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wornoutmouse · 3 years

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Cow Endeavor

Don't ask no questions you don't want answered. Either way, i have no answers for you. I cried while writing this

Praise kink, male lactation (🙃 say something i dare you) farm au, y'all know i love my breeding kink.

You were a simple farm hand. Every morning you'd wake up, feed the animals, and water the crops. It was your job to make sure everything was in order and working properly. In the essence of things working properly, that meant you had to take care of the farm's prized cow, Enji.

You weren't sure how or when he got here, he had just always been there. What you do know was that his performance in producing milk was so great that he had become the pinnacle for your farm, a mascot even. A cow that could make milk without even needing to be bred.

So it's understandable the panic everyone went into when their prized cow stopped producing his prized milk. "I just don't understand, he just had a calf but there's not even milk for hj., we had to result to bottle feeding!"

You pat Keigo's back reassuringly, "It's going to be okay, have you ever considered that maybe he's just too old now?" Takami's face paled, "You're right, what if our poor Endeavor has run his course?!" He then grips the front of your overalls and gazes you with a look that pierces your soul.

"You have to fix this, if they find out he's no longer making milk, you know what they'll do to him!" You nodded, retirement for farm animals was never fun, they'd either try to force his glands to make milk with dangerous chemically induced hormones, or it would be off to the chopping block.

So now, standing in front of Enji's stall, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Though his primary caretaker, you had never seen Enji in person so this would be either overwhelming or underwhelming.

Opening the swinging doors, you stand amazed. It may be called a stall but it was nothing less than a renovated room. There was, of course, a wooden trough where his hay and water was, but there was also a nice bed for him and even a damn vanity with a 6ft tall mirror.

"Are you the butcher?" You jump and swivel your head around. There standing at a whopping 6,11, was the prized Enji.

His blue eyes were cold as they glared down at you, and if you hadn't seen his massive pecs, you would have confused him for a bull.

"Uh, no I'm not. I guess you could say I'm going to be your doctor today." Enji rolled his eyes and walked past you. He sits on his bed and for a moment, you saw a look of sadness etched in his scared face. A reminder of a past problem.

"Look I'd recommend you replace me with Touya, he can't do it as often but the quality in milk is just as good. I only ask that you allow little Shouto to sleep with him here, he gets terrible nightmares when he's alone."

You cursed your bleeding heart as you were two sentences from crying. Shouto was his most recent calf,, not even old enough to graze, yet he was far away from his mother where he should be, sucking and carefree.

"Well I hope it doesn't come to that, can you get comfortable?"

Enji lays on his back, sinking into the soft bed below him. You step out the stall and grab your bag of tools. You walk up to Enji and feel your face warm as he looks back at you. His face remained stoic as he watched your hands maneuver the bag clamps.

You let out a loud shriek as a warm hand envelopes your left breast. "If you were a cow, I'm sure you'd make excellent milk." You laugh awkwardly before breaking into a coughing fit as Enji releases you.

"Thanks, could you remove your top for me?" Enji sits up and does as you ask and you balk at how much bigger his chests were when released. "Mommy milkers." You whisper to yourself, catching Enji's attention. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" You put your stethoscope in your ears, and hold the circle piece to his chest, uttering small apologies when he hisses at the cool temperature. You do the normal required check up before moving to the current task at hand.

You start to put on your latex gloves but it's stopped by Enji shading his head. "I don't like the way they feel." So with your bare hands, you examine his chest.

First you massage the skin around his nipple to try to coax some milk out. With no luck, you decide to pay attention to the actual nipples balancing from prodding to pinching them. "Normally when things like this happen it means that something could be blocking the exit." Enji huffed, "Why won't you people accept that I'm just old?!"

You ignore him and continue. You feel around the swell of his breasts and push inwards with two fingers. At that, you faintly catch the sight of his pink buds being coated with clear shiny liquid. Enji's face warmed at the feeling of it dripping down the valley of his chest.

"See, what did I tell you!? It just needed a little coaxing!" You press and prod more trying to coax a consistently white spurt of milk but soon run dry. Enji's face was completely red and sweat had accumulated on his brow. He was internally thankful for the pants he requested as an embarrassingly large bulge was present just below the fabric.

"S-See all that was just a shadow of what I once was." You flick his nip and shake your head, promptly missing how his eyes gently rolled back at the feeling. "Calm down edge lord. I think you need a constant force, I'm going to go get Shouta and see if he can suck more out and hopefully shift whatever is blocking."

You stand up and give Enji a reassuring smile. Rising into a panic, Enji grabbed your forearm, "Don't bring him!" You pout your lips, "Well who do you want me to bring?"

Enji grits his teeth, he didn't want any of his calves to see him in such a state, but he knew this was an opportunity for him to stay at the farm a little while longer. Gently, you feel yourself being tugged.

You trip over yourself, slightly leaning over Enji which gave him the perfect opportunity to cradle the back of your head. He says nothing as he holds you closer, and it wasn't until you saw his flushed face, that you realised what he wanted.

"E-Enji, I don't think this is appropriate I-" Enji wastes no time before pressing his hardened nipple into your partially open mouth. Your protest is muffled as he pressed your face closer. His eyes closed tightly as your warm breath fans over his cool skin.

Soon you realise that you were not going to be let go anytime soon. You reposition yourself the best he would allow you before closing your eyes as well, and sucking gently. Enji lets out a sigh that reverberated down his body.

You let out a muffled exclamation as you feel a warm liquid

flow into your mouth. It was thicker than the clear liquid you saw before, bittersweet and addicting without any additives. It was easy to see how Enji had become the prized cow.

Enji's grip slackened when he felt you relax against him, but you barely noticed as you became enraptured in the taste of his milk. In a strange way, suckling from him felt almost intimate in a maternal way.

Despite your innocent feelings, Enji found himself becoming aroused at the sight of you enjoying him. In all his years of work, he had never seen someone, besides his calves, drink his product.

"D-Do you like it?" You hum around him and he had to clench his teeth so he wouldn't release any sounds. You find yourself getting pliant in his arms, becoming more focused on getting more of the psweet liquid.

You soothingly lave your tongue around his nipple and Enji can't help but let out a small moan. His dick was painfully hard in his cotton pants and there was only so much he could take.

You remove yourself from him with a wet pop, before applying a kiss to his swollen bud. Rather high off happy chemicals, you stand shakily to your feet. Enji had drool and small dribbles of milk spurting from the unattended side of his chest. "You were so good for me Enji. I'm sure this will get you up and running in no time!"

With that, you utter a quick "thank you" and walk away, missing the large splotch of cum leaking from the fabric crotch of Enji's pants.

🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄

It was 3 weeks before you saw Enji again. And you don't deny that you were avoiding him. What you did was beyond inappropriate and uncalled for. You should have pulled away and called for one of his calves.

But avoiding your job is just as easy as it sounds.

"Hey y/n, Enji thinks he's running dry again. Even though there seems to be nothing wrong when the machine mills him, I think you should go check and make sure." You stiffen and shovel a mouthful of lettuce into your mouth.

"If there's nothing wrong, I have no reason to go. Besides why can't you do it." Keigo looks at you with a raised eyebrow, "He requested you specifically." You feel your chest flutter with an unknown emotion and you quickly finish your lunch to avoid any conversation.

