally pull away, the sky is a bleary red-and-pink.

Her younger brother hasn't cried once, hasn't even moved - his breaths are the only thing that tells her he's alive. He finally sets down a golden batch of flowers at the grave, settling them in between a candle and her photo. Jess looks happy, energetic, even, and Lynn feels her heart shatter a little.

Sam deserved happiness, and it all seemed so unfair at how everything good in his life died or disappeared. Dean looked at her, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

Sam was strong. He could do this.

He inhales a shaky breath, looking at her photo once before blinking back tears. "You, uh, always said that roses were lame. So I, er, got you the flowers that you always liked. The ones that you used to stare at, trying to decide whether to pick or not."

He laughs a bit as if recalling a fond memory. He's trying not to cry again, and Lynn swears she'll make the person who did this pay. "Jess... I - I should've protected you. Told you the truth about who I was, my family, what I did, the things I had done. I'm sorry. You deserved better, so much better than this world could ever give you. Wherever you are, I hope you're happy."

Dean's hand rests on Sam's shoulder, and Lynn finds herself joining him, letting her fingers play a comforting pattern. Sam's breath is even faster, shuddering quicker than before. "I love you," he whispers to the grave, and he's about to pull away, when --

A clawed, decaying hand shoots from the grave, the fingers wrapping themselves across the ground. The skin is yellowing-green, and bits of muscle and sinew are dragged along with it. Blood streams from the wounds and splotches of dirt are smeared across it. Lynn finds herself stumbling back in horror, her limbs frozen to the ground out of fear.

Slowly, the thing crawls burrows from the grass with inhuman speed, grabbing wildly at the surface. Sam scrambles towards them, flying off his feet. Jess Moore makes her way out of the grave, slithering with her old body, still decaying and dead. Her brown hair, which had been once neatly combed and styled, was buzzing with flies, knotted and tangled.

One of her eyes are missing, and the gash across her torso stretches from her shoulder to hip, as though she had been sliced open and dissected. Lynn can see the internal organs churning, the beating of her dead heart, the way that her intestines should have been spilling out.

Everything that she's eaten in the past two days tries to spill, and she's vaguely aware that she might throw up. Jess - the new, undead-Jess smiles with rotting teeth, the yellowed bones flashing at her. She's faster than any human should be, and in one quick stride, she makes her way to Sam, whose breath stops in his chest.

She wants to scream, grab her brothers and run, but her legs have stopped working. Her voice dies in her throat, and she screams wordlessly at a Sam who can't hear her. She can only hear his breathless "Jess?" before Jess's fingers reach into his chest like a key to a lock, dives straight through flesh and bone, and rips his heart from his chest.

The heart is still beating, still pumping with blood that will never come. Jess throws Sam's body against the floor with a grin, splitting it with a single crush of her hands. Lynn is too stunned to speak, and her mind has stopped working.

Anger and hatred bubble in her chest, and she launches herself at the zombie, flicking open her switchblade with a sweep of her fingers. Jess doesn't look concerned, only smiling up at her with those dead, lifeless eyes, and her fingers reaching up to Lynn's chest to rip the heart as she did to her brother. She drives the knife into her shoulder, burying the blade up to the hilt with the momentum. Dead-Jess doesn't hiss, doesn't bat her away, only pries the knife out in a flash of metal and skin.

She throws the blood-soaked weapon onto the grass before turning back to Lynn.

Her fingers are on Lynn's ribs in an instant, the tips digging into the surface like several pins poking through cloth. Tears well up in her eyes, but she holds them back.

She will not cry.

Each second feels like an hour, and each minute turns into a day as the neverending pain shoots through every tendon and muscle in her body. When Jess finally looks satisfied, the nails rake over the freshly exposed crimson blood underneath, and a look at the wound sends a wave of dizziness flooding through her.

The bone is exposed, the skin is pulled back as neatly with a cleaver while her heart pounds underneath. She knows she should be unconscious by now, but nothing seems to send her over the edge. She's kept awake just for the pain to set in again, sending each nerve ending alight with agony.

Dean is gone, and his dead body joins on the floor with Sam's. When Jess's fingers finally graze her heart, her ghostly dead smile is the last thing she sees before she jerks awake, sweat forming on her forehead.

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notyetneedcoffee · 3 years

Text

Stitches, Part 3

A/N: Yep, I’ve ventured off the Marvel path and penned a few tales for The Witcher!

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut and cannon level violence

Stiches Part 1 & Stitched Part 2

The light of day began to be swallowed by the shadows of night as you walked behind the Witcher to the outskirts of town. You stared at the massive sword across his broad back, trying to remind yourself he would keep you safe. Yet, you were following him to the one place you found most terrifying.

“Keep up,” He grunted. “I want to have enough light to look around without starting a fire.”

You nearly ran to catch up with his long strides. Geralt looked over his shoulder, seeing the wide-eyed glances you shot to the darkest recesses of the woods. He paused, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. You took a shuttered breath and tried to look brave. Nerves attempted to crawl out of your stomach.

“I won’t let it hurt you.” He leaned his forehead close to yours.

“But I’m still the bait.” Your voice came out small, little more than a whisper.

“A hym will only appear in the right circumstances, so yes, you are there to draw it out.” He stood to his full, impressive height. “Then I will destroy it.”

Geralt turned back to the road. The smithie’s old home and workshop could be seen just ahead. Brush and grass grew out of control with no one in residence. The door to the workshop appeared to be partially off its hinges, as if someone tore it open. You placed a hand on the Witcher’s back as he stepped inside.

Boxes and bins had been over-turned, ransacked for anything valuable. Rusted nails, twisted chains, and bent shoes scattered the floor. The forge was a black pit against the far wall. Geralt moved to the open door leading into the house. Darker inside, you stayed close as he moved from abandoned room to abandoned room.

