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seoness · 2 years

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More Than Our Servitude

(TV Show!) Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader | Fluff & Romance | One-shot | Requested | SFW TRIGGER WARNING: The Reader-insert has experienced physical abuse/corporal punishment and canon-typical class oppression.

Summary: You lived your life as one of the washerwomen of the Red Keep, only seeing the Hound in passing. Still, when the madness of the Battle of Blackwater erupted, he came for you. The Hound is weary from battle, but you try and soothe what little you can. Reader-Insert info: Kind, caring, gentle. Minor backstory just to ground you in the world.

Smoke, sweat, and horse. You were used to those smells. It clung to the cloaks of Kingsguards and the men-at-arms of the Red Keep, lingering on their linens. It was the other, thick and heavy, a stench you hoped never to learn, that made bile push up your throat. Burnt flesh. Dropping the fold of your cloak, a tuft of Stranger's black mane took its place in your hand.

Everything felt like a strange dream... You waited and waited for it to end, for you to wake and look up at the planks of the bunk bed above. A morn like the hundreds of morns before them.

How many days had it been since the entire world glowed? When the blackness of the night and the steady drums of Stannis Baratheon's fleet gave way to bursting green and thunder. Closing your eyes, you could still see it. The green shard soaring up into the sky, like the Seven Hells themselves had opened, ready to swallow the city whole. Why had you been so foolish? Why did you have to go out by the washer lines? Maybe if you had stayed inside and prayed with the others, you'd been spared their screams? The shrieks of burning men.

The dream hadn't gone, plate and mail chirred behind you. The Hound hadn't said much since that night. Drunk and bloodied, he had come for you.

"If possible, could our camp for the night be by water?" you asked, peering back the usual clenched face met you, his gaze empty.

Clegane had said little of that night, but even if he had, what answer could you offer to make the pain any less? The few times he spoke, he cursed them all. Only one thing you knew for certain.

"I'm sorry Lady Sansa wouldn't come," you said.

"Should have gone to you first. You'd not frightened the little bird," he replied.

Hearing him talk was enough to make you sigh out in relief.

"Wouldn't I? I am a stranger to her. With all that she's been through, I doubt that poor girl would be quick to trust anyone but if I had convinced her... I know it's selfish, but I wouldn't have wanted to know. Better to remain oblivious." Your answer made the Hound look down, his brow furrowing. "I admit that I do not know much about horses, but three on one back?"

"That what's been going on inside that head of yours?" he grunted.

"No," you replied. "I dream about a bath and a chance to wash our clothes."

Clegane huffed and fixed his gaze back on the path ahead. He had tried to rid himself of the stench, the rag had wiped away the blood and layers of mud, but the stench of burnt flesh stayed.

The river twined through the forest, cutting through the earth, eroding it away and exposing roots, making pine trees bow to the water. Clegane pressed his heels into the sides of his stallion, muttering about being crushed while you both slept.

"Please don't," you piped as the man swung off and grabbed the reigns.

Stranger already stomping as you slid into the saddle, gripping the edge like a vice.

"He needs rest. You're lighter, I walk quicker. Relax and he'll stop," Clegane said.

"Can't warhorses bite one's face off?"

"True. So what got you so tightened up, think he'll reach that pretty little face and tear it off while you're on his back?" he snorted and began to lead his horse.

Each attempt you made to suggest a campsite was promptly dismissed.

The ground is too damp. You'd be sleeping in a bog. There weren't enough shrubs. Anyone could see you. There were too many shrubs. Someone could sneak up and slit your throat.

Finally, when the sky had turned purple, and the sun had gone behind the trees, the Hound was content. The river wider, its waters slow, and no pine loomed above, ready to swat you both like bugs. Clegane's hands closed around your waist, and for the briefest of moments, he was so very near.

It had been easy back at the Red Keep. You would mostly see him twice a day, come morn and eve, when the Hound made his way from the White Sword Tower to be by King Joffrey's side. He was always busy, always moving, never staying long enough to see the flush across your face after meeting his gaze.

It was harder on the back of Stranger. If you leaned back, he'd be there, and with a slight movement of his arms, you'd finally feel the Hound's embrace. They never did, his hands kept rest by his legs, and even those were only close enough so you'd stay securely on Stranger's back. But sitting in front of him, it didn't matter how much your cheeks prickled if he couldn't see your face.

It was impossible when he helped you down. To feel like nothing in his hands, no more cumbersome than the basket of laundry. Darting to the side as soon your feet touched the ground, your only defense, you looked around.

"I'll fetch something for the fire."

"Going to check the surroundings," he muttered and strode off.

You hadn't been able to bring much, only the satchel that accompanied you on your daily duties around the castle. Rags, soap, and scented oils. Not precisely items one would want in the wilderness, but with them, you managed to prepare the shoreline for his bath.

You were feeding the campfire with another log when the Hound emerged from the dark. The strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His breathing quick.

"Were there any problems?" you asked.

"No."

Rising, you wiped away the dirt from your hands and nodded towards the shore. "You may go first, Clegane."

"I didn't take you with me so I'd have a servant," he spat.

Splaying your skirt, you curtsied deep, head bowed. "Your bath is ready, my lord," you said softly before meeting his dark eyes once more, smiling. "That is what I would have said if I was your servant. If you need help with your armor, I'll try and-"

"And that's not serving me?" Clegane waved to the forest around you. "Are you mistaking these trees for stone? This is not the Red Keep, woman. Speak however you want."

"But I am?"

The hand soared through the air. Flinching, you shut your eyes. So now it happened. The Hound was like the others. It just took him longer. Why even get your hopes up? You should have stayed in the Red Keep... with him, it would hurt all the more.

"Open your damn eyes." His voice was just as grating and deep, but it no longer held its edge. "I'm not hitting you."

You obliged his command but the anger that had been written across his face was gone. "I'm sorry."

"That more of my honorable brothers' work?" Clegane asked.

You had never seen it, only heard the whispers, the beating of Lady Sansa by the Kingsguards' hands, not one whisper had been by his.

"The list of those who don't strike servants is far easier to give," you chuckled, "even other servants hit those a rung lower."

Tugging on one of the straps, his left pauldron soon hit the ground, then the next. Cursing Clegane undid the laces of his brigandine. Metal clanged as he tossed the boots and before he had time to remove the undertunic you had turned your back to him.

You only heard his voice, "Anyone strikes you again and I'll kill them."

The man strode into the river and you took refuge in the task at hand. It was not hard, you'd done it a thousand times, scooping up his cloak and tunic. He had kept his breeches on.

"I'll only go a bit downstream to wash these," you called and snagged your satchel.

"Stay within sight of the camp."

It wasn't too far away. The camp gone behind some trees, but you'd see it again with a short walk. Shedding your layers until the slip of undyed linen was the only thing keeping you from standing bare, you bit your lip as you entered the waters. There was no slope, the river claiming you up to your waist and the sharp sting of cold robbing you of any warmth. Soaking the cloth as your teeth shattered, squealing as a wind blew in.

A rubbing of soap. Wringing it up. Smacking the wool against the stone. Again and again. Your own cloak the next.

Smack.

You didn't hear. The branch that broke, the footsteps—

"What are you doing?" the voice almost made the cloak slip from your fingers and float away along the river.

Spinning on your heel, you hugged the wool to your breast. No pine loomed above you but a Hound.

"Are you trying to make it easy for any broken man that finds you? You think what's left in these forests are good people? Rapers, murderers, and thieves," Clegane said.

"Y-You checked the surroundings."

Your gaze flickered down, leaving the angered stare and sending your heart hammering as you took it all in. The breeches clung to his legs and the swordbelt hastily fastened by his hip. Until then, him bare had been a figment of your imagination. The arms were thick with muscle and the chest wide. Despite youth being behind him and time leaving his face weathered, it had done little against his body. Clegane was of nobility, yet he had none of their softness. The lower of his arms tanned but faded to skin pale as milk by his shoulders.

"—within the sight of the camp," he snapped.

Huh? He had spoken, but for how long or much you couldn't tell. The anger hadn't gone from his face. Clegane wouldn't hit you. He swore he'd kill anyone who tried but explaining one's actions wasn't a favorable trait in any servant. One was to bow. One was to apologize, fault or not. But he wanted no servant either. Facing him, eyes that bore into one's soul, you steeled yourself and smiled. Gently. Pretending not to feel the heat on your cheeks.

"Without this rock, I wouldn't be able to wash our clothes. Just dunking the cloth up and down won't do much of anything. Beating it against the rock loosens the dirt up," you explained, and when no snarl came you wrung the cloak up again and hit it against the stone. "See?"

Clegane said nothing as he held out his hand, and there was only to accept defeat but when you stepped up on shore the man shoved his swordbelt in your hands.

"Sit and hold this," he commanded and looked to the cloak still pinned to your breast, the mouth twitched as he spoke. "That clean?"

Nod.

Taking his tunic and with some minor pointers, he began the work instead. You couldn't look away. Sandor Clegane, the fearsome Hound, the first Kingsguard that hadn't taken his knight's vows. A man feared by all... ordered around by a washerwoman.

"What?" Clegane asked, only then did you feel the grin on your lips.

His glare didn't make the smile go. "You are a lord, is this how it feels to be one?"

"Not a lord," Clegane corrected. "Got no keep. No land."

"I believe Lord Tyrion would disagree with such an explanation," you said.

"The Imp doesn't give a rat's ass about the truth. A lord with no land nor keep is just as useless as a knight with no shield or sword," Clegane replied.

It was like flipping a coin. On the one side was the man that could snarl with little to no provocation, and on the other was the one that stood stalwart with his back turned as you bathed. The man that aided you in erecting branches so you could dry your clothes by the fire.

Sitting down, you allowed yourself to give in and feel the ache in your legs from the ride. Clegane did what he always did, walking about, tending to his horse, checking the saddlebags but then and again, you felt his eyes linger. The white slip clung to your skin, leaving little of you for him to guess... You had heard the stories. The hunger of men after a battle. If Clegane hungered, he had never come to you to still it.

You hadn't eaten. Hells, even before the escape, you hadn't. It wasn't like the King would empty his larder to feed servants when the risk of a siege loomed over them. It was perfectly expected. Who's stomach wouldn't rumble? Looking up, you met his eyes, but it wasn't like you could excuse yourself somewhere. Acting like nothing had occurred, you glanced over the forest and river.

A piece of cured meat was pressed into your hand. "Here. Eat."

Clegane seated himself by the fire, watching like a hawk.

"I'm not eating our last food just because my stomach rumbled the loudest. You are the one with a sword, and what good is a washerwoman against rapers, murderers, and thieves?" you replied and held it back towards him.

It made sense. He'd listen, just as he had with the rock, but Clegane didn't move.

"People like me go hungry all the time, I'm used to it," you said but it only made his face twist. "I'm fine."

Biting a smaller piece off for yourself, you tried again. He had to be hungry. But the meat still hovered in the air.

Sighing, you leaned forward, closing the distance, and forced your voice deep, trying to imitate his voice, "Open. Chew. Swallow."

The dark eyes flickered down before the food disappeared from your hand. "Too stubborn for your own good," he muttered.

You savored the little piece you had, the taste of salt and venison filling your mouth. Now, all that was left was to wait for your cloaks to dry. You'd sleep. Get back on Stranger and the day would repeat like the one before it. A new normal. A better normal.

"I'd had gone to you." The rasp pulled you from thought, the stars had begun to show in the night sky, Clegane's gaze fixed on the fire. "A lady like that knows how to ride a horse."

"But you don't owe me anything, we've barely talked..."

Before Joffrey Baratheon was made King, you had only seen him in the halls of the Red Keep. A greeting, a wishing of good luck if he was to ride out on one of the many hunts or to compete in a tourney. Half the time, he hadn't even replied back. It couldn't compete with saving the life of the firstborn daughter to the Warden of the North. Clegane didn't answer you, only meeting your eyes. It was the longest you had kept his gaze.

The nose scrounged up, and Clegane looked back to the fire. "Got family somewhere? Could take you to them, be with your own."

"I've never been outside the city walls. My own was maids, washerwomen, and stablehands," you replied, and so many of them were gone. "As long as you promise me we never return to the Red Keep, you can take me wherever you please."

Clegane huffed air, and silence returned. The only thing you had managed was to make it even more awkward than before. Balling up, your cheek resting against your knees, you looked out over the water and listened to the crackle of the firewood. It was better to not speak too much with Clegane. Keep quiet. At least, until he got easier to read.

It was so warm... The wool fell over your shoulders as the Hound draped his cloak over you. "Yours got some time left 'til it's dry," he said.

"Thank you." Before the man had time to sit back down you spoke again. "Would you like to share... just until my cloak is dry?"

Clegane looked half ready to snarl, but he just nodded, seating himself beside you. Taking to your feet you draped the cloak over his shoulders instead, making him frown.

"Like on the back of Stranger," you said and knelt.

Clegane's jaw clenched as he moved his legs, making room for you. It was either this or sit beside him like a red beacon. Holding the edges of the cloak shut before you, like a tent, what little of Clegane's touch you felt was an accident. An arm brushed against an elbow. A heel going past the side of a foot. The man was just as stiff as he was in the saddle.

Slowly the heat began to build inside your makeshift tent. It wrapped around you. Not of smoke, horse, or sweat. Not of burnt flesh. Him. Just him.

Breathe. Breathe and keep calm. Maybe then your heart wouldn't feel ready to explode. It was just like riding on the back of Stranger, just like-

"I do owe you." The words were nothing more than a voice in the dark, grating and deep, sending a shiver down your spine and leaving your body tingling. "Think there are many that smile at me? Stand to look me in the eye? You did. You do."

"My smile is worth the protection of a kingsguard? The one who was sworn sword to the Crown Prince?" but each question strained your throat, your mouth dry like it had never known drink.

"None of that anymore."

"Yet you are the man that earned those titles," you answered.

"Think I earned those titles by being a good man?"

Words that should make you afraid instead made an ache grow in your chest. There was so much you didn't know, only rumors and all of them bloody. It wasn't true, he was wrong and you couldn't leave him with doubt. Suffering the embarrassment of having the man see what he did to you was far less than his pain. You shuffled, with less graze than you'd wished, until his face was before you.

The light of the campfire made Clegane look older than he was, casting parts in deep shadow. The burn that had claimed so much of his right side hidden behind his hair looked even more painful. Every crater deepened and every ridge heightened. At first, it had given you pause, to see a man that could suffer such a wound and yet walk. But it was the rest, what was in those dark eyes that told so much more. You could only imagine what he'd seen, the horror. No matter how much or how long you tried you would never understand.

"I do not mean to insult you but were you not a servant too? Your servitude was one of steel and mine of cloth, but you served the Lannisters. Did their bidding. If I do not wash the linens properly I would be beaten or flogged. Am I to believe your punishment would have been lighter had you refused one of their orders? We do not hold someone to an oath if said at the point of a sword. Not even the gods do so... So why should I hold you by actions, not of your own will, when a sword was ready to claim your head had you not," you said and the sides of your mouth tugged. "I may have only smiled, spoken to you in passing but... those that notice people like me usually do so because others don't... They can do as they please, and none would know. You didn't. You were kind."

A dry chuckle left his lips, "You think this kind? Never figured you to be dim."

"Noble?" you tried but it only made his lips press shut.

The ache in your chest grew. Just one touch. One tenderness. Your fingers brushed over his hand but it disappeared as quick as if caught in flame.

"Don't have to do that." His face twisting. "I'll find somewhere safe you can live, and you find yourself some man. You don't want an old dog."

"Your not that-" but when his brow cocked, you corrected yourself. "You're no Grandmaester Pycelle."

It was so easy to be greedy. To want more. Rising, the crisp air of the night greeted you while Clegane watched in silence. "Besides, dogs do not make such poor company."

It was like kissing one of the statues of the Red Keep. Your lips lightly brushed against his forehead and patted lightly atop his head with your hand before walking to the stand where your cloak awaited. Swaying, it felt as if you had drunk an entire wine cellar. Heart ready to burst as you laid yourself down. The Hound's stare burned your back as you wrapped the cloak tight.

The rattle of metal and boiled leather made you twist around. Clegane's tunic was already on him, fastening his brigandine.

"Going to check the surroundings," he muttered.

"Be safe, and careful so you don't trip in the dark."

But he was already disappearing behind the trees. "Stop fretting..." but the rest of his muttering was too low and far away for you to hear.

You tried to stay awake, wait for him, but it had been a long day of riding, and one just as long would follow... but if he tripped, if he fought something... You looked into the fire until your eyes stung like mad but even that couldn't keep your eyelids from growing heavy. Was it a dream? A roughness grazed your temple. Clegane? You wanted to open your eyes, but your body was too tired and the world too warm. All you managed was a smile.

Thanks for reading!

(Please be aware, if you enjoyed my writing and want to see more, that there are NSFW 18+ posts on my page).

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane

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pedros-immaculate-vibes · 5 months

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A Peaceful Elf

Part VI

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

One benefit to essentially saving the world is that it demands a lot of your attention. There was the overarching need to avoid becoming mindflayers, HOWEVER, the lands outlying Baldurs Gate seemed chock full of misanthropes and the like. All of this and more afforded you some breathing room from him.

