#butcher nearly knocks him out and he fucking BARELY makes it back up to his feet and he stays HE STAYS WITH BUTCHER

[ex0rin]

Hughie Campbell | The Boys S02E02

#cara gifs #hughie campbell #butchie #the boys #i made so many versions of this set #but this is my fave version tbh #just how THREATENING butcher is by not being shown #all my faves are toxic babee #AND HUGHIE STAYS #butcher nearly knocks him out and he fucking BARELY makes it back up to his feet and he stays HE STAYS WITH BUTCHER #yeah babygirl you just keep on going back to him #take a few more hits #get roughed up #start using tempV #ruin your whole life #just for one fucking man #who manipulates the fuck out of you #i'm sure nothing bad will happen in the long run #to you or to anyone you care about #god i love how he stays the fuck down until butcher is gone #it's just #[chef's kiss] #anyone who thinks butchie isn't a toxic and abusive relationship didn't watch the same show as me #separate post with extra gifs incoming btw #see what it takes to make him leave you huh butcher #c'mon and hit him harder

[god1ngs]

━‎ end of the world

synopsis; a forbidden love told for generations

contains; human reader, major character death, swearing, mentions of war, spoilers

god c!technoblade / reader, 3.4k wc

note; the title doesn't make much sense but whatever lol ,, this is for @mayasimagines 's 600 event! congratulations and i hope you like this :)

   throughout the fall of countries, the crumbling of empires, there stood a man. he gazed upon the vast land, the grass stained red. buildings had crashed down, debris staining the area around them. they layed in heaps of piles, taller than most. the fallen down buildings had been a sign of the empire's loss.

   there was no one alive to commemorate the loss however.

   screaming rung inside of his head, shouting and yelling, with some other tones mixed in. displeased and ecstatic and mocking tones blended together, sounds of chaos lingering in the mind of the man. he only sighed, walking away from the destroyed country.

   he's seen this happen too many times before, the repetitive cycle of watching a country build itself only to come crashing down years later. they never lasted long. always the one for chaos, he sometimes participated in the destruction of the countries, though most times he didn't need to.

   humans were savage, brutal creatures who only cared about themselves. by studying their nature, the way they go about certain scenarios, he had figured out that much. selfish, twisted beings who would betray each other in a heartbeat. all it took was more wealth or a promise of better gear.

   how easily swayed they were. technoblade sneered, his red cape dragging beneath him as he stalked the hallways. pillars of quartz, chipped at the edges from years of standing, lined the hallway. they reached the ceiling, some even going higher. the magnificent red carpet he stalked down had ended at a throne.

   a throne made of gold, the shiniest material he could get his servants to find. emeralds and diamonds and rubies lined the top of it, the same jewels lining the gold of his crown. at last, he sat down, the voices calming down at the familiar seating area. they always got loud whenever there was destruction.

   technoblade, the blood god. also known as the god of war and chaos to many, he wasn't very popular among the peaceful people. people often worshipped him for protection, to which he rarely granted. protection from him, a god of war, was seldom. often he didn't care about the hunans enough to waste his protection on them.

   yet, one mortal, had caught his eye. they were nothing too special, middle class and usually someone technoblade wouldn't even spare a glance at. they were different though. they outshined any ray of sun, their smile proving to be the brighter of the two. he found them, despite all odds, very interesting.

   later, after wine and more sparring, the man had caught wind of philza coming over. philza, the angel of death, had been one of technoblade's good allies, even so far as to consider the blond a friend. he brought saints to their knees in their final moments, allowing them either an eternity in hell or a peaceful life above.

   he wanted to meet them, and technoblade always gets what he wants.

   even before technoblade had become the god he is now, forever cursed to watch humanity rip itself apart, he knew philza. the two fought wars together, never straying from their path of loyalty. the blond perched himself on the windowsill, his striking white wings folding on his back, as he smiled at the other. "hello technoblade." he greeted, ever the polite man.

   technoblade only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused grin. "please, phil," he drawled, looking from his red wine to the angel of death. "no need for the formalities. just call me techno." the blond threw his head back with a laugh, wide smile painting his features as the other chuckled. "of course, mate."

   silence washed over the pair for a moment, a comforting silence that allowed them to bask in the moment od seeing each other. they didn't get to visit often, one thing they mutually hated about being in the sky palace, usually swamped with other duties. philza with guiding people to the afterlife, and technoblade with causing conflict.

   "i actually wanted to talk about somethin' with ya, mate." phil broke the silence, hopping off of the marble windowsill to come lean against one of the pillars. the pink haired man, ever so interested, hummed questionably. "and what did you want to speak to me about? come on, spit it out." the man said, looking down at philza.

   he sighed, glancing up at technoblade. "you've been acting off, mate. less wars are starting, and that's weird for you. i know you also started protecting that one mortal. fuck, what was their name?" he murmured, brows furrowed. technoblade sighed in annoyance, not wanting to be pestered with questions.

   "[name]." he answered phil quietly, not bothering to look back at the blond man. the clouds danced with each other in the sky, entertwining and morphing with each other freely. sometimes he wishes he could be as free as the clouds. "you know," phil said, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. the blood god could only dread what he was going to say. "rumor has it that gods only protect mortals they're interested in."

   the teasing, despite only being light hearted, had a quizzical undertone. while technoblade had been acting strange, protecting somebody was something phil had never expected. either something was special about that mortal and their family, or someone had begun fantasizing. he could only hope it wasn't the latter.

   with more conversation, technoblade denying any feelings blooming for a human, phil left to go do his job. he was alone with his thoughts, the voices making him tug at his own hair to keep them quiet. they craved the mortal, despite how much he willed himself to stay in his throne room, the man had to go see them.

   it was a normal day for you. nothing was different, much less weird. it was only normal, a basket of bread in your hands as you walked home. you hummed as you stepped on the path, enjoying the peaceful walk back to your house. you were content with your life, having a few people and more deaths than you could count.

   and see them he would.

   you partially blamed philza, the angel of death, for the passing of your loved ones, but you also knew he wasn't the one to kill them. he simply took them to the afterlife, guiding them to where they would spend the rest of their days. the deaths in your family had piled up, mostly from war and some of falling ill.

   you spent your days worshipping gods now. you were always the lonely type, choosing to stay by yourself rather than interact with others. you never minded the comforting embrace of being alone, the silence enveloping you at every given moment. it provided you with a sense of comfort you couldn't get anywhere else.

   while you did worship other gods, you mostly worshipped technoblade. he was the primary god, you giving up all your offerings to him ─ ranging from bread to trinkets to gold galore. the tales of the blood god, always grand stories with daring adventures that had you on the edge of your seat, had always intrigued you.

   your favorite, the one you read the most to the slim amount of people you did contact, was the tale of the butcher army. when he was human, a detail that many didn't know whether to believe or not, he blew up many countries. it hinted at the start of him being the god of war many years later. for punishment, the butcher army hunted him down.

   they lied to the man, once they had captured him, in which they had prepared for his execution. some say he died that day, only to be revived due to the gods holy whim; others say he had never died, and broke out of the iron bars to kill the men who had hunted him down. learning about the magnificent god, a god you admired, had faced an army of four and won, allowed you to admire him even further.

   once you got home, setting down your basket of bread, you had sighed. you always liked coming home, your safe space filling you with a joy like no other. the everlasting comfort of your home, a familiar place you longed to be at constantly, helped you feel safe. the comforting feeling of being home at last filled you at peace.

   until it wasn't so peaceful anymore.

   from your kitchen came a clanging noise. there were a few grunts followed afterwards, your eyes wide. fear flooded your system, nervousness coursing through your veins. you stayed silent, hoping you'd either been dreaming or had been imagining sounds. however, once a voice spoke, you knew that was not the case.

   from your kitchen came, with his red cape dragging behind him, technoblade. you stammered, confusion replacing your previous nervousness. your grip came loose on the item you were holding, not being able to process what you were seeing. "well this is awkward." the god stated, putting your kitchen utensils he had just knocked down back on your counter.

   if anything, this was awkward. very awkward. who expected a god to come through their kitchen window? "uh, do you," you stuttered, voice measily yet you still tried to fight it out. "do you mind telling me why you're here?" it was more than odd to see a god in your kitchen, the sight one hard to believe for even yourself.

   technoblade had sighed, draping himself over your couch cushions as if he lived there. his arms, unlike your bare ones, spread across the back of your couch, the sight making you nearly sigh. "well, mortal, i had taken intrest in you." he answered bluntly, your mind still reeling from the fact that he was even here, but taking interest in you? no, this had to be some kind of joke.

   the visible confusion highlighting your features made the god chuckle. it was amusing, seeing the looks on mortals' faces whenever something odd or unexplainable happened. "what's so confusing? i took interest in you, and so i came down here to see you." the blood god explained, shrugging his shoulders. the confusion you felt only worsened.

   why was the question. why was a god in your house? why had he taken interest in you? you shook your head, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "sorry, i need to sit down." you muttered, trying to regain your footing. you sat down, going slowly as to not pass out in front of him. "so," you spoke up as soon as you had calmed down. "why have you taken interest in me?"

   a cloud of silence loomed over the two of you, technoblade falling into his thoughts. why had he taken interest in you? there was no particular shining traits in you, even if he studied you as if you had carved out the world with your own hands; he watched you as if you had brung down a fantastic reign upon everybody.

   "who knows?" he wondered aloud, a hum of amusement following his words. technoblade didn't know the reason for it, and despite itching with curiosity, he didn't bother trying to find out. he only let it be, coming to terms with the fact that you, a mortal, had piqued his interest. you kept him entertained, and that's all that mattered.

   after the two of you talking more, you still trying to get over the shock that the blood god was in your home, you had to say that he was fairly a nice guy. maybe he was kinder than all of the other ones, however you've never crossed paths with a god either, so you couldn't tell. when technoblade had stood up, braided hair falling against your couch, you knew it was time for him to go.

   he turned to look down on you, his towering figure highly intimidating. there was a reason he was feared across nations. he stared at you for a second, maybe deciding on what to say, though you couldn't tell with his blank expression. the man only sighed, wishing you a good day, and then turned to leave.

   "you've got me interested, technoblade."

   you only spoke to the god more after the first encounter. seconds turned into minutes and then minutes turned to hours. he was an interesting guy, choosing which emotion to show and when to show it. perhaps it came with being a god. as he came by more, each visit surprising you, you only talked to him more.

   "as you've got me, [name]."

   soon he started telling you stories. the butcher army, the l'manberg war, how he met philza. he told you great things of philza, the angel of death, so much so you nearly stopped disliking philza. you were always interested in his stories though, no matter how long or how action packed. each further lured you in to his grasp.

   technoblade, however, had stopped visiting so often. with more conflict arising everyday, he didn't have as much time to visit you anymore ─ philza was starting to catch on as well. how he wasn't home as often or how he lied to philza each time he asked him where he was. he was getting suspicious, and wanted answers quickly.

   philza confronted technoblade on this issue a while later. his wings puffed up confidently, he was so sure something was going on with his eldest friends, the edges torn at the seams. "technoblade." he addressed politely, standing in front of his throne once again, as he did not so long ago. he would get answers out of him.

   technoblade only sighed, his cheek pressed against his closed fists as he stared at philza. "yes, philza?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. the recent wars, as much as he loved the excitement and panic that came with it, have been too tiring for him. he also couldn't visit you that morning, only pissing him off more.

   "have you been seeing the mortal you told me you had interest in?"

   silence crashed over the room, violent in its malicious intent. phil's questioned nipped at the blood god, desperately pleading for an answer. philza sighed, one of disappointment and perhaps even anger. the silence was enough of an answer. "mate, are you kidding me?"

   technoblade merely sighed, eyes narrowing at the blond. "you have no say on who i take interest in, phil. that is none of your concern." he dismissed the blond, turning back to look at the window. philza had no say in what technoblade done with his life, no matter how long the two have been friends.

   "none of my concern? mate, they're a mortal and you're a god! hell, the blood god! for fucks sake, mate, you can't be seeing mortals!" philza snapped, brows furrowed and cheeks red from anger. the trouble a god could get in from seeing a mortal was irredeemable.

   if technoblade got caught with the mortal, he would lose not only his titles, but his life. he would be executed.

   technoblade merely scoffed however, rolling his eyes. "as if i'll get caught, philza. those laws are stupid anyways. what, are you going to tell on me?" he arched his brows at the angel of death, sneering at him. how dare he barge into his temple and then go off at him; a beloved friend of his.

   however, the mortal was too intresting to not keep seeing. he may of even caught feelings. how laughable ─ the blood god, feared across empires, falling for a mere mortal. philza only sighed, rubbing his temples. he weighed his options: technoblade could continue seeing the mortal, get caught, and then both of them get in trouble.

   or philza could tell the council. tell them of his affairs, tell them why he hasn't been here as often. once more, a vicious silence swept over them. only for a moment, for philza had declared:

   "if you don't stop seeing this mortal, i'll have no choice but to stop it. don't make me do it, mate."

   his evening visit was late that night. you had already prepared dinner, setting it up for when he was to arrive. from what he's told you, he hasn't had human food in a long time. he told you that gods didn't need to eat nor sleep. you had decided to make him food for when he comes, wanting him to have food even if he doesn't need it.

   the gust of wind from deceiving angel wings swept across his face. messy hair cascaded over his face, and for once, the blood god had found a problem he didn't know he could solve.

   ten minutes. twenty minutes. thirty minutes. you sighed at the mocking tick of the clock, each passing second being another sign that he wasn't going to come. perhaps he had better things to do. frowning, you began to gather the food up, knowing you wouldn't eat it all, before the familiar two knocks came at your door.

   rushing over, once you had opened it, you were surprised to see something different than you were used to.

   technoblade was there, but he looked different. more angry, perhaps even upset.

   worried, you frowned at the god. "are you okay?" you asked, hoping the man was alright. the god only nodded, staring at the ground. he came back to you after a moment of silence, sighing. "yes, just got caught up in some things. nothing for you to be concerned of." he said, brushing you off before you could even speak.

   when technoblade had gone back to his temple, rubbing his temples with a sigh, something unexpected had greeted him. there was philza, perched on the window with a firm look of coldness. "visiting the mortal again, were you, mate?" he asked once he had came into view. technoblade had half a mind to tell him to fuck off.

   that night provided a great distraction from what would come the following days.

   no words were spoken from technoblade afterwards. the betrayal of another friend, a promise to do something about his meetings, had wounded him. he didn't want to lose philza, but also had begun to realise something ─ he had caught feelings for the mortal.

   for you, who had been the sunshine on his darkest days. call it a cliche, but technoblade truly didn't know happiness if you weren't by his side. having watched countless deaths and falls of kingdoms over the many, many years of being alive, the man had never found as great of a comfort than by your side. you were the sun to his moon, a forever shining force to his immortal darkness.

   though the moon and sun are destined to never touch.

   that night, philza had technoblade bring him to your house under promise of telling the council. they had shown up to your house late at night, when the world was asleep. it had been abrupt, the two males coming into your home. you were shaking, scared as to what this meant. the angel of death and the blood god inside your home could mean nothing good.

   and you were right. that night, that forsaken night, technoblade had been cursed in front of your eyes. the wide eyed look on his face, the shock of what a former friend could do. you tried to reach out for him, but were stopped by philza. he permitted you to stay still, or else your blood would be on your walls.

   "technoblade, the blood god and the god of war, i hereby sentence you to an eternity of reincarnation. as long as you are alive, your lover, [name] [last name], will be killed and reincarnated. only ever letting you get close enough to hardly touch them."

   your words were caught in your throat, the cruel punishment knocking the wind out of you. philza's eyes shone, bright in an unholy way, rising up with his wings behind him. technoblade had felt the burning sensation of a marking, a forever sign of the curse, on the side of his neck. a flower had been burnt into the side of his neck, your favorite flower.

   "i'm sorry, technoblade." were the last words you heard before a sword made of light had stabbed through your stomach.

   the blood god had frantically scooped up your body in his arms, panicking for the first time since you've seen him. he tried to get you to say anything, although the words were too hard to say, no matter how hard you tried to get them out. he reassured you would be okay, despite knowing the inevitable would happen.

   "you should've listened to him ... heh, you're a dumbass, you know that?"

   you took your last breath seconds later.

#dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyts x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade imagines #technoblade x reader #dream smp techno #technoblade x y/n #angst #c!technoblade x reader #( ♡ ) + bones writes #( ♡ ) + oneshots

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉⑆⑉

A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

#dean winchester #micheal novak #Micheal!Dean #chuck shurley #lucifer #castiel #gabriel #peaky blinder au #oldtime #spnquotebingo #supernatural #micheal novak x male!reader #male!reader #gangster!reader #mafia!micheal #strangers to lovers #arranged marriage #love at first gore #love at first murderer #gay #m/m couple

[thelastspeecher]

A New Inconvenience

Wrote some more for the Marriage of Convenience AU.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford walked through the front door.  He smiled at the already familiar sight of Stan playing with Orion and Iris in the living room.

              “Hello, my dears,” he cooed, kneeling by his children. Orion and Iris promptly latched onto him, embracing him as tightly as their tiny arms could manage.  “Did you have a good day with Uncle Stan?”

              “Miss Dada,” Orion mumbled.  Ford kissed the top of his son’s head.

              “I missed you as well.”

              “Uncy Stan took good care of ‘em, don’t worry,” Stan said breezily.  Ford scowled at him.  “What?”

              “How many times must I tell you to stop using improper language?”

              “I didn’t swear!”

              “No, you just completely butchered a word.”

              “You act like me calling myself Uncy Stan is gonna permanently screw up the way they talk or something,” Stan scoffed.  Iris tugged on Ford’s shirt.  Glad for the distraction, Ford smiled at his daughter.

              “Yes, Iris?”

              “Mama sad.”

              “…Pardon?”

              “Oh, yeah,” Stan said, nodding.  “Angie came in a bit ago, looking pretty upset.” Ford’s blood ran cold.

              “She had a doctor appointment today,” he said quietly.  Stan’s eyes widened.

              “Shi- shoot.  Maybe she just hates the doc?”

              “No.  She’s very upbeat after doctor’s appointments.”  Ford rose to his feet.  “I’m going to speak with your mother, continue playing with Uncle Stan.” Orion and Iris looked disappointed, but toddled back to Stan.

              Ford strode quickly down the hall, past the twins’ nursery and the guest room Stan had officially moved into, until he arrived at the room he shared with Angie.  The door was ajar.  Ford slowly opened it.  Angie sat on their bed.  To his relief, she didn’t seem particularly distressed, the way he’d imagine she would if she got bad news from the doctor.  She looked more conflicted, as though she hadn’t decided her feelings.

              “Angie?” he said tentatively.  Angie looked up.  She managed a weak smile.

              “Stanford.”

              “Stan told me you seemed upset after your doctor’s appointment.”  Ford crossed over to the bed and sat next to his wife.  “Is everything all right?”

              “Depends on how you define it.”

              “Angie, please don’t beat around the bush.”