Racoons and mice nested in furniture and corners. The sound of their movements made you twitch. Geralt kicked over a table in the main living area and pushed the top against the far wall. He shoved the broken chair and bench to the corner as well.

“Here should do.” He pointed to the interior corner of the room, furthest from the doors and windows. “Stay in that corner. Stay low.” He gripped your upper arm in a firm hand. His face leaned close to yours and spoke quietly. “Do not run, little dove. I will protect you. It’s only fear projected by the hym. Whatever you do, stay in the corner. Don’t get in my way. I need to focus on the hym, so I need you to stay put. Understand?”

You nodded. The anxiety and nervousness already churned your stomach and made your hands sweat. His golden eyes remained locked on yours until you took a deep breath and said, “I’ll stay in the corner. I trust you to protect me.”

His jaw clenched and he gave a single nod before turning you around and giving you a subtle push. You wedged your back into the corner and sunk to crouch on your heels. Beside you, the remnants of a chair littered the floor. You picked up a wooden leg. It wasn’t much, but it felt weighty in your hands.

Geralt drew his sword, balancing it easily in his grip with point up and the blade parallel to the back of his arm. He stood, relaxed but aware, as he waited. You could not see his face, but his head moved slightly as his glance shifted from the door to workshop to the door the outside. The room darkened as the minutes ticked by.

Your breath hitched. Something cold, terrifying, battered your senses. The need to run became overwhelming. You couldn’t see anything, but you knew it was there. A whine escaped your throat as you pushed backed into the corner harder.

Geralt’s head tipped, catching the change in your behavior. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. His breath slowed even more.

A shadow lurched forward. You screamed. A dark beast lunged. Vaguely humanoid in shape, with arms reaching the ground, hairless and skin like aged leather, it rushed at you with mouth open wide. You screamed again, seeing only the long needle like teeth.

A giant sword curved down in a blur. The hym dodged, catching the blade upon its shoulder. Its screeched, the sound making your ears ring. It jumped, bouncing off the wall and crashing across the room and through the door to the workshop, moving like a gigantic jumping spider.

“Don’t move!” Geralt shouted, running after the beast.

The crash of bodies against the wall, made louder by rattling chains and clanging horseshoes, left you shaking. A force hit so hard plaster flew from the wall. You closed your eyes against the dust. The hym wailed again. You covered your head with your arms, screaming.

Every instinct, every urge, insisted you run and get as far away as possible. Tears streamed down your face. The otherworldly terror made you shake. “He’ll protect me. He’ll protect me. He’ll protect me.” You chanted.

The wall gave way with a crash, Geralt and the hym tumbled into the room, black gore spraying along the wall and floor. With a roar, the Witcher swung his sword down to behead the beast. You scurried up and moved along the wall to avoid the flow of thick black blood.

Your keening whine dissolved to rapid pant as you stared at the head.

Geralt let out a heavy breath, rolling his shoulders back. With habitual movements, he wiped the blade before securing it to his back. He turned to you. Other than some hair pulled free of its ties and dirt upon his clothes, he looked no different than he had an hour before.

Approaching you slowly, as if you’d rabbit at a sudden movement, Geralt held out a hand. “It’s over.”

You focused on his face, eye glinting in the darkness. They softened, as he said your name. You took two quick steps and wrapped your arms around his chest. His hands gentle soothed your back. A tremor began in your stomach and it grew to fill your limbs. You couldn’t stop it.

“Shhh.” He breathed into your hair. “It’s the fear passing. You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”

You lost track of how long you stood there. Eventually, you pulled back. “I need – Can we go outside? I need air.”

“Come,” Geralt led you through the dark to the road outside. The air smelled better. Someone nearby had a fire going in their hearth. The breeze blew the scent through the trees. After a few moments of breathing fresh air, your legs no longer felt like jelly.

“What now?” You peeked around his broad shoulder to the front of the abandoned home.

“Hym bodies turn to dust quickly. A day or two and it will be nothing by grime.” He gave you a rueful smile. “It’s not like there was a bounty on the beast.”

You rested your forehead against his bicep, clutched his forearm. “I cannot thank you enough.” He touched your head with his other hand, prompting you to gaze up to his eyes. “Is your wound alright? Should I check your stitches?”

With a wicked curve of his lip, Geralt rumbled. “You may have to take a very close look, just to be sure.” His tease brought out a giggle. You felt his strong hand rub along the small of your back. His low gravely voice brushed your ear. “We should return to the inn, I can hear the bath and bed calling.”

He led you past the few patrons in the dining room. Rulla, the innkeeper, looked up. You could see the concern in her eyes melt away to relief as you nodded to her. She knew of the night’s adventure. Geralt paused beside her, requesting hot water for the bath.

The fear and adrenaline left you in something of a daze by the time you found yourself sitting beside the large tub in the bedroom. Geralt stripped off his sword and armor, he knelt before you and took your left boot in his hand to unlace the ties.

You were vaguely aware of a tap at the door, but he reply with a gruff “yes”.

Rulla and two boys came in all carrying heavy buckets of steaming water. She asked the Witcher if you were alright, he nodded. “She had a scare, but did well…just needs a bath and a sleep without nightmares.”

“Good, good.” She patted Geralt’s shoulder. “Leave her in your care, then?”

He grunted an affirmative. As the door closed, he set aside you shoes and stood to strip off his own clothing. You watched, a lazy smile growing on your face. He pulled at your hands, prompting you to stand. “Like what you see?”

“Mmm, yes.” You leaned forward to rubbed your nose into the hair covering his muscular chest. He smell of sweat, and man, and your favorite rosemary mint soap. Your hands drifted along his sides, but he push you away enough to loosen your dress.