Shortly after gaining Halsin to the camp, you discovered the presence of a hag in that disconcertingly serene wetland (surprise! It was a concealed bog), a woman who inherited a zombie husband, gnolls trapping two unfortunate men in a cave (along with a strange bottle? Urn? Seemed important), a Zhentarim outpost underground that lead to yet ANOTHER entrance to the Underdark, and now the discovery of the Githyanki crèche. Given what you knew of Lae’zel, her near constant scowl and use of her grindstone meant she was ecstatic.

Halsin had heavily discouraged taking on these other adventures before journeying to Moonrise, but had difficulty saying no to both you and the others’ almost ambivalent approvals of this plan. You all knew experience in battle was necessary to survive below, and the best way to get that was to save the surrounding areas. Halsin resigned himself to patience and trailed along, investing his time in study at camp (thankfully, Gale had an almost infinite amount of books in his bag of holding to glean research from). He had felt particularly prepared for the under dark due to his “extended stint below in his youth”. He was uninterested in expounding on that any further.

Roughly two-and-a-half weeks went by like this and the steady influx of villains to vanquish lead to camp life developing a certain pattern; almost like a family. A very strange, bloody family, but a family nonetheless. Each companion adopted camp habits and however quirky, you all adjusted to them. Shadowheart and Lae’zel began each day with morning exercises; separately at first, but over time, their spaces merged and they even began trading tips on how to incapacitate victims more efficiently. Gale usually cooked, and Halsin was quite familiar with the area’s herbs, so periodically they would plan meals, forage, or even find a farm with goods for sale, on occasion (apparently, the beverage Gale had made a few weeks ago was a fluke—he was an excellent camp cook). Karlach, Wyll and Astarion would regularly exchange stories while cleaning up after a meal and a battle of limericks (where the vampire mostly played judge) was almost a daily occurence after dinner over a few pints. They all seemed to warm up to each other.

You felt yourself pull away, though. Shortly after the party, you were haunted by the presence of someone who called himself the “Butler”; he prodded you toward the most unspeakable atrocities while you tried to rest, and his influence kept getting stronger. It was hard to share with anyone, and you’d almost acted on the dark urges more than once.

You had been ill at ease for weeks now trying to keep your normal facade up, but it began to show under your eyes. Your companions had begun to notice after almost a fortnight and were still deciding how to ask correctly. They knew most questions regarding your well-being would be brushed off or minimized; it was what you did.

In the meantime, there was always something to do.

With these responsibilities at hand, you hadn’t made much time to strike up conversation with Halsin since that first day. To be honest, you were overwhelmed and couldn’t spend what cognitive energy you had on the topic.

Were you still distracted by him? Of course.

Was he still brilliant and kind and patient and funny when he didn’t mean to be?

Obviously.

Did any of that make it easier to talk to him?

Absolutely not.

And from what you could tell, he wasn’t doing well, either. With each additional adventure, you could almost hear the heavy sigh and sense the tension rippling off the druid who trailed the ambling troupe, and you knew you were disappointing him.

Yet he stayed.

You all knew your adventure to the crèche wouldn’t be brief. You had no idea what to expect from the monastery down the mountain, except more Githyanki, possibly a cure and probably lots of stubbornness. The rest was a mystery.

***

The Butler hadn’t shown its hideous face for a few nights, and you started to feel like yourself again. You sat with almost everyone around the campfire and finished what was left of Halsin’s vegetable stew. Gale waxed poetic over the tragedy of Karsus’ Folley, yet another tale to share with the group. He spoke of it like a professor with a passion for his craft.

“Tsk’va, children’s tales of fancy. Perhaps, read more githyanki literature. It is replete with priceless wisdom and battles your gods wish they could have partaken in.” Lae’zel shook her head over her spinning grindstone, the first to finish dinner and return to her work. Oddly enough, she must have listened every night because she always had some critique of Gale’s stories.

“I’ll add that to my ‘To Be Read’ list, Lae’zel, thank you,” Gale responded, humoring her recommendation with a smile. She nodded back, then returned to her work.

You rose from your spot, in need of some tea, while everyone else drank and added their own questions or two cents to the wizard’s story. He was patient, but his limit was coming, you could tell. The camp knew this and tested him several times a week, like a dog toying with an old tressym.

Halsin had been the second to finish his bowl, returning to his tent to continue pouring over books. He seemed to appreciate the entertainment around the campfire, his scowl only breaking when he heard someone’s question fluster the wizard.

You grated and brewed the remaining chunks of ginger, turmeric and a few other spices into your makeshift sachet, and glanced from the campfire over to him. He sat so calm; calm and alone. It was colder that night than it had been so far, and something inside you wanted to reach out.

A few minutes later, you sighed, ignoring all of the internal horns and blaring alarms at the thought of approaching this gentle giant, and made your way over with two mugs.

“Hi.”

He looked up slowly but obviously still surprised.

“May I join you?”

The camp suddenly hushed a bit. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you felt everyone look in your direction. OmFg can I not just sit down and talk to this man without you all making it SO fucking weird. Thankfully, they were all behind you as you faced in toward the large tent.

Halsin also noticed the sudden decrease in activity and looked toward the campfire. He turned back to you with a humorous smile. “Of course.” He patted an open spot a few inches from him along the log.

A throat cleared by the fire. Gale and the rest of the peanut gallery resumed.

“I brought some tea over. I saw you studying and it’s colder tonight, I thought you might—it might help you stay warm. I mean—you know, help you focus.” Godsdammit.

“Mmm, that was very kind,” his callused paw eclipsing yours as he took the cup. The contact made the hair on your arm bristle. “What type of tea?” He asked. “No, let me guess,” lifting the mug close to his chiseled face and wafting the aroma toward him, eyes closed. “Mmmm, fresh ginger, clove, a bit of pepper, and…what is that last one?” Halsin’s eyes settled on you again. A gentle look you hadn’t seen from him before.

“Uh, that’s—that would be turmeric. Not much, just a trace. I used up the last of the root just now.” Hells, don’t make him feel bad about it. “I could probably grow more though, you know, the whole druid thing,” you flicked your hands out to your sides and shrugged.

“True, although it might change the flavor. The soil is different here as opposed to the grove.” He lifted the steaming mug to his lips and sipped. He closed his eyes in a satisfied sigh, “I haven’t had golden tea after any fashion in years. I’ve forgotten how it can warm the bones of this old druid.” He was actually smiling; the frown lines from all of his recent study had almost disappeared.

You BEAMED. “Well, I am very happy I could afford you such a treasure. You deserve it,” you slipped, beating down the growing shade of red in your cheeks. Change the subject.

“Um, what are you studying now?” Averting your eyes to an open book on his desk. Everything was illuminated by two lanterns at either end of the tent’s wide entrance.

“Mmm,” he sighed, then took another long sip. Shifting the book so you could also see it, “It’s a book of lore regarding the Underdark. There are limited options based on true geographical knowledge; Gale and I have already picked those apart. What remains are ghost stories and fairytales. As we all know, though, even these tend to have a kernel of gold at their center.” He angled his eyes to you. “I hope to find it.”

Pretty sure your heart truly stopped beating for a second.

“A—Ah, I see, hmm, that—that does make sense,” you nodded in earnest, knitting your brows now as you skimmed the page, gathering absolutely nothing.

Either from the overstimulation of being so close to him and his gravely voice being directed at you under a candle lit tent canopy, or the gust of cold wind, you shivered. Halsin noticed.

“Ah! We can’t have our fearless little leader catch cold. Here,” he took a half-folded blanket from his cot. “This one should have the least amount of fur.” He shook it, trying to convince both of you that it was decently clean. “May I?”

“…Mm-hm.” You sounded like a mouse.

The former Arch Druid, stood behind you, gently draping the thick woolen blanket on your shoulders. He tried, awkwardly, to make sure it was secure enough on you before a soft pat-pat on your shoulders. “There, that should help…You deserve it.” Another blush pricked at your face. Both the heavy blanket and his words kept you warmer than the campfire ever could, you were convinced.

You pulled it tighter around your neck and frame, realizing that My Gods, the bear druid had excellent taste in blankets. You realized, again, that you needed to breath. Inhaling, you smelled, sage, thyme, and, well, just him.

You were going to find some excuse to keep this blanket. If it killed you. It was yours now.

It was then that you heard the silence from the campfire again. You couldn’t care less: you were warm, you had your tea, and you could finally, albeit awkwardly, keep a conversation with Halsin.

Sometimes, life has it’s moments.

It was a moment later, you heard snarls.

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duhragonball · 1 year

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Dragon Ball Super 019

Oh great, we’re doing Res F.

Okay, so this is often regarded as the low point of Dragon Ball Super, probably because of the same slipshod animation seen in the previous episodes, but this arc also has the hurdle of adapting Resurrection F, which wasn’t nearly as good as Battle of Gods. Frankly, the plot of the BoG movie was the only thing going for Episodes 1-14, and here, Episodes 19-28 are trying to do the same task without that advantage.

I wouldn’t call this the worst of Super. My personal least favorite still lies ahead. I’ll say two positives about this arc.

1) It’s nice and short. At ten episodes, it doesn’t have time to be too offensive. Then again, I might have said the same thing about GT’s Super 17 arc, but it was pretty vile when I rewatched it recently.

2) Resurrection F wasn’t great, but it wasn’t that bad, either. It lacks the complexities of BoG, Broly, and Super Hero, but if you judge it by the standards of the 20th Century DBZ films, it holds up just fine. One thing that works to the arc’s favor is that Res F doesn’t spend a lot of time on fluff, so there’s not like an episode and a half about a party, or pointless cuts to check in on Oolong or Ox King to see what they think about what’s happening. And while I hate to say it, Frieza has the star power to drag both the movie and this arc out of the bottom tier.

Having said all of that, I’ll repeat my critiques of the movie. Bringing Frieza back was a mistake. This franchise doesn’t do rogues’ galleries like Batman and Spider-Man, usually because the bad guys get killed once they lose. And I think Resurrection F pretty well illustrates why that is. Frieza comes back, but he just makes all the same mistakes that got him killed the first time.

Indeed, this story seems to be about Frieza’s utter refusal to change as a character. The reason Broly was such a success was that they brought back the Broly concept, but retooled him into a more sympathetic character, one audiences could get emotionally invested in. Super Hero saw the revival of the Red Ribbon Army, but that worked because it came back through new characters instead of re-hashing the old ones. Commander Red is replaced with Magenta; Dr. Gero is succeeded by Dr. Hedo. Carmine is the new Staff Officer Black. The Gammas are the new androids, and Cell Max is the new Cell. Everything is familiar, but different.

In Resurrection F, the only real difference is that Frieza’s soldiers are weaker, and Frieza himself is a lot stronger. But so what? Frieza’s soldiers were always cannon fodder, especially compared to Frieza himself. And the original conceit of Frieza was that he was the strongest being in the universe, so making him stronger doesn’t really change him as a person. All it really does is re-calibrate him to the top of the power scale, and he was already at the top before. And when he was on top, he still lost. It raises the question: Why would anyone bother reviving him in the first place? His enemies certainly don’t miss him, and even his most loyal henchmen have to accept that he lost, so what good is he?

To be fair, the movie at least tried to tackle that problem through their depiction of the Frieza Force. Their commander, Sorbet, was a minor administrator during Frieza’s lifetime, but he’s spent the last eighteen years trying to keep the organization running, doing everything he can to hold on to their remaining territory. It’s to his credit that he’s managed to keep the Force alive as long as he has, but it’s an exercise in futility. In this episode, he’s informed that sixty percent of his troops have been lost, and the only sensible orders he can give are “retreat” and “withdraw”.

The only way out he can see is to bring Frieza back with the Dragon Balls, which is literally wishful thinking. He’s had teams working on this, but they can’t locate the Namekians’ new homeworld, so that’s not an option, and the only other set of Dragon Balls are on Earth, the home of the Super Saiyans who defeated Frieza in the first place. It’s too dangerous, but Sorbet’s position has now become so desperate that he sees no alternative.

And that’s what makes him so interesting to me, because Sorbet does have an alternative, but he refuses to see it. He could dissolve the Frieza Force and accept defeat. Much of their best talent have already left, because they understood that the Force was nothing without Frieza to back it up. That’s how Sorbet wound up running things. It’s not that he’s untalented or unfit for command, but the important thing that keeps him in charge is that he’s the only one left willing to do the job.

This refusal to quit is both Sorbet’s greatest strength and flaw all rolled into one. He’s capable enough to run this organization, but all he’s really done is delay its inevitable collapse. A better leader would have enough vision to let the Frieza Force die, or at least repurpose it into something more productive, but Sorbet’s best bet is to try to turn back the clock and relive the good old days.

So this makes Sorbet a pretty fascinating character, but this all gets overshadowed by his own plan. Once Frieza returns, he barely matters, and he gets killed off unceremoniously during the final battle. The big problem with Res F if that it brings up a lot of interesting themes-- failure, second chances, the futility of revenge-- but it refuses to explore any of them.

One other interesting idea was the way Sorbet’s crew don’t really understand what Frieza meant to the Frieza Force. Either they’re too young to remember what it was like back then, or they were too far-removed from Frieza’s person to understand just how powerful he was. Sorbet tries to explain it to them, accompanied by flashback of Frieza destroying Planet Vegeta, but he can’t communicate it with words. He shows them a computer projection that says Frieza’s power would give them control over 70% of the known universe or something, but that doesn’t convince them much. Tagoma just asks if the numbers are accurate. In the end, Sorbet’s men are more accustomed to Sorbet as their leader. For them, Frieza is just a legend, while Sorbet is the trusted commander working tirelessly for their cause. They only go along with his scheme because it was his idea.

So they go to Earth, but Sorbet insists on going in person, without Shisami or any other powerful warriors, since the Saiyans can sense power levels. A guy like Shisami would give away what they’re doing. Thanks to their spy drones, they track down the Pilaf Gang as they collect the Dragon Balls, then Sorbet and Tagoma swoop in to jump their claim.

Basically, things play out like they did in the movie, except for two differences. First, Shenron offers three wishes instead of just two. I’m not sure what that means, but apparently someone thought it was important enough to add a third wish to this story for the second go-round. Mai uses it to wish for gourmet ice cream.

Second, Captain Ginyu is somehow there to bear witness to this event. We’ll get to him later, but for now all that matters is that he’s a frog and he’s very interested in this development.

Meanwhile, Goku and Vegeta are off training on Beerus’ planet in their dumb Res F costumes. Whis is so much faster than they are that he dodges all their attacks and even has time to write his name on their titties without them even noticing.

Whis also takes a moment to discuss their weaknesses in battle. He says Vegeta is too high-strung, and his inability to relax causes him to overthink during battle, which holds him back. On the other hand, Goku is too relaxed, to the point where he gets overconfident and lets his guard down. These aren’t new problems. Goku nearly whizzed the 23rd World Tournament when he assumed Piccolo Junior was defeated, and then looked away during a ten count and gave Piccolo a chance to maim him with a ki blast. Meanwhile, pretty much every decision Vegeta has ever done in this franchise has been clouded by his misplaced priorities. He first invaded Earth to wish for immortality, but then he kept fighting long after victory and his prize were denied him. He trained to defeat the androids and Cell, then kept passing up chances to win because he was more interested in getting bigger victories that never materialized. I think his run as “Majin Vegeta” pretty much speaks for itself.

And while that makes for some interesting character analysis, the problem I have with this arc is that it spends more time on Goku and Vegeta’s development than on villains, who are sort of the focus of the movie. There’s no exploration of Frieza’s character flaw, no quiet moment where Frieza realizes just how pointless life and death have become for him now. The bad guys just show up to attack the Earth and die.

Anyway, getting back to Frieza, Shenron can resurrect him, but he can’t restore his body, which was cut to pieces and vaporized by Trunks. I’m not sure if this is because of the time that’s passed or the sheer extent of the damage Trunks did when he killed him. Oh, wait, maybe it’s because of Frieza being a cyborg at the time? Anyway, he comes back as chunks, but the Frieza Force has greatly improved their medical technology over the years, so they think they can stitch him back together, even when Shenron can’t.

And it works, which is kind of scary in itself. Right before he died, the best his doctors could do was to rebuild him as a cyborg. Now, they can put pieces of him in a tank of goop and regenerate his entire body. I mean, part of this is owed to Frieza’s incredible resilience. He survived getting cut in half (horizontally, anyway) and he survived multiple blasts from a Super Saiyan, and he survived Namek exploding in his face. I’m not sure you could toss Guldo’s head in the modern medical machine and perform the same miracle on Guldo. But still, this is a frightening level of advancement. If Sorbet had been a smarter leader, he might have reorganized the Frieza Force into a network of hospitals, but no.

Meanwhile, Goku’s spider-sense goes off, but he doesn’t know how or why. “You don’t have a spider-sense, you idiot!” Vegeta tells him.

