#i think i managed to capture the emotion of 'inhale through the teeth'

[that-g3-artist]

hey isn’t it funny how all of hyrule’s chosen heroes have been complete bastards? wonder where they got it from...

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu art #lu memes #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wild #lu legend #lu wind #lu twilight #lu time #lu hyrule #lu four #lu chain #sky is canonically a Bastard #and i won't let any of you forget that #also i am very proud of sky's face in the last panel #i think i managed to capture the emotion of 'inhale through the teeth' #g3 does an art

[whump-a-la-mode]

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice. 

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

heart+head(ache), m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: Like the seasons, the highs and lows come and go. Unlike the seasons, the lows are unpredictable and multiplicative, because life is not just one aspect, but many. If there's one person that can be your heart, it's Min Yoongi. If there's one person that can occupy your head, it's Jeon Jungkook.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; fluff / comfort, then PWP; smut (fem reader, nipple play, scratching / marking, fingering, hair-pulling, penetrative sex); softdom!Jungkook

this series has always been the personification of Yoongi and Jungkook as my muses. therefore it's not really a story, but rather a glimpse into my emotional state at the time it was written (about two weeks ago). I thought about not posting it, but, hey, you can choose to read it or not. I don't expect anyone to read it, tbh.

--

heartspace!Yoongi - his POV

"Leave me alone."

He sat down, silent, beside the hunched form.

"I can't take it anymore."

The only light came from the desk above them, the laptop screen blaring brightly in the darkness.

"I want to go back to the way it was."

He reached up and touched her knuckles, rubbing his fingertips over them.

"Back when no one knew I existed. Back when no one wanted to get in my head."

Over the silver rings, tracing reach one, decoration and armor, mirroring the outward self that protected the one inside. The fragile one that hid from the outside world. She let him see the fragility in this space, but only in this space. Her nails dug into her skin, tearing it up from the outside as the thoughts inside tore her to shreds.

"I don’t want these wings. I don’t want to fly high."

He waited, quietly, saying nothing, hand on hers. In this space, it was only him and only her.

The heart and the heartless.

"I don’t want to be in this light..."

Her eyes found his and he looked back, into shadowed orbs clouded from struggling for far too long and would continue to do so until she was no more. That was the way of the world, persistent and hurtful for no reason at all.

Time heals all wounds, but some wounds are blind to time, stagnant and frozen.

"I don't know the difference between pretending and not pretending anymore," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear.

He finally spoke, squeezing that thin hand gently.

"In some ways, they're the same thing for you, aren't they?"

She looked at him for a long, long time.

He lifted his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You are with me,” he murmured. “And with me, you can be anything.”

This face hid behind smoke and mirrors. This face didn’t trust the world and trusted their own reflection even less. The world could pretend to know, but the reality was the depth of the scars was much deeper than anyone could ever fathom and this mind was unlike anyone else’s, too creative for its own good, producing new and intricate tortures for the one that lived within it. Only here, in this space, did he have a glimpse. Even then, he wasn’t sure he would ever see all of it, because that wasn’t necessary and because some shadows should stay in the dark where they belong.

"I can't be like them, Yoongi."

Min Yoongi shook his head.

"They're ordinary. You're special."

"I'm not."

"You know you are, otherwise no one would find solace in knowing you exist."

He held her face in his hands.

"Nameless, faceless, and yet... they flock to the safety of you."

He leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

"Who else can say that? No one. Not even me. Everyone knows my face now."

Into dark, dark eyes full of pain, reaching in, shouldering the weight so it was a little lighter, a little less heavy. He didn’t need to know the reason for the weight. It was there, and so he assisted.

"They'll never know the one I know."

A little despair, a little helplessness, all her.

"I'll never know the one you know."

He kissed her, softly, whispering her name and his love.

“If you think you can’t feel, then I will feel for you. If you ever feel like you don’t have a heart, know that I will be yours. Trust me.”

“Can I?” she breathed against his lips, eyes closed, lost in his taste.

Yoongi chuckled, running his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of sweet matcha marshmallow, deeper, richer, warmer now that it was soaked into her skin, smooth and soft under his fingertips. She was like that. Everything she touched became more vivid, more alive, more real, even if it was only a fantasy.

“Of course. You are with me.”

He pulled her into his hold, into his lap, both of them still on the floor, cradling her at her lows so he could raise her at her highs.

“However long you need, one day, one week, one month, a year, until the end of time… I will be whatever role you need me to be. Obsession, possession, enemy, protector, muse, lover, one of them or all of them,” he murmured softly, lips on her temple, hand on the left side of her ribcage, cradling that rapid rhythm under his fingertips.

It was easy to say, don’t think about anyone else, but much harder to do so, and thus he didn’t say it. There was no need to. She already knew. That’s why she had retreated in the first place, retreated to the safety of his heart and blocked out the outside world.

“They are but visitors and they should be grateful to visit.”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly.

“But I am, can, and will be everything you need, if you let me.”

She spoke into his neck, her hot breath wafting over his skin.

“You already are, Yoongi. You already are.”

They stayed like that, for a long, long time.

-

headspace!JK - reader's POV

You opened your bedroom door to find Jeon Jungkook laying on your bed.

His dark brown eyes shifted to you.

You looked away and closed the door.

“Where have you been?”

Every time. Every time you heard his smooth, silvery voice, you were reminded of home, even if he wasn’t always here. Then again, home was never a place to you. Like a permanent resident, Jungkook always managed to find his way to your bed and you, well, you resided with his voice.

“Who knows,” was your answer.

Because, in truth, you didn’t know.

Jungkook tilted his head, pink lips slightly parted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He sat up, watching you, black strands brushing against his dark brows. There was a slight furrow to them, somewhere between disbelief and inquisition. White t-shirt, blue jeans. He hadn’t been here long, otherwise he would have given up on the jeans. His eyes followed you, resting his right arm on his knee, black tattoos standing out against the light wash of the jeans and white-shirt, tan skin the perfect background for them. With the red eyeball tattoo, perhaps it was more accurate to say that three eyes were observing you.

You stood beside the bed but didn’t get on it.

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, the side of his lips quirking up ruefully. “If I was hyung, I would say the right words.” He frowned slightly, chewing on his lower lip, tiny mole underneath flashing into view, a soft kiss from the moon, perfectly placed in the middle. “He always knows what to say.”

You could almost hear that gentle, deep voice murmuring to you, hand on your chest, right above the rapid rhythm below his palm.

You always say it’s nothing when it’s something you know no one will understand.

Jungkook placed his chin on the back of his hand and looked up, catching your eye and pulling you from your thoughts with his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, but I can make you feel.”

You looked back, but still didn’t get on the bed.

“You cut your hair.” It was to his ears now, still black, just shorter.

“Mhm.” He smiled. “Do you not like it?”

You chuckled dryly. “You could be bald, Jungkook, and you would still look good.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Someday I’ll show up like that and then I’ll know if you’re telling the truth.”

You didn’t laugh or banter back, settling into silence instead. He noticed right away. His features softened and he raised his other hand to beckon you to him.

You didn’t move.

His lips formed to the words and you could tell he meant them because he maintained eye contact, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“I missed you.”

Where have you been?

You placed your hands on the bed, fingers spread, silver rings glinting in the light, lighting each and every one, all except your left pinky. You still hadn’t found the perfect one for that one yet. The three silver necklaces you wore clinked together as you crawled to Jeon Jungkook, mind full of thoughts that fell away one by one, replaced by the sight, sound, smell of Jungkook, tongue remembering his taste, skin prickling, remembering his touch.

“I could have distracted you,” he whispered, leaning forward.

“I wasn’t the best version of myself,” you whispered back, the dull ache of intangible weight pressing down on your ribcage. “I couldn’t see you like that.”

He lifted his right hand from his knee and reached around your head, burying his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer to that face and those eyes, sharp and defined with an endearing softness, lashes lowering, inhaling your scent, lustful satisfaction clouding his gaze as he once again recognized that you had changed it from that spiced, warm chestnut to a heady matcha marshmallow.

“You know,” Jungkook breathed, tugging you to him, his lips brushing against yours. “I am here for all versions of you, good or bad, sad or mad, fallen apart or all in one piece.”

His teeth nipped your lips and your breath caught your throat, knowing he was making you wait, curling his fingers in your hair to hold your head in place.

In this space, with him.

“If your head is full of me, there’s no space for the other thoughts.”

“That’s not how it works, Jungkook.”

“That’s how I want it to work.”

His lips captured yours, firm, intense, hand pulling you to him and his hard body, surrounding you in his embrace, your gasp in his mouth as he pressed you to his chest, pinning you down, forearms flexing against the small of your back, your hands coming up to steady yourself on his shoulders, digging your nails into the thin fabric of the t-shirt. You shivered in his hold, eyes opening slightly, not realizing they had closed, and his were open too, filtered by his lashes.

“I don’t want to go back out there,” you said, so softly that the words didn’t seem real.

“Then don’t,” Jungkook whispered. “Stay with me.”

“You’re not good for me.”

“They’re worse.”

He spread his legs and put you in his lap. You could feel the texture of his jeans through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, thighs on top of his, softness to hardness. His fingers traced the lapel of your pajama shirt and the red piping, smiling at the print, little red devil heads making various faces against the black jersey fabric.

“You’re insufferable.”

The small smile lifted and now it was yours, turning into a smirk. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You stared into those eyes, that face, trapped in his arms, his body, his voice, his sound, everything just Jeon Jungkook, and the hesitation remained. You felt his hand shift, raising, fingertips brushing your cheek, sending shivers up your neck and to his electric touch.

“I couldn’t come back because it didn’t feel right.”

His hand lowered, cradling the side of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw.

“What about now?” Jungkook asked, silvery and sweet.

You told the truth, because the truth was eating away at you.

“I don’t know.”

He turned his head and leaned in, inhaling your exhale, eyes closing.

“I’ll help you know.”

His kiss.

I want to be your everything.

He made you memorize the shape of his lips, made you memorize the weight of his hands, made you memorize the curve of his shoulders and chest, pushing you down on the bed, your hands sliding down and pressed to his chest, palm to his heavy heartbeat, hungry kisses and fleeting tongue teasing you, the lower half of his body pinning yours down. Heavy. Inescapable. You tried to move away to speak but he caught your lips, pulling your back, his left hand peeling your right off his heart and interlocking his fingers with yours, slamming it down on the sheets, his right snaking in between your bodies, undoing the buttons one by one. You cried out into his mouth and he lifted his head, black hair messy, breathing hard.

“J-Jungkook…”

His lips were dark, swollen from kissing you so fiercely, irises shadowed and pupils expanded.

“This is how it should be, with you saying my name like that.”

You glared at him, but he simply chuckled, diving back down again, lips attacking your neck, kisses and bites that made your breath hitch, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, and it didn’t matter, it simply didn’t matter anymore, too many outside thoughts when you could just have Jungkook invading your head, clawing the hem of his shirt upward, digging your nails into his back and his soft skin, his moans on yours, tongue dancing up your trembling throat, biting that space right behind your right ear, your pulse roaring under his lips and your name in his throat, no distractions., only Jungkook.

“My mark belongs all over you,” he growled possessively.

Your nails dragged down his broad back and his hips bucked into yours, his oppressive force and weight a welcome one. You didn’t respond. A single dark brown orb watched your face, smirk against your earlobe. No response needed because Jungkook could see it in your expression and the way you held him, violent but desperate, needing him more than anyone or anything else in this world right now.

“Someday,” he murmured teasingly.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, finding your voice.

“They’re all about you.”

He sat up, thighs straddling you, crossing his arms and pulling up his white t-shirt in one swift stroke, tossing it aside. His lips curved into a sly smile, seeing you bite your lip and narrow your eyes to hide your breathlessness at his muscular and toned torso, the black tattoos of his right arm rippling as he leaned down again, his large hands next to your head, smirk dancing above your face.

“Just like how yours are all about me.”

You didn’t look away. “They’re not.”

Neither did he. “They will be.”

You clicked your tongue.

Unfazed, unbothered, unwise, you pulled Jungkook down to you, closing your eyes, his fresh scent filling your nose, lips on your skin, murmuring, so sweet, so delicious, kissing your collarbones, pushing your shirt off and reaching around you, forcing you to yank your pajama shirt off to avoid getting tangled in it and your unhooked bra, already moving on, lips wrapping around your hard nipple and you felt his eyes on you, opening yours to see his smirk and his tongue flicker, pulses of desire clawing through you, all because of Jungkook.

“What?” you managed to get out, sucking in a breath as his hand came up, fingertips pushing the other hard nub, watching your expression with his tongue extended.

“You belong under me, like this, enjoying everything I do to you,” he murmured, lapping slowly, not enough but still too much with the visual included.

“S… Stop looking at me like that.”

He shook his head slowly, your name falling from his lips, black hair brushing over his brows. You stiffened as his hand slid under the waistband of your shorts, under the thin fabric of your panties, long fingers dancing closer and closer to your heated, dripping core.

“If I look away, you might disappear from me again.”

You were lost, lost in the feeling of Jeon Jungkook.

Brown eyes ensnaring you, drowning your senses with his sensations.

“I can’t have that.”

His lips wrapping around your nipple again, deft fingers slipping inside your pussy, moan drifting from your lips as you raised your hips, shorts and panties sliding down, but Jungkook was already moving, plunging his fingers in fast and rough, sucking hard, tongue teasing the hard tip, other arm wrapped around you and free hand splayed in the small of your back, locking you in his space.

“Fuck, Jungkook, fuck…”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, his chuckle vibrating through your nipple, faster, harder, so easy because you were so wet and he was so close, one hand in his hair and the other clutching the sheets, back arching, muscles pulled taut in his touch, thighs unable to close because his own were holding them open, fingers tightening in his short black hair, nails digging into his scalp, breathing hard, not letting him have his favorite sounds, so Jungkook increased the pace, his own fingernails clawing at your back, and your eyelids fluttered, jaw clenching, moan torn from your throat.

“A-ah, Jungkook…”

And it all crashed down, fierce blossoming pleasure overtaking your veins, pitch hiking as his fingers stilled and his thumb pressed to your clit, fuck, don’t, but he did, he did because you pulled him even closer, chest to chest, his triumphant pants against your neck, hand sliding up your back, pushing your head down, taking your lips and your scream as you came again, all over his hand, tight pulsating walls clenching around his fingers, the scent of sex painting the air and his palm, covering him with you.

“Fuck…!”

You broke the kiss, hand wrapping around his forearm, squeezing hard, taut muscle pushing you back, tattoos peeking out from beneath your fingertips, staring into his eyes, time stopping, slow circles on your most sensitive spot, his blown-out pupils reflecting yours, skin to skin, heart racing against his.

“What?” Jungkook panted. “Tell me.”

His brown orbs searching your face, shrouded by lashes, desire so obvious that it was tangible and palpable.

“Want you.”

His lips curved into a smug smile.

“Yeah? Say it again.”

Your hands left his hair and his arm, reaching between your bodies, still gazing into his eyes.

“Want you, Jungkook. Want you to fuck me.”

His forehead touched yours as the button came undone, his hair sticking to your face, both sweaty from the intensity.

“I really missed you more than the words,” he mumbled against your cheek, helping you push his pants down, skin to hot skin, kicking them off the bed.

“Mhm.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jungkook.”

“You are if you don’t believe me.”

You stilled, holding the condom out and Jungkook took it from you, ripping it open, cocking an eyebrow defiantly as he rolled it down his hard length, nudging your thighs.

“You… You’re just here to annoy me.”

Your eyes shifted away and you felt him pick up your legs, pushing them up, hooking them over his shoulders. One of his hands cupped your chin and tugged you back to face him, not letting you avoid his gaze.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said softly.

You gasped sharply as he gripped your chin, holding you in place as he slid in, setting his jaw at your tightness, both of you shuddering at the feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock, feeling it swell inside you and get harder, stretching you out, his determination nearing as he leaned down, bending you in half, hand leaving your chin and pressing his palms flat against your sheets, breathing hard as he shoved himself the rest of the way in, a little pain but so much pleasure, soft thighs against his hard torso, your breath mixing with his, hot and heavy and sweet despite how firmly he had you pinned down.

“I want your head full of me,” Jungkook sighed, slowly rolling his hips into you, making you gasp. “You’ll never have a bad thought if I’m occupying that space.”

“Fuck, you can’t… ah, that’s not how it w-works, Jungkook…”

He was using his weight to drive his thrust, powerful and intense, ramming his hips into you, your juices leaking out and sticking to his crotch, the inside of your joined thighs slick and wet, loud slaps echoing throughout the bedroom, stiff length so hard you could feel it twitch inside your pussy, hitting you as deep and as rough as you liked, probably too much for the normal person, but not you, because you wanted to feel it all, wanted Jungkook to really fuck you and not be gentle about it, grabbing his hair and smacking your hips up to meet his, making you both moan loudly, names mixing with the visceral sounds of sex.

“I’ll just keep fucking you then,” Jungkook hissed. “Keep fucking you and make you feel so good that nothing else matters, nothing except how good I can make you feel.”

You looked up, your silver rings glinting in his black hair, your silver necklaces cutting into your neck and the three coin-shaped pendants jingling and clinking in rhythm with the mattress bouncing under your bodies, pressure and pleasure building inside your core, struggling to breathe as you glanced down and watched him enter and reenter, thick cock slick and hard before disappearing inside you.

“A-Ah…”

Back to his eyes, nearly black from arousal, groaning as you came around him, throbbing walls squeezing his entire length, feeling it all with every pulse.

“You’re gonna have to f-fuck me harder… than t-this…”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You got it.”

You threw your head back at the first smack, clutching his head, feeling it all over, pleasure like rushing fire, eating up all your nerves and replacing it with sound and touch, the swift squelch of his length plunging into you, the feeling of him filling you up and taking your breath away, so good you could barely breathe, so good you could barely think, nothing but the feel of Jungkook towering over you and slamming down into you so you could thrust your hips up to meet him, so close, so close, heavy exhales blending together, skin and nerves prickling, humming with ecstasy, feeling so good you could only moan his name, and he groaned yours, right in your face, edge of desperation in his normally controlled, deep voice..

“Cum, yes, cum for me – fuck!”

And it all crashed down, fierce fire rocketing through you and hitting its peak, gasping as you smacked your hips up and clenched all around his cock in rapid throbs, his moan washing over you, jerking and flinching as he came in strong jolts, rutting his hips into yours to feel it all, shifting the head inside you so your muscles massaged him all over and drained his orgasm out.

“Jungkook… fuck…”

He lifted his arms and lowered your legs, hands coming up to hold your face, tipping your lips up to him, kissing them deeply.

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled, staring at you through his lashes. “It hurts when you don’t come to me.”

He kissed you again and again, your words wisping out between them.

“I…”

Feeling sorry there wasn’t another way.

“I have to get through it myself… It wasn’t you… You didn’t do anything…”

Jungkook collected you in his embrace, breath becoming one with yours.

“Yeah, but I can do something, so I need you to give me the chance.”

His eyes were telling you, you don’t have to go back out there. Stay. Stay with me, in this bedroom, in this space, just you and me. Your hand was against his temple, silver rings against his silver brow piercing, tracing his sharp features, feeling airless as you looked into those dark brown orbs and listened to his voice that seemed to be a permanent resident of your thoughts.

“Keep me with you, always.”

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoonkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[peaktotheocean]

post-production

Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt ao3 link here Notes: If you ever watched the Lord of the Rings behind-the-scene discs and thought “I wish there was a 12K Witcher AU where Jaskier is the famous actor who buys a horse for Geralt the horse trainer” then you’re in luck

Jaskier knew that he would miss the stable the most. After weeks of filming on location, surrounded by crew and actors that Valdo had already poisoned against him, the stable had become a respite of sorts.

No matter the smells (the many, many smells), Jaskier would always remember the sun beams shining through the high windows and illuminating the dust and dirt to shine on the horses. Jaskier had tried and failed many times to capture the moment on his phone— to the point where he was convinced that it was impossible. He would just have to burn the sight into his memory.

Jaskier had just one more day in this stable and on set and then he could sort of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Certainly not acting.

Five blockbusters in four years and Jaskier's exhaustion knew no bounds. Not to mention people he thought were his friends just clinging to him for a ride.

He had meant for his career to be music and yet here he was on what he considered the wrong marquees.

Taking a small acting job offered by a friend in order to help pay rent had escalated into a full career and never worrying about rent again.

But then there was Valdo.

Jaskier had only started hearing about the rumors during the second week of the shoot. And by, then it had been too late. Valdo's charisma and charm took hold and Jaskier wasn't to be trusted. Was he a thief? A gossip? A drunk? A backstabber? It depended on which rumor went around that morning.

"Last day, darling."

"What?" The horsemaster's gruff tone was shorter than usual today.

"Sorry. I was--" Jaskier broke off. He didn't want to say it aloud. Which was silly because he had seen Geralt speaking to his own horse, Roach many mornings. Not to mention afternoons and evenings and any other time they were shooting scenes and Geralt was brought on set to stay with the horses. "I was just telling Pegasus that it's our last day with the horses. Or my last day, I suppose."

"Hmm."

Jaskier already missed the grunts. It was unclear if Geralt disliked him because of Valdo's rumors. But truthfully, the horsemaster hadn't seemed to have taken a shine to anyone over the course of shooting.  

Well, not any humans, at least.

He doted on all the horses. Roach in particular, and Jaskier couldn't blame him. She was a sweet mare and if Jaskier hadn't been assigned his darling Pegasus, he would have liked a chance to ride Roach as well.

But of course not. She was Geralt's favorite and Valdo's mount.

Not that the actor cared. The animals were more like props than living beings to him. Jaskier didn't like thinking about the amount of times he had seen Valdo curl his lip at Roach.

Just Jaskier's luck.

He had beaten out Valdo for a role which he hadn’t even known the man had wanted. And in return, Jaskier’s last few months had been lonely and uncomfortable and—

He set his forehead against Pegasus’s neck and took a breath to steady himself.

He could still feel Geralt’s presence. Lifting his head back up, he smiled at the man who showed no emotion in return. At least Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't like anyone else on the set either. In a strange way, it helped. Geralt was a part of his respite in the stables just by being impartial to the rest of the gossip of the set.

"Not the last day overall, of course. But I checked and I know we're moving on to another area for the next month or so. Granted, I guess you'll still be here if they want to do re-shoots, right? Can't go through the trouble of training so many horses over again."

Geralt had apparently decided that Jaskier wasn't even worth of his grunts anymore. As if Jaskier was the one who came out early to the stables to interrupt him and not vice-versa. Still, the actor had to admit that the quiet of the stable comforted him regardless. No one gossiping. No Valdo. Just him and Pegasus.

And Geralt, he supposed.

And Roach.

And the other horses.

Well, Jaskier supposed no moment was truly perfect.

----------------

Jaskier let his fingers run over the intricate chainmail of one of the many costumes from the film. Percival and his artistic team had done such excellent work. It was a shame that most of it would be auctioned off but with any luck, some would go into a production vault or even a perhaps a museum exhibit for film costumes. While Jaskier enjoyed the way his costume felt on him, purchasing it wasn't a priority for him.

“Percival!" He called when he saw the crewman in question. "This is for the auction, right? Do you know when it's actually happening?”

Jaskier hated how nervous he felt. He knew the horses were up on the auction block and he had a plan. Pegasus was the only good part of this filming and Jaskier didn't want to leave him behind. “For the horses,” Jaskier clarified.

“You interested?”

“Very.” Feeling much like the office was his primary school classroom, Jaskier stood up straight and put on his best serious face. “I’ve got the space and a neighbor who already shared the name of the veterinarian he uses for his farm.”

“Better prepared than most actors who make a snap decision at those auctions. Plenty of times I’ve heard of some bigshot selling off a horse after less than a month."

Jaskier couldn't tamp down the pride he felt at getting Percival's approval. Gods, he needed to leave this set. Just spend some time with Priscilla and not think about acting for a while. With any luck, he'd be spending time with Pegasus as well.

“How awful.”

“Can’t be helped. You’ll want Pegasus, of course?” Percival asked knowingly, poking fun at Jaskier's wide smile.

“Please. Send me the info and if I can’t be there and I’ll send someone else in my stead.” Jaskier couldn't help himself. “Truthfully, I’d take Roach too but I suspect the horsemaster has his eye on her.”

“Geralt?" Percival asked. He shook his head. "He can’t afford her.”

“You’re kidding.” What a shame. Jaskier had never met a horse and a rider so in tune with one another. He had just taken it as fact that Geralt would be taking Roach home with him. For the first few weeks, until gruffly corrected by Geralt, Jaskier had assumed that Geralt owned Roach and had brought her to set in the first place.

Though, looking back, it was a foolish thing to think. Roach and Valdo had been paired together for the duration of the filming and Geralt's stony glare anytime the actor mounted the mare...well, Jaskier would assume that if Roach had belonged to Geralt, he would have banned Valdo from riding her.

“Already asked him. I went to give him the info because I thought the same as you. Figured he’d be first in line but he didn’t even consider it. Poor fella. I didn’t want to push, you know?”

“Good man.” Jaskier stroked Pegasus and his eyes drifted over to Roach.

----------------

Zoltan's head poked through the door of office had housed the horse crew for the past few months. It hadn't become home, certainly, but the production team had put together a good group. Geralt would be keeping the contact information of more than a few riders and trainers in hopes of working with them again on future projects.

"You headed out, Rivia?"

"Almost packed. Just wanted to stop by the stables." The production auction had already happened but Geralt hadn't heard of any of the horses being moved out just yet. That kind of transport, especially if they weren't being kept local, took time to arrange. He had double-checked too. There was plenty of time for him to say goodbye to Roach. Give her a few extra treats, a good brushing down. The best sendoff a girl could ask for, really.

And she deserved a proper goodbye. Geralt had second-guessed himself, knowing how much it would hurt to say farewell but he couldn't help himself. Between the actors and the long shoots, all the horses deserved some post-production pampering. Geralt hoped the rest of them would get it once they were with their new owners and families.

"Surely you're doing more than stopping by."

"What?"

Zoltan gave him a perplexed look. "Roach, I mean. You're taking her with you, aren't you?"

"Can't afford her," Geralt said, trying not to grit his teeth. He had only said it aloud once before. When Percival had asked for his future plans. All of the horses were auctioned off at the end of the production, along with various bits and bobs that the studio didn't want to keep or store.

Roach was a prize mare, along with many of the other impressively bred horses in that stable.

Geralt would have loved to take her back to the ranch and shared stables that he ran with his family but it just wasn't in the cards. It was kind of the manager to even come to him and inquire. It spoke volumes about what Geralt had accomplished over the course of the shoot. At least with that gesture, Geralt knew he'd have a reference for future jobs. Perhaps not just for him but for the ranch too.

"But she's in your name. Isn’t she?"

"What are you talking about?"

Zoltan came into the room now, still looking at Geralt as though the man needed his head examined. He spoke slowly. "Geralt, I saw the finalized auction list. She's been paid for already and your name is on the front of her paddock."

Geralt froze. Surely Zoltan misread or even misunderstood. Geralt's name's was occasionally listed on paperwork as a handler if a buyer wanted to know more about a horse's temperament. But not as the owner or buyer.

He slowly backed away from Zolton and calmly headed towards the stables, and Roach's stall. He did not want to sprint eagerly or get his hopes up so instead, Geralt inhaled and exhaled every other measured step.

Roach's ownership papers were slipped in a plastic sleeve with a little metal hook attached so it remained securely on the nails of the stall door. Little dried stains and dirt covered the plastic and Geralt imagined Roach trying to get at her own papers.

Geralt von Rivia.

Undeniably, there in black and white. Geralt blinked, not believing his own eyes.

But still, there it was: Geralt von Rivia.

"Ah, Geralt!" The stablemaster came up to him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I had heard that you weren't able to bid. What a lovely surprise when I saw the name." Roach stretched as far out of her stall as she could manage, just reaching Geralt to nudge him. "And it looks like she agrees as well."

"But I didn't bid," Geralt said, confused. He stared at the paperwork for an extended period of time. He just couldn't believe it. Even encased in plastic that had corners peeling away at the top, it looked as officially legal as the other ones hangin off of the rest of the stalls in the stable.

"What?"

"I didn't bid. I told them that I couldn't. I didn't— I don't..." Geralt tilted his head and looked at the placard attached to the paddock. Geralt von Rivia and Roach.

How?

"I don't think anyone would be so cruel to play on a joke on you like this, mate."

"How can I check?"

The stablemaster pulled out his phone and held up a finger. Geralt didn't argue but watched the man dial a number and take a few steps away.

Roach stretched her neck again so her entire head came through the opening above the stall.

"Hello, girl." Geralt used both hands to rub at her face. He couldn't help it. Even if his name on the paperwork ended up being a cruel joke, he could imagine her at his family's ranch. She wouldn't take shit from the bigger stallion his brother kept and she'd teach their other mares to do the same.

"I talked to the production office. Said she's yours. The bid was placed anonymously."

"What? Anonymously?" Geralt looked at Roach as though she had the answers but the stablemaster continued to talk.

"They also included shipping costs as well as extra for feed, care, special needs, etc. A retainer essentially."

"Anonymous? How could they manage that?” Geralt leaned against the stall door, brain going into overdrive. He wasn't even sure where to start.

The stablemaster clearly could tell, and his voice softened, speaking as he would to any of the horses in the building. Geralt couldn't find it in himself to angry. It was a strange version of kindness that, in his overwhelmed state, he had no option except to accept. "It's all in the paperwork."

"Can I get a copy?"

"She's yours, Geralt, of course. Her and the paperwork."

Geralt looked at the paperwork attached to the stall and began to slide it out of its protective slip. He balanced his phone in one hand and the papers in the other as he slowly began taking photographs of each one. "I want to send the information to my friend before I— before I take her home."

"A lawyer, you mean."

Geralt nodded. "Just to double check."

“Smart man. Let me know if I can be of anymore help.”

Mercifully, the stablemaster left and Geralt let himself slide down the stall door. He knew he'd have to change pants before leaving now but he couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned his head back against the door.

He squinted at the sun through the windows as he struggled to hear the phone ringing amidst the breakdown of the rest of the set.

“Geralt.”

“Yenn.” Geralt couldn’t manage more than that. He took a deep breath to try again but Yennefer stopped him.

“Geralt? Are you all right? I thought you were still on location for that god awful film.”

“I am. I’m still there. I just. Something’s happened. I’m fine,” he added quickly. “It’s just strange.”

“Explain.”

"If someone bought you something anonymously, is there a way to tell who it was?"

"A gift? What kind of gift has you this shaken up? I am going to need so much more context, Geralt. Not to mention lunch and permission to laugh at you for whatever this is once you're back in the area.” Yennefer stopped talking and Geralt heard a few voices, none of them hers. “That is, I assume you're not back in the area yet. I just saw Eskel at the market last week. He would have mentioned it."

"No we— the film just wrapped. Everything was being broken down and there was an auction but." Geralt took a breath and gathered his words. "The horse I talked to you about."

"The smart one, yes." Yennefer's voice grew quiet and sympathetic in a way that would have surprised Geralt when they first met. But she knew what horses meant to him and respected it. They had both come a long way with one another. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to buy her."

"That’s the thing, Yenn, someone bought her for me. I just received the paperwork. They paid for her, the board, and transportation back to the ranch. Not to mention a little more if needed. What could be needed?"

"Maybe they thought since you couldn't afford the price of the horse, you couldn't afford food, medical care, things like that."

"Oh." Geralt couldn't decide if that was insulting or thoughtful. Most people on set only saw him in his barn clothing so perhaps they couldn't be blamed for the assumption. He certainly didn't attend any social gatherings after the work day. The cost of Roach had held him back, not the care.

"You don't know who it could have been? Not a clue?"

"I'm...not exactly friendly to people on set," Geralt growled. “I certainly didn’t endear myself to that Marx asshole who rode her during filming.” He hated being on set but he was there to do a job and at least if he was there, he knew someone was protecting the animals.

"You do want her, right?"

"Of course I do," Geralt gripped the phone tightly. "I just want to make sure it wasn't some kind of mistake. Or strings attached. That she can't just be taken away at all in the future."

"All right. I'll look into it. Send me everything and give me a few hours."

"Thank you."