Geralt removed your clothes. He groaned a bit as he stepped into the tub. Hold out a hand, he drew you into the hot water with him. Arranging you between his legs, Geralt took up the soft cloth and your soap. He quickly washed away his own sweat as you rested your chin upon you updrawn knees.

“Come here.” He eased you back to rest against his chest. With careful strokes, he cleaned away the scent of fear. Soon he abandoned the cloth, to allow his hands to roam over your warm, wet flesh.

Rough, calloused fingers examined the length of your neck. Hands slid along your sides, to encircle you and pull you tight against the bulk of his body. His hot breath tickled your ear before his teeth grazed the skin. Giant palms covered your breasts, kneading and teasing your hard nipples.

You gave a deep sigh. It turned to a moan as his erection rocked against your ass. His mouth latched on to the conjunction of your neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down your body. Geralt rumbled his delight. One of his hand slipped between your legs to bury into your slick core, the other circled your neck to stretch your body along his.

“Mmm, little dove,” He growled. “I’m going to fuck you into a dreamless sleep.”

“Gods, yes.” You panted, already feeling the spiraling tension at your core. His thick fingers buried deep. Your legs spread as far as the tub would permit.

He pulled you up, tightening the hold on your throat, until you felt the head of his cock slip against your core. He guided you down on to himself, slowly a first. Your fingers grasped his arm and moaned, the stretch divine. His fingers danced across your sensitive clit, drawing mewls from you throat.

You were completely in his control. His hips rocked up, gaining speed and force, sloshing water. The vibration of his growl shot through you as he bit down on your shoulder. Your thighs shook. His hand moved to your hip as he slammed into you. Powerful, strong, fast. You orgasm hit you hard, stealing your breath, making you quake.

“Yes,” He growled, fucking you with brutal intensity, not allowing you to come down. Water sprayed. Bodies slapped. He planted his feet against tub wall, arching up and slamming your pliant body onto his cock. You moaned and cried, overwhelmed. His groans and grunts filled your ears. Your legs curled up, coming again, milking his cock and pulling him with you. His arms wrapped around you tight, pushing deep, and filling you.

Geralt moaned and collapse into the now cool water. He looked over the room and chuckled, you felt it through your whole body. Limp, you could only manage a quiet “hm?”.

“It’s a good thing we’re not upstairs and floor is stone.” His voice rumbled in your ear. “We would have flooded anyone below us.”

You couldn’t open your eyes enough to look, but smiled weakly.

“Are you alright, little dove?” His hands reverted back to their soft caresses.

“M’good.” You mumbled. Body limp, nerves tingly, exhaustion pulled at you.

He chuckled again and maneuvered you off of him. He smiled at your moan and small frown as his cock slipped from your body. Geralt sat you forward so he could stand. Then he picked you up and carried you to the bed. Throwing back the covers, he stretch you both out naked to the warm evening air.

You curled against his massive chest, almost asleep immediately.

Geralt sighed, his eyes drifting closed. Tracing shapes on your bare skin with his fingertips, he whispered as he drifted off, “Sleep well, little dove. I’ll keep you safe.”

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maeshmallo · 3 years

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Bloom ~ Erwin

Erwin Smith x Afab! Reader

Warnings: Vague mentions of pregnancy/birth, parenthood, mentions trauma, nightmares/night terrors

Note: Hello! I originally wrote this on my deviantart which i then moved to my ao3 and now i am moving it here! Everything is the same except it refers to reader in the first person (you) and I just like how much easier it feels to use tumblr, and how much easier it is to connect with other readers and writers. Please let me know what you think and if there is anything I can fix in this! (I may have made mistakes here and there without noticing) Anyways, thank you for reading! 💗

Erwin wakes with a sharp gasp. At first he sees nothing but darkness as he whips his head around, disoriented and his heart pounding painfully. It is only when he feels a hand on his shoulder that he begins to remember where he is.

He mumbles an apology for waking you and you hush him in response. He rubs away the grim images from his eyes and lowers himself to lay against your chest, listening to your heartbeat and soothing whispers.

"It's okay, Erwin. You're safe."

You stroke his hair and gently rub a hand up and down his broad back. It is still very new to have him so easily allow you to comfort him. Before he would turn towards paperwork and whisky, leaving you to lay next to the cold sweat and terror stained into the sheets. He would need to be truly shaken to succumb.

Now that everything has changed, he allows himself your nurturing. You remain like this for some time until your hearts beat in sync and his breathing has slowed.

"Go back to sleep, love. I'll be alright," He says softly, his voice husky and laced with fatigue. You know that it always takes him a long time to fall asleep again after such a nightmare. Every time he closes his eyes there are the screams, the smell of blood and dirt, and the carnage all around him.

He sits up and fumbles around the nightstand for a match, lighting the nearby candle and filling the room with a warm glow. The electric lamp is next to it and is brighter than a lit candle or gas lamp, but the bulb is not as gentle on the eyes as a flame.

The electricity, along with other new and efficient things from the Mainland have been exciting for the people of the island, but the changes have been so sudden for some that only a few fully adapt to the new age and most preferred to take it slowly. Those who were eager simply took a boat across the channel to start a new life.

Erwin looks at his surroundings and can't help but remember how cold and awful his old sleeping quarters were. The nights he spent there alone with his guilt and fear were almost unbearable. The only times it could be managed was if you were able to sneak in from time to time. There is no more sneaking or worrying, holding each other painfully tight every time not knowing which time would be your last.

Now you have been given the liberty of enjoying your time together without fear. That thought alone is enough to ward off the heaviness in his chest, but the memories continue to flash in his head. He stands up, and you don't ask where he is going because you know that after every nightmare, he goes and does one thing.