              “Remember what we were doin’ ‘fore Stan showed up?” Angie asked, ignoring Ford’s request.  “How we were plannin’ to add more to our fam’ly?”

              “Yes.  But we stopped after Stan arrived.”

              “Well.  It didn’t make much of a dif’rence.”

              “Oh.  Oh, no.” Ford’s heart sunk.  “No.  You’re-”

              “I’m pregnant.”

              “We were only trying for a week!”

              “That’s all it takes, sometimes.”  Angie was maddeningly calm, but then again, she wanted a big family.  Ford pushed back the reminder that, before Stan showed up, he had also wanted a third child, hoping that having another baby would improve his marriage like the twins had.  “All I can say is I hope it ain’t twins again.  I love Orion ‘n Iris, but carryin’ two babies at once is rough.”

              “How could this have happened?” Ford moaned, putting his head in his hands.

              “You know.  You were there.”

              “Why are you taking this so well?” Ford snapped. Angie crossed her legs, tilting her head thoughtfully.

              “Well, I figure, can’t do much ‘bout it now. Stressin’ will only make things more difficult on me and the baby.”

              Yes.  Stress was the source of some of her complications with the twins.  Ford closed his eyes, terror suddenly surging through him.  Angie’s first pregnancy had been difficult for them both.  It might make me a coward, but I don’t know if I can do that again.

              “Stanford?”  A hand was gently placed on Ford’s back.  “Talk to me.”

              “I…”  Ford stood up.  “I think I need to go for a walk and clear my head.”

              “All right.”  Angie continued to be infuriatingly level-headed.  “But durin’ this walk, please don’t grab one of yer cigarettes that ya think ya keep hidden so well from me.  I can barely tolerate that smoke smell when I’m not pregnant.”

              “I recall.”  Ford frowned at her.  “You knew I picked up smoking again?”

              “Oh, darlin’, yer not nearly as sneaky as ya think ya are,” Angie said with a smile.  Ford managed a small smile of his own.  He leaned over to kiss Angie on the cheek.

              “I’ll be back shortly.  And I won’t smell of cigarette smoke.”

              “Thank you, dear.”  Ford left the bedroom and headed for the front door.  Before he could leave the house, however, Stan, still supervising the children in the living room, spoke up.

              “What’s going on, Sixer?”

              “Oh.  Well…” Ford looked over at his twin. Stan was uncharacteristically nervous.

              But then again, he’s quite fond of Angie.  Who wouldn’t be?

              “Angie’s fine.  She just got some unexpected news.  I’m going to go on a walk.  I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

              “Oh.  Okay. Uh, have a good walk, I guess.”

              “I’ll do my best.”  Ford walked outside, down the front steps, and began to make his way down the street.  He hadn’t even gotten a block away, however, when there was a shout behind him.

              “Hey, Ford, wait up!”  Ford looked over his shoulder.  Stan had left the house as well and was jogging to catch up with him. “Figured you could use a walking buddy,” Stan said once he was by Ford’s side.

              “The children-”

              “Angie said she was gonna watch ‘em.”  Stan cocked his head curiously.  “You seem pretty high-strung right now.  What’s going on?”

              “I…”  Ford sighed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to walk again.  Stan began to walk as well.  “Angie’s pregnant.”

              “Oh.”  Stan blinked. “Okay.  Not what I was expecting.  But why are you in the same boat as me?  I thought you said that the only reason you and Angie knock boots is to have kids.”

              “You showed up, resulting in us ceasing our…conception attempts after only a week.”

              “Ford, it only takes one time.”

              “I know!” Ford burst out.

              “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Stan said soothingly. He put his arm around Ford’s shoulders. “Do you not want another kid?”

              “I honestly don’t know, Stanley.”

              “You clearly wanted one at some point.”

              “I…”  Ford’s head drooped.  “I didn’t. Not really.”

              “Then why the hell were you trying to have one?”

              “…I don’t want to tell you.”

              “C’mon.  I’m not gonna judge you.  You have the authority to kick me outta your guest room.”

              “I thought it would benefit my marriage,” Ford mumbled.  Stan came to a sudden stop, staring at Ford.  Ford stopped as well.  “What?”

              “You- you wanted to have another kid because your marriage was on the rocks?” Stan whispered.

              “Well, to be fair, the conclusion was rooted in evidence.  Angie and I struggled a lot our first year of marriage, but when Orion and Iris were born, our relationship became much better.”  Ford shrugged.  “Recently, we started arguing over minor matters, becoming frustrated, even sleeping in separate beds.  I merely decided to revisit a potential solution that I knew worked.”

              “Stanford, you decided to have a baby just to save your relationship.  That’s- that’s fucked up.”

              “What happened to not judging me?”

              “I said that ‘cause I didn’t think you’d do something so damn stupid!  You wanted to make another human being.  Because you were fighting with your wife.”

              “What’s done is done, Stanley,” Ford snapped.  “I can’t reverse it.”  He could feel hot shame pulsing through his body.  Until Stan had pointed it out, he hadn’t considered how careless the decision to have another child was.

              He’s right.

              “I mean…”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  He looked away awkwardly.  “It’s early enough that if you want, you could reverse the baby.”

              “You- you mean Angie terminating the pregnancy.”

              “…Yeah.”

              “Even if I wanted to do that, which I don’t, Angie never would.  She’s not against others doing that, but she personally won’t.”  The issue had come up when Angie was pregnant with Orion and Iris. The doctor voiced some concern over Angie’s low weight and nutrient levels, and suggested they reduce the twins to a singleton.  Ford had to stop Angie from slapping the doctor.

              “Fine.  What about adoption?” Stan suggested.  “I bet there are a lot of people out there who would love to have a smart, cute kid. I know I would.”

              “Give up my child?”  Ford thought back to the day that Orion and Iris were born.  The surge of love and happiness at seeing their extra fingers and toes.  How thrilled he’d been to see the distinctive birthmark on Orion’s back that resulted in his name.  Running his fingers through Iris’s bright red hair for the first time.

              If I gave up my child, I’d give that up, too. Like a prophetic vision, images came to Ford’s mind.  A newborn girl with Angie’s nose and his eyes, wispy brown hair, and a laugh that could melt the stoniest of hearts.  Tears sprang to Ford’s eyes.  I can’t even stand the idea of missing out on my third child’s life. When the day comes, I’d never be able to place her or him for adoption.

              “No,” Ford said finally.  He shook his head.  “No, I can’t do that.”

              “Sounds like you made up your mind, then,” Stan said.

              “Heh.”  Ford managed a small smile.  “I suppose I did.”  He looked at Stan.  “Thank you, Stanley.”

              “Hey, I’m here to help you and Angie out,” Stan said with a shrug.  “This is just part of that.”  He grinned. “And if I get a new niece or nephew outta this, I’m not gonna complain.”

              “Even though, as the live-in nanny, you’ll be responsible for her or his care once Angie and I run out of parental leave.”

              “Eh, I can handle it,” Stan said confidently. Ford raised an eyebrow.

              “Newborns are very different from toddlers, you know.”

              “Angie can show me the ropes before I ever get left alone with the kid.”  Ford bristled instinctively.

              “Angie and I split responsibilities evenly. Just because she’s a woman, I won’t be saddling her with the majority of childcare.”

              “Whoa, I didn’t mean it like that!” Stan said, holding his hands up in defeat.  “I just- Angie’s- Angie’s pretty great.  And- and maternity leave is longer than paternity leave anyways, right?  She’ll probably be spending more time at home than you.”

              “Yes, she will have more time off than I,” Ford confirmed.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, that’s what I was getting at.”  Stan cleared his throat.  “Anyways, uh, we should probably get back.  Orion and Iris get fussy around this time.”  Ford nodded.

              “That sounds like a good idea.”  He and Stan turned around and began to walk back home. “Angie and I will have to come up with some names.”

              “Easy.  Stanley.”

              “What if it’s a girl?” Ford asked, genuinely concerned about what Stan would say.  The answer was immediate.

              “Staniella.”

              “And you claim Orion is bad.”

#jafnskldfna the title I went with for this ficlet. I'm a big fan lmao. #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Marriage of Convenience AU #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

[katerix]

(How old is New Vegas? And it’s still my fav part! I feel like I need more Raul content even after all these years🥺)

Drink with the living dead

Characters: Raul Tejada x Reader Summary:  Courier and her companion returned to New Vegas after a long wandering to get a drink and gamble, but faced serious inhospitality. Six was not ready to leave her friend behind, so they changed their plans. Warnings: - Words: 2781

***

It was almost half past midday, when a dusty dirty road to New Vegas welcomed the wanderers with just another sandstorm without any declaration of war. Courier’s mirror aviator sunglasses could hardly stand that gusts of winds, so she decided to hide it in the pocket of her jacket until the better times. Six and her ghoul-companion were on foot for nearly five hours, and now the hightower of «Lucky 38» looked huge in contradiction from its look an hour ago.

It was not their first visit to New Vegas, but every time she saw a glowing and sparkling casino’s signs, she was bringing up the idea of going there and wasting an evening gambling and drinking. Just like everyone does. The fact that she spent here some time, passing all the entertaining places by, met with Mr. House and performed several missions for NCR ambassador, but still never took a break to try some of those things, these poor fellows from all Mojave wasteland were arriving for - was a crime by its definition.

Coddling this thought, Courier continued to trudge the nasty weather, until they walked up to the Northern gates of Freeside.

- What’s the plan when we reach Strip, boss? - asked Raul, shaking his dull-green jumpsuit down: it all was full of pervasive grains of sand, as well as the girl’s clothes.

- At first I wanna visit the «Lucky 38» apartment and change the outfit, then go to the bar and win big in the kazino!

- Perfect plan, chief, ironclad like my revolver. - the ghoul was sarcastic as usual, but didn’t evince any sight of disagreement.

When she turned around to continue movement, he added: “Wait, amigo, there's a tuft of straw stuck under your collar.” - and carefully extracted an annoying piece of flora, stuck to during the storm.

“Gracias!” - Six smiled widely and made a fast gesture of gratitude with her hand. Without wasting time, they passed heavy metallic gates.

Freeside met companions with a funky, stinking smell. She still couldn't get used to it. Dusty air seemed to mar the cityscape: it looked much pale and lighter than from the outside. Just fifteen minutes and they’ll reach the destination. The picture couldn’t be called unusual for this time of the day in this part of town: one or two shabby hobos against the dingy walls, kids in wrecked clothes playing a tag-game in the area of the «Mick & Ralph's», random citizens with roving glances, sneaking around, wasting their time in an idle attempts to figure out how to spend their life in this Dump. On the other hand, there are many places where people live even worse: take a look at Westside, for instance.

«What a hopeless sight, - thought the girl. - Hope the Followers are really able to do something about this in the future».

- Something on your mind, boss? - it felt like nothing could hide from Raul’s inquisitive look.

- Just thinking. I find this picture quite dismal, like there’s no tomorrow, and humanity is still doomed. Like there’s no chance to restore life, as it was before.

- When we are on the road again, I’ll tell you about the Football Cup in Mexico, if you like to hear another one “before the Bomb” story. - he obviously picked up on her mood and decided to cheer up the girl, carefully diverting the theme.

- I do. Have you attended it?

- Sure thing. That was a big day. We drove to the capital to see it with our own eyes.

- Sounds pretty good! Let’s not ruin the intrigue.

- You asked.

They passed a small cross-road, which didn't have to be called like that anymore, as it was just one of the ghosts of the past with it’s burned skeletons of cars, left here motionless as evidence of human lost ambitions. The air in this part of the town was stale, despite the fact that they were in the streets, the smell of some broiling meat and spoiled vegetables was sticky like an ant's nectar. Sudden wild cryings and shouts were heard from the nearest dead end. 

One glance was enough to understand that the Kings had cornered swashers, their prey, who were too fucked up and all-fired sure of themselves to attack the town’s main showrunners just a couple of minutes ago. And the Courier was not going to do anything about that: she herself was nearly butchered by one of them, shown up from nowhere. If it was not her loyal companion who dealt with it with one precise shot, she, probably, would be dead by now.

It took more than ten minutes to cover the distance between the East and Strip gates - right now there was no reason to hurry. As they got closer, the protectrons took up their positions immediately. One of them articulated “Move along” with a familiar metallic cold of lifeless voice of his, when companions were passing by.

“Never liked these guys. They are like slow mines: you never know what they do the next second.” - grunted out the Courier, as two of them found themselves on the first line of the Strip between “Lucky 38” and “Gomorrah”.

“Hey, so who is an old one here?” - the ghoul chuckled in response.

She went ahead, so he could never see how her lips slightly bended in a ready-to-laugh smile.

***

Presidential luxe met nomads with a deep, wrapping silence of a broad, gloomy space. This was definitely not the place a person could wish to stay in: walls with, once being gorgeous - now - greasy dark-wine wallpapers were giving an oppressive feeling. Six was happy that they didn’t have to stay here for long. Only to sleep or change the outfit maybe.

She got near to the wardrobe in her room, where the majority of things, accumulated during the long travels, were stored. Took out two dresses, went to the guest-room with a billiards. Raul was civilly waiting for her there.

- What you think? Which one?

He raised up his head, looked from under the sunglasses for several seconds, examining, and answered in a casual tone:

- It’s really up to you, boss. - made a pause, then added, like a little confused: - But I like the pink one. Might look graceful.

- Great! Exactly the one I wanted to pick.

The ghoul just gave her a hesitant nod, wondering if she noticed that detail. Courier went back to her sleeping-room and returned after some minutes, informing: “Ready to go! The next stop is “Ultra-Luxe”, yee-haw!”

***

After a while they were in the street again. All they needed was just to reach the second line of the Strip and pass a hundred meters to the “Ultra-Luxe”. Lots of NCR soldiers were hanging around, goofing off, as long as they had a chance, and indulging in lust in the nearest private clubs. Nothing unexpectable. When they passed by a small group of drunk, barely balancing on their feet big guys, Six suddenly heard a hushed voice from behind her back, addressing his teammates. “Do they let ghouls on the Strip now? Perfect, let’s make it a spooky ghost-town.”

“Yeah. That’s why civilization will start floating away again. Our attempts are meaningless.”

Only just Courier wanted to turn around and shout out something to those sons of a b or event take out a gun and shoot beneath their feet, Raul caught her arm:

- Hey, hey, calm down, that’s okay. NCRs are many here, you know, even for a dashing rider like you, boss. Even with me backing you up. From behind the farthest stone.

- But we can’t simply swallow that shit, Raul!

He just spreaded his hands:

- Fine, then go shoot them and be killed by protectrones because of two drunk idiots. Very helpful, chief. I’ll stay all alone, without my beloved companion but with a protected pride. Thank’s.

Six stood still for some seconds and nodded after that.

- Fine. Whatever.

Then merely continued walking in the direction of the cazino. The ghoul hesitated for a bit. He understood that she was acting out of good intentions and she just wanted to protect her partner, as she was the one who had a right of speech here. And that made his heart melt and he was silently praising her for that, because nobody seemed to do anything like that for him in a while. But picking a fight with these dummies, who fill the streets of Strip like water fills the canyon, was not wise.

“Sorry for that, Niña. I really appreciate what you do. I just don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. You don’t notice, but there are often lots of sidelong looks and hardly heard whisperings along the way. I'm used to it and don’t want it to affect you.” - he tried to lighten things up.

The girl turned her head a bit just for him to see her glance softening.

- Let’s just reach the bar and relax.

*** 

An unexpected trouble struck them further - black line has not ended yet. Courier already picked her place at the bar desk in the distant hall and ordered a glass of whiskey, when a bartendress leaned over and said in a low tone:

“I’m sorry, but here, in “Ultra-Luxe”, we serve only the citizens and guests of the Strip. I’m able to bring a drink only for you, ma’m.”

That was the last drop of her patience. The girl slowly raised her head at the bartendress, ready to blow up, and responded:

- Are you fucking kidding me?

- That’s the rule. I don’t need problems. You can ask any guard or another worker.

She bowed her head and gave a fast hidden glance at her ghoul-companion. He was sitting there next to her and looking straight at his arms crossed on the desk, like he had nothing to do with it. But he, of course, heard every word. His eyes weren't moving, just a finger was slightly knocking the air, producing a rhythm he alone knew. Six couldn’t even imagine what her friend might feel at the moments like that. An anger came upon her.

“Are you all that scumbags here? Keep your drinks for acceptable ones. Ma’m.” - the girl said, getting up from her barstool and heading towards the exit.

Raul stood up without a word and, as he always did, followed Courier. He had mixed emotions. On the one hand he was glad they left that place and that Six is such a kind and loyal partner, but on the other hand he felt a little guilty for himself. After all, it was him who was the reason for such inhospitality in some kind of place. Even now she couldn’t get what she wished for so hard. Her idea of “winning big” in the kazino seemed to be falling apart, as together they won’t be even let to the gambling table. And she, obviously, won’t leave him in the street and have fun on her own, and an old ghoul didn’t want to be a ball and chain.

- Boss? Are you sure we need to leave? Maybe you’d better stay there? And I’d wait for you somewhere else or go back to “Lucky 38”. Fresh air won’t do any harm for my old lungs.

- What are you even talking about? You know, even the best drink worth nothing, if there’s no one to share it with.

- You have a heart of gold, chiff. - these words came fast, in an undertone, as if he was embarrassed, - Well, I saw a small sign in Freeside. I believe we’ve never been in that part of the city before.

- Hope it’s not an «Atomic Wrangler».

- Nope.

- Great! You lead. They passed the ruins, generously spread all over the suburbs, while every their step sounded louder thanks to trash, small pieces of brick and other rubbish. The sun was already going down and the heat was getting less intense.

Finally they reached a small inconspicuous wooden door. Only a little sign next to it represented that place as a bar.

As they entered, nothing changed. There was not much to be changed. There were no crowds of gamblers, no fancy casino machines and no shiny-polished bar desk. Bartender was a man in old ragged clothes, probably in his late fifties. He was slowly wiping cut glasses with a gray dusty piece of fabric full of holes.

When the companions stepped in the room he just looked up at them without raising up his head and got back to his plain, simple activity. There were not many customers besides the two of them. A woman was sleeping on the table in the far corner - her head rested on her arms while her shoulders were calmly going up and down. Another guest settled down at the edge of the bar desk.

“Fancy,” - giggled the girl.

“Ah, let’s get down. Ladies first.” - Raul just waved his hand.

Six made a few steps in the direction of the bar desk and sat down, Raul followed her.

“Barman! Two beers, please”. - she laid some bottle caps in front of him.

The barkeeper took them and then put two opened bottles onto the surface.

“Bon appetit.”

Courier took her bottle up and clinked it loudly with Rauls one. His soft non-blinking sight of half closed eyes was locked on hers, while he made a sip. His heart always went pop when it felt like there were just two of them in the world, though he never showed that.

Raul looked around and suddenly his eyes stopped on a guitar lurked behind the racks.

“Hey, can I…?”