You enter Enji's stall the next day and watch silently as he immediately removes his shirt. Ever since your first meeting, his chests had doubled in size since the milk had finally been allowed to move freely. The sight of them excited you, and you couldn't help but feel conflicted.

You sit in a small chair next to Enji's bed and examine his swollen breasts. Even the slightest touch caused milk to spill forth and it became hard to ignore. "You're not really starting to dry up are you?"

Enji sighs before sitting up. "Ever since that day I couldn't get you out of my head." You tilted your head confused as Enji cups his breasts before trailing his large hands down his stomach to his crotch before gripping his obvious manhood.

"Enji this is going beyond inappropriate." The large man made a sound that was a cross between a desperate whine and a grunt similar to that of a bull. "Don't deny that you like it too, I saw the look on your face." You lowered your head unable to look at his eyes.

Thoughts mulled over in your head about what type of punishment you could receive from possibly contaminating merchandise. Would the milk be different? People have been sending letters about how much sweeter Enji's milk has gotten.

Ah, but the thought of Enji's sweet sustenance on your tongue made your mouth water. Enji hid a small smirk as he saw you finally make up your mind. He had missed you since your last encounter, he spent nights thinking of you as his tits swelled with milk.

You untie your work apron and toss it on the stool before straddling Enji's thick legs. In the back of your mind, the logistics of his height and weight made your shiver at the thought of his cock.

Enji brings you in for a kiss and the rather off putting taste of oats and spring grass floods your senses as your tongues intertwine. You use your hands to massage his breasts and feel your front become warm as you subsequently squeeze out some of his milk.

You place hurried kisses along his jaw as you make your way to the true treasure. The sweet taste of his milk overrides your morning meal and you are baffled by how different it was from last time.

Enji, no longer feeling shy, let out a groan as he holds your head close to him. His free hand pulls his leaking cock out and strokes it in time with your rough tongue as you press it against his sensitive bud.

"Harder my little flower." You sigh with contentment at the nickname and do as ordered. You feel Enji flex below you and you take pride in it.

You scoot your lower body closer to his groin and rock your hips against him. The feeling of your denim pants against his throbbing cock was almost too much yet too little.

"Please, let me be inside you." You raise your head to look at him and Enji almost coos at the milky dribble rolling out the corner of your mouth. You were such a small thing, needed to be fed, needed to be protected and most importantly, needed to be bred.

Dazed, you shimmy off your pants and underwear and grind your hips. "B-Be gentle okay?" You were trembling on top of him and it was absolutely adorable. "Of course my flower."

In the corridor Keigo was making his way towards Enji's stall. It had been beyond the recommended time for an examination so he was coming to see what was taking you so long.

As he comes upon the door, the sound of whining fills his ears. "Just a little bit longer, flower." His eyes widen and he takes four steps away from the stall door. "You sly fox y/n fraternizing with the produce." Keigo shakes his head in disapproval before shrugging with a small grin.

"None of my business."

The feeling of fullness was strange and uncomfortable. Enji was not long whatsoever, that was another characteristic that set him apart from the bulls. But he was thick to the point where you knew you'd have to work extra hard to accommodate him.

"You're doing so well for me flower." You rub your face against his bosom and resume drinking from him. The taste of his milk was therapeutic and before you knew it, he was thrusting fluidly inside of you.

The thickness of his shaft rubbed just right against your g-spot. The feeling of your soft lips alternating between each nipple, made Enji speed up his menstruations for he could no longer contain his pleasure.

He was sad that he couldn't bring you to completion as well but that can always be saved for next time. The feeling of his semen filling you felt just as amazing as the milk flooding your mouth and you clenched tightly around him.

🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄

"It's not funny Keigo!" "Really? I think it's hilarious." You groan as you cradle your slightly protruding belly. You should have seen it coming, and subconsciously, you weren't surprised to see two pink lines on the pregnancy test that you took 4 months ago.

Now at 7 months and obviously showing, Keigo took the opportunity to bring up the fact that he was there when your new child was consummated therefore reserved the right to be it's godfather.

Telling Enji the news went scarily smooth as the cow bastard only replied with, "Of course you are pregnant, I'm the sire." Followed by him asking to try your milk as well, so he could critique. All his calves, now yearlings, seemed to take the news just fine and only seemed excited to pick baby names.

"Look, all I'm saying is, don't come crying when little junior starts asking about the family business." You groan as the dirty blond man continues his jokes. A small content smile is present on your face.

#black y/n #blackreader #am igonna lost my black card for this?#mha endeavor #endeavor smut #kinktober #male lactation #cow aesthetic #cow anthro #enji thirst #enji todoroki #enji smut #mha enji #bnha endeavor

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

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i dunno if requests are still open but if they are, could i request this? if not, feel free to delete! but in case they are open here's the request: jean, beidou, and ganyu reacting to accidentally hurting their s/o? it could be anything from simple slap in the face while turning around or hurting them with their vision/weapon :]

Accidents

(ouchie -- having them accidentally hurt the reader T.T -- they didn’t mean too!)

Warning -> SFW, accidental injury (Character -> Reader)(face injury (Jean)), (meantions of cuts to face / arms (Ganyu)), (hit by rope (Beidou))

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Beidou, Jean, Ganyu

Beidou

She takes pride in keeping everyone on her crew safe, no matter the danger - on sea or land, she will fight and guard each person in her charge -- you are no exception and in fact, you are probably the one she fights the hardest for. The thought of seeing you hurt doesn’t sit well with her and, if she can control it, she’d never let it happen

How could she have known that she’d be the one to cause you discomfort -- that she’d end up allowing you to get hurt because she let something slip through her fingers … pride was a strong emotion, but guilt could send a pirate to the bottom of the ocean

The weather had made a sudden turn for the worst. Dark clouds rolled overhead as the crew furled the sales to protect them from the downpour that was bound to arrive any second now.

“Captain!” Beidou’s attention shifted to the crow's nest, her scout pointing violently toward a massive cumulus cloud in the distance. She knew it was bound to smash right them if they maintained this heading, so in an effort to avoid it, she ran toward the bow barking orders.

“Tack to starboard! Finnick,” She turned to point at the several crew waiting on the foredeck, “raise the spinnaker, now.” They quickly bustled to their jobs while she found herself at the head of the boat. Her arms crossed as she oversaw the work of her crew; great pride swelling in her chest to see how organized they were even without her voice like a well-oiled machine everyone did their part.

As the creaking boat turned, heading parallel now to the storm, Beidou hoped that it would stay on its heading so the Crux wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of its onslaught. It was now a waiting game, but if she knew anything about the ocean - it would be a win for her today.

Just then, a rope tying one of the many large sails snapped. Its reaction was like a domino effect and soon all hands were rushing to stop a potentially catastrophic outcome. Leaping over the railing, she landed hard onto the deck below, her feet finding solid ground long enough for her to push forward and, before the other crew had a chance to react, she was already climbing the mainmast as if it were a simple tree. It took her no time at all to reach the issue but the strong winds continued to whip around the ropes below her and by the time she managed to capture them - her eyes fell onto your frame.

In terrible slow motion, she watched as you reached for the rope only to have it collide into your chest and knock you back into another crew member. Her heart sank, her arms burned, her determination steadfast as she made quick work of the problem before dropping back down to you.

