#and hurt my wrist/thumb joint only a few days after

[murderous-coffeebean]

Surface Light

I did some anatomy drawing practice with the help of YouTube tutorials a while ago and made a sketch I liked so much I ended up digitalizing it. ^^ So here’s a merman (and some fish), looking at the light from above shining through his hands. 

art © Murderous-Coffeebean (tumblr & dA)

#mermen #mermaids #merfolk #art #digital art #my art #my posts #12.2.2023 #2023 #i did this some four weeks ago #and hurt my wrist/thumb joint only a few days after #i've finally started drawing with my non-dominant hand yesterday and that was a good thing to do bc i have so much pent up creative energy #and i haven't been able to draw with my right hand for three weeks now welp #anyway!! #i hope you like my good merman guy i have some headcanons for this character actually so maybe we'll see him again eventually ^^/ #water #fish #Surface Light #(also yes his tail is twisted a bit oddly but that's alright)

[hailbales]

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hyper sensitive reader whose too clumsy for her own good :((

every time you accidentally break something tears well up in your eyes but jj has learned the routine to calm you down in seconds. or whenever you stupidly hurt yourself, he would start ‘beating up’ whatever inanimate object that got you that day, making you whine and pout. “yo, what’d you jus say to my girl? yeah, yeah that’s what I thought. stupid cabinet.” pulling a giggle from your lips as your hand caresses the small red indent on your forehead.

but today, you’d had it.

you were having a very long week at work, dealing with your asshole manager who would yell at you for your klutzy ways until your eyes were stinging and rude customers that would send you judgmental glances every time you passed.

so when friday finally came around, you decided to make a special dinner for jj. his favorite, spagetti with meatballs. okay, maybe it wasn’t that special but he absolutely adored it. he’d been so patient with you all week even when you’d snap at him for little things, the stress weighing down on your shoulders making you overly irritable.

he was relaxed on the couch, feet kicked up as a joint sat loosely between his fingers. he checked on you every few minutes, getting in position to jump to his feet every time there was loud clatter but it would only be you grabbing a pan from the cupboard or digging through the pantry. he smiled softly to himself as he watched his girl do something so sweet for him.

that was, until the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. he was beside you in seconds, ushering you to the side to not get cut. “careful, baby. stay still, let me grab the broom.” he jumps right into action, hand against your stomach as a shield before disappearing into the pantry. your lip quivers and you bite down on it, willing yourself not to cry.

don’t cry. please don’t cry.

he returns, locked and loaded as his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth, a focused habit. “alright, how do one go about this?” he mutters to himself, staring the floor down like a man on a mission.

before you can help it a sob escapes your lips and his head snaps towards you as you bury your face in your hands, body heating up in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” you cry, and he’s already by your side like a dog trained. “heyy, it’s alright. you didn’t do anything wrong, kid. no need to cry over spilled milk, right?“

after a moment of no response he gently tugs on your wrist, pulling your hands down and his heart lurches at your tear stained cheeks, big doe eyes all watery. “it ain’t no biggie, sugar. we’ll clean this up in no time.” his thumb strokes off the fallen tears but they just keep coming.

“god, how can I be so incompetent?” your voice shakes, the word laced with resentment towards yourself and his eyebrows furrow in anger on to how you could say such a thing. “hey.” his tone is laced with authority and it makes you freeze, wide eyes staring up at his baby blues with a gulp. “knock that off. no one’s allowed to talk about my girl that way, not even my girl. alright, you hear me?”

you slowly nod your head, your sniffles being the only sound that fill the room before his expression softens. “you wanna tell me what’s going on with you, doll? I got a feelin’ this is about more than just s’getti sauce, yeah?”

you sheepishly nod in agreement and he fights a smile. “talk to me.”

“I just-..” you sigh, closing your eyes to collect yourself as your chin begins to tremble. his thumb runs over the skin as though to smooth it out and your eyes meet his again. “jus’ feels like I can never do anything right. think something’s wrong with me.” you sniffle.

“cant help but break everything I touch. I’m just so- so.. clumsy.” you huff, and the tears had finally slowed down. his bottom lip juts out in a pout, and you know hes making fun of you in his jj way.

“it’s not funny!” your voice is whiny, and the smile creeping onto his face makes you roll your eyes, feeling the corner of your lip tug up from his antics. “I’m serious, baby.”

“I know, I know— I’m sorry.” He stifles back a laugh before he collects himself, tilting his head slightly as his hand finds its home on your cheek. “come on, darlin’. there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you, alright? trust me. you’re doin’ just fine. if you break a few things along the way, so what? ain’t gon’ break ya’, is it?” he awaits your response, eyebrows raising in questioning.

you huff once again, a few strands of hair blowing with your breath. “guess not.” you mutter in your adorably stubborn way and he finally flashes that charming smile. “that’s right. and for the record, I like it.” he shrugs his shoulders shamelessly, his smile turning smug, telling you he’s about to say something stupid.

you chuckle and roll your eyes, looking away from him. “no, I’m serious. I love it, actually. gives my savior complex somethin’ to do.” you finally laugh, sniffling a few more times until there was no evidence of tears left.

“jus’ wanted to make you dinner, j.” you pout, but your demeanor tells him you’re all cheered up. gave him a scare for a second, worried he wasn’t gonna be able to. “I know you did, princess.” he cooes, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your lips before adding a quick pinch to your nose with his middle and pointer fingers.

“why don’t you go ahead and get yourself cleaned up, I’ll handle this?” he gestures his head towards the bedroom and you sigh, feeling guilty. “then I think I know somethin’ else I can eat.” he smirks, eyeing you down and just like that, the guilts gone.

“in your dreams, maybank.” you stalk away from him, a teasing smile on your lips as you pull your shirt over your head on the way and he gawks, tonguing the inside of his cheek “every night, baby!”

yeah, he was definitely getting some tonight.

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#jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut #outer banks #jj mayback x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #john b routledge #john b smut #outer banks fluff #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outer banks imagine

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Hey peeps. I'm really sorry but I actually have bad news and not a Valentine's Day chapter for today. I got diagnosed with tendonitis and I need to rest my hand and not write too much. I'm currently also working on my Master's thesis and that has priority, for obvious reasons I think, and I'm having a really hard time not being able to write some more König stuff, because really that's all I want to do.

I mean, I have found some speech to text programs that work pretty well (I'm actually using it right now to type this out), but it still takes a lot more time and then I still need to proofread manually, so it will take until the weekend or next week to post some more.

I have some chapters already written out that I finished some time ago that might not fit the plot exactly, but will work as random scenes. So I might fall back on some of those for the time being.

I hope you understand and thanks for your patience! 

I actually wrote a little scene about it when my wrist first started hurting, so I'm just going to post this today (I also read through it again and the big guy is still my comfort character), maybe some of you can also use a little fluff with König today <3

kissing it better <3

(domestic fluff, hinted-at smut, mdni)

Monday at 8, I go to work after drinking my morning coffee with him and I return to his house again in the late afternoon, finding him and Mimi cuddling on the couch, the little ball of fur snuggling into his broad chest. Seeing them like that, squeezes my heart a little bit.

I hop onto his lap, Mimi meowing because now she isn’t the only one occupying this space anymore. We laugh and I can finally give him a kiss. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around my waist and thighs.

Next to him on the end table, there are three new bottles of black nail polish. “They didn’t have the brand you normally use, so I just bought a few.”, he explains, smiling at me apologetically.

And this small gesture makes me melt a little. I picture him, the ridiculously tall, scary looking metalhead standing in the boutique in front of the shelf with all the tiny bottles of nailpolish – and then picking out three of the same colour because he didn’t know which one I would like.

“Thanks, even though that wasn’t necessary.”, I say, pressing a little ‘thank you’ kiss onto his nose. I reach for one of the bottles but pull back when a pang of pain shoots through my wrist.

His eyes widen, just a bit, his look fixed on the spot where I hold it against my chest, slowly massaging it. “What happened?”, he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know, my wrist just hurts.” I sigh. “It started today at work and it just doesn’t go away.”

He catches my hand, pulling my wrist from my hold, and inspects the joint, softly moving it. He stretches it down gently, my small palm between his huge, tattooed fingers. “Does that hurt?”, he wants to know. I shake my head and he pulls it into the other direction. I hiss slightly, as the light sting of pain spreads, and he lets go immediately.

“I think, you may have overworked it a little bit.”, he mumbles, softly massaging the muscles and tendons around the wrist. Pushing his thumbs into the sensitive skin, until I sigh and relax a bit.

König pulls my wrist closer, up to his lips, pressing them onto the joint. Placing soft kisses where it hurts. Kissing it better. I can feel his warm breath coasting over my skin as he slowly makes his way to the inside of my wrist, still rubbing the spots that hurt lightly with his big strong fingers. His eyes snap up to mine, holding my gaze that is already on him.

His tongue darts out, licking over the pulse point, like he can’t help himself. The soft wet touch sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. My mouth drops open just a little bit as he puts his over the sensitive spot and sucks, gently. A little moan escapes my lips, and I can see the heat in his eyes intensifying.

He pulls back, pressing another kiss to my wrist, lingering a little longer than he needs to. Still holding my gaze. “A little better?”, he asks, with a soft smile. His little kisses seem to be the best medicine, even though they are pure placebo.

“Yes, thank you.”, I say as I lean forward and give him a proper kiss on the lips.

“Just let it rest the next few days and it’ll get better, okay?”, he suggests then.

I nod, but I can’t help myself, as I add-on: “So, no handjobs?”, biting back a grin.

He shoots me a look that tells me to stop being such a brat, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Exactly, that was my point, Fräulein.”, he answers sarcastically, patting my ass.

His demeanor changes again before he asks: “Are you hungry? I cooked some pasta.” He already kinda knows the answer to that (I can always eat, especially carbs) as he’s getting up, just lifting me up in one swift motion, only to set me down on the floor next to him.

“Starving actually, I didn’t really have lunch today.”, I sigh. “More exhausting clients instead.”

“We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound, hm?”, he suggests. His arm snakes around my waist while he presses a little kiss on the top of my head.

“That sounds great.”, I tell him, a small smile on my face, as I take his hand – with the wrist that doesn’t hurt – and follow him to the kitchen.

Mimi gets up as well and tipples after us, her tail flicking up in the air, as she meows again like she wants to say ‘I’m hungry too!’.

~ more stuff in the Masterlist~

#metalhead!könig #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

[sgtbradfords]

I have a Chenford prompt for you.

Lucy gets up the nerve to ask Tim to be her partner. Tim refuses but doesn't give a real reason. Ultimately he has to confess his feelings because he knows he hurt her.

I do apologize for such the long wait, but I hope this does your prompt justice! Enjoy! :)

Lucy Chen needed to find a new partner. Nolan had finally graduated from being a boot to a P2, leaving probation and Sergeant Grey had made the decision to partner John with Jackson in hopes of making the transition smoother. He had also appointed Lucy to work as a one man show. She knew the opportunity to work solo for any officer was always there and would always be there, but she also had her reasons for wanting to have someone sitting in the passenger seat two feet away from her.

Her week of riding solo was exciting but also nerve-wracking, the doubts that maybe she wasn’t ready for this lingered in the back of her mind every morning, as she moved to sit behind the wheel of the shop. The shifts went by smoothly, but she found being by herself to be desolate, having no one to talk to or no one getting upset when she messed with the knobs of the air conditioning.

Soon, the number of shifts and off days had accumulated into over a month and to put it simply, she was miserable being by herself, which she brought up the following week when she met Jackson and Nolan for lunch.

“Why don’t you ask Bradford? He doesn’t have a boot right now.”

Lucy hesitated before speaking, playing with the fork in her hand as she pushed a piece of lettuce around the bowl. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You wouldn’t know unless you ask.” John pointed out as he observed his friend that sat across from him.

“It’s just…” she paused. “I don’t want to work alone. After everything that happened with Caleb and Rosalind and then going undercover a few months back. I really don’t want to work alone.”

Jackson and Nolan shared a look before Jackson took the opportunity to speak. “Lucy, why didn’t you say anything? When we get back, I’ll go talk to Grey and-“

“No! This is something that I need to do.”

Jackson changed the topic, showing his friends the picture Angela sent him earlier that morning of the baby smiling in their sleep as their lunch break ended, the officers returning to their respective shops. All too soon the numbers of the clock on the dash rolled to six o’clock, Lucy parking the shop back in between the white lines in the garage, removing her things before she returned her war bag and long gun. She made her way to the locker room, changing back into her civilian clothing, securing her off-duty weapon into the holster attached to the side of her jeans before grabbing her bag and heading out.

“Hey.” She heard someone greet as she walked across the parking garage, the person joining her by her side putting a smile on her face.

“Hey. I heard you had a fun day.”

The person grumbled, “Never thought I would be running out of a house full of bats before ten.”

“I just hate that I wasn’t there to witness Tim Bradford running away. I bet that had you regretting not taking that Sergeant position.” She teased as they approached her car, Lucy shaking her head at the sight of his truck next to hers.

“You’ll never get your hands on the vest footage Lucy.” He glared before his face softened. “I’ll never regret turning that position down. I kept my word, didn’t I?”

“That you did.” She smiled, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stopped at the rear of her car. “I’m actually glad that I caught you, I have a question I need to ask.”

Tim turned, leaning his back against the panel of his truck as he waited.

“I was wondering if we could possibly partner up. With Grey partnering Jackson and Nolan, I discovered that I don’t like working by myself, and I know that probably makes me look weak but I feel like-“

He stared her down as she rambled, her words threatening the sides of his mouth to turn upward as he fought back a smile.

“That doesn’t make you weak Lucy.”

“Maybe not to you but to someone else…” She sighed, turning her head to look away.

“Screw what other people think, they don’t know what we’ve-“ He stopped, shaking his head as he unconsciously took a step forward. “Their opinions shouldn’t matter.”

“But they do.” She told him honestly. “So, think you can handle working with me again?”

Tim took a moment to look her in the eyes before looking away, Lucy watching as something flickered behind his eyes before it disappeared.

“I can’t.”

Lucy took a step forward, her brow furrowed as she gently let go of the bag on her shoulder, the bag hitting the concrete. “Why not?”

“I can’t Lucy.” He said to her sternly.

“You’re not my TO Tim, you can cut the attitude.” She challenged before pushing the question once again. “Why not?”

He took a step forward, his arms crossing over his chest as his demeanor changed. “I may no longer be your training officer, Officer Chen but I am still your superior.” He told her, his tone laced with warning with every word he spoke.

“Respectfully sir, I deserve an answer.”

“One that I don’t have to give you.”

Lucy’s eyes searched his before she took a few steps back, turning around as she crouched down to pick her bag up off the ground. “You know I-“ She started as she turned back around to face him, adjusting the weight of the bag on her shoulder before thinking better of it. “Have a great evening, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watched as she got into her car, slamming the car door shut as she turned over the engine. Lucy sat behind the wheel, taking a deep breath before shifting the car into reverse and then into drive, leaving the parking garage. She couldn’t believe him, she thought to herself as she pulled off the highway and into a parking lot, steering her car towards the drive-thru of a sandwich joint. She ordered, messaging Jackson about the failure that was her evening as she waited for her food.

Twenty minutes later, her emotions had calmed down as she stepped onto the elevator of her apartment building. He was being unreasonable, she had decided as she chased the straw of the drink in her right hand, taking a sip as the bag of food on her right wrist swung freely. The thumb of her left hand scrolling through the social media feed on the phone as the elevator jolted to a stop on her floor. The heavy metal doors opened, allowing her passage as she stepped off the car, pocketing her phone as she pulled the keyring from around her left index finger.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” She cursed in disbelief as she rounded the corner. “Talk about someone second guessing themselves.”

Tim looked up from where he stood beside her front door with his arms crossed, listening to her mumble, as the sound of heeled boots he knew could only belong to one person walked across the hardwood flooring of the narrow hallway.

“Unless you’re here to give me a damn good reason Bradford, I suggest you leave.” She told him as she stood a distance away from him, sliding her key into the deadbolt.

“I’m sorry Lucy.”

Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes as she removed the key, inserting it into the lock on the handle, turning the key left as the knob turned, opening the door. “If it makes you feel any better, your apology is somewhat accepted. But that still doesn’t give me a reason as to why, you are refusing to work with me.” She told him as she stepped through the threshold, placing her bags onto the kitchen island, pulling out the cardboard container that held her sandwich, the soft click of the door quietly shutting behind her telling her that her company had followed.

Tim walked further into the apartment, only stopping once he was across from her, the quartz countertop keeping the two separated. His mouth opened and closed as the words that were on the tip of his tongue failed to convey.

Lucy proceeded to ignore him as she moved around the kitchen, grabbing a plate out of the cabinet as she placed her sandwich and fries onto the dish, grabbing the handful of condiment packets out of the takeout bag. She grabbed the plate of food, walking past Tim and towards the couch.

“I love you.”

Lucy froze mid-step at the whispered confession, her heart accelerating as she waited with bated breath for him to continue.

“I have fallen in love with you Lucy Chen and I- I can’t be your partner, not in that sense.” He told her, glancing at her over his shoulder as he spoke, their backs still to each other as he turned around. “Out of everything that I have been through, this, loving you, scares the shit out of me.”

“You’re just saying that.” She whispered with glossy eyes, as she placed the plate in her hand down onto the coffee table, refusing to turn her body around.