The barman followed ghoul’s gaze and shrugged his shoulders: “This piece of wood? Be my guest.”

In the next second he was on his feet. The courier raised her eyebrows as she almost forgot if she saw him that agile. Raul approached the metal shelves, put aside some garbage and waste paper, then carefully extracted the instrument and blew away the dust.

Six and the bartender were watching him closely. The ghoul got back to his chair, sat down crossing his legs to position the guitar more comfortably. Then pulled the first string to check out the tuning. It was no surprise that it was out of tune, so the next minute Raul spent trying to fix the instrument.

When everything, as he thought, was ready, he played a couple of notes in fingerstyle to flex some life back into his fingers. After nearly 200 years the skill was obviously weakened.

“I didn’t know that you could play the guitar.” - said the girl.

“Sure you didn’t. I never told about that.” - he looked back at her with a little smirk, - “What was the point if there were no music instruments left anyway?”

He laid his right arm down on the body of the guitar, fingers on the cracked wooden surface, and took a deep breath.

At first Courier could hardly hear or see the slightest movement of ghoul's fingers on strings, but soon the sound became more clear. She was sitting there with a bottle in her hand, unable to look away from her companion.

The sound of slow mexican melody floated across the room, filling every corner of the room with itself. The windows were closed with wooden boards from the outside, so the sunlight was trickling down through narrow gaps between them. Warm light was leaving gold-yellow lines on the walls, tables and the bardesk where the Courier and Raul were sitting. She could even see the tiniest specks of dust freeze in the air. The ghouls face was half hidden by a shadow and the sunbeams were highlighting one of his eyes which now looked like a beautiful transparent crystal and his hands all covered with veins and partially with thin skin.

The whole space imbued with peace and calm, even the impenetrable bartender set his glass aside and leaned his head on the hand, listening to the sensual music.

They travelled together for a while now, but never before had Six seen him the way she did now. Something new was arising in her soul.

“Hey chief,” - Raul closed his eyes and slightly threw back his head grinning a little, fingers still dancing over the strings. - ”You’re the best friend and partner one could ever wish for, you know. Thank you for always being on my side.”

“Raul, I’ll never leave my partner in crime behind!” - she chuckled as she felt like something pinned her heart.

The ghoul continued playing the tune without opening his eyes. A grin turned into a soft smile and the feeling of joy span all over him for the first time in a while.

“I’m following you to the world’s end, boss.”

Also, here’s a link to this fanfic on my AO3 (gif is mine \ use credits if repost)

#fallout #fallout nv #fanfic #fallout new vegas #raul tejada #fanfiction #one shot #fallout x reader #fallout imagine #raul tejada x reader #my fanfiction #my edit #fallout nv fic

[king-finnigan]

wingless thing

this is a oneshot that i was planning on turning into a full series at some point, but i never really had any ideas for the main storyline. so here it is, now; it’s an AU where everyone on the continent is born with wings. the only people who don’t have them are witchers.

Geralt sighs as he looks up at the tavern, built into the side of the mountain. There is no path up, no way to get there other than flying. Which wouldn’t be an issue for anyone else.

But unfortunately, Geralt isn’t anyone else.

He lets out an annoyed huff and Roach bristles softly, pushing at his shoulder with her nose. He pats the side of her neck, tangling his fingers through her brown mane. “Sorry, girl,” he mutters. “Gonna have to sleep outside again tonight.”

He doesn’t really know what he expected. Posada is full of mountains, of course people are going to build as high up as they can to get away from the creatures and monsters on the ground. Still, he’d been looking forward to a proper meal and a soft bed for the night, but it looks like he’ll have to make do with his bedroll and some dried meat. He always does.

He takes the saddle and reigns off of Roach and starts setting up camp – laying down his bedroll, gathering wood for a fire, checking his dwindling supplies. He counts his coin, finds out he’s still low on it and gold hasn’t magically appeared in his pouch since he looked this morning.

It’s the reason why he came here in the first place. Usually, he doesn’t venture this close to the mountains – the buildings always high up and only accessible from the air – but there haven’t been a lot of monsters in the plains and forests lately, so he had no other choice but to head east.

He looks up as he hears wings flapping, watches with a barely-hidden scowl when a young man descends from the air, softly lowering himself on one of the branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing. His feathers are a light shade of brown, almost golden in the late afternoon light, interspersed by darker ones painting long stripes across his wings. The young man cocks his head, keen, blue eyes taking in the sight of Geralt sitting on the ground, wingless.

“What are you doing down here?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, his already thin patience running out quickly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Setting up camp.” Apparently this young man either doesn’t know what a rhetorical question is, or he’s unable to pick up on them. “But why down here?”

Geralt glares at him, narrowing his eyes at those golden-brown wings. The young man merely raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Geralt sighs. “I can’t get up there.”

“Up where? The inn?” Geralt nods, and the stranger finally seems to get it, his eyes flicking to where Geralt’s wings should be, his mouth falling open in a soft ‘O’. He appears to figure out a lot of things in the next few seconds, his face going from confusion to realization back to confusion numerous times.

Geralt sighs, lighting the fire with a quick Igni, the blissful quiet stretching out between them.

“You’re the Witcher,” the young man says eventually. “Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken.” Geralt resists the urge to growl at the mention of that cursed town, his mind unhelpfully providing him with the memories of Renfri, of her blood coating his hands, of Stregobor cutting off her grey-and-white wings while the entire town chased Geralt away. He shakes his head to rid himself of the images.

Finally, the young man comes down from the tree, the tips of his wings dragging in the dirt behind him as he walks towards Geralt, extending his hand. Geralt doesn’t take it and looks away. Eventually, the young man gives up and sits down on the other side of the fire, big, blue eyes taking Geralt in, his brown feathers trembling slightly in excitement.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way.” Geralt doesn’t respond, but the young man continues regardless. “You know, I’m a bard. My lute is still up at the inn-“ he jabs his thumb up at the side of the mountain “-so you’ll just have to take my word for it, but it seems to me that you’ve got a bit of an image problem, Witcher. You know, I could be your barker-“

“No.”

“-spreading the tales of- of… Geralt of Rivia, the…” He seems to think for a few seconds, chin in his hand. “The White Wolf!” he finally exclaims, spreading his wings and arms dramatically, nearly knocking into Roach, who bristles angrily, taking a few steps away from the annoying and expressive bard.

Geralt looks at Jaskier for a few moments. “The White Wolf?” he eventually asks, voice flat.

Jaskier nods excitedly. “Yes! Because your hair is white and you don’t have any wings! I saw you pacing around here before I arrived, and I thought to myself ‘wow, this guy looks just like a wolf stalking its prey’, so there you have it! White Wolf! Do you like it?”

“No. Go away.” What the fuck does he need a barker for? He’s perfectly fine on his own. He’s managed seventy years alone on the path without wings, and he’ll manage a thousand more, thank you very much. Now all he needs is for this guy to fuck off and let him be so he can get some much-needed sleep. He’ll set out early again tomorrow.

Jaskier pouts a bit but gets up, luckily. “Alright, aright. I’ll leave you to it, then. Bye, Geralt.”

“Hmm. Bye.” He doesn’t look up from the fire, sees the flames dance in front of him as Jaskier flaps his wings and starts running, eventually taking off, up and up into the sky, towards the inn built into the mountainside. Once the sound of wings flapping has faded away, Geralt lets himself relax and eats a meagre meal of dried meat and a crust of stale bread. He falls into a restless sleep after that, his dreams plagued by black and white wings, speckled with blood.

---

He sets out early the next day, towards Dol Blathanna. A goat farmer had approached him in the morning, offering a hundred coins for a demon that kept stealing his goats. Geralt highly doubts that it’s a demon, but a job’s a job, and no matter how little money a hundred coins is, it’s better than nothing.

He saddles Roach and heads to the east. Before long though, he hears the sound of wings, someone flying towards him.

“Geralt! Hi!” Jaskier lands next to him, using his momentum to fall into step next to Geralt, Roach too slow and the branches too low to keep flying. He’s a bit out of breath, but his entire face is lit up with a smile that easily rivals the morning sun. There’s a lute hanging against his hip, Geralt notices.

“So, what are we hunting?”

Geralt scoffs. “We aren’t hunting anything. Fuck off.”

Jaskier pouts. “You know, you should really work on your people skills. I bet you’d get more contracts, then, though of course my songs will help. I mean, I’m almost getting the impression that you want me to leave!”

Geralt throws him an apprehensive look. “I do want you to leave. Go away.”

Jaskier huffs, his feathers puffing up slightly in annoyance. “No! No, you need my help, Geralt of Rivia. Unless, of course, you want to be forever known as the Butcher of Blaviken and a wingless monster.”

Geralt scoffs. “I am.”

“What? The Butcher of Blaviken or a wingless monster?”

“Both.”

Jaskier gasps, hand dramatically laying over his chest, wings stretching out, the tips bending forward a bit in shock. “You are most certainly not!”

“Well, I’m not a white wolf, either.”

Jaskier laughs softly, his wings folding behind his back again. “I assure you that you are. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you agree?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but feels something soft unfurl in his chest. “Hmm.”

The bard grins. “So you do agree! Of course you do. I’m right, after all.”

It continues on like that for a while, Jaskier chatting on and on, his wings almost equally as expressive as his hands, and he almost slaps an increasingly disgruntled Roach with them several times. Meanwhile, Geralt keeps quiet, only giving monosyllabic answers from time to time, keeping an eye out for this so-called ‘demon’. Eventually, he dismounts Roach, leaving her behind at one of the only trees visible in the plain of yellowed grass, the rich mountains no more than a silhouette behind his back. He continues on foot, Jaskier following closely behind, still chattering.

“Sorry, what are we looking for again?”

“Blessed silence.”

“… Yeah, don’t really go in for that.”

Something rustles in the grass, and Geralt barely has time to turn around before something hits Jaskier square between the eyes. The bard collapses onto the ground, and the witcher walks towards him, finds a small, metal ball on the ground. He looks up when he hears footsteps, registers the dark silhouette of a person against the bright sunlight, and is promptly struck against the back of the head, his vision fading to black rather abruptly and violently.

---

He wakes up in a cave, hands bound by his side, something soft and firm and trembling pressed to his back. He frowns, confused, until he moves his head a bit and feels feathers tickling against his cheeks, the wings behind him puffed up in fear – except they aren’t his wings. Of course they’re not; he lost his a long time ago.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Jaskier says behind him.

Geralt grunts, starts struggling against the ropes that bind his wrists by his side.

“This is the part where we escape!” Jaskier exclaims, wings fluttering a bit in excitement, as if this is all just some big adventure.

“This is the part where they kill us,” he growls, still struggling against the bonds.

“Who’s they?” Jaskier’s wings contract in pain against Geralt’s back when a she-elf kicks the bard in the stomach.

Everything is a bit of a blur after that, getting his and the bard’s life threatened by the elves – easily identified as elves by their iridescent dragonfly wings – Jaskier’s lute getting destroyed, the elven king talking about the atrocities committed against them, and eventually letting the bard and the witcher go, even giving Jaskier a new, elven lute, the wood as shimmery and iridescent as their wings.

And before long, they’re headed back to Posada. Jaskier walks in front of him, strumming his new lute, singing a song of which only three words are true, give or take, his wings puffed up to let the soft breeze ruffle through the feathers.

Back in Posada, Jaskier offers Geralt to carry him up to the inn, which he resolutely refuses. There is a certain shame in having to stay on the ground while everyone else flies past, his differences pointedly underlined by his obvious lack of wings, but there’s something else entirely revolting about having to be carried up by a scrawny, little bard.

But instead of going back up to the inn alone, Jaskier stays on the ground with Geralt, practically stealing the Witcher’s spare bedroll.

“So,” Jaskier says, gently plucking away at the strings of his new lute. “What’s the deal with-“ he gestures at Geralt “-you know.”

He rolls his eyes. He’d much rather go to sleep right now than listen to the bard make redundant statements and ask vague questions. “No, I don’t know.”

Jaskier seems to hesitate, biting his bottom lip gently. “The wings,” he eventually half-whispers, as if it’s something Geralt’s sensitive about. Which he is, but he’d never show anyone that. “Where are they?”

“None of your business.” The light of the flames burns his eyes as he stares into the fire, and for a moment, he could swear he sees black and white feathers between the logs. For a moment, he’s still a boy at Kaer Morhen, looking on helplessly as they burn part of him, the barely-healed wounds in his back a constant, agonizing reminder of what he’s lost.

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums, plucking a few notes on his lute. “I suppose not. But there are rumours, you know? Like that you have to eat your own wings to become a Witcher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Jaskier scrunches his nose. “Yeah, figured that one wasn’t real. Also heard a rumour that it’s what gives you your magic-“

“We don’t have magic.”

“-but my nan’s friend’s uncle’s brother’s teacher lost one wing during the war, and he didn’t get any magic powers, so I suppose that one’s a lie as well. I also heard a rumour-“

“Go to sleep, bard.”

Jaskier pouts at him for a second but Geralt doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he lies down on his bedroll, turning his back to the bard.

After a few seconds, he hears the faint rustling of clothes, the quiet thud of the elven lute being placed into the old, worn case, the clicking of locks being closed. He waits, watching the light of the fire dance across the trees around them, as Jaskier’s breathing grows slower and deeper.

Only when he’s sure that the bard’s asleep, does he let himself relax slightly, wincing when he shifts- the motion pulling at scars he can never truly forget. No matter how many nights have passed since that day so many decades ago, the ache in his back never fades.

He slips into a restless sleep.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #wings au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #if anyone wants to know #jaskier's wings are that of a tawny owl #renfri's are a shrike's #and geralt's used to be a downy woodpecker's #anyways i never really knew what to do with this au past this point so #guess this is where it ends lmao #if you wanna use it that's fine by me as long as you tag me so i can see lmao #title ofc from TAD

[portals-to-a-new-world]

Ignorance is Bliss (Parts 1&2)

(gif credit to @urban-trek-thru-middle-earth)

Who?: Billy Butcher x Reader

What?: Y/n discovers that Butcher sleeps in the nude

Word Count: 1820

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT 18+!!!, Language (as I mentioned in the original, if you watch the boys you know the man has a mouth fouler than the pits of hell itself), ONCE AGAIN SMUT

A/N: Hey yall! Sorry it’s been taking me so long to get stuff out but work has been kicking my ass. Anyway, if you didn’t see the original post, this was inspired by a post I saw reminding the world that Butcher sleeps a la naked. Thank you very much to @bakerstreethound for everything she does 💜💜💜

You were tired. 8 hours on the road, chasing down a lead that turned out to be yet another dead end, and you just wanted a hot shower and sleep. Preferably in that order. You sighed in relief as you pulled into the cheap Motel the boys had been staying at. At least it didn’t look as seedy as the last place you’d stayed in. Ever since Vought caught onto the plan to bring them down, you’d been staying at a different location each week to keep them off of your scent. You grabbed the bag you kept packed from the backseat and headed towards your room. It took you a few moments of fumbling around in the bag before you pulled out the key card and swiped it through the reader. Your brow furrowed as nothing happened. You tried it one more time before you remembered that Butcher gave you the spare card to his room, just in case. You groaned and felt around your bag until you found the right card, breathing out a sigh as it worked. You didn’t bother turning the lights on until you reached the bathroom, wanting to shower and fall into bed as quickly as possible. Another groan escaped you as you began to strip down, muscles stiff from driving all day. As you reached out to turn on the shower, a voice sounded out behind you.

“Don’t let me stop you, luv, coz this is a great fucking view,” You screamed and dove for a towel as the deep voice that could only belong to Butcher continued. “But what the fuck are you doing?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I-” The words fell dead at the sight that greeted you when you looked up. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, smirk out in full force as you were confronted with the knowledge that Billy Butcher, hunter of superheroes and badass vigilante, apparently sleeps in the nude. Your eyes trailed down his chest, following the lines of muscles, man those shirts he wore hid just how cut he was, to the sheet draped across his lap. You swallowed hard, wrapping the towel tighter around yourself before you continued. “I guess I mixed up the room numbers. It’s really been one of those days.” You said, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. Of course, this would happen. Almost get your cover blown by an ex who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Check. Waste an entire day on some bullshit conspiracy theorist pretending to have evidence about Compound V? Check. Walk in on the man who’d been invading your dreams ever since you first met? Bonus, he’s naked!

“I take it the lead was a crock o’ shite, then?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“That is the understatement of the fucking century,” You said, moving to sit down before you remembered you were clad in only a towel. The thought of having to change back into clothes and go all the way back to your actual room almost had you in tears. “Do you uh- do you mind if I borrow your shower? I’d use mine, but I don’t think I’ll make it that far without my back seizing up.”

“Sure, one condition tho,” He said, cocking his head to one side before standing to his feet. Your breath caught in your throat as you fought to keep your eyes locked on his. You stepped back with each step he took closer until he had you backed against the counter.

“What’s that?” You managed to choke out.

“You let me join ya, and make up for sendin’ ya on that wild goose chase,” His words sent heat flaring straight through your core, and you nearly moaned when his hand began to toy with the skin just beneath the edge of your towel. “Can’t promise you’ll be any less sore after tho.”

“Butcher-” Your words were once again cut off with a gasp, this time by him grinding his hips against you. Your towel did nothing to conceal just how thick and hard he was, and you could only hope it hid just how embarrassingly wet you were. You shook your head to try and clear your thoughts. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Oh, c’mon now luv. We’ve been dancing ‘round each other for fuckin ages now,” He leaned in closer as he spoke. You shook your head slowly as his lips drew nearer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you. Fuckin diabolical,” His hand came up to grip your jaw, not quite low enough to choke you but enough to make you inhale sharply. “Like you wanna fuckin eat me alive.” By then, his lips were ghosting yours, sending shivers down your spine. Fuck it

“You gonna let me? Eat you alive?” You asked. His resulting smirk gave you the only answer you needed before your lips slammed together hungrily. Butcher wasted no time in yanking the towel from your form. His hands immediately found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh as you gasped against his lips. He took full advantage of the opening to dominate your tongue with his own, not that you didn’t put up a fight in the process. Like everything with Butcher, the kiss was rough and intense. He nearly had you in a puddle at his feet, and he’d barely gotten started. The thought sparked a new wave of defiance in you, and you thrust your hands into his surprisingly soft hair and tugged sharply as you bit at his lip. He growled in response, and his hand came down harshly on your ass. “Ow! You bastard-” Your scolding was cut off, though, as his fingers dipped between your legs. He hummed in satisfaction at the slickness he found, his trademark smirk once again gracing his lips.

“Call me a bastard all you want; you’re still soaking wet for me.” He didn’t give you a chance to snark back, thrusting two fingers deep inside you as he began to nip and suck down your neck. Your arm wrapped around his shoulder for support as your legs threatened to give out. He caught on and wrapped an arm around your waist as his other hand began to pick up its pace. His thumb moved to stroke your clit right as he curled his fingers perfectly, and you moaned his name loudly. “See now that’s what I want to hear.” You groaned and threw your head back.