“Are you alright?” Someone called, their hands reaching to you as if to offer some assistance but Beidou knocked them away. Orders were told, tasks were assigned, and before you could object, she carried you into her quarters.

When the door closed and she sat you on her bed, you could already tell how upset she was. “Beidou -- it was an accident, I didn’t have good footing and …” She uncrossed your arms, you didn’t even realize that you were holding onto your chest. Carefully peeling back your tunic, she noticed the welt that was starting to grow in the area below your collarbone. With a huff, she walked away before returning with a cloth. “You’re being silly, it’s not that ba-AD!” You shouted, the cold material shocking you as it came into contact with your burning injury.

“This could have been much worse. You’re lucky it only bruised the surface.” Sitting next to you, she rested her knee near your lower back, and the warmth of her leg as she moved close to you somehow offset the ice on your chest.

“I’m just upset I didn’t grab it, it was right there and then … ah - that’s sore.” She tested your shoulder, pushing against it with her palm and shaking her head at the notion that you were going to have a painful recovery.

“You are a member of this crew and I have sworn an oath to protect you, but …” Her head dropped and she found it hard to continue. 'How could I let this happen' was written all over her expression.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. You’re an excellent captain.”

“A captain keeps her ship on course, its belly full, and its crew happy. How can I do that when my happiness is your wellbeing?” Her fingers ran over your ear, slipping in between the locks of your hair as if to show you how much she cherished you. Carefully, she leaned toward you, her lips connecting softly onto your shoulder as they trailed a path to your injury and even in the numbness of it you were still able to feel the heat from her love. “If you are ever out of your depth, allow me to be your lifeline.”

“Of course, as long as you trust me to know when I'm there.”

“Within reason.” As the boat rocked on the sea and the sky rumbled far into the distance, you captured the steady heart of the captain.

Jean

Jean would never intentionally harm you, the thought of putting someone innocent in danger makes her sick - as the acting Grandmaster she has a sworn duty to protect everyone around her from those who would do them harm

So when she's the one who caused your injury, she's beside herself with regret

She stood in her office, her back to the door as she let her mind wander on all the things that needed to be done. It was never-ending, and while she was always fulfilled by the products of her work, she often pushed herself so far that her body and mind became clouded.

Today was one of those days. The work, planning, problem-solving was weighing on her. There is never enough time, she thought to herself as she rested her head in her hand and squeezed tighter around her rib cage. She was distracted, so exhausted that her ears felt blocked, her body swayed even though she knew she wasn't moving, and her head throbbed.

"Jean ..." What needed to be done first, she pinched her nose and through harder. "Jean?" She sighed and attempted to stop the voices in her head.

"Jean, hey?" A hand touched her arm and in her daze, she turned suddenly. Her hand was further from her face than she expected and with a solid smack, she hit something.

"Ah!" Your startled voice shook her back to understanding, your expression and hand now covering your face sent her heart in the pit of her stomach.

"Y/N? I'm so sorry ..." She rested her hand on your arm and shakily reached for your face, her fingers tenderly touching the ones that hid you from her pained eyes. "I didn't -- are you badly hurt?"

"Ouch, you got me really good." You explained, scrunching and circling your nose but allowing her to take your hand.

"My mind was elsewhere, I am ... I'm sorry." She ran her hands over your face, the warm feeling of wind slipping from her fingers and soon your expression eased.

"Thanks, It was an accident, don't worry."

"An accident like this should have never occurred, it is unbecoming of me to allow myself to falter." She stepped away from you, afraid that any prolonged contact would make it worse.

"Jean, you're allowed to make mistakes, and look - I'm fine, see." You grinned proudly but she couldn't let it go.

"I need to make amends."

"Mmm, well then, I have an idea."

"What is it?" She looked at you hopeful, her eyes watching you as you stepped closer.

"I'll take a kiss as an apology." You tapped the side of your cheek and presented it to her.

With hesitating hands, she rested her fingers on the other side of your cheek and let her lips touch the skin she hurt, "I will be more observant in the future."

You turned your head, your face so close you could feel her breath, "I don't see how that's possible, but if it means I get to have more of your attention, I'll be okay with that."

You kissed her and wondered if she was able to heal through her lips.

Ganyu

The absolute sweetest soul in all of Teyvat. She cares deeply for all things, works hard to get the job done, and is dedicated in her actions - it's one reason why her contract with Rex Lapis was drafted; she is the epitome of ____

She would never maliciously hurt those around her and often puts herself in harm's way to keep others safe

To her, causing harm to someone she adores, loves, cherishes would be as severe as breaking her contract

The two of you ran through the field, your legs burning as you dashed across the landscape and away from your persistent pursuers.

"Ganyu! Up ahead!" You shouted, pointing to the higher ground and dashing in that direction. She followed, keeping an eye out on the enemies behind. To buy some time, she laid down her tantalizing cryo flower before picking up her pace to reach you.

"From here we can handle them more easily, just be ready." She nodded her head and pulled back her bow, ready to strike.

The fight was far more doable in this arena, each enemy falling one after another as the two of you fought in perfect sync. Charging her shot, she saw the ideal opportunity to hit multiple targets at once, but as soon as her arrow flew so did you.

"Y/N!" She shouted but you were too far away and, as soon as you reached them, prepping your sword for a swing, the arrow exploded hitting everything in its path. You yelled, sliding on the ground only to slam hard into the dusty surface. In an instant, everything that Ganyu was, and wasn't, aiming for fell.

Rushing forward, she reached you and quickly assessed your condition. Her hands hovering, her eyes scanning only to find the damage she had caused. Several small cuts appeared on your face, your arms were equally damaged and the despair that filled her was so great she prostrated herself before you. Her head resting on your hips as she bowed deeply.

"Ga-Ganyu? What are you doing?" You asked, setting your sword to the side as you looked down at her.

"I hurt you, please forgive me." You tried to pull her up but she shook her head and dug in deeper into her display.

"It was an accident, I wasn't looking and that was a good shot. I'm not hurt."

"You are!" She shot up, her eyes looking at the marks that she had created on your skin. "It was my fault that you have -- if-if they leave a scar ... I ..." She shook her head, unable to finish her thought.

"Ganyu ... they won't leave a scar, and even if they did, don't you think I'd look super cool?" You smiled but she hated it.

"It's not acceptable ... if you'd like to d-dismantle our contract, I understa-"

You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing tightly as you spoke. "I don't want that, I'd never want that. I need you, please don't ever think I'd be okay if you weren't at my side." After a moment, she returned the gesture and you felt the pressure of her nose dig into your neck. When she finally pulled away, you let your hands slide down her arms and rest into her delicate hands.

"I'll just have to practice harder." She nodded fiercely as she helped you stand up.

"If you insist." You laughed, thinking to yourself when she would ever find the time to do that.

tag list:

@clemmywrites @sufzku @plenilunegazes @lucacandy @marianadibenea @nonniechan @jaemjenjam @softlybeloved @excitedlysuffering

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact ganyu #ganyu #ganyu x reader #jean #genshin jean #jean x reader #beidou #genshin beidou #beidou x reader

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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

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Sparrow

Prince!Satoru Gojo x assassin!reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, suggestive themes, dubious themes, blood

A/N: request numero dos is done! It’s kinda silly, but I think it’s pretty fun! I think it can be read as pretty lighthearted, even if it gets a little violent! it’s a little different that what was originally requested! I had the elements for a sword fight set up, but it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, so I took a slightly different route! theres still fighting though! I hope you like it!