Tim took a step forward, his hand reaching out to gently grasp the crease of her elbow. “I’m not. I look at you, and you’re home.”

Lucy hesitantly turned, his hand falling away as her gaze found his.

“I’m not just saying it, I mean it Luce. I love you.” He told her, enunciating those three words as he took a small step forward, lowering his forehead to rest against hers. “You have annoyed me more than I ever thought was possible, but I love you and I want to spend every irritating minute with you.”

Lucy could feel his uttered confession against her lips as her nose brushed against his, her hand pressing against his chest as she moved to stand on the tips of her toes. Her lips feathered against his, their breaths mixing as she took the final step. His lips were soft against hers, a hand tentatively wrapping an arm around the small of her back as Lucy’s hand crept away from his chest and towards the back of his neck, fingers carding through the short strands of dirty blonde hair as she attempted to pull him further into her.

The touches from fingertips were gentle and light as they tested the bounds of this new development, mouths opening under the tongue of the other as the soft kiss soon turned fervent and quickly spiraled out of control.

Lucy moaned into his mouth as the hand around her waist began to drift lower, her fingers curling into the stands of hair at the nape of his neck, her lungs protesting for air as he abandoned her kiss swollen lips.

“Is that a good enough reason?” He exhaled as he looked at the woman standing in his arms, a trance-like look on her face as she pulled back ever so slightly, to catch her breath.

“What?” she asked, shaking her head.

Tim smirked. “You asked for a damn good reason for me being here.”

“You know, I don’t know… Maybe we should discuss this some more.” She smiled as she used the hand on the back of his neck to pull him back towards her.

“That,” He whispered against her lips. “Sound like a good idea.”

#fanfic #chenford fanfic #chenford fic #the rookie fic #chenford #tim bradford x lucy chen

[after-witch]

Title: You Are My Candy Girl (Oh Sugar Sugar Part 3) [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: You Are My Candy Girl (Oh Sugar Sugar Part 3) [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: After an exhausting day running your bakery, you couldn’t wait to get home and fall asleep. You went to bed in your apartment. You woke up somewhere else. You finally meet your stalker...

notes: yandere, kidnapping

Your joints were aching. You had gotten up early that morning to work on a large order due to the next day. You were, quite simply, really damn tired. Which is why you were already heading for bed, deciding for once to indulge in a normals leep schedule. You skipped the shower and settled for rinsing off your face. You brushed your teeth, flossed--tiredly checking all of those tidy marks in your head to keep yourself healthy. Wash, brush, floss, rinse.

Pajamas came next. And quickly after, you clicked off the lights and tucked yourself into bed. You barely registered any thoughts as your head snuggled against the pillow; thoughts of your day and even your present troubles (you still needed to make a police report about your stalker) evaporated quickly, coming to nothing.

You were drifting off, pulling towards sleep, when you felt a sudden, pinching pain in your neck. A bug bite? A spider? You tried to instinctively swat the offender away with your hands, but your arms were heavy, like lead. You couldn’t move them. 

You couldn’t move at all, you realized; a dim, grey thought comes to your head: is this sleep paralysis? But you weren't sleeping, were you? Your thoughts turn hazy and dizzy: you can't move, you can't move, you can't move--and then everything went black.

When you woke up, you were not in your bed. You were not in your own home, in fact. You were sitting in what appeared to be a living room, not on a bed, but on a sofa.

You looked down, vision blurry, and realized that you weren't in your pajamas anymore. That was concerning. You tried to move your arms and realized that your wrists were bound together with some sort of padded handcuff. That was also concerning.

As your vision began to clear, and the total fogginess of your mind thinned out to confusion, you realized that there was someone sitting across from you: it was the regular from your pastry shop.

That was very, very concerning.

You tugged at the wrist restraints, uttering a small whimper in your still dulled state. That was when he spoke.

"I hope they aren't uncomfortable. I estimated that there was a strong chance that you might attempt to harm me, and in doing so inadvertently harm yourself in your panic once you woke up. I can remove them if you promise to stay calm."

You didn't think you could be calm if you wanted to, but you want to be less helpless. Being able to use your arms would help with that. So you nod slowly, never taking your eyes off his face.

"Will you try to run?" He asked.

You considered things for a moment. You wanted to run. You wanted to scream and call for the police. But you still felt sluggish, and you didn't know where you were--or even, really, who this man actually was. If you tried to run, right now at least, you probably wouldn't make it. So you shook your head slowly.

He tilted his head slightly in consideration. He stared at you. His gaze, which you had once considered simply a bit awkward, now felt terrifying.

"All right," he said. He got up from his chair and took a few steps forward. You tried to keep yourself still, but the trembling that overtook you was only a natural response. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. He simply took your wrists and pulled out a key from his pocket, before unlocking it in a swift motion. He set the cuffs aside and watched for a moment as you rubbed your wrists. Then he sat back down, once again in the unusual crouching position he’d assumed at your bakery, and stared at you.

“You can call me L.”

“I…” Your mind swam with thoughts of what to say, how to get out of this, before settling on figuring out what he wanted. Was he trying to rob you? Or--something else?

"I... don't understand what's going on," you said, finally. You swallowed thickly. Your throat was dry. You must have been sleeping with your mouth open the entire time.

"I know you don't," he said. He spoke softly, calmly. Matter-of-factly. "It will take some time for you to understand what's happened. It will take some time for you to get used to... all of this. That's all right, I don't mind."

You shook your head, grateful that whatever drugs you had been injected with--the pain in your neck seemed to flare at the thought--were not too long lasting. "Get used to what?"

He began to chew on his thumb nail, and his voice was slightly muffled as he spoke up.

"I find you interesting, (Y/N)." He seemed to think for a moment. "And I like you. I like your kindness. And your sweets." He withdrew his thumb and licked his lips. "So, you're going to stay with me from now on. It's better this way, considering my line of work. Someone might uncover your existence and use you against me. No one will find you now."

You tried to process his words.

"You can't just kidnap me because you like me."

He smiled, slightly. A little quirk of one. It felt patronizing.

"But I did."

You sat up straighter in the chair.

"You need to let me go. This isn't right. This isn't legal."

He sighed a little and nodded. "No, no, it's not legal. But letting you go isn't an option."

You felt tears pricking at your eyes. How was it that you were having this conversation? How was it that this was happening to you? 

"Okay." You felt your chest tighten. "What are the options?"

L seemed to almost rock forward from excitement. You thought for a moment that he might lean too much and fall off the couch entirely.

"Well, I've calculated several." His voice was low yet animated, and the realization that he'd put that much thought into your kidnapping made you want to vomit. "The best option for you is to accept that you're here, that you're staying with me, and that you're never leaving. Then we can get to know one another better. Once I can trust you, you can use the kitchen... but for now I'll have Watari handle your meals."

You swallowed a lump in your throat. "Watari?" Could that be...

"Hm?" He seemed to realize what you were thinking. "Oh, yes. He used to pick up sweets from your shop for me. He's invaluable."

You felt something akin to betrayal bubbling up in your chest. You... trusted him. You trusted both of them. You even told the man in front of you about your personal problems, about your lack of sleep and your stalker.

Your stalker...

"I've already set your room up," he continued, oblivious to the wheels turning in your mind, almost talking to himself rather than you. "I've taken the liberty of bringing some things from your apartment. Familiar objects from home will help increase the chances that you'll behave sooner rather than later."

It was with a jolt that you recognized the mug on the low table in between you. It was your mug. Your favorite mug. The one that was taken from your apartment. You slowly looked up, icy fear spreading through your arms and legs.

"You're my stalker." Your voice was a soft, hoarse whisper.

He seemed surprised at your words.

"Oh... well, yes." He looked away for a moment. He took your things. Your mug. Your--your underwear. "I originally estimated that I might be satisfied with simply having your personal affects, and eating your pastries everyday, but I was wrong."

He continued speaking, but you could barely hear him. His words sounded distorted, far away. You could feel your chest tighten and your breath began coming in strange, gasping hitches. You couldn't think--you couldn't breath. You were having a panic attack.

"Don't worry, (Y/N), I planned for this possibility."

You couldn't reply if you wanted to, with your mind racing and your body trembling with exhaustion as you fought to breathe. You barely registered him getting out of his chair before you felt the press of something against your face. You jerked away instinctively, but he moved it back again. It was a paper bag, the small kind you used to use for scraps.

"Breathe in and out."

You didn't have a choice, with the bag covering your face and nose. So you complied, taking great, big gulps. Your chest hurt. He took the bag away, and waited a moment. Then he put it back.

"Breathe," he said again. And you do. Again and again.

When he finally removed the back entirely, you were... calm. Or calmer. You could breathe, at least, and you concentrated hard on keeping yourself steady. The sudden realization that he was still standing right next to you, almost right on top of you, almost made you panic again. Instead, you shoved yourself against the back of the sofa. You rubbed away tears that had fallen, unbidden, during your panic attack.

He stared at you for a moment before assuming his previous position on the other side of the table. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his hands around his ankles.

"I won't hurt you," he said. 

You pulled your knees up on the chair and hugged them to your chest.

"You kidnapped me." You winced at how childish and almost petulant your voice sounded.

"Yes, I did." If your tone was petulant, his was equally patronizing. The air danced with an unsaid, condescending: And?

"You can't just kidnap--"

"I can.”

The calm confidence of his tone made you feel sick.

You swallowed and turned your head up to keep away tears. Arguing with him felt impossible. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know what was going to happen to you. This morning, you were a small business owner with a busy schedule and a touch of sleep deprivation. And now you were at the mercy of an obsessed stalker who wanted to do who-knows-what with you.

"What do you want from me?" you whispered, finally. You felt tired. Were the drugs kicking back in? Or was your body simply shutting down from all the stress?

You stared at his face, hoping for some sort of answer, something that might quell the terror building up in your exhausted mind. He bit down on this thumb nail again. There was an odd, thoughtful expression on his face before he finally looked up at you spoke.

"I don't know yet... but we have plenty of time to find out."

#yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #yandere #l lawliet x reader #afterwitch writes

[dangerouslyallaboutdraco]

Story of us

A/n: Angsty, post-Hogwarts and slightly r13 towards the end. 

The history between Y/n and Draco was... complicated. There was something between them that their friends just couldn't understand. On paper there was no reason for them to dislike each other as much as they did, she was a pureblood Slytherin who grew up very similarly to him and also had to change her views like Draco did after the war.

They shared trauma and multiple parallel life experiences but they just didn't get along. Pansy and Daphne never got it, why Y/n had that look of disgust on her face once Draco finished talking.

Blaise and Theo thought it would get better after they left Hogwarts and didn't spend all their free time together, but still, Draco rolled his eyes whenever she walked into the room.

Now they were adults in the wide world, jobs, partners but the tightknit friend group stayed close. Friday nights were always time they spent together, reserved for clubbing or a pub night out or even sitting on Blaise and Pansy's living room floor.

Tonight it was the latter. With a G and T (her favourite muggle alcohol) in her hand, Y/n sat on their couch next to Pansy who had had a lot more than her to drink.

Just as the boys had taken out their hidden stash of weed, Y/n spoke up. "I'm going to go outside." It wasn't that she was opposed to weed, she just didn't like the smell and the boys always insisted on smoking so much they couldn't see out the windows.

Blaise and Pansy's apartment had a beautiful wrap-around balcony. While Y/n and Draco were both fair wealthier, they both received substantial graduation gifts that went a long way to getting an apartment in a good part of London.

They had been together since the last year of Hogwarts, all of their friends watching them slowly grow closer over the year until they realised they were in love.

It was beautiful and while 17-year-old Y/n envied them, she always wanted to speak at their wedding.

As soon as she opened the balcony door the still night air hit her. While it was colder than inside, the sweet smell of the summer air made it a nice contrast.

The sun was just setting in the distance and the sky was the most beautiful golden, pink colour. It was the time Y/n always liked to look out her window at during the war, knowing there was peacefulness at the end of the day always made the long days feel slightly better. The way the warm light danced over the water, dancing on the walls of the usually dark dormitory.

Standing out on the balcony, where the world was right and falling into place felt a lot better. Like nothing could get her down.

She was off in her own world, not noticing when Draco opened the sliding door and walked out next to her.

"Shit Draco!" She shrieked once he put his hand on her lower back. She ignored the tingling feeling in her stomach as she glared at him.

Draco stepped closer to her, maybe too close for her liking. "You could really do with some weed to chill out." He told her, holding the joint closer to her face. "This stuff is the shit, just fresh from my guy." He continued to tell her.

Maybe she would have been interested in Draco if he were less cocky, less rude and a bit more sensitive. Something in his bad-boy image had developed over the year that meant she liked him less.

"Do you always insist on speaking like a druggy?" Y/n asked him, watching him carefully as he looked over the railing with his joint.

He retaliated quickly. "Do you always insist on being such a tight ass, Miss Goody-two-shoes?" He couldn't understand why she always seemed to spoil their fun, ever since they were sorted into Slytherin. 

She just rolled her eyes at him and stared out into the distance. While he was no longer disturbing her silence he was still disturbing her peace and alone time. 

She didn't feel like arguing with him either, it was just too much effort. Draco stood there, smoking his joint while Y/n gazed at the skyline. 

“Why are you even out here?” Y/n snapped at him, suddenly feeling annoyed by the smell of his smoking. 

“Because I can be, what even is your problem with me?” He was definitely going to find out how she felt now, pushing her to the limits made her snappy. 

She rolled her eyes at him, obviously annoyed. “We faced pretty much all of the same challenges in life, but you just became a failure and it really annoys me.” 

“Well, you’re just a slut who hooked up with several guys at school, none of which liked you for any reason other than your body.” Draco’s words did hurt her quite a bit, it wasn’t like she didn’t know he hated her but hearing him say that the people she’d been intimate with never actually cared for her hurt. 

“Fuck off, Draco.” She told him, carefully. 

The look on his face showed her that he was not going to stop for a second. “Just because you don’t like the truth, bitch.”  

“Just leave me alone.” She told him, turning away. 

Draco couldn’t stop winding her up now, it just brought him too much amusement. “Or what, Y/l/n, will you sleep with me like you did every other guy?”

Y/n turned around and put her hand up to slap Draco’s cheek. It wasn’t as hard as she could have hit him but it was the hardest she ever hit anyone. There was a loud sound as her palm contacted his face. 

Still stunned and with her hand in mid-air, Draco snatched her wrist. There they were standing in a face-off, Draco’s slim finger wrapped around her wrist and suddenly there was not one sound. Both of them staring into each other’s eyes. Although Y/n felt threatened, never one to back down from a challenge she scrutinized his eyes.  

Draco was seeing red, his least favourite of all the colours. He was like a bull staring down where he was going to charge. The colour of hatred, blood, anger and passion.

The passion she felt for him, it was surging from where he was touching her. He was the energy source that filled her usually with range but now it was amour fou. 

In a moment Draco released his grip on her hand and moved his hands to her cheeks. Unlike his prior roughness, his thumb stroked along her cheekbones softly and carefully like he was afraid to break her as he lay his fingers under her jawline. 

His softness was a complete shock to Y/n who was still gazing into his eyes. The cold fingertips were more gentle than she’d ever expected, dancing across her jawline with such care. She wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced a touch this delicate. 

There they stayed for a few moments, taking each other in. Both of their minds were on the other, brains frenzied trying to figure out how this had happened. Draco was sure he was infatuated with her perfume, obsessed over the perfect blend of coconut and vanilla that was all he could focus on.

Before either of them could think about the consequences their lips were pressed together in a heated kiss. The passion radiated off them, electricity circuiting through them. And it finally felt, for both of them, that every little puzzle piece fit. 

Eventually they lips parted, their eyes flickering open. Draco was an inch from her face, not believing just how beautiful she was. He held his hands on her face tighter not wanting to let her slip out of his grip. 

“Draco Malfoy, I am 100% in love with you.” Y/n slowly let out. She’d just kissed her arch-enemy so there was no point in not being truthful. 

He smirked, that cute little smirk that had only ever annoyed her from across the common room. “Damn it, y/l/n!” He exclaimed with mock anger. “Now we’re going to tell our kids that mum said ‘I love you’ first.” It was odd for Y/n to see him like that as they were usually at each other’s throats. And now he was thinking about their very distant future.

She smiled to match his. “Just tell me it back, you dork.”

“I am 110% in love with you.” Draco counted. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Y/n’s face turned to worry. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” Usually, this isn’t the type of shit he would pull but she’d never know. 

“No, no, no.” His fingers were back stroking her cheeks. “I am really sorry about what I said, believe me, I’ll never say something like that again.”

Something in Y/n knew he wasn’t lying. There was no chance he didn’t feel the same passion he did in the kiss. “Well, you could take me to dinner before you try and get into my panties.” 

Draco let out a light laugh, blowing air right onto her face. “Whoever said I wanted to do that, you flirt?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.” The chemistry between them was electric and hot. The pair looking into each other's eyes with desire.

“Let’s go before I do you right here.” Y/n looked at him with challenging eyebrows. “Do you need me to prove it?”

 Y/n pulled back from his grip on her face, leaving Draco standing there like an idiot. “Hurry up then.” She said, looking back over her shoulder with a smile as she went to open the patio door. 

