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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 18 days

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The way of the water

request: can i have some kaz x grisha!reader where she's a tidemaker and during a heist he falls into the water and she uses her powers to pull him out and helps him through a panic attack? hurt/comfort and preferably established relationship pls and thx

a/n I am so tired that I do not know what this is. And I really apologize if it is bad.

warning: drowning?, fear of water, not really played into his touch aversion.

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Kaz was convinced that you were simply his best investment. A quick and smart way of dealing with his fear of water. He had torn earth and sky. Put at least five bullets between different merchants' eyes before he found you locked in a glass tomb. For a moment, you looked repulsive to him. Floating in the water like a corpse. But then again, he remembered the gossip. The way the creature was forced into a trance. It had been the only way to drag you out of the village the salesman had raided once the word about your kind spread. Just you didn’t remind him of a creature...

“Unlock her," Kaz had muttered to Jasper, who had stood gaping like a fish himself, “and I don’t know... offer her water." Kaz had glanced one more time at you. “Very funny, boss," Jasper hissed. “You do know that she could bite my head off and drown me once I...", but Jasper was only met with a slam of the door.

The weeks that followed left Kaz both satisfied and frustrated. You had tried to run only five times in a span of two weeks. In an angry haze, Kaz had locked you against the staircase railing. Much to everyone’s displeasure. But then he only managed to sit in his office for an hour before he found himself reaching for his cane.

“Extend your leg," he muttered, watching as the droplets fell to the floor. Your angry eyes darted toward him. “Sometimes I’m glad you can’t move blood," he muttered under his breath. “Careful, maybe you don’t know all of my tricks," you huffed, pulling your chained leg beneath yourself. Kaz inhaled deeply. He needed you. There was no use in you if you just sulked.

“You do know that I wasn’t the one who brought you here. I saved you from a very bleak existence. You should be thankful," he said blankly. “My apologies; you want me to bow or kneel?”, you scowled back. “I don’t want to exploit you, I..." Kaz swallowed thickly. He hadn’t told anyone why he had been so close to obsessively looking for you. He was sure they had found their conclusions on their own. “I need your help," he finished.

Kaz watched as curiosity flicked in your gaze. He knew that you weren’t going to ask. You could very well just sit there for hours. “I don’t like... I have a complicated relationship with water." For some reason, Kaz was waiting for you to start laughing. Make a joke. But the expression on your face didn’t change. If anything, the harsh frown eased up. “It… I had to be near corpses during the plague”, Kaz pulled at the suit he was wearing as his throat slowly closed up with anxiety. But then, in a heartbeat, the air in the room shifted. The dripping of the leaks in the roof faded to nothing. Kaz lifted his head to assess the droplets turning to mist the moment they entered the room. Once he glanced back down, he found you standing with the chained leg extended to him. He held your gaze for a moment before nodding. A silent understanding taking shape between you both.

“It’s an easy job. Pick up the document and go." It had been a while since any job had come into Kaz’s view. One he would like to take on, at least. Until now. He needed that handbook, the new shipment trades, and the new substance that had leaked into the market. “Worst-case scenario, there’s a harbor," Kaz tapped onto the map. His eyes caught yours across the room. He had sworn to never involve you in the Six Crows business but caved in after watching you wilt into nothing for weeks. So now he just offered you the safest job he could find. To stand watch. To leave false trails. To watch his back if a big body of water was near.

“Fourth floor. You will go through here." Kaz quickly averted his gaze. “I will scale the outside wall." He could hear the sharp breath you had taken in. He knew why. The side wall was bordered by the edge of the dock. Kaz swallowed thickly and said, “Get me that fucking book," before folding the map up and showing it into the top drawer of the desk.

The salty water kissed your skin as you slowly walked into the waves. You knew that Kaz watched you from his spot. You could feel his eyes on you. It had been weird the last few months. Going from full terror to finding a strange family of sorts. Yet still, it was Kaz who intrigued you the most. It was unusual the relationship between you two. If you could even call it that. You rarely talked, but then it never felt like you had to. He understood. And when he wanted you to be there when he tried to overcome his fear of water, you would just linger there. Like a phantom touch. Guarding him. And then he would stand there looking at you for hours. Eyes pouring more than words could ever tell.

You are the one watching him now. Like a shadow. Crawling up the wall. Each move is calculated, each move is planned out. Covered by the waves crashing against the shore. It always bugged you in the moments when you couldn’t see him. When he was inside the building, outside of your sight. You couldn’t protect him there. Even if Jasper had told you time after time that it was you and all of them that needed saving from Kaz, not the other way around.

A loud bang sent your head shooting up to the balcony. Voices following through. Shouts. Glass braking. The light flickering on throughout the whole upper floor. One that was supposed to stay undisturbed. Your own heart picked up in pace. Then the dark coat appeared, swaying in the wind. Another figure leaped upfront. The two wrestle in the tight spaces. A loud snap. And there it was. The time stopped still as a flash of Kaz’s face eliminated by the moon glimpsed by right as his body was forced over the railing. You had barely managed to swallow his name while diving into the waves. Forcing your body to move as fast as possible.

The free fall felt short, but the impact of the water felt as if Kaz had been drowning for an eternity. He didn’t even realize that he was falling into the water. He was prepared for hard ground. But the panic that filled his body when he was submerged made him let out a gasp. Filling his lungs with salty water. Memories of the past clasped clammy hands all over him, dragging him deeper and deeper. The light from the moon fading away.

And then it’s as if he’s wrapped in an invisible net. Kaz blinks once, and it’s you there. Right in front of him. By some absolute stupidity, he tries to call out your name. Letting more water into his lungs. Your eyes grow big, and then your fingers are grasping for him. Kaz catches that apologetic expression on your face before you pull him closer to you. Lips crashing into his, and at once it feels as if his lungs don’t remember how to breathe or how to welcome that gust of oxygen. But he’s holding onto you regardless. Feeling the fear fade away until it all goes black.

“Look at me," you frantically tap at Kaz’s cheek. Breathing heavily. The very tips of the waves still kissing your legs. You didn’t have enough energy to pull you both out fully. Feet slipping beneath the wet sand. Making you fall over, with Kaz’s body following right with you. "Kaz," you press your ear against his chest, trying to listen for a heartbeat, but you’re too anxious and too shaky to distinguish anyway.

“Why aren’t you waking up? Wake up!" You whine in frustration, pressing your lips against his now-blue ones. A kiss from you had to be enough. Had to breathe him back to life. You couldn’t have been too late. Couldn’t have. And then Kaz jerks, sitting up in a rush, his pained coughs slipping past his lips. You don’t dare to touch him now. You know he doesn’t like it. You had already overstepped as it was, but now.

“What the fuck?", he hissed through clenched teeth, making you drop your gaze. “Are you out of your mind?”, Kaz was coughed once again. Now you could see a sharp gash in his forehead. Still leaking blood. Your fingers traced the wet sand. “I saved it," you muttered, handing him the book he had come for—one that fell alongside him into the water. Kaz rips it out of your grasp, throwing it to the side. His fingers wrap around your wrist. “Are you insane?”, he hisses, pulling you closer. “You could have gotten hurt; they could have very well shot at you." His words hit you like a blow, leaving you speechless as you glanced up at him.

“Your arm." You want to laugh at how insane this is. Had you too hit your heads? Why is he concerned with... “What happened to your hand?” Kaz demands, making you glance down at the torn flesh. He was too heavy for you to lift up the dock. You tried. Unfortunately, that resulted in you slipping, and since you were too afraid to let go of his body, your arm met the sharp edge of the hook that was left carelessly there.

The sound of the shirt being ripped makes you blink. And here he stands. Taring his shirt up before grasping your hand as he wraps it around. “Your head," you mutter, "You," "It’s a scuff," Kaz grunts, his fingers shaking the longer he touches you. You back away slightly, not wanting him to do something he’s uncomfortable with. But Kaz’s wild eyes meet yours, making you still. “Next time," he breathes out, “Next time, you swim away without looking back.”

He drops your arm, turning away from you. Brushing his shaky fingers through his messy hair. “There will be no next time," you mutter, making Kaz turn around so quickly it makes you jolt. “There will be no next time," you continue once again, “because I will be right there, right under, and you will never get to feel what drowning feels like." Your hands wrap into fists as angry tears roll down your face. Kaz shakes his head. “You silly girl," he huffs, stopping closer to you. Not daring to touch you, but enough to feel your body close. Enough to feel whatever that is left of both of your bodies's warmth bouncing off of each other. Kaz takes a deep breath, "I would rather drown over and over again than see you get hurt again.”

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x oc #kaz x you #kaz brekker six of crows #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kaz brekker #the six of crows x reader #the six of crows imagine #the six of crows #the six of crows x you

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themotherofblood · 11 months

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On dancer reader, can we have some motherly moment between reader, Baela and Rhaena, with a little Daemon participation, please? (would love to read something about their relationship)

yes!! I love this idea, this is a little blurby. Also Daemon being a total girl dad!!

Masterlist | part one | part 2

There wasn’t a scarcity of children in the Old Palace, all your half sinblings, step siblings and even cousins filled every extravagant room the palace had to offer. Luckily, Daemon and your quarters were rather secluded, spacious marble floored rooms over looking The Sunset Sea, the orange hue of the dusk painted your chambers every evening.

This particular evening, Daemon had taken Baela dragon riding. Moondancer had finally grown large enough to be saddled, a shiny purple leather saddle with a gold moon pendant was worn by the young creature. The curtesy of his niece Rhaenyra, she gifted Daemon and by extension you, a clutch of eggs, four magnificently coloured orbs for the babe within you and the many more to come.

You had lounged out at the Mirrored Palace with your family, some painting away with the newest oil colours from Bravos, the others brawled with each other as you embroidered away a red tunic with gold threads. You hadn’t noticed until the hour of crow that Rhaena wasn’t amongst you. You excused yourself, trailing away at the gardens to find the little white haired beauty, instead you found her handmaidens who told you she was in her chambers.

“Rhaena?” You called out, her small frame sat by the lit hearth that held her egg for over a year now, and many more years elsewhere. You huffed, holding onto the chaise rests to lower yourself onto it. “What’s wrong darling?” You pet her head.

“I- I wonder if the egg for my sister would hatch,” she sulked, you knew this to be a sensitive subject for her, she placed her egg down and looked up at you apologetically for her abruptness. Both girls had firmly decided that the child within you would be a girl and then proceeded to pick an egg from the four Rhaenyra had sent.

“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” you smiled at her, patting the space next to you for her to sit as she cradled her egg. “I do not know much of dragons, I don’t understand it like you do, your father does.” You hugged your arms around her.

“What I do know is, the dragons do not make you who you are,” you stated, a truth you understood about your husband. Caraxes a mere extension of who he was and the fire within him.

“Father seems to think otherwise, everyone in our bloodline has one,” Rhaena pouted as she rest her head against your shoulder “even mother did.”

“That isn’t true, Rhaena,” you cooed “your father wants nothing more than to help you claim one some day, should you ask him he will tell you all the same.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” she questioned, her purple eyes filled with moisture, her bottom lip jutted out and darkened cheeks heated.

“kesrio syt iksā tolī byka,” Daemon’s voice rumbled from behind you, he stood leaning against the posts of the veranda, still in his riding clothes as he approached Rhaena. You are too little.

Rhaena appeared sheepish as she made space for Daemon before plopping herself onto his lap. “I’d rather you be little, chubby and alive rather than a dragon rider. I wasn’t one until I was nearly six summers older than you.” He tickled her tummy making her giggle before resting her head against his shoulder.

“I miss mother,” she reminisced making Daemon turn to you uneasily.

“Well,” you spoke up, pointing at the window where the skies had already darkened “when I miss mine own, I look at the stars.”

“The stars?” Rhaena looked confused.

“Look at them, think of Laena and pick a star that might appear to be her,” you smiled at her “that way, every night your mother can visit you.”

Rhaena looked for a moment, you could see her eyes darting all over before she picked one, her eyes softened “that one,” she whispered pointing at the star.

You later in the week had been met with crucial urgency as your handmaiden huffed, running to you about your husband. Daemon nearly loosing his mind at an ungodly hour in the morrow as he went to rouse Baela. She wanted to see the sun rise from high above the skies, he would have taken Rhaena along with him. He stroked Baela’s pretty hair to rouse her from the pouted dream she had been dreaming, Baela groaned and grumbled, burying herself further under the sheets “papa, no.” She whined as Daemon pulled her.

Instead of chuckling at Baela’s adorable protests, his gut filled with horror as his daughter’s bed was stained with blood. No, no- not his sweetling. He shook Baela harder this time to wake her, looking over her face and arms to find any sign of injury before yelling at the guards to fetch his you and the Maesters.

“Are you hurt? Baela, you must tell me what happened,” he urged her, Baela appeared confused until she saw the blood standing her night gown until she too mirrored her father’s terror.

“Papa, am I going to die?” Baela cried, her bottom lip wobbling. Daemon tried to remain calm as he shook his head, nothing would happen to his daughter. His urgency wasn’t met with enough speedy response, he grew impatient for the Maesters to arrive. “Everything will be fine,” he rocked Baela in his arms.

You burst through Baela’s bed chambers, huffing and cradling your bump as your took in the scene infront of you. The stained bed, the terror on Daemon and Baela’s face, the staining on the lower half of Baela’s nightgown. You shoulders slumped in relief as you slapped a hand over your thudding chest to calm your breathing.

“Daemon she is fine,” you calmly stated.

He began to look at you like madness had filled your head as he gestured to all the blood, how were you not loosing your mind. Merely weeks ago you pulled the entirety of the Old Palace upon your head when Baela cut her elbow from a fall. He shook his head, clutching Baela harder.

“Daemon, she’s flowering.” You sighed, trying to pull Baela away from his tight hold, she looked confused between the two of you.

Daemon frowned “she’s too young,” he shook his head once more, once again refusing to let his daughter go.

“I flowered at eight, she in nine.” you stressed, once again trying to pull Baela away as the Maesters finally came to the her chambers.

The two appeared worried until you spoke without looking at them, asking them to leave a essence of milk of the poppy behind. Baela’s handmaidens we’re ordered to draw a bath for the young girl. “Go on darling,” you nodded at her to clean up as they stripped her sheets.

Daemon still sat on the footrest, looking a little calmer than before as you came to stand in front of him. He groaned, resting his head against your belly before pressing two kisses to it over your robe. “She is fine, Daemon.” You reassured once more by squeezing his shoulder.

“I was so sure-“ he shook his head. “She’s flowering?” Daemon looked up at you, your fingers pushed back his hair as you nodded looking down at him.

“She’s growing,” you stated making Daemon grunt once more, finding the thought of his little girls growing so quickly displeasing.

“See after her? Please,” he requested, you nodded before moving behind the divider when Baela sat submerged in her tube, only her head popped out of the milky water.

“I am not dying?” she asked, still confused. You shook your head.

“It’s your moon blood, it shall happen for every turn of the moon,” you said making her grimace.

“Every moon!” She exclaimed making you giggle.

“Unfortunately so darling,” you smiled at her sympathetically.

The handmaidens brought chamomile tea from the kitchens for you to lace with a drop of milk of the poppy. Enough to make the rumbling pain in her belly heel, her handmaidens wrapped her in thick cloth before helping her back in bed.

“This tea is going to heal her?” Daemon paced by the foot of the bed.

“Don’t be daft Daemon,” you glared at him chicken mothering down your neck. He knows well enough that one cannot just heal away moon blood. “It’s for the pain.”

Rhaena had long awoken and found herself situated next to her twin sister, she appeared a little nervous about the blood but curious. She hugged her sister a little too tight making Baela swat her back before succumbing to her hold. The two of you left the girls to rest as you pulled Daemon out of their rooms.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you thought over the brave Rogue Prince loosing his bearings over moon blood. He glared out you, making you laugh even harder, choking out apologies as you clutched your bump trying to stop. He groaned all the way through, dragging you back your shared bed chamber as your fit of giggles just wouldn’t stop.