It’s been a long journey to get where you are now, silently scaling the castle towers towards the prince’s bed chambers. An extra long journey, considering how many royal guards have been posted on top of kingdom rooftops. Like a shadow in the night, using nothing but the black elements to mask your presence, you’ve managed to slip by them, as well as the gatehouse soldiers, undetected, leaving only four men incapacitated, and not a vestige of your presence. All this sneaking around has been a trying job thus far, but it’s almost over now. You’re about to finish what you came to do.

Light as a feather, quiet as a dormouse, you swing your body up and over the limestone-clad palace window. The room is adorned with priceless artwork watched over by gilded ceiling paintings. Framing the biggest bed you’ve ever seen is a corona with royal blue drapery that hangs down to each corner. In the center of the bed lies the sleeping and wonderfully unaware prince.

His body is lopsided, and only partially covered by silk sheets. One of his feet hangs off the bed. Tousled white hair sticks out in every direction while still managing to frame his admittedly attractive face. Long white eyelashes. Peaceful and full lips. He’s young, you think, although you’ve been aware. But seeing him in the flesh solidifies the thought: you are about to be the end of his short life.

However, this mission comes with little remorse. There have been rumors that the Royal Gojo Family has been dabbling in alchemy for over a century now. To you, there is nothing more disgusting than the use of the unnatural sciences. It’s ungodly. And even then, this kill shouldn’t matter much since you can call it what it is: a job. This is what you do. Do as your master commands, kill without question, leave no trace, get paid, repeat. It helps that there have been rumors specifically centered around your charge; rumors that Prince Satoru is a complete and utter womanizer.

Well, not for long.

The bed doesn’t shake the least bit as you climb on top of him. The prince sleeps soundlessly and doesn’t stir when you situate your thighs over his firm hips. Normally, you’d simply slit your target’s throat, quick and easy, but since there are those rumors about the use of alchemy, you need to work a little differently tonight. To kill an alchemist user, one will have to pierce them directly in the heart with a silver blade. You don’t particularly believe that the prince is a user; his focus has primarily been on balls and parties and other social events, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. So, your primed weapon of choice, a silverlined dagger, slides up your sleeve and into the palm of your hand. You grasp its hilt, then line it parallel to his heart, pull up, and plunge it in.

Rather, you would be plunging it in, if it hadn’t been for the swift-acting hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Drop it.” The low, sleep-crackled utterance sends shivers up your spine. Acting fast, you use your free hand to push on the hilt, your strength against his, but it doesn’t budge a centimeter, and instead, both of your wrists are captured by the prince. His grip tightens, squeezing you so harshly that you feel the tips of your fingers tingle, but you don’t relinquish your weapon.

Vibrant blue eyes blink up at you, narrowing into a scowl. You try pushing harder, ignoring the fact that his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, ignoring the fact that they are the prettiest eyes that have ever gazed at you, ignoring the fact that those pretty eyes are now trailing down your body. Your skin burns at the attention. You can’t let yourself believe that he’s checking you out in a life or death situation, but then you figure it’s in your head when he says, “if you wish to keep your wrists intact, you will drop. Your. Dagger.”

Surrendering is not an option. It’s either kill or be killed, because even when you choose to not kill, your termination will be absolute. You will be tried by the king with his son at his right side, then you will be hanged for your crimes. So with shaking hands, you attempt to exert more pressure, trying to keep your breath steady to not raise a commotion.

Surprisingly, the prince chuckles. “Has a little sparrow flown through my window to try to kill me?”

In one fell swoop, Satoru manages to flip you onto your back, his hands bringing your wrists down on the side of the bed, forcing you to drop the dagger to the floor. He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then his mouth turns up into a half-grin.

“A woman, no less.” He muses incredulously. Then his eyes dart back down your body, and by the way his grin widens, you’re sure he actually is checking you out. “Are you supposed to be some kind of peace offering?”

What an odd man. Although you've just made an attempt on his life, he’s smiling down at you like you’re some kind of acquaintance—no, friend.

“I mean…sending a beautiful woman to my bedchambers says a lot, wouldn’t you agree?” Prince Satoru asks after taking in your dumbfounded expression. “Not much for words?” He asks. “That’s okay, little sparrow. We don’t need to talk.”

You gasp when he begins to lean down, eyes trained on your lips. Without a second’s hesitation, your feet meet his bare chest, and with all of your might, you kick off, throwing him back a couple meters. You flip back onto the floor and attack him with throwing knives while you search for your dagger. If he is in fact an alchemist, your other weapons won’t do much damage, but could slow him down if you could manage to hit him.

“You’re strong,” Satoru gleefully appraises, dodging another one of your throwing knives, and catching the other. He throws it back at you, but you manage to duck behind the corona curtain at just the right time. “And fast.”

The dagger is under the bed. You grab it, gulp some air, then use the curtain as a distraction before charging at the prince, using the same swiping technique your master has taught you. Your blade cuts through the air with one swipe, and another. You’re barely missing him, and it’s frustrating because that goofy grin stays plastered to his dumb, pretty face!

In a moment’s notice, he grabs your outstretched arm, pushing down on a pressure point that has your limb lock up. “But you’re messy and unrefined,” he says as a hand slides up your arm. Now behind you, he places his free hand on your waist, moving you into a stance similar to what your master has shown you. “Don’t you fret, little sparrow. It’s nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

His breath is hot and fanning your ear. Your stomach knots when he squeezes your waist, and to your utter horror, his lips graze down to your neck, tongue sliding over your skin. “Mmm…sweet.”

“What! Are you—?!” Bouncing away from him, you cover your slick neck with one hand while the other continues to point the dagger outwards. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t look the least bit jaded!

He laughs. “Even your voice is cute!” In the dim light of the room, you can see pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks. “Won’t you speak more? Say my name, pretty please.”

“Prick,” you hiss, once again charging forward.

“Do you kiss your master with that mouth?” Satoru begins using his arms to block and redirect your attacks, until he’s twirling you around as if you’re dancing and not trying to kill him! You fume, hating the fact that the prince knows you have a master to begin with. “I should hope not. The only person I’d have you kiss is me!”

He dips you down low, your dagger somehow tucked between the junction of your arm, and very smoothly places his lips against yours. You’ve been kissed before, but never in such a way that made you feel like floating. Like gravity ceased to exist. Like you were falling into a black hole that you didn’t want to claw out of. Prince Satoru Gojo’s kiss is different. It’s light and it’s heavy. It’s heaven and it’s earth. It’s a blessing and a curse.

He hums into you, making the knot in your belly tighten. For a moment, you don’t struggle. Instead, your lips part, and you allow the prince to cup your face to pull you in deeper, tasting you, relishing you. You wind your fingers through the soft strands of his starry hair, and lose yourself in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, pulling away with an expression you can only call beguiled, his thumb moves along the bottom of your lip. Your mind is the fog that clouds the streets at night. It doesn’t mean anything to you when you kiss the tip of his thumb, but when that grin you hate so much comes back, your body erupts in blusterous rage.