----------------

Geralt von Rivia.

Jaskier shifted all of Pegasus’ equipment to one arm so he could reach out and touch the paper. It felt good to see.

He looked around the stable to check he was alone before giving Roach one last pat. He kissed her on the nose and whispered, “Goodbye.”

----------------

Geralt’s entire afternoon had to shift. No longer could he throw his duffel bag in his truck and endure the long drive home. Instead he spent the day asking for another night in one of the spare rooms near the set. He went to ask after borrowing a trailer, only to find that it was one of the included costs with the purchase of Roach and far too nice for his truck.

Most importantly, he spent time with Roach. She was the last horse left at the end of the day. He had avoided people by hopping into her stall at some point, the stables full of agencies and buyers coming to collect.

A few people stopped to read the paperwork outside Roach and Geralt couldn’t stop his pride from rising. She was a star, great stock but even better temperament. And she was all his now.

Thankfully, by the time Yennefer called, no one was in the stables to hear a mobile phone start ringing inside one of the stalls.

“That was fast.”

“I’m very good at my job, Geralt.” Geralt wisely held his tongue. “Right so. Roach was bought and paid for by a Julian Alfred Pankratz."

Geralt blinked. He looked to Roach as though she could answer his questions. “I...I don't know a Julian-- whatever. Whatever name you just said to me."

Yennefer gently, "I think he's more commonly called Jaskier."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes, Jaskier. You know, one of the stars of the film series you've been working on the past few months."

Geralt bit back a growl. Yennefer was doing him a favor. He didn't need to be a twat. "I know who he is. I don't know why he bought Roach though."

He had certainly never been kind to Jaskier. If anything he had been a downright grump. Which wasn't much different from how Geralt treated most of the actors. Even the ones who had been nothing but kind to him.

He just couldn't risk it. The cast were a load of gossips and each week, Geralt heard something different about Jaskier and his coworkers. Geralt hadn't wanted to get involved.

It wasn't worth his time to be a notch in the bedpost for an actor who apparently had paramours throughout the cast and country, if the rumors were to be believed.

Clearly it hadn't mattered to Jaskier anyway.

"Bought and gave to you," Yennefer corrected. "Roach is in your name. I had to jump through some hoops to find this information. It wasn't easy. I don't think he intended on you ever knowing. He never mentioned it at all, correct?"

Most of the conversations Geralt had with the man were one-sided, or just corrections for his horse handling.

"Most of the actors left the day after the film wrapped. I haven't seen any of them save for a few who needed re-shoots with some of the sets we still had." His fist tightened around his phone. “I only told one person that I couldn’t afford Roach. He's not the type to pass around gossip.”

"I don't think Jaskier meant anything bad by it, Geralt."

"I just don't...understand."

"Me neither but unless you'd also like me to follow up, perhaps get in touch with his management?" She left the question hanging in the air and Geralt's face reddened at even the mention of talking to Jaskier again. It wasn't the man who had him worried but the whole process. Going through his team and agent just to ask why? What if he took back the gift?

Yennefer read his mind, as per usual. “He can't take Roach back, Geralt. I made sure of it but honestly, it looks like he is the one who made sure of it. No strings."  

"No strings."

"Do you want me to try and find out why? Have you looked at her teeth? Perhaps you might want to look a gift horse in the--"

"Yennefer," Geralt growled.

"Take Roach back to the ranch, Geralt. I'm sure your family will be excited to meet her."

----------------

"Is this my welcome?" Geralt hadn't even gotten out of his truck yet but he was tempted to make a u-turn and leave the ranch the same way he came in. He wasn't sure where he and Roach would go but anywhere would be better than his little brother giving him a suspicious expression the moment he pulled into the driveway. Eskel pushed Lambert to try and snap him out of his daze. "Well, are you just going to look at me like that or are you going to say hello?"

"Did we know you were bringing home a horse?" Eskel asked delicately while Lambert just continued to stare.

"I didn't even know I was bringing home a horse." Geralt slammed the driver's side door shut and caught Eskel in a hug. He snagged Lambert too even though the little shit tried to wriggle away after two seconds.

Lambert went through his fingers on a very short checklist. "Aiden was hoping you'd break your rule of no autographs for this one. But you didn't do that. And you brought home a horse."

"We've got a free stall, right?" Geralt looked towards the stables. They rarely had a full house unless they were hosting some kind of trail camp. Still, he hadn't even thought of calling home to check.

"She's staying?"

"She's mine." Geralt handed Eskel the paperwork and Lambert immediately hung over his shoulder to read through it.

Eskel's eyes widened at the sight of her lineage. "How did you afford--"

"I didn't. It's…a long story."

"You didn't steal a horse, did you? Someone is going to be looking for this girl."

"She's not stolen. Her name is Roach." Geralt ran his finger through his hair, pulling at the tangles from having the window open on the long ride back home. "Melitele, can we not do this now? Let me get her settled and then I'll tell you about it."

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look and Eskel shoved Lambert off his shoulder. "Lambert, go tell Dad that Geralt's home. When does the trailer have to go back?"

"They bought that too."

"The trailer came with the horse?" Eskel waved his hand after seeing the pained look on Geralt's face. "All right, don't tell me. I know you don't want to explain it more than once."

He left Geralt to blessed silence. Silent as a farm could get, at any rate. He patted Roach's flank and coaxed her out of the trailer, leaving it unlocked and opened behind him. The ranch was isolated enough as it was and he'd be back for it soon enough.

"This is Scorpion. That's Kelpie," Geralt introduced Roach to each horse as he walked her by their stalls, finally coming to an empty one. He eyed up Scorpion, already thinking ahead. Eskel's stallion was of good lineage. It wouldn't be a bad match to think of for the future.

He hung around the stable as long as he thought he was able to. Just because one of his brothers hadn't been sent out to fetch him yet didn't mean that Vesemir hadn't already planned it. Geralt patted Roach one last time and headed out.

The farmhouse smelled just as he left it, like horse and his father's cooking. The first an unfortunate by-product of their lives but the second, a welcome back.

They didn't all still live in the house. Eskel had a cabin on the furthest edge of the land with a herd of goats that they rented out and kept for milk. Lambert and Aiden had just moved to another patch of acreage on the opposite side before Geralt had left for the film shoot. From what Geralt could gather from Eskel's texts, they swapped out more nights than one making sure someone was there to help Vesemir with the morning chores.

"Hey Dad." Geralt leaned in and let his Vesemir clap him on the back.

"Good to have you home." Vesemir's gruff voice washed over Geralt and he felt something in his shoulders settle. He took the offered bowl of stew and purposefully brushed against both Eskel and Lambert on his way to sit at the table.

"Good to be home."

Lambert, mouth full of beef stew, used his dripping spoon to gesture to the TV.

“You worked with him, right?”

"Who?" Geralt looked up from his bowl. There was an entertainment show on the television but it had gone commercial. Lambert rolled his eyes at him.

“Jackass. Jaskier. They had a whole segment on him."

Geralt swallowed and before he could overthink it, told them, "That’s the one who bought Roach. Bought her in my name, I mean."  

Eskel near choked on a beef chunk, "What?"

"Him?" Lambert's eyes widened. He shot a look at Vesemir. "Did you, uhh--" but he didn't get a chance to finish because Geralt threw a chunk of bread at his head.

"I didn't sleep with him, you ass. I don't know why he did it. I wasn't even supposed to know, according to Yennefer."

Geralt wished he knew why. It was an itch he couldn't scratch, though having Roach home and in her stall was a significant balm. He accepted another slice of bread from Eskel.

"She checked it out?" Vesemir asked knowingly. "Everything is all right?"

"The paperwork all checks out. No strings," Geralt echoed Yennefer's earlier words.

"Good lineage," Eskel added slowly. "There’s no issues with her health?”

Geralt nodded. "None that I know of. I'm going to call in Coën tomorrow to give her a full check-up and we'll go from there. I don't think there will be a problem though."

Lambert shrugged at Eskel who still looked suspicious. He eyed the door that led out closest to the barn as if he wanted to go interrogate Roach to find out more. “Oh. Well, I guess a person who buys a horse anonymously as a gift can’t be that big of an ass then like the papers say, right? Was he?”

“Was he what?”

“An ass. Was Jaskier an ass?” Lambert asked again.

Geralt pondered the question. He hadn't expected to think this much about anyone from the cast after production had set down. Definitely not Jaskier.

Truthfully, Jaskier had been the furthest thing from an ass. Sure, he had gotten to the stables earlier than the other actors but it was a strange thing for Geralt to complain about considering how late the rest of the cast were for their training sessions. He cared about the horses too. It had been sweet.

"What are you on about?" Vesemir grumbled.

Lambert, mouth full of stew, looked at Eskel imploringly, fighting to swallow. Eskel tilted his head towards the television. "The lad who bought Geralt his horse apparently got on the bad side of some folks. The gossip shows say they've been spreading rumors about him for months."

"Did he say that? Jaskier." Geralt's attention suddenly back on the television. The b-roll footage of a posh gentleman on the red carpet was not the same man covered in a dirt -covered costume after a ride or a long shoot, that was for sure. It still was Jaskier though.

"No one's heard from him. It's all come out now after the production's ended."

Eskel plucked a newspaper off of the counter and passed it over to Geralt who took it but kept it closed. Jaskier's face was on the cover or it would have been if his hand hadn't blocked the photograph from the view. "Wouldn't be surprised if he sued them for libel though. Judging by what they're saying in here, he's certainly got a case."

FALSEHOODS AND PRODUCTION WOES the newspaper headline shouted. Geralt ran through the first few lines of the article and felt the pit in his stomach begin to grow.

“I heard some of these.” He had been on more toxic sets in the past. With more difficult actors trying to make passes at him, sometimes aggressively. Thinking that crew should be lucky to get their attention. Television shows, soap operas had been worse. But this still hadn't been good. And Jaskier had been nothing but kind to him. Annoying, perhaps early in the morning but, certainly nothing like the rumors had suggested. Still Geralt had done his best to ignore him.

“No kidding? Maybe they’ll call you in to testify.”

Geralt leaned against the counter and stared the newspaper, hoping no one else heard the roaring in his ears.

Perhaps there had been another reason Jaskier was hiding in the stables each morning instead of by the breakfast tables in the craft tent.

Certainly Geralt had taken his solace in the company of animals before. Jaskier had clearly just been doing the same.

----------------

“You have more security out in the country. That’s the whole point of the privacy fence,” Priscilla argued. Jaskier had been sneaking peeks through the blinds for the better part of the morning. His face had gotten paler with each glance.

“I know you’re right.”

“I am. London will still be here when this all blows over. Or when a judge makes it blow over.” Jaskier sighed. Priscilla hated seeing him like this, curled up on the couch, phone turned off. Country life would be pleasant in more than one way.

“You can bond some more with that horse you’ve got. I’m sure he missed you.”

“I’ll just have to come back to the premiere,” Jaskier warned. “You won’t have the flat to yourself for too long.”

----------------

"Zoltan."

"You're going."

"Going where?"

"To the premiere."

"We're a little busy here." Geralt gazed around the quiet stables and winced at the phone in his hand. What Zoltan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The last thing Geralt wanted to do was take the journey into London and be around people that he didn't even socialize with when he was paid to.

"All the crew is invited and the production team is insisting the crew come so they don't look like asshats. Please come keep me company," Zoltan near begged.

"Too late for that isn't it?" Geralt thought back to the television stories and the articles about Jaskier.

Sure, maybe Geralt had given into his curiosity and googled Jaskier's name a few times after his first night home but the man really had vanished. No photographer had been able to capture any images of him and his team weren't responding to any questions.

Geralt wasn't sure if it was Jaskier's team at work or someone in his corner but certainly he had read a few articles about instances of Jaskier's kindness. He had experienced that first hand and judging by the rest of the stories, he felt they had to be true. Most of Jaskier's generosity came anonymously but he hadn't always been as good at covering his tracks as he had been with Roach.

"Well, perhaps. Valdo made sure of that."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just meant. All those rumors he spread about Jaskier. Turns out this wasn't the first person who he had done this too. I heard tell that Valdo is going to be blacklisted in the industry and then sued for gossip. Defamation or something. I'm not too sure. It'll be out in the papers soon enough."

"Libel," Geralt murmured, thinking back to the articles he had read. "Even I heard gossip around the set."

"I didn't believe any of it, personally. Jaskier was always a polite fellow and some of it was nasty. Well, I'm sure you didn't either. Otherwise Jaskier wouldn't have done you that solid."

"What solid?"

Zoltan was quiet for a beat too long.

Geralt sighed. One more piece of the puzzle. "You mean Roach. I know he bought Roach for me. But how did you know?"

"Ah well..."

"I had to go through a lawyer to find out," Geralt added.

"I did the paperwork," Zoltan admitted. "He did want it to be anonymous but I thought that was just so production couldn't give him a hard time about buying two horses."

"He bought another horse?"

Zoltan paused again. "He really never mentioned this to you? He was in the stables near every morning."

"For training."

"Not just for training. Though I guess we know now that he was just trying to stay away from Valdo and his cronies." Geralt wasn't sure what to say to that. He had never been anyone's idea of a respite and his guilt at knowing he hadn’t made the time easier for Jaskier still weighed on his mind. Though perhaps Jaskier had just been after the horses. "He bought the one he rode. Pegasus."

"Oh."

Geralt hadn't expected that. He knew Jaskier had gotten along with the horse, of course. That had been easy enough to see, sweet even. But it was still a surprise. A pleasant one.

There was something about Jaskier buying a horse for himself and for Geralt. As if the man understood the responsibility and the importance. He wasn't just buying Roach as a gift for whatever reason, he knew everything the job would entail.

"The premiere is in London. Should be a good time so long as no one leaks the news about any legal cases beforehand."

Geralt rubbed his hand over Roach's nose and made a snap decision. "I'll meet you there."

"Really?"

"You owe me a drink."

"Should be an open bar, mate."

"Well, that makes it easy for you then."

----------------

Geralt wasn't exactly keeping up with Jaskier's story but Aiden and Lambert watched enough entertainment news for the rest of them. Gossip papers would be left out around the barn by visitors without issue. If Geralt just happened to see that Jaskier hadn't been heard from in a few weeks since production shut down then, well, that was just a fact that lived in Geralt's brain.

One that he definitely didn't overthink. Not with the premiere already on his mind.

"It really was Valdo," Lambert had told him one morning. "Apparently he wanted that role of Jaskier's so badly that he decided that he'd try to make sure the guy would never have any other roles again."

Geralt didn't let on that he had known. Still, he hadn't thought about the creep since Zoltan had brought him up.

Valdo. Like Zoltan had said, it was no wonder Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables with Geralt. Valdo Marx would never deign to get to the stables early in the morning, even when it was a necessity that he do so.

"Loads of other actors apparently apologized for listening to Valdo. They'd been giving Jaskier the cold shoulder for weeks now. But still, no one has seen him."

"I can't blame him for wanting to take a break from acting. Even now with the rumors out, I think I'd find another industry to work in all together." Aiden shook his head. He looked up at Geralt hopefully, nudging Lambert conspicuously. "You haven't heard from anyone from set talking about it?"

Geralt gave Lambert an exasperated look. "I know you had overheard that conversation. I'm not taking either of you to the premiere. I'm staying for one drink and then getting on the train again."

"Told you so," Lambert muttered. "Fine. Be that way."

“Poor guy,” Eskel murmured. “I’d hide too if I just had to spend months contractually obligated with people all poisoned against me.”

Geralt kept his eyes down, wishing the conversation would change. Wishing he hadn’t been such a fool. At least he knew why Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables. Not that the information helped Geralt’s newly-acquired nausea.

----------------

It would be fine.

That's what Geralt kept repeating to himself on the tube ride into London.

Geralt would go in, have a drink with Zoltan, find Jaskier, thank him, and then never have to think of the man again. A strange sense of closure for someone he never had a relationship with, platonic or otherwise, but it was the right thing to do.

Everytime he looked at Roach or rode her around the ranch, he thought of Jaskier. It wasn't guilt or anything owed to the man. Geralt believed in the actor's earnestness and no-strings gift.

He managed to find Zoltan right away, the two of them hiding in a corner of the hotel bar through the actual film and more when crowds finally came back.

"I had wondered if Jaskier was even going to come," Zoltan confided in Geralt, leaning closer to the bar and looking over their shoulders as their lobby filled up.

"Because of Marx?"

Zoltan nodded. "I suspect there will be a healthy number of people keeping them away from one another."

"For good reason." Geralt tried not to be too obvious in his glances behind them but Zoltan knew enough of the cause. "Why come at all, I wonder?"

"Contract," Zoltan told him, pressing his lips thin. He shook his head at the thought. "It's written in the contracts that they've got to do press and this counts as press."

"The red carpet beforehand, surely. But I can't imagine a party is." Geralt shifted uncomfortably. The bar was filling up and he and Zoltan were getting squashed to one side already. The gracious and well-tipped bartender had thought ahead and topped the two of them off before the rush began.

"You've been in this business for a few years now. Surely you're not that naive."

Geralt finally caught sight of Jaskier. In a plain blue suit, unlike such patterned clothing he had worn even after Geralt had told him he’d only get the fineries dirty.

Without turning to look at the crowd or see if anyone was watching him, Jaskier hurried up the side stairs to where Geralt knew there was another reserved space, a small but grand library room that hadn’t been alrered since the 30s. He and Zoltan had stumbled upon it earlier in the afternoon while hiding from cameras.

"I'm more naive than I think sometimes." Geralt nodded to Zoltan and held out his hand. Zoltan took it to shake instantly. “It was good to see you. Call if you’re ever by the ranch. We’d be happy to have you.”

Following Jaskier’s path and manners, Geralt also didn’t look behind him as he slipped up the same stairs, closing the paneled door after him.

Geralt allowed himself a moment to look at Jaskier. The man had his coat in hand and was staring out of the rather large window flanked by two bookshelves.

“I just wanted to—“ Jaskier spun around, hand to his chest. Geralt took a step backwards. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier finally said, even though his heavy breaths were still evident. He stood up straight and blinked a few times too quickly. Geralt softened his voice, hoping to ease his nerves.

“Jaskier. I just wanted to catch you to say thank you.”

Jaskier flinched, just slightly. He tilted his head and looked at Geralt as though he was the picture of innocence, furrowing his brow slightly to sell the confused image.

"For what?"

"Jaskier," Geralt chastised. He was in no mood. He had been around far too many people this night. Jaskier thought so too judging by the fact that he had left the main party room for this quieter one. Still, Geralt knew that wasn’t the only reason. "Thank you for Roach."

Jaskier's mouth opened a bit and then closed again. He seemed to be eyeing how Geralt was blocking the only exit out of the room. "How do you know?"

"Was I not supposed to find out?"

"Well, it was— anonymous. I thought." Jaskier's confused expression tightened as though he was trying to remember the legal jargon he had gone through when setting up Roach's purchase and fund.

"I--" Geralt felt his face go a bit red with embarrassment at that. "I wanted to make sure she really was mine. No strings or anything. I had a lawyer friend look into it just to double check."

"Right.” Jaskier shook his head, a few locks of hair coming loose from their coiffed position. “Yes, of course."

Geralt hated that Jaskier was agreeing with him. As if it was perfectly all right for Geralt to be suspicious of a gift and also of Jaskier himself. What a pair they were.

"Look," Jaskier held up his hands in front of him, "I know you don’t like me and I didn’t to it so you’d be— beholden to me or forced to pretend to like me or whatever. You weren’t supposed to find out. But that awful man from production was going to buy her and I couldn’t let that happen and I had heard that you were had turned down the opportunity which just seemed wrong. I mean, she’s clearly your horse and—"

"Thank you." Geralt said firmly. “Just...thank you."

"Oh. You’re welcome." Jaskier swallowed and chanced a look out the window again. Geralt watched him, very aware that he had done what he came to do. Still he couldn’t make himself leave.

"Are you planning on hiding here all right?"

Jaskier shrugged. "I haven’t decided yet.”

Geralt wasn't sure what to do with that one.

"Would you like to come visit Roach?" He tried next.

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable.

“Right now?”

Geralt remembered the early training calls, how quiet Jaskier was when other people began to come around the barn, the rumors he heard even his first week on set. How he had let them affect the way he handled being around Jaskier more than anyone else. Fuck.

"Where do you live?" Geralt asked suddenly, not realizing the strangeness of the question.

"What?" Jaskier seemed taken aback which was more than fair.

"I only meant— Here in London or LA or New Yo--"

"Here. England, I mean. I’ve got a little place a little ways outside of London."

That could be anywhere, Geralt didn’t say. Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched and he was holding himself tightly with his arms straight down at his side so his hands could be shoved into his pockets.

It had been weeks since they had seen each other last and Geralt just. He had so many things to say now but couldn't make the right words come out of his mouth.

He thought about Jaskier every time he rode Roach around the farm. He wished that it was just the two of them at 6am on the training set again. Jaskier on Pegasus and Geralt on Roach, going through the obstacle courses.

He wanted a second chance to ignore rumors and laugh at Jaskier's jokes and flirt back at him. Geralt had that open Jaskier still in his mind, who was so pleased to see both Geralt and the horses even though it was barely past dawn and he had had a late shoot the previous night.

"Did you really buy Pegasus too?" Geralt asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Jaskier blushed. "I did. He's with me. Well, a stable near me. I know I'm not the greatest at care as you saw it but I visit him and ride as often as I can." His smile was soft just thinking about the horse and Geralt again ached, thinking about the morning dew, riding with Jaskier around the ring. The soft voice that he used for the horses regardless of who could hear him.

"You’re welcome to come see Roach anytime. Especially if you want to bring Pegasus. My father’s ranch is remote and private. Sometimes we get writers or other people stay for retreats in some of the smaller cabins."

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. Upset, even. He had taken his hands out of his pockets and he was leaning backwards, clutching the window frame. Geralt wondered how much acting he did on a daily basis.

He really hadn’t meant for Geralt to find out about Roach.

"He's really fine. I promise," Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt swallowed his nausea at just how still Jaskier was holding himself. At how Jaskier thought Geralt only inquired after Pegasus because he assumed Jaskier couldn’t take proper care of him.

And that was Geralt’s fault. For listening to rumors. For being colder to Jaskier as the shoot weeks had gone on. The man had sometimes beaten Geralt to the stables in the morning and in return, Geralt had barely spoken to him.

"I have no doubt that he is enjoying your care. As well as you sneaking him too many treats," Geralt joked, trying to lighten the mood. He hadn't mean to imply that Jaskier wasn't taking proper care of Pegasus. That hadn't been it at all. He was just. He wanted to be near Jaskier. He didn’t want to leave him just yet.

He took his eyes off of Jaskier's and they fell to his long fingers. Even though he was facing Geralt, Jaskier’s fingers were clutching the window lip.

He hadn’t been looking out the window or catching his breath in an empty room.

Jaskier had been trying to get out onto the fire escape.

Of course.

Geralt sighed, he could feel a dull ache behind one of his eyeballs. Perfect. He had already caused Jaskier enough panic for one night and now a headache. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Here is a card for my friend. She’s a fantastic lawyer and if you mention my name, she’ll take you on. She might laugh but she’ll do it. The laughing will mostly be at me,” he added. "You might not need her, of course. But she's the one who helped figure out it was you who got Roach for me."

Jaskier took the card from Geralt's outstretched hand and near cradled it in his hands. "Thanks."

"Do you want help opening the window that you were trying to escape out of?"

There was a spark in his eye that Geralt hadn't seen in months and he was willing to bet he wasn't the only one who missed it.

"Please."

Geralt used one hand to gesture for Jaskier to move out of the way and he did, with almost too much glee. There was a bounce in his step that Geralt was relieved to see. None of the tabloids or entertainment shows could see that when they talked about him.

He carefully examined the large window. The expansive sash was sturdy enough but Geralt was more than a match for its age. He reached up and unlocked the top before heaving under the lip.

It opened without issue.

“Thank you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He didn’t even wait for Geralt to move out of the way before climbing into the fire escape. He turned to look back at Geralt. “I really appreciate it.”

Geralt gestured again, this time for Jaskier to step back, further out the window.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked as Geralt had one foot out the window.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I opened the window. Am I not also allowed to climb out of it?"

"I guess." Jaskier looked bewildered. “There’s still a party downstairs.”

"I think you know me well enough to know that it’s not my kind of party.” Geralt enjoyed seeing the flush on Jaskier’s face at the possibility that the two of them might know one another at all. “I'm not letting you fall down the fire escape."

"Just because my upper body strength is lacking doesn't mean I've never climbed down a fire escape before," Jaskier argued even as he made for the ladder.

God, did Geralt want to know that story. He could do nothing but follow Jaskier.

Out of the window, down the fire escape, and to the ground, where Jaskier landed safely with a soft "Oomph."

"Thank you,” he told Geralt again. Then, before he could lose his courage, he added, “It was good to see you again.” He took off down the street, collar popped up around the lower half of his face.

Geralt wanted to call after him, invite him to get a drink, spirit him away before the cameras out front could find him. He imagined them getting the tube together and riding away all while Jaskier huddled closer to him, whether for warmth or so no one recognized him. Geralt fantasized the worst case scenario, with himself stepping in as the hero for Jaskier, blocking him from the cameras.

In the end, he watched Jaskier, hunched over himself in a foreboding navy coat, make his way around the corner. And then he went home to the ranch and told Roach all about it.

----------------

“Just like that?” Priscilla asked, graciously not mentioning the fact that Jaskier had put on her favorite sweatpants or that he had heart eyes whilst talking about this mysterious horse guy.

Jaskier shrugged, swirling a wine glass with one hand. “Just like that. I’ve gotten a new agent. A new lawyer seems like a good place to start.”

“And you trust him?” Priscilla held up the card. “He couldn’t afford a horse and yet has a friend who works here?”

“She’s how he found out I bought the horse for him.”

“Your funeral.”

----------------

"Geralt von Rivia," Yennefer's voice came through his phone. Geralt winced and so did Eskel even though he was near three meters away. Yennefer only used their full names when they were in trouble. "Did you give some twink my number?"

"Can you help him?"

"Yes, I believe I can. i just wanted to check his story."

"He bought Roach for me."

"Yes, the mystery-horse buyer. I remember." Yennefer's quiet voice used to grate on Geralt. He never knew what it meant. He used to think he was a fool but as their relationship developed, he realized that Yennefer's version of caring contained a lot of frighteningly quiet determination.

"I wasn't supposed to find out, apparently."

Geralt wasn't grumpy about the situation.

He wasn't.

He just wished that everything was different. That was all.

"Well, he didn't anticipate you having me for a lawyer." Yennefer paused and Geralt heard some paper rustling in the background. "Did you know about all this? His situation, I mean.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Geralt didn't mention that he had been reading Lambert's discarded tabloids and doing some googling of his own.

“Rumors of the situation or the rumors being spread about him on set?”

“The latter,” Geralt mumbled, embarrassed. "Both, I suppose. Lambert reads the tabloids. So does Aiden."

“No wonder he talked himself in circles about you. His friend had to stop him twice from rambling on.”

Geralt wanted to ask about that but he knew Yennefer wouldn't answer. Or couldn't, with a confidentiality clause.

“Can you fix it?”

She scoffed. “Of course I can. It’ll be a bit messy but luckily, this isn’t the only lawsuit against this guy. Tons of evidence and witnesses too. He managed to get a new agent who hasn't been doing half bad of a job. Don't worry, Geralt. I'll protect him.”

"Marx?"

"Yes. It's not the first time he's done this either." Then, softer. "I'll help him, Geralt. I promise."

"Thank you."

----------------

“Jaskier!” One of the farmer’s son sprinted up to him, coming to a stop once he reached the stables. Jaskier had just gotten himself onto Pegasus for the day. “We had a man come round asking about you yesterday. Dad wanted you to know.”

“Here?” Jaskier dismounted quickly and looked around the farm to the tree line, expecting the press to come racing at him after the teen. "Take a breath, Matthew."

Matthew and the rest of his family had been nothing but kind to Jaskier since he had started boarding Pegasus at their farm. He hated to think they were being harassed by some reporters.

“One of those newspaper people. Had a camera and everything.”

Jaskier's heart sank but Matthew shook his head.

“Posh twat!” One of the farmhands yelled from the loft. “We ran him out!”

Jaskier didn’t bothering covering his mouth as he laughed along with Matthew. “He didn’t cause any trouble?” He asked earnestly.

“We said that we’d never heard of you," Matthew said proudly.

“Thank you so much.” Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against Pegasus. He gave the horse a kiss and nodded to Matthew again. The boy, realizing just how close he and Jaskier were standing, blushed a bit before racing off.

----------------

It had taken Geralt a long time in his life to learn never to doubt Yennefer but it was a lesson that had stuck.

In keeping up with the news about Jaskier, Geralt had learned a lot about him. To the point where, when Jaskier’s best friend, Priscilla, was interviewed on the red carpet of her latest premiere and asked about the missing man, Geralt knew exactly who she was. It also meant that Geralt could properly appreciate her viciously telling the interviewer to fuck off.

Jaskier still hadn't worked on a film in weeks but Yennefer assured him it was for the best and that Jaskier was doing fine. Laying low was a part of the plan.

The successful plan as it so happened.

Lambert slapped the newspaper down on the breakfast table. Geralt and Eskel both jumped back.

"The guy who saved Roach has been saved!" He crowed triumphantly, dodging a spoon thrown by Geralt.

"Jaskier?” Eskel asked. “The trial went off all right?”

Lambert nodded towards the paper. “It says Marx was found guilty. So Jaskier and the other people he talked about are in the clear with any luck. Have you talked to him?"

"What?" Geralt looked up from the front page. Jaskier looked good in most outfits, of course, but the official black suit for court did nothing but match him to Yennefer, who was barely in the photograph, as the newspaper had tried so hard to cut her out.

"I know it says he won the case but he looks here miserable, mate.”

"Tabloid photos aren't real indicators of a person's well-being," Geralt said stiffly. Even though Lambert was right. Geralt kept picturing the animated Jaskier that he had been privileged to see for a whole thirty seconds at the premiere party.

"You texted him though, right?"

Geralt hummed. "Yennefer's helping him out."

Eskel and Lambert responded at the same time.

"That's not an answer to his question."

"That's not an answer to my question."

Sometimes Geralt really hated his brothers.

"You gave him Yennefer's name?" Eskel urged on.

“Must have,” Lambert commented, tapping on the partial shot of Yennefer buried under headline text.

"Her card." Geralt also remembered Jaskier's uncomfortable body language at the party. Curled in on himself, not meeting anyone's eyes and when he did, he looked right past them. Sometimes when Geralt closed his eyes he saw Jaskier's white knuckles against the windowpane, desperate to make an escape. Geralt provided that. He gave that to him. And Yennefer's information. "He seemed like he just needed someone in his corner."

"And now?"

"He's Yennefer's client right now. They're not friends. Yet,” he added. “Knowing Yennefer, it will depend on if she likes him or not."

Lambert turned back towards his breakfast but Eskel still had a knowing eye on his brother.

“Looks like it’s all wrapped up. He’s not her client anymore.”

"I don't have his number." Geralt admitted, just barely audible. “I never did.”

Eskel reached over and tapped on the screen of Geralt’s phone. "I bet Yennefer does."

----------------

Geralt: Do you have Jaskier's number? Yennefer: Finally. Yennefer: I can't give it to you. Yennefer: But I can give your information to him. Geralt: Thank you. Yennefer: He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

----------------

Yennefer: 033 0058 0058 Jaskier: What's that? Yennefer: Geralt's number.

Jaskier sighed and touched his thumb to Yennefer's name.

"You're calling the wrong number," she told him in lieu of a greeting.

"I don't know him," Jaskier argued. "We were never supposed to see each other again."

"I expect a gift basket after the wedding then."

"Shall I expect one for you and Priscilla?" Jaskier asked coolly. Thankfully, Yennefer laughed and he managed to keep going. "He didn't want to talk to me when we had to spend near every day together. I don't think I can manage a phone conversation if it's just me." He wasn't worried about being too honest. Not with Yennefer, not after the trial.

He'd woken up plenty of times in Priscilla's flat after an emotional night to Yennefer at the door with breakfast for all three of them.