He walks out of the room into the dark hallway, and goes to the room where a gas lamp still burns low through the door. He tiptoes in and already feels his mind go blank as he looks down into the crib at two sleeping babies, resting nose to nose with a soft fleece blanket over their small bodies.

Three months since their birth and he is still as enamoured as the moment he saw them after hours of agonizing waiting and worrying. He doesn't look away from them when you walk in as well and take a seat in the rocking chair next to the crib. You know you should sleep since they deplete so much energy from you, but you refuse to sleep unless you feel Erwin beside you. You smile as the little girl stretches and rests an arm over her brother.

Erwin kneels beside you and takes your hand as you both watch your children. "They're getting big. Soon we'll have to get another crib for one of them," He says as he unhands you and reaches through the wooden bars and strokes his son's tiny fist with his finger.

You hum, only half listening to him. You remember never even daring to want for this kind of life, where you have your own home far away from where the walls used to stand, on a hill overlooking the sea. You remember how disheartened you were when Erwin told you that he could never allow himself to marry lest he would die and brand you a widow. Suppressing all hope within you was what you learned to do for years. Only recently have she truly begun to hope for the future and what it holds, that new optimism brought to life first by the ring he put on your finger, and then by your little ones.

It takes noticing the weight of Erwin's hand on your cheek for you to realize that you were crying, too lost in the thoughts of your past melancholy. He asks if you are alright and you nod, holding the hand that cups your cheek as you give him a reassuring smile.

"They're just so sweet when they sleep. It makes me forgot how badly they make me want to pull out my hair sometimes." You both laugh softly, and you wipe away your tears on the sleeve of your night gown.

"We should try to get some sleep while we can. Come on." Erwin stands and leads you by the hand into your bedroom, laying down first so that you lay on his chest, his remaining arm wrapping around you.

You both close your eyes but neither of you can truly fall asleep yet. The life you've been blessed with came with the massive price of the lives of others. The fields that your children will one day play on will be nourished by corpses of the brave who offered their hearts for them. The carnage reduced to some pages in a textbook.

Though you look forward to the future, the past will never cease its torment. Neither of you will ever truly be able to move forward, the ghosts of Erwin's friends and comrades will forever hover above him. The memories of sadness and tragedy that engulfed your cities will have you absorbed into your own head at random moments.

But you will reap new happiness to accompany the darkness. Your children, their new life, will be a flower that blooms on a mass grave.

~ ~ ~

THIS IS VERY SELF INDULGENT AND FAR FROM WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN CANON BUT THAT’S OKAY!! I LIKE THIS VERSION!!! thank you for reading <3

#erwin smith x fem reader #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x afab! reader

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 6

Masterlist / Playlist for this angsty mess

Eivor returns from her raid successfully and celebrations are in order. More drunk confessions.

Content Warning for alcohol/food consumption, blood, injury, intoxication

Inspo pic by @anaakeart

A Place in this World

As you left Valka’s hut, you could see people rushing down the hill toward the dock where a small crowd had gathered already. Sigurd and Randvi stood ready to greet Eivor and the other warriors. You arrived just in time to watch Eivor step on solid ground after all the others had already gotten on their way to the longhouse, surrounded by the singing and cheering people who had waited for them all day.

The blonde she-wolf looked exhausted but happy. The sight of her felt like a punch to your gut. She was covered in blood, her beautiful hair was dark and sticking together in thick strands, only her teeth flashing white in the light of the torches as she smiled at the few people left waiting for her.

“Eivor!” Sigmund greeted her, “You were successful!” They shook hands and hugged.

“Did you expect any less?” Eivor taunted him in her deep voice, laughing as he assured her of his confidence in her.

Her eyes brushed over Randvi and a strange expression flickered over her face, vanishing too quickly for you to grasp its meaning. Then her gaze met yours and again, she seemed to be fighting conflicting emotions. At last, she smiled and took a few steps toward you.

“Y/N! All your predictions proved true. You honored us greatly today.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed as Sigurd and Randvi both turned to look at you.

“Is that so?” Sigurd asked with raised eyebrows. “Then it seems that thanks are in order. We shall prepare a welcoming ritual for you to become a member of the Raven clan, if that is your wish.” He gave you a respectful nod and left for the longhouse. Randvi lingered just a moment longer, looking you and Eivor up and down, then she followed him.

Eivor had moved on to greet Valka and this time her face showed nothing but love and warmth. She hugged the healer tightly and pulled something from her pocket. It was a set of long claws on a string. Valka’s face lit up.

“Bear claws! I thought there were no more bears in these lands.” She took them and held them up to her face, inspecting them closely.

“Oh, I suspect the same,” Eivor said, “maybe this was the last one. The Steward wore it around his neck. It didn’t bring him much luck.” She smirked, not knowing how terrifying she looked, drenched in blood and dirt and smelling like death itself. Valka seemed to notice the same.

“Eivor, I mean no disrespect, but… I think you should wash before attending the feast. For your own good and everyone else’s sanity.”

The warrior looked confused for a second, then she laughed out loud and looked at her hands.

“You’re a wise woman, Valka. I should do that.” Her eyes darted to you for a second, then she nodded and laid a fist on her chest. “I will meet you at the longhouse, then.”

You both looked after her as she walked up to her hut, then Valka gently touched your arm.

“Let us celebrate. There is enough time to worry tomorrow or the day after. I think you’re even well enough to have some ale tonight.” She grinned at you and hooked her arm under yours, then you followed the trail of noise to the feast.

The feast was already in full swing; there was a big fire in the middle of the hall and people were eating and drinking, singing and dancing and praising Eivor's warriors for their victory. You quickly found Sfáva, the old cook who greeted you with great excitement. She gave you both plates with meat and vegetables and handed you two clay jugs, which were quickly filled by a young man responsible for the ale barrels. You sat down together at the front of a long table, right at the foot of Sigurd’s table.