“You can either stop giggling like a child, or I can make you,” he warned, his own lips faltering as they curled upwards with your giggles.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon fic #daemon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fluff #girl dad daemon #hotd baela #baela targaryen x reader #rhaena targaryen #rhaena targaryen x reader

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jahayla-parker · 1 year

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Kaz Brekker and Mutual Ma$terba$tion.

Be My Hands: Kaz Brekker x Reader *#~

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!

If you’re tagged it’s simply because I copied the tag list for Kaz.

Obviously I can’t control your actions but if you’re not 18+ do not interact with this post or Tumblr can get me in trouble!

(If you’d like to not be tagged in future smutty/spicy Kaz fics, please let me know!)

Description: 3.6k wc, smut/spicy fic with Kaz. Cannon Kaz, still has a touch aversion but finds himself and his girlfriend needing release so they compromise by verbally guiding the other while they be each other’s hands. (Kaz style aftercare featured)

Warnings: sexual content, mentions of touch aversions (anxiety & related notes), 18+ Only, cursing

Minors DNI, 18+ Only below the break; sexual content present

Kaz crumpled yet another piece of paper and tossed it to the side, still unable to collect his thoughts.

The heist went sideways hours ago and he hadn’t been able to figure out why or how he should’ve been able to prevent it.

It had never taken him this long before, he was usually done within a few minutes and spent the rest of the night sulking.

Meaning it really shouldn’t take him long tonight since it was only a minor deviation and not much of a set back.

He should’ve been able to figure this out hours ago.

However, y/n had never not been in his office after a night like this.

Kaz sensed things were tense between them lately but since he didn’t know why he elected to let it blow over.

As he sat alone in his messy office tonight, he regretted that decision.

Clearly that was another plan he made that failed.

Begrudgingly he rose from his desk, bracing himself on his cane as he walked to the door.

If she wasn’t coming to him, he’d go to her.

Kaz lingered outside her door as his mind raced to find the best way to greet her.

She was already mad, but he didn’t know why and therefore which side of him would be most helpful here.

If he let Kaz Rietveld greet her and she’d been mad about one of his triggers or weaknesses that would make it worse.

Not that y/n ever got upset let alone mad over that, but Kaz anxiously awaited the day he felt was inevitable.

If he let Dirtyhands Brekker greet her and she was mad he’d been too distant or mundane it would surely piss her off more.

He sighed, annoyed at himself for even allowing himself to get so attached to her that he cared about these things.

Kaz tapped his cane against her door twice and awaited a response.

He heard some shuffling around before y/n opened the door for him.

Her hair was a bit disheveled from seemingly running her hands through it, but it was clear she’d tried to fix it before opening the door.

“Love,” he greeted briefly, the versions of himself compromising.

She smiled nervously at him which made him sigh.

“May I?” He asked, tipping the crow’s head end of his cane in the direction of her bedroom chambers.

A room in which she rarely ever was, having usually been sleeping in his room while he worked.

Kaz watched her throat tighten as she swallowed before nodding.

He took inventory of her room, the way he would any room he’d stepped into where he felt unsure of his surroundings.

He’d been in here before but tonight he was unsure where he stood with her and hoped the room would provide him some clues.

Y/n’s bedding was wrinkled and the poorly made bed was evidence she’d futilely tried tucking the sheets back into place before letting him in.

Kaz tightened his grip on the crow’s head, despising himself for whatever he did that prompted her to chose to sleep here instead.

Sure it was her room, but he couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually slept in it.

“Kaz…” she mumbled, standing a solid distance away, “you look like you have something on your mind”.

Kaz pressed his lips into a tight line as he turned to face her, but was unable to look into her eyes and ask his question, “are you mad at me?”.

Her silence caused him to turn his gaze upwards from the floor and to her face.

He watched the shocked look on her face turn to confusion before she shook her head, “No Kaz. I’m not mad at you”.

“Y/n, do not lie to me” he grumbled.

“I’m not” she sighed.

He stared at her and took a step closer to her, noticing how her body tensed when he did, “you’ve been distancing yourself from me. Yet, you claim you are not mad?”

Y/n quickly looked to the far wall as if one of her pinned up photos was suddenly more interesting than this conversation.

Yet, in a whispered voice she still spoke, “I’m not mad, Kaz”.

Kaz squinted, taking a step back to create more distance for her, “are you afraid of me then?”

She snapped her head towards him, a concoction of confusion, shock, anger, and guilt storming her face, “of course not!”

“Then tell me” he ordered, closing his eyes for half a second to compose himself, “if you’re not suddenly scared of me, tell me why you are distancing from me if you’re not mad”.

“I…I’m… not mad… I umm.. I’m..” she mumbled, biting her lip.

Kaz gave her a concerned look and took a cautious step towards her again, continuing when she didn’t look away.

“You’re not mad, but you are… what?” He asked calmly, a foot from her now.

“Frustrated” she whispered.

“What?” He repeated, not sure he heard her correctly.

“Frustrated!” She blurts loudly, looking away and pulling in her hair, “I’m frustrated, Kaz”.

“Frustrated is synonymous to mad, love” Kaz sighed harshly.

“Not that way” she said, shifting her gaze around rapidly.

“I don’t und-“ he stopped, realization hitting him.

He’d read the signs wrong.

Her hair wasn’t a mess due to running her hands through it out of anger.

His eyes shifted to her bed.

The bedsheets weren’t wrinkled and a mess because she’d been sleeping in them.

“Were you just touching yourself?” Kaz asked, the tension in the room thickening.

He noticed she refused to look at him, so he gently tapped her toe with the bottom of his cane.

She still didn’t look at him but nodded minimally.

Kaz felt his face heat up and an uncomfortable feeling form in his body at her confession.

Well, it wasn’t the feeling that was uncomfortable, it was the knowledge he couldn’t act on it.

The knowledge that he’d found himself needing sexual relief on numerous occasions with relation to her and not being able to act on it due to his touch aversion.

He hated that he put her in that same position and also that he couldn’t offer either of them the release they both needed and desired.

The biggest irritation he had with his aversion was that his body still held the capacity for desire and sexual attraction but he couldn’t act on it.

He hated that he wanted more than anything to be able to take her here and now but the thought also made him nauseous.

“Show me” Kaz said faintly, his brain body desperate for a compromise.

“What?” She squeaked, her eyes finally landing on his dark and fully dilated pupils.

“Show me what you like” he repeated, taking a slow step towards her bed.

“Kaz, what?” She asked breathlessly as her eyes widened.

He looked at the ground in guilt, “I cannot give you what you want”.

Y/n began to interrupt but he held his gloved hand up to signal her to stop.

“But, I’d like to see what it is you want” He said, his voice shaking.

He wasn’t sure he could handle this.

Sure she’d be touching herself, not him touching her.

But, he felt he might combust watching her get herself off by doing things to herself he could only dream of doing to her one day.

“Kaz. We don’t have to do this” She offered kindly, sensing his nervousness.

“I want to. I want to watch. Touch yourself for me. Be my hands” Kaz declared, his pants already feeling tighter as he admitted this desire.

Y/n took a shaky breath but nodded and made her way to the bed, unceremoniously crawling onto it.

She wasn’t opposed to it, but she knew intimacy was intense for Kaz and she didn’t want to push.

Y/n bit her lip as Kaz moved to stand beside her bed, as close as he’d allow himself to be.

“Kaz, I know this is really vulnerable for you, so we can take this as slow as you need and stop whenever. You’re in control here, okay?” She promised, staring into his eyes.

Kaz’s eyes softened for a moment -as he offered her a small smile and nodded-, before they shifted back to their dark state with a recently displayed lust tinting them.

He’d seen her naked before, having changed in front of him countless times at this stage in their relationship, but this was different; for both of them.

She felt her heart quicken, her hands trembling with nerves as she shyly started to lower her pants once again.

“Love, don’t be nervous, if you need, I’ll guide you through it. Just be my hands” Kaz heard himself state, surprising them both.

Y/n took a deep breath of air and nodded rapidly.

Kaz smirked, his eyes closing lustfully as he let them both catch their breath before beginning.

When he opened them, his pupils dilated again seeing she’d stripped out of her pants and panties, her lower half now fully exposed to him.

“Fuck” he breathed out, letting a rare curse slip.

She blushed but kept her eyes on his with a small smile on her lips.

“Shirt” he said, clarifying when his request was met with confusion, “your top too”.

Y/n smirked at him as she slowly removed her shirt to display her bare breasts before him, practically making him hard right away.

He swallowed thickly, adjusting his stance awkwardly, “you are perfect”.

Kaz learned long ago she loved him complimenting her and while he’d let that vulnerable side of him out more often since that discovery, this was new.

He’d reassured her how beautiful she was the first time he’d seen her naked body, needing to help her patch up a cut on her rib and thigh after a heist.

But this, this time, she was laying here before him, not because she was hurt or getting ready for bed.

Instead, she was all but presenting herself to him; a vulnerable and important moment for them both.

Kaz stared into her eyes, making sure she was comfortable with what they were about to do.

When he felt confident she was, he shut his eyes and softly said, “show me what you were doing”.

She nodded, looking down at her waist, her hand moving towards her center.

Y/n gazed off into space as she slowly ran her pointer finger down her pubic mound towards her lips.

Kaz eyes fixed on her finger, wanting so badly for it to be his own touching her that way.

He took a shaky breath at the thought of his son on her’s making her immediately stop and stare at him with concern.

He shook his head to calm her worries, “Don’t stop. Just, talk to me during it”.

She nodded, remembering how he’d cling to the sound of her voice when anxious.

“So,” she said with a breathy shyness, “ when I find myself needing a release, I start with this”.

Kaz focused on her voice and explanation while his eyes studied her demonstration and instructions with such intensity it was as if her pleasure were a heist he must successfully complete.

After a few minutes Kaz had become more comfortable and realized the bulge in his pants was already a step ahead of him.

He blindly reached for her desk chair, knowing he should sit.

But he couldn’t find it without looking away from her, and he wasn’t able to do that.

Kaz stared as her thighs clenched together, firmly trapping her hand between them.

"Spread your legs. I want to see how turned on I make you” he said, looking from her seized legs to her dazed eyes.

Her lips parted slightly as she complied, her hand now being the only thing blocking his view of her full anatomy.

“More” he said, his deep voice betraying his pleading, as did his gloved hand faintly placed on her closest knee.

“I love hearing you moan” Kaz blurted, pressing his hand firmly against his throbbing shaft through his pants.

She looks at him through hooded eyes, the fingers on her left hand still inserted into herself.

“Curl your finger” Kaz advised, an idea forming in his mind.

Y/n smirked lazily at his newly formed scheming face as she followed his suggestion.

“No, no, your ring finger” he corrected, his piercing eyes that were frozen on her swollen and flushed bare skin around her vulva, unsatisfied with the choice she made.

“Oh saints!” She cried out, her head slamming back into her bed aggressively.

Kaz felt his dick twitch as he proudly relished in her loud moans and watched her hips lift off the bedsheets.

“Mmm, that’s it, good girl” Kaz said, his voice dark.

Y/N’s eyes flitted closed as she twirled her hooked finger around inside of her walls, trying to not be so loud as she didn’t want to risk the others hearing.

“Mmm, come on darling” he whined, “let me hear you.”

She stirred slightly before pushing her fingers in deeper, moaning pleasurably as her vaginal opening stretched even more.

“That’s it” he grinned, his sight clouding a bit as he unconsciously began stroking his length through his dress pants, “I want to hear you say my name”.

Y/n needed a moment, so she slowly pulled her now soaking wet fingers from her vagina and rested her hand on her stomach, smirking at him.

“You what?” She teased, pretending she couldn’t hear his request.

His vision cleared as he lightly glared at her, “you heard me”.

She hummed, dancing her fingers tauntingly over her exposed skin from her neck down to her hips, “I don’t know that I did… Kaz”.

Kaz’s head snapped to the side quickly, his hand reaching out and pulling the desk chair to him.

He sat down just as his knees threatened to buckle from the tension between his legs and the sight of y/n sprawled teasingly before him.

Kaz knew he wasn’t going to win this, especially in his current state, so he repeated himself, “I need to hear you say my name”.

She smirked at him, “Kaz”.

He threw his head back in frustration with so much force he was surprised the chair didn’t break under him, “you know what I mean”.

Y/n loved seeing him like this, over her.

So she decided to drag it out a bit more, smiling innocently as she asked, “no, can you elaborate what it is you need me to do, Kaz?”.

Kaz clenched his jaw, returning his head to its normal position and watching the devilish glimmer in her eyes, “don’t push it, you’re the one who needed this. I can leave any moment”.

Y/n saw through his bluff, tilting her head sideways as she pushed her self up until her arms were supporting her back and half raised position.

“Kaz, honey, you can pretend all you want” she winks, bringing her still wet fingers up to her face and tracing the outline of her lips, “but I can see the mess you're making of yourself”.

He froze in confusion, following her gaze as she stared at his lap.

Kaz felt his cheeks double in temperature as he saw he’d practically ruined his dress pants.

The material now wet and clinging to him.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“It’s okay Kaz, but I don’t think you’re quite done” she whispered sweetly, “why don’t I help you?”

Kaz stared up at her, his eyes soft but jaw tense, “I-… I can’t… yet.. I-“.

She shook her head, “I’m not going to touch you honey, I promise”.

He nodded appreciatively.

“You wanted me to moan your name?” She asked delicately.

He forced a weak glare making her laugh softly, “I can do that. But first, remove your pants”.

Kaz hesitated for a moment before standing enough to lower them to the floor.

“Now your underwear, the poor things are very clearly in both of our ways” she added, Kaz sighing tranquilly as he pushed the hem of his underwear towards the ground and let his penis fly upwards when it was free.

“Now, cup one hand around yourself, from underneath” y/n said, her gaze never leaving his erection.

Kaz obeyed, shivering as his cold leather glove wrapped around his length.

Y/n moaned lightly, Kaz’s eyes jumping to watch as her fingers walked down her bare body to her clit.

“With the other, rub the tip” she whispered seductively.

Kaz didn’t hesitate to do so and mirrored her moans with his own as he did.

“Look at me” Kaz rasped as her gaze has shifted to her waist.

“Oh, fu-“ y/n sighed, the knot in her stomach growing.

Kaz clenched his jaw more tightly as he continued masterbating as she had requested, but secretly trying not to climax yet.

He was fairly certain the leather in his gloves was going to cause his shaft to be raw by the end of the night but he couldn’t care less.

“Cum for me” he ordered sharply, not sure how much longer he could resist his release.

Y/n sensed his predicament and puckered her lips to blow him a kiss, “just let go Kaz”.

Kaz shook his head, but as she resumed circling her clit he found his resistance weaning.

“More pressure” he advised her, having made mental note of what seemed to work best for her earlier in the night.

“Ka-Kaz,” she moaned, her eye lids fluttering as she pushed her thumb harder against her clitoris.

At that, Kaz’s self preservation disintegrated in an instant.

“Oh” he moaned, his voice breathy, “fuck”.

He threw his head back, his neck bending as the back of his head rested between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t stop doing what I taught you. You’re being my hands, remember? Keep moving” She ordered, a smirk painting her tone.

“Y-y/n” Kaz shakingly mumbled, his eyes glazed over, “fuck, you’re… fuck”.

Kaz was certain it was the least intelligible thing he’d ever spoken but the bliss he felt kept him from caring.

He wiped the white cream from himself and the bedspread next to her, too relaxed to be embarrassed over the mess he made and how vulnerable he was.

“Shit, Kaz” she groaned, her lips curling at the ends as she watched him.

“Cum for me” he repeated his earlier request.

Y/n chuckled softly, tiredly bringing her hand back down to her wet lips.