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #dracomalfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco imagine #draco one shot #draco angst #draco smut #draco x oc #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x ravenclaw!reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco x gryffindor!reader #draco x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter au #HarryPotter #harry potter imagine #harry potter universe

[cagestark]

A Hole In the Head//8

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

-

About this: 4.5k. Smoking. Alcohol. Mention of wounds, healed (burns specifically). Masturbation. Threatening as foreplay. Typical winterspider stuff. Daddy kink.

-

Hours later finds Peter still staring upwards, only the ceiling blocks his view of the stars. Most nights he crawls into bed naked (or ends up that way thanks to his lover). It’s more comfortable that way, his sensitive skin against the high thread count sheets. But Peter doesn’t hold much hope that he’ll sleep at all tonight, so instead he dons one of Tony’s dress shirts pulled from the laundry basket, pressing his nose to smell the fading cologne whenever his heart starts racing. 

The bed is far too big for one man. Far too empty. 

Peter picks up his phone and opens a message to Bucky. Come lay with me. Even though it’s two in the morning, Bucky’s response is almost instant, a bullheaded, No, that Peter can almost hear in the man’s rasping, no-nonsense voice. 

No fucking, Peter promises. He sends the message, but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard, fluttering anxiously before he decides that nothing ventured will mean nothing gained. I can’t sleep, he admits. Help distract me?

In a few moments, the bedroom door opens a fraction and Bucky’s figure is there. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, hair mussed like maybe he was laying in bed the next room over just like Peter. The sight of him makes Peter’s heart flit upwards to his throat. He’s much more aware of his own outfit: nothing but one of Tony’s shirts and the softest boxer-briefs. 

“No fucking,” Bucky mutters. 

Peter crosses his heart. 

The snort Bucky gives shows just how much he thinks of Peter’s promise. The armchair is still beside the bed where Bucky left it earlier. Peter had thought about pushing it back to the spot in the corner, but a part of him likes the new spot for it. It was a fond reminder of the man who had just sat it in hours before and who was there again now. Maybe it was time to redecorate—call it fengshui. 

Peter settles in amongst the blankets and sheets still smelling of Tony’s scent. With his lover miles away, this is the most contentment he can find. Against his will, he feels the sting of exhaustion at the back of his eyes, the tender ache relieved only for a moment when he blinks. 

“Can you believe I don’t know anything about you,” Peter says, resting one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder—the one without the terrible scarring. “Not much to know.” 

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Peter says with no small amount of awe in his voice. The way Bucky’s shoulders tense at the title isn’t lost on him, but by then the words are already tripping their way out of his mouth. “You must have plenty of stories you could tell—” 

“They aren’t bedtime stories.” 

Peter winces. Maybe Bucky has a point. “Then just tell me about Bucky Barnes. What’s your middle name?” 

The man’s mouth twitches, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Peter feel like the butt of a joke. All at once, the expression is neutral again as Bucky says: “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh man,” Peter says with vicious glee. “It must be awful, then.” 

“Terrible,” Bucky agrees. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Pick one.” 

“Pick one for me.” 

Peter sighs. “That’s not how favorites work.” 

Bucky stares at him, solemn. “It’s not how I work, kid. I’m not that kind of man.” 

“Your favorite color is blue, now,” Peter says. “I’ve decided.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer. 

“You said you lived in Russia. Were you born there?” 

“No.” 

When the man doesn’t elaborate, Peter presses. “Where were you born?” 

“The west.” 

“I’m sorry, the west? That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks. “I’m wanted internationally. Telling you anything about me could get me killed one day, or—” 

“Or?”

“Or it could get you killed,” he says, expression dark. “I have powerful enemies.” 

“Powerful allies, too,” Peter points out. “Not that I can imagine anyone ever getting one over on you.” 

“It’s happened before.” Bucky’s hand comes up to trace at his shoulder along the mottled scars that circle the shoulder joint. With the attention drawn to it, Peter allows himself to look. The skin is heavily textured, shiny pink in some lights and a dark purple in others. Fresh, he thinks. Maybe a few years old. During Tony’s employment, he thinks. “I’m human, kid.”

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks. 

Another one-armed shrug. 

“Is the person who did that—are they dead now?” A slow, mirthless smile stretches across Bucky’s face; an answer in itself. Peter finds himself mirroring it. “Good.”

Without a further thought, Peter throws the blankets off of his bare legs. Bucky’s eyes flicker over them: pale and soft with dark, sparse hair, gaze lingering on Peter’s glossy clear-polished toes. When Peter crawls towards that side of the bed, Bucky’s chin ducks down like he’s preparing for a physical attack, though the way his eyes shimmer like molten mercury makes Peter think it wouldn’t be altogether unwelcome. 

Peter opens the bedside drawer on Tony’s side of the bed. Tony’s personal handgun is gone, which makes it easy to rifle through the condoms and lube to find the half-empty tube of cream the older man had received from the dermatologist. 

“Come here,” Peter says, patting the bed. 

“Why?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowed at the tube in Peter’s hands. “No fucking.” 

“No fucking!” Peter says. It takes all the mental fortitude he has not to roll his eyes. Who could have imagined that an international assassin would be such a prude? “Tony—he’s got a scar too. They gave him this cream that he was supposed to rub on it three times a day to help the scar tissue break down and lighten, but he’s too fucking busy for that.” 

“And I’m not?”

“You’re with me two-thirds of the day,” Peter says, opening the tube. He squeezes out a generous amount of pale colored cream onto his fingers. “And I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

When Bucky makes no move to come to the bed, Peter lets his legs dangle over the edge, reaching out to where the man sits at the bedside, but before his fingers can come close to Bucky’s shoulder, the man flinches backwards, catching Peter’s wrist in a fierce grip. 

“Don’t,” Bucky rasps. “You don’t have to touch it.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Peter scoffs. The grip around Peter’s wrist tightens to the point of pain before going slack again, Bucky’s thumb pressed against his pulse point which must be hammering. “When will you learn that there’s not a person in the world who could make me do something I didn’t want to do?” 

After a long moment, Bucky lets go. 

Gentle, Peter lets his fingers trace over the ring of scars. It lacks the clear edges of Tony’s stab wound; if Peter had to guess (which he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to think at all about what gave Bucky those scars, about how badly it must have hurt, about how long it must have taken him to heal), he would say that the scars look like burns. 

The scars don’t have the same texture as the surrounding skin, no softness, no stretch. Peter rubs the cream in with the utmost care, working hard not to cause any pain. He coaxes Bucky’s arm to shift so that he can reach the scars that extend towards his armpit and then stands, t-shirt touching his thighs to walk around the other side of the man and make sure every inch of tissue receives the same attention. 

“I hate this.” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, jerking him from where he’d become lost in his own thoughts and in the pleasant monotony. His hand freezes, but Bucky goes on: “I hate the way I am around you.”

“Nobody said you had to be such a hardass,” Peter says. He reaches out and gathers Bucky’s hair where it’s falling onto his shoulder and getting stuck in the cream. When his fingers brush the back of the man’s neck as he brushes the hair to the other side of his head, Bucky shivers. 

“That’s how I’m supposed to be,” Bucky rasps. “I hate how you make me so—” 

Bucky cuts himself off and Peter waits one endless moment before he prods the other man. “So?” 

“Weak.” 

Peter isn’t sure what to say. There’s a queasiness in his stomach. He remembers when things started to get serious with Tony, when his older lover had explained that affection was weakness. There’s a reason why cold men make it so far. When you fall in love with something, it becomes a part of you, an extension of you. Suddenly, you’re taking up more space in the world, Tony had said. The man had turned his hand into a makeshift gun, pressing the barrel of his pointer finger to his temple. Bigger targets are always easier to hit, sweet thing. 

He’d lifted a hand, shifting it between Tony’s finger and his head. Then, it had frightened Peter. Tony was right; love could be a liability. But after Beck, Peter knew that for people like them, that wasn’t true. Love could make him colder, braver, bolder. Strong. 

When he opens his mouth to tell Bucky that, he notices that the man’s head has slackened, body loose in the chair. One glance at his face shows that he has fallen asleep. 

-

Peter falls asleep himself, somehow. When he wakes he can see the dim signs of impending morning through the window, but the chair beside the bed is empty. He stretches, groaning with satisfaction before reaching for his phone on the nightstand to make sure that he hasn’t missed his morning Facetime with Tony. 

He has a handful of unread messages from the man, which is more than he fell asleep with hours ago. Smile stretching his face, Peter opens with one hand while the other reaches down to palm his morning wood (more out of habit than anything else). When he sees the wall of text sent, eyes skimming it quickly, he squeezes his erection tightly and hisses through his teeth. 

Fuck kid, Tony begins. I just finished that footage and I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. I’d kill to have been a fly on the wall, to hear whatever filth he was spewing in your ear. How did his cock feel pressed against you, honey? Looks like it felt good with the way you rutted against him like an animal. You looked like an absolute slut pinned underneath him and so desperate for whatever scraps he’d toss you. When I’m home, I want to see you suck him off and show him your gratitude properly, is that understood? 

If there’s any doubt how I feel about this, see the enclosed.

Next Tony sent a video. The thumbnail tells Peter everything: just a still of Tony’s shirtless torso. He clicks on it frantically and makes it full screen, mashing the button to turn up the volume. For being in his forties, Tony looks incredible. He’d worked hard with the physical therapists hired to come to the mansion after Beck, and it shows in the flat lines of his abs. Dark hair is smattered across his chest and then against below his belly-button. The scar at the center of his chest is dark with shadows from the dim lighting. 

Tony fiddles with the placement of the phone until it is propped up on what appears to be the desk of his hotel room. A glass rests just barely in view, drained. Tony sits back in his chair, the movement flexing the muscles in his core. Peter can only see him from nose to knee, but it’s more than enough. His dress pants are open, cock tenting his boxer-briefs obscenely. But he doesn’t touch it; instead, he takes a package of cigarettes from where they rest offscreen on the desk and expertly taps one free. Just the sight of his capable hands has Peter’s throat bobbing, the hand on his cock squeezing to the point of pain just to pace himself. 

Tony lights the cigarette with the lighter Peter bought him at the mall, and Peter swears he can feel the flame. 

“There’s no smoking in this room,” Tony says after the flame catches. “But with a sinful little thing like you at home, a fee is the least of my worries. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in over a decade, pumpkin. You see what you’re doing to me?” 

Holding the cigarette in his lips, Tony reaches down to work his cock free. The sight of it evokes a physical response, Peter’s mouth salivating, his throat tightening. Leisurely, Tony fists it while his other hand comes up to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rushing from his nose. 

“You can show this to him, if you feel so inclined. If you really think he’s interested.” The handsome, full mouth twists into a smirk. “You know I’m not shy. And if he’s going to have you, he’s going to have to get used to me, too. The things I’m going to have him do to you,” Tony sighs wistfully, shaking his head to clear the illusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. I’m going to take you apart, sweet thing, and he’s going to be the tool that does it for me.”

Peter can imagine. Beneath the sheets, he shimmies his underwear off and runs his fingers over his cock. All at once he remembers that he isn’t allowed to touch himself and his expression sours. On screen, Tony taps ash onto the desk. Peter hopes he has to pay a big fine. Huge, he thinks sulkily. 

But if Peter is anything, he is resourceful. Rolling into his stomach (kicking when his legs get all twisted up in the sheets), he presses a pillow down between his legs and groans at the pressure on his aching cock. It’s juvenile, but it will work, and if Tony didn’t want him to exploit loopholes in his orders, then he shouldn’t have left the loopholes in the first place. He turns his head until his cheek is pressed into the pillow, holding the phone inches from his face. 

Tony’s stamina and cool head always impress Peter. Surely it is something that comes from twenty more years of experience, but Tony always strokes his cock like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring the feeling of himself in his hand and cumming is secondary. His knees are spread wide, the perfect place for Peter to kneel between. 

Behind him, the door opens. 

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his side to take in Bucky’s figure where he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowed at Peter’s suspicious figure on the bed. Peter lets his back arch, emphasizing the obscene curve of his ass where he continues to rut against the pillow, leaking precum. 

“Jesus, kid, it isn’t even eight AM. What the fuck has you so worked up?” 

Peter grins. Holding up the phone, he says, “A gift. From Tony.” 

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches as if he is clenching his teeth. The otherwise unimpressed look stays on his face until Peter adds: “He says it’s for you, too.” 

A normal person might react with interest, pleasure. Bucky looks as if he’s only been pushed a fraction closer to a murderous rampage. He stalks closer to the bed, boots silent against the floor. How a man with so much mass is so quiet, Peter will never know. “The fuck do you mean it’s for me?”

When he gets close enough, his eyes flit to the phone and there’s no hiding the widening of his gaze. His whole expression shudders as it struggles to return to a more neutral position, but it’s difficult when those pale eyes are glued to Tony’s tan hand where it leisurely jerks the impressive cock between his legs. Has Bucky always been this expressive, Peter wonders, or is Peter just getting better at reading the few expressions he has?

It was one thing to hear Tony’s sinful mouth yesterday on the phone, but it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the image of it, the overt sexuality of the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his head tilts back on screen as he draws closer to his orgasm. All this and Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off of Bucky’s face. On screen, Tony mutters, fuck kid, take it, and Bucky’s pupils dilate, and Peter is lost, the phone lax in his hand as he presses his face into the pillow until its hard to breathe, hips jerking through his orgasm.

He comes to in time to lift his head and watch Tony cum, all the muscles in his abdomen thrown into sharp definition as his hips jerk upwards into the tight circle of his fist, cum pale where it lands on his tan skin and the dark fabric of his dress pants. The groan he gives is music to Peter’s ears, one hand coming up to take the cigarette from his mouth so that he can pant properly. 

“Look what you fucking do to me,” Tony sighs smoke curling from his mouth. “And nobody here to clean me up. What a tragedy. Shakespearean proportions. Next time I cum, I’m doing it down your throat, sweet thing. Be good for Bucky. I love you.” 

He stands onscreen, tucking his softening cock back into his dress pants (though he leaves them undone as he reaches out and turns off the video). Peter dares to give Bucky a glance and finds him glaring at the phone. He waits to see what the other man might do, but eventually the phone screen goes dark and still Bucky stares, now at his own reflection. 

He drops the phone onto the bed with a quiet thud, fingers flexing and smoothing at his jeans as if he’s trying to wipe away a filthy touch. When he speaks again, it’s with a mixture of hostility and resignation that makes Peter shiver: “He knows.” 

“If you mean how obsessed you are with him, then he doesn’t. But to be fair,” says Peter, edging towards the far side of the bed just in case he decides to run for it. “You’re a little obvious.” 

“Obvious?” The word comes from Bucky’s mouth sounding like a curse. He shifts on instinct until he is between Peter and the one exit. Fucking assassins. “I’ve worked for him for eight years and he never caught on. Three weeks with you and now I’m fucked. What did you tell him?” 

“All I said was that I thought you had a hard-on for him!” Peter says. He pulls the blankets up, cocooning himself in soft cotton. A slip of dark fabric appears - his boxers, score! - so he works to tug them on instead. “He seemed shocked, but in a good way. Look, I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I feel like this is a very natural progression given where we were heading. I don’t get why you’re freaking out.” 

“You don’t understand,” Bucky mutters. He breaks from standing between Peter and the door and chooses to sit in the chair Peter is beginning to think of as his. Slumped over, he looks like the picture of dejection. He mutters something under his breath but it doesn’t sound like English. 

With all the care of a man approaching a feral animal, Peter carefully slips off the bed (tugs up his boxers the rest of the way, even if there is cooling cum clinging to his well-trimmed pubes) and pads to the chair Bucky occupies. The carpet is soft and not uncomfortable to kneel on. When he tilts his head to rest it on Bucky’s jean-clad knee, the man flinches. After a long, still moment, he lets a hand come down to pat condescendingly at Peter’s head. 

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “I don’t understand. Then tell me.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. He tugs on a lock of Peter’s hair until Peter turns, resting his chin on the man’s thigh to look up into his tired, uncertain face. “You want to know more about me? Tony is all that’s worth mentioning. This thing with you,” he begins. “It’s big. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this - thing - I’ve had for Tony? It’s been so long. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s formative. It made me.” 

“I still don’t get it.” 

“I’m still talking, aren’t I? Do I sound finished?” 

“Start from the beginning.” 

“You’re a bossy little shit,” Bucky mutters, flicking Peter between the eyes. “There’s going to be none of that when we’re fucking, you know that right?” 

Peter grins. “We’ll see. Quit stalling.” 

“About eight years ago, I reached the end of my rope. Lost my mind, a little. I convinced myself that I was being followed, that the people I worked for had put a hit out on me, and I ended up isolating myself in a tiny cabin - somewhere, don’t give me that fucking look, kid, be lucky I’m telling you this much. I was there for twenty days. Starving to death. Spiraling...then one day out of the fucking blue, Natasha called me.”

“Nat?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised. “You two knew each other?” 

Bucky nods and doesn’t deign to explain their relationship any further. “She called me to say she’d been stateside for three years, working for a man she couldn’t even name over the phone. She promised that if I ever wanted a change of scenery, I could catch a plane and there would be a job waiting for me.