Realizing what you just allowed to happen, you snap at his hand. He pulls it away just in time for you to reach for your weapon and slice it across his chest. You push him back, only allowing yourself a second to collect yourself before aiming the dagger at his heart. He catches your wrist before it makes contact.

“So passionate,” he says with a smile, but through gritted teeth. “I must admit, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my bedchambers in a very long time. You might even be spoiling all the fun that the future entails as well. And I don’t even know your name yet. How sad.”

Satoru throws you against the wall, pinning your dagger-wielding arm against one of his extravagant paintings. He nods towards your weapon. “Throw that away.”

“You scared, alchemist?” You bite back.

“I’m only afraid you might hurt yourself, little sparrow. Sharp objects are dangerous, you know. Wouldn't want to clip your wings.” He winks. “And you should be referring to me as your royal highness. I am a prince, afterall.”

“With the dark craft that you and the royal family use, you’re no higher than me.”

Satoru chuckles. “Won’t you please tell me your name? Or at least join me in bed before you insist that I need to be killed.”

“This is not on my insistence.” It’s a slip, but it’s a big one. You’d cover your mouth if your hands were free.

“So, who sent you?” The prince prompts. “It can’t be a scorned lover. Hmmm. The Fushiguro clan? Pshh. No. They’d do it in person.” He flashes his teeth, omniscience glowing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Master Suguru Getou?”

You suck in a breath and he reads it all too well.

“I already know,” he purrs, lips brushing against yours. “Your fighting style is very similar to his. I’m just surprised he sent somebody with so little experience. It certainly proves how much of a coward he is.”

Your blood boils. How dare he insult your master to your face! Satoru Gojo, the sleazy prince and a lowly alchemist. He is scum compared to Master Getou.

You ram your head into the prince’s. Pain shoots down your spine, but you ignore it and thrust your dagger forward. Satoru grabs your arm and pushes it down, and soon, you scream after hearing a tearing sound, and feel a very sharp stinging at your side. Sticky warm fluid seep through your fingers at your side. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s just enough to make you bleed.

“Oh no,” Prince Satoru says in earnest. “Oh, this was my mistake. Dear sparrow, that was a reflex of mine. I didn’t mean to—“

There’s a knock on the prince’s chamber doors, followed by someone’s low voice asking, “your highness, are you well? I heard screaming.”

Shit. This is it. You’re dead. Sure, the prince wants to play with you, but anyone else will have your head in a heartbeat if they see what you’re doing. You should say your prayers now and kiss the world goodbye. You’re sending a silent apology to Master Getou when Satoru lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

“Sir Nanami?” The prince calls while he throws the sheets over both you and him. He climbs on top, pressing his chest into yours. The side that’s injured seers with pain, so you let out a little whimper the moment you hear footsteps enter the room.

“Don’t tell me you have a woman in here,” the man groans. “You know the king has forbidden any partner of yours from walking through these palace doors until further notice.”

“She flew in through my window, actually,” Satoru slyly admits. “But she’s no ordinary woman. She’s very special to me.”

Both you and the knight scoff at the same time, though you hope he doesn’t hear you. If he can believe this charade, perhaps you can get on with your night. And once you kill the prince, there will be a knight who will think that his murder is nothing but a lover’s quarrel gone wrong.

“I see.”

You’re staring at Satoru’s chest, and you realize that his wound from earlier is nearly healed. If you had any doubts about the Gojo family using alchemy, they’re out the window now. You run a fine finger across the red line that contrasts against his ivory chest, feeling the smooth bump where you’d cut him. Will it scar? you think. Disappear completely?

The prince squirms and grabs your hand. “That tickles!” He exclaims, bringing your hand up to his mouth to pepper kisses all over it. Even though the attention burns the back of your neck, you let him, since it’ll only convince the knight that the two of you are in fact being intimate.

Finally, Satoru says, “did you need something, Sir Nanami, or are you ready to confess your voyeuristic sins?”

Sir Nanami sighs, but you hear him back up a few paces. “Then, nobody’s hurt, your highness?”

“No,” Satoru says dubiously, “however, if you could fetch the healing medicines, that would be appreciated. She’s a little feisty!”

You slap his chest and he yips playfully back at you. It would be good fun if the two of you weren’t enemies.

Once the knight leaves, you’re quick to slink out of the bed, albeit wobbly. Dots of blood line his sheets, the sight making you feel a bit dizzy, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up your weapon.

“You don’t tire, do you?” Satoru asks impishly. “As admirable as that is, I simply cannot allow you to try to kill me anymore! You’ll get more hurt!”

“You’re nothing but a dirty alchemist.” You weakly thrust the dagger forward, nearing the window.

“Well, and a dashing prince, but that’s besides the point.” Satoru steps forward and you step back, your legs hitting the window’s wall. “Your master is no better.”

You bare your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare say a word to me about my master!”

“Please, little sparrow, you’re injured. Step away from the window and let’s bandage you up.” He reaches a hand out, and you swipe through the air, splicing his palm. More blood falls to the floor. Unafflicted, Satoru says, “you can’t hurt me.”

“Then let me leave, so that when I return, I can hurt you!”

There’s a purse on his lips. A pensive pause. Then the prince raises both of his hands, one of which is already healed, in defeat.

“There’s a medicine man who lives south-east from the gatehouse,” he says. “His name is Kiyotaka Ijichi. He’ll be asleep by now, but he’s a bit of a pushover and a sucker for a lady in distress. If you wail a bit outside his house, he’ll come out to offer you aid.”

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” you spit as you begin climbing out the window. You half-expect him to push you then. It’s a wonderful opportunity, one that you would seize if you were in his position. But the prince just watches you begin your descent.

“Do try to not bleed on any of the garden flowers,” he calls.

You wordlessly growl back at him.

“Oh, and little sparrow! Should you return here tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next night, or even a week or a month from now, shall I prepare red or white wine for you?” Prince Satoru offers you a charming smile. “And would you like there to be a violinist present? Anything to set the mood?”

Once you’re on your feet, you glare up at the beaming prince. He’s far too confident, but you make a mental promise to ruin that confidence someday, somehow. You don’t answer him, like you’re sure he doesn’t expect, but you allow him to watch you disappear into the black from whence you came.

#jjk requests #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagine #jjk reader insert

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jingyismom · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men.

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock.

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze.

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes.

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right.

#my fic #mdzsnet #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed fanfic #imported from twitter and unedited #just thought i'd share here because the concept of lwj experiencing harassment during sunshot is...too real now that i've thought of it #idk this isn't a complete thing with a plot it's just #something that could have happened #easily i think #maybe some day i'll formalize this and use it for the lead up to yllz smut?

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oddaodd · 3 years

Note

Hi love your writing, I have read all of your fics !

Can I request a Tommy Shelby x Reader please ?

She has her own job, but her boss keeps trying to make a pass at her and she hides it from Tommy.

Can imagine he’s reaction when he finds out 😱 Thank you xx

· One Of These Days These Heels Are Gonna Stomp All Over You ·

Author’s note: Aww thank you so much, i feel so flattered! And thanks for requesting this, I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy it and have the loveliest of days! 😊❤️

Warnings: One loathsome man, harassment, violence and implications to smut.

Y/n visibly sighed as she saw her boss entering her classroom. Her boss, Milton was the priest who ran the school she worked at. Y/n wasn’t a religious person but she managed to get a teaching post at that very school thanks to her neighbor who allegedly was close friends with some of the directives of the school.