“Kaz” she moaned softly, her eyes glimmering as she held eye contact with him.

Kaz smiled faintly, lifting his cane.

He delicately tapped the side of the crow’s beak to y/n’s swollen clitoris twice before lowering his cane back to the floor.

She shivered at the cold sensation before her eyes darkened as she looked back over at him.

He nodded with a smirk on his lips, “keep your eyes open and on me”.

Y/n silently obeyed, her fingers picking up their pace.

Kaz’s smirk grew as he watched her desire increase.

He intentionally ran a hand through his hair, having been clued in that it was a turn on for her.

She grinned and shook her head weakly, letting him know she knew what he was doing.

Triggering another turn on, Kaz held eye contact with her as he smirked more before licking his lip, “so unfathomably irresistible”.

Kaz lips shifted into a cocky grin as she loudly whimpered his name, her back arching towards the ceiling and legs trembling.

“That’s it darling, just keep being my hands” he encouraged, watching as she softly stroked herself as she rode out her orgasm.

“While I must point out that we could have started this much earlier had you not hid, I do prefer the location” Kaz stated, handing her a towel from her dresser.

“Oh?” She asked, her voice still faint from her climax.

“It means I don’t need to clean my sheets” he smirked teasingly.

She scoffed, feigning offense.

“Hmm, well, I suppose we’ll see if the door will be unlocked next time or not” she teased, delicately cleaning herself up.

Kaz squinted at her as he pulled his trousers back up.

“Fine, I can begin washing my sheets” he complied.

“You haven’t been washing them?!” She gasped, wanting to smack his shoulder.

Kaz chuckled, a laugh he’d only allow the person currently before him to ever hear, “Of course I’ve cleaned them; you sweat in your sleep”.

Y/n’s jaw dropped as she stared at him in shock, somehow mortified over the idea of her sleep sweating in his bed, despite what just happened in here between them.

Kaz laughed loudly, his dimples showing as he shook his head, “darling, it was a joke. You’re perfect”.

Y/n placed the towel on the other side of her, turning to face Kaz as she tugged on her blanket.

He smiled tenderly at her - another behavior only she’d witness- before standing to help pull her blanket over her body the way she wanted.

His gloved hands were sure to never touch her skin during the act.

But, as he set the fabric over her bare chest, he sucked in a deep breath before he slid his gloved fingers under her arm to tuck in the blanket.

He’d touched her skin more directly than that by now, but after the intensity of the moment immediately prior, he didn’t want to risk ruining the intimate moment they shared by taking a chance.

She smiled up at him, her body relaxed and eyes heavy.

Kaz nodded as he sat back down in his chair.

“Kaz” She whispered, waiting until he nodded again for her to continue.

“Do I swear in my sleep?” She asked, making him laugh again.

He rolled his eyes, “I honestly would not know. It’s my obsessive need to stick to a routine that prompts me to wash our sheets, not you “.

Her shoulders lowered as she nodded happily, “okay. So your room next time?”.

Kaz smirked, resting his gloved palm a few centimeters from her arm, “as long as you’ll continue to be my hands for now, we can do whichever room”.

“If you’ll be my hands taking care of you, I’ll be yours” y/n promised, grinning tiredly at him.

Kaz nodded in agreement, “the deal is the deal. Now, rest”.

Y/n grinned at him once more before letting her eyes close, peacefully falling asleep.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

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“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you

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scorpioracha · 8 months

Text

Skz at carnival

Okay I tried to do something a bit different here where it’s not quite x reader but reader is heavily implied multiple times throughout the hc’s. Lemme know if you like it and don’t forget I live off of reblogs,comments and likes

Pls validate me🧍🏾‍♀️

Bang Chan 방찬

-Carnival dad. I know it sounds stereotypical cause channie is dad/daddy/brother coded but why is he the only one who remembered water,snacks and cash hmm🤨

-Doesn’t really get too involved in the festivities because he’s busy keeping an eye on everyone

-Definitely does headcount’s every five minutes and gives himself minor heart attacks if he can’t immediately find one of you guys

-two words. Buddy. System. You get a buddy!you get a buddy! everyone gets a buddy!!🥳 but being buddies with Chan is a low key punishment cause it means you were doing a lil too much and he saw his career flash before his eyes😭

-there will be no wine catching on this mans watch. Homie is the opp fr😭😭 got his arms folded and everything waiting for one of y’all to get out of line

-overall a stick in the mud and would definitely have more fun if he couldn’t feel mister Park Jin-Young breathing down his neck😩

Lee know 리노

-homie is fascinated. From a dancers point of view he hit the holy grail. He’s literally just standing there like 👁️👄👁️🧍🏻‍♂️ just trying to soak it in because he’s never really seen anything like it.

-oh boy

-once he got a few shots in him he is Chan’s worst nightmare. He broke off from the group and is found twenty minutes later rizzing up anybody who would listen for a quick dance lesson because he needs to learn how to tic and tock😭

-ends up becoming Chan’s first buddy of the day and ends up sulking his way out of it by pulling the dongsaeng card.

-secretly taking videos to send to their choreographer for their comeback

Changbin 창빈

-Changbin got him a plate,a cola champagne and a view. He is not causing no fuss cause he’s getting his protein gains in and seeing some ass LMAO he is a simple man.

-definitely gets smacked upside the head though for trying to get a dancers number knowing damn well the netizens would eat his ass alive🙄

-It’s okay cause he’s back in chan’s good graces with some aegyo and a bite of his beef patty

-also because he basically tackles your ass to the ground for throwing it back on jisung

Hyunjin 현진

-baby boy is basically in an artist’s paradise. All the colors, the lights, the atmosphere. He pretty much wanders around with his sketchbook trying to capture just how live the place is.

-his waistline got a mind of they own though and he’s a fast learner so he doesn’t know what Chan was expecting with you two🙄 like damn dad why can’t it just be a wine between friends🙄🙄

-him,Felix and jisung end up in a like wining train that basically has Chan ready to rip his hair out folicile by follicle because that’s exactly what he told them not to do😃

-besties he is faded by the end of the night off coquito and piña colada’s😭He’s covered in glitter and feathers and has lipsticks stains from he doesn’t even know who.

-is literally returned to Chan hauled over Changbin’s shoulder giggling and mumbling about how it was the best day ever and they should go every year

Jisung 지성 & Felix 필릭스

-Jisung didn’t even wanna come🧍🏾‍♀️

-a crowed street with loud music,lots of people and nowhere to plug in his phone was not the wave. He tried to stick with Minho for the most part but when the liquor hit and kitty boy because a train wreck he realized that was no longer a feasible option😭

-his next best bet is Felix but he was not ready for the extrovert to extrovert😭😭

-he’s just trailing behind the blonde like a lost puppy until the initial new setting uneasiness wears off and he realizes he kinda likes it

-in the next hour he’s got a random countries flag wrapped around his waist and him and Felix managed to climb on top of a float and put those waistlines to work 😩

-Chan has never called for a driver so fast because their asses got sent ✨HOME✨

Seungmin 성민

-to put it bluntly seungmin didn’t go because it’s not really his scene but he thoroughly enjoyed watching the group chat blow up and Chan’s sanity slowly decline from the comfort of his bed

-he also enjoyed that video hyunjin took of you wining on jisung before their fun got cut short

Jeongin 정인

-he was so good and obedient the entire time that Chan lowkey forget he was there 😭

-he kinda wandered off on his own when Chan wasn’t looking at found his way towards the beginning of the parade where things were just a lot quieter and did his little tourist thing

-went to gift shops, took pictures of the floats,the dancers, the ocean, etc and kinda found himself planted in a Starbucks watching from the window and playing games on his phone

-had the gc muted so is literally so detached from the events that happened that day.

-he’s over here posting his little OOTD’s like “had a great time at carnival🎆💃🏾” while Chan and the PR time are trying to do damage control 😭

All in all everyone who went had fun but Chan

#skz #skz fluff #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #skz x y/n #skz reactions #skz scenarios #skz at carnival!!#skz bang chan #skz changbin #skz minho #skz seungmin #skz jisung #skz jeongin #skz felix #skz hyunjin

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zoros-bandana · 1 year

Note

Hi <3

I really love your content and i know i already texted you about this but i really need some Zoro comfort stories.

I am just thinking about y/n and zoro dancing in the rain on the Sunny in evening or night.

Love you and your stories, i really just read yours cause they are the best.

Hi lovely I'm so glad to finally be able to get to this request for you :)

Summer Rain

Zoro x reader fluff/comforting words

Warning: N/A

Summary: A wash of heavy rain flooded the sunny for days on end, turning the one bright and cheerful ship into a hidden cave. Stuck inside by Zoro's side, you express your woe of the weather, only to find yourself swept into a unexpected array of affection.

Word Count: 1,600

You watched the rain trickle down the window, slumping back in your seat with a heavy sigh. You caught the attention of your lover, averting his eye away from his vigorous training. There were few things that Zoro would pour his attention into in an instant; yourself being one of those few things.

"What's with the drama?" Zoro questioned, referring to your exhale. He dropped down the weight that once hung over his head, wiping away the beads of sweat that clung to his forehead.

"This weather is just so..." you fumbled for the right word, being careful not to pick something he wouldn't understand. You could tell he was watching, the cogs in his head slowly working, attempting to pick up on what you were trying to spit out.

"Wet?"

Well, at least he tried.

"Well yes" you admitted, turning to face him. You cupped your chin into your palm, leaning against the arm of the chair, carefully situated for your convenience when joining Zoro in the crows nest. You had proudly marked your space with a corner of your own, knowing the endless hours spent here to keep yourself occupied.

"But this weather also makes me feel sad"

"Then don't look outside"

"Gee, thanks" you rolled your eyes. "Why didn't I think go that?"

There was a beat where neither of you spoke, Zoro turning back to his weights as if the conversation had finished. He was hopeless on pressing for more questions, concluding if you wanted to talk you would state your mind; as much as it interrupted him.

"I feel like the weather and my mood are connected. When it's bright and clear I am happier, almost lighter, and when it's like this..."

"You sulk in a chair?"

You sighed again, agreeing with his statement.

Again it grew quiet, the patters of rain soothing over some white noise, the presence of Zoro the only stable item to keep you from drifting off. In a more perfect world you would love him to help, to question your sadness and make you feel more at ease. But why wait for perfection when you could have him, just the way he was. Because truely in the end there was nothing he could do to waver this feeling inside you, as much as you wished he could.

Or so you thought.

Continuing to watch, your eyes followed Zoro around the room, keeping track of his repetitions and calling out when he needed you. It was a quiet and rehearsed routine, one both of you had encountered many times before. You both fell into a rhythm of your days, intwined in a peaceful marriage that fit your lives in perfect harmony. It eased him to have you in his presence to support him, still unfamiliar to him in all aspects of his relationship with you; wishing to support you just as vividly.

Finishing off his session Zoro made his way to you, picking up his towel on the way. He gave a knowing look as he wiped his face over, gently bowing down to your level, pressing a swift peck against your lips. Despite his poor hygiene his scent was rather addicting, his natural odour underlying with sweet musk and metallic undertones from his swords. The closeness of his body never angered or disgusted you, despite what your friends thought, letting your bond become closer, almost soul-binding.

The grey of his eye swerved away from your face, glancing out the window with a smooth hum that vibrated against his lips. "I do have an idea".

Zoro stood back up, his smile now etched into a smirk, outstretching his hand to you. He was a man of few words, and when he had a look of confidence you knew better than to argue against his plan. Taking his hand in yours you could feel the harsh grooves and callouses tickle your skin, his finger wrapping around you to squeeze tight. He worked to pull you up, holding back his strength to let your rise naturally, showing his caring and nurturing side.

You followed Zoro as he lead you outside, the snap of cold wind whipping around you both as you stood on the wrap-around balcony. The rain came over you both in a stream, peppering your skin in delicate kisses of life. The ship stood grey, not a single body in sight, the wind whipping over the deck in a cloud of harmonious whistles. It was hauntingly beautiful, acting out like you were the only two still aboard the forgotten ship.

Your attention drifted as Zoro's body turned to you, letting you meet his face, beautifully lit by the cautious light behind the clouds above. He stayed unbothered by the pelting rain, like he needed the refreshment after his training. And you had no doubt he would count this as his weekly shower.

"Zoro?" you laughed, his body pulling you into his. You were still clueless of his plan, hoping he would give you some clarity to his strange behaviour leading you to both become soaked.

"Just trust me"

His hand found its way to your other hand, linking together in a hold. There was a bit of curiosity in his eye, looking around down below for any trace of your friends; hopeless to him in the thick of rain. Zoro had hoped nobody would dare embrace the rain as he did, giving you both the freedom and peace he was after.

Returning his gaze back down to you, Zoro stepped back, letting your arms swing out before returning you back to him, your body stepping forward. Pausing he waited for you to pull away to protest his idea, a slight squeeze of your hands assuring you would stay put.

Zoro's right hand let go of you, carefully holding his arm above your head as he moved, letting you spin under his arm and return back for him to hold you. His body swayed close to you, your bodies turning around in a small circle, stumbling to hold his grip at the rain picked up.

If it were anyone else, you were sure this wouldn't work, heightening your mood more by the uncomfortable damp that surrounded you. But Zoro acted as a shield, his body so large and comforting as he stood close, giving off a warmth that felt like fire running through you. His presence was enriching, showing you sides to himself that acted alien to his usual persona, feeling your love for him more. He was cautious and kind, making sure you knew how loved you were with him, and if he was to act a fool and dance for you that was something he was prepared to do.

Joining in his now obvious plan, you decided to match his dancing, a slight shiver encouraging you to move. You moved more clumsily around each other, tiptoeing around the balcony as you slipped. A string of laughter encapsulated you both as your twirled, your body spinning as you moved under his arm, retuning back to have him hold you before spinning once more. You were dizzy, unable to keep up with your changing surroundings, however, you didn't mind. It had been days where you had felt this happy, this content and free, wishing to stay trapped in this bubble with him.

Finding the way to the small of your back, Zoro placed his hand, attempting a rather incoherent slow-dance. He had no sense of rhythm or keeping in time but that refused to stop him taking charge of the dance. Your feet hopped over his, balancing over the caps of his shoes for stability, letting him move around in an out-of-time circle. The wind acted as a song, carrying you around in a sweet escape, unknown to anyone but the two of you; your own private paradise.

Zoro's back slammed into the wall of the crows nest, your face diving into his chest with a heavy smack. Laughing at your fall, he wrapped his arms around your body, keeping you still against his bare chest. His skin was now damp, ragged breathing indicating his refusal to continue, uncomfortably worn out. Reaching out you tightened your arms around his back, your head tilting up to rest your chin against him.

Instantly he was looking at you, that same loving and direct smile that warmed your stomach. His face was soft, unrecognisable, searching your own with every ounce of adoration as the first time he admitted he loved you.

Bashful, you looked away, luring yourself in his chest with a coy yelp. His chest quivered, leaning down to reach you as if you were too far away; his lips falling atop of your head.