Yennefer hummed and in a way, she sounded almost like Geralt. "You're right. Can I make another suggestion?"

----------------

Yennefer: Are you home today? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: All day? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: Good. Stay there. Yennefer: Or outside. By the driveway. Geralt: Why? Yennefer: Trust me, Geralt. It's a lovely day. Yennefer: Just enjoy yourself.

----------------

Geralt stuffed his phone back in his pocket and asked Roach, “What do you think?”

Roach just looked at him which was fair but Geralt’s heart started to race with the anticipation.

He couldn’t be sure of what was coming but he hoped. He left the stables and headed for the house. Sitting on the porch did nothing for Geralt’s nerves so instead he found himself standing in front of it.

Barely twenty minutes had gone by but still Geralt found himself picking the paint off of the porch railing.

An unfamiliar engine caught Geralt’s ear and he turned towards the front drive.

Then, there he was.

Jaskier.

In a shoddy little truck with faded red paint that was nearing pink. It looked as though perhaps Vesemir was only one old enough to have purchased it as new. He was towing a trailer behind him and Geralt would be willing to bet that he knew who was in there.

He also clearly didn’t know where to park. No doubt Yennefer had given him an address only. Geralt didn’t bother to hold back his enthusiasm, waving Jaskier towards the neat line of vehicles by the stables.

Geralt wondered if it would be too much to open the door for him but he remembered Yennefer’s words.

He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

Geralt could do gentle. He’d soothed plenty a horse in his time. So he hung back, just giving Jaskier what he hoped was an encouraging smile as he opened the car door himself.

"Um. Hello," Jaskier said shyly, a little nod of his head. With his priorities in place, he was already headed around to the trailer door. Geralt knew he was going to let Pegasus out but he couldn't help but feel as though Jaskier was trying to avoid contact with him at the same time.

He remembered how Jaskier needed to do something with his hands even on a good day, whether that was the infuriating clicking of the pen he used to make notes on his script or the constant twisting of Pegasus' leather reins around his fingers.

Geralt liked to think that this would be a good day but he knew how much courage it took for Jaskier to drive here with his horse.

Jaskier gave Pegasus a happy smile and guided him out of the trailer. It wasn't until the horse was solidly on the grass that Jaskier met Geralt's eyes again. Geralt could see that it wasn't just shyness. It was nerves.

Jaskier was biting at his lip and playing with the leather of the reins just like he had those mornings on set. "I wasn’t sure if the offer to visit was still there. Yennefer said—

"Yennefer was right," Geralt said quickly, beating Jaskier to the trailer door. He latched it shut, staring unblinkingly at Jaskier.

"Did Yennefer tell you to say that?"

“In my experience, it’s usually true,” Geralt joked. He took a step forward. "I'm...glad you're here."

"Oh. Oh, good," Jaskier sounded so relieved that Geralt wanted to convince him to stay forever. To gain confidence as Geralt did around his brothers, to be fed delicious meals by his father, and most importantly, to find peace with Geralt.

"I'm not...I'm not great over the phone anyway,” Geralt offered.

"I thought that might be the case,” Jaskier admitted honestly. “I wasn’t sure if I could stand to carry a whole conversation. Yennefer thought it would be easier for us just to..."

"Be together in person?"

"Well, I was going to say be with the horses. So we both have something to focus on if we need it." Jaskier lovingly stroked Pegasus and the horse nuzzled at him. Geralt had seen the same scene dozens of times over but that had been on set. Seeing it again here, on his family’s ranch was almost too good to be true.

"That works too." Geralt paused a moment and then urged Jaskier to follow him. “Come out to the barn. She’ll be excited to see you.”

Jaskier walked Pegasus through the stables. He let out the sweetest sigh upon seeing Roach again and Geralt never wanted Jaskier to leave the ranch again.

"Oh, hello, darling," Jaskier said quietly. Geralt took Pegasus' reins and Jaskier used his free hands to rub at Roach's nose. She leaned into the petting and Geralt wished he could take a photograph.

“I was a twat,” Geralt told him while Jaskier was distracted by a beautiful horse. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier looked down and shrugged. “I’m sure you see all sorts on film sets. I can’t even imagine.”

“I bet you can.” Geralt stroked Pegasus. He unlatched Roach’s stall and gestured for Jaskier to lead her out. “You weren’t any trouble, you know.”

“I don’t know if you remember but you…you yelled at Marx one day. He was crowding me in the stable and Roach picked up on my mood and became irritated with him. You told him off.” Jaskier told all this to Roach and Geralt did him the courtesy of not commenting on it.

Geralt didn’t remember though. He had chased away dozens of actors from horses over the years. It didn’t surprise him that Marx had been one of them.

“I’m glad she was there to protect you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

“I won’t say that it’s all right,” Jaskier said, with more strength than he looked. He swallowed and finally turned to Geralt. “It’s been…a long few weeks. Months, really. But we’re here now and—“

Roach nudged him again and he let out a little laugh. Some of the tension leaving him.

Roach nuzzled closer and Jaskier could tell she was eager to get out of her stall. “Yes, darling. I brought your old friend to come see you. I thought perhaps--" He looked at Geralt. "I thought perhaps we could go for a ride together? If you'd like."

"I'd love that," Geralt croaked, wondering how Jaskier could still be so brave after all this. That he was here and talking and asking Geralt to spend time with him. "Let me tack him up for you?" He asked, hand on Pegasus' flank.

Jaskier's brow furrowed. "I can do it."

"I know that you can. I want to do to it,” Geralt stressed. "Please," he added.

"Let's swap," Jaskier said, still lovingly petting Roach. "I haven't seen this girl in a while. It'll be nice."

"All right," Geralt agreed. He could see what Jaskier was doing.

It wasn't about a penance. Jaskier wanted them on some kind of equal footing. That was fair, Geralt supposed. Even though as of that specific moment, Geralt wanted to give Jaskier the world.

"Are you all right now?" Geralt asked, hesitating in a way that he hoped made an answer not necessary if Jaskier didn’t want to respond.

"Well, I don't know about 'all right,'" Jaskier huffed. His eyes were looking straight ahead. "Yennefer certainly settled some things. I'm not sure I'll be acting anytime soon. Or um, answering my phone calls. I've actually changed my number again. Remind me to give it to you."

"I'd like that." Geralt didn't mention that he never had Jaskier's number in the first place.

"It's not the press," he assured Geralt. "Just a lot of people trying to apologize or offering to support me. I'm talking to the same few who always believed me before everything, you know? Mostly just Priscilla and Yennefer right now."

Geralt didn't know. He was one of the people who...well, he's not sure that he believed the rumors. He wasn't someone to go around sets making friends regardless. But he had certainly heard the gossip, listened to it even.

He liked to think he made up for some of that but in actuality, Geralt knew it didn't matter. He'll always wish he had behaved differently when he first met Jaskier. He could have maybe had Jaskier in his life for so much longer. Could have supported him better during this shit time instead of just handing over Yennefer's card and begging her to take the case.

Geralt's mind was full of questions that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask. He wasn't even sure he wanted the answers either. What was Jaskier going to do now? Geralt knew that one was selfish because he so wanted the answer to include him.

They worked in silence to get the horses ready but it wasn’t a silence that Geralt minded. Especially not when it was broken every moments by Jaskier giggling whenever Roach tried to interrupt his actions. He watched Jaskier get up onto Pegasus before following on Roach.

“You could always keep Pegasus—“

"I was thinking maybe I could board Pegasus here? If you've got the room—"

"Yes!" Geralt said immediately, cutting off what he had started saying as well as Jaskier's nervous rant. He didn't want Jaskier to be unsure of himself ever again. Not where Geralt was concerned. "You could come by whenever you'd like. Hopefully...often," he let himself say, voice growing stronger as the sentence went on.

"Yeah?" Jaskier asked. Geralt couldn't look away from how his teeth trapped his bottom lip between them. He was grateful that they were both on horses, otherwise Geralt wasn't sure he could have stopped himself from taking his thumb and slipping the abused lip to safety.  "I don't live too far away. I hadn’t realized.”

Geralt swallowed. He met Jaskier’s big blue eyes and knew his own were rounded in vulnerability. “Please."

Jaskier finally, finally, smiled at him in such a way that Geralt felt his chest loosen. Jaskier nodded and Geralt felt his heart beating in his chest again. He grinned back at Jaskier and felt something swirl around them.

“Stay for dinner? My brothers would love to meet you. My father too.” Geralt was horrified at himself. He hadn’t rambled on like this in years. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to stop himself, not when Jaskier was giggling and trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth. “My brother Eskel’s horse is the one I’m planning to pair Roach with but I’m making him grovel for it if you’d like to help.”

“That sounds nice,” Jaskier laughed openly at him. Geralt didn’t mind one bit. “I’d love to stay, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Jaskier as they mounted. It seemed Jaskier didn’t mind, snorting each time he caught his former horse master. And then he did the same, with Geralt trying not to preen too much in response.

Jaskier told him about Priscilla and Yennefer meeting and how he couldn’t go to dinner with the two of them alone again, Geralt, please.

Geralt explained how the farm worked and how much he disliked being on set away from his brothers, even when the money was good. How mercilessly they had teased him about Jaskier when he had returned.

They rode through the ranch, to Eskel’s farm, and Geralt found that both of them were becoming freer with their laughs by each trot.

The two of them had a strange beginning and a tumultuous middle but perhaps, if Geralt and Jaskier worked for it, they could have a lovely end.

----------------

ao3 link here

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher fic

[cl-01-kestis]

Shut Me Up - Jerome Valeska x Female Reader | Part 4

Summary: You hold up your end of the bargain and meet Jerome at the docks on the outskirts of the city, seeing him for who he really is.

Warnings: Sexual themes

The time had finally come for you to meet Jerome.

After waiting a long 24 hours for the meeting to come up, you had been sick with anxiety the whole time. You managed to sneak out without Alfred or Bruce knowing and grabbed a Taxi to arrive at the docks just in time for midnight.

It was cold out on the docks as you wandered through the halls made up of large storage crates and came upon the edge of the dock where a black Mercedes awaited, its engine still on but no one in the car. Your eyes drifted to the figure sitting down on the ground, back leaning on the tire of the car.

Jerome.

You swallowed your pride and wrapped your jacket tighter around your body, shivering with not only the cold but the nerves coursing through your body. You kept your eyes on him as he looked up when your footstep was a bit too loud, eyes searching and immediately landing on you. A twinkle was in his eye as a pleased grin spread out on his face, standing up and dusting himself off before stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and leaning against the car. He was waiting for you to approach him, eyes looking you up and down like a predator when you decided to inch closer and closer to him.

You looked out onto the waters surface, inhaling the salty sea air and feeling your hair blow in the wind softly before you returned your gaze to Jerome.

“I hoped it would be a little warmer” Was the first thing you said, teeth chattering and eyes focused on him as he managed a small chuckle.

“Not much warmth in Gotham, gorgeous” His voice was so much nicer in person than you remembered, maybe it was because this time you actually wanted to hear it. It sounded as comforting as the first time you spoke to him, only now you weren’t as smitten with him, or at least you tried not to be.

You weren’t sure where to start speaking when you got close enough to him, your bodies inches away but still far enough for you to turn on your foot and run away. Jerome unfolded one of his arms and reached up to cup your cheek, the pale moonlight lighting up the left side of his face as his eyes gleamed down at yours. He didn’t squeeze or grab it, he just touched it like it were a piece of glass. His hands were oddly warm, contrasting against the ice of your skin and causing you to unconsciously lean towards it. There was a silent conversation going on between the both of you, your eyes doing all the talking as Jerome drifted his gaze to your lips but quickly back up to your eyes.

“I’m glad you could meet me” He said, no longer sounding like the maniac you were used to on the phone the day before. He sounded so genuine, his tone so soft and delicate as if he were speaking to a baby. You tried not let him get to you but most of you wanted to dive into this feeling you were experiencing and never return to the surface.

“Like I said, I wanted to see you, not separated by a wall of glass or in the company or others like the times before” Your voice was weak but enough for Jerome to hear, his fingers trailed on your cheek some more and he kept his hand there for the time being, but you didn’t mind.

Humming, Jerome brushed the hair away from your shoulder and let his finger trail a pathway down the side of your neck. You shivered in response, the ticklish feeling of his fingertip against your skin leaving scars that only you could see, scars that proved he was here and he was touching you. You closed your eyes momentarily, sighing to yourself before feeling Jerome’s fingers lift your chin up to meet his gaze once more.

“You’re the only person around here that makes me feel a little sane... it’s... weird” Jerome frowned but he didn’t look frustrated nor angry, he seemed a little confused. Your heart jumped at his words, eyes widening only slightly as you took a step closer to him so you were now inches apart.

“Is that a good thing?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, mingled in with the wind that brushed past the both of you. You were so close to Jerome you could feel his body heat, warming you up and making you feel less and less frightened the more seconds that went by.

“Good or bad, it’s nice” He mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before taking out his other hand and wrapping it around your waist.

“Glad i can provide” You smiled, placing your hands on his chest and leaning on him when you got close enough, your head coming down to rest on his chest as his arms held you close.

This felt so surreal, you were expecting to wake up in the comforts of your room back at the Wayne manor and realise this was all some weird dream. But it wasn’t, you’d been pinching yourself the way down to the docks and realised this was actually happening. You weren’t sure if you should be this close to Jerome, at this point he was close to kissing you and that was more than dangerous. You remembered your dad and Leslie and how they felt when they realised Jerome was out, they feared for your safety but here you were in the arms of a man you not only felt intrigued by, but also loved. Jerome may not have been the petrified boy you met all those weeks ago, but right now he wasn’t that maniac the news made him out to be. If anything you felt that he was a little misunderstood, his mother constantly abused him and he didn’t have a father growing up, so of course he was dysfunctional. Out of all the things you were relieved to be about, it was the fact you made him feel sane, even if it was just the smallest bit. Anything counted at this point.

Leaning back from Jerome’s chest, you looked at him and cupped his face, unable to stop yourself as you pressed your lips against his as soft as you could. Jerome froze in his spot and his grip on your waist tightened, his fingers gripping onto the material of your jacket. His lips were so warm against yours, moving at a pace that the both of you were comfortable with the deeper the kiss got. You wrapped your arms around Jerome’s neck and brought him closer, opening your mouth to grant him access to taking things a step further. He made a small noise, sounding like a whimper, before slipping his tongue in your mouth and switching positions so you were pinned against the car.

Even though he showed dominance, he was still very gentle with you and removed his arms from your waist, taking yours from his neck and pinning time to the car with little to no force. You relaxed as the kiss progressed and soon you found yourself wanting more. You knew this was at the point of no return, you’d gotten too far to turn around and walk out. For the first time in your life you were experiencing emotions, but not in their purest form. Jerome made you feel like your heart was about to stop 24/7, he kept you hot on your toes and plagued your mind ever since the two of you met. You were utterly fascinated by him, killer or not.

You grabbed onto the handle of the backseat of the car and opened it, alerting Jerome and causing him to pull away from your lips. He looked at the opened car door and back to you, raising a brow before smiling at you with some kind of wicked undertone.

“Are you sure you want to go that far? We only just met...” Jerome said in a joking tone, toying with the hem of your T-shirt whilst pressing a teasing kiss on your cheek. You chuckled, shrugging to yourself before opening up the door wide and getting inside.

“I’m just a little cold” You whispered, sitting at the other side of the car and curling your legs up to your chest to provide some heat. You weren’t wrong, it was bitterly chilly on the docks and Jerome could understand why you were cold, compared to him who somehow wasn’t cold at all. The car was warm, the engine was on and you rubbed your hands together to get more heat. Getting comfortable beside you, Jerome took your hands in his and stretched his sleeves out a bit so he could hide your hands in the sleeves with his. You looked up at him with a shy smile and shuffles closer to him, your head touching and lips inches away. Jerome stole a kiss from you unexpectedly but you done the same to him, fighting back a giggle as he grinned at you with sincerity.

“You can hug me if you’re still cold, I can hide you in my jacket” He smirked teasingly, but you rolled your eyes and nodded your head at his suggestion. Jerome stretched out his jacket and you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning back against the car seat with him and resting your cheek on his shoulder. Jerome moved one arm around your shoulder, the other one still holding yours to try and warm them up. There was a soothing silence between you in the car, the radio was turned on but at a very low volume so you could vaguely hear the voices of news reporters or the music channels.

“You wanna get up to something?” Jerome asked suddenly, causing you to lift your head from his shoulder and turn to look at him with a lifted brow.

“Like what?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Oh, I dunno... I got a few ideas up my sleeve to warm you up?” Jerome bit his lip to stop himself from smirking but you knew what he was getting at. You smiled, a deep blush devouring your face as you reached a hand up to cup Jerome’s face, your palm against his sharp jaw and feeling it clench underneath your touch.

“What do you have in mind?” You whispered, looking at him with intrigue and feeling your pulse pick up when he placed a hand on your thigh and captured your lips with his. You kissed him back immediately and moved your hand from his face to his hair, tangling your fingers in his fiery locks and tugging on them gently the deeper the kiss got.

“I think you know” Jerome mumbled after biting your lip, his breath hot on your lips and eyes darkening with desire. You nodded once, pulling on his hair harder than before and earning a low grunt from him as he frowned.

“Watch it doll, if you keep that behaviour up I won’t play nice” The red head warned you with a glare, his chest rising up and down at a fairly quick pace due to how close you were to him.

“Make me” You challenged, tugging on his hair once more and smirking to yourself. In a complete flash, Jerome grabbed you and dragged you down on the car seat, your wrists held by one of his hands above your head whereas the other wrapped itself around your throat, not tight but enough to scare you.

“Anything else to say?” Jerome looked down at you with an intimidating expression, but you didn’t flinch. Smiling, you struggled against his hands that beld your wrists and let out a small noise as his hand tightened around your neck.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really sexy?” You flattered him, your voice breathless as you tried not to blush so much, your face felt like it was on fire. Jerome blinked with wide eyes but soon a smile spread over his face, and not the crazy kind.

“Likewise doll, now lets get you warmed up” Was the last thing Jerome said beside diving down and biting your neck.

-

You didn’t know what time it was, the sky was still dark but you could barely see anything outside due to the steamy windows of the car. It smelled of sweat and musk, the temperature inside was boiling and you were more than warmed up. You lay on the car seat, same position as before, with no top or bra on. Your hair was all over the place, some strands even stuck to your face with sweat.

Jerome was sitting up, your legs draped over his lap as he trailed small patterns onto your skin to try and calm you down and hopefully steady your breathing. You stared at the car ceiling with droopy, half shut eyes, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of exhaustion. You were going to sleep well when you got back to the Wayne Manor, that’s for sure.

“Feeling alright, doll?” Jerome asked, sounding a bit out of breath as he reached a hand up to touch the skin of your tummy. You sensed at the unexpected interaction but calmed down when you realised he was just stroking your skin to calm you down.

“Yeah, just... really worn out” You chuckled, wiping the sweat from your forehead and placing your hand ontop of Jerome’s. The red head looked at you for a second with a small smile on his face, like he was in deep thought about you. You didn’t comment and instead tried sitting up, fighting the numbness of your legs and groaning as you shifted your back against the car door.

“I have to get back before everyone wakes up” You whined, grabbing your bra from the car floor and clumsily slipping it over your arms and clipping it behind your back carelessly. Jerome nodded his head, watching you adjust your chest into your bra and grinning to himself as he picked up his shirt, sliding into it and buttoning it up halfway before looking back to you and seeing that you too had put your shirt on. You looked a mess, hair all over the place and eyes glassy from the activities that occurred moments before. Your lips were swollen due to the kisses he gave you, and your torso was covered in hickey’s and even teeth marks. You had a noticeable one on your neck that wasn’t covered by your shirt but right now you didn’t care.

“Just so you know,” Jerome spoke up but not too loud just in case he scared you. He ran a hand through his red locks and sent a smile your way.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing” He continued, his gaze shifting away from yours as if he was embarrassed about confessing it, but you quickly shuffled over beside him and flung an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, but do me a favour and try not to get into too much trouble? My dads frantic about catching you and I don’t want you dead or arrested” You brushed the hair away from his face and pressed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Can’t promise anything” Jerome winked, adjusting his shirt before opening up his car door to let some cold air in. Startled by the bitter ice cold weather from outside, you put on your jacket and held it close to you.

“Fine, just don’t let my dad catch you” You sent him a playful look made him roll his eyes and wave off your comment. Giggling, you made your way out of the car very carefully and made sure not to fall over. Your legs almost gave in at first and if it wasn’t for Jerome’s arm supporting you, you would’ve fallen over.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive home?” He raised a brow, looking out at the sky and seeing the suns light peek up but there was no sight of the massive yellow glowing ball in the sky just yet. You still had time.

“It’s fine, I’ll catch a cab” You shook your head, raising a hand up to dismiss his offer but he didn’t seem pleased. Even so, he respected your choice and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.

“When will i next see you?” He asked curiously, his blue eyes twinkling even though the moon wasn’t visible from where you were on the docks. You leaned close to touch your nose with his and sighed.

“I have no idea, I’m under loads of supervision so it’ll be tricky finding another time” You pursed your lips but Jerome didn’t seem to be disappointed. He leaned up and kissed your head, his hands gripping loosely at your shoulders.

“That’s okay, I’m sure my girlfriend has her priorities” He replied.

“Girlfriend?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, I mean, if that’s what you want” Jerome shrugged, his face inches away from yours but you could perfectly see the smile on his face.

“Fine by me” You giggled, leaning forward and kissing him passionately. Eventually, you had to bid farewell to him and watched him drive off back the way he came on the docks, his car light disappearing into the darkness and leaving you alone to look out at the surface of the water.

You didn’t return to the Wayne Manor until 3 hours later.

#gotham tv show #gotham #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #dc comcis

[xlovelyyoongix]

wedding dress | myg

*I do not own this gif* 

summary: it didn't matter how much you loved yoongi, you were still obligated to take another man’s hand in marriage, and sadly, Yoongi had to watch. 

pairing: yoongi x f. reader. 18+

word count: 3674

genre: Vanilla smut, fluff, angst, (sad boy Yoongi) -gosh, why do I always put my mans through such a hard time-

warnings: penetrative sex (literally the whole first part of the fic is vanilla smut) , adultery (but not what you think), jealousy, and cursing. (if you notice anything else I should add as a warning, please let me know)

a/n: I literally got this idea after listening to Taeyang's song Wedding Dress for the billionth time. If you've never heard that song..... Wtf, how have you never heard of Wedding Dress? It's such a k-pop classic, and you should listen to it while reading this, or listen to it before reading this... or may listen to it after if you're anything like me and struggle with multitasking *laughs awkwardly*.😅 Ummm, I'v rambled long enough, enjoy.  😊 

"Fuck~" Yoongi's throaty moan hisses into the shell of your ear. "I l-love you." His fingers intertwining with your very own as his hips thrust in and out of your sopping core, fucking you into the hotel mattress. "I love you so much,__" Sweat building across his porcelain skin, dumpling cheeks, a misty pink along with onyx orbs mixed with the sensation of infatuation and sexual desire.  

"Y...Yoon..." You don't have the strength to finish his name as waves of pleasure ripple throughout your body. "I-I love y-you, too" Your exhausted voice speaks in a whimper, squeezing onto his hands as a euphoric buildup tightens within your abdomen. "C-close." Your lips quiver, legs tightening around Yoongi's waist, pulling him in closer.  

"I-I know..." Yoongi's muscles start to weaken as your soaking walls begin to clench around his throbbing dick, teasing your nearing release. "You feel so good~" His mouth finds a place on your neck, nibbling and kissing the sensitive spots of your soft flesh. "Will you be a good girl and cum for me?" He smirks into the curve of your neck.

With your brows creasing together, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings and thighs quivering around Yoongi's waist, you were absolutely positive the steady buildup within your core would explode at any moment. "Y-yes." was all you could manage to muster.

"Good." Using his last ounce of strength, Yoongi repositions his hips at an angle he knew would send you to heaven. His length reaches deeper, scraping across your spongy surface and slamming into the moist wall of your cervix.  

"Shhhhit!" Your head knocks, nails digging into the skin of Yoongi's back. "You. Feel. So. Good. Don't. Stop." You whimper between the beat of Yoongi slamming into you, causing the headboard to aggressively bang into the wall. "G-gonna c-cum- AH!" With tears in your eyes, colors burst into your vision as your body explodes into a flatline of bliss.  

Slamming into you with one final thrust, your walls immediately tighten around Yoongi's girth. "FUCK!" Clamping his eyes shut, the rubber band feeling snaps within his core, releasing his hot strips of cum into the tip of the condom. With his tired body collapsing into the spot beside you, Yoongi is quick to dispose of the condom into the trashbin beside the mattress.

The two of you searching for air as you gaze into each other's eyes, lost in the paradise of love. You loved him, you truly loved Min Yoongi, and no man could ever capture your heart the way he has.  

You part your lips to speak, but the loud buzzing of your alarm interrupts you, signaling that the final hour was close at hand. You bit into your lip anxiously as you put a regretful silence to the ringing.

Yoongi's nostrils release a sigh. "You don't have to do this." His tender hand reaching out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Please don't do this." His once husk voice, now dipping in anguish.

"Yoongi..." You whisper his name in sorrow, witnessing the sadness within his broken eyes. God, how you wish you could give in, to be able to stay in his arms forever. To run away from all your family ties and responsibilities to be with the love of your life. Sadly, you knew it was nothing more than a fantasy, and there was no turning back. "I love you so much... b-but."

"Tch!" Yoongi smacks his teeth with a grunt, dismissing your further statement. He pulls himself from the mattress, gathering his clothes that were scattered across the floor. "For once in your life,__, can't you make a decision for yourself and not give a damn what your family thinks?" Yoongi spits back, sliding his legs into his jeans.

Frustrated that Yoongi would choose now of all times to have this conversation with you, you roll your eyes with attitude. "For the thousandth time, Yoongi," You yank yourself up in bed, pulling your shirt over your head. "there isn't anything I can do!" Your hands slap into the comforter out of aggravation.

"Yes, there is." Yoongi shakes his head, tossing his shirt over his body. "You could not marry him. That's what you could do." He snaps back. "If you really love me, you would just leave with me."

Your swollen lips tighten into a line, nostrils flaring. "Don't do that... you know I love you, Yoongi." You're disappointed at the fact he would even throw that in your face at a time like this.

Yoongi's thick brows furrow together, provokingly. "And yet, you're marrying another man." He shrugs his shoulders a-matter-a-factly. "Do you think I'm just gonna sneak around and climb into your bedroom window at night, fucking you while your husband is in the other room, huh?"

Frustrated by your lover's choice of words, your fingers rub at your temples, hoping to relieve the stress. "You knew this would happen...you knew I was arranged to be married. This is what you signed up for-..."

"BULLSHIT!" Yoongi's harsh voice challenges back. He took a moment to catch himself, never being the type to raise his voice, especially at you. He inhales a breath before releasing it slowly. "You said you would find a way out of it, __. That you wouldn't marry him." His jet eyes cut to yours once again.

"I said, I would TRY to find a way out of this marriage. I never promised you that I would." You couldn't believe the two of you were fighting at a time like this. You'd rather spend your last moments as a free woman, wrapped in Yoongi’s embrace instead of arguing over something that can't be controlled. "And I did try! I tried everything I possibly could, but my parents need me to marry him. There isn't any other way..." Your voice starts to crack as the emotions ripple throughout your body. "T-this is hard on me, too, ya know." You break, a tear slipping down the round of your cheek as you remember in 3 hours, you'll be married to a man you barely knew.

Yoongi was silent, the hands at his sides balling into fists as he attempted to gather his thoughts and emotions.

Opening your mouth to console your lover, you're interrupted by a knock on the door. You flinch at the sound, afraid that someone would catch Yoongi in your bedroom, which would ruin the entire plan your family had in place for today.

"__, it's me, Alex." A female voice speaks from the other side.

You release a sigh of relief in hearing your best friend's voice. "Come in, Alex." You announce, straightening yourself in bed.

You hear the living room door creak open, soon the slender frame of your best friend steps into your bedroom. Her black hair styled in a neat top bun, natural makeup designed across her honey face, and carrying her maid of honor dress across her arms. "Jungkook is keeping guard of the hallways, making sure no one sees Yoongi leaving the room." She sends a nod towards the male, signaling it was his time to exit.  

"Fine." Was all Yoongi could manage to say as he gathered the rest of his belongings.

Your eyes follow his every move, somberly. "Y-Yoongi, I ..." Your heart aches, knowing this would be the last time you'll see Yoongi as a free woman. You want to hold him, kiss him, tell him that no matter what happens, he will be the only man that will ever reside in your heart.

Pretending not to hear you, Yoongi brushes past you as if you didn't exist, heading out the door. "I'll see you at the wedding," He says before leaving, never once looking back. He didn't have the strength to.  

The aching in your chest tightens, and your throat becomes rasp, warm tears streaming from your eyes. You hated this. Absolutely hated this, the fact you were getting married to a stranger, but mostly, the fact that you were the cause of your lover's pain. How could you possibly manage the stress of it all?  

"Oh no,__. Don't cry." Alex whimpers in a pout, witnessing her best friend's dismay.  

Taking a breath, you rub the tears from your eyes, gathering your thoughts. You didn't have time to think, or feel emotion. Today was about business, and no matter how much you desperately wanted to chase after your lover to aid his wounded heart, you had an obligation to your family that needed to be fulfilled. "I'll be alright." You wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve. "Let's get ready for the wedding."

  Stepping into the chapel, raven-hair freshly washed, bowtie neatly in place around his white collar and a sleek black suit fitting around his frame, Yoongi chewed the inside of his lip anxiously. Observing the sea of people that call themself your family, all dressed in the most elegant fashion money could buy as they sit in pews of the church, gossiping amongst each other.

It was no secret that Yoongi despised your family, not only because of their petty political ties but because they were the ones responsible for this mess. Marrying you off to a man twice your age for their own powerful gain. "Fuckin' rich people." He mutters to himself.  

"Mr.Min, please get into position. The ceremony will begin shortly." One of the ushers pats Yoongi on the shoulder.

"Sure," He responds dryly, immediately regretting ever agreeing to be a part of the damn wedding in the first place.

Making his way through the sea of people, Yoongi overhears a conversation that makes his ears burn.

"Oh, isn't __ just the sweetest girl!" The elderly woman brags to her circle of friends. "My son, Andrew, promised me, grandchildren, as soon as the honeymoon is over." She giggles cheerfully. "I can't believe I'll finally get to be a grandmother!" Her smile from ear to ear.

The very thought of a man touching you, loving you, and fucking a baby into you causes Yoongi's stomach to twist in disgust. Even though you were always promised to another, Yoongi thought that by the grace of God, you'd somehow end up with his last name. "I'll need a drink after this." He mumbles to himself, taking a seat on the white piano bench, cracking his knuckles to prepare for his performance.

 Time passes, and Andrew makes his way into the Chapple. His brown hair slick back, hazel eyes shimmering under the crystal lights, as his slender white suit fits around him handsomely. For being an older gentleman, Andrew was indeed a sight for sore eyes; however, Yoongi knew a man like that could never be your cup of tea.

The moment Andrew takes his place at the altar, the musical director signals Yoongi to start. His jet orbs roll callously, as his regretful fingers begin to dance across the keys of the grand piano. A part of Yoongi wondered, if he stopped playing and if the church didn't have any music, would that be enough to stop the wedding? Would that buy him enough time to find you, whisking you away in his broken-down car? "Tch.." Yoongi sucks in a breath. "As if that could happen." He mumbles, bringing himself back to reality.

Yoongi's eyes spot Alex in her maid of honor dress walking down the aisle with Jungkook at her side, the two split off as they make their way to the altar.

The moment that everyone is in place, the music director signals Yoongi to halt the piano. Yoongi's fingers come to a stop.

The wooden chapel doors creak open again. Your body steps out, sheer veil concealing your precious face, the sweetheart chest of the white wedding dress supports your breast elegantly, torso hugging into your shapely curves as the rest of your dress puffs out into a classic ball gown. Yoongi's lips hang ajar in disbelief, inhaling the essence of your beauty.

The music director signals him to play again.