At first y/n was beyond happy to work there, she loved teaching and her students loved her. Everything was going dandy till she caught her boss’s eye who just couldn’t take no for an answer.

It started with flowers on her desk and then invitations to dinner and the opera and though y/n declined them all making it clear to Milton that she was taken, omitting the part by whom. She didn’t want to have to hide behind Tommy’s reputation to be left alone. But Milton never stopped his advances. Their nature however, changed.

What were flowers and gifts turned into cornering her in unoccupied spaces like her classroom after school hours and “accidentally” touching her when he walked near her. Why couldn’t arsehole Milton just respect her rejecting him and move on was beyond her.

Y/n started leaving her school early, never staying behind to grade papers in her classroom like she did when she had just begun working, but rather taking them with her to grade at home. She knew that if she told Tommy he would take care of the sleazy man, but she also knew Tommy had a lot on his plate, besides the boiling anger she started feeling towards Milton made her want to take care of it by herself.

Milton, however seemed to have caught up with her early departure of every day and came into her classroom as soon as the last kid left with a creepy smile across his face.

“Tell me, sweet bird. Is this the day you finally agree to regale me with your company to dinner?” He mellowed as he walked to her desk

It had come to a point where even the sound of his voice gave y/n nausea.

“I have stuff to do at home” she replied curtly as she packed her things, avoiding Milton’s gaze.

“Maybe I can lend you a hand” he said standing behind her and groping her bum.

Y/n jumped at the contact, the urge to throw up at the feeling and without thinking about it turned around and punched Milton in the face. She couldn’t help the smug smile tugging at her lips as Milton took his hand to his nose. Blood gushing out of if and onto his hand. For a second she thought he would finally leave her alone but he smiled a crooked smile and went to grab her wrists. Y/n was quick to stomp on his feet and escape his grasp before rushing to the door.

“If you walk out that door, consider yourself fired!” Shouted Milton after her.

“Then fire me you fucking swine!” Retaliated y/n slamming the door behind her.

Feeling like her heart was about to explode she began running to the Shelby company betting shop, knowing that Tommy would be there.

A knot started forming in her throat and she noticed her knuckles began turning a shade of purple when she slowed her pace and entered the building. Not wanting to attract too much attention she tried to steady her breathing, barely saying hello to Polly, Arthur and John before entering Tommy’s office without knocking.

“What did I tell you about knocking, Lizzie” began Tommy, but as his eyes fell on y/n’s anguished face he stood up and made his way towards her. “Love?”

Y/n fell into his embrace. The nauseating feeling of before invading her senses again as she processed what had just happened. she began sobbing ugly sobs as she began to feel guilty, blaming herself for Milton’s actions.

Tommy wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cry into his chest for a while and when her crying softened he prompted her to look up at him with his finger.

“What happened?”

Y/n took a breath “I just lost my job”

“Why?” Asked Tommy, concern evident in his eyes. He knew how much y/n loved her job.

Y/n told him everything about Milton’s disgusting advances and how she punched him and stomped on him. Tommy’s eyes filling with anger as her story progressed.

Carefully, Tommy took her hands In his to examine the bruises around her wrists and knuckles, his jaw clenching at the sight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked trying to keep the anger and deep hatred he felt for this Milton priest guy at bay.

“Because you have more important things to do” y/n said with a tiny sob avoiding Tommy’s eyes “I didn’t think it would go this far”

“Ey,” said Tommy softly grabbing her face “Nothing’s more important than you”

Y/n smiled a sad smile and pressed a trembling kiss to Tommy’s lips finally feeling at ease. Tommy followed along noticing the need in y/n’s action.

“I’m gonna pay Milton a visit” promised Tommy, merely parting from her. Danger evident in his voice. “I’m going to make that bastard regret ever touching you”

Y/n stared into his intense eyes and traced her finger along his jaw. Insidiously looking forward to Milton’s suffering and feeling hot at Tommy’s protectiveness.

“Nobody touches what’s mine” he whispered before claiming her lips possessively and guiding her back to his desk. Perching her up on his desk he began kissing her neck earning pretty moans from her lips as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

When they left Tommy’s office hand in hand, y/n felt much better. Tommy drove her home and told her he wouldn’t be long before driving off to find the scumbag.

That night was Milton’s last night on earth before his descent into a crooked hell.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@nyotamalfoy

@peakyxtommy

#peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders one shot #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby request #Thomas Shelby request #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby angst #peaky blinders request #peaky blinders x reader

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kimageddon · 3 years

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Star Wars Fics - Part 2

Wow I got a lot of love for that first part. I didn't even have a solid plan for it, it just sort of happened. But as requested, there is indeed a part 2 so here you go!

Tech x f!Reader

Part 1

The Reception

So far so good. The wedding ceremony was done and all you had to do was keep an eye out during the reception. You and the boys… all dolled up and looking for bad guys. Yep… that’s all it was. Just work. Just… work. You were handed a glass of bubbling clear liquid and from the first sip you knew there was alcohol in it. Now… on the job was not for drinking. But even as you tried to pretend, one sip became two. Became three… became half a glass… and then you had a second glass. It was just part of the act of course. No other reason. You took another sip.

“Might want to slow down on those, Feisty.” Echo muttered beside you, making you jump slightly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied as you cleared your throat. “If I didn’t have a sip occasionally people might get suspicious.”

“Occasional sip huh? Is that your fourth glass?” He smirked, scanning the guests carefully. Currently Hunter was by the bar, Crosshair had claimed a particularly comfortable spot of wall to lean on, Wrecker and Omega were walking around the outside perimeter… and Tech… you were painfully aware of the presence of the last member of your crew. He was behind you. You were thankful for that at least, that way you didn’t have to make more awkward eye contact.

“It’s only my second.” You huff in reply. “I’m… not a fan of weddings.” No need to explain everything, in all honesty the boys didn’t know much about you, your past, your choices.

“Could have fooled me.” Echo let out a deep chuckle, leaning a little closer. You slowly turned to look at him, your brow twitching slightly.

“And what do you mean by that?” You ask quietly.

“Oh I don't know… you just seemed a little distracted earlier…” You can feel him smirking without looking at him.

“You’re as bad as Hunter. There is nothing wrong with me, I am not distracted. Let’s just get this mission done and go home. Then I can drink as much as I want without you judging me.” You huff and Echo just laughs.

“If you say so, Feisty.” He pets your shoulder as he turns away. You bristle, you know Echo is looking out for you but… oh what does he know? Gathering as much grace as you can muster, you sweep past the dancefloor and out onto the balcony. Its growing late, and you are itching to head back to Ord Mantell, grab some Mantell Mix with Wrecker and Omega maybe, they’d allowed you to join them the last few times so you hoped they’d let you tag along again. You leant on the railing overlooking a wide garden, the place was stunning of course, but that didn’t mean the danger was gone. It was hard to feel battle ready in a dress like this, the entire back to the waist was transparent mesh, a line of buttons up your spine. A jewelled detail in the centre between your breasts and sweeping purple fabric trailed down to your toes. Your hair was curled and hung over one shoulder, a far cry from the usual updo you kept when you had to hide it under your helm. The sun was setting in the distance, and while you paid it little attention, the man now standing behind you was drinking in the way the golden light reflected off your hair.