"I love you, yeah? Whatever happens I will try and make the best of your struggles and help you to see there is nothing to be fearful or sad about"

He squeezed you, reassuring his words as he spoke louder, wishing to be heard over the rain. "I will always be here no matter what, and I will always make sure you are my priority, Y/n. I know I may shrug off your feelings somethings but I deeply care, and I will always love you, my girl"

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xamaxenta · 9 months

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Maybe the reason I love bird Marco so much is my job but have a series of headcannons feat: legit things birds have done at my work

One day Marco really wants attention and is particularly phoenix brained so he has a spree around the ship and:

Sneaks food into every crew members pockets he thinks needs it. Not all of this food is good pocket food and includes chunks of egg and lunch meat. (A crow we were feeding legit snuck this into our pockets during a cage clean)

Picks at izous loose hair in an attempt to groom him and instead accidentally pulls a bit out. Gets swatted for it and sulks in a corner like he’s been murdered for straight hours, makes sure to follow izou around to make sure he knows just how sad he made this poor little phoenix (none of us felt sorry for the raven the hair rip looked like it hurt)

Was so enthusiastic about lunch he got all of his feathers dirty somehow then pitched a fit when he had to be forced into a bath

Hid in the roof of a room somehow squawking occasionally and watching amused while everyone in the room freaked out but couldn’t find him (the owl was amused we were not)

Demanded pops scratches and bit hard every time he stops locking pops onto essentially a hostage situation

Tbh I’ve got more of these that could work for Marco too lol

These are all delightful i love birds so much theyre such funky little critters with so much personality in comparison to their body weight

“When Marco is particularly phoenix brained” 🥰 sometimes the instinct overrides the man i love that

He just has to hope these episodes only happen when he’s home on the Moby and not whilst theyre docked or something

Please consider Marco’s very early wanted poster and bounty was for “big blue parrot, ship pet wanted for constant petty theft, 500beli”

#younger phoenix marco getting absolutely absorbed in stealing trinkets for his captain haha #pops doesnt mind the odd heist here or there but he doesnt believe in stealing from small businesses #always made sure to send some money if Marco did accidentally pinch something from a local jeweler #roger was always like damn youve got more wearable gold than the average noblewoman Newgate #pops is like why jealous?#roger turns to buggy like why dont u pickpocket rich ppl kiddo

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samstree · 2 years

Text

when the gusts came around to blow me down

Jaskier’s painful realization that he’s getting old. (explicit ☆ 3.5k, just sex shenanigans and old men being sappy ☆ AO3)

Jaskier is getting old.

It’s a gradual process, one that he doesn’t realize at first. He tends to forget about time when traveling with his witcher, years after years, but time catches up with him.

First, it’s the specs. He finds himself holding his notebook further and further away from his face, until his arm is stretched straight but the words are still blurry. Geralt has that look on his face, like he’s trying to say something but doesn’t dare. He ends up sighing heavily, wordlessly taking Jaskier to the shop where he got reading glasses for himself a few years ago.

Jaskier sulks once he steps into the door, going on about how the whole trip is unnecessary because his eyesight is perfectly fine. The whining stops the moment he has the specs on his nose.

Jaskier blinks, and digs out an old notebook from his pocket. He oohs and ahs for the rest of the day, marveling at the wonder that is being able to read his own writing. The good mood almost makes him forget he can no longer make fun of Geralt when wearing those half-moon-shaped reading glasses. He will have to find another way to joke about being married to an older man, now that he matches his husband.

He puts a beaded string on his glasses, just so he doesn’t lose them.

And then comes the insomnia.

The sky barely shimmers with the faintest morning light, and Jaskier would wake up, his back soaked with sweat despite the cool weather. If they are camping outside, Geralt often starts awake with him, mistaking Jaskier’s panic for a potential threat.

He tries to keep Jaskier company in hushed conversation, the whispered exchange like a soothing balm. They talk about everything and nothing at all, inconsequential stories, strange dreams, but sleep pulls Geralt under quickly enough. No matter how much he fights sleep for Jaskier, the witcher falls asleep too easily these days—his insomnia has long since been cured by Jaskier’s presence next to him.

The unfairness of it all causes a pang of loneliness. Jaskier doesn’t have the heart to keep Geralt up for his sake, so he develops a habit of walking. The moon calms him enough for a short nap before dawn cracks.

But when they find themselves in a small inn room and a smaller bed, where Geralt reaches out in sleep subconsciously and uses Jaskier as a cuddle toy, there’s not much to be done. With his husband snoring peacefully, Jaskier can only count the hours until daybreak.

Standing in front of a mirror, with dark circles under his eyes, Jaskier finds silver streaks peppering his beard and lines deepening near his temples. He could have dismissed Yennefer’s snarky comment about his crow’s feet back then, but years have passed, and even he can’t deny it now.

He traces those lines when Geralt comes up behind him. A gentle kiss lands right where the wrinkles are, and Jaskier turns away from the mirror, away from the brief moment of self-pitying.

After that, it’s the slowing of everything.

It happens to all that he adores, from writing to dancing, to the wild gestures of his hands, and his pace next to the man he follows.

So Jaskier copes. He pours more hours into music when inspirations are few and far between. He books performances at courts all over the north, hoping his feet will remember the steps with practice. He finds a horse, and with Pegasus, he copes.

The road between Lyria and Vengerberg feels twice as long compared to when they covered the same distance ten years ago. Jaskier hurts all over from the long day of travel, his mind numb and hazy, but stubbornly, he brushes off Geralt’s concern and tells him to keep going. Midnight has passed but they are nowhere near any inns at the edge of the city.

Jaskier’s bones grow heavier. He feels like falling apart at the next jostle, his limbs only held together by sore muscles and sheer spite. He nearly falls asleep on top of Pegasus. When Geralt points it out, all the frustration bursts into annoyance. The next thing he knows, his voice is raised and venom is spewing out of his mouth.

Snapping at his husband sobers Jaskier up instantly. Guilt churns in his stomach, silencing him for the next hour until the first farmhouse appears on the horizon. Despite his earlier tantrum, Geralt still catches Jaskier when he nearly falls off Pegasus in a poor attempt to dismount.

“What is with you lately?” Geralt settles Jaskier on the straw mattress to unlace his boots, messaging the cramping in his legs. Tension hangs in the air, and tiredness bleeds into Geralt’s voice. “You were never like this.”

No, he wasn’t.

Jaskier used to compose through the night and not need a break, and he used to walk for days and days on end without being overtired. He used to stay up when nightmares plague Geralt, singing soft lullabies that eased his dreams. Now he sits through the night in silence while Geralt sleeps on. He puts away his lute while Geralt earns their keep. He rests while Geralt moves forward.

Geralt will always be moving forward. It’s a witcher’s path.

And Jaskier will not be able to catch up one day.

He swallows the lump in his throat, and keeps his back to Geralt for the rest of the night, leaving the space between them empty.

Being back in Kaer Morhen in the summer is a rarity, but Geralt insisted on making the round trip.

Jaskier knows it’s for his benefit, with him being so wound up lately, but neither of them points it out. His husband is sweet with his clumsy love, his eyes soft and pleading, so Jaskier can only answer with an equally soft yes.

Kaer Morhen stands tall, ancient and unchanging. The air is crisp up in the mountains, all the summer heat left in the world below, far away from the brief respite of home. Jaskier cradles a book in his lap, whiling away the day on their shared bed, burrowed into the softness of his favorite pillows.

The sun sets late in the evening, painting the entire bedroom in golden orange. When Geralt walks in, his eyes are warm with desire.

Jaskier giggles into the first kiss when his glasses get in the way. He folds it up and places it on the nightstand carefully. The next kiss leads to another, and another.

Soon, Jaskier finds himself under Geralt’s body, pressed comfortably into the mattress. He tries to untie his husband’s shirt with fumbling hands, but only ends up making the knots tighter. He laughs, and feels the deep rumbling of Geralt’s laugh in return.

Everything is right, every touch, every kiss.

Geralt has learned all the tricks of Jaskier’s body, mapped out every spot of pleasure in his memories. He removes Jaskier’s clothes with single-minded attention, taking time with every inch of exposed skin. He treats Jaskier like a present to be unwrapped, and in the process, his own pleasure builds in those little gasps and moans against Jaskier’s skin.

There’s just one problem—Jaskier can’t seem to get it up.

“Alright?” Geralt checks before pressing another open-mouthed kiss at Jaskier’s pulse point, teasing the way he knows can drive Jaskier crazy. It should light up all the nerves in Jaskier’s body, making heat coil in his lower stomach. It doesn’t.

“Geralt…”

Jaskier tries to voice his confusion, but Geralt’s hand reaches down and wraps around his cock, his kisses peppered across the expanse of Jaskier’s chest. “It’s okay, take your time. You are doing so well,” he murmurs. “Beautiful. Jaskier… My Jaskier.”

Geralt is doing everything right—his gentle praises, his mouth, his fingers, stroking Jaskier without hurry, trying to build pleasure in him. It takes a painful stretch of time for Jaskier to realize he is still soft in Geralt’s palm.

“Wait,” he says, breathing hard but not from lust, but the frustration growing in his chest. “Geralt, love, I don’t think it’s happening.”

Geralt hums before pulling away, just a little, enough for Jaskier to see how utterly bestowed he is. Hair messy and cheeks flushed, Geralt’s want is clear as day, and Jaskier wants him in return. Gods, Jaskier wants him.

If only his body can just…listen to his heart.

“I got you,” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s hair sweetly. He takes a pause, threading their fingers together and giving Jaskier space to breathe. “We have all the time in the world. I got you, Jask. Just relax for me.”

Jaskier tries, but a sense of powerlessness weighs on him, bordering on panic. He hikes a leg higher and feels Geralt’s erection against his thigh, but Jaskier remains pathetically soft himself.

“I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you. Hush, just let me.”

Geralt’s lips trace the fragile lines of Jaskier’s collarbone, sucking gently, trailing down to kiss Jaskier’s sternum, his ribs, and then lower. Callused hands steady Jaskier by the hips. When Jaskier looks down, his husband’s eyes are dark, his tongue sticking out to wet his lips.

Realizing Geralt’s intention, Jaskier lets out a yelp. “Darling, you don’t have to—”

“Swore to take care of you, didn’t I?” Geralt whispers, a brow raised.

His mouth trails lower, ready to take Jaskier in, and suddenly everything is too much. All the patience, all the tenderness, Jaskier is painfully aware of how he doesn’t deserve any of it. Geralt has been nothing but lovely about his aging body, his desire never diminishing as the years pass by, but here Jaskier is. He can’t even get properly hard for his husband.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes, his face pinched. “Geralt, stop.”

Geralt pulls away immediately, silent at the interruption.

Jaskier covers his face with an arm, hiding from a whirlwind of embarrassment and shame. He curses himself inwardly as Geralt shuffles between the sheets.

Geralt rests his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, his chest rising and falling, his breaths fanning over Jaskier’s skin.

“It’s alright. It happens.”

“No, not to me,” Jaskier argues stubbornly. “I’m me.”

A huff tickles Jaskier’s chest hair.

“The bard and all his fame. Who would have thought?” There’s a tiny smile in Geralt’s voice. “There would come a day when you can’t keep up in the bedroom.”

Jaskier’s heart drops, a cold, empty feeling spreading through his chest.

He’s known it for a while now, but hearing the words spoken out loud is still a blow to his ego. He can’t even keep up with his husband in the bedroom, how will he keep up anywhere else?

It suddenly feels too vulnerable, with Jaskier’s naked body on display, all the signs of his age exposed—every wrinkle, every strand of grey hair, the soft skin over thinned muscles. He turns away from Geralt and finds one of the blankets to cover himself up.

Geralt rolls out of the bed slowly, leaving Jaskier be. There’s a small basin in the room, so he washes up there, splashing water on his face. Jaskier remains still, and when Geralt rejoins him, he burrows his face further into the blanket.

“Jaskier?” A hand shakes him by the shoulder. “Don’t hide from me.”

Geralt’s weight settles behind Jaskier, dipping the mattress, so he shifts away a little.

“Not hiding,” Jaskier lies.

“Was it something I said?” A trace of fear shifts into the beautiful baritone of Geralt’s voice. “Did I do anything you don’t like?”

He flips Jaskier over gently and peels away the blanket despite the bard’s struggling. With the help of cold water, the blush has receded from Geralt’s face, wetting the stray hair around his face, curling it to frame his face nicely. With the glow of the setting sun, Geralt is as beautiful as the day Jaskier met him all those years ago, his eyes warm like honey, patient and free of judgment.

“Not your fault.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles. “You were perfect. You are perfect, and that’s the problem.”

His answer does not lift the concern on Geralt’s face, so he explains.

“It’s me. I can’t keep up with you anymore.”

With that, Geralt rests his head on the pillow so he’s at eye level with Jaskier, who shifts on his side so they are face to face. When Geralt speaks, his words are hushed as if it’s just another late-night conversation between them, an exchange of secrets.

“Is this why you’ve been acting differently?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Jaskier winces at the guilt of making Geralt worry. “Should I? I feel different.”

“And what about it?” Geralt asks gently. “Why are you hiding it from me?”

Jaskier sighs, letting the tension in his shoulders drop. His hands find Geralt’s to keep it at his chest, pressing Geralt’s palm against his heartbeat.

“In case you didn’t notice, darling, I’m getting old.”

To Jaskier’s surprise, a tiny smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s mouth, his face lighting up, full of wonder and happiness.

“You are,” he echoes, reverently.

Jaskier’s breath catches, his heart quickening.

“I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about it. I’ve changed so much already. I can’t travel far in one day. I need many breaks because I’m tired all the time. My eyesight is poor and my wrists hurt if I so much as write for too long. Now I can’t even…”

“I don’t mind.” Geralt tries to intercept but Jaskier ignores him.

“I can’t even take care of my husband, my loveliest, most wonderful husband, even though I want you so much. You must know I do! I’m just not young like I used to be.” Jaskier huffs. “And by the gods, I was young back then, thinking I could just follow you forever and nothing could stop me. But now, it’s just time. Not monsters and villains, or even those damned wars. Time. It’s going to defeat me, slow me down to the point where I have to…”

Jaskier’s vision blurs. The bard sucks in a shuddering breath, lowering his eyes, reluctant to finish the sentence.

“Have to what?”

Jaskier chuckles wetly, bitterly. “I have to let you go.”

Geralt looks crestfallen. “That’s not true—”

“You are being kind because you love me. It took me time to believe it, but I won’t doubt that you do. Still, you need to admit I cannot be on a witcher’s path forever.”

“You are my husband,” Geralt says in all seriousness, cradling Jaskier’s face in his palm. “I made a promise to take care of you.”

“And I promised the same. Tell me, how will I be able to do that now that I’m growing old and weak, while you are still the same witcher you’ve always been? I’m... I’m falling behind. I’ve felt it for years, this slowing of all things. It’s gradual but it’s there, and it’s not to be reversed. One day I may be too slow for you, dear.”

Geralt looks pained, unsure of himself, but he remains gentle. He’s always gentle these days, even when they are arguing, even when Jaskier is being his stubborn self and won’t be convinced.

“Did it ever cross your mind,” Geralt pauses, “that I could just... wait for you?”

Jaskier stares as Geralt brushes his hair away, playing with the curled strand behind his ear.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Geralt tilts his head. “You’ve been so obsessed by your idea of what I need—no, what you assume I need—that you never noticed my willingness to simply slow down for you. Yes, you don’t walk as fast as you used to, but that’s why we have Pegasus. That’s why I spend more time making sure you are comfortable on the road. You have trouble sleeping. I don’t mind that either. You used to help me with my insomnia. It’s time I returned the favor anyway. And if you get tired, can’t sing or write that much, just rest.” He shrugs. “I’ll provide for us.”

Jaskier’s eyes sting with tears, his throat constricting, not being able to tell apart the storm of emotions in his chest. “We’d be broke on most days,” he teases.

“I’d still keep you fed and clothed. Everything I have will be yours.”

“You’ll be doing more heavy lifting in this relationship, while I grow old and grouchy.” Jaskier pouts. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“As if I don’t do it already.” Geralt boops Jaskier’s nose. “Besides, I signed up for all the work when I married my grouchy human bard.”

Jaskier huffs, remembering all Geralt’s old flings who were way more than just breakable flesh and bones and could match a witcher’s life span. Maybe they all would have been the easier choices, he thinks pettily.

“It could have all been avoided if you hadn’t married a human bard. Maybe you should have sailed into the sunset with one of you many, many, many sorceress friends,” Jaskier mumbles, his nose wrinkling.

“You know there weren’t that many.” Geralt sighs long-sufferingly. “Are we still jealous, after all these years?”