His fingers dancing across the keys creating a happy tune despite the anguish pooling within his soul. Every step you took down the aisle, Yoongi felt a blow to his chest, as if his heart was being yanked from its strings. He immediately regrets getting upset with you in the last moments you had together, not giving you the proper goodbye you deserved. "I love you." He whispers into the air for no one but himself to hear.

Before taking your final step at the altar, your saddened eyes connect with Yoongi's onyx ones. You never thought you'd see the day Yoongi would ever wear a suit. You remember him expressing his hate for fancy clothing, explaining that they made him uncomfortable, how he'd rather be in a pair of sweats and a baggy T-shirt. Your lips curl with a giggle at the memory, the only thing bringing you happiness at that moment. "I love you, Yoongi." You whisper as the aching in your chest cried out for him.

Andrew interrupts your thoughts with a loud cough, signaling you to finally take your place at the altar.  

"O-Oh, right." You snap back to reality, lifting your dress to waltz up the step, taking your place in front of Andrew. Even though the man you would soon call your husband was now standing before you, you couldn't help but keep your eyes on the real love of your life, Yoongi.

"Let us begin in prayer." The music stops, and the priest standing between the two of you bows his head to speak the prayer. Of course, you aren't listening, his holy words slipping in one ear and out the other as you recall all the moments you've spent with Yoongi. Remembering the times he made you laugh, the times he dried your tears, how his beautiful hands would touch you as if you were the most delicate flower, how he'd make love to you. God, you wish Yoongi was the man standing in front of you, taking your hand in marriage.

"For once in your life,__, can't you make a decision for yourself and not give a damn what your family thinks?"

The words Yoongi fought back at you this morning, begin to replay in your mind. With regretful eyes, you glance over at your mother and father in the front row. Your mother with the biggest smile on her face and your father with broad shoulders, proud.

You can't falter now. You were doing this for your family. There was no turning back...right?

"I do." Andrew's vow interrupts your thoughts. His eyes shining, looking into you with admiration. Unlike yourself, Andrew wanted this wedding. He knew from the very moment he first laid eyes on you, he’d have you for a wife. So, using his power, he convinced your father for your hand in marriage, and in return, Andrew would fulfill his promise by tripling the profit of your father's company, leaving you without a say in the matter.  

"And do you,__, take Andrew Mathew, to be your lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, threw sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?" The priest asks you, thick holy bible in hand.

Your heart drops, hands tightly gripping onto the fabric of your wedding dress. "I...I ah..." Your lips quiver and your throat grows dry. You don't want to marry Andrew. You don't want to start a life with someone you barely even knew. You wanted Yoongi. "Father, I..." You lift the veil from your face, your distressed eyes connecting with your father's confused ones. It was now or never. "Father, I'm so sorry, but I can't do this."

The entire congregation gasps in disbelief, gossip and whispers echo throughout the Chapple.

Yoongi's hooded eyes widened in shock at your words. Taking a stand from his seat, his vision is glued to you, curious to what your next move would be.

"W-wait, wait, wait..." Andrew chuckles, rubbing the stress away from his temples. "Your father promised I would be marrying you today." His lips curve arrogantly.

"I'm sorry, Andrew." Your tone drops apologetically. "But I can't marry you." Your brows crinkle together, lips forming into a frown, displaying your sincerest condolences to your now, ex-fiance.  

"No!" Andrew's robust voice shouts, aggressively grabbing onto your wrist to hold you in place "You will marry me,__ or the deal I have planned with your father is voided." He sneers through clenched teeth.  

With the thick vein forming in the corner of Andrew's head, face burning red, and nostrils flared, you now knew the kind of husband Andrew would be in a marriage, and you'd be damned if you ever let a man treat you that way. "I won't." You reply back with a confident attitude.

Andrew steps into your face with hostile force. "Tch. Why you..."

"Let her go."

Your heart thumps wildly as your ears pick up the familiar deep tone of voice. "Y-Yoongi?" you see him, his hand grabbing hold of Andrews's forearm, prompting your ex-fiance to release you from his tight grip.

Andrew chuckles wickedly. "Look what we have here. The help, telling me what to do." Andrew shoves a finger into Yoongi's chest, nudging him backward. "Do you even know who I am? How powerful my family name is?" He questions with a cocked brow.

Yoongi's expression remains stoic, unphased by the rich male’s threats. "I don't care who you are, but if you don't let my girlfriend go, we're going to have a problem." Yoongi's eyes cut dangerously, his jaw locking, as his hand balls into a fist at his side.

"Y-Yoongi..." You've never seen your lover with such a daring expression, but you knew he was serious.

For a moment, Andrew locks eyes with Yoongi, studying the flaming rage that danced behind his jet orbs. Despite the difference in weight and height between the two men, Andrew now knew it was best not to challenge the younger male. "Tch." The ex-fiance smacks his teeth, realizing his defeat. "She isn't even worth it. You can have her." He releases your wrist, brushing past the pastor. "The wedding is off, and the deal is canceled." He announces to your father before making his furious exit out of the Chapple.  

"__,!" Your father's loud voice yells out your name. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He shouts, rushing to your side in a panic.

"Father, I'm so sorry," You begin with apologetic eyes. "But I won't marry someone that I don't love, just to make you happy." You finally find the courage to stand up to the man responsible for your birth. "The person that I love is Min Yoongi." You proudly say your boyfriend's name, taking hold of his hand.

Proud you were finally standing up for yourself, Yoongi's lips pulled into a smile, his fingers intertwining with your own.

"D-do you realize what you've done?!" Your father's spit flying through the air as he screamed.

Even with your father in such an enraged state, there was nothing you were afraid of so long as Yoongi stood by your side. "I do, actually." You give your lover's hand a firm squeeze. "This time, I'm choosing me." Despite the monstrous expression on your father's face, you smile.

You witness the muscles in your father's face move as he releases his clenched teeth, nostrils exhaling a heavy breath. "I..." Realizing what he has done, his eyes softened. "I'm sorry,__" The apology slipped from his lips remorsefully." I can't believe I was about to marry my daughter off to a man she barely knew." He shakes his head in disbelief of himself. "Can you ever forgive me?"  

"Oh father," Your brows creasing together, eyes softening at your father's digression. "Of course, I can forgive you." Overjoyed, your hands reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much." You're nearly close to tears.  

Your father pats your back, savoring the moment the two of you were sharing together. "I'm sure this, Min Yoongi, is a bright, young man." He pulls away, now eyeing down the man you called your boyfriend. "You take care of my daughter now." His meaty index finger wags.

Yoongi chuckles because, of course, he would take care of you. "Yes, sir." He agrees.

Your father pats your shoulder. "Now the two of you get the hell outta here. From the way things turned out today, I have a mess that needs cleaning."  

You send your father one last smile before rushing off with Yoongi down the aisle. Members of your family shout, demanding an explanation, but the two of you laugh it all off, holding hands as you rush out of the church.

Finally, reaching the car, Yoongi opens the passenger side for you, providing you a hand as you step into his vehicle, gathering the tail of your wedding dress to fit into your lap. Once you're buckled in, Yoongi makes his way to the driver's side, slipping into the seat. "I may not be able to take you to Bora Bora, but I can still give you a honeymoon back at my place." He winks with a gummy smile.

You giggle at your boyfriend's words, somehow always able to bring a smile to your face. "It doesn't matter where in the world I am," You lean in, planting a kiss on his dumpling cheek. "My paradise is always with you."

Yoongi's onyx eyes find yours once again. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He gently cups your cheek into his hand, swiping his thumb across your delicate skin. "I love you, __." His heart flipping with joy that you were now free to love whoever you choose. Free to love him.

You nudge your cheek into Yoongi's palm, starry eyes gazing into your lover through the thicks of your lashes. There was no one else you'd rather give your heart to than the man in front of you. "I love you too, Min Yoongi."

#min yoongi #minyoongi #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x you #bts x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #bts yoongi #min yoongi smut

[hannie-dul-set]

you had never thought that the most nerve-wracking experience in your life would be knocking on a door.

it had been twenty minutes, at least— you staring intently on the hard black painted entrance, hand reaching for the surface every couple moments or so, but only to end up retracting it in hesitation.

within your instances of delay, you took a minute to examine the few potted plants decorating the place's exterior. this wasn't the same place jaehyun's mother had uninvitingly invited you to last time. you had found out that the jung's had many houses, the previous being their family's, and this one being jaehyun's personal living space, where he usually resided whenever it got too busy at the company (which, to be honest, was more likely than not).

y/n, stop getting sidetracked, dammit. you scolded yourself, bringing the both of your palms to the sides of your face and you gave yourself a few light smacks. before you can find yourself wandering from your thoughts even more, you decided to just get on with it.

inhaling a sharp dose of air, you lifted your right hand to the door's surface.

knock. knock. knock.

without even a second to spare, the door swung open, making you think— had he been waiting behind it this entire time?

a rush of warmth attempted to fight its way into your cheeks at that notion, even more so when you saw jaehyun finally standing in front of you, donned in a simple black shirt and his favorite checkered pants, with the usual neatly styled hair that he wore everyday, now in a somewhat ruffled mess.

yet he still manages to take your breath away.

"hi."

you managed to breathe out, heart attempting to break away from the cages of your chest. jaehyun mumbles the same, pressing his lips together in a small, dimpled smile before ushering you inside. the door closed with a resounding click, and he turned to face you.

jaehyun noticed the way that you had your gaze at your feet, the way you fiddled with your fingers as you bit down your bottom lip, and the way there was a slight puffiness in your eyes— and his heart ached, piercing through the smothering silence of his home. he opened his mouth, in the attempts to say something— anything— but he himself was left wandering in the dark with the situation, so the words he had tried to come up with refused to spill.

instead, he waited for you to start speaking, but it seems you had trouble in doing so, as well.

never had you thought that you'd experience awkwardness around jaehyun.

but here you were.

"are… are you mad at me?" your voice sounded more like a squeak than anything, and broke through the quiet drenching you both. and somehow, despite your refusal to look at him directly, you could still see jaehyun flinching from your question.

it took him a while to utter a response, and it had you swimming in a self constructed pool of nervousness. that is until you heard him whisper a quiet "no," and the softness of his voice nearly tore you into pieces. your heart shivered as you felt him getting closer, gently holding the sides of your face, causing you to look up at him with quivering eyes. "no, of course not."

a frown fanned across your lips and you reached for his hands, bringing them down in an assured hold. "be honest, jae. tell me you're at least upset."

his expression was unreadable, and one beat of silence passed.

two beats.

three—

"okay," he let out a relented sigh. "i am a little upset."

at that juncture, you let go of his hands and deliberately buried yourself into his chest, arms wrapping around him in a moment of unspoken warmth. jaehyun was taken aback, and with a muffled voice, you mumbled out. "i'm sorry..."

he froze for a while, arms hanging in the air without knowing what to do until a fond expression sneaked its way into his face, and he returned your embrace. a gentle kiss presses onto the top of your head, and he lightly brushes his fingers through the strands of your hair, causing you to look up. he smiled at you— a forgiving smile, and you felt the deepness of his voice engulfing your vulnerability.

"will you tell me what happened, baby?"

it was ridiculous, honestly. how every sound he utters, every gaze he sends at you, was enough to have you weak— stumbling over your own emotions stained in a blazing shade of red until you could barely find it in yourself to stand up.

(you didn't know this, but at that exact moment, jaehyun was feeling the exact same thing).

"can we sit down first?" the two of you never left your position, still buried deep in each others' arms, and when jaehyun released an ocean-deep chuckle at your question, you felt it flooding right through you. and instead of drowning, it felt as if you were being carried by the waves into someplace familiar— someplace safe. he led you to the couch in the middle of his living room, a low glass table in its front. there was a considerable distance between the both of you, only your fingers intertwined with each other serving as a bridge.

hesitation flashed through your features, head trained on the ground and not knowing how to start, but then you felt a squeeze on your hand. you looked up, seeing the assuring warmth of jaehyun's smile, and you found yourself releasing a huff of air.

"i did go to the gala last night," you started. "actually, i talked to mark for a while before i left— was he the one who told you?"

he nodded, lines of attentiveness tracing the softness of his features.

"i didn't stay long, though. when i saw you, i was really about to go up to you," you exhaled, heaviness weighing you down in a moment of contemplation, and then you continued. "but then, people started talking..."

"talking about what?"

"how you and seonha were perfect for each other."

jaehyun was still. he had not expected an outcome like this. a sudden blow was directed to his chest, spreading all throughout the rest of his being when he saw the aching expression on your face. how he wanted to take you in his arms once more, to kiss you senseless until all the parasitic pressing of your thoughts were to be scared away, never to see the light of day again.

but he was still— unable to move no matter his desperation, and your voice caused a rift in his senses once more.

"i know their words meant nothing, and— and i know i shouldn't have let any of them get to me but—" your solemn gaze lingered on jaehyun, glazed with a sheer layer of glass. "i… i don't know. it felt like i was suffocating and all i wanted to do was to just leave."

the ticking clock from afar was incessant against the strained silence, serving as a continual reminder of how much the seconds pass.

"i'm… sorry for disregarding everything you said to me the other day. and i'm sorry for lying to you."

"y/n, you know i love you, right?"

without you even realizing, the distance between you had nearly disappeared, a small space remaining for he still had your hand in the gentleness of his hold as he looked at you with the glimmer of adoration doused in his dark pools. 

"i know... "

he smiled, light sunlight peeking inside a dim room.

"and because i love you," jaehyun started, bringing your hand to his lips and he pressed down a tender kiss, sending a rush of warmth down your spine and his gaze on you lingered as he did so. "i'll keep on reminding you that i do until there's room left for doubt inside your head, okay?"

a skip of a heartbeat, a slight quivering of your lip, a faint stinging in your eyes, and he had no right to make you feel this way. once again, you found yourself buried in his chest, limbs tangled haphazardly on the couch just so that you can envelop him in your tightly gripped affection even more. his arms snaked around you, head resting on the top of yours and you heard him mumble into your hair. "...i'm sorry for not being with you when you were having a hard time."

you released yourself from him a little, just enough so that you can look at him in the eye. jaehyun had his brows raised in confusion, and without even giving him a moment to interject

you kissed him.

short, sweet, and delicate— just a bare graze on the pinkness of his lips.

jaehyun was caught in a daze, only for a brief moment, before he broke into the most lovestricken smile you've ever seen. there was a glint in his eyes, just before he captured your lips, eliciting a gasp from you as he returned your chaste peck with an intensity that was tens, hundreds, thousands of times more, and it had you surrendering.

with a light thud, jaehyun's back fell onto the couch's surface with you on top of him, one of his hands falling firmly at the back of your head. it was fervent— mouths clashing in a blur of tongue, teeth, and shallow breaths until the feverish bursts swallowing your lungs had you both gasping for air.

and so you broke apart, the sounds of your staggered breathing against one another as you stared into each other's eyes, foreheads touching. it was a wordless exchange, with the both of you knowing exactly what the other was meaning to say.

i love you.

jaehyun took another bite at your lips, and it had you stifling an uncontrollable bubble of laughter. he shuffled to move from his current position, sitting up to lean against the armrest of his couch so that it would be more comfortable for you, knowing that you two would stay like this for a long while, but he never releases you from the warmth of his arms.

head now resting against his chest, you interrupted the moments of silence with a notion that nearly had jaehyun smothering you with even more of his love. "we didn't even get to go public because of me."

"is that what you're worried about? it's never too late for that, baby," he laughs, his hand lightly brushing your head as you looked up at him. "if you want i can run outside right now— yelling at the neighbors about how much i love you."

you let out a whine, disapproving his suggestion, and the deep vibrations of his laughter coming from his chest coursed through you like before.

"i'm not lying. i will actually do it if you tell me to."

"and i won't ever tell you to do that because that's insane, jaehyun."

"it was only a suggestion," he muses, playing around with a few strands of your hair. "have you eaten yet, baby?"

the sound of ticking was once more, telling you how much time has passed. you looked at him, seeing the same dimpled smile that he flashed at you at the bus stop a few months earlier, and you smiled back.

"no," you answered. "not yet."

gold painted canvas

the classic rich boy and poor girl love story but with less prejudice and more happiness

38 // because i love you

a/n: ;DDD the series is coming to an end!! tomorrow is the last part besides the epilogue and i'm hdjsjshhs

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[mintyfrosty]

Back To Square One

Hello all you wonderful people!!

Ya’ll want more merfolk Au stuff?? I gotchu fame. Small one-shot under the cut >:3333333

You know.

Most humans didn't find themselves to be half fish somewhere in your early 30s. Right happened to be an exception.

Despair following his every moment, frame tight and compact against the rocky edging on the cave's underwater cavern. Caramel eyes gawked blankly at the dozens of grains of sand that littered the ocean floor. Too many to count in a lifetime. In a way, an odd sense of loneliness captured his spirit, mainly for two reasons. The first being he was alone in a literal sense, his fri-- acquaintance named Reginald had swum off somewhere to get the two of them a meal for the evening. And the second, well, he didn't know of any miracle stories of humans turning into merfolk, let alone if there was a way to revert it. It didn't make sense; he just...fell in a batch of glowing, purple water, sunk to the bottom and suddenly he was equipt with a tigerfish tail.

And with it, everything he was familiar with.

His whole life was gone.

His friends.

His family.

His crew.

His ship.

His food.

His bed.

Gone.

Simple as that.

But just because it was gone, didn't mean it didn't stab a deep wound in Right's spirit.

"Right?"

A voice. High pitched. Familiar.

Sullenly, the taller of the two looked up from his arms that were crunched in a huddled position, nothing less than a glare coming under the brim of his hat. The other had a satchel strung over his shoulder down to his left hip (Er- top of his tail on the left side?), swimming over gently to the man's side. It was good, however, that the two knew each other for about a month before this 'incident'; made the whole process a little bit more bearable. Or, at least it would if the two weren't in a slightly discourse at the moment.

When Right was still human, his ship had swept up the merman in a net and said merman immediately lost it. Turns out, merfolk don't take kindly to figuring out your species is the reason that your ocean has been limiting its food supply or polluting your oceans with junk (even if Right wasn't guilty of either of those. He was a pirate, not a fisher). As a result, Reginald...lost trust in him, even though Right had assisted him for about a month whilst the merman recovered. Perhaps it was related to Reginald's 'clan' situation. He didn't know. Didn't seem to matter now.

At least, however, Reginald was being much gentler and pushing his feelings on the matter behind him to assist the transformed human. That was something Right could appreciate.

The purple painted merman took a seat to the left of Right, pulling the satchel in front of him and unclipping the button that held it together. The shark mercreature was sure to slightly uncurl himself out of his misery as his gaze fell to the contents the other brought out. A variety. Recently slaughtered fish. Some kind of cod. Prawns. Was that octopus? 

"I, erm, didn't know what you fancied, so I tried to find as much as I could." Explained Reginald, putting the batch of octopi to the side; seemed to be one of his favourites. Right, however, went slightly pale at the suggestion. Eating raw fish? Well, prawns were okay sometimes. But cod? Let alone octopi? That sounded like a slimy mess of distress. 

The other must've caught his disgust, as he began saying something along the lines of: "I...understand you're not used to this. But, unless I'm wrong, you-- er-- drylanders don't eat fish fresh, so, it could be better?"

To be fair, Reginald was as much in the dark as he was. And, luckily, he was somewhat correct; getting fresh fish was extremely rare on the surface. Or, at least, being freshly killed.

So, hesitantly, Right reached an arm forward, hands grasping roughly at the cod and inspecting it. Quite clear to see that Reginald had done all the hard labour of cleaning the thing of its insides before presenting himself. A small feeling of gratefulness developed in his soul. Thoughtful, it was. Very kind. 

The shark-merman did find, however, that it was much easier to bite into and chew things with his newly sharpened, second row of teeth. And, frankly, wasn't as bad as he was expecting. Yes, the texture was horrid and he had to push the thought back of eating the thing raw but...not terrible.

"'anks, Reg." Mumbled Right underneath his breath, eyes focused on the meal in his hands. Too focused to not see the bright light shine in Reginald's purple and black eyes, turning his head with a snap. Didn't last long, as the sound of crunching octopus flesh met his finned ears. Well, not after a soft 'you're welcome.'

And now it was quiet.

Both of them, Right knew, were confused. Of course, the taller of the two was much more distressed than he was bewildered, caught between a wave of different emotions. He didn't handle them well; that went for most emotions. Stupid feelings. Stupid attachment. Stupid; all of it.

"I...erm--" Reginald's voice hit his ears, eyes only turning to meet Reginald as his teeth sunk into his cod. The shorter cleared his throat. "I'm sorry-- I don't know of any known...solutions to this. But-- I'm sure I can find something in time. I-I can assure you, though, I'll try my best to be as fast as possible to get you back to normal."

... What?

"Yer gonna...find me a cure?" 'Cure' was probably a bad word to describe the term, but, both of them knew they were thinking about this situation as if it were a problem. Right turned his attention fully now, letting the cod rest in his hands that fell into his lap (lap?). The other had a crimson look on his face now, looking down at the ground, fumbling with his hands slightly.

"I...figured it would be...appropriate because, well, you helped me a great deal-- and that-- well-- how I--" Reginald brought a hand to his face, rubbing it with his webbed fingers, letting out a small groan of frustration. "--look. I'm sorry about being upset over the dry lander thing on the ship. Ugh-- the clan's been in such a slump. And we've messed up heist after heists because of those wooden whales. And I was frustrated and upset-- and I just--"

The purple and gold merman slumped his face into his hands. "I'm so sick of how miserable The Toppat Shells and the answer was right there, even though you were already so kind to me. I wasn't thinking; I was just mad and upset. And now that's led to--"

"Oi."

Reginald cut off his rambling, looking up from his hands to look at the small concerned yet stern expression of the other merman in the cavern. A hand came to his shoulder, grasping it gently. "If ye 'ink f' a second t'at...t'is--" Right gestured to his lower half. "--is yer fault, yer wrong. Yeah, maybe it was a result of some dumb s'it ye were upset wit', but t'ings were gonna turn out dis way because of the 'ole...raid on the s'ip t'ing."

"No-No, I'm not saying that." The brunette let out a sigh, brushing a curl out of his face and slumping against the back wall, not moving from the comforting presence on his shoulder. "I-- erm-- just believe I owe you some payment for...everything you've done for me. How I reacted was uncalled for and...consider this an apology, maybe."

Owed him payment? That was an odd thing for an ex-pirate to hear.

He wasn't paid back for anything; that's just how things were on the surface. Steal. Work as a crew. Get the job done. Do it all over again. Right supposed, however, that it did sort of match his out of character performance of helping a dying fish on the beach and growing slightly attached over time. A lot of things were out of character. This whole damn situation was wrong.

A sigh left Right's throat, coming out as a string of bubbles as he brought his hands back into his lap, too leaning back.

"Can't 'ave that, 'orry. If t'ere's one t'ing 've learned being a 'aptain, ye never play princess. Ain't yer responsibility ta change me back, when it ain't even yer fault. Kinda my business, 'onestly. But, if yer committed, we'll...figure it out together, suppose."

Octopi falling to the ground in a stunned grasp, Reginald's eyes turned up and met the brown ones that belonged to Right, blinking several times to understand what he had said. The ex-pirate held back a smirk, feeling slightly satisfied on getting an upper hand. Of course, it didn't last long, since his expression turned into painted, crimson blush at the response from the other.

"S-Sorry, could, erm, I hug you?"

...Hug? Uhm-- It wasn't an odd request, of course. But Hugging

"Erm--" Right let the cod drop into his lap, brushing a hand behind his head to scratch his hair, even if it wasn't itchy. Might as well not bring another problem to this situation. "I mean-- sur--"

Right didn't need to say one word more, as Reginald was suddenly on his chest, wrapping his arms around the other's torso in a tight embrace, face buried into his shoulder. Taking a sharp inhale, the taller of the two felt his face heat up, despite being the cool waters of the seafloor. With much hesitation, Right wrapping his arms around the other, trying his best to not hit his fins or something along those lines (he didn't have a clue to how sensitive they were). Heh. It almost seemed like Reginald was just as choked up at the situation as he was, despite that not being true in the slightest. However, he seemed to be greatly upset by it, at least.

It only lasted a moment, the smaller individual pulling back, keeping his distance and looking slightly awkward. It was clear that Reginald seemed to express appreciation and gratitude through physical affection, even if it was platonic. Didn't exactly clash well with Right's nature of pushing people away when he was emotional. But...it was manageable. The ex-pirate let out a chuckle, scratching his head once more with a cough of bubbles. "'ow about...we start again? Like, bef' all t'is bullshit 'appened."

Before the pirate ship. Before things had gone pear-shaped. Before when the last time they saw each other was on the beach.

The merman before him took a moment of stunned silence before his lips formed into a smile, sticking his hand forward.

"Alright. Hi there. My name is Reginald Coperbottom; second in command of The Toppats Shells!"

A firm handshake was met with a wave of bubbles.

"'ello. 'm Right."

#merfolk au #fanfiction #owo #merfolk #mintyfrosty's au #coperright #gay fish #reginald copperbottom #reginald #right #right hand man #rhm #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin

[honey-subs]

UMM bro omg the new agustd mv is just DJJDJDH HOLY- and i was thinking if you could yknow write something abt like how y/n been thinking abt him being all tied up and stuff in bed after she saw the making of the mv 😳😳 idk if im making sense anymore yoongi is justt a sexy bitcj

Agust D - Min Yoongi (2)

was already writing for the agust d comeback, so this is part two! also, ajshdhjd yes! the entire mv was amazing, and there’s no skips in the album i-

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

⤷pairing - yoongi x reader

⤷genre - smut

⤷summary - yoongi seems to really love rope.

⤷warnings - sub!yoongi, dom!reader, bondage, smut, fluff, praise, crying, denial, multiple orgasms, degradation, oral (f!receiving), hand jobs, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, just really kinky.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(Continued. . .)

you pushed yoongi down onto the bed once the both of you made it to your room. you attached your lips to his in a kiss of fire, all the lent up emotions the both of you have held back for weeks being released. you pulled away slowly, and his lips struggle to find yours afterwards. cute.

you began to strip yourself of clothing, taking off first your leather jacket, then your shirt, and jeans. yoongi eyes you from his spot on the bed, mouth watering just looking at your form and the way you moved. moving to your dresser, you pull out something you’ve been waiting to use since you got word that he’d be making his mv.

once you turn around, his eyes move to the rope in your hand and he bites his lip. “since you seem to like rope so much,” you pause. “strip.” you tell him, voice low as you near him. he quickly does what your tell him, removing his shirt, then going down to his joggers, pushing them down and off. you can see the dark material of his boxers, and just how hard he is for again. a patch on his boxers was wet with precum as his cock strained against the material.

finally, he pulled down his boxers, revealing his cock. “good boy.” you told him, kneeling on the bed beside him. he smiles at the praise, relaxing and getting further into subspace. softly, you push him by his chest down onto the bed, allowing him to get comfortable before you continued.

you push up his arms up so they rest on his chest, and you tied some of the rope around his wrists and around his arms, securing the, comfortably. you move down farther, spreading his legs and tying them to the foot of the bed. you admire the work of knots and ties around him. “you look so pretty like this, yoongi.” you tell him with a dreamy sigh. his cheeks and chest flush with pretty pinks at your words.

you lean towards him slowly, lips attaching once again. this time, your hands slyly trialed down to his erection. he gasped snd moaned into your mouth when you suddenly gripped him, moving your hand skillfully up and down the shaft of his cock, giving the tip special attention. you moved down to his neck, sucking a hickey into the once porcelain, clean skin there. as your hand continued to move, hid moans got louder, and the hickies that litter his chest and neck increase in numbers.

you snuck a peak up at him, he was already in subspace, eyes glossy as smuall whimlers and moans leave his lips. “p-please, mistress.” he says, words slurred as he’s overwhelmed with pleasure. “what do you want me to do, yoon?” you asked in a teasing whisper. “m-more,” he manages to say. hips subtly bucking into your fist. “you want more?” you asked, voice sweet and kind. your other hand comes up to his hair, running soothing fingers through it. “p-please, mistress, m-more.” he says again, hips bucking wildly.

your palm is flat against his scalp, when you suddenly make a fist, pulling his hair up. he sucks in a sharp inhale a breath at the feeling, and you slow down your hand tremendously. “just like a slut to ask for more. is what i’m giving you not enough?” you asked, tugging his hair. “answer me, whore.” you tell him, gripping his cock in your hand. “y-yes miss! it was perfect, i-i’m sorry.” he pleads, hands balled up on his chest tightly. tears well up in his eyes as you continued to be still, tugging his hair and having an unmoving hand on his swollen cock.

you moved your hand away from his cock, and let go of his hair. “absolutely pathetic.” the tears spill over. “i expected more from a tough-talking rapper like you.” you tease. “y-yes mistress, i’m pathetic.” he says, words jumbled and slurred as tears of frustration and denied arousal stream down his face. you leaned forward and toyed with one of the hickies on his chest. “please make me cum, miss.” he begged. “my pathetic cock can’t take it, i need to cum, please mistress!” he’s louder this time, really wanting your hands, your mouth, something around him to make him cum.

“do you think you deserve it?” you asked, hand moving down from his chest to his lower stomach, right above where he needs you most. “n-no, miss. i-i’m just your pathetic little toy to use, b-but i can make you feel good too!” he proposes desperately. this peaks your interest and you stop your movements. “i-i want you to sit on my face.” he says, muscles flexing under the restricting rope. “hm okay. if you can make me cum, i’ll see if i can make you cum as well.” you tell him, already moving to straddle his waist.

you move up so you’re hovering over his face teasingly. “p-please.” he whimpers, desperately wanting to please you. you decide he’s begged enough, and lower yourself down. instantly, his lips and tongue are going at it, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking in the sensitive bud quickly, tongue swirling against your folds, occasionally dipping into your entrance. the sounds that were coming out of your mouth were absolutely sinful; head tipped back as you allowed him to work his magic.

you were so sensitive and aroused, that it didn’t take long for his tongue to bring you to the edge. your hands found his hair as you tugged in it everytime he sped up. his moans sent vibrations throughout your core as he continued. a familiar feeling bubbled in your lower stomach, and one more graze of his teeth against your clit was tipping you over the edge. “fuck!” you exclaimed as your thighs shook as they encased his head. yoongi made sure to lap at all your cum eagerly. he continued to lick through your orgasm when you pulled away from oversensitivity.

“ready to cum, yoongi?” you asked, voice shaky. “please, mistress.” you hummed. “what do you want?” you asked, hands roaming his lower stomach, again, just above where he needed you most. “y-you, please.” he said. you knew exactly what he meant. smirking, you straddled him again, making sure to have his erection press against your ass.

very slowly and teasingly, you lift up and hover over him, causing him to bite his lip as he looked at you, with his tear stained cheeks gleaming in the light. you finally allowed him what he wanted. he couldn’t help the large moan that forced itself through his lips as you sunk down onto him, engulfing his cock in your warmth. you sit for a while, allowing him to fill you to the brim, occasionally swiveling your hips. you lean forward after a while, and fuck yourself back down on him. you bit your lip to hold in you moans, while yoongi was moaning unabashedly.

you gripped his waist as you did so, leaning down to capture his lips with yours. there wasn’t a fight for dominance as he allowed your tongue to explore his mouth. you pulled away, moving to kiss down his jaw. “mistress, please! i-i’m gonna cum.” he says, bucking his hips into you. “c-choke me.” he whispers desperately. you’re surprised, but you don’t let it show. you move a hand up to his neck, squeezing it slightly. his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he fell completely into subspace. only incoherent mumbles and thank you’s leaving his lips. “cum for me, yoongi.” you tell him, watching as his muscles convulse and tense before he truly lets go, choked moans leaving his lips. he cums, truly filling you up.

the sensation caused you to let go as well, shivering as you come to your release. you help him ride out his orgasm, and remove your hands. you move off of him, and his breathing is labored as he pants for breath.

quickly, you untie the ropes on his wrists and ankles. he moves his arms slowly, still hazy in his subspace. you quickly run some warm water for him. after the water is run, you quickly get yoongi to help him to the bathroom. you help him into the bath, and get in as well, making sure to be careful of bruises, marks and hickies as you bathe him. the bath was fairly quick, yoongi was still unresponsive as you helped him get dress and out of the tub.

you had him sit for a minute as you changed the sheets, and when you got into the bed, he latched onto you cutely. you run a few comforting fingers through his hair and rub a bruise on his hip. his eyes gradually get less and less glossy as he gets out of his subspace. “i love you,” he mumbled from his place in your arms. you smile upon hearing his voice. “i love you too, baby.”