“Oh, fuck off,” You said. Suddenly his hands were gone, and you whined at the loss of contact as he backed away. “Butcher?”

“You told me to fuck off.” He said with a shrug before lifting his hand and popping his fingers in his mouth. He grinned and turned to walk into the bathroom as you stammered.

“Damn it, Butcher, you know that’s not what I meant!” You stomped into the bathroom after him, but he continued to ignore you as he stepped into the shower.

“Fuckin’ hell, why’s the water so fuckin hot?” You rolled your eyes and stepped in after him, faltering slightly at the sight of him dripping wet before you. He might be psychotic, but damn if the man wasn’t good looking. “There you go again with that look,” He said, drawing your eyes back to his. This time his smirk was paired with almost predatory eyes, dark and hungering as he stalked towards you in the small space. You licked your lips and shrugged. You started to reply, but you never got the chance before he was lifting you up and pinning you against the wall. You squealed and latched onto him, ignoring his amused chuckles. “’ Fraid I’m gonna drop you?” He murmured against the skin beneath your ear. You shuddered slightly at the sensation before you responded.

“Nah, just making sure you can’t walk away from me again.” He laughed, a genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat, before moving to bury himself to the hilt within you. You both moaned at the feeling, and he paused for a moment, both to savor it and give you time to adjust to his size. He pulled back from your neck to look you in the eyes as he started to move in slow, deep, thrusts that had you biting your lip in an effort to keep quiet. His gaze was powerful and intoxicating, drawing you in like an invisible magnet. Every wave of pleasure that crossed his face added to your own, and you finally had to break away and bury your face in his neck as he pounded straight through you. You were dancing along the brink of your climax, but you still needed more. “Butcher I-” He seemed to know exactly what you were asking before you could ask.

“I’ve gotcha, luv.” He slipped out of you and set you on your feet before spinning you around. “Fuck me, what an ass, this is.” He said offhandedly as he bent you forward slightly before sliding back in. You groaned and fell forward to brace yourself against the wall as this new angle brushed against all new spots inside of you. His hands moved back up to your throat, putting enough pressure to force you to arch your back, and down to rub harshly at your clit as he knocked you up the wall. “You gonna fucking come for me?” He growled in your ear as your moans echoed around the small bathroom. “Hmm? Gonna come all over this fuckin cock like a good girl?” His words were the final shove you needed before you were falling over the edge with a shout of his name. “Fuckin hell, (Y/N/N)” He groaned as he pulled out and came all over your back. You both stood there for a while, just catching your breath before he reached around and grabbed a washcloth to wipe you clean. At your raised eyebrow, he paused and shrugged in question. “Wot? I’m not a complete asshole.” You huffed out a laugh and gave him a pat on the chest.

“Never said you were.” He gave you a skeptical look before pulling you back underneath the spray.

“C’mon. Let’s get clean before the hot water runs out. Then we can discuss your sleeping arrangements.” He said. Once again, you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“My sleeping arrangements? What about them?” He reached around you to grab the soap before replying.

“Well, figured you since you didn’t want to go back to your room, you could sleep here, but it’s gonna cost you.” Mischief danced in his eyes, and you couldn’t stop the smirk on your lips.

“I’m sure I’ll think of some way to repay you.” You said as he grinned.

“Atta fucking girl.”

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Tag List (Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed or if I forgot you):

@bakerstreethound​ @im-like-reallythirsty​ @rayray1463​ @waaaaaaitwhat​ @fairytale07​ @becs-bunker​ @kid-from-new-zealand​ @mblaqgi​

#billy butcher x reader #smut

[samingtonwilson]

Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos. 

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan. 

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang. 

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.” 

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.” 

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?” 

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling. 

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.” 

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator. 

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?” 

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”  

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.” 

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.” 

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.” 

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.” 

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?” 

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.” 

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.” 

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?” 

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.” 

“You don’t care about either of those teams.” 

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?” 

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?” 

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.” 

“But—” 

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer. 

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her. 

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.” 

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave. 

Well. That’s not all he wants. 

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily. 

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.” 

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face. 

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—” 

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.” 

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.” 

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.” 

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.” 

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.” 

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?” 

“Perky?” 

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.” 

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?” 

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?” 

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue. 

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.” 

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.” 

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips. 

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball. 

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria. 

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella. 

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem. 

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions. 

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day. 

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home. 

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.” 

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off. 

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice. 

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?” 

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.” 

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?” 

“I’m a growing boy.” 

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?” 

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.” 

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?” 

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.” 

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.” 

“Damn, he’s got money.” 

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.” 

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?” 

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.” 

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.” 

“It didn’t take me hours.” 

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.” 

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?” 

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?” 

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.” 

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle. 

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow. 

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes. 

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral. 

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name. 

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers. 

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.” 

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.” 

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.” 

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?” 

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?” 

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?” 

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.” 

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?” 

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.” 

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.” 

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.” 

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.” 

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” 

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you. 

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?” 

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.” 

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.” 

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?” 

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.” 

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.” 

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts. 

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity. 

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.” 

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.” 

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.” 

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.” 

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?” 

--

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #a8c

[jaskierswolf]

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.1/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove was bored. He’d been bored for some time now. In his youth he’d dreamed of becoming a travelling bard. He’d even focused his time in Oxenfurt on the liberal arts and had graduated quite successfully from the academy, but before he’d even begun his journey to becoming renowned troubadour, he’d been called back to his family home. The news of his father’s death had been an unfortunate one and he’d been forced to step up and become head of his vast estate.

There had been a moment, in the dead of night, witching hour, when he’d very nearly picked up his lute and fled.

He hadn’t.

He’d turned over and gone back to sleep. He did have a rather luxurious bed and he’d not been short of company to fill it with. He often wondered what would have become of him if he had run away that night, at barely eighteen. He often dreamed of the songs he could have written, the people he could have met, the adventures he could have had.

A deep part of him sorely regretted the path not taken.

Instead he drowned his sorrows in the most delicious wine from Toussaint and lured beautiful people to his bedchamber. He was determined to enjoy the few pleasures left to him in gluttonous amounts.

He gazed out of the window of his study into the gardens. They were stunning at this time of year. They weren’t the most well kept gardens, but he liked that. He enjoyed the wild long grass and the litany of yellow, white and purple weeds that sprung up in the summer. The sounds of bees filled the air, a constant low buzzing that he found both soothing and wildly distracting. He enjoyed a long stroll in the gardens when he wasn’t buried under paperwork. Quite frankly he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the different silk sheets used in the guest bedrooms or whether the local houses were paying their taxes in time. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all of that diplomatic nonsense just disappeared?

Poverty could become a thing of the past. He’d given away vast amounts of his fortune whenever he could convince his lawyers to let the assets go but his estate only thrived more as the farmers, workers and merchants were able to work more efficiently and invested more funding into their livelihoods.

He couldn’t begrudge them that but he felt guilty for owning so much when they lived on so little so he kept feeding his money back into the surrounding villages and they kept growing and expanding their homes and businesses.

None of the surrounding lords or barons could understand how he did it.

He couldn’t exactly explain it himself.

He had been hoping to run his estate into the ground so he could run off and have the heroic adventures that he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps he would even run into one of those witchers. He was fascinated by witchers. He always had been, ever since he was a boy and he’d heard the rumours of the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. The rumours were that the man had slaughtered an entire village with his bare hands in some kind of blood-fuelled frenzy.

Julian didn’t believe that for a second.

He’d snuck down to the library and buried himself under books, scrolls and parchments, anything in his father’s great library with even the whiff of a witcher. He’d read bestiaries and fairytales, utterly bewitched by the tales of fae, vampires and werewolves. He devoured everything he could by candlelight. It was what had driven him to his chosen career as a bard. He wanted to experience those stories himself, he needed to live it. His thirst for knowledge and innate curiosity had seen him through Oxenfurt with ease. He’d been able to spend far too long in taverns and brothels whilst his peers studied books and manuscripts that he’d read within the first months of attending the famous school. The library had been enviable and he’d been unable to stay away for months.

He sighed dramatically. It had all been a fucking waste of time. He closed the leather-bound book he’d been scrawling in, even after all these years he couldn’t help the flashes of creative inspiration that hit him. It was like a vampire’s thirst, burning in his throat and heart. He had to write, he had to play and sing and dance. He ran his fingers along the underside of his writing desk until he heard a faint click and a drawer popped open. He tucked the book neatly into the draw beneath the pressed dandelion.

Dandelion.

It was to be his stage name had he followed through with his plans.

He’d kept the pressed yellow flower as a reminder. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers before sighing loudly.

“Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour and poet.” He pouted before gently returning the flower to its cage and closing the drawer shut, it vanished into the wooden desk without a trace. “I supposed it is quite poetic,” He whined. “I am like the flower trapped in my own cage from which I cannot escape. The flower which holds my name and soul shares my fate.”

He groaned and bumped his head against the desk. The long feather in his hat flopped down, tickling his nose. He promptly sneezed.

“Ah. To the gods! Even my own hat hates me.” He moaned.

Thankfully he was pulled from his self-pity by a knock at the door. He jumped to his feet and straightened his hat, tucking the treacherous heron feather back into place.

“Come in!” He trilled.

Annabelle, a pretty redhead and one of his longest serving maids entered the room. “ Lord Lettenhove.” Annabelle curtsied.

Julian rolled his eyes and pulled the girl to her feet. “Annabelle, dearest, how many times must I ask you to call me Julian and none of this grovelling nonsense. Tell me, how are your family? Your mother was sick, is she feeling any better? I trust she received the medicine I sent.”

Annabelle blushed and smiled up at him. “Yes Lord Let - Lord Julian. Thank you very much. You are too kind to us.”

“My darling, I simply have nothing better to do with my fortune than ensure my staff are well looked after. How’s the little one, Eleanor if I remember correctly?”

“Yes, Lord Julian. She’s growing up fast. My sister told me she started to crawl yesterday.” Annabelle answered meekly.

Julian gasped and put his hand to his chest. “And you missed it! Oh my dear, my sincerest apologies.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I love my job, Lord Julian. There is no reason to apologise. You’ve already done far too much for my family.”

It was Julian’s time to blush. He hated how much his staff revered him, didn’t they realise his motivations were purely selfish? He just wanted to get out of this house! He wanted to leave them. They just didn’t see any of that but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Now now, they’ll be time to sing my praises later, my dear, what was it that you needed? We are not due another order from the farms yet are we?”

The girl laughed quietly. “No, nothing like that. Forgive me, Lord Julian, I don’t mean to make assumptions.”

She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. “Well go on! Don’t keep me in suspense like this.” He pouted with a hand on his hips.

“There’s a rumour going round, Lord Julian.” She blushed. “About a witcher in one of the outer villages. They were having problems on the full moon. Mysterious and gruesome murders.”

Julian wanted to jump for joy.

A real witcher.

On his land.

“Oh my!” He clapped his hands together. “We must send for him at once!” He ran to his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Now tell me Annabelle what monsters are more enticing to a monster hunter, vampires or werewolves?” He scoffed before she could answer. “No no, that’s too obvious, and unbearably dull. Nekkers? Oooh, what about a draconid? A forktail perhaps?”

Annabelle kept opening and closing her mouth but there was no interrupting Julian when he got like this. He barely even noticed he still had company.

“Or a wraith!” He laughed gaily. “Oh yes that will do nicely! A wraith haunting the attic! Then we may get to see the witcher in action, oh the tales I could write! Maybe I could publish them under a pseudonym, Master Dandelion may yet still live!”

His hands flew over the paper as he scrawled as quickly and elegantly as he could. Once he was finished he read it over quickly, cornflower blue eyes scanning over the words quick as lightning.

     My dear witcher,    

     On behalf of Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, I would like to thank you for offering your services to assist our villagers with their furry little problem. I write this letter before the news of your success has reached me but I have no doubt that you will succeed in your quest! You must tell me whether you have slain the beast or cured it of the lycanthropy. I await the tale of your heroic adventure with great anticipation.    

     The Lord Lettenhove requests your presence at his estate. You see, my dearest witcher, we have a little pest problem of our own. A wraith haunts the house and our poor chambermaids are quite at their wits end with fright.    

     I beseech you. Don’t delay.    

     Yours, Dandelion.    

He chuckled at the name. He was going to have a lot of fun with this witcher, whoever it maybe, and he didn’t need the witcher knowing exactly who he was just yet. He sealed the letter swiftly and all but shoved poor Annabelle from the room so that she could deliver it hastily.

He followed after her and practically ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He flung open his wardrobe as he hummed a new melody under his breath. He needed to choose an outfit. Something that was less Viscount and more genius bard.

He stripped off his golden doublet and trousers in exchange for his favourite plum set. It had intricate embroidery around the collar that he just adored. He paired the doublet with a white undershirt with lace around the cuffs and collar.

He took off his hat and twirled a strand of his soft golden blond hair in between his fingers. He’d been growing it out lately, he was really just so bored, and he’d been considering experimenting with some curling irons like he’d seen his cook use. He was certain that Hanna would show him how to use them if he asked nicely.

But did he have enough time for that?

He still needed to set up his wraith problem, and it needed to be convincing enough to keep the witcher around long enough to get to know him, perhaps he could even lure the man to his bedroom if he were that way inclined.

Gods he hoped he was.

It had been too long since Julian, no, Dandelion, had had a male lover.

Well, if he was planning to seduce the man then he really should look his best but first he needed to make sure that they stage was set. He picked up his old forgotten lute from the corner of the bedroom, gently trailing a finger down the neck of the instrument before quickly plucking at the strings and fiddling with the pegs to make sure she was still in tune.

“I am so sorry darling.” He cooed to the instrument. “It’s been too long.”

He tucked her into his old lute case and appraised his reflection in his mirror.

“Hmm…” He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated. “Not quite right. Oh yes! My hat!” He swiped up a matching plum coloured bonnet and pinned a feather in place because plopping it onto his head. He looked back at his reflection with a furrowed brow and then inspiration hit him and he tilted his hat so he fell slightly to one side. “Perfect!”

He giggled and bowed dramatically to his reflection. “Master Dandelion, at your service!” He grinned seductively.

Oh this witcher would have no idea what hit him.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing #the viscount and the witcher

[swaps55]

5 Favorites

5 favorite snippets from 5 reasonably recent stories. Or whatever. Rules are mere suggestions. 

Tagged by @nug-juggler. Thank you! I love sharing snippets. 

Tagging @pigeontheoneandonly, @shadoedseptmbr, @forlornmelody, @nightmarestudio606 and anyone who’s interested, no obligations!

1. From Cantata, Chapter 3 – Welcome to the Fire:

Shepard halts, pivots, corona blazing forth once more. He says something Kaidan doesn’t understand, but the mercenary pauses, then chortles and breaks into a sprint.

Anyone in their right mind would have quailed at the sight of a charging krogan. Shepard grins.

It’s feral.

Confident.

And utterly unafraid.

His fists curl. The gravity well somersaults as Shepard channels a maelstrom of dark energy. Kaidan sucks in a sharp breath, the sheer force of it enough to make him dizzy.

The krogan’s shotgun blares. Every hair on Kaidan’s arms stands on end as Shepard forms a wall of shearing mass effect fields and slams it into the krogan, shoulder jerking as his kinetic barriers absorb the full brunt of the shotgun blast.

The krogan bellows as the shearing fields chew through him. The shotgun drops from rigid fingers and clatters to the ground. Shepard races forward, own shotgun booming as fast as he can pull the trigger. When it overheats he casts it aside, and to Kaidan’s sheer horror, attacks the krogan with his bare hands.

He lands one hit, then two, using his smaller size and quickness to his advantage in ways Kaidan had only dreamed of when he and Shepard had their impromptu sparring session a week ago. Still, the krogan nearly makes it back to his feet before Shepard seizes the barrel of the massive shotgun, jerks it up into the krogan’s throat, then flips it around and fires point blank into the krogan’s uncovered head. Blood, grey matter and bone spray outward. The recoil kicks hard into Shepard’s shoulder, the same one that had already bled off the shotgun pellets.

Holy fuck.

2. From “The Words That Change Us”

Kaidan falls silent. Fuck his implant. Fuck the faulty wiring in his head. Fuck not remembering to bring his own damn meds. If only Anderson could see this. Keep Shepard on his feet my ass. Can’t even keep myself on my feet.

“Anderson thanked me today,” Kaidan says, cracking an eye open. Every ship in the Alliance is practically a darkroom. Why the hell is Arcturus so bright? He sucks air in through his teeth. “Can’t figure out why.”

Shepard gives him a bemused look. “No wonder you have a migraine.”

“Stop trying to be funny,” Kaidan grunts. “It gives me a migraine.”

“I’m delightfully funny,” Shepard informs him, “which you might notice if you weren’t so busy thinking yourself into a migraine.”

Kaidan tries to laugh, but immediately regrets it. Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s arm.

“See? Funny.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Quit noticing."

“Shepard.” It comes out as a mumble, and the way Shepard’s fingers dig into his forearm before relaxing suggests he’s listening now. “He said I keep you on your feet. Why would he say that?”

Shepard’s brow furrows. Instead of answer, he gets to his feet and pulls Kaidan back to his. “How about we get the icepick out of your head, and then talk about this.”

“No. If we talk about it now you’ll take pity and actually give me an answer.”

Shepard huffs, grips Kaidan’s arm and resumes course, footsteps slow and steady.

“I didn’t do anything to help you earn this,” Kaidan persists. “Why does he think I did?”

More silence. More steps. Each footfall ricochets off the deckplates, pricking at the base of Kaidan’s skull. Where the fuck is the airlock? It feels like they’ve been walking for hours.

“You’re stable ground,” Shepard says at last.

Stable ground. Maybe if his head wasn’t throbbing so hard he could figure out what the hell that means.

“You don’t…want anything from me,” Shepard continues. His voice is small, uncertain, as though now that he’s voiced the thought aloud he might find out it isn’t true.

It isn’t true.

You. I want you.

3. From Sonata, Chapter 10 - Unsteady

There are more well-dressed people in this one room than Joker has seen in his entire lifetime. It should be his worst nightmare, but he’s actually having fun. Turns out Tali has an exceptional gift for making unbearable social occasions bearable.

“And what about her?” Joker asks, pointing to a woman who looks like a canary covered in taffeta.

Tali leans against the table beside him and tilts her head, the purple and black sequined scarf that Mrs. Alenko had given her for the evening catching in the bright lights of the ballroom. 

“Hmmm. A widower. Discovered her husband of more than thirty years had gambled away their entire fortune, leaving her penniless. She is here to mourn—not him, but his brother. The man she was truly in love with. She thought he did not love her back, but the truth is that he was too afraid to tell her. After his brother’s death, he swore he would, but he went down with the Cairo before he had the chance.”

“Damn, Tali, that’s dark,” Joker says with a chuckle. “You got a happy one? How about that guy?” He points to a random stranger who’s sipping a glass of wine and laughing too hard.