“I thought it was a plot. Maybe she was in on it with the others, maybe they were just trying to lure me out. Maybe there was no job, maybe as soon as I stepped foot outside, they’d have my location confirmed and they’d send someone to kill me. The no food, no water just made me more paranoid. In the end, I told myself that even if it all was a plot - if I died trying to get out - it wouldn’t matter. Who’d fucking care if I died? Not anyone I worked for. Not Natasha. Not some boss in New York City. Least of all me. 

“So I caught a plane to New York, drank water out of the faucet in a bathroom at JFK International and met up with Nat. She took me to Le Cinq in downtown Manhattan, that fancy French place. Fuck, I must have looked like a nutcase walking in there, smelling like a homeless person, thin enough that a stiff enough wind could have carried me away. And there I was surrounded by all these white table clothes and maître d’s, luxury like I’d never been treated to. Then there was Tony, sitting alone at a table dressed in one of his suits but without the jacket. He stood up when he saw us coming, like some kind of gentleman in one of those old black and white movies. You know what he looks like. But it was more than that. He’s got a presence, and once I was in it, something inside me just - burst.  

“We’d never even fuckin’ met. Never even spoken. But I told him that my gun was his, my skills were his, my life was his, if he wanted it. We hadn’t even sat down yet. He asked me what did I want, and I said I didn’t know. Trust, maybe. Rest, but I didn’t fucking say that. And he just smiled and said, ‘well, how about a hamburger’?” 

“No,” Peter says, one hand clutching at his bare chest. “No, tell me you did not force Audric Ansel, head chef of Le Cinq, make you a fucking hamburger at the finest Parisian restaurant in the tri-state area. They don’t even have beef on the menu.” 

“I didn’t,” Bucky says. He reaches out and threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, pulling to coax him to rest his head back on the man’s thigh. Just that act of dominance alone starts a fire simmering low in Peter’s belly. “Tony did. Is that the only point you took from that story? Shows how fucking often I’ll open up to you.”

“Not the only point,” Peter says, eyes heavy lidded. He’d need a few more minutes to become hard again, but that doesn’t mean his cock doesn’t tingle with the threat of it. “I know now that you’re in love with him.” 

Peter feels viscerally when Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling at his scalp to the point of pain. He loosens them right away at the wince on Peter’s face, patting clumsily as if to soothe the ache he caused. 

“If you tell him,” Bucky warns. “I’ll make you regret it.” 

“Fuck, yes, threaten me again,” Peter groans lowly. He has to bite off the end of that sentence, the way the word daddy came so easily to his tongue. But the other man isn’t ready for that, hasn’t expressed any interest in it. Not to mention, maybe it makes him a sentimental fool, but Tony is the only man he’s ever called daddy, and it doesn’t feel right to pass the moniker along. Not without permission. Peter opens his mouth wide and plants his teeth into the muscular thigh that was resting beneath his cheek. When he pulls back, there is a shadow of the imprint in the denim. “It turns me on.” 

Bucky pulls his hair again, this time harsh and purposeful. Peter’s neck cracks, an unsettling sensation that makes him shiver. He leans down until his breath fans across Peter’s upturned face. “I mean it.” 

There is a real trace of fear that trickles down the back of Peter’s neck, but he leans into it. This is what he wanted. A dangerous man brings danger with him. His mouth opens to taunt Bucky more but the eyes - those pale, sea spray eyes - they are wild. Maybe frightened. It takes herculean effort to decide between egging the man on and comforting him. Well - it takes effort to choose what he knows to be right. 

“I’m joking,” Peter says, throat hoarse from how his neck is exposed. “I won’t tell him.” 

He’s left pinned under that fervent gaze for a few more endless seconds and then Bucky’s fist loosens. Brings him back down to rest his head where he had moments ago planted his cheek. Between Peter’s legs, he is throbbing. He can’t help but reach a hand down to palm at the tented fabric of his boxers. 

“None of that,” Bucky says sternly. “Jesus, how desperate are you? You came just fifteen minutes ago and you’re already thirsty for more. You’re going to learn some patience, kid, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck,” says Peter, breathless.

#winterspider #starker #winterironspider #nff #cagewrites

[pillage-and-lute]

Can I have some Book! Geralt,who somehow happened to be in show universe,meeting Jaskier, who after some prodding from him tells B!Geralt about mountain and B!Geralt is furious? At some point they meet show! Geralt and B!Geralt makes sh!Geralt jealous because he knows Jask's feelings are not unrequited,but only after making sh!Geralt understand that that is not how you treat your best friend in the whole wide world. I just want some sh!Geralt/Jask with a little help from B! Geralt Thank you <3

Hi Sadpathologist!

Have I read the books? no, but I intend to.  I’m giving this a whack nonetheless! 

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Jaskier about leapt out of his skin when the tall, silver haired witcher appeared beside him at the bar. He seemed...different. Jaskier’s brain, marinating in a fair amount of gin, wasn’t putting in the work to decifer the difference. 

Jaskier coughed.

Geralt glanced at him, looked directly at him, then went back to ordering his drink.

So that was how it was. Twenty two years, just to end up strangers again. 

Jaskier wasn’t going to put up with that. He deserved better than that. He wasn’t quite sure what all he deserved, an apology for one, but not to be given the silent treatment and a cold shoulder were definitely on the list.

“Hey,” he said. “Geralt.” 

The witcher turned. “Do I know you?”

Jaskier felt something little crush in his chest. “That’s not fair and you know it, we’ve known eachother for decades, Geralt.” His voice was getting dangerously wobbly now and it made him burn with shame but he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. “We were friends,” he said through the lump in his throat. “I know you never called us that but we were. I know we aren’t anymore but...” He choked, not able to finish the sentence and not sure how he would have if he could.

Geralt was looking at him, wide eyed.

“Dandelion?”

huh?

“I haven’t gone by that since Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said. His rational brain was really, really trying to tell him something about Geralt, something was weird, but it had been a lot of gin. “I’m not sure I ever told you that, either.”

Geralt picked him up by the shoulder and hauled him out of the tavern, into the light of day. It hurt after all the daydrinking, but realization slid into place and the shock had a better sobering effect than a cold bath.

“You aren’t Geralt,” he said. He began to twist about in the grip, captured by some Geralt-facsimilie. 

“I am, I am,” the not-Geralt set Jaskier down. “I’m just not- I’m not you’re Geralt. He pulled Jaskier into the stables and Jaskier took a good look, since the man didn’t seem to be actively trying to kill him. 

“You aren’t my Geralt,” Jaskier said. “The scars are wrong, and your beard is more grown in than you usually let it get.” He thought. “And I don’t think I told you I ever went by Dandelion.”

“What, never?”

“You-he never asked.”

“Okay,” not-Geralt said, sitting down on a sack of hay. “I’m not from here, I know a Dandelion-Jaskier, he looks a lot like you, but he’s blonde. There was this... thing, I interrupted some big sorceressy ritual, I’m sure I’ll get back in a couple of days but listen...what did you mean when you said we-you and your Geralt- aren’t friends anymore, that he never called you friends?”

The face, almost familiar, looked very serious. Geralt was looking at him with genuine concern and it was so close to everything Jaskier wanted, but the scars were wrong, there were little laugh lines and marks in the wrong places. The eyes were the same.

He believed this Geralt, too. It sounded crazy but, well...golden dragon men, djinns, devils, elves, Jaskier had known a lot of crazy.

This Geralt hadn’t asked for the whole story, but it felt so good to tell someone about it, Jaskier gave it to him anyway. From Posada to the mountain. His voice broke, and not-quite-Geralt put a comforting arm around him, rubbing his hair in a way he liked. It was as if he knew just how Jaskier liked it.

Jaskier full on cried talking about the mountain, but he never even talked about the final argument, merely saying Geralt had sent him away. He felt safe and appreciated but it wasn’t his Geralt and it was so close that it hurt to talk about it. The thought that in another life Geralt might be his friend, could be this more open, loving person ached. In this life Geralt would rather he be dead.

He sat there, other Geralt seemed baffled. After a moment he spoked.

“What a dick.”

Jaskier was thinking though. Maybe the difference wasn’t about Geralt. What difference in Jaskier could cause all this.

“Tell me about your Jaskier?”

Geralt-ish looked down at him. “He’s blonde, he wears loud clothing, more pinks and purples, and feathered hats.” A small smile crossed his face, and it was so beautifully, heart achingly familiar. “It took me a while to accept our friendship too, but he practically forced it to me. I love him more than anything.” There was a soft look in Geralt’s eyes.

“I can’t image a world in which we aren’t at least friends, if not lovers. I don’t think the white wolf was meant to be without his barker.” He made direct, blazing eye contact with Jaskier. “We need to find your Geralt and knock sense into him, if you can’t do it, I’ll take him outside and beat him from one end of the Continent to the other.”

“I don’t even know where he is,” Jaskier said.

“We’ll find him, if I were him I’d still be brooding at the bottom of that mountain.” Other-Geralt began slinging bags onto Roach. She looked exactly like Roach. Jaskier approached carefully. 

She sniffed him cautiously, but there must have been something in his scent she recognized because she nuzzled him appreciatively. Wrong-Geralt mounted up and looked at Jaskier expectantly.

“Well? Go on, get on Roach.”

“Oh no,” Jaskier said, stepping back. “I’m not allowed on Roach.”

Not-Geralt looked at him like he was stupid. “What do you mean you’re ‘not allowed on Roach’, you don’t have your own horse. You can’t walk all the time.”

Jaskier shouldered his lute. “I manage fine.”

Not-Geralt picked him up by his collar and deposited him solidly on Roach’s back. “Hold tight,” he said. “We can’t both ride her all the time, but we’ll take turns walking, it’s not too far to the mountain you mentioned.”

Jaskier wasn’t certain he wanted to go back to that mountain at all. 

This wasn’t his Geralt. This was a witcher from a completely different universe. One with a blonde Jaskier who still went by his old stage name. He could be completely wrong about all of this. He might love his Jaskier, but what if in this world Jaskier was truly despicable to his Geralt. A shit shoveler. 

He must have tensed because the Geralt he had his arms wrapped around twisted back to look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s something you aren’t saying.”

Jaskier sighed, and they rode on a few more minutes in silence. He hadn’t gotten very far from the mountain, and it would take them only a few hours on horse back.

“When Geralt-my Geralt, told me to leave on the mountain...” Jaskier tailed off, the memory was still so recent and it stung. 

“He said something, didn’t he?”

Jaskier nodded, sure the witcher would feel the movement.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. What did he say?”

“He told me I shovel shit,” Jaskier gave a wet little chuckle. “He blamed me for every bad thing that happened in his life. Then he said...”

Other-Geralt held Jaskier’s wrist where his arms were holding on and rubbed his thumb across the joint sympathetically. Jaskier began to cry silently.

“He told me that if life could give him one blessing,” Jaskier said, leaning his wet face against the back of other-Geralt. “If life could give him one blessing it would be to take me off of his hands.”

Other-Geralt took in a sharp breath and brought other-Roach up short. He turned almost fully around in his saddle.

“He said what?” His voice was low and dangerous. There was real fury in his voice.

“He said-” 

“I heard what he said, he said that to you? He actually looked at you and told you that?”

Jaskier nodded. 

“Tell me,” other-Geralt said. “Did he leave you to get off of that mountain alone?”

“There were tracks,” Jaskier said, feeling somehow that he should defend his Geralt, although admittedly the witcher probably no longer deserved his loyalty.

“And, from what you’ve told me, some pretty murderous people not to mention treacherous terrain.” Other-Geralt nudged not-Roach into a trot, but his jaw was working the way Geralt’s did when he was angry.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t,” Jaskier said softly. Not-Geralt peered at him over his shoulder. 

“You know you don’t deserve what he said, right?”

“Yes of course, I didn’t deserve any of that.” Jaskier huffed ruefully. “Especially not after twenty two years.”

“Good,” not-Geralt said, turning back to face front. “So long as you understand that.”

They rode a while in silence, Jaskier’s eyes gradually drying.

“Do you love him?” not-Geralt asked eventually. 

“More than life,” Jaskier said. 

“Even after all this? No one would blame you if you fell out of love after treatment like that.”

“Even now, yes,” Jaskier sighed. “I think it’s because I understand him better than anyone. He isn’t used to dealing with his emotions, so sometimes he does it badly. I still love him, but he really messed up this time, he’s bad at emotions but this bad...it really hurt me.”

Other-Roach walked another long silence.

“I think it hurt even more because sometimes,” Jaskier took a deep breath, not willing to cry again today. “Sometimes I thought he might love me back, love me too. There were little things he’d do...”

“Like what?”

“Oh little things, he noticed when my boots needed replacing before I did, let me wash his hair. Tiny, sleep smiles in the morning, that sort of thing.”

“He does love you,” other-Geralt said. “I’m certain of it. We’re not far from the mountain now, and I have a plan, if you’re willing.”

“A plan?”

“Absolutely. It will be torture for him, and he’ll certainly apologize, probably confess his feelings too.””

Not-Geralt explained his plan. 

Jaskier listened.

“Won’t your Jaskier mind?” he asked. 

“I don’t think so, we have a flexible exclusivity, and this is for a very good cause, besides, we won’t go very far.”

“If you’re certain.”

“It won’t make you uncomfortable?” asked the other-Geralt.

“No, actually,” Jaskier said, grinning. “I think it’s a perfect plan.”

They reached the inn at the base of the mountain before nightfall.

Just like other-Geralt said he’d be, Jaskier’s Geralt was drinking with a single mindedness that was a little worrying. Other-Geralt turned to him.

“Sure you don’t want me to just beat sense into him?”

“No,” Jaskier said, mentally slipping into character.

“Okay then, ready?”

“Ready.”

Other-Geralt strolled up to the bar with Jaskier basically hanging off his arm.

“Pint for me, please,” he told the barman. “And one for my...friend.”

Friend dripped positively salaciously. 

Jaskier’s Geralt didn’t even look up, but he didn’t let himself be deterred. 

They sat with their ales close, but not too close to Geralt. Jaskier plopped himself, giggling into other-Geralt’s lap. He leaned into his ear and whispered flirtily, “tell me a joke?”

Other-Geralt chuckled, and oh, that sound in such a familiar voice made Jaskier’s heart skip in his chest. 

“Where does the general keep his armies?” other-Geralt asked. Jaskier thought, then asked,

“I dunno, where?”

“Up his sleevies.”

It was such a ridiculous joke, silly and lighthearted and so odd to hear in Geralt’s deep rumbling voice that Jaskier tilted his head back and let peals of laughter escape. He finally disolved into little, bubbling giggles and buried his face into other-Geralt’s neck.

“Is he looking?” he whispered, barely a breath so that sensitive witcher ears wouldn’t hear in the loud tavern.

“Yes,” other-Geralt rumbled. “He looks green with envy.”

Jaskier looked into almost familiar eyes, smiling. “Okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, okay,” other-Geralt said. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier. 

It was a lovely kiss, other-Jaskier clearly liked being kissed the same way, but it was fairly short. Then other-Geralt pressed little kisses along the top of Jaskier’s cheeks and behind his ears, beginning to trail down his neck.

“Jaskier.”

It was his Geralt, standing over them. Jaskier looked up. “I’m busy,” he said, then leaned in to wrap his arms around other-Geralt’s neck, as if he was going to kiss him again. 

Geralt lifted him off by his collar. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled. Jaskier noted with amusement that he was making his voice deeper than usual, like a tom cat fluffing it’s tail. The bard crossed his arms as his feet hit the floor. 

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” he said, although part of him just wanted to melt into that familiar gaze. “Especially since you decided it would be a blessing for me to be taken off your hands.”

Other-Geralt, with expert timing, pulled Jaskier back into his lap, sliding one hand up to Jaskier’s inner thigh. It was almost indecent, although not really, but Geralt looked ready to explode. 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” other-Geralt said, voice pitched suggestively. “But your hands aren’t what he’s going to be on.” This was accompanied with a truly indecent hip thrust, rolling Jaskier where he was sat on other-Geralt’s lap. The witcher wasn’t hard, and it was all an act, but Jaskier couldn’t help blushing a little. This was, after all, the body double of his Geralt. 

He looked up at Geralt. “You can go now,” he said.

His Geralt looked so conflicted that Jaskier’s heart went out to him. He could see the emotion running across Geralt’s face. Guilt, regret, loss, betrayal, anger.

“Please, Jaskier,” he said. 

“Please Jaskier what?” just because he still loved the idiot didn’t mean he was going to make this easy. “Please Jaskier leave me so you don’t shovel more shit into my life?” Geralt winced.

“Please Jaskier take yourself off my hands because after more than twenty years I still don’t think of you as a friend?” Geralt winced again. Other-Geralt had started leaving teasing, butterfly kisses along his neck again, and was shifting in his seat. It wasn’t sexy, and his hips weren’t rocking against Jaskier, but to Geralt it must surely look that way.

“Please Jaskier, find your own way off this god-forsaken mountain with murderers and monsters and, oh yeah, all the provisions were in your pack and I had to forage and not poison myself?”

Other-Geralt growled his displeasure at that detail. Geralt’s shoulders slumped. Jaskier tapped other-Geralt’s leg to let him up and they both stood. 

“I’m going outside,” he said. “If you want to say something, come too, if not, I’m leaving.” Jaskier smiled flirtatiously at other-Geralt. “And he’ll be going with me.”

Geralt followed him outside. 

Other-Geralt followed too, but at a slower pace so they could talk. 