You felt Randvi’s eyes on you again, but you decided to simply not waste any more time worrying about her tonight. While you felt genuinely sorry for the heartbreak she had been through, it was not your fault and should not control your life in the clan. So you raised your jug to Sigmund’s first toast of many that evening and emptied half of it in one go. Valka laughed at you and you both dug into your meal, hungry from the long day of talking and worrying.

A murmur went through the crowd when Eivor finally entered the hall. She was all clean now, her blonde, wet hair shining in the light of the torches, a few fresh braids taming the warrior’s mane. She wore the leather pants and a tunic you had repaired and a grey fur cape was draped over her shoulders to protect her from the cold. Her father’s ax and a longsword hung from a belt around her hips.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and found you, your hand that was holding a spoon stopping mid-air as you froze under her gaze. She seemed to take a deep breath and straighten up before coming toward you. She stopped next to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. Her touch burned your skin through the fabric of your tunic, anger and passion, sadness and excitement fighting a battle in your stomach. You felt your blood rush to your cheeks as you looked up at the blonde towering above you.

“Enjoy your meal, Y/N. You deserve it.” She squeezed your shoulder and winked at Valka before turning around and joining her brother at his table, conveniently sitting just a few feet away from you and facing you directly. You just stared at the tabletop and tried not to choke on your food, downing another jug of ale to get yourself to loosen up.

After a while, Sigurd rose to give another speech, this time with and for Eivor at his side. He had already drunk a considerable amount of mead and was slurring his words ever so slightly, but he managed to stay standing up for the whole speech.

“My dear Ravens, my warriors, and my wolf-kissed drengr ! You have made me proud today, proud to call you my clan! I want to thank each and every one of you who fought bravely today.” He raised his drinking horn to each of the people that had been involved in the raid. “I’m glad that we did not have to give away any of our warriors to Valhalla at Fort Winton. Together, we shall make England tremble!”

He swayed slightly as cheers erupted around the hall and Randvi stood up, supporting him with a hand on his back.

“Let us not forget the people who made this possible,” he continued. “My beautiful wife, Randvi, helped plan this raid and made sure our drengrs were well prepared!” He opened his mouth to continue, but Randvi cut him off.

“I thank you, Sigurd, but it was not only me that made this possible. We have to thank the English girl down there!” She pointed at you. “Her willingness to betray her people and tell us everything about their weaknesses enabled us to slice through them like a knife through butter today. Thank you, Y/N!”

Even though most people around you cheered and clapped for you, you felt nothing but white-hot shame and anger rise inside of you. How could she disgrace you like this, after everything you had done for her? Valka placed her hand on yours and shot you a warning look. Eivor had stayed silent and you could see out of the corner of your eye that her hands were balled up into fists. You risked a look at her and she met your gaze, shaking her head almost unnoticeably and telling you without words how sorry she was for Randvi’s behavior.

As soon as everyone had gone back to eating and talking, Eivor got up from the table, shot Randvi an icy look, and vanished into one of the back rooms. Randvi seemed unnerved, shuffling her feet as she waited for the right moment to get up as well. When one of the warriors came up to Sigurd to ask him something, she excused herself and went after Eivor. You and Valka exchanged a look, then she nodded.

You got up, took your empty jug, and quietly made your way toward the back of the hall. Keeping your head down, you passed a couple that was already half undressed in one of the alcoves and a man sitting on the floor and sleeping upright against the wall, his loud snores muffling your steps. Finally, you heard voices.

“-was the truth! I don’t trust her after she willingly betrayed her people and neither should you!”

“Do not speak to me of betrayal!” Eivor’s voice was cold. “Ever since she arrived here, you have been on a warpath. Can’t you accept that something is not about you for once?”

“Eivor -” Randvi sounded desperate. “I don’t mean any harm, you know that. I just want to protect you. This girl, something is wrong about her. Why did she give up so easily?”

“Because her fucking master made her life a living hell, that is why! Here she finally had a chance to be treated with respect. But it seems you won’t grant her that, you won’t leave her in peace nor will you finally let me go!” Eivor kicked something and it crashed through the room. You pressed yourself into your corner and held your breath.

“Eivor.” Randvi suddenly spoke sweetly, her voice endearing. “Don’t act like you actually want that. We belong together, last night proved that yet again.” Eivor huffed at her words.

“Last night was a grave mistake. I was drunk and you caught me off guard outside. I admit that it felt good for the moment, but as soon as I left I knew I should not have given in. You have to accept my decision.” Eivor sighed. When she continued, she just sounded terribly sad and exhausted. “I do not love you anymore. And I cannot betray Sigurd any longer. Why can’t we part gracefully and accept that our time together has come to an end? Why are you fighting this losing battle?”

There was silence for a moment and you were about to hurry off when you heard a sob. Randvi was crying.

“I can’t, Eivor, I can’t lose you. You are the only person who has ever understood me, who has made me feel complete and made my life worth living. I am no one without you, nothing but an empty shell. I cannot bring myself to let you go. The pain of loving you is tearing me apart, but I still dread the pain of letting you go too much to loosen my grip.”

Your heart dropped at her words. She loved Eivor deeply, and she was acting out of desperation. That was why she had treated you like this. Eivor the Heartbreaker. Randvi’s crying sounded muffled now, maybe Eivor was holding her to soothe her. Then Randvi cleared her throat.

“I will try to treat the English girl fairly from now on. She has no idea what she stumbled into and it is not her fault.” A weight lifted off your chest at her words. “But Eivor, promise me this: do not make any rash decisions and be careful who you trust. Do not hurt me on purpose, I beg you. Give me time and stay by my side through this. I cannot live without you.”