She swirls the liquid in her glass. Forget the geth. This is where she really shines.

“He professed his love to…” she scans the room. Eventually she points at another well-dressed man, who looks absolutely no different from any of the rest as far as Joker is concerned. “That man over there. They are desperately in love, but he,” she points again at the new guy, “is afraid of his feelings. He has a dark past, and doesn’t want to drag his true love down with his demons.”

“Happy, Tali. I was looking for happy.”

She raises her glass. “A few spins on the dancefloor and he’s going to realize that pushing him away will only snap them back together. Like quarks.”

Joker clinks his glass against hers. “That’s my girl.”

4. From Fugue, Chapter 4 – This Hole You Left

But while most of the galaxy is preparing to mourn Commander Shepard, the soldier standing next to him might be the only person he knows who’s grieving for Sam. Anderson swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.

“He was the most reckless SOB I’ve ever met,” Anderson says, watching a hanar drift along one of the intact pathways below them. “I’m pretty sure half the shit he pulled over the years was just to piss me off.”

Alenko raises an eyebrow ever so slightly in surprise, but doesn’t turn his head. “He’s always at his best when the plan goes to hell.”

“Since he was a kid,” Anderson agrees, not missing the fact that Alenko had referred to him in the present tense. “First time I ever laid eyes on him he was four. He’d wandered away from Daniel on Arcturus and he called in the cavalry to look for him. You know where I found him?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“In a fountain, playing with a model ship. I asked him what the hell his spaceship was doing in the water. He said, ‘I’m about to find out.’”

Alenko’s mouth curves in a brittle smile. “I didn’t know you knew him that young.”

“I doubt he remembered,” Anderson says. “His father and I were good friends. I dropped in on occasion while he was growing up.” Before Shepard was a soldier. Before he was the Butcher of Torfan or the Savior of the Citadel. Back when he was still Sam, all knees and elbows, so desperate to please he couldn’t sit still.

Anderson still misses that kid.

5. From “The Way Back”

“You have a gun, Shepard, and it shoots mass-accelerated projectiles a hell of a lot more efficiently than you can shoot yourself. That was a titanic amount of energy you put out. How in the hell do you justify the cost of that on your own body?”

“Because it saved your life,” he snaps, dropping the barrel extension onto the bench with a clatter. “She had your head in her crosshairs, and I put her the fuck down. So yeah, it was worth the cost.”

Kaidan falls silent.

Shepard shoots him a reproachful look. “You know, I didn’t miss your fucking lectures.”

Kaidan holds his gaze, retort right on the tip of his tongue. Shepard shouldn’t need a lecture to know that fucking with his own mass as a combat tactic was reckless, stupid, and above all, unnecessary. But he did need one. And someone willing to get in his way long enough to do it.

Wasn’t that part of what had always made them so good together? Shepard charging into a china shop like a bull, with Kaidan standing at the door waving his arms? Shepard would run through him as often as he stopped or swerved, but no matter how it ended Kaidan was there to help him pick up the pieces.

He softens. “Yeah, well, I did miss what a complete idiot you are sometimes. You could have, just, I don’t know. Knocked me to the ground. Or knocked her to the ground. Using her own mass.”

Shepard’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to protest before he sighs in defeat. “Yeah. Ok. That probably would have worked, too.”

Kaidan’s smile deepens. “You always did prefer theatrics out in the field.”

“Me?” Shepard huffs and pokes at the pieces of the Carnifex, chin low to hide his own smile. “Okay, maybe I occasionally enjoy a small flair for the dramatic.”

“Small. You call turning yourself into the most impractical mass-accelerated weapon I could conceive of small.”

Shepard’s smile turns into a smirk. “Say whatever you want. But just imagine being that sniper getting an eyeful of me coming right at her. That’s the kind of fear of god she’s not going to forget anytime soon.”

“You put a shotgun round point blank into her head. She forgot it pretty quick.”

#snippet #mshenko #mememe #tried to pick snippets with a variety of flavors #combat! #pining! #banter! #angst! #biotics! #oh my!

[luci-cunt]

scare + sleep intimacy for andreil for the au mashup 😳

(hi ily!!!!!

K so hear me out: Andrew is a dumb bitch

I say this because I love him and also because he’s a massive hypocrite

He’s seen Neil scared, seen Neil clinging to sanity, seen Nathaniel ready to carve out a path to safety innocent bystanders be damned

But– it’s all been about self preservation, about Neil 

There was the time that new kid on the hockey team decided it would be funny to dress up as a murderous butcher for Halloween and very nearly got butchered by the foxes when Neil went four shades of milk white and wouldn’t stop saying “I’m fine” no matter what they asked. 

(and he was fine, because the guy’s costume was shit. But then the guy started blabbing about how cutting off legs first is the best option because then you don’t even need to tie up your victims and everything went downhill)

There’s the times when an older women calls out a name a little too sharply and Andrew sees Neil leave and whatever identity appear

There’s the time Neil woke up after falling asleep at his desk and his legs fell asleep 

There’s a lot of times Neil’s been scared, he’s a flighty person who’s lived a life that leads to a lot of triggers

but– again, those have all been about Neil. 

Neil being attacked, Neil being reminded of things that happened to him, Neil reacting to threats to himself. 

However, one night, they’re on the roof. 

They’re bickering, Andrew’s smoking and glaring at Neil every time he steals the stick just to take a lazy drag and stare out at the skyline. 

It wasn’t a good day for Andrew, and they’ve got their legs hanging over the ledge and Andrew’s heart is pounding and his hands are pressed firmly into the concrete to pretend they aren’t shaking with every heavy beat. It’s rare that he’s ever this close to the edge, but the all consuming fear is better when he’s the one causing it. 

He and Neil have slipped into a quiet, content silence and if Andrew could admit it, it’s probably one of his favorite things in the world. 

It’s getting late though, and cold, and Andrew doesn’t want to waste anymore cigarettes on the dumbass who’s not even smoking them, so he stands up.

But he’s an idiot, he’s been smoking and sitting still for at least an hour and the last substantial food he had was a box of old chow mien at 11:30. 

So he wobbles a bit, and he’s right on the edge and there’s not really a place to steady himself 

and 

he

slips.

He knows the moment it’s practically all over and he feels the jolt of panic all the way through his fingertips before he even starts to fall– it’s almost painful. 

But then, Neil grabs his shirt and yanks him back, the momentum sending them both sprawling, heads knocking against concrete and clothes and skin tearing. 

Andrew’s in shock, he can’t really move, but Neil’s practically teleporting. He’s over Andrew in a second, not touching but his eyes are wide and his breathing’s heavy and he’s saying something and it takes a moment for Andrew to catch up with whatever it is. 

“Well, that was close,” Andrew says, his voice sounds as flat as usual despite the franticness of his heartbeat. 

Neil freezes, and then sags, his whole body going practically limp as his forehead lands on Andrew’s chest. Instinctively Andrew’s hand goes for the back of his neck, and Neil grabs his wrist. Andrew can tell he’s straining not to hold it in a death grip, straining to make sure Andrew knows he can break out of the hold if he wants to. 

“Fuck,” Neil curses, muffled and breathless. “I can’t be on the roof right now,” he adds. Andrew doesn’t say anything, just waits for Neil to calm down a bit, he can feel his pulse – just as erratic as Andrew’s – and it doesn’t calm, not even when Neil pulls himself upright. 

They go downstairs, Neil hasn’t let go of Andrew’s wrist and Andrew hasn’t mentioned it. 

Kevin’s in the living room, he’s watching an exy game with his earbuds and ignores them as they pass. 

Andrew sits on his bed and Neil hesitates until Andrew tugs him down. 

“Yes or no?” Neil asks. 

“No,” Andrew says, not willing to do anything with Neil while he’s obviously on the verge of a panic attack. 

Neil shakes his head, “no, no not like that I just– I need to–” he squeezes Andrew’s wrist for a fraction of a second, almost involuntarily. 

Slowly, Andrew nods, “shoulders,” he says, and Neil’s hands move fast, and his grip turns deathly as his head sags, pressing against Andrew’s chest like he had before. 

It’s not a hug, that wouldn’t be comforting to either of them, but its proof Andrew’s sitting here, alive, breathing, not splattered on the pavement in front of the Tower. 

“Don’t fucking do that,” Neil whispers. “I’ll give you anything just don’t fucking do that ever again.”

Andrew’s hand goes to the back of Neil’s neck and his grip’s just as tight as Neil’s. It’s minutes or hours or maybe years before they shift to lay down, limbs aching from holding tense positions for so long. 

They fall asleep still touching though, and Andrew can’t help but wonder how the hell he managed to get here. 

How he managed to become something that terrifies Neil Josten in the worst way possible. 

(alsdfj this turned out long I got emotional ;aldf sorry there’s like, barely any sleep intimacy….)

[Psst– send me two fic prompts and I’ll tell you how I’d mash them]

#luci doesn't shut up #fic! #I haven't written an Andreil fic in a minute #Is this a fic? #ficlette? #hc compilationo? #XD #anyways #fear #tw// heights #gang gang hope you enjoy #sorry there's like #barely any sleep intimacy #I got caught up in fears XDD #aftg #andreil #all for the game

[kewltie]

omfgggg pregnant!deku. imagine where no. 1 hero is not only an omega but is pregnant and it's still early in his first trimester so he's running around kicking ass but IT'S DEKU so ppl frets and worry over his safety that even villains r like uh i dont wanna mess w/ that. deku is like ridiculously popular & well like even among criminal bc he believes in 2nd chances & rehab of the criminals/villains & fight for disenfranchised youths who fell on the wrong side of the track. so yea, they fight against him but they're also kinda soft for him!!!

so when they found out their fav hero is pregnant & still patrolling there's like some super-secret nonverbal agree among them that they won't stop doing what they are doing but like,,,, nobody fucking touch deku ok or you'll deader than dead. which is ALL KIND OF HILARIOUS bc deku coming to a bank robbery & the criminals doesnt stop their crime but when they fight him, they're like super careful w/ him making sure he doesn't get knock back, fall, or hurt himself too much.

when deku finally captured them and as they're about to taken away, they happily congratulated him on his pregnancy & ask if he'd thought of names yet & one of them is like, "oh, when my husband was pregnant eating X & Y really help with the nausea." and izuku is like,,, thanks???

there's like so many ppl invested in deku's pregnancy that it bizarre bc he's not the first or the last omega to ever be pregnant but he's deku, prohero, no.1 rank, and symbol of hope. all that means is there's a hyper fixation on everything about him esp now that he's pregnant. talk shows, news channel, & celeb gossip show are all talking about it one way or another. whether he's should take an early leave of work or not bc of the danger of his job, the baby's sex, his pregnancy craving, bump watch (I KNOW), & even a countdown to his due date.

the entire country is in a baby fever just bc of deku. everybody talk obsessively about it & even if you find that one person who does not care they def know someone who does. all this happen while deku just go about his day like all of Japan isnt watching his every move lol. the strangest thing about deku's pregnancy is that there's no sign of the other parent?? deku isnt even dating anyone. he never mention any alpha AT ALL, only declaring that he plans to raise his baby all by himself as a single parent which blew their fucking mind bc wtfffff.

look, deku is the most famous omega around, sitting high atop of the world as the no. 1 hero & is adore by the mass--he's greatest omega of his generation some would say so yea there's lot of expectation & hope place on him but deku is deku & he does what he wants. ppl speculate that maybe he's pregnant bc he had a one night stand and this was accident, maybe he has been in a secret relationship all this time, maybe this baby was from a spurned lover or WORST yet a produce of rape... LIKE there's so many rumor swirling around but the answer is actually v v v simple. deku has always wanted a child and since he's nearing 30 right now, he thought it's hightime he has one and the other father? JUST A DONOR. it's nothing serious or complicated as ppl imagine to be.

deku wants a kid and now he has one!! but ppl just can't comprehend how it could be that simple when the most notoble omega in all of japan decide he wants a kid W/O having a mate and he's going to raise this baby all by himself and nope he's not even going to quit his job at ALL to have a family. deku is just--blowing their mind lol

the world doesn't so much get over it as they just kinda get dragged along bc deku does not give a single fuck wut other think and proceed to be immersed in his pregnancy and try to survive the next 6 months while everyone waited on bated breath to see what deku does next. the only thing that stick is the constant rumor mill of who is the donor of deku's baby. they assume that deku wouldn't just pick a stranger bc he's sentimental like that so speculations run amok about every alpha that is closely associate with deku.

there are public polls, betting rings w/ billions on the line, televised debates, internet flame wars, and ACTUAL ARGUMENTS B/T FAMILY/FRIENDS/COWORKERS on who the fuck is deku's donor! even more than deku's baby, they're fucking obsessed on finding out who is the actual donor. the thing is it's not THAT big of a secret. all of class A are in the loop, his mom know (ofc), and even his agency but they all managed to keep it a secret bc deku's privacy is the utmost important & beside the other father would literally MURDER them if it ever get expose.

this is how it went: bullied by his pr team, deku went on a variety show where they have to babysit kids & put through various childbearing challenge while cameras record them for entertainment purpose. It's there when deku realized "ah, I WANT THIS. I WANT THIS V BADLY." deku is climbing close to his 30 now, he's well established presence in the hero world, and his life is pretty stable so it's high time he have his own little family but the thing is babies are two ppl business. they don't just come from thin air so deku did the next best thing.

katsuki would like to say he didn't see this coming the same way you would not expect to be attack by a shark on land, but in this case deku is that fucking shark & katsuki is the idiot that get completley blindsided by him when deku cornered him one day and asked for his sperm.

ok, bakudeku aint dating. they have deep & complicated history that is not only confusing o everybody else but also confusing to them. 'friend' would be to light of a word but anything else is left undefined bc how do you explain more than 2 decades of w/e they are to each other. katsuki doesn't want to talk about the amount of time he'd used image of deku to get off while in rut just so he can survive through it, while the next few days trying to resist punching deku in the face bc he act like a sacrificial idiot who got a cross he wants to bear.

it's not 100% healthy his therapist unhelpfully pointed out but the core of all his volatile feelings have always been named deku & katsuki doesn't know how to compartmentalize it properly bc katsuki may have squashed to something small & insignificant but it's heavy & permanent. so when deku laid his fucked up request at katsuki's feet, he broke the table they were using and nearly walked out if deku didn't catch him by the arm in time.

"kacchan, pls here me out first," deku begged of him, his sweet permeating the air; he's NOT PLAYING FAIR AT ALL. whoever said alphas are the dominate sex in the world have never met an omega, a determine goal focus omega with babies on the brain like deku.

"kacchan, recently i realized that im only getting older so i want a child when i still can," deku explained. "so won't you help me? i know settling down right now is the farthest thing from your mind, but im not asking you anything like that," he continued as katsuki quietly fumed in the background. "i just want your help in making this selfish wish of mine come true. you're among my top choices, kacchan."

Katsuki jerked up. "wait, you mean to say there's a fucking list of alphas you plan to extort their sperm from?" he seethed, feeling like deku had took a goddamn knife to his pride and butcher it completely. "how many other ppl have you asked before you even came to me?!"

"im not extorting anything from anyone." Deku frowned. "and, well, you always lectured me about diving head first w/o any backup plans," he pointed out, "so i made sure to leave several options open just in case the first one fell through. see? i did thought this one thru."

katsuki nearly broke another piece of furniture at the thought of deku asking someone else to father his child as though he was just another face in a long list of ppl deku could use. "What did every alpha on ur shitty list rejected u already so now have to come to me for help?"

deku, who was no.1 for a reason, narrowed his eyes and the air crackled around them. "kacchan, this is extremely important to me so i wouldnt just chose anyone. i only know a handful of alphas i can trust and someone im happy to share the other half of my child with. you're the 1st person that came to my mind when i thought about a child growing inside of me," he said, wrapping his arm around his flat tummy. "despite our many differences you're the one i admire the most. your strength & ambition, grounded by your strong drive & work ethics. the fact that you got where you are w/ your own hands & wits to guide you, i think you're just amazing. so how could i not want those kind of qualities for my own child," deku explained. "im sure a child born from half of your genes you will shine just brightly as you do."

katsuki felt so taken back that found his tongue heavy and words were escaping him. on one hand he felt a rush of pride and a strange sensation of happiness that deku had specifically chosen him out of his potential candidates bc of the greatness he had seem in katsuki but he'd also narrowed katsuki out not bc of some sentimental bullshit or lingering feelings but he thought of providing his future child with the best gene pool as possible so his child can flourish. it's a damn ego busting for katsuki but deku was clearly a man on a mission.

katsuki hesitated and thought what it would mean to have a child out there who carry a lil part of him in them; it's unnerving and humbling at the same time. he never thought of it himself but deku had dream of this, wanted this so badly enough to beg katsuki for help.