“are you okay?” you asked, making sure he was fine before continuing with questions. “i’m fine.” he says, curling into you. “did i go to hard? was it enjoyable for you?” you asked, wanting know if you went too far with anything. “it was perfect and felt amazing. thank you.” he says, leaning up to kiss you. “wanna go to sleep or stay up for a bit?” you asked, ready to turn the tv on if he asked. “no, i’m tired, can we sleep?” he asked. “of course.” you tell him, turning of the lights and the lamp. “night, yoon.” you tell him, allowing him to curl into some more. “night.” he whispers sleepily.

WHOO! THIS IS FINALLY DONE!

#agust d #d-2 #sub!yoongi #min yoongi #suga #sub!suga #bts #dom!reader #fluff #smut #sub!bts #sub!idol #kpop smut #rap line #sub!rapline #sub!kpop #yoongi smut #yoongi imagines

[phasmwrites]

if i could tell her | amajiki x f!reader

Pairing: Amajiki Tamaki x Female!Reader

Warnings: None!

Song: If I Could Tell Her from Dear Evan Hansen

A/N: In honor of Tamaki’s birthday being today, here is a fluffy little fic requested by one of my favorite people @laughsinthiccc !! I hope it’s good 🥺💕

Word Count: 2.2K

It was a well known fact that Tamaki avoided any social situation given he found an opportunity to flee, even occasionally with those he considered friends. Whenever Nejire offered for both her and Mirio to stop by his apartment to order take out and watch silly movies, he found himself declining a majority of the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with two of his closest friends, he just appreciated the little time he had outside of hero work to spend by his lonesome. 

Then there was you, who had captured his fluttering heart the moment you had first smiled at him back when all of you attended Yuuei. Mirio and Nejire quickly picked up on the perfect plan to get Tamaki to allow them inside his humble abode, by inviting you to join them.

He wouldn’t dare be the reason a frown befell your lips, so with a defeated sigh he would accept and later on come to enjoy your presence once more. Your personality was so radiant and he found himself addicted to your cheesy grins and loud laughter. His crush on you only developed further when you transferred to his agency as their resident support technician. 

You had actually managed to bump into Tamaki, quite literally, on your first day as you were heading to your new workshop and he was heading out to start patrol. Tamaki could only manage to gawk at you as you apologized and began to express your excitement to be working with his agency. He could never forget the way your teeth tugged at your bottom lip as you apologized for a second time about taking up his time at work, you had looked absolutely adorable…

“Tamaki!” Snapping out of his trance, his head quickly turned towards Mirio who was staring at him with a knowing grin. He had stopped by Tamaki’s agency after a rough job, begging his best friend to spend the evening hanging out with him. Tamaki reluctantly agreed and had been in the middle of cleaning up some things at his desk when his eyes had landed on a photograph of him, Mirio, Nejire, and you. 

That was exactly how he found himself trailing off in his mind to memories he had shared with you, “S-Sorry Mirio.”

“It’s fine, just hurry up!” The blonde teased, his gaze landing on what he assumed to be Tamaki’s costume blueprints, “What are you doing with your costume sheets?”

Tamaki sighed, “I was trying to think of possible ways to improve my suit...I don’t know...”

It was as if a light bulb had illuminated inside of Mirio’s mind, reaching over and snatching the papers from the desk. He began to roll up the documents while ignoring Tamaki’s confusion and protests. 

“Go talk to Y/N and ask her! She’s the expert isn’t she?” The thought of approaching you, rather than your usual chance meetings, was starting to make the poor man’s head spin. 

Shaking his head, Tamaki continued to finish putting things away before shrugging on his coat from the tiny closet off in the corner. That was when he heard it, your soothing voice over the receiver of his office phone. 

“Hey Y/N!” Mirio chimed, “Tamaki is going to stop by your workshop real quick, he has a question about his costume, is that okay?”

“Of course! I’ll be waiting!” When you proceeded to hang up the phone, Tamaki shot his best friend the coldest glare, so cold in fact it could put a halt to the polar ice caps melting. 

Mirio scratched at the back of his neck, “Come on, Tamaki! She may actually have a good idea for your costume!” 

After a bit more convincing on Mirio’s end, he was finally able to get the indigo-haired man to gather his documents and blueprints and walk over to your workshop. The closer he got to the steel-clad door that held you inside, the faster his heart pumped blood through his veins. Curling his fingers around the metal handle, he inhaled a few deep breaths and told himself he’d be okay, that he had nothing to fear-

“Suneater! What questions do you have for me?” God, Tamaki thought to himself, why did your voice have to be as bright as your smile? He knew he shouldn’t have just entered into your workshop on his lonesome; his throat was already beginning to constrict from his frazzled nerves.

You were lightly coated with speckles of silver paint, your hair messily pushed away from your line of sight, and a small sheen of sweat layered over your forehead, but you had never looked more beautiful to the pro-hero who stood idly at the door. 

“I, uh…” His fist that held his costume blueprint began to tighten, the thick paper beginning to crinkle, “If you have a moment...I wanted to know if you could l-look over my costume…”

Tamaki could barely process how you practically bounced over to him excitedly, reaching one of your hands out for him to place his blueprint in. When he continued to stand in place, too mesmerized by your zealous expression, you leaned over and grabbed the blueprint from him yourself. 

You were just so close to him, closer than he could ever remember you being in proximity to him in all of the years he had known you. It was frustrating how much of an effect you had on him, Tamaki’s cheeks beginning to flush as a direct result to his mixed emotions. All at once you went from partially invading his personal bubble to smacking the blueprint onto your desk, rolling it out and using random objects to hold it down. 

“What did you want to adjust?” Your head cocked to the side, meeting Tamaki’s gaze as he finally decided to make his way over to your desk. 

He pressed his index finger down on the diagram of his food pouches, “I-I wanted to know... if- if there was anything that I could change to make them better?” It was silly, wasn’t it? There was no practical reason he needed his costume upgraded from its current version, but he justified himself when your eyes lit up with glee. 

“I’m sure I can think of something!” You allowed your finger to run along the designs, trying to see if you had any ideas that sprung to you immediately when you noticed the date on the papers, “Let me take your measurements before you leave, these blueprints are a few years old.”

Tamaki inhaled deeply once more, carefully setting his jacket onto one of your chairs while anticipating the feeling of your hands on his skin and oh god he didn’t think he could handle it-

“Woah!” As you were heading back over to him with measuring tape in hand, you managed to snag your foot on one of your most recent creations and crashed directly into Tamaki. Your face collided into his chest, pushing the two of you back so that he landed on his back on the linoleum floor with your body sprawled on top of him. 

If he thought he couldn’t handle just the notion of your hands potentially touching him as you measured his body, he was convinced he was going to die at the feeling of your warm body pressed into him as you took a moment to realize what had happened. Fortunately for him, you sprang back up quicker than he anticipated, planting the palms of your hands on each side of his face while gazing down at his reddened complexion.

“Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly, “I’m kind of a klutz.”

In a daze, Tamaki simply watched as you pushed yourself up back onto your feet and held out a hand for him to grab as leverage. He tentatively accepted, forcing himself to memorize the feeling of your hand as it embraced his own. Tamaki never wanted to let go of that feeling, knowing that it would be short-lived. 

Once the two of you were on your feet, Tamaki bolted out of your workshop without another glance or word in your direction. He left his coat where he had laid it over your chair, his blueprints still mapped out across your desk. 

Despite that, you began to look over all of the paperwork in hopes that you could deliver something to the indigo-haired man who had stolen your heart so many years ago.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It had been a week since Tamaki had left his hero costume blueprints with you to analyze and conjure up an advancement to his simple food pouches. The concept of improving what was already simplistic enough was rattling your mind, but after an all-nighter in your workshop you had finally come up with something to improve upon. 

It wasn’t much, but insulating and adding extra pouches was the only thing you could think of. You had remembered briefly listening to Tamaki bring up how his food would begin to spoil on long missions, so you hoped that this simple change would be enough to satiate him.

You continued to work well into the morning as you began drawing up new blueprints and sewing together a makeshift example of your concept, occasionally pricking your fingers with the harsh needle as you hadn’t thought to purchase a machine. 

With the prototype and documentation in hand, it was your turn to walk over to his office to surprise him with your idea. Just as you turned the corner to the small office space, though, you halted in your tracks when you heard your name being spoken through the door left ajar. 

“You should just tell Y/N already!” Mirio’s voice echoed, his words puzzling you on what the two men could possibly be discussing that involved your name. 

Tamaki fidgeted with his cape, tugging at the white fabric to avoid glancing up at his best friend, “She wouldn’t feel the same way…”

Mirio raised an eyebrow, “How do you know?”

“I-I just do!” Tamaki felt something inside of him snap, the fear of you rejecting his feelings for you given he were to actually admit them causing a dull ache in his heart, “She might be everything to me, but I can almost guarantee that she doesn’t feel the same way!”

“Tamaki…” Mirio frowned at the sight of the pro-hero so distraught, Tamaki’s chest rising and falling in quick succession. 

Defeated, he sunk further into his office chair while glancing over at the photograph on his desk once more, “Her smile is- is perfect...and it makes me feel so happy whenever we’re all hanging out at- at my apartment...oh gosh…” 

“H-Hi.” Your voice chirped as you gently tapped on the door, your cheeks warm after overhearing those kind words that your longtime crush had just admitted about you, “Could I come in?”

In all of the years Tamaki craved isolation, he wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by a hole only to never have to be seen again as you stepped into his office. 

Even Mirio was speechless as you laid out your blueprints across the wooden desk, “What’s all that?”

“It took me all night but I was...I was finally able to come up with something to upgrade Tamaki’s costume…” You bowed your head down shyly, any confidence you contained on your walk here seemingly dissipated with your fear of him disliking what you came up with. Your heart raced within the confines of your chest from overhearing their conversation about you, but that wasn’t what mattered in this moment. 

Tamaki leaned over and began to examine the new designs, noticing that it wasn’t much different from his current layout. When he lifted the prototype into his shaking hands, that was when he noticed the insulation stitched into the pocket. 

“It’s to keep your food from going bad on long missions!” You declared, “You mentioned it once when we were all together...I know it’s not a big change...I can brainstorm some more if you’d like-”

“I-I think…” Tamaki interrupted you, too afraid to meet your gaze as he continued to fumble with the pouch in his hands, “I think it’s a great upgrade, t-thank you…” 

Neither of you noticed that Mirio had excused himself from the small space, leaving the two of you to discuss the details of the upgrade and how you would send it over to a professional to make sure the insulation is strong enough. Your specialty was mechanics and he was well aware, even more so when he noticed your bandaged fingers and the sloppy stitching on the prototype. 

“You can thank me by letting me take you out to dinner?” You spoke up so suddenly, forcing his gaze to meet yours as you couldn’t stop the small grin from stretching across your lips. 

It was rare, but rather than attempt to escape the situation he was currently in, he chose to return your smile with a tiny one of his own, “Y-Yeah, okay.”

“Great! I need to go get some sleep, but I’ll text you the details later!” You began to escort yourself out of his office, but not without teasing him just a little bit, “I think your smile is perfect too, by the way.”

Tamaki threw his cape around his flushed complexion and groaned in abashment, though your soft giggles were enough to have him eagerly anticipating an evening out for once. 

#amajiki x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #tamaki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #phasm.writings

[gwynposting]

All Along the Watchtower (Ch. 4)

This story takes place after “The Star” ending of Cyberpunk 2077, so spoilers ahead.

AO3 Link | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

The life-sustaining scent of coffee finally entered her lungs - the one thing her body craved more than her newfound nicotine addiction. Its sultry aroma always fooled her into thinking she’d soon be filling her stomach with anything other than the bargain brand coffee grounds she’d manage to scrounge. The sound of the coffee machine at work, the aroma that filled the air - to her sleep-addled mind it was almost hypnotic. More than once had she been shaken out of said daze by the rather rude beeping of the coffee machine, signaling its completion. 

But today broke the usual trend, in a strange way, the wait made her anxious. Her mind still felt foggy and clouded, but the rest of her body was on edge. The heel of her foot bounced up and down as she leaned against the counter, her teeth caught her lip and picked at the skin. 

She had no idea why she was so antsy. She had worked with the most ruthless fixers Night City had to offer, clashed with dangerous gangers that lined every street corner. She robbed Arasaka. Twice. 

In fairness, I died both times, she thought to herself, letting out a morbid chuckle. She was far too tired and far too unwilling to think into the deeper implications of what that could possibly mean. But before she could even shake the thoughts away, her attention was captured by the familiar beeping from the coffee machine.

Finally, she thought to herself, a weary smile upon her face. 

She pushed herself from the counter and made her way over to the fridge. The fridge only kept the essentials - a small container of synthmilk for coffee and two cases of beer. She swiped the container and unscrewed the cap, pouring a splash in both of the cups set out on the counter, before closing it up and storing it back away. V then gingerly removed the pot of coffee and began to pour, first Judy’s cup then hers. 

V took a cup in either hand and made her way to Judy’s workstation, the blue glow bleeding between the door’s cracks once more. As she opened the door, she found another familiar sight - Judy’s legs were perched on her desk, her left over her right. The braindance wreath was wrapped around her head, her editing glove was active, and she performed gestures left and right as if a conductor guiding an orchestra. 

And in her own way, she was. She was the maestro of the sights, the sounds, the emotions that were displayed before her. Her deft hands weaved tracks together, enhancing and diminishing the highs and lows of her performance, her art. Her craftsmanship had made not only V, but countless others, feel sensations otherwise thought unimaginable. 

V took a step forward and set out the coffee before Judy. At first Judy didn’t seem to notice, neither the sound nor peripherals breaking her out of her work, but as soon as the aroma reached her - 

Judy snapped her eyes to the cup, with steam rising high against the desert morning cool. She then turned her attention left, and smiled in recognition. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark creases had formed underneath. “Just what I needed,” she said with a gravelly voice. She brought the wreath down from her head, resting it around her neck. With a smooth motion she removed the editor from her hand and gingerly placed it on the table. Then with eager hands, she reached out and brought the steaming mug close, deeply inhaling, before taking a ginger sip.

“Thanks babe,” she cooed, beginning to feel a part of her life restored as the warmth crept down her stomach and through the rest of her body. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” V asked, taking a sip from her own cup, before taking a seat on the couch that faced Judy. 

Judy shook her head, “Barely got an hour or two. Around midnight I was gettin’ restless in bed but I didn’t want to wake you up. Big day and whatnot. Need you rested and alert.” Her tenor wavered against the rough undertones of exhaustion. 

V nodded her head in understanding, “It’ll be okay, Jude.” 

Both of them knew she had no way to know that for certain, but neither wanted to give more life to the doubts that constantly gnawed away every hour of every day. Judy opted to join V instead, grabbing the blanket on the opposite side of the couch and draping it over their laps. Judy fell into V’s embrace, a hand around her shoulder and her face resting on V’s side. 

“Can I tell you somethin’ kinda dumb?” Judy broke the silence.

“You decide to follow your lifelong dream of joining Maelstrom?” 

“Pssh. No, y’gonk.” Judy tried a chuckle but was either too tired or too preoccupied with the thoughts already clouding her mind. “Honestly what scares me... is the finding out part. If you know what I mean,” her hands fidgeted around her mug, “Finality.” 

“Like no longer being able to tell yourself there’ll be a way out of it all?” V cut in. 

“Yeah,” Judy almost whispered, “It’s like… up until this point there was an ‘at least now we can sorta pretend it’ll all be okay’ kind of feeling.”

“Almost like blissful ignorance, in a way.” V rested her cheek atop Judy’s head. 

“But once all this is over, V, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” V said without a single doubt in her breath. 

“Let’s take a vacation. Just the two of us. Cross country. Actually live for a little.”

It took V a little by surprise, the concept almost felt foreign to her. No stress, just living. Living with Judy. Tears began to form in her eyes, and she found it hard to even speak. 

“V?” Judy asked concerned, if not a bit anxious, pushing back to look up to V’s quivering lip. 

V looked down to Judy’s worried face and blinked away tears, sending them to stream down her blushed cheeks. “I want that so fucking much, Jude.”

“Then promise me.”

“Yes,” was all V could muster. 

***

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Panam turned over to V. The loud thrum of her Thorton dampened Panam’s voice, mixed with the sound of air rustling past their cabin. 

V stopped fidgeting with the hair that had begun growing in on the buzzed part of her undercut and turned to Panam, “Like what?”

Panam turned deadpan, “Don’t insult me. You know what I mean.” 

V blushed, giving Panam a knowing look. But she couldn’t hold a candle to the fierce gaze that met her eyes. Instead, she opted for looking out the window, gazing to the vast empty desert beyond. Her knee began rising and falling rapidly. 

“A week ago you were the most annoyingly upbeat person in camp. A big improvement from the brooding silent V, mind you, but at least I knew that V was straight-edge. Are you gonna be okay for this? 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s just…” V couldn’t find the right thoughts.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Panam finally said with understanding. 

V finally found the courage to look back over, she nodded her head. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you, V”

V nodded an appreciative smile, but returned her gaze out to the desert beyond. That’s what I’m afraid of.

***

With a slam shut of the heavy Thorton doors, V was introduced to the harsh light of the Arizona sun, bearing down with an intensity only rivaled by Mama Welles after getting into a scrap with the local gangs.

There they were - Bryce Bane - donned in a tight white corposuit, accented with a wide-brim sun hat. They sat cross legged, sipping from a rather large cup that seemed filled with 90% ice, waiting at the lone table in the middle of the abandoned wasteland. In the distance, worn down factories littered the foreground of several tall buildings. In a way, the sight reminded V of Night City. While downtown Tucson couldn’t match the sheer might of Night City, the vast web of interconnected skywalks that ran between the towers gave her a sense of familiarity.  

Bryce was accompanied by two guards, one with a wide frame and rippling muscles, and the other slender, clad in a jumpsuit typical for netrunners. V and Panam approached the table side by side. 

“Can’t say I expected to be meeting you here, but I suppose much changes in three years, does it not?” a teasing tone called out to the Panam. “And to meet a dead man walking, now that is something new.” 

Panam and V stood before Bryce uneasy, already pushed off their game. 

Bryce rolled their eyes, “Sit, sit.” They motioned for the pair to take a seat at the lonesome table. A small umbrella did its best to shield them from the desert rays, but it was clear from its condition that it had seen one summer sun too many.

“Not gonna lie Panam, you’re bringing hot shit to my doorstep. Saul’s off who knows where and you bring Arasaka’s most wanted on my doorstep?” 

V flinched at the mention of Saul’s name and kept her eyes shut for a moment. Panam’s eyes flared with rage before they settled on sadness. “Saul’s dead.”

Bryce nodded in affirmation, “I see. Arasaka?” Their gaze shifted to V, remaining steeley. But they knew the answer the second the words left their lips. The pair remained silent under her gaze. Not one to linger, she asked a different question, “Why have you come here, Panam?”

Panam composed herself before continuing, “We need to get in touch with some old friends of ours in the city, and I know you’re the person to ask.”

“Well you are certainly correct on that - the problem is I don’t know how that concerns me?”

“Excuse me?” Panam’s voice dropped with frustration. 

“You’ve dropped back into my radar with what I assume are dozens of the most wanted people in the NUSA accompanied by the merc who killed Saburo Arasaka.”

V pinched the brow of her forehead in frustration, “I never. Killed. Saburo. I keep telling this to people and yet-” 

“I don’t care if you didn’t actually kill him. I care what everyone else thinks. Two thieves in Konpeki the night Saburo is zeroed? You gave them a perfect scapegoat.”

Through clenched teeth, V started, “Gee. I’ll remember that for next time.” 

Panam cut through the conversation, “You and I both know the corpos don’t know Aldecado from Snake from Raffen. They don’t care to find out either. All I hope is that they focus most of their attention on the remaining Wraiths in the area now that we’ve up and gone.” 

Bryce smirked, finally enjoying the game being set in motion, “but who’s to stop big bad ‘Saka from tumbling through poor old Tucson? If they wanted to they could probably make it all through the Western states before the NUSA made any significant fuss about it.” 

Panam rolled her eyes. “What do you want?” 

“My, quite the presumptive one are we?” They took a sip from their drink, shuddering as the cool liquid radiated through their body. They paused for a moment. “You’ve recently acquired weapons - it just so happens that I need some. For use in your protection from Arasaka, I assure you.” 

Panam deadpanned, “Cut the shit, I’m not giving you anything.”

“Now now, who said anything about gifts? Fair pay for quality goods,” they splayed a hand against their chest and produced a look of mock indignation, “I’m anything but a cheat.” 

Panam shifted from side to side. “Fine. But you’ll come to us, we’re not bringing them out here.”

“Tsk tsk,” they tutted, “don’t trust me hmm?” Only to be met with an annoyed glare from Panam and a slightly confused look from V. With a sigh, they drawled on, “So boring… fine. I do believe you mentioned something about contacts?” 

Panam motioned over to V. “We need to get in touch with a techie - Sammy Trevalo. Last time we met was in Tucson but I know he roamed up to Phoenix occasionally as well. Former Storm Tech rat, ended up burned because he was skimming secrets to Nomad groups.” 

Something at the name perked Bryce’s eyebrow in interest. “Sammy hmm? What could you possibly need that old dog for?” 

“Not your business.” Panam instantly shut down.

Bryce scoffed and rolled their eyes, “All biz with you nomads, jeesh. What else am I supposed to gossip about in this wasteland.” They eyed Panam and V until they realized neither were budging, before continuing with an exaggerated moan of frustration, “Fine, I know where to find your techie-” they let it hang.

Panam pinched her brow, “...How much?”

“Why free of course, what a better way to celebrate our new partnership in arms trading than a show of appreciation.” Bryce smiled a bit too brightly. 

V’s mind flashed back to her and Takemura’s meeting with Wakako Okado. The ronin’s words echoed through her head, “What is free often proves most costly.”

“What’s the catch?” V broke through.

Bryce leaned forward, “Multiple layers of reinforced concrete and steel stand between you and him.”

“And you want us to get him for you,” V groaned in understanding. 

Bryce shrugged with a smile, “He’s usually a rather resourceful lad, but it seems his luck ran out. Got raided by Phoenix PD and they found an assortment of stolen corpo implants… among other things. Now he’s locked up, and I don’t have the time to wait for his release nor do I want to take the risk he doesn’t survive his full sentence.”

“So you want us to break him out of a prison.” V deadpanned. Fully automatic guards, turrets, most likely a netrunner. You’d think if these cities put a fraction of their policing budget into solving the root cause, then -

“Don’t be silly. Sammy is currently being housed in a high-security prison, but seeing as it's filled to the brim, good ol’ Sam will be getting a transferral to something more low-security. And before you go thinking that it’s better for him, think more along the lines of stuffing fish in a barrel.” 

“So we’re aiming to hit the transport?” V questioned.

“Precisely.” Bryce nodded with a smirk. 

“Then what’re we talkin’ here, AV?” She looked over to Panam who returned the same look, hesitation.

Instead they were met with rather undignified chortling, “For a group of meatbags like them? The city would never waste money on the fuel. No, they’ll be transported by bus.”

“Now that’s more my style,” Panam smiled. 

V chuckled, “What, didn’t want to take down another city’s power grid?” She turned back to Bryce. “How do you already know all this anyhow?

“I’ve been planning Sammy’s breakout since he got himself locked up. I’m the one who managed to get him on the transfer list afterall.”

“Seems like you have all your ducks in a row then,” V paused, “the question is, why bother with us then?”

Bryce huffed, “Well for starters, I’m not paying you with eddies. Call it a mutual relationship - we both need Sammy - I provide the intel you provide the muscle. Second? I’m not going to pass up using a gang of veteran convoy raiders the exact time I need a convoy raided.”

Before V could pull Panam aside to mull it over, Panam jumps at the opportunity. “Deal.” 

Bryce’s eyes widen for a brief moment in surprise, clearly expecting much more of a fight, “Wonderful, love. How about I come by tomorrow and we can hash through the details then.”

“Roger. I’ll flick you the geoloc to our camp.”

“Sounds lovely, darling. Though, I do hope you have some amenities set up,” they fanned out their nails for inspection, “I must say this heat can get rather dreadful.” 

Panam rolled her eyes, “Afraid you might be disappointed.” 

Bryce emitted a dramatic sigh before clicking their feet together and standing up. “Tomorrow then.” They paused for a moment as they looked up to the sun that bore down on them, “...evening.”

“Tomorrow,” V and Panam said in unison. 

With that, Bryce was off, tailed by their two guards. 

As Bryce’s SUV drove off, back into the city, V let out a deep breath of relief, accented with a hint of trepidation. “A fucking prison break. Of course.” She said to Panam. 

“Don’t like it either, V,” Panam admitted, “but they do have one thing right about us.” V tilted her head, “We’re the best damn convoy jockeys this side of the NUSA. Or do I need to remind you of the time we stole a tank?”

V tried to put a smile on, but it wavered into more of an unconvinced grimace. Panam wrapped an arm around V and shook her affectionately, “Let’s save the doom and gloom for after we find out what this heist will turn into, eh?”

“Right…” V nodded.

“And listen, V.” Panam waited until V turned towards her, “Even if it stinks to high heaven, we’re here for you.”

“That’s the part I’m worried about,” V’s voice was more steady now. 

“How many times do we need to go over this V?” Panam’s fiery tone was returning once more, “We knew the risks going into Arasaka, we did it anyways.” 

Panam let the silence hang but was only met with V’s unconvinced face, “And V, that raid saved this family. We were destined to either sell our souls to Biotechnica or be slowly stripped apart by Raffen Shiv. The gear we looted from ‘saka will last us years, V. Years. And when we do need to eventually find work again? The Aldecados will be etched into every fixer’s brain across the NUSA. Though,” she chuckled for a moment, “Perhaps the name ‘V’ might pop up there first. Word down the grapevine said you were a near legend already before hitting Arasaka tower. Good thing you’re with us then,” she nudged V’s arm.” 

“What’re you trying to say, Panam?” V felt almost exhausted.

“I’m saying that this family owes you, V, whether you think it or not. You act as if we’ve never lost members during raids before. Hell, you should know from your days in the Bakkers, V. This is survival, and you were up there leading the charge the entire time.”

V wavered, now unsure. “Maybe…” only receiving an eye roll in response from Panam. 

“So brooding my god. C’mon,” Panam stood up and offered a hand out to V, who readily accepted the help, “Let’s hit the road.”

***

The ride back wasn’t the smoothest. Decades of neglect combined with the intense weather patterns that passed over the Southwest had worn down Arizona’s infrastructure to the nub. Luckily, Panam’s Thornton was as good as trucks came when it came to suspension. But even with some of the world’s best shock absorption, V was cursing with frustration with each mistyped letter on her holo. 

“Heya, evwrything wnt ok, we’re headed back.” she messaged to Judy, too annoyed to go back and fix her mistakes.

Judy’s reply was immediate, “Don’t drink and drive *and* text, V  ;P”

“>:(“ V responded, her face the complete opposite of the text, a wide grin on her face, before following up, “Shit roads. Half dirt at this point.”

Judy’s response was prompt once more, “Learn anything from the meet?”

V paused for a moment, deciding whether or not she wanted to have this conversation in person or over text. She drafted up a rather short reply, “Good and bad, I’ll let you know more when we get back,” but shook her head and erased the text. Last thing she wanted Judy to do was worry unnecessarily. 

“We know where to find the guy Panam was talking about. Problem is he’s locked up. I’ll explain it more when we get back to camp.”

“Oh jeesh. Well, at least we got something to go off of.”

Judy followed it up with another text. “By the way, dinner tonight smells absolutely delicious. Some sorta synthbeef stew. Living downwind of the mess hall is both tantalizing and agonizing.”

“I’ll tell Panam to step on it. Be home within the hour! :3” V texted back. 

“See you soon~ <3” 

Now that her thoughts were elsewhere, suddenly V didn’t seem to mind the road too much. She looked over to Panam, who glanced back with a raised eyebrow, knowing smirk along her face. “Whaat?” Panam could almost hear the smile in her words.

“Nothing.” Panam said with a chuckle, retraining her eyes back on the road, “I’m glad you finally have someone, V.” 

V’s goofy-ass grin shifted into something more soft, more appreciative, “I think I’m finally happy, Panam.” V paused for a moment before continuing, a bit more somber, “I just want it to last…”

“Hey now, none of that. It will last. So keep your mind on the good, last thing we need’s a gloomy-assed merc on a convoy hijack.” Panam certainly had a way with words. 

“How ‘bout a gloomy-assed Aldecado?” V grinned.

Panam only rolled her eyes in response, but was unable to fight down the smile that crept up on her face.

***

The mess hall was organized chaos. The room was filled with Aldecados lining up every which way for the day’s dinner, funneling in and around one another as people tried to both reach the food and their seats at the same time. Judy stuck to V like glue as they made their way to the old school cafeteria bench tables. They picked a spot away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and sat on opposite sides. 

V tore into her stew as if she’d not eaten for days. Judy couldn’t help but giggle to herself as she slowly worked through hers, savoring every morsel. Warmth crept upon V’s cheeks as she noticed Judy looking at her with playful judgement. 

With a hearty sigh, V placed down the now empty bowl with naught a lick of broth remaining. Another Aldecado strolled by the table, fresh pot of coffee in hand, and refilled both of their cups to the brim. They both nodded in appreciation as their server set off to fill the mugs of other caffeine-hungry Aldecados. 

“So,” Judy broke the silence, bringing the cup up to her lips and breathing in the aroma before taking a sip, “you had good news then?”

“Sort of,” V shrugged, “It mostly depends on the info the fixer brings us.” 

“Difference between smooth sailin’ and uhh, what did you call it, V?…” she snapped her fingers as she tried to recollect.

“A turd wrapped in crepe paper?” V smirked.

“Exaaactly.”

“Essentially, yeah. Apparently Panam’s contact is locked in prison, but he’s set to be transported to another facility pretty soon. The fixer is giving us the detes on the convoy and we’re supposed to hit it.”

“Wooh,” Judy grimaced, “sounds risky then.”

“Potentially, yeah. I’m as blind as you are about the info at this point, though. Fixer’ll come by tomorrow to fill us in.”

“Any way you think I can help?” 

“Can’t know if you don’t tag along yourself tomorrow~” V floated over. Her foot had found her way to Judy’s calf and had begun brushing along its length.

Judy made a face of hesitation, “Would that be like… okay?” 

V reached out and took one of Judy’s hands in her own, “You’re part of this family too, Judy. Of course it’d be okay.” 

Judy blushed and looked to the side, “I guess I just sometimes feel a bit… disconnected, y’know. Like I’m looking from the outside in.”

V tilted her head in confusion, “I thought you were getting along with everyone just fine? I know Panam’s taking a liking to you too.” 

“It’s not that, it’s just...” Judy paused for a moment, trying to mull over her thoughts. “You got into the Aldecados by proving yourself to them, saving their hides left and right. I just sorta showed up.” 

“I think I get that,” V nodded her head in understanding, “for what it’s worth, if I’m an Aldecado, it’s because you helped me get there. Pretty sure I woulda fallen apart in Night City without you.” 

V paused, but saw Judy wasn’t convinced. “Not everybody needs to take on a Raffen camp solo or steal a tank to become a member of the family, Jude. If that were the case, the Aldecados would fade into dust. As a wise chica once told me, ‘it’s what you bring that counts.’” V began to stroke the top of Judy’s hand with her thumb, “You make it seem like you haven’t been THE go-to braindance techie of the camp.” 

“Pssh, usin’ my gonk-ass words against me is cheating. Still though, I wanna help, if I can.”

“Of course, Jude, we’d all love to have you there.”

And just for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria faded into the backs of their minds. The background of chattering Aldecados, the clinks of metal silverware and the distant shouting from the cooks were mere afterthoughts as they held each other’s presence. All they knew was each other. 