When Eivor next spoke, she was also crying.

“Oh Randvi, what cruel fate have the Gods given us? I wish it was not so, I never wished to cause you any sorrow. I promise I won’t leave you, but I can’t be with you anymore. What happened between us is over and I sincerely hope” - she gasped for air - “that we can continue to be the close friends we always were. I don’t want to lose you either.”

You had heard enough. Slowly, you backed away from the dark room and made your way to Sfáva, thanking her for the great meal and filling up your jug. As you turned toward the open hall, you noticed that Valka was no longer sitting at your table and nowhere to be seen. You had a feeling that she had snuck away with her lover again and smiled into your ale at the thought. Looking up, you saw Randvi sitting down at the table again, her face turned away from Sigurd as she emptied her drinking horn in one swig.

You jumped when Eivor suddenly appeared next to you. Her eyes were glazed and her lashes still wet, but she tried to gave you a brave smile.

“How have you been, little bird?” The sight of her face and the hope in her eyes twisted your stomach and almost made you bend over in pain. You swallowed hard.

“Good. I spent the day with Valka. I’m healing.”

Eivor nodded and stared into her drinking horn.

“I just wanted to say -” she gave you a quick look, then she turned fully toward you. “I am deeply grateful for your help in this. We would have fought much longer and suffered many losses, had you not prepared us for this day. Thank you.”

She reached out a hand for you and then stopped, letting it fall to her side. Following her movement with your eyes, you suddenly noticed a fresh blood stain forming on her hip below her belt, hidden by the handle of the ax. You immediately forgot all your resentment and sorrow and stepped closer, lifting the heavy ax to inspect her side.

“Eivor - are you hurt?”

She gently took the weapon from your hands and let it fall back down, flinching when its weight pulled on the belt and pressed against her wound.

“It’s nothing, sweet Y/N. Just a scratch. The man that caused it paid with his life.” She took a swig of mead and looked around the room.

“They are celebrating my victory, yet I do not feel vindictive at all. Everything feels muted today.”

You were at a loss for words. What could you possibly say that would make her feel better without giving away what you knew? And after all, she had hurt you, too. So you just hummed in approval and shuffled your feet, waiting for her to say something.

The silence between you got longer and more uncomfortable until suddenly a younger member of the clan stumbled drunkenly toward you. Eivor caught him with one hand before he could land in your arms or run you into the ground.

“Get it together, Norvid,” she hissed and gave him a shove toward his friend that had come after him and was laughing loudly.

“Sorry, Eivor. Milady.” The drunk man bowed to you before his friend dragged him away. His words confused you. Milady? Was he mocking you? Was this the result of Randvi’s side blow against you earlier? You sighed and were actually thankful when you spotted Lewin, the butcher from Williamsburg that had taken up work here, too.

You excused yourself with a nod toward Eivor, then you rushed to join your old companion. He was happy to see you and introduced you enthusiastically to his new friends. He told you that Aelfric and Hal were at the stables to check on the horses and get their new dice game. They were going to be back soon.

When they returned, you all dutifully marveled at the board and dice the men had whittled themselves, then Hal explained the rules. After a few rounds, you joined in, too. To the other men’s surprise, you quickly got the hang of it and started beating them in every game. After you had made them get you more ale and stripped them of their coin and a small wooden bird Aelfric had carved today, you willingly backed off and watched the others play.

Even though you did not dare to turn your head toward the back of the hall, you could hear Eivor’s rough baritone a few times, then came her drunk laughter, getting louder as the evening progressed. The sound of it still stung. You wished you could talk to Valka about the conversation you had overheard, but she did not return. Maybe she had gone to bed; you knew she was not really a person for big celebrations.

You had eaten enough to build a base for all the ale you were drinking. Even though you felt a bit lightheaded, you were not even close to drunkenness. Years of drinking hard burned liquor with the other servants at night had built up your tolerance and you and the three others from Williamsburg could not help but laugh at the state some of the Vikings were in. Maybe you could try to make your infamous barley spirit and test its effect on a few selected warriors. Valka probably had the equipment needed for brewing more than just ale.

When you went to fill up your jug, you noticed Eivor talking to Sváfa behind the hearth fire. They were sitting on the bench and speaking Norwegian, a language that still had not opened its doors to you. They both looked up with an expression like you had caught them in the middle of something. You just smiled and shrugged, turning your back to them and asking for a refill from the boy at the barrel.

As you turned back around, Eivor was standing directly in front of you. You could feel her warm breath on your face, smelling of ale and the dried fruit she had been sharing with Sfáva. It made your heart crumble like burned coals. You could almost feel the pieces drop to the bottom of your stomach and disintegrate into fine ashes as you waited for her to speak.

“Little bird.” She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed from drinking again. “Can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

You nodded and she took your hand, pulling you with her into an alcove. Her touch sent shockwaves up your arm, fading away in the hollow of your chest where they only found the burned remnants of your heart.

“Y/N, I think I have made it obvious in the time we have had together so far that I have unusually strong feelings toward you. I was unsure of their meaning, but I know now.”

She swayed back and forth and had to lean sideways against the wall to still herself. Her eyes were glossy and almost blank, but a desperate desire was buried deep within them.

“Little bird, I cannot bear the moments in which you are not by my side. You are on my mind no matter what I am doing, even in battle.”

Her hand instinctively moved to the now big and visible bloodstain on her tunic. What was that supposed to mean? You spoke without thinking.

“Did the thought of me distract you from your task? Am I to blame for your wound?”

“Oh, Gods no. No blame lies with you. For anything.” She furrowed her brows, leaning closer.

“You are the reason I’m still standing. You brought me luck and glory today.” Her voice got quiet and she placed a hand on your good cheek. “You were sent to me by the Gods, it is meant to be.”