"alright," he said finally, not knowing exactly what compelled him to agree, but the look of utter happiness spreading across deku's face as he can barely contain his joy. a single word from him had caused deku's word to shift and rearranged itself to make room for another life.

and that's how katsuki got con into helping izuku make a baby lol. but, really katsuki was the one who agreed to it out of his own will bc he's an idiot & also terribly whipped; omegas are the ones ppl should be frighten of bc once they make up their mind it's hard to move them. they're an unstoppable force, something to be reckon w/ esp when that omega is the no.1 hero who fought his way to the top of the rankings and maintain that status quo for many years despite how many times katsuki tried to topple him from that perch LOL.

katsuki already lost the war before he'd even put a foot down on battlefront the moment deku'd opened his mouth & demanded his sperm AND HE KNEW IT TOO. so that was how katsuki found himself preparing to empty his balls in front of a two-way mirror in a mating clinic bc of deku. omegas, esp males, are the most fertile when they're in heat & when an alpha go in a rut, but the both of them have this arrangment that's more of a duty than any feelings involve bc they cant risk getting mix up in the hormones. this is for deku & his future child!!! so the clinic had prepared a large room w/ two way dividing mirrors& open air vents circulating b/t the two rooms so they can breathe in each other scene where deku can have his heat on one side and katsuki can watch BUT NOT TOUCH and get his rut on so he can produce sperm.

it's uh, not supposed to be v sexy since it's all clinical & shit but bakudeku being bakudeku they nearly tear the room apart to get to each other in heat/rut madnes. deku had blushed earlier as he asked to be bind with quirk restrictions cuff just in case he go crazy which HE DID. at first the nurses there was more worry about katsuki going crazy and out of control bc he has been known to fall pretty high on the alpha aggression and they fear it would be katsuki who would be dangerous; BUT NOPE it's deku all all along who almost broke the REINFORCED MIRROR just so he can get to katsuki!!!! DEKU WHO PPL SOMETIMES FORGET IS LIKE THE NO. 1 HERO FOR A REASON. soft and sweet deku who single handedly can fuck you up with just his fingers if he want to. he's an omega on a mission and he wants that knot up his ass AND HE WANTS IT NOW.

the nurses & docs have to use everything in their toolkit to pull bakudeku apart. when it's all said and done, katsuki embarrassingly produce buckets of cum enough to last deku a looooooong long time if the first one didn't take lol while deku couldn't look at katsuki in the eyes. they are both horridly embarrass about their 'not mating' and their action toward each other there even though they never actually touch each other through out the whole heat/rut procedure. despite the fact that they DIDN'T HAVE ANY SEX, it was still the hottest exp for both.

katsuki never seen more more feral and fierce omega who nearly broke the entire room just to get to him, in that moment if katsuki wasn't in love already he would have been half way there and izuku didn't expect KATSUKI AT ALL. the way he had handle izuku was completely diff. in izuku's heat fever, katsuki was the lone anchor who'd provided him grounding. he tried to calm deku down from his ramp up hormones even though he was as clearly affected as deku. forceful but not unforgiving, commanding not unyielding, firm but gentle.

it was electric.

it was as though izuku was a wild animal unleashed and katsuki managed to tamed him and he never had even had to raise a single finger to do it. it was all in his words that cut through izuku's hazy feverish wants and desires. the kind of alpha that made deku's knees weak.

after that, they have wordless mutual agreement to never talk about it. deku got the sperms he wanted and katsuki had finally fullfiedd his obligation and isn't responsible for deku or his future child. HE'S DONE. they dont have anything to do w/ each other anymore. RIGHT??? ha.

it's funny bc izuku had his hope on a child but didn't think it would take so soon! he'd thought he would fail a few times first before he get really lucky w/ conception bc of his age now that he's older, this 'psuedo mating' can't replace real mating, & biology is fucking weird. even the fertility doc couldn't promise this procedure to insert bkg's sperm in him when he's still got in a heat fever will work 100% and if they fail, they have to wait for another HEAT to come before it could work. which mean months of waiting in b/t so izuku is desperate. BUT it took one try. THAT'S ALL IT TOOK as izuku anxiously waited for the news in next couple of weeks. he took at home pregnacy tests and when hall 3 results were positive he'd cried and called his mom but even then he didn't tell anyone bc he was so scare it just was a fluke.

he'd kept this secret until he finally got the visit to his doc and could get the firm confirmation he needed! when the doc revealed that he was indeed pregnant, izuku fell to his knees in relief bc finally, FINALLY, his dream of having a baby had came true. he's a father now!!

the doc had warned that the first trimester would be rough on him bc of his age and miscarriage is more likely for him than most male omega. maybe he should consider taking an early pregnacy leave bc of the danger his job poses to him & the unborn baby. deku had agonized over it. ultimately, he decided to continue w/ his hero work but won't take on as much stuff as before. he plans to be more careful & attentive to his safety, and defer his more dangerous work to his colleagues instead. all his friends and coworkers go out of their way to help him w/ this

izuku got an entire community of heroes WHO DO THEIR BEST TO ENSURE HIS PREGNACY GO SMOOTHLY bc look izuku may be doing this alone but HE'S NOT ACTUALLY ALONE bc he got his friends, colleagues, and mom to support him through this bc they know how much this means to him!!

katsuki was one of the last to find out but only bc deku plan to see him in person to tell him bc katsuki HAD GIVEN HIM ONE OF THE BEST GIFTS (beside OFA) and he wanted to thank katsuki in person but class A are a bunch of gossip mongers so he found out through their groupchat. it started as a joke about katsuki & his super seed bc what a fucking stud bakugou katsuki to have ONE TRY and is able to knocked izuku up so quickly lmao. w/e the fuck katsuki is doing or eating, apparently it works wonder for him bc one of his sperm luck out & hit jackpot. his so called friends cant stop ribbing into him for knocking up deku so quickly bc they know from deku's worry that it wasn't going to be an easy conception but IT'S BAKUGOU KATSKUKI, outdoing himself once more bc he never does anything by half, not even his own sperm lol.

izuku met up with katsuki right outside his agency bc he knew wassup and how to corner katsuki effectively by trapping him when he just high off his patrol when he least expect an ambush esp when he was too busy avoiding izuku's attempts to reach him bc of COMPLICATED FEELS.

it's not cowardice that kept katsuki away, but izuku was the source of all his confusing feelings already & now w/ the news that he's carrying katsuki's child now it'd gotten worst. izuku, though, was nothing if not persistent. he zeroed in katsuki right away w/ purposeful steps.

"kacchan, i'm so glad to meet you here," izuku says as though he hadn't coordinate this w/ katsuki's coworkers, who are all SOFT for izuku anyway lmao, to get katsuki alone JUST LIKE THIS. katsuki knew he was caught bc every one his friends & colleagues are FUCKING TRAITORS.

"what," he snapped, clenching the hands at his side as he tried to keep his gaze from izuku's still very flat tummy. it's weird to think a life was quickly taking shape there when it's not like izuku looked any diff but he smiling more brightly & warmth coming from his person. was this what they call the pregnancy glow? bc deku was fucking blinding that katsuki wanted to shove his hand to deku's face to block it out.

"what you want," he demanded again even tho they both know why deku was here.

unperturbed, deku smiled. "im pregnant now so thank you. you'd helped fulfilled one of my biggest dreams & im ever so grateful for it!" he continued, rocking happily back & forth on his heels but the words barely registered katsuki kept staring at the way deku's body swing out & he opened his mouth before he could think better of it.

"should you be even moving liek that ?" he asked BC SINCE FINDING OUT IZUKU IS PREGNANT HE LOST HIS MIND. as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he was a dead man walking.

izuku leveled him a glare so fierce that he actually took a step back w/ chills running up his back. "kacchan i may be pregnant but im not an invalid," izuku said with the sharp edge of a smile and thinly veiled steel in his voice. the scariest part was that he hadn't drop a single smile but the ominous threas was there. "do you want me to show you how much of not invalid i am?"

katsuki scowled, face pinching at the thought whether this was just the usual deku's bs or this was deku's bs + the pregnancy hormones that get him so rile up. either way, katsuki no matter how much of an ass he was, he wasn't going to punch a pregnant omega to prove a point.

"fine, that was dumb sorry," he said, scratching the back of his ear in annoyance. "so was that all you wanted to say?"

deku's eyes crinkle in amusement as katsuki's scowl deepens. "yea, i just wanted you to hear the news from me personally and expressed my thanks."

"i'll take good care of them," he said softly, a stray hand caressing his stomach carefully. "I promise i'll be good to them so you dont have to worry."

katsuki paused and then, "I know," he said bc he does. deku was going to be a good parent w/o a doubt. That is a truth.

deku's eyes light up at katsuki's words and there was a hint of wetness in them that katsuki had the unnerving fear that he was going to cry right here and katsuki's entire agency going to charge out & murder him for making a pregnant omega, THE PREGNANT OMEGA DEKU cry in public.

"t-thank you," he sniffs, but THANKFULLY NO ACTUAL CRYING INVOLE, "it makes me so happy to hear that you in believe me. i won't fail you, i swear!" he said it like he was making a vow for world peace or some shit bc of how serious it had sounded but this was important to him.

"yea, okay," katsuki said, looking away bc got this entire conversation was agonizing bc here he was talking to the person, but not JUST ANY RANDOM PERSON, who is carrying a baby w/ half of katsuki's dna & they're not fucking each other. like,,, that's fucking weird okay.

"that's all i wanted to say," deku told him, fully aware how uncomfortable this talk was making him, "so I won't bother you anymore." he gave one last smile and turned to go but KATSUKI WHO SHOULD HAVE LET IT END THERE found himself opening his mouth and grabbing deku by the arm.

it was careful, a firm but gentle hand placed his forearm like deku was glass that stopped him for a moment. "if--if," katsuki said, swallowing around a stone in his throat, "you find yourself needing anything, call me ok? ANYTHING i dont care just call me and i'll be there."

a slow but the brightest fucking smile he had ever seen bloom on deku's flushed face. "ok, i'll let you know," he replied, bc this was KATSUKI PUTING HIMSELF OUT THERE AND WANTING TO GET INVOLVE IN IZUKU'S PREGNACY even tho deku had given him a clean break from it. HE CHOSE THIS.

katsuki doesn't know what he was thinking then but the words slipped passed his guard before he can stop it & now he fucking doomed himself, doom himself to 3am late night calls of deku crying in hysteric at his home bc he ran out of some rare hard to find fruit bc CRAVINGS. so now katsuki had to dragged himself all the way across town to hunt for this shit. the morning news of that day was hero ground zero harrassing shopkeeper in the FUCKING ASS'S OCLOCK FOR SOME FRUIT AND DEMANDING IT NOW FOR W/E REASON, WHILE LOOKING SO FURIOUS & UNHINGED.

look, it's not like deku doesn't have an entire network of ppl to reach out to if he ever needed anything bc they would even laid down their life for him but even when he's cursing a storm trying to get deku's his midnight craving, he's so relief it's him that deku called first. besides, he firmly knew wut he had signed up for the moment he had opened his mouth. offering is help in the pregnancy process was him choosing to get involve and commit to deku & his (god fucking damn shit, he can't think of it as *theirs* bc that's too dangerous) baby. and bc this is bakugou katsuki and he never does any by halves so even though he may have been reluctant at first but now that he's firmly on board he's going in full throttle w/ no break in sight. katsuki dumps all his $$ on pregnacy & prenatal care books.

he read papers, argued on pregnancy forum, & even harassed his parents on it just so he can come at this like a fucking boss bc while he has full faith in deku to put the safety of the fetus first but also HE DOESN'T FUCKING TRUST DEKU TO PUT HIMSELF FIRST which is just as import. deku has the self-preservation  of a damn child & he can't expect a *child* to take care of himself so KATSUKI OBVIOUSLY GOT TO DO IT FOR HIM. so he make diet plans, prepare prep meals for deku ahead of them, annoyed deku's coworkers to watch out for him lest he does something stupid. he make it his firm mission that this pregnancy will go smoothly as possible so even when he's running errands for deku, getting his weird ass food craving, and taking deku to visit his ob-gyn, sitting in the waiting room anxiously for any news in case SOMETHING GO WRONG.

He even drives himself crazy learning about the things a pregnant person can't do/is at risk of doing & he doesn't know how anyone can fucking take this for 10 months bc it's like walking on a precarious tight rope. it's scary & humbling and he just want deku & the baby to be ok.

there are still crimes and villains to wrangle, and the world keeps on spinning; nothing really change all that much now that deku's pregnant but katsuki finds himself personally accolating his precious time and energy toward deku & the baby. he became one of those *PEOPLE*, ugh. he never got it even when his friends had popped out spawns of their own. he wasn't going to get dragged down by biology & all that general bullshit about settling down. he's at the top of his game & prize to take over deku's position as no.1. he got no time for playing family.

yet here he is standing in the middle of a fucking baby store, staring down a damn baby crib and having a melt down. who the fuck knew that baby cribs come in so many fucking versions and THERE ARE JUST TOO MANY OF THEM. he thought he had come prepare but no this was toughs shit. he only saw this store in passing while on a patrol & thought he should drop by but the next thing he knew he got trapped here for three fucking hours just looking at baby cribs. he already got several people walking passed him, eyeing him weirdly as he internally freak out.

there are ridiculous amount of info floating on the internet about crib buying guide like the bars could only be certain inches apart, non-toxic paints, diff kind of mattress, safe headboards, etc etc. all of that to ensure the baby doesn't fucking DIE bc babies are like FRAGILE.

he calls deku & as soon as he picks up, the first thing katsuki says is, "last year, there were 1,842 babies death due to sudden infant death syndrome."

a long pointed pause, and then, "oh geez," deku answers, "where are you? I'll be right there, okay? don't go anywhere!"

#bakudeku #not!fic #sperm donor au

[10moonymhrivertam]

Hello! A post by @west-moor got me thinking, and it resulted in this! This is a little left to the point of the post, but it just grabbed hold of my brain for a solid three days. It’s currently full of author’s notes, but I feel the Need to Share. (Please let me know if you’d like to see any of the struck-through bits revisited!)

Warnings: Renfri’s backstory mentioned throughout (rape tw); Jack Harkness-style immortality (death tw, not permanent)

Concept: With a little bit of timeline nudging, Jaskier could be Renfri’s son

“Dandelion, come here before I go.” Renfri held out her arms, and Julian dashed forward, snuggling into her. She squeezed him. “I want you to make me a promise, okay?” Her voice was soft but raw. Julian frowned - this must be serious. 

“What kind?” He asked, refusing to let go of her. She rested her chin on the top of his head. ((she’s grateful she doesn’t have to look him in the eye))

Renfri sighed, tracing patterns on his back. “The [hard/important/??] kind. What I’m about to do...it might get me in trouble. I -“ Renfri hugged him tighter. “I might not be able to get back home.”

“What?” Julian’s voice went up, and Renfri shushed him gently, kissing the top of his head. 

“I want to. I’m going to try to. But this is dangerous, Dandelion. Even so, I have to take this chance. I’m so sorry.” Renfri took a breath. “But I need you to promise me, Julian, that if I don’t come home...you won’t do anything about it.” She squeezed him, so he didn’t shout like he wanted to. “No matter what you hear. No matter what Stregobor might do. That bastard cannot have you, do you understand?” Julian squirmed, and Renfri loosened up her hug with an apology, finally pulling back to look at him. “I don’t trust him not to use any excuse he can to hurt you, too. So we’re not going to give him an inch. Not a thing he can twist about you the way he did me. Alright?” She cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “So that’s the promise. No revenge. I don’t care what else you do, love - swordplay or poetry, or -“ She grasped for a third option, shook her head when she couldn’t seem to find one. “Anything but revenge. Promise?”

“Promise, Mummy.” Julian saw her eyes go misty. ST ? It was probably because he’d called her Mummy instead of Renfri. That’s what everyone else called her, and she was fine with him doing it, too. [Also draws less attention than Mummy] But sometimes, when he was scared or when something was important, Mummy meant so much more ? ST

*****

Fuck, but it had been hard without Renfri. It seemed like it would be fine, at first. Renfri had left him with her friend Gina; Gina lived in Oxenfurt; and he kept living with Gina; so it was easy to badger the Academy into accepting him when his interests turned to poetry. (He ignored the pang he felt at the memory of his last promise to his mother.)

Since then...well, he was just glad Gina was an innkeeper and had seen every trick in the book for getting food, some less underhanded than others. He stuffed the bread into his pants - he wasn’t likely to be able to eat here in peace, not with everyone...

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the corner and narrowed. Not everyone. He’d thrown neither bread nor coin. Strange - even people nominally without opinions usually got caught up in the energy of a room. He hopped to his feet, grabbed an ale, and crossed the room. He’d expected it to be a little harder to wheedle a review from the stranger, considering he claimed he was there to drink alone, but he came right out with his opinion once Jaskier sat down across from him. Now Jaskier got a good look at the whole of him, though, besides that stand-out hair. His eyes were golden.

“White hair....big, old loner. Two very -“ Jaskier’s words caught in his throat. The hilt that peeked just barely out of the [bag (technical term?)]. He couldn’t look away from it. “Very,” he managed to find his voice before it could be suspicious. “Scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt stood. [second instinct>] STDismay filled Jaskier. That was his mother’s brooch. Seeing it made his heart ache, and he wanted a piece of her - any piece of her - back. He tried to stop him by drawing attention, but it only landed Geralt a job. Well. A job would keep him in Posada long enough to talk, wouldn’t it? So he followed, letting his mouth run wherever it would. He surprised himself a little with the optimism in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”.ST

[first instinct>] Jaskier nearly saw red. The Witcher didn’t get to just walk away with his murdered mother’s brooch. Drawing attention to Geralt didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, instead landing him a job. Jaskier hurried after him, not wanting to give him any chance of escape. He let his mouth run as it would, taking a kernel of malicious glee in pointing out the onion scent. Geralt either had a very good poker face or quite thick skin, or both. He surprised himself with the optimistic tone in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. After all, Geralt had already brought him two of those things directly.

“Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the Butcher of Blaviken.” He relished the taste of the title in his mouth. The way it hung in the air was viscerally satisfying. He shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. It made the fist seem like it came out of nowhere. 

He couldn’t catch his breath back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him once before, falling out of a tree. It had seemed like it had taken hours for Renfri to come to him and hold his hand. It was probably barely minutes, if that. The panic stretched time. Long enough for him to remember his promise to Renfri and break his own heart. He’d nearly broken his promise. Over a piece of jewelry - a sentimental improvised weapon, but far from as useful as the daggers he hid on his person. 

When he could breathe again, he straightened to find Geralt hadn’t moved far. He seemed to be checking the horse’s reigns, but coincidentally finished just as Jaskier straightened up. Well. That was almost cute. Jaskier dug claws right into a tender title, and Geralt waited to make sure he hadn’t done permanent damage. He suppressed a smile. 

“You really do pack a wallop!” He crowed. He regretted it a little, his stomach still aching. “What’s this going to take, two minutes?”

Geralt ignored him, mounting Roach. Jaskier hurried to keep up, still talking.

*****

As he talked, Jaskier realized his mother would’ve disapproved. Home wrecking wasn’t puppy-murder, but it was still something Stregobor might use should he ever find out Julian de Lettenhove was connected to the Black Sun. But there was nothing to be done about it, now. It didn’t technically break his promise, and it did too many wondrous things for his mental health to simply go without.

Jaskier was tired of this semantic argument, and they’d only had it twice before. The first time Jaskier had called Geralt a friend, and the first time he’d called him his best friend. He was all too happy to turn the conversation back to the night’s contract, and years of living at an inn had him snatching away Geralt’s ale with barely a thought. There was work to be done, and drink made everyone slow, even Witchers. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier dismissed, setting the ale gently on the dresser. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.” You got involved in Stegobor’s petty squabble. You killed my mother. But that would bring the mood down and might give Geralt the wrong idea. Real friendship had taken two years for Jaskier to admit to himself, and sometimes hurt still festered, but hate? It had all but vanished at Dol Blathana, listening to Geralt bargain for his life. Listening to him reason with the elves, Jaskier suspected he got a peek into his mother’s last few days. He had to stop thinking about it. He pulled a joke out of his ass and let the conversation carry itself. 

*

He had proven, via scorned lovers past, that he had a resistance to magic. It didn’t skirt away from him, not completely. But it was often less severe. However, a shockwave was a shockwave was a shockwave. 

***

A djinn was not a shockwave. And he thanked his mother, and Melitele - even Lillit for that. Because he could feel the djinn on the edge of his senses. Drowned, trapped, shaken, fought over: tired and hellishly angry. He should’ve dropped dead, his throat burst open. But no. There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he could hardly force air in and out, but he was alive. Barely. Because the djinn had underestimated the force it would need. As his head began to spin and he clutched desperately at Geralt, his mind took a few funny turns. Renfri would be disappointed in the wish about Valdo. Not against the letter of the promise, but the spirit - Stregobor could definitely use murder-by-djinn against him. Would Renfri think it was funny if he died in Geralt’s arms, when she had met her end at his hands? And make no mistake, he was dying despite the djinn’s miscalculation: that was Roach’s back. Even after a decade, he still didn’t get to ride Roach unless he broke a leg miles outside town. 