“Not jealous. Just a sense of lacking, somehow. A poet is allowed to brood over his mortality, you know? You are supposed to be the expert of this particular art form.”

“Hmm. There’s also an easy cure for brooding, one that you are the expert of.” Geralt’s eyes crinkle. “May I kiss you?”

“Oh,” Jaskier says. “Yes, you may. Always.”

The kiss draws out in a languid rhythm, not demanding anything. It lightens Jaskier’s heart, and does end up lifting his spirit tremendously.

A simple cure, for an old man’s weary heart. Not too song-worthy, but it’s something.

Geralt hums proudly. The sun is nearly lowered into the mountains, but his joy is bright.

“I just wish you’d told me sooner, so you didn’t have to spiral in silence. It worries me.”

“You worry, and I overthink. What a pair we make,” Jaskier sniffs.

“Yes.” A grin is back on Geralt’s face. “And we get to grow old together. It’s the closest I can get, at least. That makes me the luckiest witcher alive, so thank you, Jaskier, for marrying me.”

Something flutters in Jaskier’s chest, and the urge to marry his husband all over again is overwhelming. Perhaps he should. One day, he shall take Geralt back to the edge of the world and pledge his vows once again. It’s going to take a long journey in his current body, but now that the idea has sprouted, Jaskier knows the flowers of Dol Blathanna are waiting for their return.

But that’s a thought for another day.

“Any time,” Jaskier answers. “Still, today’s performance cannot happen again—well, the lack thereof. I’d like to make love to my husband at some point. Can’t let him stray from my bed. I’ll never find anyone as sweet as him if someone else catches his eye.”

Jaskier’s hand moves up to Geralt’s shoulder, where his silver hair pools on one side. He cards his fingers through the knots, untangling them carefully. Geralt watches him, content and full of love.

His eyes—caught by Jaskier, completely and unreservedly.

“What?” the bard jokes, so he doesn’t end up crying. “Falling in love with me? It’s a common ailment, I heard.”

“I’m sure it’s fatal.” Geralt deadpans, tugging Jaskier into his embrace. “Just shut up and come here.”

They lie back against the pillows, with Jaskier gathered in Geralt’s arms. The witcher buries his nose in Jaskier’s hair, right where the grey streaks are.

Jaskier finds a comfortable position for himself, putting his weight on Geralt and resting his ear against his husband’s chest, listening to the slow beating of a witcher’s heart. He tangles the wolf medallion around his fingers, and untangles it.

“Good?” Jaskier asks. “I’m not too heavy?”

“Just right.” Geralt hums, pleased. “And I can’t, you know?”

“Can’t what?”

“End up in someone else’s bed. Don’t want to be anywhere if it’s not you. Your presence, it’s all I want. It settles me, keeps me grounded. I’d stay in your bed even if we never get up to anything more than this, I promise. Besides, we can try some new tricks, take some time. We’ll need to be careful of your creaky joints while doing it, but we can figure it out together.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. I have ideas.”

“Oh?”

“Later. For now, we can just… be.”

Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, letting Geralt’s presence ground him in return. “Yes, let’s nap under the sun like all the old couples do. I’m seeing the appeal of it recently. Naps are truly what life is about.”

“Hmm, perhaps.”

“Of course you know already. You are a hundred years old, and life has no more mysteries when you are practically a fossil.”

“If I am, what are you? We might just turn into fossils together.”

The sunlight paints the back of Jaskier’s eyelids pink, and he lets out the longest purr, his soul coming apart in the place where he feels most whole.

“We might,” he agrees, loose-limbed and smiling, “but not now. Now, we have time.”

#ignore that i try to post it yesterday #geraskier #geraskier fic #old jaskier #bad sex #sex troubles #and all the sappiness

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elysianrey · 1 year

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adante

(a/n: I wrote this as a companion piece to @whatanybodygets’s kanej fic, Adagio. This short fic explores a soft moment set in the distant future of the world she’s created between Kaz and Inej. I’ve been thinking about this hypothetical moment ever since I finished her WIP yesterday and this is what resulted! I hope you enjoy! also, if you’re not up to date with that fic, what are you doing with your life?!)

pairing: kaz brekker/inej ghafa

rating: T

tw: chronic pain

The sun is slowly beginning to peek above the collection of tightly clustered apartment buildings in the red light district when Inej sets down her familiar morning routine on the wine crate turned coffee table, saving the cup of heavily spiced tea to serve as a source of warmth on the chilly autumn morning in Ketterdam. Despite the apparent temperature drop, she glides toward the doors leading to the juliet balcony, unlocking the hinge and cracking it open, the city smells and noises immediately enveloping her senses. The cheap perfume from the pleasure houses a few blocks down is inescapable as well as the sounds of crows squawking over the overflowing waste bin at the corner of the street. A small grin blooms across her features, the reality of her life coming to the forefront of her mind.

This is home in the strangest, yet most comforting sense of the word.

She turns around, taking another sip of her steaming mug, and sets it atop the makeshift coffee table. It’s well-past the usual waking time for her companion, but she lets him sleep, knowing he came roughly limping into their shared space only hours ago. Inej pushes the crate against the wall as quietly as possible, then begins her stretching routine on the faded blue rug, her back muscles sighing in relief as she grasps the soles of her feet. Since retiring from the company two years ago, her outlet and purpose had become the studio she opened for the children in West Stave. Teaching dozens of classes each week did not come without consequence, even for her, with years of experience. She always manages to lose a toenail or overextend a limb.

Reaching for the muscle roller on the coffee table, Inej aligns the grooves with the twisting muscles in her lower back and begins to knead out the ache, relief causing her to let out a soft sigh of content. She would defend the effectiveness of using muscle rollers with her life simply because they have never failed to alleviate the pain that’s come with being a professional athlete.

The tell-tale sign of stirring sounds through the paper-thin walls of their bedroom, and not ten minutes later, a disheveled Kaz Brekker comes thumping into the small living and kitchen space, his cane extra loud on the wood floor. From her place on the carpet, Inej can already tell he is hurting exceptionally bad by the harshness of his walk. She continues the back and forth motion of moving the foam roller up and down her spine, her eyes closed, drawing in deep, belly-filling breaths until he quite literally, collapses on the threadbare couch beside her, muttering curses only Kaz Brekker would say at 6:30 in the morning.

“Saints Inej, it’s fucking freezing in here,” he grumbles, which leads to her cracking an eyelid open to take in his oversized, sulking form.

“Good morning to you, too,” she replies, halting her massaging to sit upright and properly take in the sight of her bitter, other half. “Late night?”

“Business as usual,” he snaps, practically heaving himself upright to limp over to the balcony doors, shutting them with more force than necessary in her opinion.

His leg nearly gives out on his return to the couch, his breath catching sharply as he reaches for the arm of the furniture. Inej frowns, chest tightening at the pain he’s so obviously experiencing. Typically a change in weather brings weariness to his limb; however, she knows it’s not uncommon for overexertion to equate to the same pain, or even worse, than the mood of the sky.

She presses lightly, “Not to sound like Nina, bu—”

“No,” he shoots back, likely knowing where she is going with the ‘Why don’t you take the painkillers you so often refuse?’ line.

It’s moments such as these that make Inej question why–out of all the perfectly suitable men in the world—did the saints make her so hopelessly attached to the stupidly, stubborn one lying as stiff as a board on their couch with an affixed frown on his stupidly handsome face. She wants nothing more than to argue with him until he eventually relents to defeat and takes the medication, yet perhaps she could attempt a different approach this morning.

Scooting closer to him on her knees, Inej stares at the lines of his sharp, downturned features. Despite their relationship pushing four years, and the progress each of them have made in terms of physical touch, she resists the urge to run the tip of her finger along his jaw, knowing he’s rarely in the mood to accept physical contact, even from her, when he’s hurting so badly. They have learned through trial and error that pain is too close of a trigger to the horrific accident that created his fear in the first place. She will never forget watching him vomit and violently shake with pure terror early on in their relationship after he insisted she could work out the kinks in his shoulders late one evening. It took months before he was willing to accept her touch again.

“What can I do to help you, Kaz?” she says softly, fully aware that he’s going to pretend like he’s entirely fine.

“Nothing.”

The walls are impossible to penetrate when Kaz Brekker is unwilling to let them down.

“Let me help you,” Inej insists, sitting back on her legs to provide space for him to possibly become reasonable.

“I told you, Inej–”

She interjects before he can spout another lie, “I want you to get on the floor.”

This demand gets his attention, his head turning to look at her face, a slight quirk of his eyebrow signaling he was not expecting her request. Inej knows he values a challenge as much as her so it’s nothing short of a miracle from the saints above when he actually obliges, his body ungracefully sliding from the couch down the short distance onto the rug.

“Well that was unex—” she starts to tease before Kaz prods her with the tip of his cane to silence the comment. The tiniest of giggles escapes her throat as she holds up her hands in surrender, saving him from cruel embarrassment.

“Now what?” he bites, leaning back on his elbows, splaying his long body across the floor. His feet practically touch the small island they added last year.

Inej’s mouth goes dry at the view of him on the floor next to her, his hair an unkempt mess, his cotton t-shirt revealing the prominent veins of his pale arms, the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm, and exposing the smallest sliver of skin along the waistband of his sleep pants. Swallowing the distraction away, she forces her thoughts back to the reason she ordered him onto the floor. Her stares do not go unnoticed by the man beside her, and she spots the barest flush of pink on his cheeks at the vulnerable state he’s allowing her to witness him in.

One he most definitely would kill a man over if it came to anyone else in the world other than Inej.

Reaching for her muscle roller, she holds it out for him to accept. His eyes narrow as he glances between the bizarre contraption he’s watched her use on a daily basis and the warm face that is asking him to trust her. In the end, trust outweighs skepticism. Inej bites back the victory grin threatening to show.

Kaz has never been an easy student. Teaching him how to use a muscle roller might as well be like teaching a grizzly bear to perform a grand jete. Since she cannot touch him, Inej provides visual examples with another muscle roller about where to place it under his leg, how to rock his body back and forth over the roller, and the amount of pressure he should apply in the areas that are especially tight. She even demonstrates various hand techniques she’s learned to knead out a muscle spasm on the top of her leg. It’s an arduous task to refrain from biting the bait of arguing with her overgrown student as he grinds out his frustrations and a slew of curses that would put a sailor to shame. Kaz Brekker is clumsy and unsure with the muscle roller under his leg, quite the opposite of his usual daily facade. It nearly makes her laugh–if she also didn’t want to strangle him at the same time.

By the end of their lesson, Kaz is lying on his back, hands over his stomach, panting at the effort of kneading out the pain in his leg. A slick sheen of sweat glistens from the morning sun and causes the front strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. Overall, his body has significantly relaxed much to Inej’s relief.

He reaches out his hand to rest atop hers, turning his head so that their eyes meet. This is a promising sign. “If you ever tell anyone about this, just remember that I know where you live,” he warns half-heartedly, his chest still rising and falling rather rapidly.

Inej’s face breaks out in a full smile. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Brekker?”

“Do you consider me a threat, Ms. Ghafa?” he quips, giving her hand the slightest of squeezes.

“Oh, most definitely,” she concedes, bringing his knuckles to her lips and brushing the barest of kisses upon them.

The corner of Kaz’s mouth ticks upward in a tender grin and Inej knows today will not be the last for stretching lessons with her idiotically, adamant man, yet she would not have it any other way.

find me on ao3

#kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #grishaverse #six of crows #leigh bardugo #fic: adagio #fic recommendation #whatanybodygets #I wrote this #please accept this humble offering #im sick rn and this is my new fixation

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tf-is-fanfic · 2 years

Text

Hoodie (Juice x Reader)

Imma be honest, I have quite a few song related one shots right now. Please just bare with me.

Juice x Reader. Jax x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, drugs, alcohol, happy ending though

Song: Hoodie by Hey Violet

_______________________

Jax came into your room in the clubhouse and sat next to you as you held Juices hoodie in your hands. The only thing he left besides your heart in pieces.

"Hey sis, just came in to check on you. No ones seen you for a little while," Jax said rubbing your shoulder. You knew you needed to suck it up and leave your room, but the thought of seeing Juice again tore you apart.

"I'm fine," you said through tears. He could tell you were lying to save your own ass about barely leaving this room in weeks. You only came out when you knew Juice wasn't there.

"No you're not. Ma is about ready to tear Juices head clean off his shoulders. I want to too. Ma said she'd come and check on you tonight to see if you wanted to go be at the party tonight. I know you're gonna say no but you know how ma is. You're not going to be able to say no," Jax said as he started to get up, "I'll see you tonight."

As Jax left you relaxed into your bed pulling the covers over your head, holding Juices hoodie to your face as you cried. You thought you and Juice had an amazing relationship. He was even talking about you getting his crow. You lived together, making plans for a family later on. But one day, you came home and all of his stuff was packed.

You thought about that day and heard Juices voice echo in your head, "I never loved you (y/n). Just leave me alone."

You sobbed into hoodie as the words repeated in your head. You hadn't been home in weeks. Everything smelled of him. That's when a knock sounded at your door and someone busted in.

"Baby, oh baby, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here," your mom rushed over to you and pulled the blanket off. She pulled you into her and rubbed your back as your cries ripped through your body.

"Why doesn't he love me? Why doesn't he want me? What did I do wrong? Why was I not good enough," you sobbed, gripping her shirt. You were getting tears all over her shirt.

"I don't know baby and don't ever say you're not good enough. You are more than enough and he's just a stupid boy that doesn't know what he's doing," Gemma got noticeably more angry. You were just happy that your dorm was deep enough in the back and that your door was shut so that no one could hear you. So Juice couldn't hear you. "You're coming to the party tonight so get all dolled up and meet us out there in an hour."

You shook your head no but she smacked the back of you head, "You need to come out of your room so you are coming out tonight."

You sat up and nodded your head, "Thanks for being here for me momma. I appreciate all your help."

Gemma was the one that made sure Juice wasn't in the clubhouse when you wanted to come out and told you if he was there or not. She was tired of watching you sulk yourself to death and decided you needed a little bit of fun.

When she left, you sat in your bed for a little bit longer before putting on a cute outfit and doing your hair and makeup. If you were going out there you were going to look like there's nothing wrong with you and be happy for once. You were going to look hot. Make Juice regret his decision.

---------

The party was in full swing by the time you came out. Cheers erupted when the boys saw you and a couple of wolf whistles from Tig and Happy. Most of the boys came up and gave you a hug. Piney gave you a kiss on the top of your head and whispered, "Give him hell, baby."

Everyone had come to greet you except Juice. He just watched you from his seat with a croweater on his arm. Your heart dropped when you saw that. How long has he been with croweaters? You shook off the thought and went up to the bar.

"Well if it isn't the princess of SAMCRO," Happy boomed, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey Hap, how have you been," you smiled, leaning to nudge him.

"Better with you here doll," he joked. You two didn't like each other like that but before you dated Juice, you two were always jokingly flirting. But this time, it was different. It felt wrong.

"Yeah, I bet. I mean look at me," you jokingly flirted back to force a sense of familiarity back in your life. Happy winked and then walked off to talk to Bobby.

You sat drinking a beer, occasionally stealing glances at Juice but he was never looking at you, only that fucking whore of a croweater. Did he really have to do that in front of you? So soon at that.

Jax came up to you, joint in hand and passing it to you for you to hit, "Hey sis. See ma got you down here."

You took a deep drag of the joint before looking at Juice again, "Yeah. Sadly. I would have rather not have seen that."

When you nodded your head towards Juice, Jax's eyes followed and you could see the anger flow through him, "I'll fucking kill him."

"No Jax. It's okay. We aren't together anymore he can do whatever he wants," tears started to come to your eyes before taking another glance at Juice. But this time, he was kissing that croweater. The pang that went through your heart as you looked back to Jax who saw the same thing.