In the stables, hoping Geralt wouldn’t notice the identical Roaches side by side, he whirled around, finally letting out every last bit of anger, betrayal and frustration he’d been feeling.

“Twenty two years you stupid bastard!” he yelled, poking one finger into Geralt’s chest. “Two decades!” he smacked the armor with an open palm. “And in all that time not once could you bear to so much as call me you friend! You ASSHOLE! And I love you! That’s not fair because I STILL love you! And you DON’T DESERVE IT! But I LOVE YOU!” 

Jaskier took a tiny breath then continued yelling. 

“And I KNOW you love me too! You don’t do the things we did for one another without love! It might not be the way I love you, that’s okay, if you only love me platonically, but you love me! I was so SURE you loved me! AND THEN YOU LEFT ME ON THE MOUNTAIN!”

Geralt opened his mouth and Jaskier slapped a hand over it. He wasn’t sure at what point during the screaming he’d started crying but he wasn’t about to lose momentum now.

“NO! I’m talking now! You LEFT ME ON THAT MOUNTAIN! I COULD HAVE DIED! YOU DON”T DO THAT TO PEOPLE YOU LOVE!” Damn it all, he was losing momentum, he was crying for real, sobbing. And the sobs were choking his anger. 

“You told me I was a burden and a curse,” he said between sobs. “That I had only ever caused you misfortune.” He sucked in a breath and looked into tortured golden eyes. “You told me that if life could give you one blessing it would be for me to be taken off your hands. How did you mean that? Did you mean simply that you would never see me again? Or did you mean me dying on that mountain without a pack and without food or water? Or did you mean me falling on that mountain and dying alone and in pain on the rocks below? Did you mean me getting murdered by the bastards who’d gone on that dragon hunt?”

Jaskier was sniffling great, snotty pauses in his sentences. “Or maybe you just wanted some peace and quiet, like that time with the djinn.” He stepped back from Geralt and met his gaze, watery though his own eyes might have been. “So tell me, how did you mean it, Geralt?”

“I didn’t.”

It was a whisper, then Geralt knelt in the straw and took both of Jaskier’s slightly shaking hands in his own. 

“I swear on my life, Jaskier I didn’t mean it.” 

His gaze was so honest and open and he looked so tortured Jaskier wanted to forgive him and fall into his arms right there, but he was still hurting so badly.

“You said it though, it almost came true, like with the djinn, am I that much of a burden to you?”

“No!,” Geralt stood, not releasing Jaskier’s hands. “No,” he said a little more calmly, stepping closer. “You are the greatest gift of my life, my treasure, my friend,I swear it.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier’s face, gold and blue meeting in the dim stable light. 

“I don’t know if you can believe my oath, but I swear to you, on the name of every witcher, alive or dead, on the medallion I wear around my neck, Jaskier. Jaskier, you are my truest blessing.”

He pulled Jaskier into a perfect, soul numbing hug. 

“I’ve hardly slept,” Geralt whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve hardly slept for the thought that I’d killed you. Fed you to that mountain.” Geralt was taking great, shuddering breaths, his shoulders trembling, tremors in the earthquake taking over him. “I thought I’d killed my love. I’m so sorry, Jaskier. My love. I do love you, not as friends. I love you like a ballad, and I could have killed you.” 

Geralt was crying, Jaskier realized. His tear ducts may have been dry but he was crying all the same, clutching to Jaskier like a lifeline, like Geralt himself had been left dangling from the mountainside and Jaskier was his rope.

“I’m sorry Jaskier, so, so sorry. I’m poor with emotions and I took it out on you and it could have killed you,” Geralt said, his face buried in Jaskier’s hair, squeezing him tight like he wanted them to be glued together. “I didn’t mean a word of it I swear, and I searched that thrice damned mountain for you until I found your tracks leading you safely away.”

“I wanted to kill you,” other-Geralt said, stepping around from the corner of the stables. “You’re lucky he still loves you, or I might have.”

Geralt-Jaskier’s Geralt, for ther first time got a decent look, not obscured by jealousy or dim lighting, of other-Geralt.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re...”

“You? Yeah. It’s hard to explain but it involves blundering in to some sorceressy bullshit.” Other-Geralt clapped one massive hand onto Geralt’s shoulder and stared into his face, gold meeting gold. “I have a bard in my world, and I’ll be returned to him soon. He is truly my greatest gift. I want nothing of your bard but for him to be happy, because I do not believe in any world where I and my love are not at least companions.”

“I understand,” Geralt said.

“No, I don’t think you do,” other-Geralt said. “If I ever somehow, and I don’t know how, get a dream I suppose, that you mistreat your gift again, I will slice open this wall between worlds and hunt you down myself.”

A whistle came from behind them, and the three men turned. Jaskier looked into a face very similar to his own. It had a goatee. And blonde hair. The man was standing next to a glowing portal.

“Geralt,” the other-Jaskier, Dandelion, Jaskier supposed, said. There was relief in his voice. He leapt to his witcher and there was a kiss so vigorous that Jaskier, singer of two dozen bawdy songs, looked away. 

“I feared I’d never find you,” the blonde said. Other-Geralt grinned at him.

“I always knew you would, my love.”

He turned to Geralt and Jaskier, standing dumbstruck. “I guess my work here is done.” Here he pointed at Geralt. “Remember my warning.” He mounted up on his Roach and with barely a sound to mark their leaving, the pair left.

“Well,” said Jaskier, sitting on a barrell. 

“Well,” said Geralt, standing stunned in the center of the stables.

“I’m glad at least somewhere we sorted ourselves out,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly.

“I want that to be us.”

“What?” 

“I want to be able to kiss you like that, someday.” Geralt crossed the room towards Jaskier. “I want to turn to you someday and not be so...so stupid, so emotionally stunted, that I can name you as ‘my love’ in front of others.”

“But...”

“Jaskier, I never called you friend because it ached that you saw me as friend when I wanted you to be more, and now I’ve had a taste of losing you and I would walk over fire never to do so.”

Geralt got down on his knees in the stable and reached out with one hand. His fingers curled around Jaskier’s neck and pulled him closer until their foreheads gently met.

Somehow it was more intimate than a kiss.

“I forgive you,” Jaskier said. “And I love you, always.”

Geralt tilted his head up and captured Jaskier’s lips. 

It was sweet and perfect and Geralt pulled back and planted so many more beautiful, chaste kisses that they fell like rain. 

Then he pulled back and tugged Jaskier to his feet, a little, toe-tinglingly sexy growl escaping him.

“My love,” Geralt said, clearly savoring the phrase in their little bubble of secrecy. “I could eat you alive.”

“That,” Jaskier said, pulling back and smiling. “You may have to wait for.”

Geralt followed him out into the chilly evening. “For you I would wait forever,” he said.

Jaskier had a feeling that he probably wouldn’t make Geralt wait very long.

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Ope, you sent a request and I gave you a fic. 3812 words! hope you enjoy.

#the witcher #geraskier #post-mountain fix it #Book! Geralt #Show! Geralt #dandelion #jaskier #Roach is a good girl in every universe #angst #fluff

[teamhappyme]

as long as i have you

pairing: peter stone x reader

warnings: broken bones, mentions of death

word count: 1.7k

a/n: just some nice little peter stone fluff for you all tonight :)

****

You made your way up the steps of one hogan place a little slower that afternoon, your new injury giving you a slight balance problem. It had been a rough day at the precinct, for more reasons than the obvious one attached to your shoulder.

The only thing that was getting you through the day was the promise of greasy pizza and watching the cubs game with your boyfriend. In the six months you’d been seeing each other, Peter had become such a constant in your life. Even before you agreed to that first date, the last year and a half he’d been with the squad had led to him etching a place in your life, even though you were a little weary of him at first.

But he proved himself to you; he got justice for victims, showed empathy to Carisi when he could have ripped him to shreds for interfering, and after confiding in you after Pam’s death, you knew the man that he truly was. 

And after the day you were having, you were grateful to have Peter Stone in your corner. 

As you walked down the hall to his office, you saw Carmen packing up her bag, and she gave you a warm smile. 

“I have a feeling you’re the person to thank for my early night,” She commented, and you smiled back in return. Carmen had caught on pretty early on that there was something between you two, but she never asked any questions. She just transferred your calls, and gave you knowing smiles in turn.

“Well, I’m glad I can get you out of here before seven on a thursday night.” You replied, giving her a small wave as you entered Peter’s office.

He was on the phone when you opened the door, giving you a smile before his eyes landed on your arm. The black sling attached to your left arm was hard to miss. He sat up straighter, ready to end the phone call when you put your good hand out to him, letting him know it was okay.

That you were okay.

You placed your bag on the couch, listening as Peter tried to wrap up the conversation as politely as possible. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, a message from Sonny asking you if you were doing alright. You quickly responded, reassuring your partner that your arm hadn’t fallen off since he last saw you thirty minutes ago.

Once it sounded like the phone call was finally being wrapped up, you leaned against his desk and waited for him to hang up. And in fifteen seconds, the phone was down and Peter was quickly standing between your legs. 

“What happened to you?” He asked while his hands hovered over your arms. 

“I was chasing a perp through an alley, tackled him, and landed pretty bad on my arm. Broke my arm and fractured my wrist. Got a pretty purple cast tucked in here.” He let out a sigh before placing a kiss to your forehead. “And believe it or not, this wasn’t even the worst part of my day.”

He pulled away, his brow quirked in interest for you to continue. 

“Rollins was on another anti-lawyer spiel, and your name came into the mix. I tried to interrupt her, as subtle as one can interrupt Amanda Rollins on a roll, but she shut me down.”

Even though you and Peter had been seeing each other for six months, you still hadn’t disclosed to Liv or the DA. At first, it was because you wanted to keep this to yourselves. It was new, and fun, and airing it to the rest of the squad would only taint it. Then, as time passed, and the two of you knew this was going to last, you were worried about your jobs. You both loved being in special victims, and you didn’t want to risk being transferred somewhere new. 

So, you kept your mouths shut. Tried to avoid standing next to each other during work, because you knew you’d be tempted to reach for his hand. And most frequently, you bit your tongue when someone was upset with Peter. He was the ADA afterall, and he could complicate your lives a bit. But sometimes, it went too far.

“You know I don’t take any of Rollins' criticisms to heart. If I did, I’d be out of a job about a year and a half ago.” He said with a smile, trying to make you feel better. He knew how much you cared about him, and how much you wanted to stand up for him in front of the squad. But he also learned early on in his career not to expect many friends to come out of this job. 

“I know you don’t, but,” you let out a sigh, running your good hand through your hair. “When I got to the emergency room, they asked if they should notify my next of kin. It wasn’t a big deal, only a broken bone, and I had Carisi with me. But, what if it had been serious? What if I had gotten shot and you didn’t know until Liv told you the next day?”

Peter had thought about that situation more times than he’d like to admit. He was worried about you all the time; not because you were incapable of doing your job, but because he cared for you. And he wanted to know you would be safe every minute of every day. But that wasn’t a given with this job.

“And it’s not just if I get hurt. I want to be able to defend my boyfriend when someone starts talking shit about him. I want to put pictures of us out on my desk, and I want everyone to know how amazing you are.” 

“Y/n/n,”

“And I know that once we disclose to Liv and Jack we’re putting our futures in their hands, but I’m okay with that. If I have to be monitored, or put on desk duty more often, I don’t care. As long as I have you, I’ll do whatever they decide.”

Peter Stone could count on one hand how many times someone has left him speechless, and none of them revolved around the love he received from a partner. 

You were willing to take a detour in your career all for him. For Peter Stone, the man who was too late to almost every relationship in his life. Peter Stone, the man that understood his father and sister when it was too late. Peter Stone, the man that didn’t deserve you one bit.

But he knew, in that moment, he would do the same thing for you. And he supposes, that he may just be worthy of your love after all.

He’s brought back to the moment when you slip your hand in his, gently squeezing his hand to make sure he heard you. 

His smile only grows then, as he drops your hand, only to rest his palms on the side of your face. He caught the small smile you broke into before he kissed you, and he felt it as he tried to stay glued to you for as long as possible. The little laugh he let out tickled your nose, getting you to pull away from him. 

When you finally get a look at him, you savor the happiness he’s exuding, and take a moment to run your fingers through the hair right above his ear. 

“First thing on Monday, we’ll disclose to Liv. And the next time Rollins starts talking shit about me, you can properly defend me.”

You let out a laugh as his thumb continued to brush against your cheek. “I’ll have Carisi phone you in so you can witness it.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He said, then closed the gap between you once again, moving his lips softly against your own. 

It was amazing, what you’d be willing to do for each other. Deep down, you were sure nothing drastic would change, but you truly don’t know. All that matters is the two of you, and the blind jump you were willing to take. Together.

Peter slowly moved his hands down your arm, forgetting about the injuries you sustained just hours ago. You pulled away quickly, trying to suppress the hiss of pain leaving your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” He started, this time gently resting his hand on the sling. 

You shook your head, cracking your fingers a few times until the pain went away. “It’s okay. The bumpy cab ride over here was worse than that.”

He smiled, moving away from you for just a second to grab the sharpie lying across his desk. 

“I think your arm would feel a little better if I got to sign that purple cast right there.” 

You pulled the band from around your neck, Peter helping you maneuver the contraption with an extra hand. 

“Well, there’s a slight problem with that request,” you pulled off the sling completely, the purple cast now in his view. Except, there was black ink covering almost the entire width of the cast, and it was Sonny’s scrawl. “I may have told him about our situation, after the next of kin conversation. I had to bribe him to keep quiet until I asked you, and,” you raised the arm with ‘SONNY’ in all caps written across it. “This is what the child wanted.” 

“I’m glad you told him,” He said, while gently flipping your arm over. “In case something worse did happen, and we didn’t have this conversation, I wouldn’t be left in the dark.”

It was your turn to rest a hand on his face, coaxing his eyes to look up at you from their gaze on the carpeted floor. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter.” You said, and lightly kissed his cheek. “I’ve got too many good people around me to leave.”

“Good,” he said with a smile, while uncapping his sharpie. He managed to find an open spot on the part that rested on the inside of your wrist. He wrote out his first name, in messy block letters, and finished with a heart at the end. “‘Cause you’re kind of stuck with me now.”

He pecked your lips one more time, before moving out from between your legs, calling it an early night. 

You watched as he organized his desk for the morning, piling files in order of importance, and listened to him compare the pizza joints you would pass on the way to his apartment. The ease of it all made your chest warm, and your head a little dizzy.

But you could get used to this feeling.

****

tags: @hurricanejjareau @qvid-pro-qvo @crazyshannonigans @joanofarkansass

#peter stone x reader #peter stone fic #peter stone fanfiction #law and order svu: fanfiction #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu #jules writes shit ??

[finnsgrin]

John Murphy - Soulmate AU

John Murphy x reader

From my Wattpad: inanoncriminalwayy

GIF: captain-shurley

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Word Count: 1,680

Published on: August 22, 2020

TW: Blood and sickness

Spoilers: S1 E10

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Where the very first words your soulmate will say to you is tattooed on your wrist

John Murphy

♡Masterlist♡ You had always been envious of your friends and the tattoos on their wrists.

It wasn't the tattoo you were jealous of. Everyone on the Ark had one.

It was what their tattoos said that made your blood boil.

When you're born, you come with a tattoo on your wrist, and that tattoo consists of the first words your soulmate will say to you.

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're so beautiful."

"My soulmate is the prettiest girl on the Ark."

Yeah, those were all of the things tattooed on your friends wrists.

What did yours say?

I think I'm going to throw up.

Yup. Those are the words written on you for the rest of your life.

You had gone over and over time and time again trying to imagine your first encounter with your soulmate.

All of your friends gushed over how cute their soulmates already were, while you pondered over the fact that your soulmate would be physically ill when he first met you.

You hid your wrist as much as possible, and were grateful when the wristband you were issued covered up the words you hated so much.

You met a lot of new people after being sent to the ground, and were relieved when days had gone by and you hadn't heard the words you dreaded.

After the malfunction that made all of the wristbands come off, you did what you could to hide the words.

Wearing long sleeves, making bracelets out of spare cord...

Almost a month had gone by, and you still didn't hear anyone complaining about being sick.

Until he came back.

You had never spoken to John Murphy.

Hell, you didn't even know what color his eyes were. You stayed as far away from his as possible, and, rightfully so.

You were among the first to be in contact with him after your best friend, Octavia Blake, had found him in the woods, beaten to a pulp.

After Clarke had determined biological warfare, you volunteered to help with the sick. It was inevitable that you were going to get sick anyway, you being one of the first to touch the ill boy, so you might as well help while you could. At least a dozen people were on their death beds, and the words on your wrist were just a memory in moments like these where it was life or death.

You were making rounds, passing out water, when he caught your eye.

Normally, the sight of the boy everyone despised in such anguish would having you smiling to yourself.

But this was different.

He was shaking. Beaten. Bruised and bloody. Vulnerable. Broken.

And it hurt you.

"How are you feeling?"

You crouched down next to him, frowning at the absence of his fingernails which had been ripped off by the Grounders.

His eyes met yours. They were blue. They reminded you of the sky. Up on the Ark, you used to sit for hours in front of the window that faced earth, and marvel at the blue. Coming to earth, you didn't expect the sky to be so... vivid and beautiful.

But his eyes were also full of panic.

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Your heart stopped.