**

[Yenn POV of Jaskier definitely dying and coming back to life; deciding to make it her little secret???]

**

It was a spring snow, and Jaskier wasn’t dressed for it. He was pleasantly surprised when the puppy eyes he gave Geralt got a non-frowning eye roll. That was about as good as an exasperated laugh from Gina. Shortly afterward, Geralt had found a safe-ish cave, and Jaskier helped him to set up the campfire. Usually Geralt didn’t resort to an Igni to start a fire unless they were both running low on coin for supplies - better to have all his energy at his disposal if something came across them in the night. But the kindling was damp, and Jaskier was shivering. After the fire, Geralt rummaged around on Roach for a moment before producing a blanket to drape around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier smiled at him. 

For a while, there was only the sound of the whetstone as Jaskier warmed up. Once he felt a little better, though, out came Filavandrel’s lute. It had become something of a game over the years, to try to make Geralt’s sword-sharpening his metronome. He plucked mindlessly in time to the sound, his eyes only half-focused. Renfri’s brooch caught the light as Geralt worked. Jaskier didn’t even realize what he was playing until Geralt stopped, looking downright alarmed. Well, for him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier frowned at him. The change in his face meant he felt the tear tracks. Then, he realized what he’d been playing. He clamped his fingers down on the fret board, strangling the notes. 

“Fuck. No.” Jaskier wiped roughly at his face. “I...didn’t think I still knew that.” He focused on his instrument.

“Do you...not want to talk about it?” He supposed it made sense for Geralt to be unsettled - he did usually tell Geralt about all his woes. He’d just kept him away from the serious ones, the old ones, so far.

Jaskier swallowed. He unfolded his hand and slowly began to play again. “Little Viscount Dandelion,” he sang. “It’s time to rest your head. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to eat your bread.” He hummed a little. “Little lord, oh little lord.” More humming. “Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to comb your hair. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to cut through air.” It was five lines, at best. How was he crying again? Why couldn’t he go on? Renfri had stretched it out as he grew up. The first couplet had been easy. But as she’d wanted him to do more than go to sleep or to eat his dinner without a fuss, rhymes had gotten harder. He’d helped her rhyme them, and she would sing it while he laid down to sleep, or while she combed his hair. Sometimes she would teach him to fight to it. “‘S just a silly kids’ song.” Jaskier said thickly.

“Nothing silly about something that makes you think.” Geralt looked down at his sword, his thumb skimming across the edge of Renfri’s brooch. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it now. Geralt must have caught his line of sight. “Even you’ll think less of me if I tell you where this came from.”

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low, so mournful. And the sincerity had to be confusing. 

“I killed the woman it belonged to.”

“In Blaviken?” He was relieved it sounded like a guess. Geralt grunted in grave affirmation. 

“It’s from Creyden, I gathered,” Geralt continued. 

“Princess Renfri’s.” Please, just let his voice not sound funny to Geralt.

“Not a Princess after what Stregobor[‘s meddling got her stepmother (to do)]did to her.”

“I imagine not,” Jaskier murmured. His hands clenched around his lute. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t told him about the man who sired him. But she had never, not even once, held it against him. 

“You should sleep, Jaskier. It’s not going to clear up before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed in a whisper. He rolled out his bedroll and curled up as close to the fire as he dared. If he hummed Renfri’s song and cried himself to sleep, only Geralt and Roach could say so. 

***

[mountain? Or just...skip the mountain, cuz it’s overdone and I don’t imagine much changes]

***

ST Jaskier stopped suddenly. Ciri noticed first and tugged Geralt to a stop. Jaskier turned on his heel and retraced several of his steps, stopping in front of a pair of [idle gossipers(?)].

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” He flashed them a quick grin so patently false that be even saw Geralt wince out of the corner of his eyes. “You said Gina of Oxenfurt’s in town?”

“Apparently she knew Jaskier before Toss A Coin. She keeps tryin-a find him, she said.”

“Right, right. Who did you say she’s with?”

“Ffffffrida,” the other one said slowly, far too drunk for so early in the afternoon. “Of Let-something.”

“Lettenhove?” 

“Hey, yeah!” They frowned then. “Did you need to talk to them?”

“Would help, yeah.”

“Right. They’re at the market,” the first one declared. The other frowned. 

“No. The [otjer place]”

Jaskier’s heart roared in his ears as they fought, and he charged out to go looking himself. Gina wouldn’t let just anyone use Lettenhove - she knew what it had meant to Renfri, the pretend city she’d given him because she could. Jaskier snarled as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he prepared for a fight. 

“Which one were you checking?”

“[place]

[Renfri back, bitches. I might prefer this pre-mountain tho idk. Best for Julian’s blood pressure if he finds her first instead s of Geralt finding her.] ST

*****

“Julian.” Jaskier froze. Then he nearly cursed himself out - there would be no denying after-the-fact that the name had anything to do with him. He stood there and clung to the strap of his lute, trying not to lose himself in swirling negativity. He turned, surprisingly controlled. He frowned at seeing it was Borsch. 

“I prefer Jaskier.” Well, at least his voice stayed even. He tried to settle himself, putting his arms at his sides. 

“Come with me, my boy. Didn’t you tell our companion you’d be getting the rest of the story?” His tone was complicated. He’d obviously noticed Jaskier had no intention of doing anything but going straight down the mountain, but there was a painful gentleness to his request. Jaskier followed just to shed the itch of vulnerability. He could hardly believe what he saw there [in the cave]. At least until he turned to speak to Borsch and fell flat on his arse with an undignified Yelp. Alright, then. Gold dragons. Rarest. That’s how he’d smiled like he knew better than a Witcher. 

ST“I sought out the Witcher for a number of reasons. The first being that I have, on occasion, insights into the course of destiny. The second being the way your songs painted him. Destiny showed me a number of paths. And I may have guessed at the wrong one, given the knowledge of what occurred in Blaviken. But I heard your songs, and destiny told me of you. I am relieved I let faith dictate my choice.”

[dialogue I don’t wanna deal with hammering out at work]

[Borsch revealing the Jack Harkness thing “there are some creatures on this Earth who are not slated to meet their makers even should they fall to tooth, claw, or blade.” Etc; mentioning Deidre as an “aunt”, maybe suggesting Eskel assumes she’s dead as well and maybe he should fix that; intro of idea that Renfri would call other girls of the black sun his aunts]ST

STBorch didn’t speak, letting Jaskier stare, his mouth flapping soundlessly. 

“You hired Geralt,” he eventually managed. 

“Yes.”

“For - protection?” He guessed, face screwing up in a sort of frustrated confusion. ST

“Fuck!” It felt good to swear. It made the loss, the anger, the confusion, and the heartbreak feel less intense. 

“The baby does have some understanding of the world, if you don’t mind.” Borch’s voice was terribly mild. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut - he never was good at keeping it that way for long, though, not that Renfri or her men had ever minded. Gods, that was so long ago, now. 

“No one’s called me Julian in thirty years.”

ST“Will you keep your promise to your mother, even now?” Borch asked, softer than Jaskier would’ve believed possible. Jaskier sighed, curling in on himself and covering his face.

“He would deserve it if I broke it.” His voice was dark and angry. A moment later, he curled deeper in on himself. “No, he doesn’t. That bastard.”ST

“With all that’s happened today, I think it is safest if you know something in advance, Viscount Pankratz.” Jaskier looked up furtively, trying to make sure no one heard. When nothing stirred, he fixed his gaze on Borch. 

“There are some individuals in this world who are destined not to meet their makers until a god is satisfied with their work here. Wounds that should end them will not stick; substances that shouldn’t be inside them will be expelled one way or another; some days they will wake up and find that wrinkles they had the day before have retreated.” Borch looked at him. Jaskier frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Many of Lilit’s chosen fall into that category.” The words settled slowly into his mind, his frown deepening. 

“Not all of them?”

“Not all. But - some. Including your mother.” Jaskier’s breath hitched. Borch fell silent. It felt like Jaskier’s mind was racing, but he couldn’t have articulated one single thought on his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have to -“ Where before he’d felt lost, his tether of twenty years cut, now he had new purpose. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You’re very welcome. Take care, Jaskier.”

Jaskier babbled another goodbye as he raced to start back down the mountain. 

***

[thing from receipt in work jacket pocket about Valdo discovering Gina isn’t Jaskier’s mother.]

“It’s what bards did at the Academy, make fun of each other,” Marx claimed. “It’s all in good fun, picking at your opponent’s mother. Nobody means what they say.” Geralt stated dubiously at Valdo Marx. Were students really that stupid? “We were at the inn - fairly traditional setting. Everyone knew it was where Jaskier was from, too. The regulars all knew him; Gina roped him into chores on the weekend. I was up first. I’d cultivated my set carefully. Nothing that might actually hurt Gina’s feelings.”

“But you were wrong,” Geralt rumbled. Otherwise, there’d be no story to tell - he’d learned that much from Jaskier. 

“Found out when he put a dagger to my throat, and I was the one Gina kicked out over it. Gave me a lifetime ban, but... did me the courtesy of explaining, a few years back. It hadn’t been all that long, in the grand scheme. His mother had gone traveling and never made it back. It was a mistake,” Valdo insisted. “One anyone could make. Glad, in hindsight, that it was me, even if he still holds it against me.”

****

[Deidre and Jaskier meeting]

***

Vesemir was tucked into a shadow on the battlements. He was glad he’d been in the courtyard; inside, the stone might’ve blocked their voices. But he’d been hearing them for a while now, giggly and serious in turns.

“Whose idea was this? All this trouble and they’re not even likely to be home.” The man’s voice had turned from giggles to complaints the closer they drew. 

“Mm. Yes. Terrible idea.” The woman sounded terribly amused. 

“Fuck you.” His voice was light. 

“Language!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He laughed.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. It’s my right as an ‘aunt’.” Laughter, a pause. “How often were you mistaken for siblings?”

“Usually as soon as I opened my mouth and called her by her name instead of, y’know, Mum.”

“Figures.”

“Oh!” The man said after a beat of silence.  “Oh, towers! Oh, thank fuck, this mountain is too damn tall.”

[more break in]

They were rather a motley pair as they stood before Vesemir. [Deidre] and the brightly-dressed man who was probably a bard, to be carrying his lute this far. 

“Well, you see - sir,” the bard amended. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Where do I even start?”

“Your mother?”

“Bad decision.” He shook his head at her. “Too much, too fast.” He paused again. “Well.... A dragon told me to find my Mum because she didn’t stay dead. But it’s been thirty years and I didn’t know where to look. Ran into Deidre first. Mum always talked about other Black Sun princesses as sisters. I was interested. She heard me out. Have to say, the ‘Witcher’s child surprise’ thing gave me a headache. But when she told me it was a Wolf, well - I knew generally where Kaer Morhen is, and we thought it would be funny if we. Um. Dropped in. Especially since it’s Summer so the consequences are minimal.”

This bard knew too damn much. “Are you Jaskier, then?”

“Ah. I hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious.” Suddenly, tentative hope bloomed behind his eyes. “You’ve heard of me?”

[All Geralt talks about. Other princesses? ~~ Ah yes well no easy way to say this mine is one too. It’s Renfri. No, Geralt doesn’t know. About any of this. And please don’t tell him! well, you’re actually supposed to tell them all Deidre and her nephew came by, to make Eskel sweat, but - hand wring - don’t connect Jaskier and Julian in their heads, if you can avoid it?]

*****

Jaskier had a hand pressed to Roach’s neck as they walked. It was both easier and harder going this way than breaking in. He liked the directness of it, but he hated the cold. Ciri shifted on Roach and leaned down a little to fuss with the cloak Geralt had made him wear.

[Vesemir has found Renfri; reunions, identity confessions, etc...]

***

[hm. To mention all the ammo Stregobor could potentially have against him and then not having a Stregobor plot is about as distracting as an unused rifle on the wall.]

#fanfic #writing #the witcher #the witcher netflix #i have no book knowledge only fic osmosis #messy #but please take pity on me and read it anyway #i'd appreciate it #jaskier #renfri

[randomrosewrites]

TSOYS DRAFTS

Here are the remaining drafts I wrote for the story. Excuse the grammar and spelling mistakes. Thank you for reading. 

Chapter 23 draft:

You’re in darkness. 

There’s sweat covering the back of your neck, rolling uncomfortably down your spine in slow droplets.

The dark is horrible, suffocating. There’s no escape from it. An ache buzzes through you, making you want to squirm in place. And everywhere you turn, to try and ease the feeling, an electric buzz follows. 

There’s a chatter. Like the gnashing and tapping of teeth. You shudder. Your body feels sick. Decaying, self-destructing, rejecting itself.

The oxygen flowing to your body slows. Then you can’t breathe. You panic, inhaling deeply, but it’s never enough. 

The buzz nears. And your heart spikes at the familiar sound of well polished dress shoes against the floor. Your eyes aren’t open, but you can feel him coming closer, his TV-face glowing in the sea of dark, inching forward slowly. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You squirm, unable to move, to open your eyes, to scream, as the harsh light burns into your eyelids, searing the nerves in them. Every part of you wants to run away - but you can’t. 

His hands grip you, nails digging into your skin and then there’s an awful stabbing sensation in your chest. 

 You jolt awake, eyes flying open. You damn nearly fall out of bed with your panic, catching yourself at the last second. You blink around at your bedroom, remembering where you are.

Knitted blankets. Wood floors. Moonlight streaming through the windows. The soft snore of a raven. You’re in Gluttony, not Pride. 

It was only a dream. 

You hang your head in your hands, letting the terror seap from your bones. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. Sweat covers you like an uncomfortable blanket and your breathing is uneven. You gulp down deep breaths, fisting the locks of your hair. 

A dream…

You gulp down the glass of water by your bedside with shaky hands, light a candle by your bedside to illuminate your room. The dark seems too oppressive, scary. You pull down your sleeve, looking at the grey lines of the bonding mark. 

It’s not the dark you fear, it’s what in the dark that you-

“Oh shut up,” you growl to yourself. You roll your sleeve back up, laying down and pulling the blankets up to your nose. You watch the dripping wax until your eyes ache and the sun rises, eventually falling asleep once the threat of monsters in the dark is over.

 Knock knock knock.

Your eyes crack open at the sound of a sharp knocking at your door. You curl over, trying to sleep again, but the noise persists a second later. 

Knock knock knock.

Knock knock knock.

Finally, after you know the thing won’t give up, you throw the sheets off of you. Grumbling profanities, you pad your way to the door, undoing the deadbolt and swinging it open. 

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets as Alastor stands there, bright smile on his face. 

“Good morning, neighbor!” he chirps.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, voice hoarse from sleep.

“To wish you a good morning.”

“Ok? And?”

“It’s the start of the day! And there’s so much we have yet to do.”

“I don’t wanna do anything with you.” 

“Someone’s gotten off on the wrong side of the bed today! Did we not get enough sleep?”

“Alright - Goodbye.” 

You slam the door but Alastor sticks his foot in the doorway at the last second.  

“AH ah ah, we can’t have that! It’s a beautiful day, with so much to do!”

“Ok, so go off and do it by yourself.”

“But I’m quite interested in this place, you see.”

You sigh and rub your eyes. Unfortunately, you know much about Alastor to know that he won’t give up on something he truly wants. 

“Alright, alright. Hand around or something, I don’t…” you’re interrupted by a large yawn. “I don’t care. I’m gonna take a bath.”

“Don’t break anything or I’ll roast your ass.”

“Frightening. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Barely keeping a scowl off of your face, you close the door shut behind you. 

---

You mull over the days events in the cool pool of the river, thinking about the nightmare you had the night before.

The nightmare you had is fresh in your mind. The awful feelings and past you have return to you. 

You sit in the stream, allowing the cool water of the river to wash over your body. You close your eyes, breathing deeply through your nose to allow the stresses to fall away from your body. 

Your thoughts return to the nuisance waiting for you back at home. How he’s now taken an interest in your life. 

Ugh.  

You rinse the suds out of your eyes, get changed, and walk back to the house.

You open the door and Alastor is sitting in the recliner to your living room. 

“Welcome back.”

It would be polite, if not for the fact that this is your house. 

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the morning. At least I’m trying to; you really have nothing in the fridge to eat.”

“This isn’t a hotel," you say, moving over and collecting your bow from the corner. “You can’t just take what you want - Feet off the table.” you tap his shoe, and he kicks his feet onto the floor.

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Out. Hunting.” you don’t ask him to come.

“I’ll accompany you. It’s been a while since I last went - I reckon I could teach you a thing or two.” 

“Do whatever you want. Just don’t scare off the game.”

_

“God, will you just be quiet?!” 

Alastor grins. “I’m afraid not m’dear, that’s against my natural programming.”

Furious, frustrated, you chuck an arrow at his head. He catches it easily between his fingers, but his pupils dilate into slits, predatorily honing in on the threat.  

“Ohh…” he chuckles. You can feel the cloud of static wrapping around you. “If you’re going to attack me, you're going to have to try harder than that.”

Despite what he says, there’s a tone to his voice that pushes through the fear you feel. He seems taunting. 

You lick your lips, stringing another arrow into your bow. Alastor’s pupils widen dangerously. “Is this what you want? A little one on one?”

“Am I that obvious?”

‘You’re practically salivating.”

“You go first-” he barely gets the word out before you let your arrow fly. He manages to grip the arrow in his hand, an inch in front of his face. 

“Oh ho!” he dodges the second one your shoot, spinning his microphone into his hands on the third. “You’ve improved!”

Have you actually fought Alastor before? There was wonderland, sure, but never something so one on one.

“Hello there!” you yelp, jumping high in the tree to sneak up on him, bust Alastor is one step ahead. He side-steps you and you crash to the ground. Alastor’s foot presses into your back a second later.

“Seems I’ve bested you.”

“Don’t talk as if this is over.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You underestimate me.” The bow poofs into your hands. Alastor takes an alarming step back as it morphs into a spear, but instead of using it, you take the moment to sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending him falling flat on his back. 

You kick to your feet, holding the spear to his throat.

You both stay still.

“Well,” Alastor wheezes, grinning up at you. His monocle is skewed off place on his face. “You are a very talented fighter.”

“Not talent,” You take a step back, offering the handle to Alastor. “Experience.”

He, to your surprise, takes it, getting to his feet with an unearthly snap of his bones.

“Thank you very much, that was quite brilliant! 

He’s like a dog needing to be let out on a walk, you think amusingly.

---

Three hours later, after more productive hunting session, the two of your return back home. You carrying most of the game, and Alastor ogling at you doing so.

You return back to your home, but to your dismay, Alastor hasn’t left. Instead, he just hovers over the counter, watching you work around your kitchen. Like a fly you can’t get rid of. 

“What?” you ask after he’s been staring at you for the past 5 minutes. 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You put down your carving knife. “Am I now?”

“Yes,” Alastor unpops the buttons on his suit. “Give me that knife there, I’ll show you.”