"(y/n), please don't leave," he looked like he was about to murder Juice. You didn't say anything as you threw the joint on the counter and grabbed your beer off the counter and ran. You could hear Jax angrily yelling as you ran down the hall. Gemma came running down the hallway with a pint of jack and a big bottle of coke and knocked on the door. When she opened it you had Juices hoodie on and sobbing loudly with 'Hoodie' by Hey Violet playing on loop. A song you found right after Juice left.

"Oh baby, I'm so sorry," she said as she rubbed your back. She poured you a jack and coke and handed it to you, "Drink up baby. Drink as much as you need."

She got up and walked out. You didn't know she didn't shut the door that made your room borderline soundproof.

You sobbed as you screamed to the words, "I'm still rocking your hoodie

And chewing on the strings It makes me think about you So I wear it when I sleep I kept the broken zipper And cigarette burns Still rocking your hoodie Baby, even though it hurts Still rocking yourI used to put my hand in your pockets (holding on) The smell of your cologne is still on it (but you're still gone) I slip it on over my shoulders Someone I'll never get over It makes me feel a little bit closer to youI can't keep your love I can't keep your kiss Gave you everything and all I got was this"

---Juices POV---

The croweater kissed me out of no where and that when I heard a chair scoot across the floor extremely hard and saw (y/n) running down the hall. Then I heard Jax.

"I'll fucking kill you! How dare you do that to her," he screamed, quickly closing the distance between us. The croweater quickly fled. I saw Gemma come around the corner with bottles in her hand running after (y/n). The music cut as Jax was coming closer.

Suddenly a fist connected with my face. I flew back a little bit, "I'm not going to fight you brother. I know I fucked up. I've lived with that for weeks."

"Then fucking show it Juice! She thinks you never loved her and you know who said that? You," Jax screamed. Gemma came down the hall and then we all could hear it. The most depressing song I've ever heard. My heart broke listening to it. "You better fucking fix this. If you didn't mean what you said to her then fix it."

Jax stormed off and I slowly started walking to her room. Her sobs being heard from a distance. The music started back up, up front and I could barely hear (y/n). When I got to her room and saw the door was slightly open, I stopped and took in her appearance. My hoodie. The tears stains from her makeup. Her hair a mess from pulling at it. My heart broke.

I slowly walked to her speakers and turned that song down. She screamed for me to get out but never looked at who it was. The full pint I saw in Gemmas arms earlier, now almost gone.

"Baby? Baby girl," I slowly called.

---Your POV---

"Baby? Baby girl," you heard him say.

You whipped your head around, standing and glaring daggers at him, "You don't get to call me that anymore."

"(y/n), listen to me. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I was just scared I wasn't good enough for you and I pushed you away. I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry," Juice started to cry.

"You were always good enough for me Juice! I never once showed you that you weren't! If you felt like that you could've just talked to me. Instead, you ripped my heart out and stomped on it," you screamed at him, tears still streaming down your face.

"Baby girl, I'm so sorry. I should've talked to you about it. I know I fucked up. Just please let me make it up to you," he slowly got on his knees literally begging you.

"You kissed her," you sobbed, your body not being able to hold its own weight, you fell to the floor.

Juice immediately pulled you into and as much as you fought him, he wouldn't let go, "I didn't kiss her baby. She kissed me. I couldn't take my eyes off of you all night. She wasn't even on the same planet as you and I."

"You have a lot of making up to do Juan Carlos," you said between sobs.

"I will make it up to you for the rest of my life, baby girl," he said as he raised your head and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. He picked you up and placed you in the bed and crawled in next to you pulling you onto his chest.

His heartbeat and smell calmed you down as your breath started to even out, you looked up at him, "Did you mean it? When you said you never loved me?"

"No baby. I never meant any of what I said to you that day. I love you more and more everyday and these couple of weeks without you have been hell. Can I come home baby," he asked rubbing his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tears that fell away.

You nodded your head and he kissed you with so much love, letting everything around the two of you melt away. You knew you still had to convince Jax to forgive Juice though.

"Get my crow," Juice whispered, still holding your face in his hand.

"Really," you asked, hope filling your body. When he nodded you smiled and shook your head yes, "But first you have to make it up to me. Then we can call Happy."

"I'll do whatever it takes," he smiled at you before kissing you again.

#juiceortizxreader #juicexreader #juice x reader #juice ortiz x reader #soaimagines #soa imagines

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immortalfollies · 2 years

Note

Now that you turned my other ask around, i cannot stop thinking about them just YEETING each other's sacred animals at each other for comfort

LIST TIME LIST TIME

Aphrodite: During a hard week of the quests, Ares spent hours trying to catch a dove for Aphrodite. He could never succeed, since catching wild birds is actually very hard with no tools. He goes to sulk, and ends up almost tripping over a goose, which is another one of Aphrodite's sacred animals. He ends up bringing the goose to Aphrodite as an apology for not being able to catch a dove. She LOVES this goose. It's the most pampered goose in existence.

Apollo: This man has so many sacred animals. Throughout the quests he has been given a crow (Athena) a cow (Dionysus, somehow) a snake that was quickly refused (A very dejected Hermes) and a wolf (Artemis) that he ends up keeping named ουρλιάζω (Apollo is extra)

Ares: Hephaestus and Ares actually work together to help an animal. They find a pitbull in Indiana that's incredibly hostile. She seems like she was used as a fighting dog, and had just run away. The two of them work together to try to get the dog tamed before they have to leave the state. Eventually, the dog is calm enough that she can be kept at the Waystation. Ares does NOT cry when he has to say goodbye.

Artemis: Of all things, Artemis is gifted a Guinea-fowl by Hermes. He was injured, and Hermes had no clue how to handle it. She keeps him for a week before releasing him back into the wild. He was lovingly named Pig by Dionysus.

Athena: Athena never keeps any animal, but Artemis does sit with her to watch the birds at night when she's feeling stressed. She tries to keep an eye out for owls.

Dionysus: As much as Dionysus wishes he could find a tiger, they are sadly in short supply. However, through a very long and convoluted set of circumstances, he manages to obtain a donkey. Frederick the donkey is Dionysus' pride and joy, and basically his emotional support animal (Though he sadly has to share custody with Hephaestus)

Hephaestus: Apparently the sharer of animals, Hephaestus helps Ares tame the pitbull, as well as sharing joint-custody of a donkey with Dionysus. Sprocket the donkey ("His name is not Frederick, Dionysus.") works as Hephaestus' pack mule, carrying inventions and scraps for him as they go on their quests. A valiant steed, for sure.

Hermes: To cheer Hermes up, Apollo found him a tortoise. Hermes likes putting her on his head.

#long post #ask #trials of apollo #redeemthefam #au #sunny speaks #i'm gonna start tagging these lists to make like a masterpost #god list

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hazbincalifornia · 2 years

Text

The Circus: Flash-Forward

Summary: Blitzo thinks back on that first night. Second first night, technically. (Another one of my ‘episode but Blitzo is pregnant’ ficlets for fun and profit. Ao3 link includes all others.)

Wordcount: 950

Ao3 link

It was supposed to just be real fast. He couldn’t stand that look, that voice, the fact that it was apparently a ‘not divorced’ party that he’d crashed and Stolas had hard shit on his breath while sulking alone. Fuck, that sappy side was going to get him eviscerated one of these days.

Then, he’d pulled off both of their pants so he could just stick it in, pump and dump and jump out the window, and it turns out that his height wasn’t the only thing that had sprung up over the past twenty-some years.

Well.

He couldn’t have exactly let such an opportunity pass when it fell into his lap, and he might as well have some fun while he was at it, kill two sinners with one bullet.

The owl had crowed something about divorce when he’d fled smeared in cake and snickering to himself, and he’d figured that everybody won except for that frilly pink boobzilla- who probably wasn’t great in bed herself, considering Stolas had admitted they didn’t have any condoms around because there was ‘no use’ for them. Poor guy had a prize-winning hog that was practically withering off, it had been Blitzo’s solemn duty to get that thing in working order- letting it go to waste would be a crime.

Unfortunately, apparently, however many years of blue balls had combined into making the jizz that had blasted into Blitzo on their first round when he’d ridden him- before using his own spit as lube to split the prince open, getting an ecstatic cry that nearly broke his eardrums- extra effective.

Blitzo stared down at the positive test in his fingertips before shaking it, as if that would do anything but splatter droplets of piss on his hands.

“C’mon, it’s- it’s weird bird prince-jizz, maybe it’s just reading it wrong?” Yeah, that must be it.

He tried four more, fingers fumbling more as he tore open the packages of every successive one.

Two lines. Two lines. Two and a half lines for some reason that kind of looked like a frowny face, okay, that one was defective. Two lines.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Blitzo could still see every curve of that face making every orgasm expression known to Hell, but also the desperation while clinging to him like a teddy bear when the imp had fallen forward and nearly passed out in the sticky evidence of the past few hours. By that point, the booze had knocked him back to the basics, and Blitzo could almost hear the echo of that old chirpy little voice in how he asked him to ‘please, stay the night?’. (Blitzo’s suspicions about the wife who never came in once coalesced into ‘this seems to be a shitshow but that’s not my fucking problem’.)

Really, he should have used the snoring a few minutes later as an excuse to wriggle out and steal the fancy book by cover of conked-out owl, but frankly, he wasn’t sure his legs would work well enough to avoid the guards. Getting a bit more sleep was just practical. Worst case scenario, he’d have to sneak in again and might have to pound him into submission (or get pounded, he was flexible) one more time, not exactly the end of the world.

He’d been wrong. This was much worse.

Technically, he could just get rid of it. This early, it would probably be as easy as popping a few pills. Stolas had been drunk-drunk by fuck three and too sense-drunk by second three to even realize this was a possibility, brain roped up in- satan, who knew what he’d been thinking? He said he didn't remember Blitzo’s name, and yet still knew about the stupid O. Blitzo wouldn’t surprised if he’d ripped a few posters of him and Barbie or Fizz off telephone poles and used them for fun in the intermediary years between when they were chubby-cheeked brats and now. How else would he remember him after this long? People didn’t remember Blitzo. They just didn’t. Not unless he made them remember, made it burn and sizzle to flaky ash.

(Unless he’d gotten an ass-whooping for the shit that had gotten stolen, but that thought made Blitzo’s sweat chill on his skin and he passed over it as quickly as possible. He would have been a lot more pissed if that had been the case anyway, right?)

Blitzo’s ass was starting to get numb as he chucked the newest test in the trash, standing up and pulling his pants on. He thought for a moment before digging it back out and exiting the bathroom, dropping it into a baggie.

The guy had reacted really, really fucking weird to him showing up again. This was probably a bad idea. Scratch that, this was definitely a bad idea. Right up there with the hot-sauce enema and the time he’d tried to buy Verosika a shirt and got one a size up which ended in him calling her fat and her calling him ‘sleeping on the fucking couch’.

Still, he’d let him have the book without much of a fight, so maybe he’d be able to… fuck, he didn’t know, maybe zap it out and make it speed-grow into a baby so he could dump it on the guy like the world’s weirdest trade? Book of potentially-infinite power for a fuck and a baby. He seemed lonely, maybe he’d appreciate that and give Blitzo some start-up money to get the office settled.

There was only a 50/50 chance that he’d regret everything while sober and try to burn Blitzo’s face off, and he was willing to roll those dice.

#I think this is my favorite of the lot #shadow writes stuff #helluva mpreg #ot spinoff #daddy blitzo

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averrse · 1 year

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some s2 thoughts~

note: i watched the whole season in one day after also watching the kaz parts of s1 (also known as 12 hours of sab in a row) so i don't know i might have forgotten some things. also i'm aro af, and the amount of romance in this show makes me feel weird, so if i seem like a hater about most of the ships, it's only because i am (but no hard feelings to anyone!)

also this is almost 100% about kaz because while i respect that there are other characters in the show, i have not a lot to say about them except in relation to kaz.

...

wesper got in the way of kaz and jesper having more of their weird friendship moments and i'm bitter about it because i'm a hater. but i did like every scrap they did throw me... especially jesper's little monologue about how much they care about each other and kaz agreeing with 99% of it god bless they are a version of sunshine/grumpy that i do really love

kaz and nina had some GOLD interactions and i'm so happy about it. the way he kept making it clear she's part of the crows now? the way he seems baffled by the fact she can just talk to people and they like her? WAFFLES?* every time they say words to each other i am transfixed.

*i need everyone to know how much i enjoy fake dating (or marriage in this case) when the two people are TRULY not interested in each other that way

also kaz appreciating the poetry toyla was reciting. it reminded me of how kaz dresses like the merchers instead of being flamboyant. he Does Not want to come across as a farmboy orphan, and i feel like being that familiar with poetry is related to that.

i'll get back to kaz and inej i have a lot to say, but. in general, i think their relationship was handled well and i do mostly like it, i just kind of wish it were platonic.

kaz blowing up the club a++++++ no notes

truly did enjoy kaz being unhinged about pekka. i appreciate kaz's bad side more than i probably should.

also appreciated that, while kaz had some little moments of vulnerability with the people he cares about, it was very clear that he has a lot of mental health consequences because of it. he loves his friends so damn much, and it is So Difficult for him.

i don't know if the show was... actually doing anything with this (since most of what the darkling did was sulk under a chandelier this season) but i do like the parallel of kaz keeping people around him who DON'T unquestioningly do whatever he says--and i think that's in part because he knows he could veer into actual evil if he didn't--while the darkling doesn't trust anyone enough to listen to any criticism.

it is so funny to me whenever the crows show up in these high magic situations and they are SO unequipped for it but they just kinda manage anyway.

okay now i'm going to do a whole thing about kaz and inej now

things i liked:

they didn't kiss or touch much.

inej realizing that the moment with kaz was a hallucination because he was functioning like a normal human.

i didn't feel like the narrative was telling us that she's supposed to fix him.

BUT they still do look after each other.

kaz walking toward her after the battle in the last episode, then jesper running out to hug her. my emotions.

things i didn't like:

him getting angry at her for not being there during his pekka revenge was weird to me, especially given that he kept telling her to leave over and over through the season. i could go with this conflict but i didn't feel like it developed in a way that worked for me.

the last scene between them for so many reasons god i hated it. first of all, i don't like that he grabbed her. i don't like that he tried to convince her to stay instead of looking for her family. i thought one of the character arcs for him was that he was respecting her need to look for her family, then it got thrown away at the end? i didn't get it.

second, as someone who also has extreme touch aversion connected to ptsd, i thought her line about his armor was actually offensive? if she'd made it about his withholding information from her and not expressing his emotions properly, that would've been FINE. but she made it about the fact he has trouble touching people. from experience, i can ASSURE you that's not something he can control. i just found that totally out of character for inej, who generally understands him pretty well.

and ANYWAY, couldn't she just have left because she needed to do this for herself and not make it into some kind of "break up" situation. they are friends FIRST, in my opinion, and he could've just respected that she needs to do this like he needed his revenge. if they wanted to show that, yes, he's still not the greatest person... he could've just gotten quiet about her leaving or even done some light guilt tripping about leaving the others behind.

a;sdlfkj okay i think that's all i have to say right now.

#s2 spoilers #. ooc

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rubysunnday · 3 years

Text

raise a cup

Request by anon: Idk I’d you would have any inspiration or ideas for it but I really loved your fic “bloody hands” and was wondering if you would be willing to write a sequel to it. I wanted to also say you are incredibly talented and your writing is really incredible

A/N: Am I giving you a sequel to Bloody Hands? Yes, yes I am. Am I giving you a kinda sequel to Snap Out of It? Also yes. @buckystarlight

Summary: You would think that dying and coming back to life would make Kaz realise that he couldn't lose Y/N. Yeah, who are we kidding, this is Kaz we're on about.

Jesper looked up as the door to Kaz's office slammed. Loudly. He watched Y/N storm down the stairs, a dark glare on her face, and grabbed the expensive alcohol from behind the bar, pouring it into the shot glasses he'd been intricately lining up along the top of the bar.