John Murphy?

Out of all of the people in the universe, your soulmate was John Murphy?

"Yeah, me too." You whispered.

You both sat in silence, and you waited for him to vomit, but he didn't. After simmering in the awkwardness, you eventually stood, and went around the dropship tending to the others.

The entire time, his eyes followed you.

-

Not soon after your encounter with your dreaded soulmate did you fall ill.

You were passing out water when you looked down in the cup to see that it had turned a crimson red. You frowned, confused. But the question to your curiosity was answered when you reached up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand, and were met with the blood that was dripping. Immediately, you called for Clarke, and she made you lay down in the only available spot which, go figure, was right next to Murphy.

You laid there in anguish, clenching your teeth together and tilting your head to the side when you felt the uncontrollable urge to vomit.

Someone was holding your hair back, and when you were finished emptying the contents of your stomach, you turned around to thank Clarke, who you presumed was the one who was helping.

But it wasn't Clarke. She was on the other side of the dropship tending to someone's wound.

Murphy looked better than he had an hour ago, and you awkwardly wiped the dribble off of your chin.

"Thank you." You croaked, your voice raw.

"It's the least I could do for my soulmate." The corner of his lips curled up into a smirk.

After sitting in more silence, he broke it.

"Did you think it would be me?" He asked you, propping himself up on his elbow.

You frowned.

"What?" You inquired.

"Did you think it would be me? Did you ever think you would get lucky enough to have me as your soulmate?" He smiled cockily.

You just scoffed, which turned into a hacking cough.

"I knew I was lucky the moment I understood what the words on my wrist meant." He whispered after you had gotten your breathing under control.

You blinked, confused once again for the millionth time that day.

He extended his right wrist to you, where the very first words you had ever spoken to him were.

How are you feeling?

You ran your index finger over the tattoo. His skin was rough and calloused.

"I knew that I was lucky, because the very first words my soulmate would ever say to me were asking how I was feeling. My soulmate was kind. Caring. Selfless." His voice had dropped even quieter, and you strained to hear him.

You smiled, and looked down at your wrist.

"I always thought my soulmate was an asshole." You smiled as he gently traced the words on your wrist. A jolt of electricity pulsed through you.

"Well, you weren't wrong." Murphy laughed once, and looked you in your (Y/C/E) eyes which were blotched red from all of coughing.

"You should get some rest." He pulled his hand away from your wrist, and you secretly longed for his touch.

Seriously, (Y/N) It's John Murphy. Maybe there was a mistake. There's no way he's my soulmate.

You tried to convince yourself of this. He had been so awful to everyone on the ground. How could someone as sweet as you be destined to someone as selfish as him?

"Yeah. Yeah, I should. We both should." You closed your eyes, and turned your head away from him in fear that you would end up staring at him.

Fatigue overcame you, and you thought of the irony of it all.

The very day you meet your soulmate might very well be the same day you both die.

"Murphy?" His name rolled effortlessly off your tounge.

He was quite for a moment.

"Yeah?" He whispered back, turning to face you.

A single tear rolled down your cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Please be here when I open my eyes." You whispered.

The last thing you remember before sinking into unconsciousness, was him taking your hand into his.

-

Miraculously, you both survived through the night. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with him gazing at you.

"Good morning." He greeted you with a small smile. The grovel in his voice was gone, and color had begun to return to his cheeks.

"Hi." You smiled softly, and swallowed, the pain in your throat gone.

Clarke examined the both of you, and explained that the sickness was a 24 hour thing, and you two should be fine now.

Both you and Murphy exited the dropship side by side to go get some water from the still.

You both walked slowly, your bones and joints still aching and sore.

"It wasn't just because I was sick that I said it." He broke the silence.

You raised an eyebrow, perplexed, and he held out his tattooed wrist.

You nodded in understanding, and motioned for him to continue.

"Yeah, I already felt sick, but the moment I realized you were my... soulmate," He smiled at the word, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"I was so scared I was going to get you killed, (Y/N)," His eyes were full of sadness.

"If I lived, and if I got you killed, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." His words grew thick and weighed heavy.

You grabbed both of his hands with yours, and looked him in the eyes.

"But you didn't. And, even if you did, it wouldn't have been your fault." Your words were comforting to him, but he still blinked back tears.

"How is it that someone like me is destined to be with someone like you? A butterfly and a dungbeetle." He reached up his hand to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't think you would be a dungbettle. Maybe a stink bug." You smirked.

"Actually I was referring to myself  as the butterfly. You would be the dungbettle," He laughed as you playfully smacked him on his shoulder.

"I know I haven't been the best person, but for you, I'm willing to change." He continued.

Your heart began to beat erratically as he leaned in for a sweet kiss. Although both of your lips were chapped, it was still the best kiss you bet you'd ever have.

"Hey! Keep your lips separated, or we're gonna have another outbreak. This time, mono!" You heard Octavia gag a few feet away from you.

You both flipped her off at the same time, and you heard someone chuckle.

"Yup. They're definitely meant for each other."

♡Masterlist♡

#the100 the100imagines the100xreader xreader xreaderimagines cwthe100 the100cw johnmurphy johnmurphyimagines the100murphy the100johnmurphy th

[f0rever15elf]

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: T Word count: 1,961 Warnings: Alcohol mention, swearing, drinking/getting drunk alone, angst, verbal fighting, no beta

Summary: All couples fight eventually, but this time leaves you questioning your relationship with Marcus

A/N: This is a fic for the following anonymous request: “ Hi!! I was wondering if your Pedro requests are still open? Cause if they are I’d like to request a Marcus Pike or Frankie Morales piece, where they like get into an argument with you and it’s like super angsty, but y’all make up in the end ((: “ I hope you enjoy it dear!

Masterlist |  Ao3

“You absolute CHILD!” you shriek as you slam the door open, storming into the home you shared with Marcus.

“Oh, I’m the child?! You’re the one throwing a temper tantrum!” Marcus slams the door closed with just as much force as you slammed it open.

“Yes, Pike. You’re the child! I cannot believe you right now.” You wheel on him, stabbing your finger against his chest as you glare up at him. “Do you even realize how fucking embarrassed I am right now? I’m never going to be able to show my face at a work function ever again all because you decided to turn into a little green-eyed monster! Child!” Marcus snarls, grabbing your wrist to pull it away from his chest. His grip was firm, but even in the heat of the anger and jealousy you could see bubbling in his eyes, he was still gentle enough to not hurt you.

“And what would you have had me do, huh?! Just let your ex sit there and cozy up to you like that? He had his hands on you and his eyes hadn’t left you all freaking night!”

You yank your wrist from his grasp, absolutely seething. “We’re coworkers! We have an image to upkeep as far as being cordial with each other, especially in front of share holders! Marcus, there were investors there, and your little outburst has put every single deal involving them in jeopardy!” You rip your shoes off, the uncomfortable heels not aiding your mood in the slightest. “All because you got jealous of my ex. All because you couldn’t stand to see me being friendly with someone who use to be in my life. I have never done something like that to you! Not when your high school sweetheart left you flowers. Not when Lisbon sauntered her happy ass into your office, perched herself on you desk, and FIXED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!” Marcus’ nostrils flare as he towers over you, his voice low when he speaks again.

“Don’t bring them into this, this isn’t about them.”

“Oh like hell it isn’t! You know why I didn’t care about those two? Cause I was confident you wouldn’t do anything to hurt or betray me. Because I fucking love you and trust you! But apparently you don’t feel the same way, if your self confidence is so low that you can’t stand to see me laughing with my ex without deciding it’s an appropriate time to throw hands!” That was a low blow, and you knew it, but you were so angry the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. The two of you stand there in the living room, shoulders heaving as you pant for air. You could hear a pin drop, and the tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Slowly, the anger fades from Marcus’ eyes, replaced only with pain as his expression shifts. You cut him deep with that comment, you know you did, and it hurt to see that pain in his gentle eyes.

“M...Marcus…” Your voice is much softer now as you reach for his hand, but he takes a step back out of your reach, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he whispers, turning and grabbing the car keys from the bowl as he all but runs from the house. You stand there frozen, hand outstretched as you listen to the sound of the car engine starting followed by the tires squealing as he tears out of the driveway. Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over as you begin to tremble.

What have you done?

The minutes turn into hours as you sit in the dark of your living room, waiting on your Marcus to return. An empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table next to a second nearly empty one. You swirl the pale liquid in your glass before bringing it to your lips to down the rest of it. Your once manicured nails have been bitten down to the nail bed, a nasty habit of yours when your anxiety gets the better of you. A habit that hadn’t reared its ugly head since the day you met Marcus… Two in the morning and he still isn’t home and you’re getting worried. You had messed up, and big time. You know how much Marcus struggles with his own confidence after how Lisbon had treated him. You know that, and you still felt the need to fling it in his face. Words said out of anger, words you didn’t mean...you couldn’t take them back now, no matter how much you wished you could.

A fresh round of sobs bubble from your throat as your hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to hold them back. Marcus is the best thing to have ever happened to you, how the hell could you do something like this to him, no matter how angry you were. You rub your eyes, looking like a raccoon from the smeared makeup, before you stagger to your feet. You wanted Marcus. You needed him. You needed him here, at home, where you could apologize until your voice goes hoarse and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The world spins around you, the two bottles of wine catching up to you as you stagger through the living room before falling to your knees. You cradle your face in your hands, sobs wracking your chest. Please come home Marcus, please come home. You don’t hear the key in the lock over the sound of your sobs, but when you feel the rush of air from the door opening, your head snaps up, bleary eyes searching desperately for the love of your life.

“Marcus?” you whimper, barely audible.

“Oh, love...what did you do?” he murmurs as he shuts the door before coming to your side, cradling your cheek gently. Desperate hands reach out to grab his shirt, now wrinkled and untucked from his pants, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry Marcus!” you wail, collapsing against him. His gentle arms wrap around you and he sighs, resting his head on top of yours. “I s-shouldn’t h-ha-have said wh-what I did! I was wr-wrong and c-cruel! P-please d-don’t leave m-me!” you plead, trembling against him.

“Leave you? Darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He leans back and tilts your chin up to look at him, paying no mind to the black splotches your makeup leaves against his once crisp white button down. His thumb traces along your chin before his hand moves to cup your face, running his thumb along your cheek bone. “You smell like wine...how much have you had?” You shake your head, ignoring the question as you continue to cling to him, your sobs slowing.

“I love you and I d-din’t mean what I said,” you whimper. “Don go again, p-please don g-go again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, I just needed to cool down. Calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He brushes your hair from your face as best he can before pulling you back against his chest, slowly rocking you in the middle of the floor. His hand pets your hair gently, soothingly as the remaining cries slowly abate. “Let’s get you to bed, love. Alright? We can discuss this more in the morning.” You mumble something unintelligible against his chest as he helps you stagger to your feet, guiding you to the bedroom. He carefully sits you on the bed, helping you undress down to your bra and underwear, removing your jewelry before going to get a warm cloth, helping to wipe your face. Finally, he hands you a glass of water which you stubbornly refuse at first. “Baby, please? For me?” You crumble, taking the glass and chugging it. He smiles and takes the glass back before gently laying you down so you’re slightly elevated.

When he joins you in bed you roll to snuggle against him, soaking in his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. The last words from your lips before you slip into unconsciousness are a very slurred I’m sorry.

The light of the day streaking across your face is what wakes you in the morning, and you groan as you come around, your head absolutely pounding. Your eyes feel like they’re full of sand and you can barely open them. Every joint in your body hurts and your mouth tastes like sandpaper. Slowly sitting up, you see a glass of water sitting on the nightstand next to two pain pills which you quickly take, downing the whole glass. As you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes in an attempt to dull the ache, last night comes rushing back to you and a wave of intense shame washes over you. A quiet rustling draws your attention to the door, and you seem Marcus peeking in. He gives you his gorgeous smile, one you feel you don’t deserve as he comes in.

“Good morning beautiful,” he whispers, knowing your head is probably killing you.

“Hi, Marcus…” He takes a seat on the bed next to you, taking your hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit...for a few reasons.” You look down at your connected hands, yours fitting so perfectly into his. “I’m sorry.”

“Want to elaborate on that?” He asks gently, lifting your face to look at him. There is a pained light in his eyes still that grows when he sees the shame and sadness in your own.

“For everything. For yelling, for that low blow, for...for getting drunk alone, for accusing you of bullshit and...and I…” you begin to tremble, his hand on your face the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “And I was so terrible to you and I’m so sorry, Marcus, I’m so fucking sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as his hand leaves your face to place on the back of your head, pulling you against him. He smells as he always does, like cinnamon and coffee and his fresh aftershave and you use that smell to ground yourself.

“I’m sorry too, love of my life. I shouldn’t have behaved that way at the banquet, and I’ve already taken measures to mitigate what damage I may have done.” You shake your head, pulling back to look up at him.

“Screw the deals. They’re temporary.” You reach up to cup his cheek, your heart swelling as he leans into your touch. “You’re the one I’m in love with, the one I want to spend forever with. Everything else can burn to the ground, I just need you. I’ll always need you.” He smiles at you, that pain in his eyes fading as he watches you for a moment before leaning in to press his lips gently to yours. When he pulls back, he brushes your hair from your face before pressing his forehead to yours.

“We both acted like a couple of fools last night. Let’s put it behind us, ok? We’ll move forward and be better.” He takes your hand and places it over his heart. “It’s yours, completely and totally. I trust and love you with everything I am. I’ll be better, for you. For us.” Your eyes prickle with tears and you sniffle before leaning up to kiss him again.

“I love you too Marcus, so much. You’re my everything. I’ll be better for you, because you only deserve the best.”

He grins, placing a kiss on your nose. “Hey, that’s my line.”