Hesitant, but willing, you flip the handle towards Alastor. He rolls up his sleeves - exposing the dark, black markings that run up from underneath his gloves and up his forearms - and takes the knife.

“I always worked with deer, but I suppose rabbits will do,” Alastor explains, expertly running the knife through the meat. “Now, first rule, you want to cut the legs free, it makes things easier...”

You sit back and watch him work, carefully taking note as he parries the blade of silver through the skin like he’s cutting through butter. His hands work masterfully to prepare the meat, slicing off this and that. 

“You’re very good at this,”

“Oh this is nothing, but the butcher down on main street? Oh boy! He was the swiftest cutter on the Mississippi river!” Alastor remises happily. “Of course, I had to learn how to butcher, both because as a cook, and because of my own hobbies…”

That reminds you of a question you’ve always wanted to ask. “Hey Alastor, can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, dear.”

“Are you a cannibal?”

The knife pauses, but only for a brief moment. “Yes.”

Oh. 

“Huh. I thought so.”

He laughs, “That’s a very laid back response, my dear, are you not afraid?”

“Kind of,” you rest your hand in your palm. “You’re an overlord.  Nah, so long as you don’t try to take a bite out of me we’re good.”

“Hm, I’ll think about it.”

You don’t have enough energy to pretend to be surprised. 

Instead, you settle on. “Don’t call me dear, by the way. I’m not your dear.” 

 “Right you are! You’re not even a deer, you’re a raccoon. You’re a raccoon!” his eyes britten suddenly, like he just thought of the most wonderful idea. “A kit!”

The term for a baby raccoon. You already see the delight gleam in his eyes. “No. Do not-“

“Alrightly, little Kit of mine, now that we’ve finished chopping-”

 “No!”

---

 The damned name stuck.

“Darling Kit,”

“Kit could you get me-“

“Kit! I’m hungry!”

In retaliation you began to call Alastor different renditions of his name.

The first time you used ‘Alistair’ he had raised his eyebrow slightly, but brushed it off. But he quickly caught onto what you were doing.

“It’s not stair, its store. Alastor.”

“I dunno. I think ‘stair’ sounds better.”

 “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

You reached over him, grabbing a carrot to shred. “I’m just balancing the scales of justice.” 

---

“Here, take a sip.” He holds a spoon out to you. You reach to take it, but he just pulls away. You narrow your eyes.

“You’re not spoon feeding me.”

“Come on,” he teases, waggling the spoon carefully. “Say ‘ahhh’!”

Reluctantly, you open your mouth and allow him to spoon the helping of soup into your mouth. He pulls the spoon away and you swallow.

“So?” he asks with a knowing smirk on his face.

“That’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted.” 

Return to pentagram City arc: 

“You lied to me,” your voice trembles, your whole body is shaking.

“Kit, my dear, darling-”

“Don’t call me that!” you scream, your voice rises. Your whole body feels like it’s freezing and on fire at the same time. “You lied to me!”

“I thought you knew the deal was still in place.”

“Well, I didn’t! I didn’t Al, you certainly did but you never told me!” your breath catches in your throat. “You knew! You knew but you never spoke about it out loud!”

Everything. Him showing up, the gifts, the dance, everything you thought up to this point has been a lie.

He’s never wanted you. He’s only wanted what you could do for him.

Why why why why did he do this?

“Why didn’t you just tell me. Why did you pretend to care about me as a person?”

“I- I did.” he tries to get closer, you bare your teeth at him, growling. “Darling - I - I admit, my motives at first were to the benefit of the war, but-”

“You’re no different than him.” you spit.

He frowns. “That’s not true.”

“How!?” “You- you go behind my back, making me feel good - oh my dear, let’s go to this store! - oh, have I ever taught you about my hunting days. Gods, damn you to Hell, Alastor!”

---

You level him with a hard stare. Your chest hurts, like someone has carved out your very soul from your body. 

“I’m going back home. Don’t follow me. Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t visit my place.” You turn letting the bite of the wind whip against your face. “I never want to see your face ever again.”

You turn and walk, slipping away into the night. You hope beyond all hope, if Alastor does have a heart of some kind, it’s just as broken and hallow as your is. 

#tsoys #tsoys fic

[angelbittyabuse]

A flock of crows, part one

Behind the curtain: Wooops we had a coding glitch! So sorry, here’s the corrected version! There’s no trigger warning for this part, but there will be for the next one! Please don’t get too attached to the characters.

...

« Please don’t give me away! I’ll be a good bitty! Better! » He flails, hits the ground with his feets in his tantrum. His owner raises an eyebrow, his eyes lasting on the being, he seems to doubt... But no.

 The pet creature was a cancer since day one. To the never-ending wailing had added hidden orders, reflexions and comments... Critics. On the way he was living, his way of clothing himself, the hour he was waking up on week-ends! He had took that baby blue as a good deed, since one of his friend was moving in where they weren’t allowed. But now? This good deed had been drown by months of hard feelings about this thing, high as two berrys but so irritating. Putting a flyer down in front of the bitty, the baby blue could clearly hear his owner tell…

 « I’m bringing you where they will take care of you to your worth. » Blue was forced to take a few step back as the blow of the flyer nearly knocked him out of his feet. He bends to the paper, tries to read.

 « Beaux Cieux Breeding ? » Stutters Blue, raising a questionning face to his human.

« You’ll end your days as a stallion. » His owner giggles. « I’m nearly jealous. »

 ...

 The silence clearly didn’t came to the rendez-vous during the whole car ride. The pleading becomes thumping. Blue now yells to be heard, soiling the poor hamster cage he was carried away with tears and other colored fluids.

  « HUMAN DON���T DO THAT !! » He bawls. « THIS IS THE WORST DECISION OF YOUR LIFE !! » The said human turns higher the radio volume but the screamings won’t stop anyway. What follows of the speech is the same refrain. ‘Not that you’re used to take good decisions ! / you’re gonna regret me / I’m your bitty and I love you ! / bring me home, I know you love me too !’. When Blue ends up understanding that he won’t have any answers, his words melt into a high-pitching wailing. The crys go on and on until the car stops in front of an adorable little farm, all that picturesque. At twenty minutes from town, the air there is pur. Half-feral cats hang out in the courtyard, rubbing themselves to the human legs as he slaps close his car’s door. This one used to be brand new, once there was a time, before that Blue idiot had this idea that a turquoise color will better fit a vehicule of his ‘magnificence’... And starts to repaint it with a colored pencil. The horrid cracks on his car painting would have finished convincing the human that his choice was for the best, if he had doubted it only a little.

 « Welcome ! » A young girl, maybe forteen, comes running. Her full face and her lively eyes bring a smile to the human.

 « Thanks! Are your parents here ? » He asks, this barely audible, drown by the bitty cries that came back stronger. The girl raises her shoulders.

 « They’re busy. But they told me to take the bitty. You’re the person we had on the phone? » The human uses a small time to bring himself back together.

 « Oh. Yes. Here’s Blue. Here... » He hands the cage and the girl takes it with a whole particular caution. The human goes away, missing by a second the glance of malice living in the girl’s eyes.

 « So, Blue, we’re a lil grumpy? » She let away, gaining a truce in the cries. Blue raises his huge wet eyesockets to the teen. « Name’s Jessica and, you’ll see, you’ll have such a blast, here ! » Taking no care to the cats swarming to her feets whom were interested in the small rodent, she walks toward a small barn, a little far from the main house. Blue clumsily walks to the front of his cage, his cute lil hands holding the bars.

 « You’re my new mommy ? » He ask, a shiver in his voice. Jessica softly laughs.

 « Whatever. » She breaths, ignoring the dumb face of the bitty, falling apart to such an answer. Putting the cage to the ground, so she can push with both of her hands a door way too heavy, Blue see agglutinating around him the felides, meowing of hunger as if he was a can of tuna.

 « Er... Jessica? » Squeals the scared bitty. But nobody answers him excepted the heavy creaking of the wood door. At last, the door had given up and opens on a dumping ground drown in darkness. Blue doesn’t have any time to prepare himself before his cage is balancing again at the end of the young girl arms. She dumps it in a CLANK that can’t be unheard on something that had metal on it- another cage? Then she rubs her hands.

 « You’ll be fine, here, until the chirurgy. » Blue frozes to such speaking. Chirurgy? But wasn’t it...

 Why would he needs chirurgy?

 « I’m not ill ! » The bitty defends himself. « Chirurgy, it’s for people who’re really ill! » He whines but that does nothing if not amusing the teen. She doesn’t bother answering and goes away, having the same struggle to close the door after her. Just before the outside light dims into a stray of light, Blue has the time to see one of the cat slithers into the barn.

 « Hey ! »

 Then, the nothingness. Or it was what he belived. But as his eardrums get used to the lack of stimulis, he ends up earing way weaker sounds. The noise of one- no, hundreads of breathings, harshs, terrified, brokens. Mad laughing and wailing melted and- oh, the meowing develishly high-pitched of the cat, prowling through the aisles. The aisles... He eyesockets grows used to the darkness. There’s rows and rows... Is that cages? Blue let away a chocked breath.

 « IS THERE SOMETHING HERE? » Yells the baby blue. He stands surprised not to have any answers and insists. « Please ! » The last word, a weak pleading.

 « Shut the fuck up. » The blue’s eyesockets grows bigger.

 « LANGUAGE !! » He spats, a reflex of when he was at the adoption center. One cage down, the red eyelights of what seems to be an edgy become sharper. He stares the maybe ennemi for a time before understanding what’s in front of his eyes.

 « A baby blue. Tch. As if I needed that. » The voice sounds clear. The edgy have several months less than the baby blue.

 « A JUNIOR! ALL FOR THE BETTER! MY MAGNIFICENT EXEMPLE WILL- »

 « I don’t think that’s the time for that’. » White pupils shining in the cage in front of his calmly answer. Blue hesitates for a moment. A... Sansy ? « Just do what he says, we don’t really have the soul to have a chat. »

 « Nonsense ! » Complains the little Blue. « I just arrived and I need answers ! » Useless to say that the tiny creature is deeply insulted. « At what time do we have a snack, here ? » There’s a silence, then the frenetical laughter of the edgy. Blue frowns. Did he... Missed snack time? It was so villain to laugh at him...! « Good, and what are we doing here? » He carrys on, a little less brave. « Oh, it’s for a birthday surprise, it is it? » His excited voice suddenly slips to the idea. « We are the gifts, aren’t we? » To whom will they be gifted? To a child who would play with them all day long? To a sweet human girl who would love cuddles? Or even to a monster, Blue wasn’t difficult! As long as the person would be willing to let them sleep in the bed...

 « Fuck... » Laughs the red one. « I tell him ? »

 « No ! » Yells the sansy in a panic. « Let him in his world. For now... » It was better to keep the eyesockets closed. It will always be time to stress out to the bone later one... But the edgy didn’t seem to want to hear such an answer. With a cruel smile, he blurted out.

 « Eh, dumb-face... Look what’s over yout head! »

 « UH ?? » Blue raises his face without thinking, suddenly noticing a glimpse of silver light hanging on the ceiling.

 « It’s the ‘chirurgy chain’. » Continues the edgy, a sadistic tone ringing in his voice. « The shiny thingy, it’s a butcher hook~ >> He soft talks, exctatic, despite the whimperings of the sansy, trying his best to make him shut up. Blue’s bones grow paler as he registers the words.

 « Ha... Haha? » He answers back. « YOU GOT ME WELL, EDGY, BUT I DID NOT FALL FOR THAT! THERE’S AN END TO ALL BAD JOKES! »

#Bitty whump #Bitty abuse #Bittybones abuse

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

okay okay, after being heavily inspired by watching Man From UNCLE again, let's just say that this geraskier au is sort of like a reincarnation 60s spy au.

Hear me out

Geralt is one of Kaer Morhen's top agents (its a secret agency tasked to wipe out the worst threats to governments and humankind. The secret agency isn't specifically tied to one country, their agents are hired by governments over the world to wipe out the worst type of threats) and one day he gets the assignment from CIA of all things.

He's hired to finish an underground job because one of their best agents is nearly compromised in an eight month secret mission (Geralt holds back the urge to roll his eyes because really? That's their best agent?)

So then he's told he doesn't have to know who the agent is, all he gets is the information on what needs to be done to complete the mission.

Under any circumstance, Geralt must not fail the mission, even if it means the CIA agent has to take the fall.

So Geralt understands it. Yes, it's a little cold to leave their best in the dust to die but for the sake of thousands of other endangered lives, Geralt gets why he must finish the job.

So then he's in, and then he finds out he's dealing with the worst type of people. Human trafficking, multiple drug rings, a black market for basically anything, and plans of dangerous weapons that should never be seen in the light of day.

Geralt has dealt with each of those things separately, and for a moment he feels out of his depth. But he's Geralt of fucking Rivia, known to have killed a small army on his way out of captivity; The Butcher, they called him.

So soon enough, he finds himself neck deep in fake identities and a web of lies. He slowly makes his way up the ladder, taking down supervisors and getting his hands necessarily dirty.

He's violently efficient enough that one night, he's invited to meet with the higher ups, the ones in charge of the drug rings. An invitation to an elite speakeasy.

So he goes. Sits there around a table, on his second whiskey for the night. He's told there's live entertainment, the best singer they've had at the establishment. And Geralt nods and grins easily like he belongs there, like he isn't planning on spiking their cigarettes in an hour. He waits and waits for the opportunity, and then the lights dim, the curtains draw and there—Geralt can take the moment of distraction to pour the cyanide lined powder into their drinks.

But then a voice rings out, curling over the people like smoke—

And he stops and looks up.

The entertainment of the night stands upon the stage, a mic cradled gently in his hand, lips brushing over it with every smooth word spilling of his mouth, wearing a bowtie and a suit that looks like sin.

Bright cornflower eyes stare into the crowd and Geralt feels a full-body shiver run through him, the words—no, the voice, that voice—resonates deeply within him, pulling a thick string in his body taut and tight, pulling and tugging until Geralt has no choice but to keep looking at him, listening to him.

Because he knows him. He knows him.

He keeps staring, unable to tear his eyes away no matter how hard he wills his body to because there's no way he should recognise the man but he does, he does and there's a haunting hollow pit within him, pushing him into the hole to the point he's free-falling and fuck—

He knows him.

And the empty abyss within also tells Geralt that he lost him.

His eyes roam over the man's face, body, something twinging with recognition at the sight of his tall, lanky body, but it also pinches with the empty air in the man's hands, feels like he should be holding something, nimble fingers playing over the fretboard—

Geralt swallows hard when those blue eyes dance around the room and they stop on his. The man's voice barely catches in the middle of his performance, but his eyes stop, staring, focused back at Geralt with the intensity of a hot camp fire—

Tell me, why even bother setting up a camp fire when you can wave a hand and do it in a second?

The voice of the man in utterly enchanting, enrapturing Geralt in a vice he doesn't even know if he wants to get out of—

It's like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling.

Geralt loses his breath, the tight rope in him coming loose when the corner of the man's lips quirks up, keeping his gaze steady, still singing with immeasurable passion.

The man beside him guffaws, slapping his shoulder with amusement and the fog in Geralt’s senses recedes, shaken out of... whatever the fuck that was.

They tell him Geralt’s not the first fan their singer has had and they offer him a chance to meet him face to face.

Geralt agrees.

They bring him to the back of the establishment, giving him and their entertainer privacy.

Geralt can feel him through the door, something in the air vibrating with unseen energy.

Then the door opens without Geralt needing to knock and a slender hand pulls him inside.

The second their skin made contact, Geralt chokes, intense power rocking through his body and

You're the witcher, Geralt of Rivia

It's one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be

Well, who knows, maybe someone out there will want you

She saved your life, Jaskier, I can't let her die

We could head to the coast, get away for a while

If life could give me one blessing—

"Jaskier," he breathes, cracks lining the edges of his heart with unrelenting grief

Brilliant blue eyes stare up at him, widened by shock and relief and everything Geralt can't even imagine Jaskier has felt after the dragon hunt, after everything.

Then Jaskier slaps a hand over his mouth, leaning in and pressing a finger to his own lips, signalling him to be quiet. Geralt is silent, but he can hardly hold back from gripping the sides of Jaskier's suit and breathing in the scent of sandalwood, flowers and—

"In this room and out of it, my name is Edwin," he whispers, his blue eyes desperately searching Geralt's, fingers almost digging into his chin.

Geralt furrows his brows, squinting at his bard—at the performer and quietly hums, questioning.

What does he mean his name is—

Geralt's eyes go wide, his heart plummeting.

Jaskier smiles but the sight is saddened, and Geralt finally sees the exhaustion and pressure and worry weighing heavily on Jaskier

Fuck.

Jaskier is the CIA agent.

The man leans in, hand still pressed over Geralt's mouth, and he utters, lips brushing against his ear, "I'm guessing you're the agent they sent in to finish the mission."

Geralt's eyes search the room, looking for anything that would tip off a bug. Because Geralt hates the idea he might be adding onto the risk of Jaskier's cover getting blown.

"You're compromised, aren't you?" Geralt quietly says once Jaskier's hand moves away. The man nods, curtly, eyes hardening. He chuckles darkly. "Had to clear up my trail, get rid of any evidence."

A small smirk makes its way to Jaskier's mouth, and fuck, it reminds Geralt of the many times Jaskier would shamelessly flirt with everyone and everything and Gods, he didn't know he missed it until now.

"Just like you taught me, Geralt." And Geralt huffs a small laugh, the memory of painstakingly explain to Jaskier the importance of clearing their tracks when hunted.

Gods, Jaskier is holding him, pressing up against him, smelling the same way he did in their other life—

And Geralt can't find it within himself to let go, melting protectively against Jaskier.

He can hardly breathe because he's here, he's here

And he'd be damned if he's letting any of the bastards get their hands on his bard.

Geralt changes tactics, changes the mission.

He doesn't care if the mission will go sideways, he doesn't care if he'll have to burn the entire organisation down to the ground himself because—

Under any circumstances, will he ever let Jaskier get hurt again, whether it be by his words or anyone's hand.

Cue every espionage romance clichés there is.

Having to kiss in public to get rid of suspicion?

Hiding in small closets, chest to chest, just as a guard walks past the door?

A moment where Jaskier has to seduce his way out of trouble and Geralt being unbearably jealous?

Geralt getting close to death and Jaskier getting super emotional just before Geralt wakes up?

Competence kink? Geralt quickly finds out that Jaskier is rather handy with knives. Jaskier says he always wondered why it came so easily to him when he first trained in the CIA, and Jaskier reveals that in their other life, his bard already knew how to wield daggers like Geralt did with his silver sword.

All yes.

It ends with Geralt and Jaskier saving the world by a hair and ending up as partners when Jaskier resigns from the CIA and applies for K.M.

#Geraskier #Geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Geralt x jaskier #Spy au #Geraskier au #Geraskier spy au #Reincarnation au #Geraskier post #Geraskier fic