Y/N stormed up to the bar and picked up a shot, downing it and then slamming the glass back down.

Jesper rested his head on his chin, crossing his ankles. "Is he still not talking to you?"

Y/N growled. "He is so pigheaded at times," she snapped, taking another shot. "You'd think me dying and coming back to life would make him be nicer but nooo."

A hint of a smile pulled on Jesper's lips. "He is Kaz."

"He is a dick."

Jesper couldn't argue with that one. Y/N dropped her head onto the bar with a thump and he reached out a ring clad hand and patted her head, combing through her hair with his fingers.

"I'd ask if you're alright but I know you're not," Jesper said quietly. "All I'm gonna say is if you want to leave, I'll help you - no questions asked."

Y/N lifted her head, setting her chin on her hand. "Thanks, Jes."

"And whilst we're on the job, we can bitch about Kaz all we want."

Y/N stared blankly at Jesper. "What job?"

Jesper's eyes widened. "Oh, fucking hell. He didn't tell you?"

"Kaz has told you about a job and not me, classic, love that for me," Y/N muttered, dropping her hand. "Who else did he tell?"

Jesper was silent. He pressed his lips together and sighed. "Inej. ANd Nina."

Y/N dropped her head onto the bar top. "What did I do wrong, Jesper? I mean, other than falling in love with Kaz."

"Nothing," Jesper said, clasping her hands tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Look, I'll talk to Inej and see if we can do something. Meanwhile -"

"I stay here and sulk," Y/N finished, watching Jesper swing his coat on. "And run the 'business' whilst Kaz has fucked off."

"Exactly." Jesper vaulted over the bar top, knocking over a few glasses as he did. "And you do it flawlessly, darling," he said, kissing her cheek.

Y/N shoved him down the stairs and Jesper laughed loudly as he walked out of the club. She sighed to herself, crossing her arms as she looked out over the club, trying to work out what to do with the next few hours whilst she was on her own.

As she stood there, Y/N spotted Matthias and Wylan sitting in the Crows usual corner and found herself making her way across the room to them. At least she wasn't entirely alone that evening.

Wylan frowned at her as she slid into the booth next to him. "I thought you were on the job."

"Kaz didn't tell me about it," Y/N muttered. "Hence why I'm still here. You two working tonight, too?"

Wylan nodded but he looked sympathetic. "Matthias is helping me forge some letters."

"Didn't know you could forge stuff, Matthias," Y/N said, looking up at him with surprise.

Matthias looked a bit uncomfortable. "I'm not proud of it."

"When are you ever proud of anything other than your country and Nina," Y/N muttered to herself.

The three of them sat in silence for a while, Wylan occasionally asking Matthias a question or pointing out the writing didn't match. Y/N just sat there, fiddling with her knife as she tried not to let the isolated feeling building inside her swamp her.

Y/N looked over her shoulder as she saw Specht making his way towards them. "What business?"

"Some bloke is making a raucous outside the club, insisting on seeing Brekker."

"He's not here."

"We told 'im that and he insisted on seeing whoever's in charge," Specht replied.

Y/N shared a despairing look with Matthias. She sighed, looking back at Specht. "Fine, where is he?"

"In the meeting room by the front door," Specht said, gesturing vaguely to the front door.

Y/N and Matthias stood up and followed Specht to the meeting room - which also doubled as a storage room. As the door opened, Y/N winced slightly at the yelling coming from within.

" - I want to see who's in charge!"

"You're looking at them," Y/N said, glaring at the man, Matthias standing behind her with his usual, intimidating look on his face. Y/N's gaze softened as she looked at Anika, who looked a bit frazzled. "You can go, Anika, we got it."

The man straightened his blazer and cleared his throat. "Finally. I have a meeting with Mr Brekker."

"He's not here, can I help?"

There was visible disgust as the man looked at her. "I suppose so. Mr Brekker and I came to an agreement a few weeks ago and I came to get him to sign the documents."

Y/N frowned. "What agreement?"

"That's by the by, I just need someone to sign this." The man flourished a piece of paper and a case holding a pen.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Matthias. Matthias stepped forward and whispered, "I think something's wrong."

"No shit, Matthias," Y/N whispered back. "What do we do?"

"Well, I think... sign it and then send Anika and Pim after him, see where he goes," Matthias replied. "But use a -"

"Fake signature, yeah, I got it," Y/N said, nodding. She turned her attention back to the man. "I'll sign it."

"Excellent! Here's a pen," he flourished the case and opened it, holding it in front of him. Y/N frowned at the dramatics but picked the pen up. She signed the paper with a fake signature that looked a bit like 'fuck you, Kaz'.

"And to finish, a toast to our deal," the man said, somehow holding two glasses and a bottle of alcohol.

Y/N gave Matthias a wary glance but he gave her a subtle shrug. She took the glass and the man poured the alcohol into it.

"The deal is the deal," he said, clinking his glass to hers.

Y/N down the shot of alcohol and watched the man do the same. She swallowed it and set the glass down on the table.

"Right, I'll leave you to it," he said and quickly disappeared.

"What an odd little man," Y/N stated, frowning.

"Something wasn't right there," Matthias muttered as they walked out the room.

Y/N nodded. "Kaz said nothing about any business - or any random, weird men."

Y/N sent Anika and Pim after the men, with strict instructions to follow quietly, and returned to the booth, sliding in next to Wylan.

"What did he want?" Wylan asked, looking up from where he'd been drawing out a blueprint.

"Said he and Kaz made a deal and needed someone to sign it," Y/N explained. "It was all very..."

"Suspicious. Weird. Unusual even for Kaz?"

"All of the above, Matthias, all of the above," Y/N replied, leaning back into the chair. "Wylan, how're the plans coming along?"

Wylan began talking about the details and the issues with the plans, stopping every so often to make an adjustment or ask Matthias to write down the name of something.

Y/N was grateful Wylan and Matthias were still there. She didn't feel so alone and neither one had mentioned Kaz to her and, for once, it felt like normal. Like she wasn't ignoring Kaz and Kaz wasn't ignoring her and that nothing weird had happened.

Not that she completely understood what weird thing had happened. All she remembered was getting stabbed and then waking up and being engulfed in a hug by Nina.

Kaz, obviously, remembered it differently. But he refused to tell her how he remembered it.

Which had led to them falling out and ignoring each other.

Y/N swallowed, her throat feeling dry. A slight frown appeared on her face as a wave of nausea hit her and she grimaced. As soon as she noticed the nausea, a dozen other symptoms hit her. Y/N could feel her hands shaking, her skin becoming hot and sticky and the room was beginning to spin.

Matthias, who'd been standing next to her, drawing something on to the plans, glanced at her. "Y/N? What's wrong?"

"I feel.. weird," she said quietly, her voice croaky. She gripped the table, a wave of vertigo hitting her.

"How do you feel?" Wylan asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. He reached over and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "Y/N? Do you feel sick? Hot, clammy - like the room's spinning violently and you feel like you're about to fall over?"

Y/N nodded and regretted it as her vision disappeared. "Yeah.. why?"

Wylan swore. "Have you drunk anything?"

It was Matthias' turn to swear. "That man gave her alcohol."

"So, I've been poisoned?" Y/N asked weakly, her skin quickly growing paler. "Great. Just adds to my already fantastic day."

"Did you keep the glass?" Wylan asked, taking Y/N's hand, his fingers pressing to her pulse point? "Anything that might say what the poison was?"

"What do you think?" Y/N said, her voice growing weaker. "He took the bottle... I think the glass might still be in the room..."

Y/N suddenly slumped to the left, falling off the booth, her body unable to support itself anymore. Matthias caught her and lowered her to the ground, cradling her head in his lap.

"Hey, stay with me, Y/N," Matthias said quietly, brushing her hair back from her clammy forehead. "Wylan, what do we do?" Matthias asked, looking up at him.

Wylan closed his eyes and paused for a moment. "Get Nina. I'll find the glass and see what I can do."

Wylan jumped out of the booth and made a beeline across the room. Matthias looked around and spotted Specht hovering by the bar.

"Specht!" Matthias yelled - his voice silencing the entire Crow Club. "Get Nina. Now!"

Kaz stood in the corner of Y/N's room, practically absorbed into the shadows, as he watched Nina kneel next to Y/N's unconscious body, a hand on her chest, keeping her heart going. Kaz didn't know what he was feeling. There were numerous emotions circling through him - the overwhelming ones being anger and concern.

His head was a constant swirl of what if, what if, what if and he couldn't think straight.

"How is she?"

Kaz winced at how hoarse his voice sounded. He quietly cleared his throat and lowered his head again, using the shadows to disguise his face.

"Fighting," Nina replied softly. "Wylan's working to find the antidote - if there is one."

"And if there isn't?"

"I'll keep her alive as long as I can."

"And after that?" Kaz looked at Nina as she remained silent. "Zenik, what happens after that?"

Nina's shoulders slumped. She looked at Kaz over her shoulder. "I'll try and make it as painless as possible."

Kaz clenched his jaw tightly, the leather of his gloves creaking as he tightened his grip on his cane. He pushed himself out of the shadows and walked out of Y/N's room, limping down the stairs to the empty Slat.

"Where you going?" Jesper asked as Kaz brushed past.

Kaz kept going. "Keep her alive."

"Kaz, you can't go!" Jesper yelled, throwing his hands up.

Kaz whirled around to face Jesper, his eyes blazing with anger. Kaz Brekker as gone and Dirtyhands had taken over.

"I'll do what I damn please, Jesper. Besides, I've got a pigeon to catch," Kaz said, a smirk pulling on his lips.

Jesper sighed, watching Kaz limp out the Slat, the lights seemingly dimming as he passed.

Inej sat in the corner of Y/N's room, legs tucked underneath her, Sankt Anastasia twirling between her fingers. A soft knock at the door tore Inej from her thoughts and praying. Wylan poked his head around the door and gave Inej a tired smile.

"How is she?" He asked, coming to sit on the ground at the foot of Inej's chair.

"Ok. Nina said your antidote worked. We've just got to wait for her to wake up," Inej said softly. "Kaz?"

"Jesper saw him leave hours ago - nothing since. I'm half tempted to send Jesper after him," Wylan admitted.

Inej sighed. "I'll go have a look for him," she said, sheathing her knife back into its holster. "Can you -"

"I'll stay, don't worry," Wylan said, giving Inej a crooked smile. "Go find him."

Inej clambered out of Y/N's bedroom window, pulling her hood up against the light rain that had begun to fall. It was late morning and Ketterdam was quiet. The only sounds came from the harbour as the sailors load the ships and prepared to set sail once again.

Scaling Ketterdam in the day was no different to night - the only thing Inej had to worry about was being slightly more visible than usual. But Ketterdam was always overcast or dark making visibility harder.

Inej checked all of Kaz's usual haunts - Fifth Harbour, the Crow Club and the Broken Heart bridge running over the Canal. There was not a single sign of him. Inej began looking around West Stave, wondering just where Kaz might have disappeared to.

It was as she leapt over yet another dark, damp alleyway that Inej paused. She moved to the edge of the roof she stood on and looked down into the alley, squinting her eyes against the darkness.

A figure, dressed all in black, was slumped against the wall. Inej would've dismissed him for yet another drunk if it hadn't been for the golden crow's head cane lying at the figures side.

Inej jumped off the roof and landed silently. She cautiously approached the figure in case it wasn't Kaz but one glance at the man's face and Inej knew, for certain, that it was Kaz.

"Saints, Kaz!" Inej exclaimed, hurrying over to him, kneeling at his side. "Kaz!"

Inej didn't touch him. She knew he'd hate her if she did. So, she kept her distance and waited to see if he was conscious enough to respond.

Kaz's eyes sluggishly blinked open, struggling to focus on Inej. "Inej?"

"Saints, what happened, Kaz?" Inej asked, taking in his busted lip, black eye and bleeding forehead.

Kaz flinched as Inej shifted and she stopped moving, keeping as still as she could - essentially treating Kaz like a scared, wounded puppy.

"Kaz, what happened?"

Kaz hissed as he tried to sit up. "Tracked down the man who poisoned Y/N... got more than bargained for."

"And?"

"They're all on the Reaper's Barge, I just didn't make it back before..." Kaz drifted off, his head lolling to the side.

"Kaz! Hey," Inej tapped his foot with hers and he startled awake. "Can you walk with your cane?"

Kaz paused, hesitating. He eventually shook his head. "No. But don't... don't touch my skin." His eyes flickered up to Inej, the dim light hitting his pale face littered with blood. "Please, Inej."

Inej nodded. "Tell me what to do, Kaz, and I'll do it."

Jesper should've expected something else to go wrong that night. He just hadn't expected it to be in the form of a broken and bleeding Kaz, barely being held up by Inej.

"What, were you trying to kill yourself?" Jesper muttered, taking Kaz from Inej, careful to keep his contact to Kaz's coat covered arm.

Kaz took a step forward. His knees buckled and Jesper tightened his grip, pulling him into his side and holding him up.

"Saints, Kaz," Jesper said softly. He was only now getting a better look at Kaz's injuries and it was scaring him. He'd never seen Kaz like this - to be fair, he'd never seen Kaz in love before.

"Y/N..."

"She's fine, Kaz," Jesper said, trying to soothe his friend without making it obvious. God forbid anyone obviously cares for Kaz. "Wylan got the antidote, she's fine."

Kaz nodded, half dazed. "Good."

And with that, Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel and a fool in love, fainted into his brother's arms.

"I should've got life insurance."

Wylan laughed quietly as Y/N slumped back into the pillows. "Bold of you to assume your worth something."

"Wylan!" Y/N mock gasped, a smile on her face.

She still looked exhausted and had bags under her eyes but she looked so much more alive than she had hours earlier.

Wylan had yet to tell her about Kaz. He was secretly hoping Jesper would appear and do it for him. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain to Y/N that Kaz had gone and hunted down the man who'd poisoned her, killed him and several others and gotten injured to the point he'd fainted in Jesper's arms.

To be honest, Wylan wasn't entirely sure he understood what exactly had happened or was happening between Y/N and Kaz and he didn't really want to know.

He had enough of an issue trying to understand his own love life.

Jesper must've heard Wylan's secret prayer because not even a minute later, he appeared from behind the door, knocking on the wood with a smile.

"Hello, gorgeous," Jesper said, leaning down and kissing Y/N's cheek.

Y/N smiled at him, sliding further down the bed and taking Jesper's hand. "Hi."

"Please can you stop almost dying on me," Jesper pleaded, squeezing her hand. "I don't think I can cope with Matthias on my own."

Y/N snorted. "Or Kaz. Speaking of the devil - where is he?"

Wylan stood up, scraping the chair against the wood. "Jesper, you... uh, you want tea?"

Jesper rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at his boyfriend. "Coward."

"I know," Wylan said, beaming, as he left.

Y/N looked at Jesper, puzzled. "Jes?"

Jesper sighed, turning back to look at her. "Kaz left and didn't come back. Inej found him in an alley, injured and bleeding. He's fine, Nina fixed him up with help from Inej, but he's still out of it."

"Where did he go?"

"He... oh, why didn't I get Inej to do this? He went after the man who poisoned you. And, apparently, he killed them all and threw them onto the Reaper's Barge."

Y/N was silent. Painfully silent. "Where is he?"

"In his room."

Y/N looked up at Jesper. "Can I?"

"Yeah, course."

Jesper stood up and held a hand out to Y/N, helping her to her feet and putting a steady hand around her waist. Kaz's room was on the same floor as Y/N's - thankfully. It meant no stairs and Y/N could simply shuffled down the corridor to the old wooden, paint peeling door that belonged to Kaz.

Nina looked up as Y/N walked in and she instantly stood up, taking Y/N's arm.

"You shouldn't be up," Nina scolded, sitting Y/N in her vacated seat.