But ever increasingly, Judy’s mind became more and more pre-occupied by the annoying tease of a foot brushing up and down her calf. And of course, V’s smirk showed she full-well knew what she was doing to her.

“Home?” Judy breathed, perhaps a little too desperately.

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

#cyberpunk 2077 #judy alvarez #judy x v #female v #v x judy #AATW

[stones-x-bones]

What’s At Stake || Metzli and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli and @inbextween SUMMARY: Metzli makes good on their threat. Bex makes good on her promise. CONTENT: Blood (vampire bite), Domestic abuse mentions, PTSD episode

The last remnants of the sun drifted from view, the final patron of the day leaving only thirty minutes prior. Both guides were sent home early, ensuring that no interruptions would be made. Tonight was for Metzli, tonight was for making a point. Whether what they were doing was right didn’t matter, not to them. Existence for the past few weeks felt like living like the uphills were mountains, and the downhills were cliffs. They were being torn from the inside out, though they would never admit it. The arsenal of quips made of anger and pain only did mildly well at kissing the wounded parts of themselves to heal. What they didn’t realize, or even anticipate though, was that the bandages were temporary. 

Metzli knew what they were doing was wrong, but their meter for remorse and empathy had long since disappeared. All that work, for nothing. It was just as well, they believed they were nothing anyway. Setting a few items down, Metzli smiled. What would be waiting for Bex would be a little game. A trail of rose petals and little notes on the floor, leading up to the secret gallery where they would be waiting for her. Letting out a raspy chuckle, they walked to the basement door and descended down. Doing all of this was a mixture of one part normalcy and one part ambivalence. It had to be the right thing to do. It had to be. 

All the lights were off, except for one where a single rose was waiting. Beside it was a note that simply read, “Behind You.” The moment Bex even read it, Metzli would make their entrance. Now all there was left to do was wait, so they did, in the shadows. 

Of all the bad ideas Bexley had had lately, this was probably the worst. It might have even topped astral projecting through the dream realm to find a psychotic supposed killer. She was still undecided on how she felt about all of that, except afraid. Worried. Terrified, actually. And mad, of course mad. She’d actually thought Roy was an okay guy, he was brutally honest with her and he understood her need for exploration, despite the warning signs. But he’d brought Mina into it, and that changed things. That always changed things.

And now Metzli was trying to push her away, too, and they’d just started getting to know each other, and Bex knew there was something more to them than this stupid, angsty “I’m a monster” vampire front they were putting on. So she’d prove them wrong. 

Or maybe they’d prove her right and she’d eat her words.

Bex was playing a dangerous game and she knew it, but she wasn’t going to let the threat stop her. She truly did believe Metzli wouldn’t hurt her, they’d have plenty of chances. They could have killed her so easily when they’d first met at their gallery, or even at the bar. The Bloody Stake was full of vampires looking for a meal, no one would have batted an eye had they drained her right then and there. 

But they hadn’t. And so Bex, adorned in one of her nice off-the shoulder blue dresses-- the one that had white flowers hand embroidered on it, like splashes of color, a favorite of hers, one that not even her mother had managed to taint-- made her way back down to Amity and to Metzli’s gallery and she only stalled for a moment just outside the doors before pushing her way inside. The bell that normal tolled to announce someone’s arrival sounded louder in the dark, empty gallery. “Metzli?” she called, but there was no answer. Instead, her foot stepped on something soft and she glanced down to find a trail of rose petals, leading off towards one of the gallery rooms. She frowned. “Classy.” Picked up the first note, which only read Follow me. 

And she did, all the way to the door that had captured her attention the first time she’d been here. She placed her palm against it and felt the cool hum of magic behind it, inhaling sharply. The pale blue lights that outline the hidden door reflected on her face as she tried to steady her heart, pushing against the door and following it in as it creaked open. The basement was dark, only a single light on. Bex saw the rose, the note. Picked the flower up first, before unfolding the note. But before she even finished reading the word, someone was behind her, and she swerved on her heels to face them. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Eyes followed Bex, her shoes clacking on the tile floor. The sound echoed in the secret gallery, only adding to the ominous ambience Metzli had so carefully created. A wicked smile laced their lips as their silent steps tracked them all the way to Bex, who was only unaware for mere moments. She was greeted with their smile, “What? You don’t like my little display?” They gave her a mock frown and rolled their eyes. “You really are incredibly naive, aren’t you?”

Metzli paced around Bex, creating an invisible circle, as if they were stalking their prey. Red eyes held a predatory glare, and they removed their suit jacket. “No use getting this stained,” it hit the floor gently. “One of my favorite suits. Wore it just for you.” The suit was a dark shade of plum, one of their favorite colors, and it had a wool texture to it. Definitely one of their fancier suits that complemented their complexion well. 

“So you’re not going to put up a fight?” Steps came to a halt behind Bex. With a tender hand, Metzli moved her hair back to expose her neck. “I really do like this dress. Too bad it’s going to get ruined.” Anticipation made their skin buzz, but they wanted to do this at the right moment. It had to be perfect. But was there a right moment? Were they really going to do this? Continue running away and avoiding their pain? What was the cost, really? They had gone this long without connection, they could go longer. They could go forever. All there was left to do was sever the only connection rearing its ugly head in constantly. Bex. 

Bex shivered. She kept her eyes on Metzli as they approached, circled her. She couldn’t help her erratic heartbeat in her chest, but she could make sure her face stayed steeled. She wouldn’t show them the fear they wanted to feel from her. Roy had stolen it all, anyway. “Maybe I am,” she replied evenly, turning her head away. She looked down at the rose clutched in her hand and carefully avoided the thorns as she moved to pick one of the petals off. “Maybe I’m not.” She had to keep believing Metzli wouldn’t hurt her, despite all evidence otherwise. The world had tried to steal away her kindness, it would not steal away her trust, too.

“It’s a nice suit,” she complimented, looking at the jacket in a heap on the floor. “Would hate to ruin it.” Bex felt another shiver run through her, hairs standing on edge, as Metzli’s hand-- cold and soft-- brushed her hair away from her neck. She bit the inside of her cheek, finally looked back over her shoulder at Metlzi. She wasn’t afraid, even if her heart was betraying her in the moment. “No, I’m not going to fight. If you want to kill me, then just do it. That’s what you want, right? To prove you’re a monster? To prove me wrong?” She drew in a breath and reached out to set the rose down, right where she’d picked it up. She turned, slowly, to face them, looking up into their red eyes. “You don’t scare me. And I don’t believe you want to kill me, either.” Maybe challenging a vampire was the worst idea ever, but Bex opened her mouth one last time and said, “Go on. Prove me wrong.”

“Your heart betrays you, Bex.” Metzli chuckled quietly into her ear. “You are definitely scared. At least your body is. It has every right to be.” A hand gripped Bex’s shoulder to steady her, ready her for the incoming bite. All it would take now was the will to do it. Bex was wrong. She had to be. Her blood was as good as theirs, and they did want to kill her. At least, they believe they did. They wanted to want it, so badly. “You are wrong,” they said, lacking the confidence and bravado they just had. Their voice faltered the moment she turned and they were able to look into her eyes, apprehensive to finally be rid of her. Whether it was getting rid of her or the undeniable truths she was spilling that they were aiming at, they weren’t sure. The line became so convoluted. 

Lips grew closer to her neck, mouth already agape and ready to bite. Anticipation made their skin crawl, made their muscles twitch in a way they’d never experienced. This wasn’t her just offering blood to help them, this was them proving to her that they’d finally do what they had threatened so many times. Fangs met Bex’s neck, threatening to break the skin for just a blink before they plunged in, her blood seeping into their mouth. 

Metzli’s pupils dilated as the taste flooded their senses, shocking them to the point of collapsing with their teeth still in Bex’s neck. But when they reached the ground, they let go. The shock cascaded a series of memories into their head, both old and new. Drinking her blood only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to cause such an emotional outburst on their part. 

“Isn’t that what hearts always do?” Bex asked, feeling herself stiffen when Metzli’s hand landed on her shoulder. They wouldn’t do it, they wouldn’t. She swallowed. “Then do it,” she said, her voice wavering, “bite me. Kill me. It’s the only way I’ll ever believe you.” Bex noticed their voice falter, the way they hesitated, teeth at the skin of her neck. She reached up as if to grasp them, but in the next moment, teeth were piercing her neck and she cried out, latching onto Metzli as their body weight collapsed to the ground, Bex going with them. She didn’t have the strength nor energy to move herself away, only falling beside them when they let go and Bex fell back. A hand was pressed over her neck, where blood leaked readily from the bite, slightly torn and jagged from falling. It was warm under her palm.

Something was wrong with Metzli. “Metzli!?” Bex called out, crawling back towards them. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” 

“Back away! Stay away!” Metzli said, lashing out at Bex. Happy memories, devastating memories, all of them swarmed the vampire. To say that they were overwhelmed was an understatement. Was this another panic attack? What set them off anyway? They wanted to do this. Didn’t they? “Why are you worried about me?! I just bit you! I’ll do it again if you come any closer!” Teeth were bared at Bex, growling. An archaic display to incite fear. 

They squeezed their eyes shut, trying to push everything away. The memories of the clan, the memories of their parents, even the memories they had made in White Crest. That’s all Metzli ever did; push away. “I’m a monster, and I’ll bite you again.” They muttered with a trembled voice, barely above a whisper as they stared at Bex. No, through her. If they could breathe, they’d be hyperventilating, but air was of no use here. 

Bex decided to ignore everything Metzli was saying. They were clearly in a state of distress. Bex knew it well. Even as they lashed out and warned her not to come close, she moved herself towards them despite the pounding in her chest. It was quickly becoming painful again, moving was painful, but that was her own fault, the price she was paying. She couldn’t let it get in the way of helping someone, of helping Metzli. 

Bex didn’t really know how to calm down a vampire having a panic attack, but she’d seen how Morgan took comfort in the old action of breathing, despite not needing air, and hoped it was enough. She pushed past Meztli’s animalistic display of anger and put her hand on their jaw, trying to make them look at her. “You have to breathe,” she said, “I know you don’t need to, but it will help, I promise. Just breathe. In for three, out for five.” Imitating what Morgan had done for her so many times, and what Mina had done for her last night. Trying to control her own breathing as a guide. “Please.” And if they bit her again, she supposed that was just a risk she was willing to take. This had already proven to her that Metzli wouldn’t-- no, couldn’t-- kill her.

As soon as Metzli registered that Bex touched their jaw, they nipped at her, threatening to bite. Pupils contracted, full of fear. “They wouldn’t approve of this. Why—why can’t I be a fucking vampire?!” Voice cracked under the pressure of their panic. “I feel nothing but my head—it—fuck!” Eloy’s words plagued their mind, like a never-ending fever dream. You aren’t enough. Even your parents knew that. He had been right. Always been right. Despite having the location their soul should’ve resided vacant, they were still incapable of killing Bex. And part of them, somehow, felt something for her. 

“Why can’t I kill you?!” A mixture of anger and fear covered their face and voice. “I’ve killed so many others…why not you?! I’m so fucking tired of you!” A lie, a cruel one, but they were trying to get Bex to leave. To get everyone to leave. It was an inevitable truth, just as being nothing was. 

Metzli didn’t bother trying to breathe, letting themselves spiral as tears stained their face. 

Bex only flinched a little when they snapped at her, refusing to move. She scooted in closer, her bloody hand still clenched over her neck. It was seeping through her fingers and down her bare chest and over her scars and onto her dress. Metzli was right, it was a shame to ruin it, but that didn’t matter to her right now. “Guess I’m just special,” she said quietly, her voice a rattle. She was scared, now, but not for herself. She’d never seen them like this, even when they’d had a panic attack at the Common. They were crying, she didn’t know how to fix it. She let go of her neck and grabbed Metlzi’s face. “You’re not a bad person, or a bad vampire, because what-- what does that even mean? You beat him. You got away. You don’t have to do what he says anymore. You’re free,” she pleaded, “we’re free.” 

“A vampire kills to feed and feeds to kill. No one is safe, red eyes seek the thrill. When it comes to predators, we’re second to none. And when you see us, you will be undone.” Metzli droned, as if reciting from old writings. Bex had to leave, but she wouldn’t. “I bit you…and yet you’re staying. I know you were scared,” their voice cracked, tears still falling. “So why aren’t you scared now?” Understanding escaped them. What Bex was doing was a completely foreign concept. Everyone left eventually. Why was she prolonging the inevitable end? The end where she realizes that Metzli was nothing but a dangerous monster. They’d hurt her again, they felt it in their old bones. 

Static and voices filled their brain again, causing them to growl and pin themselves to a wall. Every time they got close to finally getting it, finally understanding why Bex wanted to be their friend, the fear of abandonment and loss took over. It made them into an angry child, it made them into a hurt child. Because that’s what they truly were. Those wounds never healed. They were left unattended to fester and grow, get infected and worsen.

The words chilled Bex’s blood and she frowned, her face pulling into a worried furrow. “I am scared,” she admitted, “I’m scared I can’t help you. I don’t know what that was or what you went through with him, but he’s wrong. You get to decide what being a vampire means, Metzli. I think you know that, somewhere, deep inside.” Even without a soul, they’d never tried to hurt her. Even tonight, when they had tried, this had happened instead. Bex could feel her body growing tired, weaker, she still wasn’t recovered from the other night, the spell gone wrong. Blood dripped from her nose. But she had to stay strong here, she couldn’t abandon Metzli. She didn’t know why, but that big, big part of her that longed to be understood, to understand why her parents did what they did and how that felt, wouldn’t let her. 

“Please just breathe with me, Metzli,” she said quietly, lowering herself to her knees as she shifted closer, slowly. She didn’t wanna spook them, as she pressed her forehead to theirs, “Please.”

Her words moved them, made them almost believe her. Almost. Stuttering, Metzli finally managed to say, “It’s okay if you can’t help me. Some people just can’t be helped…” Words were coming a little easier, the gentle affection of connecting their foreheads together pulled something within them they hadn’t felt before. They couldn’t decipher it quite yet, but they imagined it was akin to acceptance. Involuntarily, their head leaned forward, and they breathed with Bex, despite not needing air. It helped, much to their surprise. 

When their eyes opened again, the tears had stopped. “I don’t think…I don’t think I’ve ever had this done before.” They said, referring to their connected foreheads. Metzli gasped softly at the trail of blood leading from Bex’s nose. “W-what’s going on? Did I-I do that?” Worry washed over their eyes, a reaction that confused even them. 

The situation had swerved around and made a complete one-eighty so quickly, it would’ve given them whiplash. Metzli disconnected from Bex and wiped her nose. “You should go. Get to the hospital. Or call Mina.”

“That’s not true,” Bex said, shaking her head, “I don’t believe that.” Everyone told her she was a fool for believing that, believing in people, but her parents had taken so much from her, she would not let anyone take anything else from her anymore. This was her life and she’d do what she wanted with it, even if it scared her, even if it got her hurt, even if it ended up killing her. She’d fight for people because she didn’t know what else to do, she couldn’t ignore the pull of it, the need. “It’s just something I was taught to help calm myself down,” she murmured, leaning away when Metzli wiped at her face.

“O-oh, no, no, that…” she took their hand, moved it away. “That’s not because of you.” She sat back on her heels, then, and let out a sigh. She was afraid to move her arms, the pain in her neck burning all the way down to her fingers. “Not until I know you’re okay,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, it was firm.

Metzli’s brows scrunched together, now worried and a little angry. “Then what is the cause of it?” Bex looked tired, she looked even a little sick. Could she even leave in her state? How much worse had Metzli made her? Even though the feeding lasted a few seconds, Bex was obviously still affected both physically and mentally. Could they actually be friends if each time they hung out, something like this happened? “I’m just a danger to you, aren’t I?” They asked, so suddenly it startled them. It was a question meant to stay within the confines of their mind. 

Studying her face, for the first time tonight or maybe even the first time ever, Metzli asked, “What can I do for you? What do you need?” Though they didn’t feel the words, they remembered a conversation between the two, which prompted the questions. The vampire didn’t understand how they could even show care when they didn’t feel it, but they supposed it was because looking at Bex was like looking in a mirror. Maybe it was truly just self-serving. 

“It’s not--” Bex started, but resigned herself, “I did a spell and it went wrong. And when that happens, the magic...takes a toll on my body. Mental magic is dangerous, this is the result.” And it could be so much worse. So, so much. But she kept that information to herself, even from Mina. She put her hand back on her neck, still warm with blood and looked over at Metzli, wondering if they had to fight for control with the smell of it. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but Mina is, too, technically. And my guardian, she’d be a danger to me, too. And Milo and, really, most of my friends. Because I’m human and they’re not and most of them feed on something from humans. But that’s...a risk I’m willing to take, because there’s things more powerful than instinct. Then...what we’re told to be.” 

Bex shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, “really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been bitten. It’s just...sore. And I bleed a lot.” She looked back over at Metzli, scooting close again. “I-- do you want me to leave? Is it hard, with the smell?” 

Mental magic was dangerous, Metzli knew that. They had seen people die from it, even laughing at them. “What did you do? What spell? And how long? You can die from how potent mental magic is, Bex. You’ve barely scratched the surface.” There it was again, the sound of worry. Why did they care so much? “I don’t understand why I even care, but I do.” They said with an air of surprise. “I’ve never cared about anyone but myself and Yuca. But it’s…whatever.” Ushering to change the topic, they moved Bex’s hand and replaced it with theirs. 

“The smell doesn’t bother me,” More pressure was applied to the bite wound and they avoided Bex’s gaze. “I’m fed, thanks to that deal of mine. Yeah, it smells good, but I have control. Do you want to leave?” Metzli hoped the answer would be no, but wouldn’t argue if she said yes. As much push-back as they gave Bex, she wasn’t giving up. They were beginning to accept her as a true friend; something they never thought they’d have. 

“I know, I know,” Bex sighed, exasperated. She’d gotten the lecture enough from Nell and Morgan and even Mina, a little, she didn’t need it from Metzli, too. She froze as Metzli put their hand over the bite marks on her neck, swallowing. Her heart was pounding again and she tried to fight the feeling. She looked away. “Guess that’s my superpower,” she mumbled, hands resting in her lap, one covered in wet blood. She felt tired again, and wished her body would just cooperate with her for once. She always got so tired these days, when her heart would constrict in her chest and she’d take twenty minutes just to walk down the stairs. “I make people care.” 

Bex shook her head again. “No, but I should probably-- clean up.” And get a bandage over the holes in her neck. Mina wouldn’t be happy and she didn’t know how to convince her this time that Metzli hadn’t meant to hurt her. Because, for a moment, a tiny moment, they had. “I can help you clean up the room. You sort of...went all out. Kinda flattering, actually. At least if I was a last meal, it would be in good taste.”

Bex’s joke received only a dry chuckle, but it was something. In response, Metzli continued avoiding her gaze and said, “Well I figured if I was severing my only bond…killing my only friend, I might as well go big. You know I like to make a show out of things.” The blood seeped through Metzli’s fingers, but it was definitely slowing down, clotting. “I actually have a makeshift loft here for when I am restless at my apartment. And I have a first aid kit in my office.” A melancholy tone took over, feeling tired themselves, but this was more so due to mental exhaustion. 

“Stay here.” Metzli said, darting to their office and returning in the blink of an eye. The first aid kit had everything they needed, so Metzli got to work cleaning the wound and applying a bandage carefully. Silence remained between the two until they broke it. “How did you know…? That I—that I wouldn’t…” Words trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

“Drama queen,” Bex muttered, rolling her eyes, but she smiled, gently. Maybe a bit light-headed. She watched Metzli run off to grab the first-aid kit, and she shuffled, then, to lean back against the wall, letting her head rest against it. It was then that she realized-- remembered-- that they were in the secret gallery and she craned her head enough to try and see anything, but with the lights still off, only darkness met her eyes. Metzli was back in a flash and cleaning her wound, and still not looking at her. Bex scrunched her brow. 

“I just...knew, I guess. We’re...the same, in a lot of ways. It’s hard to let go of something that makes you feel not so alone.” She could understand that, a little. Maybe a lot. She reached up and put her hand on Metzli’s face again. “I’m not mad, you know,” she said, trying to get them to look at her. “I promise. Just...don’t do this again?”

Metzli simply nodded, accepting the answer. “I didn’t know what it was like to not be alone until we met. And it is my belief that it’ll come to end in abandonment. I suppose…I was trying to make it happen. Control it. I’ve never had control.” They sighed, shuddering slightly at Bex’s touch. For a few moments, they resisted, but finally relented to lock eyes with Bex. Theirs were still a starking blood red, a reaction to the blood in front of them that was just about patched up. 

“You should be angry. And if you wanted to retaliate, I’d welcome it. In fact…” They pulled a wooden object from behind them, a stake they had brought with them from their office. “I brought this just in case. I would accept this punishment. It’s what I deserve.” They unbuttoned their shirt, revealing the tattoo that had been seen many times. “Right where the tattoo is. That’s why it’s there after all. If we’re going to die, we were to die a proud member of the clan.” Metzli continued to lock eyes with Bex, awaiting her answer. 

“I understand that, you know,” Bex said, quietly, “back when my parents were still around, they were threatening Mina, so I left her. I-- thought it would protect her, that I could control it. But, in the end, it just hurt her more. And that’s-- that’s really all the control you can actually have, is over yourself, your decisions. That’s what I had to learn. And it was painful.” She looked back into Metzli’s red eyes and made sure they knew Bex wasn’t afraid, that she didn’t care. She’d seen Mina’s true form and even Kyle’s and Milo’s and she didn’t need to be afraid. There was something stronger than fear inside of her now.

Bex reached with her free hand-- her bloody hand-- and pushed the stake away. “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m not going to hurt you, let alone stake you. I would never. I-- would let you kill me before I did that.” And it was the same with any of her friends. She let her hand drift to trace the tattoo on Metzli’s chest, leaving behind a smear of blood. “I don’t want you to die.”

The way Bex undeniably understood in a way no one ever could made Metzli’s spine crawl. So similar, yet so different in nature. Or maybe not. Perhaps Metzli could be just as kind, in their own way. “Pain can be a little comforting. Especially when it’s all you know, all you expect.” They said softly, watching the stake be pushed back. Their mouth went dry, baffled by the rejection of their offer. After what they had done, most people would have done the job gladly. 

Metzli gulped quietly as Bex’s hand traced down their tattoo. They stuttered, “T-the strikes…they’re for every decade you reach.” There were a total of three on their tattoo, meaning they had been with the clan for thirty years. One of the longest in the clan’s history. Wiping with a cloth, they removed the blood from their sternum and Bex’s hand. Her wound was patched up, no longer bleeding. “Sometimes I wish I would.” They responded, looking down, avoiding her eyes again. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Bex said, looking down. “Sometimes I still think that’s true.” But it wasn’t. She didn’t need to suffer anymore, she didn’t need to be punished with pain when she messed up. She didn’t have to believe in that anymore. “It’s not, though. It doesn’t have to be.” She listened to them explain the tattoo and felt that pang return to her chest. It ached in the same way memories of her mother ached, with a quiet rage and a deep seeded sorrow. She let Metzli clean her hand before letting it settle in her lap again. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, to be bound to someone like that, for so long. She looked at the ring on her finger, the promise ring she shared with Mina, and twisted it, felt the cool resin under her fingers before tucking her hand away. 

“Don’t say that,” she said, meeting their gaze but finding them looking away again. She sighed. “You don’t have to be that person anymore,” she pointed at Metzli’s tattoo, “you don’t have to let that define you.”

Looking everywhere but Bex’s face, Metzli fiddled with the stake, wondering if they should just do it for everyone. Even themselves. “Maybe,” They half-heartedly agreed, not totally accepting her words. What Bex was saying was true, but it felt like they couldn’t possibly apply to them. Not when they knew how truly evil they were. “I’m not good at this,” they began, squeezing the stake in their hand. It would be so easy, it would fix so many problems. Or so they thought. The act would just create more problems, and deep down they knew that. Having their life hold any sum of importance wasn’t something they ever expected to have. 

“I try to run from it, but then I get scared. I’ve been like this for so long, it’s comfortable. It keeps people from getting too close for me to care about just so they can leave,” Metzli paused, glancing at Bex, “Well, most people.” Hands continued to squeeze and fiddle with the stake, contemplating and deep in thought. None were happy, all were self-deprecating and even hateful. Eyes squeezed shut, trying to prevent any further meltdowns. 

“Do you want to rest in my loft? You probably need to lay down and sleep.” They managed to say, pushing the point end of the stake into their leg subconsciously. 

Bex wished she was stronger, in the moment. She wished she knew enough about any of this to simply explain things in a way that proved, without a doubt, that what she was saying was true and couldn’t be refuted. She ached, so desperately to want to be able to make things better for someone, because she’d missed all the chances to help herself until it was almost too late. She ached when she saw other people suffering, she couldn’t help it. She would give away every bit of her soul if it meant no one else had to suffer. Even if it meant just one other person didn’t have to suffer. She wished she was strong enough to do that. “Me neither,” she finally said.

“First time for everything, right?” She tried to smile. “Look...if you really want me to go away, I will. I don’t want to...force you to do something you don’t want to do. But I--” she paused, drawing in a breath-- “I’ll never stop believing that you have it in you, to change. To be...more than just surviving.” Her eyes lowered to the stake, that was being pressed into their leg, and she moved forward, taking their hand in hers and gently prying it open to take the stake out. “You can stop punishing yourself now,” she said, and maybe she was talking to herself, too. “You don’t need to be punished.” 

Without thinking-- or maybe she was thinking too much-- she leaned forward and pressed her lips to their cheek. She pulled back, slowly, turning her head away. “I should...probably just get home. I told Mina I’d be home before she got done with work.” 

For the first time, Metzli wanted their soul back, longed deeply for it so they could understand within it, and not just within the borders of their mind. To feel outside of their physical sensations and selfish ideations that they used to find so much comfort in. That was a safe space for as long as they could remember. No one but them could reach them, and sometimes even they couldn’t. But now, somehow, Bex had reached them, and even extended a hand. Metzli took it, desperately. “I don’t—I don’t want that. For you to go away. But everything within me is screaming to keep you out. That—this is my place. Alone.” They croaked, reluctantly letting go of the stake. 

A single tear fell at the warmth of Bex’s kiss. Receiving such affection was something new, something strange. A chill ran through them, making their arms and chest tingle. Bex had seen through them, all this time. Metzli had forgotten that people could be kind. Maybe not as kind as Bex, but it was possible. “You really believed in me, huh? If you were making that plan.” They said with a weak chuckle. Shaking their head, they rose to their feet and extended a hand to Bex. “Let me get you home.” 

“Guess we’ll just have to find you a new place, then,” Bex stated, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. And maybe saying the words was, but she knew the doing part was always harder. She was still fighting to stay in a place that wasn’t her own self isolation, still learning there were people with her now, who were affected by her decisions, by her life. And that she didn’t have to do any of it alone. She was still getting used to that. 

She reached up and took Metzli’s hand, standing on shaky knees. “It’s kind of a gift and a curse,” Bex mumbled, straightening her dress out and trying not to frown too much as she examined the blood stain across the front of her dress. “I’m obnoxiously stubborn.” She glanced back over at Metzli, and realized that letting them take her home when she looked like this was a terrible idea. She slowly removed her hand from Metzli’s and folded her own together in front of her. “I don’t think-- I should probably just go alone.” 

Metzli’s hand remained in the air for a few beats before letting it fall. Bex was probably right, but that didn’t mean it felt right to let her go out on her own. “I know,” They began, biting their lip, “You probably should, but maybe I can drop you off just a short distance away? I don’t want you getting into an Uber looking like that. And if any of your loved ones see, I’ll take the hit. But I doubt they’ll see a black car at this time of night with its headlights off, from a distance. Please. Let me get you home safely.” Pleading wasn’t something they did often. This course of action was reserved for when punishments went too far. Not for asking to help.

“Next time we see each other, I won’t be trying to attack you.” Shuffling in place, Metzli felt emboldened and reached back for Bex’s hand, grasping it gently. “I’m sorry,” The softest voice imaginable came from their mouth, unrecognizable and full of pain. They truly were sorry, even sorry to themselves for going against their needs. Emptiness filled their chest though the words carried a weight to them that had never surfaced before now. With or without a soul, they somehow managed to make a connection. The severed barrier between them and that void within couldn’t stop the thoughts that consumed them, proving they had some capability. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was self preservation, but they wanted to pretend it was actual feelings even if they were the one who reaped the actual benefits of friendship. 

Bex gave a gentle smile. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, eyes dropping to their hands. They stuck on the now scabbed over bite that Metzli had given her just a week ago, still healing. Now she had a matching set on her neck and she wondered how many more times she’d let it happen. She wasn’t sure she knew how to say no, if asked. All she wanted was to help, and if she had something to give, she’d give it. She thought of what Mina had said, that helping people shouldn’t have to always come at the cost of herself-- but that was the thing, wasn’t it? Connecting with others was like giving small bits of yourself away to them, trusting them. And maybe it wasn’t physical hurt, but there was always hurt. Life hurt, Bex had learned, but you work through it. She squeezed Metzli’s hand. “Okay,” she finally agreed, “you can drive me to the end of the block.” 

Taking only a single step, Metzli halted and turned to Bex. “Um…I’ve never done this before so—don’t—just…” Arms swiftly wrapped around Bex, giving her a hug, a genuine one. Before she could even react, they pulled away and let go of her hand to walk to the exit of the secret gallery. Their saunter was awkward and stiff, trying to move on quickly. The only being that had ever received such affection from Metzli was their cat. Embraces were reserved for the feline, or for one night stands, though those held no importance. This one did. “Let’s go,” They muttered, stopping at the top of the stairs. 

Bex was momentarily stunned by the action, freezing as Metzli wrapped their arms around her before backing away, just as quickly as it had happened. Despite her demeanour, Bex had never been an affectionate person, not until she’d met Mina. Touching and being touched by others had always made her freeze up or stiffen. And she knew why, she did-- the ingrained lessons taught to her by her parents, and the subconscious one that touch meant pain-- but she’d never been able to break the habit, the feeling. To move past it. But little by little, she was getting better, and this time, the brief contact hadn’t felt upsetting but...welcomed. Even if it was just brief. Bex wondered if it was a one time thing, as she rubbed her chest, dry blood flaking off. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Mina, or anyone in that house. Maybe the truth would be enough. She followed Metzli up the stairs, giving one brief glance back down the stairs to the cursed gallery, hoping that next time she was down here there wouldn’t be blood on her. 

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: metzli #domestic abuse tw #metzli #what's at stake

[mythicamagic]

Relax I'm here now

AN: Takes place after canon. Warning: some mild gore

---

Sighing, Kagome wiped the sweat from her brow, suffering under the harsh glare of the sun. Kaede had requested that she deliver some medicine to one of the neighbouring villages, so she'd set out alone. 

The old miko had neglected to mention that it was miles away. 

Hearing the sound of hoves drawing closer, Kagome stopped on the path, glancing at the road a little ways to her left. From around the corner of greenery, many men on horseback approached, banners swaying in the breeze. Kagome swallowed. That might not be good. I mean this is the warring states era.

Captain Shinrai had been tasked with collecting and returning cargo back to the armies base. He sighed from atop his horse, in a sour mood. Of course, the General was out there fighting the southern scum, gaining all the glory. Meanwhile, he was stuck leading a group of men with horses and carts across the countryside. He'd rather pick up some extra money for the trouble.

One of the soldiers in his band of not so merry men was following the group when he noticed a shock of unusual clothing. He choked, frantically finding his voice.

"Ca-Captain!" He shouted, pointing a shaking spear in Kagome's direction. 

Shinrai boredly looked over, before yanking the reins of his horse to stop. "My, my..."

Kagome paused and rose a brow, crossing her arms. "Afternoon, gentlemen."

Shinrai turned his horse in her direction. "Such interesting clothing. Unsurprising for a demoness though," he mused, gesturing in her direction. "Men. Capture the filthy demon, I think I know a good way to earn money from this." 

“Wow, could at least buy me dinner first. And you sure don’t waste any time to be completely and utterly wrong,” Kagome sighed, backing away slightly and warily reaching for her bow and arrows. “Look, I'm not a demon. I'm Kagome. Some people have called me the shikon miko, ring any bell- Gah!”