Before you could even realize what was even happening, her mouth was on yours. You were stunned for a moment, completely encased by her warmth and the softness of her lips. Slowly coming back to your senses, you placed your hands on her chest and gently pushed her away from you.

Her head fell forward and her mouth hung open. When she raised her head, she looked confused.

“Little bird…” she mumbled, holding onto your shoulders to stay upright. “Come to me…”

“Eivor, I can’t do this now. You’re drunk.” Your throat closed up and you were on the verge of crying.

Pull it together. Be strong! You took a deep breath.

“Eivor! We’re going to go back to your hut now and I’m going to help you to bed. Understood?” You gave your best commanding tone and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, supporting her weight with all your strength. “Come on, now.”

You stepped out of the dark alcove and into the hall. Most of the other people were just as drunk as Eivor, stumbling around or already sleeping on the tables. When you looked up to the front table, your eyes met Randvi’s. You could see the silent pain in her eyes. She held your gaze for a moment, then she nodded almost unnoticeably and looked away. Eivor the Heartbreaker .

You made it out of the hall without further distractions and met Lewin outside. He understood immediately and grabbed Eivor’s other arm to support her from the other side. The large woman was already half asleep between you. You steered her toward her hut and opened the door with your foot, then the two of you maneuvered her inside and laid her down on the bed. You thanked Lewin and he left for the longhouse again.

Whispering an apology to Birna, you pulled off Eivor’s boots and the fur that was fastened around her shoulders before covering her with a thin blanket. What now? Should you sleep here, next to Eivor?

You needed some space to think, so you slipped out of the hut again, Birna following you silently and vanishing into the bushes. You sat down on a tree trunk next to the cabin and hugged your knees to your chest, letting your eyes wander over all the wooden houses with their white roofs and the torches lighting the pathways. You could hear the laughter and singing from the longhouse in the distance, but the silence of the snow in the woods behind you was louder. It encased you and carried you away, finally granting you some peace of mind. After a while, the cat came back and jumped into your arms. You held her close.

This day had overwhelmed you with too many new ideas, stories, and possibilities, too much knowledge you did not know how to use. You and Eivor were destined to be together, you knew it and she felt it, too. There would be difficult times, this being one of them, on your path together. Eivor had to let go of Randvi irrevocably and Randvi had to step away from both of you. Eivor needed to figure out what she wanted and learn to express herself without being blackout drunk, to hold herself accountable for her actions, and to fight for what she wanted.

You did not know what exactly the future would bring, but for now, you decided to stay at Eivor’s side. Today more than ever she had shown you how terribly lost she was and how she longed to find and be found. Maybe you could pull her back on the path destined for her. She had given you a new life full of possibilities, it was only fair that you tried to help her find her way, too.

Pressing Birna to your chest, you got up and quietly entered the hut again. You placed your shoes under the bed and took off your coat, then you slipped under the heavy quilt and made space for the cat who curled up against your chest. There was love for you here. You would fight like hell to find it.

#eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #eivor wolfsmal x reader #eivor wolfkissed x reader #eivor #lady eivor #eivor wolfsmal #female eivor #f!eivor x reader #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #assassins creed valhalla #fanfiction #angst

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givemeweasley · 3 years

Text

Back To You pt. 2

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: tears and fears and Fred is sad, also more mentions of death

A/N: I honestly wasn’t planning on doing a part two but a few of you asked for it and everyone seemed to like BTY so I figured why not. Also unedited so lemme know if anythings amiss, but enjoy!

Back To You pt. 1

-----

“Told you I’d always come back to you, Freddie.”

Fred couldn’t move. Surely he was hallucinating. Surely you couldn’t be alive after days of being dead.

Surely Fred would blink, and you would be gone.

But your fist curled around his pant leg as tears slipped down your bloodied face and he knew it couldn’t be a lie.

Fred fell to the ground pulling you in his arms. As weak as you were, your arms curled around him too. You smelled like dirt and blood, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. You were alive. And that was all that mattered.

Fred sobbed into your shoulder as he felt your tears soak his shirt. He would never let you go again for as long as he lived. He swore it.

It felt like hours the two of you were intertwined and crying on the floor. Neither of you wanting to let the other go.

But Fred knew you were injured, he could feel it every time he shifted and you flinched. So he pulled back to look into your eyes. He pushed some of your hair away from your face that was matted in blood.

“Let’s get you fixed up, yeah?”

You nodded, the tears still shining in your eyes.

Fred curled his arms underneath your body as he lifted you from the floor. He made his way downstairs where his mother was pacing, wand and first aid kit in hand.

As soon as she saw the both of you, she looked relieved and waved for Fred to put you down on the couch.

“Be gentle! Be gentle! She could be gravely injured!” Mrs. Weasley fretted about nervously. Fred, for once, listened to his mother and placed you down on the couch as gently as could be.

He stood back refusing to leave even after Mrs. Weasley shooed everyone out of the living room. She lifted your shirt and did her best to heal the many wounds that littered your body. She then helped you out of what was left of your pants, for they had been torn in some places.

Looking at you made Fred feel a rage he had never known. Your body was littered in injuries, he was surprised you were alive at all. He wanted nothing more than to hurt the Death Eaters that did this to you.

“What happened, dear?” Mrs. Weasley whispered just loud enough for Fred to hear. You glanced at him, and at once he came to sit next to you. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders so you could be warm as Mrs. Weasley continued to work.

Fred wrapped an arm around you and you leaned into his embrace. Freds anger melted away as gratitude and love filled it instead.

“We were getting chased by the Death Eaters…” You choked out.

“Accio Cup!” Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at the door. A glass came flying in and landed in her hand. “Aguamenti!” And the glass filled. She handed it to you, who readily drank it.