#dragon ball #dragon ball super #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #goku #vegeta #sorbet #frieza #whis #tagoma #shisami #captain ginyu #emperor pilaf #mai #shu

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soranihimawari · 2 years

Text

Vines that Bind

pairing: prince/royal! oikawa x sorcerer!reader

prompt inspiration

word count: 6k

rating: 17+ for suggestive content//OTF & Hanamaki T Fluff [[HTF]]

warnings: seijoh 4 described as knight, apothecary, prince, & cleric//scars, scarring// abandonment at an early age (oc, naran)

Outrage is the word of the day apparently. A royal is called forward by his father into his advisory court. The queen mother is away tending to her ailing sister this year, but considering this was a ‘needs to know’ case. A few knights who were read into the meeting details were charged with bringing the heir apparent to the chambers. Of course, his father sits at the helm explaining an invasion tactic he was known for. A problem learned and adapted by Cesar himself. There is a taboo subject that no one is willingly jumping toward, however it is plausible for those who are more logical thinkers to not catch the clues laid in front of the various maps. Five kingdoms which borders the outskirts of a mighty forest and bog area do not interfere with the happenings there, but when the prince walks by, his eyebrows raise since he had viewed it upside down. The king swings his arms like a child boisterous about his new treasure.

“Boy, listen to me,” his father grips his son’s shoulders. “This forest here is where I first encountered a game of my own fancy. The knights and gameskeeper I had a terrific time trying to locate the owners of this land; it eventually became an annual skills test among our neighbors under the guise of founding the lands which eventually developed into the kingdom.”

“We already know this father,” the son proclaims, glancing back at the map. He sees the angle and now a supposed path makes itself known just to him, so he tries to memorize the path the best he can. “So what do you propose I do?”

The old man laughs heartily as do some of the higher ranking knights stating that in three days' time, his son is tasked with an exploration detail comprising three people: an apothecary, a clerical healer, his knight in arms, and well, himself.

“Small and efficient,” the son says when he kneels in front of the king at the next court proper when his mother had sent word of her return.

“Indeed,” the king’s adviser whispers something into his father’s ear before nodding. “I shall allow it, but wait until your mother returns so she may send you off with an embrace.”

“Hai,” the son stands and bows. He blends into the background after the official announcement has been made, a ton of women flock to the bachelor’s side praising him in illustrious wonder. The prince thinks about bedding which one and in order too, but alas his knight and charge guard escorts him elsewhere away from the girls who frown.

“You know better than to be fucked right before a battle,” the captain scolds.

“Aww, c’mon, at least I remember to show up to the sparring grounds,” the prince jokes. “‘Sides, I already have my father's blessing to go on this campaign, what more do I need?”

“A brain,” the lieutenant says, joining them before snickering with the captain. The prince pouts before the trio chooses to play a party game.

His mother had come home to a man and a father before her boy left for this expedition. She cups her son’s face and bids his good luck. Later on, once the prince had retired to his chambers, the queen mother storms back and forth crossing the bed where her husband lays upon.

“You’re mad sending the heir into that place,” she is apprehensive. “You know my brother and father had lost their lives protecting your foolish father.”

“Darling,” the king sighs. “The boy needs to learn to take risks if he were to be king.”

“Risk his life? For a mad king so close to losing his mind?”

“No. Not for me.”

The gears in the queen mother’s head come to a grinding halt. Of all nineteen years her son had walked amongst this earth, she gives her husband a rightful slap saying it’s incredibly naive to think their son would have blindly gone on an expedition to find love. Well, if it’s any indication of what the king had proposed, this was indeed a mad task indeed to teach his son about the meaning of sacrifice.

“You worry too much, come wife,” he tries to be sweet to her.

“I am the heir’s mother, of course I worry…”

Day 2 of the Prince’s Journey:

During a routine stop, the horses were brought to a stream by a thicket. The prince was enjoying an apple he had plucked from a tree earlier that morning while going over the plans of the surveyed areas thus far. The trip is supposed to take ten days. Four of which were meant for travel. The other six, much like what he had begun to do, was for research purposes. The apothecary took samples from plants and other berries that grew around them. Eventually as the sun moved across the sky, the knight who had traversed these parts before last hunting season makes it a point to say they ought to make it to the next checkpoint where a clearing was conveniently located. A five hour ride has the men chase nightfall and only stop a few stones throw away from the clearing. The prince is told to stand aside until the knights with him have deemed it safe several moments later. Once the fire and meat stew had been eaten, the tarps are lain down and the young men talked about their aspirations all because one prince was curious to learn about his company a bit more.

“And you, your highness?” the apothecary’s gruff voice cuts through the chuckles. “What tales do you have about women sneaking out of your quarters?”

“A kitchen maid said she found you in a state of undress just last week,” the cleric blushed at the comment he made.

“How would you know?” the prince sits up aghast.

“Confession is still a rite I tend to, prince.”

He laughs and the prince, blushing profusely, says his good nights. True, the kitchen aid did catch him in a state of undress, but it was because he had thought it was the tailor who was scheduled to arrive promptly after breakfast.

Day 4.5 further north:

Perhaps his forefathers were wrong to tamper with this veil of vines. A volcanic like area filled with graying ash and hardened earth from eons ago has some signs of vibrant plant life. The apothecary consults his books, the cleric, his texts. High above the four birds flap their wings in the desolate land.

“I do not like this,” the knight says. “We could be ambushed at any moment.”

A stone is picked up by the winds and is heard tumbling away. It is enough for the Prince’s horse to be quite disturbed, though the beat calms down thanks to its rider.

“Do you think we are being watched?” The young man asks his guard.

“Perhaps it's best we keep moving,” the knight states.

An arrow this time is heard whistling through the arid landscape seconds later. It does not injure anyone, but the horses buck and whinny and none of the riders can quell their distress.

“Did anyone see where it came from?” the prince quickly regains his mind for a moment. Anything could happen here, they could die and no one would know what had transpired; blaming circular paths meant to lose feeble minded enemies thus making them lost wandering souls for eternity.

“I did,” a voice soothing as the sea makes its owner's presence known. Cloaked in a peculiar shade of blood orange, their face remains hidden as their hand picks up the arrow. As if raised by dancers, the stranger moves their hand to manifest a glass bow and thus the archer sends the arrow back to its sender.

“You should run now princeling,” the orange cloaked figure warns the trespassers, patting the horses’ neck. One does bray before galloping past, carrying the knight further East, the others follow.

The figure retreats sits atop the hardened volcanic stone, angry their apparent dumb luck had given the company enough proof the forest is alive. Sighing they depart wondering how they’re going to explain to you, a founder, a prince might have seen them in the volcano.

“Sire, Naran came back,” an older woman stated. She was the head housekeeper of your estate and though she finally had come to terms with you wearing comfortable attire, the robe did little to hide your curves.

“What news do they have about the riders?” You inquire.

Naran is seen pulling back their hood. A large raven is perched on the sill as you expectantly listen to your scout’s story.

“The princeling donned ice blue, the knight’s sigil a flower from the desert, an apothecary was with them as was a man of the cloth,” the orange fabric kneels as they recounted more about the exchange.

“I see,” your eyes scan the room. “And tell me, did you lead them here? Can you be sure of that?”

“Yes, your eminence. I did.”

“Good. Well, you heard Naran,” you make a circle in the air with your fingers. “Time to have some fun with these invaders.”

The housekeeper just smiles and nods as she and Naran exit together to spread word of the most elaborate game to be had. No one has come this close to reaching this oasis in the forest in nearly a century, so of course it was a welcome change to the rather hidden kingdom.

Galloping horses eventually do run out of stamina, be it as it may, the knight’s horse had driven them way off course. The prince grabs hold of his friend’s reins to have the horse stop all together. The cleric and apothecary are not far behind.

“The hell just happened captain?” The prince is highly displeased at almost losing a friend and though he doesn’t say it, the knight knows his prince like a brother.

“We got bested by a cloaked hunter,” the cleric suggests. The apothecary shakes his head.

“We didn’t get bested,” the apothecary reasons. Their prince, still holding the reins in one hand, returns them back to the rightful owner after more nonsense is spewed.

“Doesn’t matter now,” the prince sighs, rubbing his temple. “We’re too far off course for the maps to be useful. Any suggestions on navigating us back to the clearing?”

Hours left in the day were spent either making marks in trees or collecting any other signs of valuable life but with evening approaching, the four men drew stems to deal with the order of keeping watch.

“What are you lot doing?” a familiar voice startles them all. An orange fabric weaves past the knight. They grab his chin much like a lover would, shaking his head this way and that to see if any injuries had made itself seen. “Aw, why the long faces? I didn’t mean to get you lost, honest.”

“And you make a fool out of a trained guard, are you happy now?” the apothecary speaks up.

“No, he’s not really my type, medicine man,” the fifth person states. “But you might be.”

The prince chuckles.

“Oh, right,” a rolled scroll with a wax seal none of them recognize is pulled from the cloak’s sleeve. “My master comes with a message: glad tidings to you all. I am sending you my most formidable baron to guide you back to our lands. From what I understand this was an error in my judgment, but since you come from afar, I shall hope you will accept an offer of lodging? Have Naran here show you the way. We can discuss routes for you to return when you arrive.”

The sporting crown the royal wears is adjusted by his hands before shrugging his shoulders making a comment about how much more lost can they become? The cleric sides with the knight in terms of thinking it could be a trap, but if it were, the apothecary surmises they would have already been dead; Naran arches an eyebrow them all saying they were a weird bunch saying your name by accident.

“Who is ‘yn?’” The prince pressures Naran to describe their master as one who is refined, but a bit crass when it comes to speaking with handsome strangers.

“Ever heard the phrase, flattery gets you nowhere?” the prince’s sarcasm makes the lot laugh, Naran included.

“So, are you with me or not?” Naran stifles their laughter just as quickly as the others do.

Meanwhile you have two of your maids and one butler in your office choosing a casual outfit to wear in the court to welcome your guests. Your hair is loosely tied when a raven flies to its perch cawing affectionately as your servants try to spruce your features a bit. Surely you were handsome and beautiful to some, but alas a facial scar from a childhood accident seemed to have been a convincing reason to not keep a lover for long. You’re used to spending such time alone, much to the dismay of the advisors in your care. Alas, you too were lacking in a lesson on love, so maybe listening to Naran pitch this plan on a night when you weren’t really listening, you blindly agree. Now you’re stuck making amends to a pretty powerful bunch of players in a kingdom who at one point, had been obsessed in conquering this land.

The herald announces the arrival of Naran as you enter the throne room. You stand behind a wooden chair when Naran speaks your name clear as day.

“Hello Naran,” your voice is solid like iron, but when the others with your scout bow as they were taught, you tell them to relax and stand as they please. Naran steps aside as you settle in your chair, curious as to why the lads stare at your physique. Then you recall who was in charge of your wardrobe this hour and you curse them out in your head. Naran knows you hate dressing up in fanciful attire if it is not necessary, but seeing you in your family’s regalia made you seem a bit rigid. You and your scout exchange a series of phrases with just your eyes before you blink past Naran’s shoulder. They whisper the titles of the men visiting and out of keeping civility, you ask their identities aloud. “Who are your friends?”

The men take turns, first starting with the cleric, Mattsukawa, the apothecary, Hanamaki, the knight, Iwazumi, and lastly the prince who just coyly keeps his family’s name out of your ears.

“It has been quite some time since we received company from Seijoh,” you tilt your head to one side. “Last time we did, I probably met your nanny boy.”

Naran chuckles at your joke, saying you must be exhausted from using your energy to uphold the secrets of this ancient place. You remind your scout they are friends regardless of who had sent them here.

“My father,” the prince blurts out.

“Hmm?” You raise a hand to stop anyone else from speaking. “Go on princeling. Explain your answer.”

He readjusts his stance, wondering how to approach this problem without so much as causing more offense toward you or your people for that matter.

“It was a test,” he balls his hands into fists. They rest on either side of his torso by his pants pockets. “An old practice to teach the heir apparent the value of—”

“Combat, knowledge, religion, country, and correct me if I’m wrong,” You rise out of your chair and lock eyes with the young man not much older than you. “Love?”

Naran sits at the top of the stairs where you stand in front pondering what to say next, but alas you instead dismiss the others in the room not visible to everyone else until they move.

“What an interesting ruler you’ll make,” you observe. “Naran, I’m sure these travelers have had much excitement for one day. Have Aoi show them to their room. You stay a while longer there, prince. Don’t worry guard, he’ll join you soon. I just wanted to converse more. Is that a crime?”

“If you kill him it is,” Naran teased.

“I will do no such thing,” you say matter of fact. “He reminds me of my first friend outside these walls: back then he was a prince too. I’m glad I met his grandson though.”

As you were left alone, you let him guess what you are. He named monsters from the musical to the divine. You tell him he is half right.

“An Immortal?”

“To a degree, sir. I came to be when magic was dying, the enchanted ones were driven out not only your kingdom, but the allies you have as well. Those who had many family afflictions cured by my kind chose to leave and live here too in case their children or children’s children developed any newer ailments.”

“And yet you’ve seen them born and die?”

You nod. “Life and death are a part of being mortal.”

“May I ask something?”

You can tell he is thinking of way to not come across as rude when he asks the former.

“Hmm?”

“Who gifted this to you? This title? This land?”

Watching your expression go through complex emotions, you bite your bottom lip when you lean back.

“I won’t judge your answer,” he whispers.

You make it a point to say that he might, but he keeps an open mind. Maybe an open heart too if you were to ask the butler in the room (old man had heard this story before even as a child when you told him the same answer).

“No one. I found it myself. The land was sad so I helped it grow, people joined me, then they just started calling me King. I don’t know what to tell you.”

The prince holds your hand saying it’s alright; he apologizes for prying, but he was curious as to how you maintained tranquility. Your response makes his heart flutter a bit: “because spent being angry is pointless in the long run. time spent learning about the accuser and the accused softens the punishment, don’t you agree?”

Both of you talk for a little while longer until he attempts to stifle his exhausted expression more. You make a sign for one of the butlers tending to a rip in the curtain wall behind where the prince and you chat on the grand staircase, your throne abandoned, to escort the prince to the room the others were in.

Contrary to popular belief, but much to the relief of the other men, the room was quite large. It was a suite with enough material accommodations for them. There were spare tunics, silken rags to bathe and dry themselves with, refreshments born from the gardens under their balcony. Honestly, having your cousin’s room facing the gardens be kept clean on a constant basis had paid off. When the prince returns the others are fast asleep. The fire still burns its embers while he finds a seat on the nearest chair and there he finds sleep.

The morning star wakes him with a blinding purpose. There are notes from his men saying breakfast was delayed since even Naran had some trouble waking their host. The prince laughs quietly to himself reflecting on the conversation he held with you. Conversation with you is easy, his thoughts wander around how effortless it was to be himself. You weren’t some unchecked ruler, no. You had your own ideas you abide by, and you obtained peace as best you could—you tried to cure ailments of your subjects' children when they first settled in this realm. You truly were an altruistic person. Maybe you were meant to be found, neither by his grandfather nor his father, he muses as he picks up the tunic and slips it over his body. Shaking his head with a short chortle, he fastens his crown on his head and asks the staff to point him in the direction of the dining hall. As he walks there, the reality sets in as he remembers today is the day they are scheduled to make their way back home.

Although you were the last to arrive ten minutes later, you apologize for not being punctual hence your rushed attire. A ribbon in your hair is twisted down and behind an ear. Today, you look a bit like a warrior, though you did explain you have a sparring session with Naran later.

“Great with a bow, but yn’s more skilled with a blade,” Naran blows you a kiss. You share the same look of disgust as the man on your left, the knight. Although, in an odd turn, you see the apothecary and cleric flirt with Naran in front of the cut fruits on the table. Silly shapes and all, Naran says the apothecary intrigues them with talks of visions being had by a specific fungus called “mushroom.”

You nearly choke on your laughter when the prince scolds his men, who just laugh it off.

“Naran, did you have some before coming here?” you asked in between wiping your tears from laughing too hard.

“Nope, but they’re in my room,” they reply.

“Is there an antidote?” you turn to apothecary who says it’s best to let the affects runs its course. “Listen here you Puck, Naran is already who they are, it might be best to take those back and give them something a bit more…how do I say this?”

“Pointy,” Naran offers, mentioning they are an archer by trade.

“Or why not give the ones that don’t produce hallucinations?” The knight offers a strict, but fair compromise.

“Very well,” Naran pouts. The apothecary nods approvingly.

“You, cleric,” you put down your bread before handing it to him. “Care to lead the meal with a sense of grace? I’m sure you can tell we aren’t tied to one faith.”

Suffice to say breakfast was quite an interesting hour. You send word to the stablehand to ready their horses not long after.

“You have quite a journey ahead of you,” you explain.

The others understably agree as they go to pack their things. The satchels they had were replenished and also additional sacks with various proof of their exploration here make their way into those.

Naran makes a generous offer to ride with them when they are outside the initial gates of your estate, “only if my master rides alongside us.”

Though the others think Naran is good enough, you concede and concur, mentioning it’s been a good while since you rode. Naran fetches the orange coat while a maid brings you your riding cape. The other two additional steeds are brought round, along with the raven from your room.