Two of the men rushed at her with their swords drawn as one on horseback galloped around them, taking out a net. Blue eyes widened and Kagome frantically turned tail, sprinting into the trees.

Needless to say, one does not outrun a horse unless they're used to tactical manoeuvres within the forest, which Kagome was not.

A few minutes later, an enraged miko kicked and screamed beneath a net, her wrists and ankles bound, bow and arrows ripped away.

"Let's get her loaded onto a cart. Mind her claws," the Captain instructed, moving his horse into a walk to continue on. Two soldiers grip her arms and lift her. "Ah, Captain, she doesn't have claws." one remarked.

“That's because I'M NOT A DEMON!” She yelled, trying to bite one of the men. “I'm a priestess. Untie me and I'll show you some damn reiki!”

One of the men backhanded her across the face when her teeth get too close to his hand "Mind yourself, filth," he snapped. 

They carry her to a cart, placing her with the rest of the cargo. Two of them take up seats next to her as the carts start to move again, Shinrai leading the way.

Kagome fell quiet, panicking. They travel for some time, passing through the very village Kagome had been intending to visit, who eye them warily.

The division is called to halt the moment they notice sunset. They make a camp as Shinrai fiddled with something around his neck. Kagome growled while being dragged off the cart. She cried out upon feeling the impact of the ground, having been thrown unceremoniously before their Captain as he sat on a log between two banners in the ground. The net was peeled off her at least, but her hands remain bound.

Kagome grit her teeth. “Untie me, right now. This isn't going to end well for you,” she muttered, tugging at her hands.

Shinrai chuckled and fiddled with the light green whistle around his neck. "Now, now. You should be thanking me. I'm about to give you to the Lord of the West. I think he'd appreciate a kitsune demon like you. I heard fox demons could transform into beautiful women, but this is my first time seeing it."

That certainly got her attention, and she ceased struggling. "Wait...you're going to give me to Sesshoumaru?"

"Indeed. I should think the reward will be something to behold."

"Oh, definitely," she hummed, entire attitude changing. Folding her legs beneath her, she smiled placidly. "Go ahead then, buddy."

He rose a brow but didn't comment. His men watched with varying levels of confidence as he lifted the green whistle up. "The witch better have given me the real deal," he muttered to himself, raising the whistle to his lips and blowing. 

A strange high pitched noise escaped it that no human could hear, spreading out over the camp and carrying over the trees and fields, over the very hills.

Shinrai stopped and looked at the whistle, tsking. "That wench...she must have sold me a fake."

Kagome squirmed, trying to free her hands. A dog whistle? He's going to be pissed.

"C-captain!" One of the soldiers exclaimed.

"Ah? What?" Glancing up, the colour slightly drained from his face.

Mist swept in through the trees worrying fast. It rolled so thick it was as if clouds had been summoned to cover the earth like a blanket. Out of this, a figure clad in white appeared. Long silver hair swayed out, gently teased by a phantom breeze. His clothing bore a red honeycomb design, giving the image of blood spilled on snow. The demon stopped a fair distance from the soldiers, staring at them with intent gold eyes.

Kagome stiffened when they fell on her, and gave an awkward smile. If she could wave, she would.

Shinrai swallowed, trying to find his voice. Clearing his throat, the Captain stepped forward. "I'm glad you came, demon. I take it you're in fact the Lord of these parts? We happen to be passing through. Caught this here kitsune woman and wanted to offer her to you in exchange for a little money, understand?" He asked, trying to be amiable.

The demon's cool gaze remained on him for a moment, smiling slightly to himself and letting winter lashes drift shut. 

"That's three," he uttered quietly.

Shinrai blinked. "Eh?" 

"That is three times you have insulted this Sesshoumaru." Raising a pale hand up and flexing deadly claws, he purred; "One: You have the gaol to offer me a deal without invitation."

His image blurred and a moment later, two of the soldiers cry out as ribbons of blood fly into the air from their open chests. Kagome finally managed to get a hand free from the restraints and quickly pushed the rest of the rope off the other. Untying her feet, she stood back and winced. 

"Two: You offer me a human woman and pass her off as a kitsune," Sesshoumaru sneered and struck out again as yet more men cried out. "Not realising that you have instead captured my mate." 

His pale form tore through them like they were little more than paper, blood clinging to his claws. The rest of the camp were slain in a matter of seconds until only Kagome and Shinrai were left. Sesshoumaru flicked the blood from his claws and gripped Bakusaiga, drawing the sword out and raising it. Shinrai hurriedly took out his own sword.

Sesshoumaru regarded his fear with amusement, watching the blade shake. He advanced forward. "Third: You use a...dog whistle, to summon me. Your audacity and disrespect know no bounds," he growled lowly. 

Shinrai grit his teeth and blocked a sudden strike from the sword, but was helpless against the demons speed, and wheezed, coughing blood as Sesshoumaru's blade slid through his gut and out of his back, impaling him. 

Sesshoumaru then yanked the sword free with a sweep, effectively severing the man in two. A red aura then licks the blood away from the blade. Putting the sword in its scabbard and lifting a hand out- Sesshoumaru let acid rain down from sharp claws onto the whistle. 

He then turned silently and looked at Kagome, no emotion on his face.

"Hi honey," she said softly.

He did not answer, fingers trembling slightly, practically vibrating with palpable rage and blood lust.

Kagome's brows drew together and she crossed the distance between them. Heedless of the blood, she took his blood-soaked hand between her own and kissed his neck. "Relax. I'm here now."

His eyes finally lost their hazy sheen, blinking. A hoarse noise escaped him, Sesshoumaru gathering her closer and inhaling the scent of her hair. Crimson claws gingerly touched her bruising cheek.

"That's my line, foolish miko."

#sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Asks #prompts

[missmonsters2]

The Color of You || Part IX

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on.

NOTE: Haha...yes I have made it back from death. Just one more chapter and this series will be done. Very sads. Also next chapter will have smut. Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this series, any natasha stories I do, Wanda stories, or everything.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII 

PART IX of X

Count: 2873

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Your heart is palpitating with the wind whipping around you as Steve revs his motorcycle, going 90 miles per hour. 

You try to hold onto Steve tighter, feeling like if you don’t, you’ll end up flying right off the backseat. It’s supposed to distract you. The wind, the noise, the cold, even the pain is supposed to take your mind away from the fact that if you’re too late, then Natasha might die.

Your mind tries to rationalize with you because she’s Black Widow, and she’ll have different things up her sleeves. 

But what could she do?

So you focused on Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You know that the Iron Man suit should be airtight. The poison can’t get through, but in your vision, you saw on the screen that he had his mask off as he worked on the computers. 

Even if you can get Steve to tell Tony to keep his mask on, what about Bruce?

Bruce would die if he inhaled any of that poison.

You’re formulating plans quickly inside your head. Possibility after possibility, wishing that you knew how to control your gift more because, at this point, this was just hoping for the best outcome.

“Hey, Steve?” You shout loudly through your helmet, licking your lips when Steve turns his head around briefly to show you he heard you.

“Can you get in touch with Natasha?” 

Steve releases one hand off the handle as he touches his earpiece. He calls her name a couple times, but then he puts his hand back on the handle.

“I’m not getting anything on her end. She might be out of range, or there might be interference where she is. We’ll know if she’s back,” He yells.

You sigh, hoping this plan works.

Steve slows, coming to a rough stop when you’re in front of your estate again.

Taking off your helmet, Steve helps you off, and you look at him.

“Can Tony hack into camera systems?” You ask, and Steve snorts.

“That would be like taking candy from a baby for him,” Steve tells you and you nod.

“Alright...can you ask him to do this?”

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You had Steve park in the same blind spot area you smuggled Nat into that time you brought her home. 

Waiting until the camera turned, you pulled Steve past, opening the kitchen door.

You immediately start rummaging through the drawers.

"What are you looking for?” Steve asks, and you’re about to answer him before he suddenly bolts into you, pushing you to the ground, a loud gunshot ringing in your ears.

Pain rushes through your arms and legs as you haven’t quite healed yet. You groaned quietly and forced your head up to see what happened.

Steve jumps up, his shield forward to protect you, and the two of you see Evelyn standing there with a gun raised.

“Evelyn,” you breath, and she looks at you, eyes darting to Steve for just a moment.

“You’re a fool to return, miss,” Evelyn grouses, and you raise your brow at her.

“Let me guess, capture? Or kill on sight?” You ask, but Evelyn doesn’t react to it. It already tells you what you need to know because if you’re not useful to him, then there’s no use for you at all.

You nudge Steve at his back because you still need to get to the drawer. He slowly inches up, and you follow. Evelyn follows your movements, but she can’t do much with Steve protecting you. 

You grab what you need from the drawer, and Steve draws his eyes to you without moving his head.

“Go,” he tells you, “I’ll catch up.”

You move, hearing more gunshots fired at you, but they easily bounce off of Steve’s shield. You glance at him, gratefully briefly before running off. Evelyn tries to take off after you, but Steve immediately blocks her way, forcing her back.

Evelyn steels herself with Steve doing that same.

“Captain America, huh. I’m a big fan.”

Steve grins.

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You take off your shoes before running again, more relieved at the lack of sound your shoes were making. 

You open the door to the basement, fingers trembling slightly as you walk down. 

You haven’t been back down here since you were allowed up into the estates. There was no reason for you to go back down, but you needed to.

You needed to because Natasha might die if you didn’t.

Hand dragging along the bricked wall, you counted the bricks as walked until you reached 57.

Pressing the brick in, the door opened, and you looked into the room. You were early, it seemed. No one was in the room, but then you started to hear footsteps, and you quickly made your way in, running until you were behind a pillar, hiding as you slowed your breath.

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Natasha didn’t like the silence.

It was too quiet.

She had broken into William’s estate through a window, and when she jumped down, she realized she was in the basement. 

It was big, seemingly looked like a basement suite. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for at first, just checking every room until she was in the master bedroom of the basement. 

It would’ve been unnoticeable to anyone, but the bed was just slightly crooked. Probably no more than 3 degrees needed to be straight. 

It was such a plain bed for a master bedroom, but Natasha pushed the bed back in an attempt to make it straight.

Then she heard it.

The floor creaked unnaturally ever so softly.

Natasha moved the bed, staring at the floor door. 

A heavy feeling settled over Natasha. 

Everything in her body told her that she shouldn’t open it because whatever she would find in there would make her sick.

But Natasha opened it anyways.

It was dark peering in, but with some of the light outside, she could make out a staircase to go down. 

Her hands drifted to the wall, dragging against it as she walked down. Her fingers brushed against a light switch when she reached the bottom. When she turned it on, she noticed there wasn’t much space. There was the staircase, and about 5 feet across from it only had another door. There was nothing else. 

Natasha slowly walked forward, staring at the door. When she opened it, it was completely dark, the light hardly making any difference in the room, so she needed to use her own flashlight.

And there was nothing in the room. 

No furniture.

No windows.

Just a concrete floor.

A giant hole in the middle. 

Natasha clenches her jaw because she can’t stop hearing your words in her head.

She walks forward bravely until she’s at the edge, pointing her light down. The sight inside makes Natasha stiff.

It’s deep. 

Roughly around 150 feet and too wide for anyone to try to climb back up.

She can see some food trays at the bottom, a small pillow, and a blanket.

And Natasha knows.

You were kept a prisoner here. 

All alone in the dark until you had a vision of her.

But even then, you were still alone in the dark, replaying the visions of her, praying, hoping, wishing for her until you were allowed out. 

Compromising your morals and ethics, enduring everything for Natasha to come.

It burned.

Natasha’s eyes drift to the side at the bottom, teeth clenching when she sees traces of dried blood.

She grips the gun in her hand a little tighter.

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It’s happening. 

Faster than you can formulate any other plans in your head. 

“You think this is over?” William sneers at Natasha.

“Your plans being ruined and being captured usually means that. So, yes, I do think this is over.” Natasha tells him back, no emotion on her face.

“You know, there’s one thing my miserable father did teach me,” William says with a smirk, pulling out a device and in one hand and a gun in another.

“Take a look at this screen,” William tells her, and she can see it’s Bruce and Tony who’ve made it into his control room, working on canceling his program.

“This button in my hand will release a deadly poison into the air. They’ll die within minutes,” William smiles, and when Natasha makes a move to step forward, he puts his thumb on the button threateningly.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, “one move, and I’ll kill them.”

You want to yell at Natasha to call his bluff, that it’s fine, but you might be making it worse.

But then he points his gun at her, and you only have a snapshot second to make a decision of what to do. You try to peer around, but Natasha seems to be rooted in place as she’s not willing to risk Tony and Bruce’s life. 

“You should’ve never come here,” he tells her before pulling the trigger–

You jump out from behind the pillar, rushing towards William as you push his chair over, disorienting him as he falls over on his side. The bullet fires, but completely misses Natasha.

Shock and horror enter Natasha’s eyes as she sees you, but you’re too busy trying to wrestle the gun out of his hand. She can’t shoot with you in the way. Despite being knocked over, William manages to keep a tight grip on both the button. You did manage to get his gun, but he uses his elbow, knocking it to your face. The shock and pain make you drop the gun, but further away than any three of you can reach. William uses that moment to grab you, wrapping his arm around your neck as he staggers to stand up.

William groans angrily, his thumb touching his lip as he sees the blood from when you hit his face from trying to get his gun. 

The blood drains from Natasha’s face as it’s become the worst possible scenario for her with him holding you hostage. 

“You actually came back,” William looks at you and sneers, “how foolish.”

You have one hand on his arm to stop him from squeezing harder and one hand straight down, your sleeve covering your arm.

“How idiotic of you,” William berates you. “Let me guess, you saw this happening and just couldn’t help but run to save her.”

His face distorts into disgust. Natasha is watching like a hawk, her gun up and steady.

William looks at her and rolls his eyes.

“Put your gun down, or I will press this button and kill everyone in that room,” he threatens. 

Natasha falters, but you shake your head at her, warranting William to tighten his hold around your neck.

“DROP THE FUCKING GUN,” William screams at Natasha, but she looks at you, and you’re still shaking your head as much as you can. 

‘Trust me,’ you mouth at her as best you can.

So, Natasha doesn’t drop the gun, and William explosively glares at her as he pushes the button. 

Natasha whips her eyes to the screen, but when moments pass and nothing happens, she looks back at him. 

William scares at the screen, confused and angry as he presses the button over and over again, but nothing happens. You can feel his grip loosening.

“What the hell,” he looks at the button but then snaps his head to you.

“What did you do?” He seethes at you, and you merely smile, causing him to tighten his grip around your neck.

“It’s a feedback loop,” you say before you reveal your hand with a fruit knife in it that you hid in your sleeve before stabbing him in his thigh.

William yelps, immediately releasing you as you tumble away, and Natasha immediately uses the opportunity to shoot William in the chest. 

There’s a moment of silence in the room as the bullet pierces him. He looks around at his chest, red seeping through his clothes as he falls onto his knees before his back.

He wasn’t dead, maybe Natasha shot him inches from where it would’ve been an instant death.

But he was certainly dying.

You crawl over to him, looking over his face as he took shaky breaths. He looks up at you.

“It’s over,” you whisper to him. It doesn’t really seem to register to him as he lifts his hand up, trying to touch your face. 

He doesn’t have the strength to make it.

“I...loved you...for...real, you know,” He breathes out shakily, slowly turning paler. 

Tears well up in your eyes as you shake your head.

“No...” You tell him, “you don’t know how to love anything without ruining it.”

William merely stares up at you, mouth open as his trembles before the life fades from his eyes, and he lets out his last breath.

It’s finally over, you think, trying to get up but stumble right into Natasha’s arms as she rushes towards you.

Natasha pats you all over, trying to assess your injuries, but you hold her hand to stop her.

“I’m okay,” you tell her. 

Natasha’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry.

“You’re so reckless!” She chokes at you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“But you’re alive...we’re both alive...” You tell her with a weak smirk, and Natasha rolls her eyes before leaning in to kiss you.

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Tony has the Quinjet ready by the time you come outside with Natasha supporting you with her arm around your waist.

You stand before everyone and can’t help but laugh that everyone’s at least supporting one bruise on their face.

“Ah, my little genius has made it out,” Tony says as he grins at you.

“Your genius?” Natasha scoffs.

“Uh, yes, Nat. Otherwise, both me and puny banner would’ve-” Tony uses his hand to swipe around his neck, gesturing death as he makes a noise to accompany it.

Natasha scrunches her brows together as she recalled what happened.

“What did you do?” Natasha asks as she turns to you.

You grin softly.

“Can Tony hack into camera systems?” You ask, and Steve snorts.

“That would be like taking candy from a baby for him,” Steve tells you.

“Alright...can you ask him to do this? Tell Tony to hack into the camera systems where he is discreetly. He needs to find the camera, which will be somewhere on the wall, and it can move. Ask him to make a feedback loop about a minute long of him and Bruce working to disengage the biotech. Make sure you tell him the feedback has to have it that his helmet his off.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded, putting his finger to his earpiece before speaking quietly.

“Okay, he’s asking why,” Steve turns to you.

“William is watching them, and he’s going to use the two of them as leverage when Natasha confronts him. The sprinklers in the room are filled with poisonous gas. If they inhale it, they’ll die. After the feedback loop is created, then Tony can keep his Iron Man helmet on if it has a gas filter, but Bruce can’t be in there in case.”

“Did you copy that?” Steve asks into his earpiece.

Steve nods to you, and you sigh.

Natasha merely shakes her head at you, and you know later on you’re going to get a lecture about danger again, but you don’t even care because she’s safe.

She leads you onto the Quinjet, letting you lay on her lap as she brushes your hair delicately during the flight. 

“What now?” Steve asks as he sits across from the two of you. 

Natasha merely shrugs. “I don’t know. A part of me wants to hide her away, where no one can find her. Not SHIELD, not anyone who knows about her gift and will want to use it.”

“You think SHIELD will want that?”

Natasha shrugs again. “She can see the future, Steve. Do you know how incredibly useful that gift is? Without her, this mission would’ve been a bust. This mission might’ve not even existed without her. Sure, she can’t control it now, but maybe with research and practice, she can. But I don’t want to put her through that as if she’s some...some lab rat.”

Natasha looks down at your sleeping face, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. 

“I just want her to be happy. She deserves to be happy.”

“We’ll find a way,” Steve tells Natasha reassuringly, but his teammate merely half-smiles at him.

The rest of the ride home is quiet as everyone is trying to rest. When the Quinjet lands in SHIELD’s headquarters, Natasha briefly thinks about grabbing you and running off before anyone can see you, but when she feels your hand brush against hers as you wake up, she can only smile as you press a kiss to the corner of her lips. 

The door opens to the ground as Natasha helps you up to walk out. She already sees Fury and Maria standing there to greet everyone. 

They look at you, and Natasha feels tense, but you pat her arm to reassure her.

Maria walks up to you, and before anything can happen, you’re in handcuffs.

Shock appears on the Avenger’s faces as they look at the handcuffs on your wrist.

“What the hell,” Natasha seethes.

PART X

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow x reader #black window imagine #avengers #avengers reader insert #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #Marvel Imagine #marvel reader insert #Modern Avengers AU

[funkzpiel]

Drift

So the original prompt had been lovely, utterly lovely, and asked for Alpha!Jaskier using his nature to help Geralt take care of himself (i.e. using his voice, body language, touch, etc. to help persuade Geralt to eat, drink, sleep, rest, etc.) and I LOVED IT and I sat down to WRITE IT and then whatever the fuck this is happened instead… I’m not sure how it spiraled away from me so vastly or how to even quite describe what it turned into, haha. So I’m keeping the original prompt in my rolodex, cause I’d like to try again per the asker’s original idea some time - but for now, have 13 pages of whatever the hell my non-stop headache managed to put together below…

warning: contains abo dynamics, however, literally focuses solely on the dynamic between Alpha/Omega. Does not contain smut. What has happened to me?

Also available to read on AO3

Little girl, little girl ~ don’t lie to me; Tell me where did you sleep last night?

In the pines, in the pines ~ where the sun never shines; Shivered the whole night through

- In the Pines

“Someone spotted your witcher out by the wood. He’s in a right state. No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

Those had been the words of the messenger who had tracked Jaskier down at the inn, sent by the alderman. Jaskier had been prepared to go out into the rain and find a soggy, grumpy witcher. But “a right state” didn’t even begin to cover it.

It was raining. Of course it was raining, Jaskier thought petulantly as he braved the weather to find his witcher. It was easy to hide behind his griping. Easier to whine about the cold and the wet than to think too heavily on the messenger’s words: “No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

He found Geralt at the tree line, as promised. There were at least six trees that had fallen victim to the man, carved up in great hacking lines that bore no pattern or reason. Just vicious, gaping wounds that oozed sap and frayed bark. Weeping splinters atop their roots. Geralt was busy carving up another tree. He was using his steel sword. It kept getting caught in the bark, the blade not made for slipping free of wood as easily as it cleaved flesh or bone. Every time it snagged, Geralt would snarl, shoulders heaving as he yanked it free and attacked again, each time without any of the finesse expected from a witcher. So he wasn’t practicing; not that he should be, so fresh from a hunt.

Jaskier could tell from afar that the man was exhausted. He could hear wheezing in his heaving breaths, see the way his armor struggled to make room for each inhale. His shoulders were low, his arms heavy. He didn’t move his feet more than he had to, instead forcing his hips and thighs to bear the weight of his movements, his attacks. His skin was pale and sickly, and even with the potions having faded off, his veins still showed through his skin like silvery cobwebs.

Something must have gone wrong, there was nothing else to it. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before. Witchers by nature and grooming were not the most expressive people. They did not know how to tolerate any pain that was not physical. That usually meant their distress got channeled into outlets such as this: calculated violence. As if that stress and that emotion could be worked out of the body like a knot from sore muscles. Each blow exhausted him, each strike winded him – but it kept his mind off whatever had happened. Focused on movement, on the swing of his sword, the angle of the blade’s descent.

Jaskier leaned against the fench a short way from the snarling witcher, elbows braced atop its warped wooden rail. He’d let the witcher tire himself out, that tended to be the best move to make in this particular dance. He’d watch, be there when Geralt—

Jaskier’s thoughts came to a grinding halt as Geralt’s sword buried itself deep into the wood of his victim, then snapped with a clang that rang out like a song in one long, mournful note. The air drew sharp and electric, and Jaskier felt himself tense like an animal suddenly all too keen that a predator was nearby and on the prowl. Water trickled down the slope of his nose, under his collar, between his shoulder blades. He shuddered, eyes fixed on the witcher. Geralt stumbled with the force of the sudden break, and for a moment Jaskier thought that had done it, that had been the last straw of the witcher’s stamina. He waited for the man to fall to his knees. For an opening to go to him, gather him up and help him home. But instead Geralt drew himself up, sides heaving as he panted like an overrun horse, and held the broken sword up so he might better admire the damage.

The metal that remained attached to the hilt was jagged and short. It glimmered weakly, its runes in shambles, its use outlived. Magic popped and crackled along the blade in fits and bursts like a death rattle until finally Geralt tossed it aside – a sneer curling his lip, exposing his teeth. He stood still, like a rock in the middle of a raging river, head down as he glared at the broken sword among the grass. Jaskier prepared to walk to him, guide his exhausted witcher back to the inn, only to freeze when a wounded sound split the air with the same viciousness as Geralt’s sword had split the tree.

The bard’s eyes darted further into the tree line, looking for the source of that animalistic sound – then shot back to Geralt who was moving now, fast as a whip, fist colliding with the tree. Leaves fell, casting him in a veil of baby green leaves and spring petals as the force of the blow shook even a tree as thick as his victim to its core. But the sound, the sound had Jaskier shivering. Wet and fleshy. Geralt’s knuckles – gods above –

Geralt didn’t stop. He reared back, struck again, that howl that had sent icy dread down Jaskier’s spine tumbling from his lips, from behind his teeth, from deep inside his chest. Snarling and blind, Geralt punched again, and again, the sound of his knuckles impacting worsening each time. Jaskier heard a snap and finally that broke the trance that sight had cast upon him, wide-eyed and fawn-legged. He leapt the fence with more grace than he thought himself capable of. Long legs crossed the field, willowy and lithe, and although he knew he was in fact moving quickly, everything felt slow and distant.

“Geralt!” He shouted but could not hear his own words. The rain suddenly worsened, pelted him, as if each sheet might hold him back from his goal single handedly. Geralt either didn’t hear him or did not deign to listen. Petals and leaves kept tumbling down around him in bursts, decorating his hair, littering his armor. Haloing him with life as he raged. Striking, again and again, slap, slap, slap – “Geralt, stop!”

The words came out in a boom, slicing through the rain like a thunderclap.

Jaskier managed to catch the man by the bicep on his backswing, and even through his armor the bard could felt the whipcord tautness of the man’s muscles – the way he held himself, still yearned to strike, but neither relaxed nor continued. Vibrating like a hound snarling at the bit, waiting for the command to launch itself forward and maul its target.

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were fastened on the tree, his jaw clenched so tight Jaskier swore he could hear the groaning of his bones, plaintive and grinding. A muscle was leaping in his cheek. His pupils were blown wide, so black and so large that only a thin sliver of amber remained. But he stopped.

He stopped.

Jaskier didn’t enjoy having to use that trick on Geralt – his voice. It was the equivalent of taking Geralt’s choice from him, his autonomy, and while once upon a time Jaskier used to look on such things with rose-colored glasses and nostalgic ideas of romance and “the way of things”, it wasn’t until he met Geralt that he learned that his voice was a very powerful, very painful thing. A tool easily manipulated into a tactic for control rather than kindness; control disguised as comfort. He was no master. Geralt was no pet.

The thought of trying to control something as untamable, as wild and beautiful as his witcher, made him shiver sickly.

No, he had long ago told himself he’d never use it. Yet here he was, the words tumbling so forcefully from his lips without a second thought. A command. Stop.

Geralt kept thrumming beneath his touch, every inch of him shaking. Trembling so finely that were he made of the fine edges and dangling trinkets of a wind chime, he’d be singing faintly. His nostrils were flared, every breath coming out in a huge, heaving plume from each. From his throat and beneath the falling hush of the storm, Jaskier caught the sound of something strangled emitting from the witcher. Lodged tight and captured behind his teeth; a moan, a whine, a snarl, a plea.

Help.

Jaskier hated to use it. It had been a problem in the beginning – his voice. What it stood for, what it meant, what it took away. A problem that took no small amount of effort to work through. Jaskier had been chock-full of all these ideas and notions of what it meant to be an Alpha, what it meant to have an Omega. The bard had built up this fantasy in his head of what that would look like. How he would coddle them, protect them, nest with them, because that was what an Alpha was meant to do. It took time to pull that structure apart in his mind. To rebuild on healthier foundations, all from scratch. Once or twice he thought Geralt would leave him. The Omega was too wild, too free. Every archaic tradition made him buck like a stallion refusing the bit and saddle. In the beginning, it had been infuriating. Frustrating. Offensive, even. Now…

Jaskier had been so blind. He had seen Geralt as something unique to be tamed rather than the truth – there was only one true way to love, regardless of secondary gender, and it was through respect, communication, and the understanding that tradition was a construct, not a rule.

Geralt stayed. They worked through it. Together, they rebuilt that house in Jaskier’s mind, in both of their minds. They made concessions, they navigated the dark together and created a language all their own with which to define what it meant to have a mate, to be an Alpha or an Omega. And one of those concessions had been simple and clear: do not try to own me or control me. Do not use biology against me.

I am a person, not a conquest.

Jaskier had used it. His voice. But he couldn’t watch Geralt do that to himself. Guilt curled coolly in his guy, greasy and sneering. But it was done. It was done.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, voice raised over the howl of the wind and the rain, but normal. Unaffected, powerless. Pleading. “I didn’t mean to… but your hands, Geralt, gods above, you wouldn’t stop.”

Geralt’s pupils contracted ever so slightly, that mad expanse of black thinning with every word that reached him. His heaving exhales turned into something shaky and stuttered, and finally Geralt blinked. He let Jaskier guide his arm down, slim hands reaching for his pale and quaking one. His knuckles – Geralt hissed, the pain finally registering as he caught sight of them – were torn to shreds. Swollen, broken and bleeding despite the rain that ran over them. Bark stuck out in places. Stung. Geralt groaned, nearly whined, before he caught it behind his teeth and swallowed it down with a grimace of distaste. His hand was shaking harder now in Jaskier’s.

The longer he was still, the more Jaskier saw that panic – that frenzy – begin to take root again. Spreading like vines and weeds that filled Geralt’s eyes, blinding him, choking him. Overwhelmed. Amber eyes drifted from the wreckage of the tree slowly, slowly to Jaskier’s face. And for a man as stoic as Geralt, with expressions so minute and so fleeting, Jaskier looked at him and saw nothing but shattered glass, buried beneath the thin line of his lips, the little wrinkled dip of his brows, the unfocused haze of his eyes. Lost.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his heart throbbing painfully against his ribs in great, crushing pulses, “Are you with me?”

Geralt clenched his jaw tighter. His pupils expanded. Something flickered – wild and animal-like – in the lines of his body and the tense edges of his bones. Feral and bewildered because his mad fight with the trees hadn’t worked as it should. It had exhausted him, broken him – and yet whatever had caused the panic remained with nowhere left to go.

His gaze strayed back toward the tree. In Jaskier’s hands, his own curled back into a fist even as he swayed on his feet, all color leeched from his skin – drenched and wrecked.

“No,” Jaskier said, softly but firmly. It drew the witcher back to him. Had the man stepping closer, pressing into his space. Drawn to the confidence of his tone. “Tell me what you want. How to help. Anything… just not that. No more. Please.”

Geralt said nothing, but in Jaskier’s palms and the cradle of his fingers, the witcher’s fist went slack. Trembling and bloody. Jaskier nodded at that, tried to think of how far the inn was without looking – too afraid to lose Geralt by breaking eye contact.

“How can I help?” He repeated, but Geralt just grimaced as though Jaskier had suggested plucking his nails from their nailbeds. He was searching for words that the School of the Wolf had never given him, Jaskier realized. So he asked instead, “What happened?”

All at once, Geralt’s pupils contracted to thin slits, then expanded all over again – worse – eclipsing all but the thinnest ring of amber at their edges. As though an electric current had gone through the man, he stiffened. A noise grew and choked him. Jaskier reached up to grasp the back of his neck on instinct and instinct alone, the call to soothe him too great to resist despite their many conversations. It went beyond tradition now. It was a bone-deep need, irresistible. His fingers dug into the witcher’s neck. Urged him down the scant few inches of difference between them until Geralt’s forehead rested against his own, white hair running into brown beneath the rain. Geralt huffed against him, a soft, relieved little sound, and his eyes flickered shut. Ever so slightly, his shoulders slackened, responding to that hand. Jaskier felt himself have to bear more of Geralt’s weight as the exhausted man leaned into him.

Geralt could have pulled away. He had before. But he didn’t.

“Does this help?” Jaskier asked.

The man keened, remained pliant in his hands.

“Do you want this?”

Another sound. Jaskier felt a plea of his own whimper past his lips, so desperately wanting to soothe – needing to soothe – and yet loathe to assume, to take advantage. Not when he had seen the wildness in Geralt’s eyes in those early days. Not when Geralt had asked for more than tradition dictates.

“I need a yes or no, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, the plea nearly lost to the rain, “Please.”

Geralt shuddered under his hand, all the way down the length of his spine. His jaw worked at something, huffed helplessly, then finally wheezed, “Yes,” like a death rasp. Needing nothing more, that knot of dread in Jaskier’s stomach unraveled – curling out into long, winding tendrils of instinct that directed his limbs thoughtlessly. His hand on Geralt’s neck squeezed a little tighter and a purr rumbled in his chest at the sight of how that little gesture had made Geralt’s eyes soften, relax.

It was like finally flexing a muscle he hadn’t moved in a very long time – a need he hadn’t realized had gone unanswered for so long. Jaskier’s bones thrummed pleasantly at the sight of his Omega – Geralt – responding to him so openly. It wasn’t just that he was feeding into his instincts. There was a level of trust there. A bond that went unsaid. He had no doubt that Geralt would have slunk into the woods by now, fangs gleaming and eyes wild, if he didn’t want Jaskier to touch him, help him.