“I--” He began but got nowhere before you turned. Your eyes widen suddenly. You’d recognised the voice even before you moved but instinct had taken hold. There was Tech, a few feet from you, looking ever so dashing in his suit and eyes that felt like they looked right through you.

“Oh… is-is there an update?” You stammer pathetically, you hadn’t been expecting to talk to him so soon. He blinked before seeming to snap back to attention.

“Erm… oh, yes.” He nodded and looked back to the comm device in his hand. He’d kept it in his coat this whole time, you guessed and came out to check without anyone noticing. “The signals have been rather steady through the evening, I am not picking up any disturbances along the outer perimeter.” He stepped over, now focused on the screen. Of course, there was no way that he wasn’t totally focused on the mission. As you ought to be as well. He had just been surprised you were out here. Your eyes were drawn to the screen as he pointed out the signal and a fluctuation he had been worried about, though it turned out to be a false alarm. You chuckled lightly and you saw him look up at you out of the corner of your eye.

“You always have everything under control, don’t you?” You murmur. How did he always seem so calm, so unaffected by everything? You tried to be like that, but your emotions slipped out too often.

“Not… everything.” He confessed. You looked up and instantly regretted it. You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten when looking at the screen and now Tech and his stunning eyes the colour of warm leather were right there. Inches away from your face.

“Wha-what do you mean?” You ask. Your eyes wander his face, he looks flushed, and his lip is trembling. Your concern grows and you stand up fully, stepping in front of him with a slight frown, both hands come up to cup his cheeks. “Tech, are you okay?” You ask, mostly concerned for him, you hadn’t seen him like this before.

“Of-of course-of course I am.” You leaned in closer, your eyes full of concern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Feisty…” Now he sounded out of breath.

“You know I would be terribly upset if something happened to you.” There was a slight pause as he raised his free hand to yours against his face, a little bashful smile on his lips as he avoided eye contact.

“And I, you.” He replied. Your heart ached. He was so sweet. Your eyes lingered on him, the way he nervously flicked his gaze over you, the way his lip twitched slightly as though trying to suppress a smile. His skin was warm and though he was still flushed, he didn’t seem like he was in any pain or anything. Maybe he’d had a sip of the wine too?

Before you knew what was happening, the gap between the two of you grew smaller, your lashes fluttered against his cheek as your eyes closed, and your lips pressed to his slowly, gently. A kiss full of admiration and affection. His hand gripped yours a little firmer and you felt your stomach tighten. Heat bloomed in the touch and it was like there was some music playing that only you could hear as his mouth moved against yours. You’d heard about fireworks when lovers kissed but you’d never felt it before… until now.

Suddenly a loud cheer from inside the ballroom startled the two of you apart. Apparently the wedding guests were partaking in another toast. Thats right. The wedding. The mission. You were meant to be paying attention. Not out here kissing one of your squadmates. Wait. Oh no. You kissed Tech. You kissed Tech! No no no! This was unprofessional! This was wrong! You weren’t supposed to do this with colleagues, it was dangerous to get involved. Not only that, Tech never asked for this, probably didn’t want this. He stood there with wide eyes, looking as horrified as you felt. All these thoughts slammed through your mind in a second before you tore yourself away.

“I’m sorry…!” You gasped, it was a weak apology. You felt a little dirty, there was no way he would have wanted that, not really. You just surprised him. No no no! This was not how things were supposed to happen!

A quick stop to the refresher to make sure you didn’t look dishevelled or out of place and you were back to work. You buried the awkward encounter and decided to pretend it never happened. This was going to be a long night.

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Just a quick question, dou you guys prefer 'reader' interactions or OC's? I am not used to writing in the second person, and I am more used to chreating a character and the backstory etc. I can easily write it as 'she' and 'her' and give her an appearance etc. Anyway let me know your thoughts on that.

If you want more or want to be tagged in this series or my other works, lmk in comments.

Tag list: @eyecandyeoz @fallenrepublick @ashotofspotchka @sunipostsstuff @shuttlelauncher81 @1fineslytherin @cosmicsierra

#tbb fanfiction #tech x reader #tech x you #tbb tech #tech fluff #tag a tech simp #i didn't see this coming #who are you crazy people liking my writing #omg #but i love you #seriously i am overwhelmed

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hypnomicimagines · 3 years

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For Honor [Samurai!Yamada Ichiro/Reader] - Chapter 6

The silence is painful.

You can’t help but feel used, the romance having burned up so shortly after you’d gotten what you wanted. You expected more from someone like him, from someone you thought you had known though it was probably your naivety speaking now. You shouldn’t have made assumptions about a man that you had hardly known a week and you shouldn’t have pushed him to do something he was clearly having doubts about, no matter how enthusiastic he seemed in the moment. You’re left alone in the back to ponder your thoughts, only getting a word out of Ichiro when he asks if you’re hungry or if you need to stop to stretch your legs.

You just want this trip over with.

The castle loomed in the distance and though your journey had taken a turn, you almost wished you were back in the woods again. The future that was practically decided for you was now within reach when it had felt thousands of miles away just this morning. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut but you swallowed back your worry and instead presented yourself as you knew you should, standing tall and proud as you approached the royal family of this region with your chin held high. Pleasantries are exchanged while Ichiro stood off to the side to allow you some room, your eyes meeting his for a split second before you both whipped your heads in another direction. Thankfully this little action isn’t caught as the Queen is far too happy to see you, pointing you towards a room where you could change before officially meeting the prince.

You’re attended to by the lady-in-waiting who thankfully doesn’t force conversation, wiping the dirt from skin and helping you into a dress perfectly suited for you. She gave you a few compliments in an attempt to brighten your mood and things felt almost normal again, like your priorities hadn’t taken a total turn while out in the wilderness with a wild samurai. You almost wished you could tell this stranger about your journey but it was too dangerous, Ichiro might be acting like a bastard now but you’d never do something to endanger him and his brothers. Before she left the room she said to take a few more moments for yourself, giving an understanding smile before she exited.

You’re thankful to finally be alone with your thoughts yet at the same time having others around distracted you from the pain of a one-sided love. You had a difficult time falling asleep the night before with how coldly Ichiro had treated you, and the fact he woke up the very next morning acting as though nothing had happened… It set you on edge. You had never met a man like him and you had been smitten so quickly perhaps you hadn’t gotten a full sense of the reality of his situation.

You knew as well as he did that there truly wasn’t a chance, no way for this to work in your favor.

You took another deep breath, hoping the prince wasn’t a total bastard and that your marriage to him would be merciful. When you finally had your wedding night with him would he be gentle? Would he know what to do? Would he guide his hands along your body with such precision you would think he was made for making love with you? It felt wrong to think of Ichiro when you were going out to meet your husband but you supposed this was just the beginning of the challenges you’d face as royalty, being bound by duty rather than getting to live a free life.

Ichiro stood off to the side as he watched you exit the room, his duty still wasn’t over until he saw you home safely and if anything happened here under his careful watch… He didn’t want to think of the repercussions. You looked so beautiful in your new gown but then again, he thought you’d looked beautiful in anything, even a potato sack though he’s sure you’d never consider fitting in one just so he could double-check. He bit his tongue to stop himself from addressing you, knowing it would seem too casual and that there were listening ears everywhere now. He gave a slight bow and then followed behind you as you were led to a more open room, where the prince was waiting with bated breath.