“Aramis,” you nod to the bird who flies ahead just as you mount your horse. “Go tell your brothers to grant us safe travels.”

“The sigil of our people,” Naran explains as the bird takes flight high above, cawing out to its family.

The knight leads the way and you fall

In line with the others. Naran does a final once over before picking up the reins.

Upon arriving to the clearing from before, the horses fall into a steady trot. Naran tells jokes that even make the cleric blush. You’re curious if perhaps the peaceful days of the past are circling back; you keep the thought buried in the corners of your mind. The knight and his prince went to go procure a boar for tonight’s roast, you were busy setting up camp and instructing the apothecary to find decent herbs: “take naran with you, they know the ones that would not kill you.”

A few beats of silence follows after their abrupt departure. You’re left with the cleric, it was time for a high holy discussion.

“Mattsukawa,” you drop the formalities along with the octave in your voice. You sound monotonous as the stilling air around the field. He hums post arranging the stones for the roasting spot before giving you his undivided attention.

“Tell me the truth: does his Majesty, the king, truly believe in making his son learn these lessons regardless of the consequences?”

“…perhaps,” the man resides. He studies your movements, weary of the nature of the sudden change in your rather fluid demeanor. “Why do you ask?”

“Because of those the princeling rides with, you are weary of me and Naran.”

“Wouldn’t you be if you were us?”

“No.”

“How peculiar. Tell me are all your subjects this naive?”

“Just the ones that are shy of turning a century.”

It takes a second for the cleric’s face to morph into a mysterious mix of confusion, wonder, and awe.

“Magic is dying,” you explain with a fond smile. “My subjects’ kin are finding homes in the surrounding kingdoms though they know they are welcomed back to keep up appearances with old friends. Naran hasn’t left though they dream of exploring the world outside these lands the staff in the estate choose to stay because it is tradition, though I tell them I’ll be fine on my own.”

“But…?”

“I don’t want them to love their lives for the sole purpose of keeping a half-immortal company,” you cross your arms over your chest. “So, what do you recommend, holy man?”

He instructs you to sit down as he gives you the clerical answer versus his opinion. Five minutes is dedicated to each and essentially you take the core lesson of one and the message of the other to yield your answer: “do what makes you stand with pride.”

“You are wise,” you hide your laughter with, hand over your mouth.

“Thank you,” he replies, taking a short walk to relieve himself in a thicket out of your line of sight. Only to be caught by the knight and the heir apparent. The young men whistle and catcall the already embarrassed cleric who in turn waves a hand exposing an offensive finger at them. You hear the commotion only to join in the ruckus of the other two; Naran eventually comes back with the apothecary carrying several herbs and berries. The slain boar was substituted for a stag instead. You ask Naran for their dagger and you begin to clean the animal. Naran watches before they join in skinning the carcass and finally rubbing the herbs and spices on the outside. The organs were tossed out all but the heart and the brain for a rite of thanks led by the scout who recites it in the ancient language of your people.

You clap your hands over the stone ring and the brush and debris there spat and hissed until the first red flower blossomed into a mighty ivory and sapphire flame.

“Sorcery? You can do that?” the prince stares mystified at you. If he was falling in love, he doesn’t let it bubble to the surface at all; rather, he coughs into his hand when you lean in a bit only to have him repeat his previous statement.

“My lord, haven’t you heard?” Your voice hides the ghosts of your ancestors with such ease. “Sorcery had been outlawed for centuries. You have your forefathers to thank for that.”

“If I offended you, I’m sorry,” he whispers, clasping your shoulders.

“Sorry isn’t going to bring back our loved ones from the gallows or the guillotine,” you explain. “But kindness amongst strangers is a good place to start.”

“Prince Oikawa is not quite well read in knowing his family’s history,” the knight speaks. “There is an age restriction on his history lessons until his formal announcement as ‘heir apparent.’”

“You could ask either of us any time,” Naran says, attempting to soothe any other wounds. “YN isn’t the only one who lost people.”

Naran’s stiff smile matched your dropping shoulder when you went to rotate the stick where the legs of the stag were bound.

“Then are you two orphans?” the apothecary inquires much to the dismay of his brethren. The others apologize for his bluntness, but you rub off the paste your maids placed in your face revealing the harsh scar on a rather pristine face.

“Abandoned and left for dead,” you said. “Mountain cats are quite strong, but I’m quicker.”

You pretend you don’t hear the gasp the prince elicits; it’s not his fault. Truly, he knew of the scars that can happen in battle, his uncles had told him once, even his own father had a few from winning the affections of his mother when the pair were younger. His dark candied eyes were taught not to stare at the deformity, but if his subconscious were to speak his mind, it would say something foolish like, ‘you’re very brave, showing your real face to us,’ or, ‘you’re still thousands of souls prettier than the last one to share my bed was.’ This was dangerous territory for the prince’s heart to be in, even the knight, his appointed best friend since boyhood glances from one royal to the other, residing his opinions to himself for who is he to stand in the way of how they are magnetically linked.

“And you?” the knight asks instead, looking past Naran’s shoulder when they spot a familiar blooming bush in the distance.

“Sold for bread after my father couldn’t pay his gambling debts,” Naran laughs. “Silly man thought my life was cheaper than wheat. Does that surprise you?”

The young men shake their heads, but the apothecary speaks up before grabbing Naran’s hand: “he shouldn’t have wagered something so priceless.”

“Hanamaki, you forget people are greedy for the smallest things,” Naran scoffs. “As long as my siblings were fed, what our father did can only be forgiven once he arrives in the afterlife.”

“So, don’t give us your pity,” you stand up straighter now after rotating the stick once more. “We’re a little too familiar with each other; we might as well be extended family—thrice removed.”

This comment makes the cleric laugh a bit and the knight stares at you in bewilderment. You touch your cheek a bit saying you think you had an aunt who might have fallen into the matriarchal role in the knight’s heritage. “She had skin kissed by the sun gods themselves and eyes the color of the stems, so yes, totally plausible, Honorable Iwazumi.”

Erupting in a fit of chuckles, you let the underside of the beast cook a little longer. The herbs that were gathered started to waft through the air whetting the pallets of the riders finding solace in one another. More stories were told about each other, like the time when the knight was but a squire and he had been tasked with not losing the prince in the night market in fear he’d be abducted into a harem– The fire spits and sputters as a few droplets of the venison’s fat drops into the hearth. You relinquish the cooking of the beast to the men who have slain it, making it a point you haven’t learned to properly cook that particular meat yet. The cleric whom you exchanged words with sits with you on a medium sized boulder after tending to the resting horses a few paces away.

“You didn’t have to go that far,” he bows his head. His hands want to steady your trembling ones.

“Yes I did,” you study your riding boots for a moment. “I don’t want him to return back home without a lesson in learning to differentiate between fascination and love.”

“You fear the future king loves you?”

When you don’t say anything, the cleric pats the back of your hand resting on your knee.

“Give him time to sort it out. He’ll be asking more important queries of the scholars and his tutors when he arrives home,” is all the holy man says with a gentle squeeze of your fingers. “But if he would quit staring daggers into my chest, I would have no problem taking you in if you ever need an out, gorgeous.”

He stands, bows his head respectfully, and then walks back to the group. A cleric, who has taken his vows in learning a plethora of rites, has come to comfort you and how your heart races because when you return to the hearth, you see what those storybooks reveal in time: the look of a man in love is light chasing fireflies in the night; his face will be aglow with admiration for his love to endure throughout time. And it was that night you decided to turn a blind eye to what would transpire.

After you had said your evening salutations and ate your fillings, you informed Naran that they should go to bed soon. Well, you did mention to make it count, so the young scout decides with a small smile turning round to face the already sleeping apothecary, a rather intimate sleeping arrangement.

“Just don’t be too loud,” you warn before seeing your best friend skip off into the night. The quarters of the way there, they turn around to tackle you with a hug whispering for you to secure your happiness. You watch as Naran eventually wakes Hanamaki with a start, only for him to welcome their presence.

“You’re staring,” a voice startles you and you jump back. Though you are prepared to trip on a branch, you realize it’s not one at all, however the owner of the voice which had startled you steadies you with his arms wrapping around your middle for balance. Closing your eyes in a half-wince, you see a flash of bronze atop a set of dessert-inspired hair.

“Didn’t mean to give you a fright,” he chortles. “Honestly, I thought you heard me through the trees.”

The prince sets you back upright with an embarrassed expression. Both of you attempt, poorly mind you, to look elsewhere. Your hair is a bit disheveled hiding the scars from the claws of your past, but when quaint and quiet, ‘may i?’ is heard from the gentleman on your side, you do not stop his hand from turning your chin to face him. Your eyes have trouble focusing with how close he is leaning over you. He is curious in the way his fingers gingerly trace over the lines on your face, but he does take care to tread lightly until the ministrations subside minutes later.

“You’re staring,” your lips downturn until they pout at him.

“You’re worth my undivided attention,” he smiles when his forehead touches yours.

“If you don’t move first, I might have to be bold,” your lips hover over his cupid’s bow, sliding your hands up to feel the fabric of his gifted clothing.

“You can tease me,” breathing the same air with you is driving his heart mad. Mad enough for him to press his lips against yours. His other hand slides to the side of your head, brushing strands behind your ear. The one that had traced your scars moves further southward, tugging your waist forward. Your hands themselves tug on his tunic, for him to stay in place. You can feel his pursed lips curve higher into a smile and you reciprocate almost immediately.

“Say you’ll be mine,” he presses kisses between your facial features when he grants you a moment to breathe. Peppering kisses down your neck, he asks you again, the words fan across your pulse point when you hear yourself give him a disillusioned answer.

“Mmhm,” his lips stop bruising the space below your ear and neck for a moment as he lifts his head to take a peek at the blush the moon highlights for you both. You don’t even have the heart nor the willpower to tell him you can’t leave the forest when he reaches the border of his kingdom where he first entered. Naran can’t either, you realize, so you lie again.

“I’ll be yours if you’ll have me,” you return his affections, eager to enjoy his company. I’ll be yours so long as you tell me you love me.

“Then hold on to me,” his voice uplifts your spirits as he does pick you up in a swift motion, causing you to do just that. Twirling you around his forehead teases your temples with a warmth which resides in your souls. It goes without saying, tomorrow’s light will bring heartbreak most foul. And when it does, the prince chooses his heart over his station much to the surprise of the butler who guides him to the solarium.

“Is the tea rea—Tooru?” you stand abruptly, knocking the chair completely backwards, when you round your desk.

“Yes,” he pats down his hair.

“You’re late,” you state, cupping his face.

“Five years, five or take.”

“Blink of an eye for me.”

His laughter is more mature, his features more angular. You make a snide remark about his hair being cut when you remove your hands from his face and place them on either shoulder.

“You don’t hate it?” his lips jut into a feign pout.

“No, I don’t,” you shake your head. His arms wrap around your waist bringing you a half step closer.

“I know this is delayed, but I think you deserve a break,” he has a mischievous need to satisfy a different fire this time. You dismiss the servants for the day until nightfall.

When the head of housekeeping passes by the solarium, the older governess blushes profusely when she hears your voice cry out a name everyone ought to get used to hearing.

And as for Naran and the apothecary Hanamaki? They did always mention they wanted to build a business together at the marketplace selling rare flowers as basis for healing salves. Eventually the cleric too joins them in blessing the herbs they create with a new science called alchemy; Iwazumi gives himself another year of training the newly knighted men before permanently retiring in the estate where his best friends are busy preparing for a union ceremony.

#royalty au!#haikyuu fluff #sora after hours #sorcerer!reader x prince!oikawa

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bi-aragorn · 2 years

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Witcher Masterlists

Ta da! Many!

Jaskilion Masterlist

Geraskier Masterlist

Geskel Masterlist

Other Ship Masterlist

No Ship/ Gen Fic Masterlist

Bog Fluff Battle ‘21

BIKM Bingos ‘21

Witcher Rarepair Summer Bingo ‘21

Witcher Trans Week ‘21

Bog Team Bingo ‘21

Aro Week ‘22

Passiflora Drabble Challenge no.1

Passiflora Smut Battle ‘22

Passiflora Bingo ‘22

Cheese’s Challenges

Follower Celebrations

Exchange Fics

(Updated: 18/12/22)

#the witcher #shay's writing #witcher fic

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michaelsfavgirl · 2 months

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first kiss

Pairing: Captain EO x fem!reader

Synopsis: You confess to EO that you've never kissed anyone before. Rather than judging, he guides you through your first kiss with care and tenderness.

Tags: fluff, smooching

Word Count: 1.7k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: Wanted this to be a short drabble at first but I'm incapable of writing blurbs so here we are

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

The control room of the spaceship buzzes with anticipation as you step inside, greeted by a chorus of voices rising and falling in excited chatter. Your crewmates, a diverse bunch of characters with their own quirks and specialties, are huddled together, discussing their plans for the upcoming mission to confront the evil Supreme Leader.

Their voices bounce off the metallic walls, creating a cacophony of sound that threatens to overwhelm your senses. You raise your voice above the din, attempting to restore order amidst the chaos.

"Alright, everyone, settle down!" you call out, your words slicing through the chatter like a knife. "We need to focus and come up with a solid plan. But keep it down! We don't want Captain EO catching wind of our scheming."

The crew falls into a tense silence at your command, exchanging nervous glances as they remember the consequences of attracting Captain EO's attention. He may be understanding, but when it comes to maintaining discipline aboard his ship, he doesn't tolerate any nonsense.

"But we can't afford to underestimate the Supreme Leader's forces," Fuzzball interjects, his voice tinged with urgency. "We need to be prepared for anything."

Pilot Geek nods in agreement, his expression serious. "Our weapons need to be primed and ready, and our defenses must be impenetrable. We can't afford to be caught off guard."

You nod in solemn agreement, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. "We're not just here to engage in battle," you remind them. "Our mission is to liberate the oppressed people of this planet and bring an end to the Supreme Leader's reign of terror."

The crew murmurs their assent, their determination shining through despite the palpable tension in the room. They know the risks involved, but they're willing to face them head-on in the name of justice.

"We also need to gather intel on the enemy's defenses," you add, your mind already racing with strategic possibilities. "We can't make a move until we know exactly what we're up against."

As the crew delves into discussion, you can't help but feel a swell of pride in their resilience and camaraderie. Despite their differences, they're united in their resolve to make a difference in the galaxy. But just as the planning session gains momentum, the door slides open, and Captain EO strides into the room, his presence commanding attention.

You exchange a quick glance with him, noting the subtle softening of his gaze before he turns his focus to the crew.

"What's all the commotion about?" Captain EO's voice pierces through the chaotic buzz of the control room, his tone calm yet commanding.

The crew members exchange nervous glances, their voices trailing off into an uneasy silence. Sensing the tension, you step forward, taking on the role of mediator, though you can't bring yourself to meet Captain EO's gaze directly. "We were just discussing our strategy for when we reach the planet, Captain," you explain, your words careful and measured. "We want to ensure we're fully prepared for whatever may come our way."

Captain EO nods in understanding, his expression inscrutable. "Good," he replies, his tone carrying a hint of gravity. "But we must proceed with caution. We cannot afford to disappoint Commander Bog again." The crew members nod in solemn agreement, their resolve strengthened by their leader's words.

Before you can say anything further, Captain EO interjects, his voice taking on a decisive tone. "Excuse us, please," he commands, his hand reaching out to gently grasp yours as he guides you out of the bustling control room. The crew members exchange knowing looks, their smiles evident as they return to their tasks, their previous conversation momentarily forgotten in the wake of Captain EO's presence.

As the two of you walk in silence down the corridor, you can feel the warmth of his hand enveloping yours, sending a tingle of anticipation coursing through your veins. With each step, the anticipation builds, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

Finally reaching his private office, he locks the door behind you, ensuring your privacy from any potential interruptions. The room is bathed in a soft, ambient light, casting shadows that dance across the walls and adding to the intimate atmosphere.

Alone together, EO's stoic demeanor begins to soften, replaced by a warmth and longing that reflects in his eyes as he tenderly cups your face. His forehead pressed against yours, a silent reassurance of his presence and protection. In his embrace, you feel yourself relax, the tension of the day melting away.

"Rough day?" he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of your thoughts.

You nod wearily, leaning into him as he draws comforting circles on your back. His chuckle is soft and melodic, a sound that brings a sense of peace to your troubled mind. "It's alright," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "You're safe here with me." And in that moment, surrounded by his warmth and reassurance, you allow yourself to exhale, surrendering to the solace he offers.

As you pull away from each other, the air between you crackles with an unspoken tension. His gaze lingers on your eyes, a silent inquiry dancing in their depths, searching for something he can't quite name. There's a moment of hesitation, a wordless exchange passing between you, before his attention drifts down to your lips. Your heart quickens at the intensity of his gaze, a flutter of anticipation coursing through your veins. Instinctively, you turn your head to the side, breaking the connection before it can deepen.

Concern flashes across his features as he registers your sudden withdrawal. "What's wrong?" he asks softly, his voice tinged with worry. "Did I do something to upset you?" It's a question that's been weighing on his mind for some time now, as he's noticed your tendency to retreat whenever things start to become more intimate.