You giggle softly, cuddling into him as he lays you back down to get a few more hours of rest. It’s all ok, you think. It’s all going to be ok. You still have your Marcus, and that is all that matters.

~~~~~

Tag Lists: Permanent : @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​, @tangledlove27​, @paintballkid711​, @lose-eels​, @adamdrivercouldchokeme​

Tag list is open!  Fic Requests are open!

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #the mentalist #my fic #pedro pascal

[shingansoul]

It had been more or less a year since the lord of Four Seasons Manor and his zhi ji had undergone the Combined Six Harmonies method together. It had been two tense weeks waiting for Wen Kexing to awaken afterwards, and since then, Zhou Zishu had taken to noting every little detail of the now snow haired man that he could. Including his more eccentric or erratic behaviors, not just those of frivolity for the sake of shamelessness, but those that had been ingrained into him due to his peculiar and dangerous life led up to this point.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33527692

There were a plethora of such traits to be found if you looked: from his aversions to certain foods or scents (those this one proved less an issue nowadays given circumstances), how he’d relish like a starved man any physical affection he could get and greedily demand even more so, his reluctance to showing weakness or illness yet his longing to be cared for, his soft spot for young children. Not all were so mournful in origin though.

A most peculiar one that had finally caught his attention had first made itself worthy of notice once when Chengling had been out going through form drills in the courtyard sometime soon after their return to the manor. The two elders of the household had been quietly overseeing his practicing from the porch nearby when the child had lost his focus. It was a simple slip, his foot going out from under him and throwing him to the stone patio below. It wasn’t a hard hit or anything, and at first when he was pulling himself up, his shishu had even given a gentle laugh at the student’s klutziness. However, as Chengling picked himself back up, ears tipped red in embarrassment to do something foolish under his shifu’s gaze, Wen Kexing had stopped suddenly and made to quickly make his way over to him.

Chengling had already resumed his previous stance, ready to move into a full circuit of forms once more to move as quickly from the inevitable harsh corrections from his shifu when he felt a firm but gentle hand grip his jaw and turn his face. He awkwardly stumbled into standing upright and still as Wen Kexing suddenly was right next to him and bearing all his attention down on him. He waited, unsure what precisely the other planned to do but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of hot breath against his face and the sudden chill of something wet on his face as the other pulled away to inspect his “work.”

For Chengling, he at least was certainly free to the many whims of his elders and to his credit, he just blinked owlishly in quiet confusion without complaint. Wen Kexing hummed softly as he turned the child’s face back and forth, his fingers still unmoved from holding his jaw.

“Is that the only place you got yourself scratched, my little idiot?”

Wen Kexing’s voice was genuine but warm and teasing, causing Chengling to relax a bit despite the oddity of all this and he briefly patted himself down before nodding. Satisfied so it seemed, both returned to their places before as if the exchange had not occurred and within a moment a relaxed puddle of robes and white hair had made itself home once more at Zhou Zishu’s side. Said Manor lord could only stare in almost amazement at what he’d seen before quickly turning to watch their young charge practice, forgetting himself to the point of letting the foolish mistake go unspoken of and that had been that.

It wasn’t as if they had been externally injured in ways that brought it out of him often, but to say it wasn’t a noticed behavior by now also wouldn’t be correct either. Zishu certainly had noticed, though had simply been collecting handfuls of these moments to ponder on. Since that day, Zishu had realized the following “rules” with this little ritual of Kexing’s: it was only done for himself, Zishu, and Chengling. It wasn’t for just any external injury, but anything that drew blood would warrant it. If there were tears spilled, this would also be treated like an open wound and warrant the practice.

From various scrapes and injuries training gained by Chengling, to mishaps and resurfaced wounds in Zishu and himself, there had been plenty of passing occurrences but the question that buzzed in Zishu’s mind each time was simply ‘Why?’ Where had this come from, did he do this before and in the mess of everything happening it was simply overlooked?

Zhou Zishu once prided himself on how attentive and insightful he was, he had to be for his line of work once upon-a-time and he could still often be said to be as much now. Yet Wen Kexing had always been an enigma who had not even figured out himself who he was, none alone let others in to see behind his carefully schooled features. So maybe this did go back farther, but how to find out?

An opportunity to pin the man in question down where he couldn’t escape or move around the topic surfaced quite simply some short weeks later.

They were cleaning up the library pavilion once early evening, Chengling had ended up falling asleep while working on some more intricate works from the manuals of the Long Cabinet’s teachings they had collected into the manor once they’d first returned here that time. Upon finding their foolish disciple sprawled across his makeshift worktable, Zishu had prodded him with some gentle nudging to go to his own room to rest and, too tired to think too far ahead, the boy has sleepily nodded and made his slow but sure way to do just that.

This left the two men to clean up behind him, indulging him a bit by collecting his tools and replacing the scrolls and books where they had been taken from. Zishu had not realized all Chengling had brought out to work with, and unthinking grabbed a fairly sharp edged metal scrap piece, slicing a shallow but long cut into his palm. He hissed slightly, more out of surprise than any actual pain but it was enough to quickly call over his partner to inspect what happened.

Upon seeing the blood, Wen Kexing, true to form, had taken and quickly set down everything in Zishu’s hands and with an exhausted huff he grabbed the other by the wrist and the first bend of his fingers and pulled his hand closer to lap gently at the wound. Zishu, waiting a few moments until Wen Kexing had been set into his ‘task’, reached forward a bit with his free hand to ghost his hand against the side of the other’s face, running his thumb over Wen Kexing’s cheek. It was enough to insight a wordless “mm?” which only brought forth a light chuckle of the recipient.

“Lao Wen...have you always done this?”

This got a pause, deep dark eyes darting up to glance up and trying to gauge the emotions and atmosphere behind the question.

“You...you’ll have to be more specific than that A-Xu, I do and say a lot of things.”

A sigh.

“Alright. Have you always licked at the wounds of your family like a mother cat cleans their young? Hm, Lao Wen?”

The words and tone were teasing, but the glance from before had ascertained this wasn’t going to be a conversation he could weasel out of. Slowly but with care, Wen Kexing pulled Zhishu down to kneel where they were; to sit and speak properly about something personal. He placed the other’s still held hand into his lap, palm up, and he slowly but rhythmically began trailing his fingers from knuckle joint to tips over and over.

“Ah….well, it started from something almost laughable when we...when i was still just a teenager. In the valley, it wasn’t as if one could get new and clean supplies at any given moment, often enough what defined cleaning a wound was some spit and torn clothes that didn't have too much blood or dirt on them. I wasn’t always that good at taking care of A-Xiang either..”

he paused, huffing a sad but nostalgic chuckle past his lips.

“Did you know the first time I tried to feed her as a baby, I had burned her mouth? How she didn’t grow to hate me I'll never know.”

Patiently, Zishu moved his uncaptured hand to squeeze his zhi ji’s thigh through his robes. Wen kexing faltered slightly before regaining his composure, smiling timidly in silent appreciation of the reassurance before pressing on.

“I remembered back then, for what reason I have no idea, but I remember being told that if one kisses a wound it will stop hurting. A childish sentiment mothers tell their sons, but what was I but a father to a daughter? It shouldn't be different. So I simply blended a need with comfort. Whenever she would get hurt, as all children do, especially in such a place, I'd clean her wounds as gently as I could just like...what did you call it earlier? A mother cat? That’s not too far off. Also….”

Zishu silently waited, his gaze unwavering for however long it would take. Wen Kexing stopped his ministrations to more firmly hold Zishu’s fingers in his hand, as if bracing himself before moving into his next words.

“I can recall so vividly, A-Xu. When I was kneeling at my father’s side, the ghosts sneering and jeering down at me all those years ago...When I had convinced them of my nature by consuming my own father’s….haha, i had thought to myself ‘was my flesh not made of his blood to begin with?’ So it only made sense…” He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly, “No, it doesn’t make any sense at all. I came to the idea that it only made sense to ingest the blood of my family going forward, even if we weren’t linked by blood then in this way we could be. You all would be with me, and that I could show you what devotion looked like. That is, in doing this, I know what devotion tastes like.”

He looked down at his lap, as if simply embarrassed for being caught like a child and not having admitted to going out of his way to drink the blood of his loved ones. Not that it was a garish as that in practice, at least Zishu thought as much, but could certainly understand how to most, this confession wasn’t something one would expect to be taken well. Luckily for Wen Kexing, his little family was not made like most, nor his zhi ji so easily shaken. And he said as much.

“Lao Wen, you’re absolutely an enigma to me sometimes. But I think I understand you, and at least somewhat, I can understand this too. Although…” He paused, feigning a look of uncertainty as he looked at Wen kexing and then glancing away dramatically.

“Although what? A-Xu, don’t tease me like this. If you don’t want me to-”

He was abruptly cut off by the sensation of somewhat cool and dry lips against his own, the “assailant” so firm and sudden in his “attack” it pushed them both over, leaving Wen Kexing askew on his back on the floor and the other straddling his hips to not break the contact, his forearms on either side of Wen Kexing’s head. They broke for air after a few moments, though it could have been hours for all Wen Kexing cared.

He blinked up owlishly, taken off guard for once by the other’s actions which only brought out a childishly triumphant and confident grin from Zishu.

“Although, I think there’s other tastes devotion can take. Would you like me to teach you?”

#wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #zhang chengling #word of honor #faraway wanderers #tian ya ke #fanfiction #woh #woh fanfic #danmei

[pandoraborn]

With Tiddy Pang becoming somewhat of a meme right now, I want to share my own story of a stupid injury that happened to me a few years ago.

Warning for mention of broken bones under the cut.

I was going to go out to lunch with my boyfriend and friend/roommate at the time. Boyfriend and I were in the living room, playing around with each other while waiting for Friend to change clothes so we could leave. Boyfriend and I were playfully pushing at each other and horsing around, and I went to kick him in the butt.

He caught my foot and held it in place. I wound up losing my balance and falling backwards, using my right hand to catch my fall. My wrist audibly snapped. Friend heard it from her bedroom and came rushing out to see what happened, finding Boyfriend standing over me looking petrified. As much as my wrist hurt, I reassured them both I was fine, it was probably just a sprain and I’d be okay again within a couple of days.

I did end up taking a picture while we were out though, posting it on facebook and making a joke about how clumsy I was. At this point a visible bump was starting to form, and my sister commented on my picture, saying it looked broken and I should go to a doctor.

I thought literally nothing of it for a couple of days. Yeah, it hurt of course, but Friend had a brace she was letting me borrow. I tried icing it, I tried taking pain medication, I tried tightening the brace to keep my wrist from moving. But everything I tried seemed to make it hurt worse, and at one point, I even broke down into tears because I felt so useless. I mean, I couldn’t do anything.

But after a few days, my mom finally called and convinced me I needed to see a doctor. So Boyfriend took me to an urgent care center, where they did x-rays. I was also given a better brace in the meantime that was helping a little more (first brace was falling apart and wasn’t meant for the right hand). I was told my wrist might be broken, but until the x-rays came back I’d have to keep the brace on.

Well, the x-rays came back.

Turns out I not only broke my wrist, but I fractured it in 2 places. One on my wrist proper, where that joint is, and again, at the base of my thumb. X-rays don’t lie, folks.

I got outfitted with a lovely purple cast that I had to wear for a month. There was mild talk of getting a new cast after my first one was removed, or talk of surgery, but neither of those happened, thankfully. And honestly, it wasn’t even that painful. I’m not saying you should go out and break your bones to see how much it hurts, but for my first time actually breaking bones, it didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected it to.

The moral of the story is: if your bones pop and it hurts for days after, it might be broken.

The moral of the story also is, if your tiddy still pangs after several days, go see a doctor. Thank you for listening.

#broken bones tw #injury tw

[owlespresso]

Nhaza’a/Clandestine Comfort

With the Scions gone and the Garlean empire at your heels, you retreat to the temporary safety of the Thanalan wilds, only to find the comfort you’ve been seeking by chance. If you like what I do, consider supporting me via ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso

The pale moonlight touched the river's surface gently, its reflection full and hearty. You gazed down at it blankly, silently, legs gathered to your chest as your thoughts ran over recent events. Again, and again, and again. The sudden comas that sprouted up around you and afflicted your closest allies seemed to be a curse. What Garlean witch had cast such a terrible blight upon you? Had they finally figured out how to make use of the world's aether for the sole purpose of hurting you? It seemed as likely an explanation as any.

Thanalan's dry air was tinted with a gentle chill at night. The dried grass shuddered against the gentle breeze. The desert stretched out for miles around you. The only aetheryte in the region was a few minutes away, gleaming brilliantly in the distance though half obscured thanks to its subterranean position. 

You listened to the sounds of the wildlife around you, to whatever Hydaelyn had to offer to distract you from the awful matter at hand. 

However, it seemed she had a much different plan in mind for you tonight. The sound of boots against the hard soil made your eyes go wide and your body grow stiff. You whirled around, nerves alight with all the paranoia that's plagued them as of late.

"I don't remember you being this jumpy," Nhaza'a said, his artificial eye glowing faint in the soft darkness. The moon cast his hair in a silvery glow, lit his skin up a few shades. He looked perfectly at home in front of you, despite the way he dipped in and out of your life with no predictable pattern. Perhaps it was only right that he showed up now, when you were at your weakest. The universe had a tendency to stab you in the back like that.

"Well, you get like that when all your friends start dropping like flies for no damn reason." You deigned to not mention how you had actually been looking for him mere hours prior, desperate for the company of someone you could trust. How ironic. Nhaaz'a was far from what most people would consider "trustworthy", but he had yet to put a knife in your back and he actually seemed to enjoy your company. 

"So I've heard," he admitted, resting a hand on his cocked out hip. His posture was at ease, the typical, languid stance you had come to expect and associate him with. "My condolences for your loss... losses." He corrected himself, words blatant and tactless, but you found you didn’t care. What mattered was that he was here now. What mattered was that you needed him.

Bracing your hands atop the grassy patch you were sat upon, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs cried out in palpable relief, having been bunched up and bent for the better part of an hour. The joints popped, bones cracked in that strangely satisfying way as you lifted your arms above your head, stretching with a wide open yawn. You attempted to force some ease into your posture, chasing away the tension that had plagued you for the past few days. 

"How brazen," Nhaza'a murmured, voice suddenly much closer. One of your hands was promptly snatched as you lowered it, tugged roughly, suddenly. 

“Wha—!” you gasped. Your voice died in your throat as his plush lips brushed over the back of your hand.

“To this day I am still unsure what impresses me more. Your incredible, god-slaying power or your obliviousness to your own charm,” he commented dryly, thumb rolling a circle over your palm before he released it. Your hand dropped back to your side, sheepishness warming your cheeks as you struggled to regain your cogent thought. Just his closeness was enough to rattle you after everything that had happened. “But I believe you sought me out for more than mere flattery or condolences.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask?” you frowned and tilted your head, attempting to shake off your nerves. Nhaza’a had never been the most… compassionate of people, but you had desperately hoped he would be willing to keep you company. Anything to get your mind off your current troubles.

“Are you afraid I’ll disappear on you next?” he inquired, taking a small step closer. His paralyzed you with the sudden, surprising gentility of his gaze. It left you wide open for the strong arm that wrapped around your back and tugged you to his chest, his warmth reaching you even through the barrier of your garments. “You should know that won’t happen. You’re in too deep to get rid of me now.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple, before he nuzzled his cheek affectionately over the spot.

Despite his reassurances, the very suggestion was enough to send a jolt of pure terror down your spine. There was no way either of you could know for sure if he was safe. Only the Scions had been affected thus far, but who knew? Maybe this mysterious illness would latch onto anyone who you spent too much time with. Maybe all of your allies lapsing into sudden comas was your fault. The thought made your stomach turn, your world growing fuzzy and dark at its edges as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Because you can’t lose him, too. Not after Thancred, after Urianger, and Y’shtola, and they’re all leaving you one by one, dragged into the dark by an unseen, faceless force that you can’t find or fight or do anything about—

The soft sound of your name on his lips breached the chaotic wall of thought and grounded you. His hands slid to the sides of your midsection and gently squeezed, jolting you back into the here and the now, away from those horrendous thoughts.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” he said, and you provided no objections. “Do you feel up to returning to Ul’dah?” There was undoubtedly a building with a spare room close to the aetheryte, but you would much rather live in comfort wherever you find the chance to, so you nodded. The trip back to the grand city was made easier by your ability to finely tap into the lifestream and teleport. 

Before you knew it, you were standing before the grand, blue crystal as it hovers three fulms above the ground. It was a struggle to not get lost in its grand expanse, in the sea of blue that so deeply aligns with whatever strange gift Hyaedyln had bestowed upon you what feels like ages ago.

“Come back to me,” Nhaza’a beseeched, and you tore your gaze away from the looming crystal to look at him. You hadn’t even realized it, but he held one of your hands, grip firm and reassuring. His thumb rolled soothing little circles onto the back of it. “Your current state is much worse than I thought it would be,” he admitted with a small sigh. He wasn’t agitated, you realized after a moment of frantically inspecting him. Rather, his eyebrows seemed pinched together out of sheer concern. His expression was too soft to be frustrated. 

One of his hands reached up, fingers tenderly brushing against the apple of your cheek.

“ I will be damned if I let you rot away in your grief. Follow me.”

The trip from the aetheryte to an inn room was a blur for you. Ul’dah’s massive pillars and archways were an afterthought. You heeded the crowds no mind, simply followed your partner wherever he led you with newfound pliance.

When you entered the inn, you paid no mind to its inhabitants. You were well-known around these parts and as a result, folks were likely to stare, if they did they received no reply, no glare in return. Your gaze remained flat on the floor, despondent. You faintly remembered the journey up the lift, the twist of the key inside the door’s lock. Before you even realized it, you were standing in the middle of a luxurious room. The massive bed rested in the corner, nestled against two of the walls. 

“Well, let’s make ourselves at home,” Nhaza’a said, and a part of you was grateful that he’s giving you instructions. Like this, exhausted and away from your allies, you feel aimless, floating in an abyss without any given purpose. For what does winning the war matter when all of your closest friends have been whisked away from you by some malignant force? 

He said your name. Softly, prodding into the dry air of the room to reach you. It jolted you into motion, your limbs feeling heavy as you walked over to the door and removed your shoes, neatly placing them next to his. 

...He was already beginning to disrobe. Nimble fingers neatly undid his outerwear until he was left in a simple pair of trousers. You paused to roll your gaze up the stretch of his body, admiring the planes and slopes of his lean muscle. 

“You like what you see?” he inquired smugly, like he already knew your answer. Warmth touched your cheeks as you looked away, following his lead and discarding your light jacket, the sash around your waist. Your wallet and any other trinkets inside your pockets were tossed atop the nearby dresser, a slow and methodological process that kept your hands moving and your head focused. 

Only when you were finished did he speak again.