“He said the killing curse, but someone hit me with the Cruciatus curse I think. It knocked me off the broom and-” Tears began to pour more readily. “Mad-Eye…”

“It’s okay, dear.” Mrs. Weasley grabbed your hand.

Fred hated to see you so upset, so hurt, so...broken.

“It hit him instead and he fell off too.” You got quiet, but you continued. “I remember falling. Thinking of you-” Your strong gaze met Freds and he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “I- I was desperate so I tried to Shield Charm Harry taught us in the DA. Somehow I survived when I hit the ground. But I knew- I knew they would come to find our bodies. I did a Concealment Charm in hopes that they wouldn’t find me. I blacked out.” You took another sip of the water before continuing. “I woke up a day later and could barely move. Mad-Eye was gone. I had my wand and did every spell I could think of to help me to stand. But it was hard. Luckily, I remembered enough from Astronomy to figure out which direction the burrow lay, and I started to walk. I was too injured to Apparate or do anything else really.”

When you finished your story, Fred found himself even more in love with you than he had been minutes before. Your eyes were sparkling with tears and despite the pain he saw in them, he saw relief. He was sure the same was reflected in his own.

He didn’t see his mother leave, but he wouldn’t have cared if she was still there as he pulled you into his arms. Your lips met feverishly, the pain and stress of the last few days was released in that kiss. His hands clawed at whatever inch of your body he could reach, while your own tangled in his hair.

Fred stood, you cradled against him and took you upstairs to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and locked it as he softly set you on his bed with the blanket still tightly wrapped around your shoulders. His arms fell on either side of your head as you looked up from beneath him. His large frame shielded you from everything else.

Your hand reached up to cradle his face. Your hands were calloused from days of fighting to survive, but Fred didn’t care. He thought he would never see you, much less feel your touch ever again.

He tilted his head to kiss your palm before he stripped down to his boxers and curled into bed behind you. Fred pulled the covers over both of your bodies and wrapped his arm around your waist, your back to his chest. He only spoke when your breathing leveled.

“I don’t think I can live without you.” His words were muffled in your hair but he knew you heard from the way you flipped to face him.

“You won’t have to.” You whispered, pushing his hair from his wearied face.

“How can you be sure?” His voice cracked, only revealing a fraction of the pain he had suffered when he believed you dead.

“Well, that’s just the thing isn’t it? I can never be sure but you’ll just have to trust that I know.”

Fred stared at you in awe. But he didn’t respond before tucking you close to him. He wanted to feel the drum of both your heart beats sync. He needed to know- to feel- you safe in his arms.

He listened to the sound of your breathing slow, telling him you were asleep. It was only then that Fred buried his head in your hair and breathed you in, falling asleep himself to the complete encompassing of you.

-----

It was pure chaos. You had been separated from Fred awhile ago. But you were frantically scouring the halls for any sign of him as you dodged curses and sent out a few of your own.

You were utterly exhausted, your arm was practically sliced open from one particularly nasty curse. But still you pushed on, determined to find Fred.

“FRED!” You shouted, getting more desperate as time wore on. But there was still no sign of his tall frame and bright red hair.

So you pushed on.

Until you saw him.

Fighting next to Percy as the Death Eaters spat curses at them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione not far off, but you ignored them. Your sole focus was the man you loved.

Your legs pushed harder than they ever had before but you were still so far away. And your gut was screaming at you. Screaming to run faster.

Heart pounding.

Lungs heaving.

You saw the word leave the Death Eaters lips.

I’m too far away.

But once more, like it had before, the world seemed to slow. Time faltered in its speedy step and gifted you the moment you needed.

All at once, you lifted your wand, flung yourself onto Fred and screamed.

The world exploded.

From all sides, rubble came raining down. It broke through your shield and collapsed on top of you. But still you clung to Fred. Nothing, not even Voldemort himself, would be enough to keep you from protecting the one you loved. And so the castle fell around you and on top of you.

But you would not be moved.

When the dust settled, you heard screaming. Cries. Shouts. The rubble shifted around you until you felt like you could breathe again.

You lifted your face, tears filling your eyes. Fear filling every orifice of your body.

And you looked down at Fred, hoping you had been enough. Praying you had been enough.

And his smiling face looked back at you.

Light in his eyes, breath in his lungs, life in his body. You cried out as you wrapped yourself even tighter around him, and felt his arms come around you.

“They’re alive!” You heard Percy shout. Fred sat up grunting, but you were still tightly clinging to him.

Suddenly, you felt more arms wrap around you. You heard Percy, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all whispering words of relief before they stood.

“We need to get moving.” Harry spoke up. You allowed yourself to look at him, still tucked in Freds embrace before nodding.

The three of them ran off, Percy lagging behind still glancing back to check that Fred was still alive.

The both of you stood, hand in hand. You looked at Fred as he began to pull you down the same corridor. Memorizing the way his hair hung, the way his shoulders twisted, how long his eyelashes were. You weren’t going to lose him tonight, you were damn sure of that. But that fear was still dancing inside of you, making you study every aspect of him.

Fred tugged you into the Great Hall, pulling you into a corner. Before you could ask what he was doing, his arms flung around you and pulled you into his chest. Your arms responded by wrapping tightly around his waist.

“Marry me.” Fred mumbled into your hair. He pulled back slightly to look in your eyes. “If we make it through this, marry me.”

Your hands slid between the two of you, brushing your way up his chest until they cupped his cheeks. “When we get through this, nothing would make me happier than to be your wife.”

And despite the battle still raging on beyond that dark corner of the Great Hall, as Fred pulled you in for a kiss, you swore nothing else mattered except for the feel of his bruised lips against your own.

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