You sigh, feeling a pang of guilt at causing him any distress. Before you can fully disengage from his embrace, he tightens his arms around you, refusing to let you slip away. "Please, sweetheart, tell me," he coaxes, his tone gentle and reassuring.

You hesitate, unsure of how to articulate the swirling thoughts in your mind. Finally, you gather the courage to admit, "I've never kissed anyone before."

A small smile tugs at EO's lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your confession. He chuckles softly, finding humor in your nervousness. "Is that all?" he teases, his tone light and affectionate.

You pout playfully and nudge his chest, a mix of embarrassment and indignation bubbling within you. "It's not funny," you protest, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

His smile softens, and he reaches out to tenderly stroke your cheek. "I'm sorry," he apologizes sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

You lean into his touch, the warmth of his hand soothing against your skin. "It's okay," you reply softly, meeting his gaze. "I just... I don't know what I'm doing."

His expression is filled with understanding. "That's alright," he reassures you, his voice gentle. "I can show you."

A surge of warmth floods your chest at his offer, a fluttering sensation dancing in your stomach. "Really?" you whisper, barely able to contain your excitement.

He nods, a tender smile gracing his lips. "Of course," he replies, his eyes brimming with sincerity. Your heart races at his words, the promise of his guidance filling you with a sense of anticipation and newfound trust in him.

EO's touch is like a gentle breeze, calming your nerves and soothing your racing heart as he cups your face once more. His thumb strokes your cheek softly, a comforting gesture that sends warmth spreading through you like sunshine on a cool morning. "Okay, sweetheart," he says softly, his voice a melodic whisper. "We're going to start with something simple, just quick little pecks, nothing too crazy. I don't want to overwhelm you."

Gratitude floods your chest at his patient and understanding words, and you nod in response, feeling a rush of affection for him. As he continues to explain, your attention wavers, captivated by the rhythmic movement of his lips as he speaks. Your gaze fixates on his mouth, hungry and curious, as you imagine the sensation of kissing him.

A soft chuckle interrupts your reverie, and you blink, realizing you've been lost in your thoughts. "Sorry," you mumble sheepishly, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"It's alright," he reassures you with a warm smile that lights up his eyes. "Let's try this again, shall we?" You nod eagerly, determined to focus this time. Closing your eyes as he instructs, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling nerves.

You feel his breath brushing against your lips as he moves closer, and then his lips meet yours in a soft, gentle kiss. It's a simple press of lips, fleeting yet filled with tenderness and warmth. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as the kiss sends a delightful shiver down your spine. You tremble slightly in his embrace, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions coursing through you like a river in full flood.

Sensing your nervousness, EO pulls away slightly, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "Shh, it's okay," he murmurs soothingly, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. "You did so well, sweetheart." You lean into his embrace, finding solace in his reassuring presence. His arms around you feel like a fortress, offering protection from the uncertainties of the universe.

"Thank you," you whisper softly, feeling a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. "For everything."

He smiles warmly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Anytime," he replies softly, his voice filled with unwavering devotion and affection. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

In that moment, cradled in EO's embrace, you feel a sense of peace wash over you like a gentle tide. With him by your side, you know you can weather any storm that comes your way. And as you rest your head against his chest, you realize that you've found something truly special in him—a love that transcends space and time.

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini @graciegizmo3184 @theasexual-jackson @mrsmikaelsxn @fallinlovewithevil @armasbw

#kate's writing #michael jackson #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson x fem!reader #fluff #captain eo #captain eo x reader #captain eo x fem!reader #fanfic #x reader #michael jackson imagine

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futurefind · 10 months

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OF MEN AND MASTERS

OR: On Being Fate/ Servants or Masters

REA.

As a Servant Rea's 'mad genius' skill and ingenuity with magecraft is multiplied exponentially—and made even more dangerous due to her willingness to curb her usual morals in favor of her Master's desires (she is Their servant, after all). However, especially early on in a War where she hasn't had time to prepare contingencies upon contingencies (both offensive and defensive), much care and caution is needed to properly manage both her boundless magical potential and her need for direction/focus. Comparable to Medea, broadly, but as a mage's bread and butter is Mystery caution is critical (unless one has a second, battle-focused Servant) to ensure her work remains unknown to one's enemies. Whimiscal, almost 'devil may care', while being the epitome of 'high skill for exponentially higher potential ceiling' in the right hands. Pseudo-Servant with Thetis aka □□□.

Qualifying Classes: Caster (almost exclusively), Berserker; Avenger, Shifter.

As a Chaldean Servant, the stability, structure, and utilized technological & magecraft does plenty to keep her occupied... for better and for worse. While she's happy to serve as a social mediator for the entirety of the staff and Servants, though effective her fluff may be, this distracts her from the Da Vinci-level feats and developments she could produce otherwise—especially if working with Da Vinci directly. At the same time, minimizing her work and research to acute efforts and demans ensures nothing goes awry or overboard (like a certain other well-meaning Caster, even if she has the foresight to do preemptive damage prevention and control).(On the bright side, Thetis's supportive buffs/Noble Phantasms are nigh incomparable, due to her most prominent myth being the granting of [near] perfect invulnerability.)All this ignoring the sheer social shenanigans of her Spirit Origin being Thetis (or her vessel being a cryptid 'bog witch' genius that gives other modern magi Pseudo-Servants doubletakes)— whether it's being Achilles's mother, Chiron's consort, or the epitome of a selfless caretaker archetype... combined with Rea's innate antics? Hijinks won't just ensue, but they're guaranteed.

As a Master however... her extreme and self-less value of others lives, combined with her compassion, and the fact she's likely been roped in here as a pawn (see: Fate/Zero AU)...? She is paradoxically invested in her Servant's wants and dreams and comforts, as she sees them as fundamentally no different from herself ("what are we but living ghosts?") and wishes to win the Grail not for her sake but for theirs — up to and including without her, devising an adaption of her 'mana battery' system to enable her Servant to be manifested independantly, without her as their mana source, until when and if they choose to disappear themselves.

In other words: Rea may seem like the most competent magus and thus Master on paper (potential to reach not just Brand but Color rank, and deep mastery and understanding of her magecrafts to the point of utilizing them in Chaos magecraft)... her heart is not in the War, and with her only wish being to (somehow) see her Servant survive, she'd need a very organized ally to make the most of her skill (whether a Servant or otherwise) — and a loyal one, if she herself is to survive.

(Still, in the meantime, the support she can provide to her Servant in combat is incomparable, between her direct enchantments, efficacy in combating other Masters directly, and ability to create Conceptual attacks to damage if not slay other Servants herself—all the while being able to ensure her own safety due to a series of redundancies, enchantments, and creation of external mana supplies to keep her in top form regardless of output.

While her supportive capabilities may seem high power but low opportunity, they can be gamebreaking in right/wrong situations—i.e., re: Fate/Zero AU, preventing the need for Lancer to break one of his lances/Noble Phantasms to restore Saber's full strength, via instead impromptu 'repairing' the wound via creating an artificial 'overpass' of the nerves to allow for full function of her arm regardless. Thus, not just safeguarding both of Lancer's Noble Phantasms, but essentially mandating Saber and her Master either 'ally' wih her to preserve Saber's full strength, or that they somehow kill Lancer (whether directly or via killing his Master(s)) to restore it.)

As the Master of Chaldea, Rea's hypercomptence and mad genius with her magecraft, and overdedication to others is stretched to its limit. Though she only needs to just be Chaldea's Master, she's a magus and curious at heart, and cannot unsee all the mores: where some need her to be more friendly, where more small but quality-of-life magecrafts could give vast benefits, where she could improve her combat abilities, where she could improve as a Master...If it were just her she'd be content enough to keep whiling away on whatever magecraft casual ingeniousness struck her fancy, but because it's anything but she feels more obligated than ever to burn herself up as fuel to keep others warm....All this ignoring how the structural instability of her circuitry due to her Magic Crest not just causes abnormal side effects and issues whenever Servant contracts and/or Command Seals are involved, but extreme backlash whenever Rayshifting. Not only does this effectively remove the vast majority of her capabilities as a mage in the field (barring her voluntarily pseudo-torturing herself to push past the forced limits), leaving her with just her runes (an incomprable master though she is with them) and whatever else she can use without her Crest, but this means even her studies in her 'off' time are all but off-limits in practice as an hiccups with Chaos magecraft can lead to a similar backlash and implosion that she simply cannot afford when she needs to be ready to rayshift at a moment's notice.(This means, however, that in Part 2, where Rayshifting is no longer the crux of the operations— her capabilities skyrocket to what they normally are and then some, due to having Servants with her and all she's learned from them over the years.)

#about // rea

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dapandapod · 3 years

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Hope Hurts

Here is another entry (yes, another. I wrote five things....) Bog Fluff Battle piece! I am slowly crossposting from the collection, and now here comes the one that I like the most hehe.

On Ao3 here and the rest of the cross posts here

Please enjoy <3

39. Sharing a bed/snoring 9. Forehead kisses

Jaskier is comfortable. The wind is howling outside, rain smattering against the window and the air chill with the telltale signs of fall.

Jaskier is snuggled down under thick blankets. He is barely awake, warm and cozy in contrast to the air around him. The dreams are doing that lazy thing where they linger, not ready to let go. Images and thoughts swirl in colorful patterns and repeat his favorite part of the dream. Mainly the one where he finds himself wrapped in a warm embrace, soft words mumbled into his hair, gentle kisses at his temple.

It’s a soft dream. One of his favorites, though it has a tang of sadness to it when he wakes up. Longing, that gentle squeeze around his heart that bids him to find someone.

This morning too has this tang of sadness to it, because as he slowly becomes aware of his body again, settling into it, he almost feels like someone is close. Like there is a chin resting on top of his head, a warm presence just in front of him, making the mattress dip, so close that he is resting his forehead against it.

It’s probably just pillows he managed to fluff up and cuddle to death during the night. But they feel warm and solid, and he so very much wishes they were real. Were him.

Jaskier scrunches up his forehead and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. No, he is not ready to let go of this dream. He burrows closer to that warmth, breathing in the soft smell of sleep and clean sheets. He lets out a sigh when his cold nose connects with something soft and warm, reaching his arms out to sooth that longing. Tricking his body or something, giving the lingering dream something to work with.

But it isn’t a soft pillow, he realises. His hands find something big, solid, hot. He frowns again but lets his hands keep exploring. That feels… that feels like a chest? He can’t really remember yesterday yet, but he doesn’t recall bringing a stranger to bed? But that is absolutely a chest, a wide muscular one leaning on the side.

There is a hum above him, a deep voice vibrating in the throat that Jaskier now realizes he has his face pressed against. The chin on top of his head is moving, gently back and forth, and then there is a nose pressed against his hair. His stomach flips, happy flutters breaking through his chest when he recognizes the voice and feels an arm tighten around him, pulling him flush to that wide chest.

Suddenly, Jaskier is very awake and full of wonder. He is very aware that his nose is pressed just under Geralt's Adam's apple. That he can feel every intake of breath, Geralt’s chest expanding under his hands and against his chest, his breath coming out against his hair.

Oh, that’s right.

They came very late to the inn last night, the only place within miles and filled to the brim with travelers hiding from the weather. The only private room left was the size of a cupboard, a bed filling the most of it. Geralt is not a big fan of those open sleeping rooms, and so he and Jaskier squeezed in there and fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows.

Sharing a bed in itself isn’t rare.

What is rare, however, is Geralt sleeping so soundly. Even if it is a locked door between them and the rest of the world, he is usually the first one up. Jaskier doesn’t blame him for sleeping in, not one bit, but he doesn’t get to see the witcher actually asleep much. There is something intimate about that, trusting someone this close.

Jaskier is torn. He so badly wants to lean back an inch, to watch that ever frowning face smoothed out. On occasion Jaskier watched Geralt across the fire, meditating or getting the odd hour or two of real, deep sleep. But he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay in this warm hold, enjoy the snuffling snores in his hair, breathe in their warmth, count every breath. In this cocoon of safety from the storm and the outside world.

And so he does. He is not sure if Geralt is awake, he doubts it very much, but he relaxes back into the embrace. Jaskier wonders if he can get away with pressing a kiss to that pale neck. He is already so close, and if Geralt is awake, he could blame it on mere movement. His heartbeat picks up a little at the thought. He wonders if it is as soft as it looks.

Jaskier caves. He leans forward, just an inch, angling his head upwards to snuggle closer under Geralt's chin, and lets his lips drag very deliberately over soft skin. The arm around him tightens again, and he feels a sigh. Jaskier smiles, lips still gently connected to Geralt's neck, and dares to tighten his grip too.

He can feel himself drift away again, the smattering rain and howling wind singing him back to sleep. He thinks he hears Geralt say his name as he drifts off.

When next he comes to, the wind is quieter. There is a murmur of sound from downstairs, people awake and ordering breakfast before they brave the outside. Jaskier realises they have shifted, their legs now tangled, and Jaskier has sunken down so his forehead rests against Geralt's chest bone

An arm is resting against Jaskiers shoulder, a hand tracing small patterns on his cheek and his ear. That is… new. Very new. Unless someone crept into bed while Jaskier slept somehow and replaced Geralt. Is that possible? Maybe?

He looks up, stretching his neck awkwardly to sneak a peak on the possible offender. But white hair is there, amber eyes looking down at him. Jaskier is not sure how to describe the way Geralt looks at him right now. Open? Gentle? Like he is trying to put something together?

It hurts to think about, the hope he feels when Geralt gazes down at him.

“Morning,” he croaks, and Geralt's mouth does something wonderful. It breaks into a small, crooked smile as he pushes an unruly lock of hair behind Jaskier's ear.

“Hi,” he says back, resting his fingers against Jaskier's jaw and letting his thumb run back and forth over his cheekbone. It is a little tickly.

“Sleep well?” Jaskier asks, finding it so, so hard to break that gaze. The wonder he feels at this moment, the way Geralt is still touching him.

“Best in ages,” Geralt says, still with that infuriating little smile. “You kept snoring though.”

“I don’t snore,” Jaskier protests, mock offended.

“You do,” Geralt says, lifting his hand to boop Jaskier's nose. “And you talk.”

“I don’t.”

“All. The. Time. Even when you sleep. It is a bit frightening,” Geralt teases, playful in a way Jaskier is not used to. His fingers now pinches Jaskiers chin, and his heart is betraying him, galloping hard inside his chest.

Hope hurts. Nobody told him that.

“And you kissed my neck,” Geralt says, getting serious again, his eyes dropping to Jaskier's lips. Again, Geralt's thumb searches for contact, caressing Jaskier's bottom lip ever so lightly.

Jaskier blinks, but decides silence is the best reply. Just watching Geralt watching him, touching him. For a few, wild heart beats, that is all they do. Then Geralt leans down, and Jaskier's fingers clench the blanket, eyes following his every movement.

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier's forehead, lips lingering, and then Jaskier is pulled against Geralt's chest again. Jaskier barely dares to breathe. To be hugged, deliberately, to be kissed so softly. He is dizzy with it, words on the tip of his tongue. Like Geralt said, it’s frightening.

It is his dream, breaking out of his head and settling into reality. His longing, his everything, begging to be seen. Maybe he has been seen at last. Maybe Geralt will stay.

Jaskier burrows closer again, holding on to this waking dream with all of his might. Holding it close, as the rain has softened and the wind has stopped its howling. Holding Geralt.

Hoping hurts, yes. But loving feels good.

#bog fluff battle #fluff #sharing a bed #snoring #forehead kisses #pining #pining jaskier #cuddles #small kisses #dapanda writes #hope hurts #slow morning

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kuripon · 3 years

Text

Bog Fluff Battle

This month, I was a part of the Bog's fluff battle (click on the link!), especially in the betaing. In between the betaing, I was able to write two pieces of my own. All have been judged, and while my pieces didn't place in even the top ten (:crying:), I want to share it with you guys! Here's the first.

darling, please be mine

-Geraskier/Canon | 1098 words | PG | cw: KISSES. ... Lies. Just one kiss.-

"Have you ever?"

A hand glides over his, the fingers tracing over his knuckles softly, sending tingles up his spine. Jaskier does his best to hide how Geralt affects him, but he's never been good at hiding from Geralt. Not before and definitely not now.

Jaskier's cheeks burn, sure that he must be bright red in Geralt's eyes. He fights the urge to look away, eyes locked with Geralt's. Had he ever taken the time to study Geralt's eyes? Sure, he's written of them before, even sang of them, but has he ever taken the time to just see them as they are? Jaskier can't recall such a moment and ignores the pang of regret that hits as he thinks of all the time he didn't spend falling into that gilded gaze.

"Mmm." Geralt sighs softly and picks up Jaskier's hand. Their gaze breaks as he looks down, watching as his fingers twine with Jaskier's, caressing the lute-calloused tips. A smile steals across his lips.

Jaskier lets out a soft gasp, eyes fluttering shut. He leans against the wall behind him, needing the support. His free hand tangles into his doublet, worrying at the hem. He doesn't think anyone has ever affected him this way.