"How is he?" Y/N asked, her eyes on Kaz.

Nina sighed. "He'll be fine. He's still an ungrateful prick but he'll be fine." Y/N nodded. Nina looked at her. "You, uh, gonna explain what happened between the two of you?"

"I would if I knew, Nina," Y/N said quietly. "I don't actually know what I did."

"You didn't do anything," Jesper said, perching himself on the edge of the chair and putting an arm around her shoulders.

Y/N nodded again. It was all she seemed to be able to do. Nod. She couldn't think of words to say to Jesper or even Kaz. Nina seemed to notice her silence and came over, crouching down in front of her and rubbing her knee.

"Listen, whatever happened or happens between the two of you, I'll support you, ok?" Nina said softly.

"And if you want to leave, we'll help," Jesper added. "Kaz may be our boss but if you want out then we won't hesitate to help."

Y/N nodded. Again. "I'm staying," she said firmly.

Kaz didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember making his way back to the Slat - back to the warmth and comfort of the wonky building.

But somehow, he had. Because, unless he was dead, he'd never felt so at peace.

"You really are a twat, you know that, right?"

Kaz lifted his head, squinting his eyes. Jesper was sat in a small, wooden chair in the corner, left leg bought up to rest on the seat of the chair, his chin resting on his bent knee.

"What?" Kaz croaked, running a hand through his hair. It was then he noticed that he wasn't wearing his gloves. And that the top he was wearing wasn't the one he'd left in. "Jesper, what the fuck happened to my clothes?"

"They got covered in blood. Your blood if you want me to be specific," Jesper replied. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Found the man, killed him, tada."

"Kaz."

"What, Jesper?"

Jesper sighed, dropping his leg back to the floor. "Kaz, you almost died. Y/N almost died. Whatever is going on between the two of you has to stop because it is quite literally going to kill the both of you. So, I'll ask again - What happened?"

Kaz sighed as if it physically pained him to slow his mind down and explain to Jesper what had happened. Jesper just waited. He wasn't going to let Kaz win this one.

"The man who poisoned Y/N used to work at the Crow Club. I kicked him out after I got him skimming and I thought that was that. Apparently, he wanted revenge so, he came up with an 'elaborate plan' that wasn't that elaborate and it took me less than ten minutes to track him and his thugs for hire down."

Jesper looked at Kaz. "And?"

"And I beat the shit out of all of them."

"Whilst also having the shit beating out of yourself?"

Kaz gave him a withering glare. "I solved the problem."

"You got revenge."

"Same thing."

"No, you got revenge for Y/N because you didn't dare stay in the same room as her in case she died - like last time."

Kaz rolled his eyes. "We turning this into a character assessment, then?"

Jesper scoffed. "No. I'm telling you what I know. And what I know is that you, Kaz, are completely and utterly besotted with her."

Kaz followed Jesper's pointed finger to the ground next to his bed and his eyes widened a fraction. Y/N was lying on a hastily put together mattress, numerous pillows scattered around her, fast asleep. Right next to him.

"And she's besotted with you, Kaz," Jesper continued, his voice soft. "Now, for the love of all Inej's Saints, talk to each other. I know it's your least favourite activity in the world but you need to talk. If only to save you both from dying again."

Jesper stood up, scraping the chair on the wood as he did so. He opened the door and looked back at Kaz and Y/N. He gave Kaz a tired, slightly encouraging smile, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Kaz looked down at Y/N and was slightly startled to find her looking back up at him.

"Hi," Y/N said quietly, shifting up onto her elbows, quickly looking away.

"Hi."

"You alive?"

"I think so. You?"

"Just about."

Y/N nodded. She pushed herself up further until she was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. She looked down at her lap, fiddling with a blanket.

"I know..." She sighed, closing her eyes. "I know you don't want to talk. I don't know why but, that's by the by. I just need you to listen." Y/N turned to face Kaz.

Kaz looked at her and was slightly taken aback by the ferocity behind her eyes. Whatever she was about to say, she'd clearly thought about it for a while. Not only that, she clearly meant it.

"I don't remember what happened after that job. I don't remember anything after I got injured. So, I don't know what happened between us - whether I saw something or did something, I don't -"

"You died."

Y/N trailed off and looked up at Kaz in surprise. "What?"

Kaz inhaled deeply, his jaw clenching tightly. "Jesper and I got you back to the Slat... to Nina. And as she was trying to heal you... your," Kaz paused, his eyes looking anywhere but at Y/N, "your heart stopped. You died on the table."

Y/N didn't dare breathe. She looked at Kaz, her heart plummeting.

"I watched as Nina tried to bring you back but there was only so much I could take. I left, accepting that you were... you were dead. But then Inej comes and tells me you're not and that you're alive and in one piece and I..."

Kaz trailed off. But Y/N didn't need him to finish his story. She could piece together what had happened from what little memories she had.

And as she pieced together the puzzle, she realised why Kaz had been so... Kaz.

And as the memories and the pieces came together in the silence of the late afternoon, Y/N had only one question to ask him.

"Kaz." Y/N looked up at him. She noticed that he didn't have his gloves on. "I... I don't know what Inej said to you. What Jesper said. Or what I said. I don't know what you said to yourself or what you've tortured yourself with. But I would be denying my true feelings to tell you that I felt nothing. And I think you know that. If you didn't, you do now. But I need to know something.

"If we decide to keep going with... whatever this is. Can you promise me that you will try fighting for us as hard as I've been? That you won't just give up when the ocean gets too tough?"

Kaz blinked at the ocean metaphor. He'd never told Y/N about Jordie. She hadn't meant Jordie - Y/N had her own relationship with the ocean, ironically. But it still hit Kaz. Hard.

"Kaz?"

He looked down at her. Kaz inhaled deeply, holding his breath slightly. He held out his bare right hand to Y/N. Y/N slowly reached up and wrapped her little finger around Kaz's own little finger.

"Y/N, I promise you that I will fight for us," Kaz said hoarsely. "Knives drawn, pistols blazing, fire in our eyes."

Y/N squeezed Kaz's little finger and gave him a smile. "That's all I ask, Kaz. All I ask."

Kaz nodded and dropped Y/N's hand. She smiled to herself as he looked away, pushing himself to the centre of the bed. Y/N laid back down and rested her hands on her stomach.

"Kaz, you do realise that if we weren't such drama queens, we could've solved this without almost dying."

Kaz let out a snort of laughter. "Well, darling Y/N, where would be the fun in that?"

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #angst #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker angst

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

Text

With You Always

***So I really really really love this idea, but I'm going to tweak it just a little bit so rather than only seeing them in mirrors, MC can just always see them when the brothers aren't around. This one is going to take place after they return to the human realm. I'm also going to be using he/him pronouns for the crush that'll be mentioned. I figured since all the dateables in the game identify as male, it'd be a safe bet. Thank you so so much for this creative request @gender-less-lemon (also I freaking love your profile picture. Monster Camp/Prom is hilarious)***

Summary: An average day of high school with MC...and the seven pact manifestations that haunt their vision.

TW: Bullying You were awoken not by an alarm, or your guardian, or even some random noise from outside, but rather a phantom gnawing on your arm. With a groan, you blinked open your eyes and saw just your regular old room, with one minor difference; a spectral red bear was happily teething on your elbow. You chuckled and pet the manifestation, noting the brightly glowing symbol of gluttony resting in its stomach. "Okay, Beel," you mumbled to yourself as you dragged yourself out of bed, pushing the purple translucent calf sleeping on your stomach, in the process. "I hear you." Ever since you had returned to the human realm, you had been followed around by spectral manifestations of the seven pacts that you owned. By the looks of things, no one else could see them, and they only appeared when the connected sin was active or needed, but it helped you feel less alone. You missed the brothers more than you had anticipated. It was more than a little bit of a culture shock to go from being loved and spoiled every day to being the misfit in your high school. Speaking of which, you needed to get going if you weren't going to be late. As you rushed around our room frantically grabbing the things you needed to get ready, the calf-like manifestation of sloth sat on your bed mooing in complaint. You sent a glare over to it as you finished collecting your belongings. "Trust me, I rather stay home and sleep too, buddy. But I have to go." Grabbing some fruit on your way out the door, you just managed to make it to school on time. Now it was simply a matter of surviving the day.

In all honesty, you preferred RAD to high school. In RAD, the subjects were interesting and grasped your attention without any problems at all. You had friends, even outside of the brothers. Sure there were always demons that would talk down about the kid human that clung to the demon lords, but you had the brothers to protect you. It was nice.

Now that you were back in the human world, you had none of that. In fact, you were even more of a misfit than when you were before. The teenager that vanished for a year and came back weirder than before; that was you. At first, you couldn't get people to leave you alone, but once they realized you weren't going to give them answers they backed off. You would occasionally laugh or whisper to the manifestations, which would earn you some more than weird looks, but you didn't care. These weird little ghost-like creatures were one of the only things you had connecting you to the Devildom. They meant more to you than anything else. As you entered your classroom, you had to bite back a laugh at the sight of one of your classmates looking around in confusion as, unknown to them, a golden yellow crow flapped around their head and pecked at the shiny earrings they were wearing. You took your seat in the back of the classroom and watch in amusement as the crow continued pecking at the various belongings of students, causing subtle chaos and confusion. Leave it to Mammon to make your day even when he wasn't actually there. Your teacher walked in and sat down in his chair. "Alright, class. Today we're going to continue with our history presentations. Remember these were subjects of your choice, so I do hope that you can at least pretend to be interested," he sighed and pulled out a clipboard. "Looks like the next person presenting is...MC." You winced and looked down at your notes. The topic was definitely one you were confident in, but to present it in front of your class. What if no one liked it? What if people laughed? What if- You felt a nudge on your arm. You glanced over to see a dazzling blue peacock, straightening its long neck out high as it puffed out its chest. The pride manifestation gestured forward with its head and almost seemed to smile at you. You smiled gently as you felt warmth grow from his pact mark on your inner wrist and stood up beside the peacock. It cawed and began to strut forward, leading the way to the front of the class. The mental image of Lucifer doing the same almost caused you to burst out laughing. You finally turned to the class and held your head up proudly as you began to speak. "My presentation today will be on biblical demonology and the way it has evolved throughout the eons of its existence." It was the best presentation you had ever given in your life. Riding off of the high from history class, the day seemed to fly by. Before you knew it was time for lunch. The bear was back, this time just softly moaning it continued butting your back with its head in an attempt to get you to go to the cafeteria faster. With one particularly heard shove, you were sent stumbling forward, directly into the chest of someone. "I'm so sorry! I'm a total clutz. I just tripped, I hadn't meant to-" you cut yourself off as you looked up and noticed you were looking at your crush. Your jaw snapped shut as you felt your face suddenly become uncomfortably hot. He smiled and waved off the apology. "It's alright. Just an accident right?" Your face became even hotter as you noticed a bright pink rabbit jumping up and down happily behind him. "I- Uh...Ehm...Y-Yeah! Yeah, t-totally an accident. I'm seat so I should go find my hungry. I-I mean!" He chuckled and nodded. "No worries, I get what you're trying to say. Enjoy your seat, MC," he gave you a wink, causing you to squeak as he walked off. You glared down at the rabbit running happy circles around your feet and the red bear that was sulking guiltily in a corner. "I blame you two for this." With an embarrassed huff, you entered the cafeteria and found yourself instantly wanting to walk back out. Everyone was laughing and talking with one another in their friend groups at their tables. Some gossiped eagerly over a magazine. Others sat silently with one another while they gamed or read books. There was even a table where a group of theatre kids were drumming out a soundtrack beat on the table while singing their favourite

songs. You ducked your head down and grabbed a tray of food before moving to the lonely table in the back, doing your best to ignore the giant orange snake that slithered between the tables, occasionally hissing and tripping students. You tried not to think of how you could be just like those groups of laughing friends, if only you were still at RAD. Your heart ached as you thought about the brothers. Maybe you could call them tonight. You let out a heavy sigh as you stood up and went to leave. You had almost made it to the door when a familiar face stopped you. Standing just a couple inches taller than you, surrounded by their groupies, was your tormentor, Taylor. You weren't entirely sure why they hated you so much. You just knew that they did, and that it got even worse when you came back from the Devildom. Taylor smirked with their arms crossed over their chest. "Where do you think your going? You haven't come to say hello yet." You scoffed and tried to walk past them. "Leave me alone, Taylor. I'm not in the mood for this today," before you could get very far, you were harshly onto the floor, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped and glared up at them. "What the fuck?!" The bully just sneered down at you. "You may not be in the mood for this, but I am. You know I heard about your weirdo presentation. Demons? Really? What are you, a satanist?" Their word choice was really ironic, for at that moment you noticed the large, white unicorn with flaming green hair and eyes appear behind them. The beast stomped its hooves and whinnied dangerously. You gulped nervously and looked up at Taylor. "Even if I was, it's not your business. I just find the topic interesting is all." You went to stand up, and therefore force the angry horse with a horn away from Taylor, but were stopped as they placed their foot on top of your chest. "I bet that's why you have all those weird tattoos, huh? What did you run away and join a cult for a year? Freak!" You could feel Satan's pact mark on the back of your neck grow hotter and hotter to the point that you were concerned the manifestation may be trying to summon him. Your eyes widen as you noticed it back up a few steps and point its horn at Taylor. You knew that the creatures normally could do small interactions with others, such as tripping or pushing, but you had never seen them attempt anything so violent. You couldn't just let it kill someone. "STOP!" The cafeteria fell quiet, but you weren't looking at them or even Taylor, you were looking at the unicorn. The manifestation neighed in frustration and jumped around, but obeyed your command. You slumped in relief. Looking back over to Taylor, you found them glaring down at you like you were nothing but a bug. They opened their mouth to degrade you even further when a teacher finally stepped forward. "What is happening here?" You walked over to the unicorn while Taylor fed the teacher a handful of lies. You leaned over to the manifestation and whispered under your breath. "Thank you for trying to protect me, but you can't hurt people. Just leave it be." The creature snorted and nuzzled your shoulder. In comparison to the hectic lunch hour, the rest of the day passed by with ease. In no time at all, you were back home in your room. You had just plopped onto your bed, when you heard a familiar ringtone. You smiled brightly and quickly grabbed your D.D.D. before immediately answering the phone. "Hello?" "Oh, you answered that quite quickly," you grinned at the surprise in Satan's tone. "I was just calling to-" "IS THAT MC?! GIMME!!!" You laughed as the sounds of Satan yelling and running from Mammon came through the other end. There was a yelp, a bang, and a victorious whoop before you could hear the device get picked up by someone. "'Hey MC! How was your day? I hope you didn't miss the great Mammon too badly. N-Not that I've missed you or anything just wanted to know how you're doin' is all." Belphie's purple calf climbed its way into your lap once more as you gently patted its head.

"I miss you too, Mammon. And today wasn't bad. I'd say it was pretty average overall." You could hear Satan growl in the background before there was a loud thud followed by a scream from Mammon. Satan took the phone back. "Just average you say? Nothing special?" You frowned and narrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "No, why?" To your right, the unicorn neighed softly and plopped down beside your bed. "Well, I could've sworn I felt our pact become triggered at some point today and...Well in all honesty I was concerned. We worry about you getting hurt without us there with you, MC." You couldn't help but smile softly as one by one each of the manifestations of your pacts made their way to your bed and laid down. "I know," you replied affectionately. "Though I'm never completely alone. So long as I have my pacts, you guys will always be with me." ***This was such an interesting concept to toy around with. I hope this wasn't too confusing and actually makes sense 😅😅 Thanks again for the amazing request @gender-less-lemon!***

Taglist @thegrimgrinningghost

@henry-and-the-seven-lords

@satans-beloved-riv

@cosmixbun

@sufzku

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fic #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me demon brothers #obey me pacts #obey me requests #teen reader #teen mc #b requests

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