That was enough.

“Ok,” he said in a hush against the crown of Geralt’s brow. He inhaled the scent of the witcher – rain, blood, Geralt. Then he dipped into the waters of his nature that he had abstained from for so very, very long. He used his voice. “You’re going to follow me to the Inn.”

Geralt nodded, brow still against his, and beneath Jaskier’s hands the bard felt a shiver run through the witcher – electric and pleasant. When he was sure the man would obey, he let his hand leave Geralt’s neck, instead weaving one arm around his own neck so their sides were as flush as possible. Geralt burrowed as closely as possible, and the longer they walked, the more he found the witcher leaning into him not purely for the pleasure of touch alone. Geralt was exhausted. From the contract, from whatever had gone wrong, from his rage at the tree line.

He wouldn’t have made it home alone, Jaskier realized. He might not have even tried. That realization made something strange and uncomfortable twist dreadfully in a place that had never quite twisted before. Geralt was hardly his first partner, Omega or otherwise. Hardly his first trial with instincts.

But never had he felt this; this keen understanding that his Omega was just a man, and that despite every stereotype that insisted that a ‘good Alpha’ could protect one’s mate by will alone, he could not protect Geralt from anything. He could not protect him from this, from his Path.

He could only be there to help him home.

“Witcher,” the alderman exclaimed at the sight of him the moment they returned to the inn, but one look from Jaskier – sharp and feral, daring the man to come closer – had him pause. It was the growl that followed, making Geralt shiver in his grasp, that sealed the deal. It was apparent then and there the man had not even considered Jaskier might be anything more than a Beta. Whether it was from disorientation or surprise or a keen understanding that to push any further would be to invite a fight, the alderman merely said, “Apologies. It can wait.”

Jaskier didn’t realize he had been baring on pearly incisor, lip curled, until he managed to guide Geralt up the stairs and back to their room. He sat Geralt on the bed and when he realized the man would not look him in the eye, he forced his expression, his body language, into something open and familiar rather than bristled and tight as it had become the moment the alderman had tried to conduct business with them.

The village leader wanted to know the status of their contract. Jaskier knew this. Knew that the intent had been benign, one born of fear and concern for his people. But what about Jaskier’s people? What about Geralt? How had the man not known right away that now was not the time? He turned away lest Geralt see how even so much as thinking about it affected him.

Jaskier wanted so badly to ask what had happened. He had seen Geralt return from missions in a variety of states: pleased, exhausted, annoyed, covered in guts, clean as a whistle – and he’d even seen the man fail before. But never like this. Geralt sat on the edge of the bed like a man numbed from a blizzard, still and pliant, eyes staring. It was a drastic change from the feral thing he had found at the tree line, and Jaskier still didn’t know if it was an improvement or something worrisome. The white wolf’s hands quaked on his lap – bloodied, splintered and swollen – and Jaskier decided there was no better place to start than that, once he got the man into dry clothing.

“Let’s get your armor sorted out,” Jaskier mumbled, automatically going to work on the man’s many straps and buckles with the efficiency of the practiced, peeling him apart piece by sodden piece until nothing but a thin, whipcord tight witcher remained. Geralt just let him do it. No grumbling, no grunts, no protests. The bard felt sick, off-kilter.

Jaskier took care to set his swords against the nightstand where he could easily reach them, then to set his armor in the corner in the way he had seen Geralt do many times before. All the while, the witcher didn’t stir. He just sat there, similar to the way he meditated. Distant, detached. Drifting. There, and yet not.

Jaskier dipped into the other room to heat the water he had already ordered be drawn long before his trip into the storm – knowing Geralt would want it when he returned and eager to remove at least this from Geralt’s plate. He let it heat as he returned to the witcher.

“Stay there, Geralt,” Jaskier said idly, the words tumbling from his lips on instinct as he fetched first a stool, then the medical kit from Geralt’s pack and began setting up beside the bed. He placed the stool between the weak spread of the witcher’s knees and automatically placed one hand across the span of one thick thigh and squeezed as he navigated his way around the witcher’s kit. Geralt’s breathing steadied ever so slightly and without looking Jaskier rumbled softly, pleased, “Good, Geralt. Very good. You’re doing so good for me.”

Jaskier and Geralt had played with the merits of praise before. The bard knew firsthand that the witcher was utterly starved of it, that it was an easy way to twist the wolf around his finger and get him howling. But this was different. These were no mere words meant to rile up an affection-starved, stoic cut of stone of a witcher. This was so much more.

Genuine praise for a man who knew not how to ask for help, and yet in his own way was asking for it. Because while Jaskier had made his concessions with Geralt, he had asked for some of his own as well. That was the core of relationships: give and take. I will not pester you, I will not control you, but in return please trust me. Please come to me when you need shelter, no matter the circumstances. Let me anchor you in the storm.

Praise for a promise kept against the witcher’s every independent instinct, giving into a nature he had struggled against the image of for so long. For his health. Because he trusted Jaskier.

Geralt seemed to melt somewhat, the stiff line of his spine curving gently beneath the weighty blanket of Jaskier’s words and touch. The bard did his best to keep at least one hand on the man at all times as he went through the delicate process of cleaning the wolf’s knuckles and bloodied fingernails, plucking splinters and wooden shrapnel from his skin, and applying ointment and sterile wrappings. Murmuring in low tones, so close to his voice but not quite, how good the witcher was. How much he appreciated his trust.

In the cradle of the bard’s working hands, the witcher’s fingers slowly steadied but for the lightest, faintest tremor.

Already Geralt’s fragmented bones were reknitting beneath his tattered flesh; a taxing affair. Jaskier could see it in his eyes as a heady cloud of exhaustion began to overtake the man, but still Geralt fought it, too afraid to give in. Too afraid to loosen the steel trap that was his mind and open himself up to whatever had happened. Whatever haunted him from the woods. Jaskier’s mouth pulled into a taut, concerned line.

“Alright, up now. Out of your smalls and into the tub,” he said, the directions helping him as much as it did Geralt. He braced the witcher by the forearm as he obeyed, disrobing entirely with an eerie, distant slowness. Drifting. Drifting in the current of Jaskier’s voice, his direction. Drifting far away from the woods and whatever lay inside them.

Jaskier guided him to the tub. Eased him in, singing soft praises beneath his breath all the while – smooth and steady.

“That’a boy, Geralt, just like that. Keep your hands out of the water. I’ll handle the rest. Yes, good. So good,” he babbled, draping either of the witcher’s hands to hang over the rim on either side before taking a washcloth, lathering it with soap and beginning an intimately familiar habit. This he knew. This they both knew. In this, they had even, stable ground.

Geralt wasn’t terribly filthy, for once. However long he had spent in the downpour, it had done the trick of washing the evidence of the woods and the fight away. It was more a matter of warming and soothing the wolf now. Easing the tremors from the corded muscles of his shoulders, the tight lines of his arms. He washed his hair, digging his fingers into the man’s scalp gently, scrapping idly with his nails. In the mirror, he watched the witcher’s eyes begin to fall and hood. Dazed and heavy and drifting.

Jaskier had never thought he’d share a moment like this with Geralt. He’d help the man with his wounds before, of course. They’d learned ways to show their affections for one another. But this was different. Primal and organic, impossible to imitate or force. What he had always wanted, so very long ago…

He remembered once – one of their first arguments about their dynamics, back when they were both unpracticed in the art of loving one another – how viciously Geralt had sneered at him when Jaskier had described the way he was supposed to take care of the man, the Omega. Remembered the jagged cut of his teeth, the wildness of his eyes, so unlike the stories he had always been told as a boy about Omegas.

“Shall I swoon for you, too? Lay down and present right here like some animal in a field?” Geralt snarled, outrage breeding a tremor in his bones. Shaking him from somewhere deep the way earthquakes could rend great fissures in the ground.

“Is it really so terrible for me to want to take care of you!”

“You don’t need to take care of me, you like the idea of taking care of me. They all do, until the time comes – but no one wants to clean up after broken glass! You wouldn’t be taking care of an Omega, Jaskier. It wouldn’t be soft. It wouldn’t be a simple matter of building a nest and stroking my hair. You’d be taking care of a witcher. And that’s dangerous for everyone involved,” he roared, “I’m not some item on a checklist to cross off and prove that you’re an Alpha. Don’t debase me by trying. I’m not collateral in your identity.”

There was a wound there, somewhere, just as much as there was truth. It took time for Jaskier to see that, but he did, eventually. He learned to live without a checklist. Learned to bite his tongue when people mistook Geralt for the Alpha, Jaskier for the Omega. He found the beauty in a relationship established not by society, but by communication and trust. Slower to grow, but stronger for it, like a tree with roots that spread and spread and spread.

Roots that led them here – to the moment Jaskier could finally prove himself. Not as an Alpha, not to society, but to Geralt, as a partner. Prove that he was someone who could be relied on. Present and patient, without ulterior motivation. So he wouldn’t ask about the woods again, not while Geralt was like this. He wouldn’t take advantage, knowing that his voice could likely get him anything right now. The witcher was vulnerable, his every defense devoted to protecting his mind from himself.

So Jaskier would guide the man while he drifted until the witcher found his way home.

“Water’s cooling,” Jaskier murmured, rinsing the man’s hair carefully before brushing it back, looking Geralt in the eyes – searching. But the witcher wasn’t there. “Come on. Food, then bed. That’s all that’s left to do, Geralt, I promise. Almost done, you’re doing so well.”

He eased him out of the tub, sat him atop another stool. Toweled his hair – always so much whiter after washing, like freshly fallen snow – and brushed it out. Clothed him, double checked that his wrapped knuckles were still sterile and dry. He coaxed the witcher into eating a few strips of jerky from their packs and a glass of water, unwilling to leave the man alone to order food from the bar. Then, finally, he eased Geralt down unto the bed.

It was hard to navigate how much space to give. The Alpha in him bayed to plaster himself close, cover the man with his body – to protect him. But their arguments echoed in his head, replaying over and over. Was he betraying Geralt in doing this? Was he no better than any other Alpha? Was this right? Geralt’s pleading eyes from the tree line haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He laid on his side, watching Geralt stare at the ceiling a few scant inches away.

“It’s done. Everything’s done. There’s nothing left to do, Geralt… Try and rest,” he finally said, giving the witcher the initiative to seek that rest however he saw fit – in Jaskier or otherwise. Geralt’s head slowly turned on his pillow then, gaze falling from the ceiling to land on Jaskier’s face. He stared, so far away despite the intimacy of the bed, until finally he blinked. His pupils contracted ever so slightly, focusing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“Yes,” the bard said, relieved and yet hesitant to hope. There was a long moment where it looked like the witcher was going to say something – eyes trailing across the room, no doubt wondering how they got there, how much time had passed. Instead those amber eyes just fell back on him. Was he mad, or—

Geralt turned onto his side so he might face the bard. He curled his hands between them, then reached until his bandaged hand could properly splay across the span of Jaskier’s chest – right atop his heart. He hummed, eyes closing as the witcher felt the tempo of the bard’s heart, Jaskier realized.

“You stayed.”

Jaskier felt his brow furrow, confused, and breathed, “Of course,” as if there were no other answer, no other possibility. Amber eyes bore into him for a long time. Then Geralt burrowed closer, only so close as to tuck his nose beneath Jaskier’s chin and into the hollow of his neck, and finally the witcher went lax.

Geralt had been right. It hadn’t been simple.

But it had been worth it.

Jaskier fell asleep at some point, the witcher tucked into his arms. One arm had fallen asleep, all numb and swollen feeling and promising the uncomfortable pinch of pins and needles when he finally freed the limb from Geralt. The witcher never stirred, not once, not until he woke.

When he did, he spoke into the long column of Jaskier’s throat, voice rough from shouting himself hoarse – no doubt in the woods.

“I didn’t get there in time,” Geralt finally said, lips chapped and brushing against Jaskier’s skin. Breath hot and steady. A shiver trailed down Geralt’s back beneath his hands, so he chased it with the warmth of his palms.

Jaskier closed his eyes. Now that he had Geralt back, the contract began to return to him. Something about a beast in the woods. Missing children.

Children.

I didn’t get there in time.

“But… the alderman said the children had returned from the wood,” Jaskier asked. He had been certain that’s what the messenger had relayed to him when he came to tell Jaskier about the raging witcher at the edge of the wood.

Under his chin, Geralt swallowed dryly – but when he spoke, the words followed as cool and detached as ever. Clinical and distant.

“Not all of them.”

Distance was entering the man’s voice again. Geralt had told him, once, on a particularly drunken night, about what happened when a witcher failed a contract. If he was lucky, he got to keep the upfront deposit. If he was marginally less lucky, he didn’t get paid.

Generally, he got run out of town. Stoned. Spat on. Cursed.

Geralt knew what lay ahead. It wouldn’t matter that he had saved some of the children. Wouldn’t matter that the beast was dead. Only pain lay ahead. Pain on top of the knowledge that he had failed. Disrespect on top of the memories of those little bodies and whatever had been done to them.

And Jaskier hadn’t a clue what to say. What was there to say. That it wouldn’t happen like that? Surely they couldn’t blame him when he had been the only one brave another or skilled enough to try? No villager would have done better and Jaskier didn’t think any other witcher would have had any more luck either. But that wouldn’t matter to Geralt. Any explanation, any pardon would wilt in the man’s hand, fall away to dust.

Respect for a witcher tended to go hand in hand with their successes, and it would appear that rule had bled into Geralt’s bones like marinade into meat, stewing and soaking until the man’s own self-respect obeyed the same principle.

Jaskier worked his jaw, searching for words, but nothing came. His years of education, his grasp of language, his every beautiful string of words – all of it felt stale and worthless before the witcher’s grief. Children were dead.

Jaskier held Geralt closer, buried his nose into the witcher’s hair, and hummed deep in his chest where the witcher might feel it against the splay of his hands and the tight curl of his body. The grief was Geralt’s to hold, who was he to belittle or speak it away? All he could do was share it. Be present for it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Geralt’s hair. He felt the wolf let out a hushed breath against his throat, as though he had been holding it for some time. Geralt didn’t respond. He also didn’t pull away. He had been waiting for Jaskier to leave, the bard realized.

No one likes picking up after broken glass. Liable to get cut.

They stayed like that, together – the room silent, yet so full.

[LINE BREAK]

They dozed most of that morning. Jaskier let Geralt lead. After all, who better to navigate those waters than the man who had navigated them before. It was not his place to take it away, nor to numb it from the witcher’s mind. He did made himself present, and quickly realized that’s all Geralt ever wanted all along.

Eventually the witcher dressed. Jaskier thought they would go to the alderman next, but instead Geralt led them out of the village, back to the tree line. He never told the bard not to follow. In fact, he walked quite close to Jaskier all the while. It wasn’t until they returned to the edge of the forest – the bark scarred by Geralt’s outburst – that the witcher finally stopped, momentum faltered.

The bard looked from the woods to the witcher, confused, and asked, “Do you… not remember the way, or…?”

“I remember,” Geralt said, one hand on Jaskier’s chest just as he had done that morning – anchoring himself to the bard’s heartbeat. His gaze was firm if brittle, but he kept the bard’s gaze as he said, “You need to stay here.”

For the first time since Geralt had returned him, there in that inn bed, curled tight to his chest, Jaskier found that instinct to control rearing its head again. He had only just got the witcher back. The thought of losing him to that haze again made his gut clench violently. His eyes fell to the gloves that hid sterile white bandages, pain hidden beneath heavy armor and duty.

He could not stop himself from arguing.

“Oh no, Geralt, I’m not sending you back into there alone after last night, there’s no way,” he babbled, his own gaze turning a touch frantic at the thought, but Geralt just eased a hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck and squeezed – once – to get his attention.

“There are some things only a witcher should see, Jaskier.”

Ah. It was bad then. Messy.

It won’t be like caring for an Omega. You’ll be caring for a witcher.

The sound of Geralt punching the trees, splitting his knuckles, breaking his bones – all of it – echoed in Jaskier’s ears, running over him like a winter chill. But for a witcher, there were simply some things an Alpha couldn’t do… Some things they could not be protected from.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jaskier tried. His eyes drifted to the trees. To their long shafts and shifting branches and dappled shadows, all swaying so innocently, so invitingly. Those children had been lured in by much the same innocence. They had played in the wood, in those trees. Fetched berries for their mothers and kindling for their fathers. Somewhere, back behind those pleasant bows of grass and gentle curves of oak, there were bodies. Small, fragile little bodies. Jaskier shivered.

And Geralt wanted to go alone.

The Alpha in him bared its teeth and paced the cage of his self control, looking for any gap in the bars, any sign of warping or fatigue. Gods above, did he feel fatigued. But Geralt’s warning rang like a bell in his mind and realized, finally, the truth beneath Geralt’s bristling and snarling and feralness: most Alpha’s didn’t want to stick around with someone they could not protect, could not control. A witcher’s Alpha had to be a man willing to go against instinct. It was no easy ask. Obviously, Geralt had been left before.

No one wants to pick up after broken glass that they cannot protect, cannot prevent from breaking. Picking up finer and finer shards, all so sharp and piercing, cutting up their fingers until they could hold on no longer. Dangerous for everyone, Geralt had said.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Jaskier,” Geralt broached with surprising gentleness. With understanding. He was waiting for this to be too much. Braced for it. Expecting it.

Jaskier let his shoulders slump as he found himself at the crossroads Geralt had always known their relationship was leading to. Could Jaskier handle this – handle fighting his instinct to protect – knowing that there was no protecting a witcher?

I told you it wouldn’t be easy.

His career had not been easy. Leaving home and financial security and the royal safety net of his birth right had not been easy. Going against expectations and becoming a bard rather than head of household had not been easy. Loving Geralt had not been easy.

Difficulty was not synonymous for worth or regret.

The bard ran a hand through his hair, looking around, then finding a suitable stump he plopped down with bardly grace, crossed his legs, and said, “Nothing worth having ever is,” with a beatific smile.

The witcher stilled, eyes ever so slightly wide, and stared at him – stunned. Behind him, the trees swayed lovingly. Petals and leaves danced between them, carried on an unknown current. Drifting.

Geralt opened his mouth at that, then closed it – at a loss for words, not that he ever had been a man of many words at all. He looked out over the village, over the inevitable. He’d return to that village soon enough. He’d tell them of the fate of the children who hadn’t come home. And more than likely, he’d be run out of town – and Jaskier with him. Geralt was at a crossroads of his own: could he bear to let someone carry the burden of their scorn with him, knowing they deserved none of it?

Jaskier watched, waited – let Geralt lead.

After a long, searching moment, the witcher clenched his jaw and nodded before finally disappearing into the wood without him.

It took time to bury the dead. Time to make sure they were buried deep enough to be protected from ghouls or anything else that might dig them up for an easy snack. Time to transfer their little bodies from the scarred nook of woods infected with their fear and their death to somewhere deserving of little bodies to be put to rest. To honor their graves with rock markers and holy candles and incense to ward away any creature that might try to make an easy snack of them so early after their deaths. Time, and great care, and all the while Jaskier waited patiently because Geralt, in his own way, had promised to return if he promised to stay.

Petals danced. The woods whispered a hushed lullaby. And on the alter of Geralt’s table, he offered the only thing the witcher had ever asked for: in the face of every difficulty ahead, every non-conventional hurdle, every contradiction of instinct – Jaskier stayed.

Jaskier waited.

He stood only when a slim, broad shouldered figure appeared from the womb of the woods, solitary and wraith-like in that way wolves always seemed to appear when separate from their pack. He paused at the tree line, in that delicate state of existence between the wild and man; and seemed surprised to see Jaskier there. Surprised, Jaskier realized, but also relieved. Some unspoken tension seeped out from the man’s shoulders. Left him like a malicious spirit leaving cursed flesh, finally setting its victim free. His entire body language bespoke of a man finally breaching the surface of some vast, unknown lake.

Jaskier wondered how long he had been drowning.

“You stayed,” Geralt grunted. Stunted and unaccustomed to being proven wrong.

“When have I ever been conventional, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, unable to hold back the volume of his smile, the light of it, the relief. “Of course I stayed. You came back.”

Geralt shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable.

“I did,” was all he managed. And that was enough. That was everything.

Jaskier broached the gap between them and laced his fingers in dirty, grave-soil stained hands; all too aware that beneath those gloves were the bandages Geralt had let him apply when the witcher had been weak, vulnerable and wanting. A symbol of the concessions that bound them. He could not protect Geralt as his armor did. Could not show his care publicly like any normal Alpha might. No one might ever know, may not ever see. But for that price, for that payment, he could have what mattered. He could have what the witcher was too scarred, too wary to offer anyone else.

Yes, he thought as they walked hand in hand back to the village – ready to face the people’s ire together. It was much better to love the man than the idea.

Geralt was real, more solid and more vast than any concept of intimacy or love that Jaskier had ever conceived of as a boy.

Geralt was real, and he was wanting. That was enough. That was everything.

#The Witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gaskier #omega!geralt #alpha!jaskier #Witcher Writing #Witcher Ask Box #idk wtf happened #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort (emotional) #no beta we die like men #ya'll someone needs to stop me lmao what have i done

[gh0stiegirlie]

Synopsis: You have been a pro-hero for the past three years, and a damn good one too (although, you don’t think so). When you and Ground Zero are assigned on a stakeout case together to capture a member of the Dark Akumu, which is currently Musutafu's most threatening Villain League, it changes the entire course of your career-- and your life.  

Length : 2.2k words

<- pt. 1                                                                                                  pt. 3 ->

You wake up. Go upstairs. You shower, do your morning skincare, brush your teeth. You go downstairs. Turn on the stove. Crack an egg, scramble the egg and eat the egg. The same as always.

 Except today, you have something special to look forward to. Something intriguing. Something exciting. Something new!

Your research on Ground Zero last night issued expected results; Bakugou is the same imprudent idiot he’s always been. In a way, it’s comforting, because you know what to expect. But how has he reached the list of top ten heroes with his hasty mannerisms? How will he climb up on that list, let alone remain on it? 

You spend the rest of your day checking out your fellow 3-A classmate’s careers. Unsurprisingly, Izuku is currently the number five hero with a heart of gold. Uraraka isn’t in the top ten, but she’s quickly rising to the top fifty. Considering she’s only twenty, that’s a feat. He and Uraraka finally admitted their feelings (you laugh at the image of how awkward it must have been for the two of them. They’ve never been the type to confront and thoroughly manage their emotions) and have been dating for two years, which is adorable. Todorki is approaching the top twenty, with Yaoyurozo, Kirishima, and Kaminari not far behind. Tsuyu is only within the top one hundred, which is discouraging; You know she holds more power than that. But being a hero at sea, she doesn’t receive much notoriety for her deeds. 

At 2:30 you’re on your way to the station, your stomach craving the promised spicy food. When you arrive, the station is flooded with civilians. As to not accidentally poison someone, you throw on a hoodie over your shirt and zip up a sweatshirt over that. You squeeze a pair of sweatpants over your leggings, pull up your hood, and walk into the building.

You move with the current of the crowd, though try avoiding contact with anyone by yelling "excuse me," and "sorry!" with every move you make. It’s a relief when you finally reach the conference room at 2:55, feeling comfortable enough to shimmy out of your sweatpants and take off your sweatshirt. 

 “Y/n! You sure found this place easily through that crowd,” Chief Sheriff Chie notes.

“I followed the scent of this sweet, spicy wasabi.” You eagerly grab a plate of sushi and promptly dip it into a small Wasabi bowl. After taking a satisfying bite, you look back up to Chie. “I’m surprised I made it through there and survived to tell the tale. Why is it so crowded?” You ask before shoving more sushi in your mouth.

“Did you not see the news last night?” she questions, and you shake your head. “Another Dark Akumu attack followed with multiple instances of robberies and looting all over the city.” Chie runs a hand through her thinning hair. Her undereye bags darken and her wrinkles grow more defined with every day that passes. “This is why we need your help, Ether. And Ground Zero--”

Chie is cut off by a crash of the door slamming open. You turn around, and there he is.

 Ground Zero. Katsuki Bakugou. 

A piece of fish slips out of your gawking mouth, though you quickly pick it up and shove it back in. Ground Zero completely disregards your presence, preferring to take the seat five chairs away from you that's closest to the food. He aggressively grabs a cup of donburi and sprinkles on shichimi togarashi, his biceps subtly flexing with every movement. He leans back into his chair, throws his feet up on the table and sighs dramatically.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can kick some supervillain ass,” he grumbles before shoving chopsticks of rice in his mouth. Both you and Chie gawk at Ground Zero before meeting eyes with a gulp. Then you take another bite of your sushi as Chie starts the presentation.

She finishes rehashing the information she discussed with both of you yesterday in about a half-hour, which is enough time for you and Ground Zero to devour your meals.

“Now, the goal is for you to capture Youkai. Don’t bother with the other criminal; The Dark Akumu is our top priority. We don’t know when the deal is going to take place, but we do know where.” She clicks her remote, and a picture of the infamously beautiful forest in your area appears; The forest where you and the rest of class 3-A experienced your second villain attack, back when you were class 1-A. “A clearing in the Beasts forest.” 

“You two will stakeout until the villains arrive. When you capture Youkai, call me and I’ll immediately alert the police force. Your time starts,” the Sheriff looks at the clock. 4:45. She stares at the two of you with a wide grin that’s hungry for justice. “Now.” 

Ground Zero immediately stomps out the door, leaving his mess for you to clean up. Once everything is thrown out and you’ve grabbed your sweatshirt and sweatpants, Chie pulls you to the side. 

“You’re an amazing hero, Y/n. And the two will make an amazing team. Don’t doubt yourself, and don’t let emotion cloud your judgment. You can do this.” 

When you catch up with Ground Zero he’s leaning against his expensive-ass car, twirling his keys around his pointer finger. Before you so much as open your mouth, he announces you’ll be taking his car. Though you don’t object, as it’s very spacious, making it more than suitable for a nightlong stakeout.

When you climb in shotgun you close the door as gently as you can, as to not piss off the walking bomb you're being forced in a car with for several hours. At the same time, Ground Zero shuts the door with a slam that rattles the entire car. He keeps the radio off but turns on the AC to create white noise. Although, the monotonous buzzing drives you insane. 

“Can we turn on the radio or something?!” You moan after only ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride. Ground Zero shakes his head. You groan and turn to face him.“Please! We have all night to silently bask in the AC, we can at least have some fun now.” He rolls his eyes and picks up his phone to start typing. 1“No texting and driving, Mr. hero.” You tease. He ignores you and passes you his phone with Spotify already open. 

“Fine. But my car, my music.” You could live with those terms. “Put on Together PANGEA.”

You type in his band selection and press play before putting the phone in a cup holder. You reluctantly lean deep into your car seat, getting comfortable without letting your guard down. 

You expect Ground Zero to be into headbanging, rave rockstar type shit. But surprisingly, you enjoy his indie punk selection. You smile and wiggle your shoulders a bit to the rhythm, and when the song ends, another by the same band follows. You giggle when you notice Ground Zero tapping his fingers against the car wheel to the beat. 

You rest your head on the window and gaze into the sunset. Maybe if you and Ground Zero weren’t so rigid and awkward, maybe if you were normal people (or possibly a normal couple), you would enjoy a sunset like this together. 

When you arrive at the forest, the car creeps between trees until it reaches a hidden area outside the clearing. At 5:15 Ground Zero brings his car to a halt and turns it off. Music, AC, and all. 

The two of you sit in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Ground Zero pushes his seat into a lying position and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, engrossed in his phone, while you stiffly remain in your seat beside him. This is the most intimate you have ever been with him. While six years ago you would’ve loved this and taken advantage of it, currently you’re fidgeting with the door handle and staring blankly at your phone. After a few more minutes of this, you decide to put your layers back on. You zip up your sweatshirt and slide on your sweatpants. Though with the AC off, you quickly grow hot. Ground Zero notices the perspiration dripping down your chiseled cheeks and looks at you for the first time in years. 

“You don’t have to keep all those layers on, you know. I can handle your quirk,” he comments, flicking his attention between you and his phone. 

You don’t look at him, instead choosing to focus on wrapping your sweatpants string around your finger. “I don’t want to take any risks. I’ve involuntarily hurt people before.” 

“I secret nitroglycerin sweat, Y/n. I can inhale some of your gas.” he retorts before he pauses. When he realizes what this really is about, he sets down his phone. “Plus, that nerd Deku’s forgiven you by now. And long forgotten about it.”

This is when you turn to Ground Zero in shock. He… remembers that?

“You were so wrapped up in wishing death upon everyone in the class I’m surprised you even remember that.” You admit. You mean for it to come off harsh, but a faint snicker escapes your lips. Ground Zero did spend a lot of time threatening to kill Deku and several other classmates. But he was just being dramatic. (Hopefully) 

He laughs menacingly, which you guess is the only way he knows how. Honestly, you’re not sure if he feels any other emotion other than passionate violence. “How could I forget? That all-powerful loser was stuck smooching with recovery girl for a week! I was mad I didn’t do that.”

You gasp, pushing yourself to the edge of the car seat to distance yourself from him. “Why would you want to do that? He was in a coma!” You clear your throat after taking a deep breath. “I put my friend in a coma.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself to suppress a shutter from the memory. “Because I couldn’t control my quirk.”

“Oh, cut it with the emo crap,” he growls. “Your quirk is strong and he couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Because of my quirk, toxins are constantly leaking out of my body. For combat, I can concentrate the mass of the fumes into certain areas, but no matter what, they’re always oozing into the air. Everywhere.”  You stare at your hands, watching them steadily emit a nearly imperceptible gas. But you know it’s there; You know its harmful. You force your hands into fists, keeping the fumes entrapped in your clutches. “I have to protect others from myself. I’m toxic. I can’t hurt another innocent person.” You look up at Ground Zeroes' blurring body. Within seconds, all you can make out is the outline of his grenade gauntlets and signature spiky hair. That’s when you realize you’re tearing up. 

“Y/n--” he reaches out to you, but you slap his hand away. 

“It’s Ether, Ground Zero. Ether.” You snap, blinking away the tears before they dare spill from your eyes.

All of high school, he never so much as noticed you outside calling you an “extra”. And now he finally wants to address you by your name, like you’re friends. Like he ever treated you with an ounce of damn respect. 

No. He’ll call you by your hero name. So he’ll be forced him to refer to you as an equal. He’ll never call you Y/n. Not until he proves he won’t hurt you again; Which he won’t, because this is Bakugou you’re talking about. 

“What’s your problem, shitty breath?” he mocks. Even though that was just the cruel nickname he gave you in highschool, you blow into your hand and sniff in the air. Your breath smells fine.

“Who are you calling shitty breath, hothead?! It’s not even clever!” You bicker. “I’m a pro-hero now. We’re not at U.A anymore; You can’t call me shitty names and get away with it.” You squint your eyes at the ‘hero’ and cross your arms. “I won’t let you.” 

“Oh, you won’t?” A smirk spreads across his face, and you refuse to let him see how startled you are. Another perk of being a hero; You know when to put on a mask, and how to keep up that facade. “How do you plan on stopping me?” He places his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, maintaining relaxed, poised body language. “If I remember right, you were never able to beat me back at U.A. What makes you think you can now?” When he opens his eyes, fire dances within them. And that’s when you finally understand. Bakugou has learned to control his demeanor to appear composed and carefree. But on the inside, he’s the violently spirited fighter you’ve always known him to be. 

Embers that haven’t so much as sparked in a while ignite within you. You quirk an eyebrow.

“Are you challenging me, Bakugou?” You haven’t used his name in so long, and you love the way it feels on your lips.

Bakugou's smirk morphs into a shit-eating grin, but the determination in his eyes frightens you.He’s relentless, and he’ll fight until you drop if it means he wins. And you know its his unbreakable determination that will fuel him till the end. 

But you’re ambitious too. Your brain says you can’t beat him, but your heart encourages you to try. 

When Ground Zero gets out of the car, you follow. 

You won't let him treat you like shit without standing up for yourself.

Never again. 

#katsuki bakugou fanfiction #bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #mha #mha imagines #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou fic #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia fanfic #bakugou fanfiction #abkugou fanfic #katsuki bakugou fanfic #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou x reader #mha bakugou x reader