"You think, in my long life, that I've never kissed anyone before you?" Geralt murmurs, his deep voice carrying softly through the air. The quiet susurration only deepens the intimacy of this encounter.

Jaskier wants to write down everything he's feeling, to ink his love into the language that he best speaks, hoping that the object of his affection will understand as the carefully crafted music winds through Geralt's ears. To take all this emotion that's wrapping around his heart and filling his lungs, near choking him in its intensity, and pour it into his fingers to spill across the staff.

"I... no. Someone like you..." Jaskier's words are failing him and he doesn't know what to say. The night curls around the both of them like smoke, hiding them from the world surrounding them.

Jaskier's eyes remain shut. Has the distance between them dwindled, their entwined fingers increasing the magnetic pull, drawing them ever closer to each other? It feels like Geralt is pressing against him, though Jaskier knows that's not the case. At least not yet.

Jaskier doesn't know. He doesn't care.

Read the rest on AO3!

#Kuri's Writing #Bog Fluff Battle #The Witcher Bog #The Witcher #geralt/jaskier #Geraskier #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier

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saphirered · 2 years

Note

Hey, could you do some angst to fluff with Percy de Rolo please? If not, then just fluff would be great. Thank you 😊

Angst to fluff incoming. Hope you enjoy! 😘

Briskly paced Percy makes his way through the halls of Whitestone castle. His boots leave trails and smears of blood, dirt and ash. Red stains his clothes, some of it his own, most of it not. All in all he looks like he took a tumble off a cliff into a forest of thorns and then rolled into some bog. He’s scratched, bruised and bloodied to hell and back and every muscle in his body tells him to stop and find the nearest flat surface to collapse onto and not move for the next month or so. Despite his body fighting him; it’s sheer stubbornness and spite that keeps him going as well as the burning anger and adrenaline from the battle not long since past, quite recently actually. He’d heard the footsteps and groans of the group split off and go their own way; them faring not much better than he is. One set of footsteps kept trailing him and while there were no words spoken to him directly he could hear the grumbled curses aimed at him. He ignores them. Perhaps that alone is more frustrating than anything else. Will you just leave him be? He is not in the mood for a lecture.

How fucking dare he? How fucking dare he! Pompous self-centred prick. Yet again his god complex gets in the way of it all. Self-sacrificial bastard. He just had to play hero didn’t he? He just had to move in and almost get himself killed? You speak every curse known to mankind but do so to yourself. Despite your rage you still have half the mind to not explode right here right now. You still have the mind to realise simply cursing the complete and utter arsehole accomplishes nothing other than more conflict and bad blood. It’s already a miracle the others; who too are very much upset with Percy backed off when they saw the look of determination and fury in your eyes. They might have their own grievances but you’ll tear Percy a new one and anyone who stands in your way will be turned to dust. They’ll take what’s left, if there’s even anything left once you’re done because they have never seen you this irate.

The footsteps behind him pick up until they fall in step besides him. Percy would look to his side but it’s unmistakably you and there’s something very frustrating about it. He isn’t in the mood for socialising or being put in his place, despite most definitely needing it. His ego is inclined to disagree and quite frankly he doesn’t have the energy; nothing but burning rage left in his veins. He’ll gladly take your lashing once he’s gotten a week of sleep because he can’t truly deny he doesn’t deserve it but in his whirlwind of emotions he feels unwise even speaking a single word in fear it might blow up in his face. So once the door to his workshop is in sight he has half the mind to breathe in relief.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem facing a difficult situation but minutes ago.” You sneer as Percy reaches for the door handle as you slam your own hand against the wooden panel. He goes to open it, something in his mind looking forward to the satisfaction of slamming that door in your face to bring across his point; he does not want to deal with anything right now but you’re clever, and quick because while the handle sinks, the door does not open. Locked. You pull your hand away and leave behind a golden handprint. Swallowing whatever words threatened to spill past his tongue he instead just strides on to the next convenient door but you do it again; locked before he can open it. And again. And again.

“At one point you’re bound to run out of components.” Percy deadpans as you make a show, waving your hand covered in gold dust and wiggling your fingers very much mockingly so.

“Will that be before or after you give up? We’re having this talk and we’re going to have it now.” You demand pointing an accusatory finger at the man. He fights the urge to roll his eyes. Is he going to give up? He has no intention to do so but he’s seen the servants and other inhabitants of the castle the two of you passed give you some rather questioning looks and despite his better efforts Percy still has some hardwired needs to appear somewhat civilised and responsible despite what image Vox Machina and their antics might give him. He somewhat cares about his reputation and keeping it somewhat pristine… You’re making that very difficult for him right now by undermining him at quite literally every door.

“Since my own desire to do literally anything else is overruled by yours to pester me until I submit,; fine. Fine.” Percy speaks exasperated. He’s not happy and still finds himself debating wether he should just make a break for it or something but then it comes down to his reputation again and just avoiding the inevitable. You’re not going to let this go. He won’t know peace until you’re done. Best just get this over with. So he begins leading the way to your chambers, brisk pace not once faltering, footsteps echoing eerily through the quiet halls like a heartbeat, falling in rhythm with the pounding in his head. He can’t help but notice from the corner of his eyes you take a deep but easier breath; like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders already. You’re still tense and definitely in a mood that could tear down mountains, but something has shifted and for a brief instance sadness peaks through. Just briefly before your face goes back to a steel mask once more. You’ve got plenty go raging emotions of your own. You’re entitled to keep them to yourself as much as he is, but then again you were the one to slap him in the face with the fact that bottled up grievances only lead to heartache and pain in the end… Perhaps there's a core of truth in that. No, he is not saying he’s wrong for wanting to sleep and just bury this all under the rug but maybe he can see your side of it all, the side of the others. Okay, maybe you’re just right but he won’t admit it.

With half the mind to use that spell once again just to make a statement you refrain from doing so when Percy opens the door and allows you to step in before him. You can see him eye the hallway for a brief second while you enter and look back and you half expect him to act on the impulse to avoid conflict but he doesn’t. Were you in a different mood you might have had a sense of pride brewing but you’re not. You’re angry but more than anything you’re hurt. Hurt because of what he did. Hurt because of those thoughtless actions. Hurt because of his shortsightedness. How could he do something like that to you, to his friends, and family? How could he do so without a second thought? Has he no sight on the consequences of his actions? Or maybe it does’t matter to him when he’s not the one to pay the price for it.

Percy sets down his things, placing his guns on the table, getting ready to give them a proper cleaning, discards his coat over the back of the chair adjacent to it and rolls up his sleeves ready to get to work but you’re not having it. The moment he sits down and goes to open the toolbox he keeps in the bottom of your wardrobe, you place your fingers upon it and when he turns the key, it won’t turn any further. One last casting. One last spell and now you’re out. Again that finger points at him.

“No.” That’s all you say. He doesn’t quite know how to place that tone of yours but it’s somewhere between telling a pet to do a thing or scolding a child in for a severe punishment. He doesn’t like either of those. So he steps back and raises his hands, showing he’s done trying before he braces his palms on the table, let his head drop and groans rocking back and forth on his heels until he turns his head to look at you.

“Fine. You have my attention. Say your piece and leave me the hell alone.” That came out harsher than he intended and that pang of hurt sparking in your eyes for that brief instance has a hint of regret beginning to brew in the pit of his stomach.

“My piece-my piece? How fucking dare you put yourself at risk like that? You could have died! You would have died had Pike not put every ounce of magic at her disposal in returning you!”

“And I’m still here, aren’t I?” Percy counters as he watches you clench and unclench your fists, nails digging into your skin undoubtedly to release some of the tension from your body; keeping it somehow under control. Despite everything you’re still restraining your fury even though he might deserve the brunt of it. Even if he did what he did for the right reasons; in the end he’s still the cause of this bad blood. Doing something for the right reasons doesn’t make you right, nor does it exempt you from the consequences. A lesson hard learned but one taught by you and drilled into his mind. Still, it’s one he chose to ignore in the moment knowing fully well. Perhaps that makes him selfish. Then again, he’ll always be selfish, despite acts of selflessness, at heart he’ll always be selfish.

“That is not the point! You unnecessarily put your life on the line and for what? A moment of glory? Do you need to be the hero of the story so bad?” That is a dig. You know it hits home because that’s been a fear of Percy; people putting expectations upon him he doesn’t want. It was a cheap shot and you took it either way. You feel bad for it and regret the words the moment you spoke them. They leave a sour taste in your mouth but you pull through.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I don’t know what overcame me.” You breathe much calmer now, the rage ebbing and making way for that sadness and post-battle stress, and vulnerability. Your fingers brush over the toolbox and the spell fizzles. “I think I’m going to freshen up. I won’t keep you here but I’d prefer to still have this conversation when we both have had time to cool down.” Percy nods and not expecting any further verbal confirmation you make for the bathroom.

A solid cry, existential crisis and thorough scrubbing later you exit the bathroom having exchanged your ruined clothes for a comfy robe, bare feet now padding across the cold stone providing some comfort and sense of grounding in this whirlwind of everything. You find Percy exactly how you expect to find him, albeit quite a bit calmer. Not quite as calm and relaxed you’ve seen him go through the motions of cleaning and repairing the pepperbox, but very much an improvement from half an hour ago. Then again you feel safe to assume that might look the same for you. You feel completely and utterly drained and at this point just want to crawl into bed, smothered by blankets and pillows in a warm embrace. But after everything, you don’t feel right about asking such a thing of Percy, nor do you think he’ll even welcome you with open arms like so. The issue is not gone. It’s still there and things are still… tense, for the lack of a better term and very much feel like a looming storm. The difference now is that perhaps you’ve both gotten some time to reevaluate what’s been said and done and have found yourselves in reasonable enough states to discuss civilly like adults and not bickering children ready to lash out or for one to throw the first punch.

“Hey.” You mutter as you hesitantly take a few steps towards the table. Percy puts down his tools, straightens his spine and turns to face you better. You wait for a response holding your breath in anticipation as Percy deliberates his next move. Then he pushes the chair back from the table and holds out his hand, inviting you closer. You do and with each step feel the air in the room lightening, pressure floating out with it as you see that corner of his lips turn upward just enough to notice. It’s not in the half smile but in his eyes you notice he too had some thinking done during your moments alone. With a sharp intake of breath and slow exhale through his nose Percy pulls you to him when you take his hand, inviting you to sit with him and you do, taking place on his lap. You just sit there in silence for a moment. Your fingers stay intertwined. His free hand finds your waist and rubs reassuring circles into the fabric covered skin.

“I’m sorry too.” Percy sighs as your head leans against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean t-I didn’t think-“ You snort at his words but not maliciously so.

“That’s right.” You mutter and earn a nudge from his fingers in your side. You repress to squeal and slap at his hand scoldingly as he continues.

“I did what I thought best but I understand how that may have placed others in a precarious situation instead. That was not my intention and I will apologise for that.”

“And…” You urge him to continue because you feel there’s more to this and plenty of things that are most definitely excluded from that apology.

“And I don’t regret doing what I did. Now I don’t care for being a hero but I do care about saving the lives of my loved ones and you are definitely at the top of that list. If I hadn’t done what I did you would have been the one in my place and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t let that happen. I took a risk knowing fully well where it might got me and the bet didn’t pay off this time but I’d do it again and again if it meant saving you. I can’t bare to watch you suffer but I care little for my own suffering and maybe that’s selfish, but if it keeps you alive and safe then so be it.” Percy knows that his reasoning might not be the most healthy of ways but at least he’s admitting to it now. He still has a long road to go but he’s working on it and that’s why he needs you with him. You’re his compass and he’s just lost. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve you here with him because he honesty doesn’t think he’s worthy of you, yet here you are and still offer him love and kindness, and show him compassion at the end of the day. Will you forget what you both went through? Hell no. But you’ve shown him he’s worthy of your forgiveness should he wish to earn it and he does.

“We’ll work on your hero complex at some point but for now despite it all I’ll say thank you. Thank you for caring. Despite my disagreeing with your reasonings and approach.” You close your eyes for a second to take in the moment and then slip from the warmth of Percy. Questioning he looks at you and you just raise an eyebrow and urge him to follow holding out your hand which he takes without a moment of doubt. you pull him to his feet and begin leading the way to the bathroom.

“You desperately need a bath.” You claim as the door opens and you turn to fill the tub sitting on the edge as Percy who’s not in the mood to argue for several reasons eyes you.

“Why do I feel like this will be revenge?” He undoes the buttons of his vest, tossing it with the pile of dirty clothes in the basket you’d already set aside. You dance your fingers over the water surface testing the temperature.

“But of course it is, Percy dear.” You grin and watch every movement as he disrobes with satisfaction.

#critical role x reader #vox machina x reader #tlovm x reader #percival de rolo x reader #percy de rolo x reader #percival x reader #percy x reader #critrole x reader #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critical role imagine #critical role #vox machina #legend of vox machina #percival fredrickstein von musel de rolo iii #percy de rolo

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Be mine — Roman Godfrey

Requests: “Helloo, I would like to request an imagine of roman Godfrey with smut prompt 28”

“Hii, omg I lover your work!! Can you do fluff prompts 45 and 59 and smut prompts 32 whit Roman Godfrey? Thank you, love💖”

Fluff prompts:

45. “where have you been all my life?”

59. “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

32. “I’m going to show you what a real fucking is.”

A/N: I was excited about these request for Roman, I loved it. I hope you guys like.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Roman Godfrey/ Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, explicit smut, NSFW, degradation, dirty talk and also fluff too.

— — — — —

The big white and airy room tried to show a soothing and safe energy, the light tones contrasted with the golden rays of the sun outside and could even try to show a lyrical vibe. Could, if not for everything else.

It was hard to pinpoint the source that messed up that whole idea of peace that the colors on the walls had, but maybe it was because Godfrey Industries was... oblique, mysterious, sinister. There was something in the air, a dark breeze that echoed all the floors of that gigantic building, bringing the feeling that something was out of place. It was, at times, disconcerting. Like looking at a perfect painting but knowing that something is out of place. Or to witness the seconds of frightening calm before a major disaster. But as the months went by, you had to get used to it and adapt to it. Your daydreams wandered far away. You wondered what you were doing there, in that country town that also had that sinister energy.

Why you left Los Angles? Okay, did you know why. After finishing college, you sent out resumes to as many companies as you could. Its from that time when you realize that adult life has knocked on the door and that the cost of living in California was too high. The plan, when you left home to pursue your dream and go to college in another state, was to get a job as soon as possible. But some things got out of your control, and when you realized it, you had graduated and you didn't have enough money to come up with second plans.

So, when the multinational Godfrey Industries called you after an interview and gave you the job, you didn't hesitate. The salary was too good for a international negotiations assistant, and after a while you could breathe easier, and be able to straighten out your financial life and have a better resume to be able to get back to a big city.

It was a good plan, a rational plan. You were proud of that. But it was logical that too much confidence was accompanied by some ruin.

And its ruin came under the name of Roman Godfrey.

Roman was swallowed all the air in any the room when he entered, as if its imposing presence subdued any environment. Everything about him exuded the same objective: to conquer, to possess, to win. He was the Trojan army. But the worst and the most dangerous was not his difficult personality, but how you felt close to him. How his presence caused side effects on you.

He was absolutely gorgeous. It should be considered illegal for someone to have that appearance, that voice, that sinisterly penetrating look. You felt that Roman Godfrey had the aura of intense and exciting music, like the song of danger.

He was the personification of sin, and you were being tested by the universe.

The trinity of what could be a gigantic disaster was completed when, a few months ago, Roman started testing you, joining the universe in what appeared to be a plan to slaughter your sanity.

It was your first meeting with the Company a few weeks after you was hired. Adam, the director of the international negotiations sector, for whom you are an assistant, asked you to bring all the documents of the process and remain in the meeting. It was about an international multi who wanted to buy some equipment from Godfrey Industries, but who were working hard to try to close deals at a lower price.

As you handed a copy of the negotiation to each sector director in that room, you felt a pair of eyes burning the back of your neck the whole time, like your shadow. The caustic sensation ruffled all the hair on the back of your neck, snaking from head to toe and made you search the environment behind the author.

That's when you finding him.

Roman had the green irises stuck to you like a tattoo on your skin. As if unraveling all your secrets, your sins, virtues and all your thoughts. It was intense, magnetic... dangerous.

You felt the white walls of that room were embraced by a black and dark shadow, and the air became thin. Then he smiled. A smug and arrogant little smile. The kind who won a battle.

It had been the beginning of a sequence of events. Roman began to request and make sure that you were present at all meetings, negotiations, cases, even when your presence added much more to your professional knowledge than to contribute to the resolution of company problems. At that time the order was still not directed at you, Adam just told you that Godfrey wanted you at meetings.

It was strange, atypical, almost surreal. You used to go into the conference room and look directly at Roman, frowning in silent questioning at him. But he never gave you an answer. He just gave that smug smile and turned his attention to the big screen in the living room.

This happened five times before Roman sent to tell you that he wanted to see you in his office.

“But why?!" You frowned at Adam.

The man looked at you for a second before shrugging.

“Your work has been impeccable, I think he just wants to give you more things to do.” Adam kept his eyes on the documents themselves.