“Come here.” He lounged atop the mattress, back nestled against a pile of many pillows. He looked like he belonged there, looked like an emperor basking in the lap of luxury whilst waiting to be hand fed grapes by one of his many servants. The blankets had been pulled back to rest against the wall, allowing him to rest upon the sheets. His exposed eye gleamed expectantly. His sly smile drew you in. 

Wordlessly, you padded barefoot across the room and climbed atop the bed. As soon as you entered his radius, he grasped one of your wrists and gently tugged you forward. You followed his directing, climbed to rest your entire body atop of him. His warmth near cocooned you, one of his arms settling across your back whilst the other curled the blankets around your bodies. 

“There,” he said, sounding quite satisfied with himself. “Nice and cozy. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really,” you replied. You turned your head to the side to press a single, fluffy ear over his chest. The constant thrum of his heartbeat serves to soothe you, tense muscles relaxing until you’re at last lim laptop of him. “...A little bit.” He’s alive. He’s alive and his beating heart lets you know that you’re not deluding yourself, not trying to cling onto your last bit of sanity by dreaming up this scenario. 

He started to rub your back in smooth circles, and the slight pressure there is welcome.

“You’re terrified,” he remarked, and you could not help but think back to when you were enemies. When he delighted in working you up and crossing blades. Was he longing for that version of you, again? Did he want the you who could get up no matter the severity of your injuries and keep fighting? Did he want the adrenaline rush of combat? Did he want your defenses to be impenetrable no matter the hardships that wracked you?

“Are you disappointed?” you asked, despite your fear of his answer.

“No. I’m concerned,” he clarified. You sighed against his chest. “The pattern of those afflicted thus far is clear. It only affects your fellow Scions. And I… could not be further from a Scion.” When you glanced up at him, his lips curled into a wry smirk. He was all too aware of how your comrades viewed him.

“But they’re also my friends,” you pointed out. “They’re not just coworkers, Nhaza’a.”

“And you fear that it could spread to me, since we are also… closer than coworkers,” Nhaza’a’s amused tone of voice dipped into something softer, something more serious. He gave a low, thoughtful hum, as though sifting through potential reasons why you shouldn’t worry. “Even if there is no telling who will vanish next, I am likely safe from harm due to not being a Scion. Believe me.” Long fingers combed through your hair, silencing you as you opened your mouth to argue. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he inquired, and you almost wanted to scold him for changing the subject. You stayed quiet instead, because he had a point. The pattern given to you thus far left no room for non-Scions to be affected by the mysterious ailment. For now, at the very least, he was most likely safe.

You decided to believe it, if only for your own sanity.

“Uhh,” you swallowed as you struggled to find an adequate answer.

“If it takes you that long to find the answer, then the answer is ‘too long ago’,” he stated. “Get some rest, my dear.”

“I don’t want to,” you groused back, feeling like a scolded child. Your pride lightly stung, the stubborn side of you insisting that Warrior of Light did not have a bedtime. 

“And why ever not? You will need your rest if you are to win the war for these paltry city states. You don’t want to let them down, right?” His voice carried with it a light taunt, his dislike for the states that employed your services all too prominent.

“...I’ll sleep if you promise to be here when I wake up.” you stared defiantly up at him, perhaps the most firm you have been all night. If you awaken to an empty bed, you’ll likely lose your mind, afraid that he too has been taken. 

“You think I would leave you? Perish the thought.” Nhaza’a scoffed, as though he hadn’t been gone the next morning after several of your midnight trysts. It had taken you three months to get him to stay with you, certainly a rocky phase in your relationship as you struggled to adjust to each other. “I will be here when you awaken, my lovely. You have my word.”

It didn’t soothe you completely, nothing could at this point. But his presence alongside the steady thrum of his heart helped soothe your cacophony of fearful and negative thoughts. You didn’t know what you would do if you lost him as well, but there truly was no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet… or something that likely might not happen at all. 

You shut your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days leech at your limbs. Your mind swam briefly in the void between slumber and wakefulness, desperate to stay conscious of his body, desperate to know he was at your side until you lapsed completely into sleep. The slow, warm caress of his hand atop your back was all you needed to lull you into soft unconsciousness. Dreams of his velvety voice replaced the horrible nightmares.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #nhaza'a #nhaza'a jaab #imagine ffxiv #imagine final fantasy xiv

[bella-caecilia]

#22 for Cobert please! Love your writing so much

Oh, thank you! That’s so lovely to hear! <3 I hope, you’re enjoying that one too :)

I decided to go pre-series with that prompt... but take a look yourself.

22 – kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Her lady’s maid was adjusting the last pins in Cora’s hair and Cora dapped a bit of her flowery perfume behind her ears. It was then that she heard the muttering next door. Her confused expression turned away from the mirror on her vanity and she shot the adjoining door a contemplative look. What was Robert up to?

“That’s all right, Turner. I can take it from here”, Cora advised and put on the selected necklace on her own.

The lady’s maid nodded and left the room silently. Cora was prepared for dinner. She wore a mint-coloured gown and slipped on matching gloves. She brushed over the fine fabric at her waist to remove the non-existent creases. Then she finally approached her husband’s dressing room. The tones of heated discussion had not ceased.

“It’s alright…”, Robert’s voice muttered.

“But if I daresay, milord, dinner’s starting soon. I’m not sure you can go down like this”, Cora recognized Robert’s valet answering insecurely.

Her knuckles knocked on the hard wooden door. The men on the other side fell silent.

“May I come in?”

…

“Robert!”, his wife’s slender frame appeared in the threshold, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape. A whiff of her well-known jasmine scented perfume reached him before she did.

He knew why she reacted in that shocked manner, for he was covered in nasty scratches. His cheek had hosted a blood trickle moments before and he was glad his valet had removed it before Cora had entered his room. Robert’s sleeves were rolled up and he’d opened the first buttons on his shirt. Smith, his valet, had tended to a scratch that reached across his clavicle.

“What happened, dear?”, Cora inquired unsurely and smoothed her fingers lightly over his collar. He longed to feel the skin of her fingertips on his own skin but two layers of fabric divided them.

“Oh, it’s nothing really”, Robert stated dismissively, “Smith is taking care of everything. Would you go downstairs now and excuse me? I’m following as soon as possible.”

“Of course not! Would you sit down, please, Robert?” she asked but there was no question in it.

Smith had retreated idly to a corner of the room. Robert complied and slumped down onto his untouched bed.

“Would you mind telling what got you in that state?” she continued concerned and took his chin in between her thumb and index finger gently to turn his face from side to side to examine the extent of his injuries.

“Well… if you have to know,” he started muttering, “Pharaoh doesn’t seem to be as simple and easy-care of a puppy as expected.”

Cora had to contain herself to not show any emotion but his grave voice and dead-serious look amused her. Pharaoh was his new puppy of a few weeks and Robert was totally absorbed in this dog. Any difficulty that appeared made him downcast for days. Cora couldn’t help herself but imagine the small boy Robert once was, pouting when he found out something didn’t go as easy as he thought.

“But he really messed you up. Does it hurt bad?”

“No, it’s alright, Cora. I told you,” he countered but made no effort to move. Her soft touch bewitched him, even if it was her gloves he sensed and not her sweet skin.

“Stop fussing!” he added when she touched every scratch lightly. But actually, he basked in her tender attention.

She huffed a sigh and retreated her hands. Then, she turned around and faced an unsure Smith.

“Smith, would you excuse us downstairs and tell the kitchen we take our dinner upstairs?” she gave him a sweet smile of hers. Her festive attire seemed utterly misplaced in the situation. She took of her silk gloves and watched the broad-shouldered valet disappear mumbling a “Very well, milady.”

“Was that really necessary?” Robert inquired annoyed.

Cora set down beside him, just smiling appeasingly, and waited until his expression softened.

Then she asked, “So, Pharaoh isn’t behaving? What is it exactly he has difficulties with?”

“He takes no orders at all. Just running around like a wild animal. The worst thing is, he doesn’t even take to cuddling and patting,” Robert instantly jumped into recounting his miserable day with his beloved young dog.

“I assume your scratches are coming from the latter,” a smile played on Cora’s lips. Her intense look was set on Robert’s wounded figure.

“But, Cora, I’m sure he’s just still too excited and fidgety. You’ll see, soon he’ll be my lapdog.”

“Oh, is it really a lapdog you need?” she raised her eyebrows and grinned widely now.

“Well…” he started but blushed after a moment. He patted her thigh and tried to continue undisturbed by her cheeky comment.

“Pharaoh may need a bit more time but he’ll learn everything eventually.”

Cora got up and turned towards the bandages and antiseptic Smith had left on the bedside table, “I’m sure, you’re right, my dear.” She grabbed the utensils and approached her still sitting husband.

“Oh, please, Cora! I told you not to fuss!” he grumbled as he saw what she was up to.

She stopped in her tracks and evaluated his appearance. No, maybe bandages weren’t necessary. Without comment she set the equipment back down and Robert awaited what might be coming now. He needn’t wait long.

“Alright, but will you grant me another, well, favour?” she demanded. Her chest rose and fell with every breath as she waited for his response. Robert’s focus turned from her sweetly encased bust to her rosy lips. Her expression was free of emotion. He sensed she wouldn’t specify her demand and he couldn’t help himself at the sight of her plump lips.

“Of course, darling” his voice was low and soft.

With a pleased smile she took a seat beside him, much nearer than before, and her fingers encircled his wrist and elbow joint with a feather-light touch. Her gaze was set on the scratches that decorated his lower arm. She lifted his arm and placed the breath of a kiss on a tiny mark. Robert didn’t notice that he held his breath as he watched a trifle mesmerised Cora’s procedure. Her lips wandered up his arm, nearly never really touching his skin. When he didn’t flinch, she became more confident to press real kisses to his skin.

“It’s not fair, the puppy is treating you like this,” she reasoned in between kisses, “You’re so patient and good with him. I don’t know where you’re taking all this endurance from.”

“But…” Robert started but thought better of it. Now, she ceased her kisses and looked at him awaiting.

“But you don’t think me foolish for it?” he asked softly after a while.

She thought about his question. To be honest, his infatuation with dogs wasn’t something she was able to comprehend completely, but she knew her Robert. He wasn’t acting foolishly. It was his way to show his faith in the good.

She shook her head softly, “No. No, I don’t think you foolish.”

His face took on an expression of ease and a gentle smile grazed his lips.

“I think I have a really bad scratch here,” he pointed to a spot on his cheek very close to the corner of his lips.

“Should I tend to that one too?” she asked with raised eyebrows, a slight nod of her head and in mock innocence.

He only nodded in response.

When she was about to press her lips to his cheek, he turned his head to capture her lips with his. She should have seen this coming but was caught slightly off-guard. The determination he poured into their kiss caused a pleasant flutter in her lower abdomen.

They presented a most strange sight. With growing entanglement, they sank back onto the duvet. She was in her mint evening attire and he was already slightly dishevelled and half-undressed, but still wore parts of his walking outfit. They were surrounded by bandages and antiseptic. Her gloves fell to the floor when she gave her husband her full attention.

#cobert drabble #cobert fluff #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #downton abbey drabble

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

Hi! I hope you’re having a great day. I’d like to make a request please. Can I please request a scenario with Seungmin from Stray Kids where his gf has arthritis but hides it from him so he doesn’t worry? And he comes home one day to find her crying from the pain and she tells him everything and he helps her feel better and takes care of her? I would really appreciate it. Thank you in advance!

Ooohh this idea is cute. I hope you enjoy!

Hiding Your Problems | Kim Seungmin

{Stray Kids Masterlist}

Member(s): Kim Seungmin

Genre: fluff

Summary: The pain of your arthritis becomes too much to hide, but of course Seungmin is right there to comfort you.

Word Count: 1.7k

*reader is female

You always were someone who hated troubling others with your problems. After having the thought for years that asking for help would become annoying, you developed the unhealthy habit of keeping your problems to yourself and battling them alone.

Although, Seungmin knew of this habit of yours, and has tried many times to break you out of it, always reassuring you that you could never be a burden on him and if something was really troubling you, it is best to let him know about it.

But hearing him try so desperately to help you did nothing but make you much more guilty about keeping things from him. You began to believe that if he found out you were hiding anything from him, he would be mad.

A few months into dating, you began to feel burning in your wrist joint which became worse by the day. You let Seungmin know briefly, but you both shook it off as just a pulled muscle from typing or picking heavy things up.

Although, it began to affect your performance in a lot of things. You sometimes weren’t able to finish your work because using your arm to type put too much of a strain on your damaged wrist.

You didn’t want it to become even worse than it already was, so you booked a doctors appointment on the phone and went to get it checked, hoping that it wasn’t anything too serious and just muscle strain, like what you and Seungmin suspected.

Unfortunately you came back home with bad news. The doctor said you had developed arthritis in your right wrist joint, having lost some cartilage to assist protecting the joint, making simple tasks become painful.

You knew you should’ve told Seungmin, but being the person you were, obviously you hid it from him. You hid your pain reliefs in a small cabinet under the sink, knowing that he wouldn’t look there. And if he were to find it, you would just brush them off as medicine for headaches.

On a particular day, while Seungmin was out with Minho buying lunch with him, you spent the day at home potting some plants that you bought with Seungmin the day before. You wanted to make sure that they were placed into a sunny and clean place quickly so they didn’t wither or lose leaves.

You were excited about the plants. Seungmin bought you a wonderful baby strawberry seedling that would soon grow into a big green bush with lots of strawberries. You’ve always wanted to have your own vegetable / fruit garden, so you wished to plant the bush as soon as possible so you could watch the red fruits grow over time.

While you were doing so, you noticed the pain in your wrist become more and more prominent as you continued. You tried your best to focus on planting and not worry about it, but soon the pain became too much and you had to go take some pain relief medicine from the cupboard.

You sat on the couch and cradled your wrist for twenty minutes, but it became obvious that the pain relief wasn’t working. The burning sensation worsened and you couldn’t move your wrist at all, beginning to panic a bit.

Tears started to fill your eyes, and you let out a small painful sob. “Stupid medicine, why aren’t you working?” you sniffled out.

You sat on the couch for another ten minutes. Your wrist eventually did start to ease up on the pain, but you could tell it would be a while before it would be okay to start planting again. You were deciding whether you should keep planting or not, but you didn’t want to leave the mess for Seungmin to clean when he got home, so you would’ve had to put strain on your wrist again regardless.

A few more lone tears ran down your face, leaving stains in their path. You felt quite pathetic actually. You couldn’t even do things you enjoyed anymore without being in pain.

You spun your head around quickly when the familiar sound of keys jiggling in the front door hit your ears. You brought your healthy arm up to your face and began to quickly wipe your tears away. You didn’t want Seungmin to see you in pain, it would make him worry about you. Or worse, you didn’t want him to know that you’ve been hiding your arthritis from him.

“Baby! I’m home!” he called out into the house excitedly. “I had a fun day with Minho! I wanna tell you about it!”

Dammit. Of course he was in a good mood. Your situation would only ruin his happy day.

You hung your head low and kept your wrist close to your chest as you saw Seungmin round the corner to the lounge room. He saw you sitting on the couch and his eyes lit up.

“Oh there you are! Why weren’t you answering me Y/N?” he asked with a smile on his face. He made his way over and his smile shifted into a frown as he saw you weren’t looking at him.

“Hey, are you okay? Why aren’t you looking at me?” Seungmin kneeled down next to the couch to try and look at your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t hear you before.” you choked out, voice cracking a little bit. Well that gave your crying away. You pulled your head up and brushed your hair back out of your face. You hoped that the tear stains on your face had disappeared.

But according to Seungmin’s worried expression, they obviously weren’t. “Wait, why are you crying? What’s going on?” he murmured worryingly. He cupped your face with both his hands and rubbed his thumbs under your eyes, wiping away any stray tears. His eyes darted between yours, waiting for an answer.

“Minnie, I’m fine.” you insisted. “I’m just not feeling too well so my eyes are watery.”

He didn’t buy it. He glanced down at your aching wrist and saw you holding it against your chest carefully.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, taking his hands off your face and reaching to hold your hand. You flinched as he grabbed your sore wrist a little too roughly. He froze and looked at you.

“Babygirl, what did you do to your hand? Is it sore?”

You thought for a second before letting out a smaller sob and tears breached your eye sockets once again. Seungmin looked shocked and let go of your wrist, placing his hand on the back of your head and pulled you so your head was laying on his shoulder.

“No baby don’t cry. What’s happened? Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked in a scared tone. He was afraid you had sprained your arm or hand somehow.

You shook your head no against him and continued to cry. “Sorry, Seungmin. I went to the doctors a while ago and they diagnosed me with arthritis.” you whimpered out, pushing your face into his neck.

Seungmin rubbed your back soothingly. “Oh baby, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you out. How long have you been like this?”

“A couple of weeks, but today it got really bad because I was trying to plant that strawberry seedling that you bought me. I didn’t stop when it got worse and then it just became a bit unbearable. My medicine also stopped working and-” you struggled on your words as you continued to cry from both the burning sensation in your wrist and the fear of worrying Seungmin. He shushed you and rocked you back and forth like a baby.

“Shh it’s okay. Please just tell me these things in the future though, because I want to take care of you. You could never be a burden on me, I’ve let you know that many times.” He pulled back from the hug and held your face again.

“I love you so much, and I want to take care of my baby,” he said smiling.

You smiled back at him and leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on his pink lips.

“Thanks so much love, I love you too,” you whispered.

When your tears were wiped away and you calmed down from crying, Seungmin stood up to grab your pain relief. The burning in your wrist had almost faded and you insisted that you could just wait it out, but Seungmin insisted that you took another tablet to at least assist with defeating the pain.

You tried to ask Seungmin about his day with Minho, knowing that he was excited to tell you about it, but Seungmin denied and said that he wanted to focus on your right now, because you were his priority.

He helped you finish planting the strawberry seedling and the few other plants you had bought together, making sure you don’t do too much work so you don’t make your wrist bad again.

After that, you both laid down on your shared bed, ready to take a short afternoon nap together.

“Baby, you know that it’s only going to get worse. My other joints are gonna start hurting and things might be a bit more difficult for me.” you murmured to him, face tucked into his hoodie covered chest.

“Oh my god, Y/N! Stop it!” he exclaimed, giggling. You looked up at his face with shock.

“How many times do I have to say it! You. Aren’t. A. Burden.” he said while poking your nose at each pause. “You could never annoy me, I absolutely love taking care of you because you’re so cute and I love you. If there’s anything you could do for me, it is to let me pamper you more often.”

A grin creeped onto your face as you laughed at him. To be honest, it felt so much better having Seungmin know about your arthritis because now you didn’t have to deal with the stress of hiding it from him.

“You’re so cute you know that? I’m so lucky to have you as a boyfriend.” you said, snuggling back into his chest.

“Oh, you’re so cheesy.” he laughed, tickling your tummy making you squirm.

You both fell asleep against each other, wrapped in each other’s arms so tightly that nothing in the world could ever separate you two.

I hope you enjoyed anon!

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids reaction #skz imagines #kim seungmin #kim seungmin imagines #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin #seungmin imagines #seungmin x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #seungmin fluff #kim seungmin fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #seungmin one shots #kim seungmin one shots #stray kids one shots #skz one shots #bangchan #felix lee #changbin #lee know #felix #jeongin #i.n. #han #han jisung