"But you are my boss.” Sometimes you had a habit of saying what you thought without considering the consequences.

Your mother and your friends said that you had a total inability to hide what you felt, to be someone reserved or shy. You were almost always the person who said everything you felt.

Adam laughed softly, already used to your personality and turned his eyes to you.

“And he is my boss."

You restrained yourself from rolling your eyes. The truth was, you didn't want to find him. Roman puzzled you, messed with your system. And after those 5 meetings without explaining why you were there, you started to want to avoid his presence.

But apparently the universe was not on your side this time.

You got up and excused yourself, listening to your own heels echoing down the hall before entering the elevator and pressing the last button. Going to Godfrey's office.

Anxiety coursed through your veins like overwhelming electricity, making you sway on your heels and stir your fingers.

What did he want with you? Had you done something? Was he crazy?

You sucked in the air hard, shrugging your shoulders to relax when the door opened up. You walked for a while before stopping at Roman's office and knocking on the door with your finger.

“Come in." The voice made your heart skip a few beats.

You walked in, closing the door behind you and laying your eyes on the tall, slender figure who was sitting behind the table, dressed in black pieces and a small smile.

“Did you want to see me, Mr.Godfrey ?"

Maybe it was your imagination or your nervousness that was seeing things in between lines, but you could have sworn that Roman breathed harder after you said his last name.

You stopped in front of his desk, too agitated to sit on the chair.

“Yes, Darling.” He stood up, getting much bigger than you, even though your feet were in a 10 cm heel.

Roman fished a file on the table itself, bypassing the table and coming menacingly close to you. He stood in front of you again, his hip against the table and leaning there, holding out the file for you. You took seconds longer than you would like to pick up the papers, Roman's left leg was dangerously close to yours, the knee almost brushing your thigh covered by the black skirt.

“I need it ready by night."

That's when you came out of the trance, picking up the folder and staring at the amount of stuff there. It was a process about an agreement with a company in Asia, and it was so bureaucratic that it would take up your entire time. And you already had a million things for do.

“But...” You were about to start talking, but Roman moved away from the edge of the table, his chest hovering over yours.

You have never felt so small, so fragile and so vulnerable in your life. You had to lift your chin to face him straight.

“You are going to be a good girl and bring me this tonight.” It was not a request. “You will, right?”

Your common sense or decorum had gone somewhere. Maybe was lost in your own stupidity. The oxygen evaporated from your lungs. And before you could think of something diplomatic and good to say. Because you were not dumb. You heard yourself say:

“Yes, Mr. Godfrey.”

Fucking hell!

“Great.” He gave you a rewarding smile.

From that moment on events like this became routine. In fact, you tried to mask that you liked it, that it wasn't extremely unprofessional, that he was not only your boss, but also the owner of the entire company. Over time you learned to deal with him too, Roman was never brazen or touched you, he would drop some ‘Dear’ or ‘Pretty’ over and over here for you, but, truth be told, you didn’t get uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was your feminine vanity. You didn't want to be selfish, but having a man like Roman Godfrey praise you did wonders for your feminine vanity. You felt absurdly beautiful. He made you feel like the personification of the Female Fatal, and you liked that. So you would roll your eyes at him and give him some jokes smiles in his direction whenever these things happened.

You did not deny it, but you also do not return any praise.

Over the months you had practically become more of an assistant to Roman than to Adam. He kept you getting bogged down with things to do and telling Adam to pass on your old duties to any other goddamn person.

“They accept to close if they have had 30% of the profits.” You put your cell phone down to talk to Roman, who had his hip against the desk work and an open file in his hands.

“They must be stupid” he rolled his eyes “10% and I will still be being generous.”

You went back to your call, your eyes fixed on the top view of the city as you settled the deal.

“I can get them to close by 15% if we send the equipment by tomorrow.” You said to Roman again, plugging the cell phone microphone with your other hand “But it has to be send until the morning. Not next.”

Roman smiled broadly and satisfied, nodding his head in ‘Yes’ as you turned your attention to the city view and finished the negotiation. You were getting the details right when you felt a presence behind you, the heat radiating for your back and making you lose your breath for a second. You swallowed and tried to ignore something vibrating in your core, disconnecting the call as soon as you closed the deal.

“What would I do without you?” Roman's voice blew at the top of your ear, his ghostly touch fanning your skin.

You laughed to try to hide how much your core pulsed, turning around enough to face his completely.

"I don't know, you would have already lost four contracts.” You tried to joke, but he was absurdly close.

The scent of a man and an expensive cologne swallowed you like a wave and dragged you into the sea, drowning you. The emerald green eyes were fixed on you, as if they swallowed you.

“You could work for me.” Godfrey let go, taking another step closer to you.

Instinctively, you took a step back, your back finding the cold glass behind you and trapping you between the cold sensation and the absurd warmth of the man.

"I already work for you.” You said it as if it were obvious, letting out a nervous laugh and trying to clean up how much your uterus vibrated now.

“No, you work more with Adam.” He rolled his eyes, his hand now resting on your hip, rising to your waist like a snake “I speak of you being my assistant, being here when I arrive, spending the all days with me.”

Your heart screamed, your pussy throbbed so hard that if Roman hadn't paid attention to you, you would have bitten your lip.

“Are you flirting with me?”

"You finally noticed?"

There was no way to deny to yourself that you had already reached your share of perverted dreams with Roman Godfrey. He was like an addiction! It was unbearable how present he was always in your head, playing with your sanity, making you think of how those absurdly long fingers would fuck you so well, how those impeccable clothes hid a maddening body.

And that was exactly why you couldn't be him assistant.

If it was already overwhelmingly difficult to occasionally remain in him presence without diverting your thoughts, every day would be impossible. All the time. You would end up having to resign your job after, because any involvement between you would not result in a happy ending. Aside from being extremely unethical, it would end up destroying your heart, and God, you needed the job!

"M-Mr Godfrey." You tried to speak, touching his chest with the palm of your hand with the intention of gently pushing him away.

But the shot backfired. He was cold. Absurdly cold. Cold that makes you want to warm up, an addictive, that intoxicates you. Suddenly, you are already wondering if other parts of it would be cold too.

Would the kiss contain the beauty and temperature of the snow? When Roman entered you, would he be consumed by the heat of your needy walls? He Would it stick to you like a private sun?

“Pretty.” Godfrey sighed against your cheek, dangerously lowering his lips in your direction. “Why not stay with me? Where can I fuck you every day? ”

This time you moaned, a low moan that gave up all of your game. It lit a dangerous, vital fire in Roman's eyes, and him hand, which once touched you softly, now snaked into your waist, pulling you close.

“Do you like to hear that? That I want to fuck you until you scream?” You closed your fingers on him black dress shirt, closing your lip between your teeth to contain a groan.

Roman's mouth went to your neck, pouring wet, surprisingly hot kisses onto your skin.

"Would you like to know that I have imagined fucking you hard for a long time?” His hands went to the hem of your skirt. “That I want to tag you with my cum until you're just mine?"

“Mr.Go-Godfrey!” You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your head go back and lean against the glass wall.

“Tell me, Pretty.” He lifted his lips to hover over yours “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

You frantically ascended your head, letting a 'Yes' leave with a low sob.

Thereafter Roman wasted no time. He pulled you onto his lap by your thighs, placing you under his desk and throwing all objects on the table with one arm. He kissed you. Furiously. He kissed you as if you were his property, as if you were the answer to all his prayers, his divinity. Your mouth opened to get air and Roman took the opportunity to invade with his tongue, hunting you.

You groaned, or he, or both.

"I'm going to show you what a real fucking is." Roman snarled against your mouth, not considering any consequences before popping all the buttons on your shirt with a two-handed tug, making you gasp.

That seemed to bring you back to Earth.

You pulled your chest away from him, and Roman looked up at you with a questioning expression.

“Ro-Roman, this is wrong.” you said.

“You have no idea how much I don’t give a fuck.” He leaned over to kiss you again, extremely excited by the sight of you in a lacy bra, but you averted your face by placing your hands on him chest.

You said. “I'm going to have to resign this job later if I do it, and I need the job.”

Romam snorted, straightening up again.

“Who says you need to resign? Did you forget that I am the owner of this crap?” He brought his lips to your neck once more, and you sighed softly “Be mine. Be mine."

“I don’t know.”

Romam held your face in his hands, in a gentle touch, which clashed absurdly with the lush fire in his eyes.

“I don't want to fuck you because you work here, but because I think you're fucking beautiful.” He said “Be mine, and if you don't want anything to do with me afterwards, that's okay, let's keep working normally.” Roman moved closer, his voice hitting your mouth “Let me fuck this hot pussy, I'm sure you'll want more later. And I will give you everything you want.”

So you gave in. You kissed him fiercely, spreading your legs wider and settling them between them, letting the skirt roll to pile on your hips and exposing lace panties. Roman reaching down to your back and removing your bra, dropping your mouth over your left breast when it was exposed.

You moaned loudly, throwing your head back, curling your fingers in his hair and sighing when Godfrey moved his fingers down the middle of your legs. You whimpered, rummaging around in his hand for some friction, needy and needy.

Roman laughed arrogantly against your breast: “Such a needy little thing, aren't you?” He took a bite out of your left beak as he walked away to remove his belt.

You groaned, your eyes on fire, your body hot and needy. And that's when Roman looked at you. A hot fucking woman half naked at his table, so beautiful and perfect that it was almost a sin. He wanted to be able to record that scene forever. You were perfect. He thought you were extraordinarily perfect.

Then he rushed ferociously at you again, his hands wrapped around your hot body as he moaned on your lips: "Where have you been all my life?"

You gasped, finishing the job of his belt and pants, fighting a battle with his tongue.

“Waiting for this moment.” You provoked it with a sensual chuckle, nibbling on his lower lip.

Roman shared your sly smile, tearing at your panties and holding his own dick in your direction. You moaned louder this time, in need, lowering your hands to his hips and rolling around his waist, trying to get closer.

Roman laughed, sinking his mouth into yours and also plunging his dick into yours smooth folds.

You screamed out loud, clasping your body to his while Roman put an arm around your waist, gluing your body to his and hitting the stick at the end of the well, drawing out a loud groan from both of you. The environment was filled with moaning and pornographic sounds, the table rattling beneath you as the things that were left on top now fell completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clenching your nails at the back of your neck as you wrapped your legs around Roman's hips, pulling him further into you and swallowing him completely.

“Holy fuck!” He snarled, lowering his mouth to meet your neck and shoulder, closing his teeth there as he demanded more force in his movements.

Godfrey beat without mercy, without pause, conquering and proclaiming his every piece of your body as his own. You could no longer control your moans, all the sensations exploded inside you like nuclear bombs and pleasure and pain curved all your lines of reasoning. You laid your back on the table, your breasts jumping with the speed and strength of him movements, while Roman clasped his hands on your waist and set a brighter pace as he pulled you onto his dick and propelled your hips at you.

“So fuck hot slut!” He growled, never stopping the pace.

You shouted something that looked like him name, and threw your head back when the orgasm invaded your system, shaking your legs and pulling him deeper. Roman moaned loudly, squeezing your flesh so tightly that it would leave marks tomorrow, while he cum inside you, spilling all the hot liquid on your barriers.

You were sweaty and panting, but Roman didn't give you a second to breathe and process the situation until he leaned over to you, still inside your core, and kissed your right breast, dropping one:

“Dinner at my place tomorrow?”

You laughed, still very airy, and agreed, overcome by tiredness.

“Okay, Godfrey.” Roman gave you another lunge of teasing, making your laugh mix with a groan.

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #Roman Godfrey x you #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård x reader #Roman Godfrey x y/n #hemlock grove #Hemlock Grove x reader #bill skarsgård imagine #roman godfrey imagine #Roman Godfrey icons #smut #Hemlock Grove smut #willard russell

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thepassifloradiscord · 2 years

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Welcome to the Passiflora!

The Passiflora is a discord server that is open to everyone in The Witcher Fandom, who are 18+! The mods are:@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @fontegagrilledcheese @jaskierswolf @officerjennie @kueble and @writywritestuff

For the writers and artists and other creators: We offer support and resources for all members of the fandom putting out content, greatly encourage the sharing of your work, and generally enable everyone to do the things they enjoy!

For everyone: This space encourages everyone to interact through different events, movies nights, music quizzes, Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, trivia, and more! (and we’re always open to suggestions)

Events: We run periodic (monthly, weekly, it varies) events to encourage more content in the fandom!

Event Masterlists:

The Bog Exchange

Fluff Battle

The Art Trains

The Fic Trains

Teef Week

The Opt in Exchanges

Bard Week

Flash Challenges

#the witcher #the witcher fan art #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom

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absolutelyfizzing · 3 years

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hole-y

George x reader angst/fluff

description - Y/N and the Order head out to deliver Harry to the burrow on the night of his seventeenth birthday. Chaos ensues and when you reach the burrow, you couldn't be more thankful for your friends and family being safe.

warnings - minor talk of gore and injuries, death, general warning for george being an absolute angel. Fem pronouns and reader gets picked up

A/N - so this is the first time ive posted in like months i think which is a little crazy, im so sorry for the delay. This is something that i just really wanted to write, i will be posting some requested writings soon as well as hopefully some more writings outside of just harry potter and marvel.

word count - about 3600

MASTERLIST

You were terrified. The feeling in the pit of your stomach made you want to cry but you pushed it down. There were bigger matters at hand. Bigger things to worry about. One of those things being the possibility of you never seeing your best friend or your boyfriend again. The thought made you shake and when you looked over at Fred and George you knew they were thinking the same thing.

You had been friends with the twins since as long as you could remember. Well actually, you had disliked them when you first met them, they were much too loud for you to get along with and they frustrated you to no end but you somehow had all of you classes and activities with them. They accidentally let loose a prank on you in your third year and you screamed at them before going up to the astronomy tower and crying. They followed you a few minutes later and apologized and sat with you until you stopped crying. Actually they stayed with you until they could make you laugh. From then on, you had a soft spot for the twins and the same happened to them.

You didn't know when you started to have romantic feelings for George, he always said that he started to feel something for you when he was in fifth year and you sneezed so hard you made a nearby owl fly away. You thought that was rather ridiculous but it made you blush all the same. You started dating in sixth year when Fred nearly shoved you two into a closet and told you he wouldn't let you out until you talked to each other about your feelings. Since then you had been the happiest you had ever been in your life and you were forever thankful to Fred who took 100% credit for your relationship. They were your family, all the Weasley's were. Now, looking at everyone you loved in a room, you felt worry rise in your throat. No, worry wasn't the right word. Terror.

George pulled you into his side and he kissed the top of your head deeply.

"I love you. You don't have to do this." He mumbled into your hair and you sighed.

"You know just as well as I do that we both have to do this. It's okay, I'll be with Moody. He won't let anything happen to me." You muttered and then turned so your face was pressed into his chest. "But I love you too." You whispered and a tear fell from your face and into George's shirt. You then pulled away and pulled Fred into a hug. He groaned dramatically.

"No, I'm hugging you. No complaining." You grumbled and he complied, his hand going around your back and smoothing out your hair. You knew he was looking at George, some sort of twin telepathy going between them but you didn't care. When you pulled away, both of them smiled gently at you. Then before you knew it, the polyjuice potion was being passed around. You gave one last look at George and drank the potion and he did as well. It was the worst tasting thing you'd consumed in a long time and as you were keeping yourself from throwing up at the taste you felt yourself get a bit taller. You looked to your side to see two more harry's. You smiled at them and began to change your clothes.

You had agreed to go as Harry with Moody, Mundungus would also be there as himself. You had decided to switch last minute. You all walked out of the house as the minutes ticked by waiting for Harry's protection charm to end. Eventually you all were off with one last longing glance at George.

The battle was one that would haunt you for the rest of your life. As soon as you left there were death eaters on you. All you could do was hold onto your broom for dear life, Moody on the broom behind you and Mundungus on a separate broom right next to you. Before you could think, there was green all around you and screaming from every direction. You just focussed on getting to the Weasley's, a route you knew by heart, and let Moody do the protecting. At some point you looked to your right and Mundungus was gone. When you looked to your left you were horrified to see the dark lord flying next to you. Tears came to your eyes at the realization that you would probably not be making it out of there. Moody quickly began sending spells his way but it was not an even fight. He held off Voldemort for an impressive amount of time but all good things end. You heard the killing curse and saw the green light and you expected it to hit you, you were the target. Somehow Moody got in front of you to stop you from getting hit and you screamed. When Moody's body fell from the broom, yours did too. You hit the ground with a thud and your body immediately screamed in pain. You looked to the side of you and saw Moody's body. Tears were falling from your face but the shock running through you prevented you from feeling whatever damage you took from the fall. You took a breath and gathered yourself. You needed to get out of here. You would have time to scream and grieve later if you made it out of this alive. The death eaters obviously thought you to be dead and Voldemort had fallen back for some reason. You feared it was because he realized you were not the real Harry. Your tears stopped, face hardened, and you stood with slight difficulty. You would have to get to the Weasley's and you prepared yourself to apparate. When you did, your aim had been a bit off. You were in the bog outside the burrow and you could see the light in the distance. There was a panic at the house and you realized that the others had all arrived. Despite the pain in your legs, you began to sprint to the burrow. You noticed that you were yourself again, your hair getting in your eyes as you ran.

"Y/N?" You heard Remus yell and you kept running. Someone pulled you into them and you looked up to see red hair. You had arrived at the burrow and the tears had begun as well.

"Fred, Moody is dead. Voldemort killed him. Mundungus disapparated right at the beginning, I don't know where he went. It was just me and Moody and then he just-"

"Shhh, hey you're safe now, it's gonna be okay." He muttered and you noticed the break in his voice. You suddenly realized that you didn't feel George near you. You pulled back quickly. "Living room" Fred stated and you headed in, Fred following behind you. When you saw George though, you were not filled with relief. In fact you were so filled with dread that you thought you might just throw up.

"Is he..." you whispered. You couldn't finish your question, dreading the answer.

"m' not dead" Came a whisper from the man you loved and tears began streaming down your face as you collapsed next to him and buried your face in his chest. Your breathing was rapid and your heart was racing. It only slowed when you felt a familiar hand brushing through your hair.

"Fred, I'm saintlike." you heard George whisper and you looked at him questioningly but he was looking across the room to his brother. Fred looked concerned and dropped down next to you, a hand going to your back.

"What's wrong with him? Is his mind affected?" Fred asked his mother worriedly. You were also looking to Molly for reassurance but she looked just as concerned as you.

"Saintlike. You see...I'm holy." George spoke again and all attention was on him. "Holey, Fred. D'you get it?" The relief that you felt was overwhelming and you laughed deeply before burying your face once again into the chest of the man you loved.

"Pathetic. Pathetic! With the whole world of ear related humor before you, you go for 'holey'?" Fred laughed with you, his voice cracking with emotion and the tears streaming down your face were now happy ones. You were so thankful that the man you loved was okay and unchanged besides the trauma he would likely carry. And of course that he only had one ear.

The rest of the night would go by in a blur. You were debriefed by Remus who tried to be as gentle as possible in his questioning. You did not leave George's side and neither did most of the Weasley's. However hours later you still hadn't moved or eaten, too scared to leave George. Enough time had passed that everyone told you George was out of the woods and most people had gone to bed. You couldn't leave though. Molly walked toward you, a plate full of food with her. George was asleep and you were staring at him fearfully, making sure that his chest was moving with life.

"You need to eat, dear." Molly whispered and you sniffed a bit.

"I cant." Was all you could say and she sat next to you.

"Well either you need to eat or I will wake George up so he can make you." At this you looked at her. She had unshed tears in her eyes and you suddenly tackled her in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Molly." You whispered into her neck where she was holding you.

"What on earth are you sorry for?" She asked.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect him and that I wasn't here to help when he got here. I'm sorry I didn't convince him not to go. I'm sorry-"

"Hey, stop." She asserted and you did, pulling back to look at her. "Now you know why you went. George went for the same reason. You were both very brave and it could have been either of you who got hurt out there. Now you are both alive and okay and so are the rest of my children. I will be thankful for the rest of my life for that. But I still seem to have a kid who isn't taken care of and I need to make sure that she is. So will you please take a breath-" she paused to wait for you to take a deep breath, which you did, "and eat something. Or else I fear my son may have a heart attack when he wakes up. Okay?" she questioned and you sniffled and wiped your nose.

Making one last glance at the movement of George's chest before looking to Molly and nodding. She handed you the tray of food that instantly comforted you and she sat with you while you ate. You were both silent but you were thankful she was there to watch over George while you were distracted. When you were finished she took your plate and stood.

"Now I am going to get some rest. You should consider doing the same." She whispered and patted your hair. You watched her walk to her room and you looked back to the man in front of you.

You weren't sure how long you were sitting there but by the time you came out of your trance to a hand touching your face the fire was nearly out. You looked up at George and he looked sad.

"Are you okay, baby? Do you need anything?" You started to stand up, worried he was uncomfortable. He pulled you down on top of him on the couch and you squirmed, worried you would hurt him.

"Honey, I need you t' stop moving and let me hold you please." He sounded serious so you stopped trying to get off of him. Instead you sighed and moved to straddle his hips and then lay the rest of your body on top of him, your head going to his chest. "Thank you." he whispered. You lifted your head to look at him and he had tears in his eyes.

"Are you in pain, bubs?" you tried to be quiet so you wouldn't disturb the peace in the room.

"No. I'm just glad you're okay." He whispered and a tear fell. You reached up to brush it off and you smiled at him.

"Of course I am, you're the one who got hit by a spell." You reassured but he shook his head.

"You're right that I'm the one that got hit by a spell but Voldemort tried to kill you. You could have died tonight, Y/N." He seemed so sad but you didn't know how to comfort him. You hadn't really thought about it since you got to the burrow, too focused on George. You had yet to really process the fact that Moody had died to save you and without his sacrifice you would not be here with your boyfriend.

"I didn't though. I'm okay." You moved up a bit to kiss the cheek on the side furthest from his injury. "We are both okay." You put your head in his neck and sighed deeply. He took a deep breath into your hair and wrapped his arms around your back.

"We are never doing that again." He grumbled and you chuckled.

"Really? I was planning on taking some polyjuice tomorrow, maybe having another go at it." You smiled and he rolled his eyes.

"I thought I was supposed to be the comedian."

"Not when your last joke was 'holey'. Your comedian title has been revoked."

"Oh shut it, I'd just taken a curse to the head, give a guy a break." He smiled but you both stopped and the smiles dropped while remembering the reality of the situation. "How long have you been up watching me?" he asked gently and you sighed, preparing for your scolding.

"Probably 6 hours or so."

"SIX HOURS? You haven't slept since you got back? Darling you need to go to bed, why on earth did you stay up that long?" he practically screeched and you shushed him as best you could so he wouldn't wake the whole house. You didn't answer his question, instead looking at his chest. "Y/N why wont you sleep?" He asked again, this time more seriously. You felt tears come to your eyes.

"I couldn't-I had to-" you were cut off by your own tears.

"Hey, bubs, whats wrong? I'm sorry, didn't mean t' upset you, bunny." You shook your head at the thought that he had made you cry.

"I was just worried that-" You paused to take a breath, "I thought if I went to bed I might wake up and you wouldn't be..." You felt him shush into your hair. He hadn't really thought about it that way and he felt bad for keeping you up like that.

"Bunny, I am fine. I pinky promise." He pulled away to do just that. As your pinkies were interlocked he made decisive eye contact with you. "I promise nothing bad is gonna happen to me if you sleep, okay?" You nodded a bit and he leaned in to kiss you. "How about we both go to sleep and you can stay right on top of me so you can be with me if anything happens." He mumbles against your lips and you nodded again. He pulled you snuggly into him and put a hand on the back of your head to hold you there.

"I love you." You whispered into his chest, not even necessarily trying to get him to hear.

"I love you too, bunny. Now you need to shush and get some sleep." You huffed and finally settled into him. He couldn't sleep for much of the time you did, he could never admit it but he was quite scared as well. He shared your fears. He was worried he would wake up and you would no longer be with him. He got bits of sleep now and then but he couldn't sleep through the night. You stayed asleep on top of him until he saw the sun come up. He knew you were vaguely awake as your breathing wasn't as slow and you curled into him tighter.

"M' gonna get up to make us some tea, yeah?" You nodded slightly and he took that as an okay to get up. He picked you up gently and brought you to sit on the counter in the kitchen. His head didn't seem to hurt at all which surprised him a bit but he knew his mother was a gifted healer and she worked her magic on him to make sure he would feel okay the next day. He tried to step away from you to make some tea but you did not release him. Instead he was trapped standing in front of the counter, you clinging to him tightly. It was at that moment that the other twin decided to come into the kitchen.

"How's the hole?" He nudged George with his elbow and he chuckled.

"Not bad at all, don't even really have a headache." He muttered, still trying to be moderately quiet as you seemed to be in a half asleep state and he knew you needed all of the rest you could get.

"She doing okay?" Fred whispered, nodding toward you.

"Restless night." George replied and Fred nodded in understanding, moving to prep the tea for George seeing as he was trapped at the moment. When the tea was done, George rustled you awake slightly. "Would you like some tea, m'love?" You nodded and moved to sit up a bit, releasing George and catching Fred making gagging noises next to you.

"Oh shove off." You grumbled and he chuckled. You made a move to get off the counter and George grabbed your waist to assist you. As soon as you were on the ground you made your way over to Fred to hug him properly. You were just so relieved that your favorite people made it out of yesterday alive and Fred sighed and hugged back.

"Y/N, this is 3 hugs in 24 hours. I'm starting to worry about your head. There isn't a hole in it is there?" Fred questioned and you rolled your eyes. You lifted your head and turned it to look at the other twin across the kitchen who stood with tea in his hand, gazing at both of you with a calm and content look on his face. You smiled at him before releasing his brother who gave your hair a ruffle as you turned to look up at him.

"Thanks for being okay." You smiled at him and his gaze softened a bit.

"Right back at you."

The rest of the morning was spent drinking tea and talking, thankful just to be alive. As the family woke up there was more relieved exchanges without the shock and stress that had been present the night before. You rarely left George's side besides to let him get changed and have a private talk with his brother. Eventually Ginny dragged you away to get you cleaned up and changed into clothes that weren't covered in blood and grime. As you walked away the boys began to gather around George. Ron looked at the twins expectantly with a glint in his eye.

"Well? Show us then!" He got out a bit excitedly. Harry smiled as well and Bill seemed to have some jitters. George smirked before a ring appeared in his fingers. It was modest but it was all he could afford and he knew it wouldn't make a difference to you anyway. The boys all shoved each other in excitement and Fred clasped a hand on George's shoulder.

"I know you know this already but I just want to remind you that if you hurt her, all of us wouldn't hesitate to beat you to bits." He smiled but there was not so much humor behind his statement. The rest of the boys mumbled in agreement. George gave them all a look.

"Okay, first of all, I nearly died yesterday. I think you could all stand to be a bit nicer to me."

"We all did, get over yourself buddy." Bill joked and George rolled his eyes.

"Second of all, How come I'm the one getting threatened? I'm your brother."He looked around the group.

"'Cause she's the favorite, obviously." Ron stated simply before leaving the group, Harry and Bill following him, both giving George a teasing smile before they left.

"I think that was rather rude." George grumbled, though there was no malice behind it. He looked over at his twin who simply shrugged and patted him on the back.

"Just the way it is. If you two were to break up, I'm pretty sure she's the one who stays in the family." Fred winked before heading out of the room as well and George took a second to look at the ring in his hand. He heard footsteps and quickly shoved it into his pocket. You appeared in the doorway, hair matted down with water and in comfy clothes, fuzzy socks adorning your feet.

From the doorway you smiled at George who beamed back at you. You felt around in your pocket for a moment where your hands were shoved and when your hand hit the hidden ring there you let out a breath. You stared at each other for a moment, just content to be near each other without thinking about the war for a moment, warm light filling the room and calm in the air, both planning on later asking the other to spend the rest of your lives together.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #hp #hp imagines #hp imagine #hp x reader #imagine #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley fluff #fluff #angst #weasley #x reader #oops

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kamino-blues · 3 years

Text

Peaceful Nights with The Bad Batch

Rating: PG! Just pure fluff <3

Warnings: None

Description: Headcanons on how the Bad Batch and their S/O unwind after a long day!

Tech

Late nights with Tech are extremely relaxing in your personal opinion

Tech tends to stay up late working on his projects, so often you would join him in the cockpit of the Havoc Marauder, sipping on your preferred beverage as you read on your datapad

You would usually read as you sat next your boyfriend in silence, and sometimes if you were bogged down with work you would work on battle reports

Tech likes to mutter while he works, and he’ll sometimes wave you over to show off what he is doing

Over time, you’ll start to doze off in your chair, the day finally catching up to you

Tech would look over after some time and let out a small chuckle, lifting you up bridal style to walk you back to his bunk

He absolutely loves it when you nuzzle your head into his chest, trying to get closer to him while in his arms

Tech would then place you on his bunk, and would try to go back to his project - but he could never say no when you asked him to stay with you

He likes to lay down next to you, pulling you into him with his hands gently placed on your back

Tech likes to keep his hands constantly moving, so he would trace shapes on your back, lulling you into sleep

He would analyze your sleeping face, memorizing how you look so that he could think back at how peaceful you look

With you Tech would actually get sleep, which is something that he did not get enough of

Echo

Your moments alone with Echo were some of the most wholesome times you had ever experienced

This man is a complete and utter sweetheart, and would do anything for you

He trusts you so much, and in turn he could fully relax around you

At night you both used this time to catch up from the past day, venting about whatever happened and joking about how things could have gone better

Echo would ask you to help him look over his cybernetics, helping him re-adjust wires so that he was more comfortable

He used to ask Tech to help him, but as you two got more intimate he preferred that you would do it instead

Often you would find yourself helping Echo by tightening portions of his mechanical legs, listening to him vent

Once you were done you would stand up and wrap him in your arms, pulling him tightly towards you

He would hesitant for a second, before wrapping his good arm around you, burying his head in your shoulder

Pulling away, you would lead him to his bunk, quickly getting in and opening your arms for him

He prefers to either be facing you or be the little spoon!

Echo loved the feeling of you pressed up against his back, you holding onto his chest

You ground him, and he absolutely loved that about you

You made his usually sleepless nights so much easier to handle, feeling safe in your arms

Wrecker

Evenings with Wrecker were usually chaotic at first If we are being honest

Coming off of adrenaline from the day, Wrecker tends to be extremely hyper

He would often work out because of this, and you would just sit and watch him lift Gonky in the main hull of the ship

You two would goof off, and a few times he had ended up placing you on Gonky, making you criss cross your legs as he lifted the both of you

This would only happen for a few reps though, before he would put Gonky down and pick you up, spinning you around

If he still had energy and the ship was landed on a planet, he would bring you outside, pulling you onto his back for a piggyback ride as he ran off the rest of his adrenaline

Its honestly a lot of fun, you having your arms around his neck you would often place a kiss on the back of head, making him laugh

Once you got back to the ship, you would let him clean off in the refresher as you laid in his bunk, holding Lula on your lap as you scrolled through your datapad

When he gets back he sits behind you, shifting you so that you are laying between his legs and your back is against his chest

You would automatically turn your datapad off, cuddling up against him

Wrecker was incredibly soft during these moments, his arms wrapped around you and his face buried in your hair

You both would often fall asleep in that position, but if you wanted to curl up Wrecker would shift, moving next to you and engulfing you in his arms

He is 100 percent a big spoon, and he radiates so much warmth that it is impossible to be uncomfortable when his arms are around you

Hunter

After a long day, Hunters senses are usually fried

He has a whole self care routine to try and relax, and you were a big part of helping him get comfortable

You would usually wear a spare pair of his blacks during the evening, helping to not overwhelm his senses (Plus he thought you looked amazing in them, he wished that you could wear them everyday instead of your uniform)

Sitting behind him, you would run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as he closed his eyes, leaning back towards you

You would continue in a peaceful state, silence overtaking both of you as you unwind from the long day you both had

After a while Hunter would shift, standing up and holding his hands out for you to grab

He would pull you up, bringing you in for a hug and resting his chin on top of your head

Hunter has amazing hugs, a feeling of safety always washing over you when he holds you in his arms

After a while he would pull away, grabbing your hand to lead you to his bunk

Hunter is usually the big spoon, holding onto you tightly as he rests his chin on top of your head

But when he is having a really bad day with his senses, he would rather have you facing him

He like it when he is laying on his back, having you wrapped up in one of his arms while you rest your head on his chest

You would often lay there awake for hours, just chatting and basking in each others presence

Crosshair

Moments alone with Crosshair were some of your absolute favorite

Seeing him lower his guard and relax honestly made your day

This was the time when you would see a side of him that no one else sees

He would often gently wrap you up in his arms, his chin resting on your forehead

Sometimes he would sway you both back and forth while holding you

You would often sit next to him, laying your head on his shoulder as he was finishing up cleaning his rifle

Crosshair knew you were watching his moves, so he slowed down what he usually did super quick to show you how he did it

No words were said in these moments, as you were both just relishing in the moment

When he was done, you would stand up, grabbing his hands to lead Cross to his bunk

Crosshair would get in first, and you would follow, him wrapping you up in his arms

He likes to press kisses onto your forehead, running his hands up and down your back

After a while he would flip you over, his long legs intertwining with yours as he pressed you up against him

You would both talk quietly for a while, until you start to nod off

Crosshair is usually a really light sleeper, but when you are with him he is able to get an actual full night of rest

#I can't believe that this week will mark the 10th episode of tbb #I'm going to miss having a show to watch on Fridays #I really think that Hunter would do spa days #give him a face mask #I might write that one day wait lmao #Hunter x Reader #Hunter #Tech x Reader #Tech #Crosshair x Reader #Crosshair #Wrecker x Reader #Wrecker #Echo x Reader #Echo #The Bad Batch x Reader #The Bad Batch #Tbb

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