Well, Ichiro thought he should be but he was rather unimpressed by the overall demeanor of this so-called royalty. He didn’t graciously kiss your hand or have a sparkle in his eye when he first saw you, instead he approached like you were any other person off the street and greeted you almost normally. You wouldn’t think this was a meeting between two people soon to be betrothed and there was lingering confusion on your part as well, a careful glance back at Ichiro for reassurance that this was indeed an odd situation

“My prince it’s-“

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you. Just call me Samatoki if we’re gonna be doing this.” You’re even more confused, head tilted but you nodded; he was certainly unlike any other prince you met before, that was for sure. You’re fascinated by him almost immediately, wondering if this was just a test and they’d switched out the prince with some street urchin to test you. “I don’t like this at all. I want you to know that.”

“Uh, I’m… I’m sorry? Is there something I’ve done?”

“Get out.” You think he’s talking to you at first but he’s glaring at the guards at the entrance of the room, who looked rather wary but quickly ducked their heads and fled as Samatoki’s glare intensified. When his eyes trailed to Ichiro there was a moment of panic, suddenly feeling exposed and all too aware that you’d be completely at this man’s mercy should you be stuck alone with him. You gave Ichiro a pleading look and, despite the awkwardness between you, it was clear he still took his job seriously.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Ichiro’s voice is steady and calm, his arms crossed over his chest as he fixed the prince with a steady glare. “Anything you say to her can be said to me.”

“And what if I don’t want to fuckin’ talk to you?” Ichiro seemed taken aback by the curse, his wide eyes cluing you in that he hadn’t been aware of the prince’s unsavory personality. “Get lost, or I can have you thrown in the dungeons so you really can’t guard your sweet little princess.”

Ichiro seemed at a loss but you’d rather not have your only protection thrown somewhere unreachable, so you put your brave face on and address him yourself.

“Could you just…wait outside the door, please? I’ll scream if anything happens.” Ichiro wondered if that was really okay with you but he nodded, not willing to show you the same disrespect the prince had been. It was making his blood boil to think you’d be marrying someone so blatantly disrespectful but then again, he had violated you, stolen your virginity and that made him even guiltier of this crime.

“You think I’d give you a chance to do that?” Samatoki is smirking, and you rolled your eyes at the childish retort that was clearly meant just to get under Ichiro’s skin.

“As you can see the prince is nothing but a petulant child. I’ll be okay.”

Once you were alone, you felt the obligation to be proper slip away.

“What exactly is your problem?” You started off the conversation, cutting Samatoki off before he could get another word in. He regarded you with a raised eyebrow, allowing you to continue on. “I traveled for days in the most uncomfortable way possible to come here, to meet a prince who was worthy of marrying, and I’m met with a rude oaf who can’t even properly greet a lady? I’m not happy about this arrangement either but at least I know how to fake it!”

“You think I haven’t faked it my whole life? Think you’re the only one who’s ever struggled?” Samatoki shrugged his shoulders, turning away from you to look out a window that led to a garden area. You walked closer to see what he was staring at, noticing that the princess, his younger sister if you heard correctly, was outside with the same lady-in-waiting who had helped you get ready to meet him. You can’t tell which one of them he’s looking at but as soon as you open your mouth to ask Samatoki held his hand up.

“What is it?”

“Do you think you could fake being married to me for your entire life? Do you think that would make either one of us happy?” He’s regarding you with a serious expression. “Don’t bother answering now, I want you to really think about it. I’ve rebelled against my parents my entire life and don’t think I’ll stop now, but this is the last thing I want.”

“Are you one of those true romantics? The type that believes marriage should be between two people in love rather than arranged for the sake of money or territory?”

“And if I am?”

“I’d say you weren’t really the type.”

“That’s the thing then, isn’t it? You don’t know me.” Samatoki started to mess with his belt, a dagger safely harnessed to the side of his thigh. You were fascinated about why he would be carrying such a thing around but he seemed unwilling to answer your questions, at least for now, more focused on debating philosophical views that wouldn’t do either of you any good. “I’m willing to tell my parents it won’t work out.”

“You’ve hardly known me a day and you’ve already decided that?”

“It has nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re a fine…princess.” He’s staring longingly outside again, such a vulnerable expression you wonder if he realized he was even making it. It was clear he wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but confined by the walls of a castle, bound to a royal duty he hadn’t asked for.

You felt a kinship with the prince, even if it wasn’t the romantic spark that had been hoped for.

“Shouldn’t we at least… Attempt a connection? I have no problem denying this proposal as well but to keep our parents on good terms I feel as though we should… pretend to get along?”

“I’ll take the blame when this heads south, you won’t have to worry about that. You’ll just have to figure out a plan on how to deal with the suitor who gets thrown your way.” You hated the truth behind his words but knew the reality was the same for him; even if you both found someone you loved, if they didn’t hold the proper title there would be no point. You wouldn’t be able to be together.

“I think I like talking to you, at least.”

Samatoki seemed baffled by that statement, but the grin on his face told you that your honesty was appreciated.

“You’re not half bad, either. Could be snootier, I’ve met plenty of uptight women in my life… Have you ever handled a blade?”

“Yes, actually.” In a very controlled environment, but still.

“Interesting. Come then, show me your skills. If we’re going to pretend, we might as well have some fun with how we spend our time together.”

#Yamada Ichiro #Ichiro Yamada #Hypnosis Mic #Hypnosis Microphone #Hypnosis Mic Imagines #Hypnosis Microphone Imagines #Hypmic #Hypnosis Microphone x Reader #Hypnosis Mic x Reader #Yamada Ichiro x Reader #Scenario #AU

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princehrry-writings · 3 years

Text

Moon Over The Meadow

this is my very first harry fic!!! i want to write more for them so if you would be interested in that please let me know!!

word count: 3234

warnings: mentions of death, i don't think anything else though.

It was here that Y/n learned to live off the beaten path she had always known, in the midst of the forest green that was her lover's eyes.

Harry is the prince and Y/n is a peasant.

There wasn’t much to do in the light of day. Not a single shadow to hide in, every corner of the kingdom touched by a ray of sunshine. People would see them. See him. And that just wouldn’t do.

Harry couldn’t be seen by anyone, no. They would ask too many questions, alert the guards, something would go wrong. He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger. So they agreed. Tonight, when the moon peeks over the trees in the meadow, they will flee.

They will find their freedom.

Y/n had never been one to stray too far from the beaten path. Her mother would never allow her to. Is your life really worth something as silly as this, child? She would gripe, fingers bruising the plushy flesh of her upper arm. One could say she was beaten into submission, although her mother never did much in the physical realm or harming her. It was always a look, a tug, and her words. God her words cut deeper than any knife ever could, she was sure of it.

But then she met Harry. By some magical happenstance, one day tending to the gardenia bushes in the garden furthest away from the castle, she stumbled upon the prince. He rested on a bench with a journal laid upon his lap, tears lightly raining down his flushed skin, a soft frown etched across his pink lips. She quietly sat down next to him, with no intention of saying anything, just letting him know he wasn’t alone in his pain. Whatever kind it may be.

She had known of him her whole life, having worked in the palace with her mother since she was just a child, but hadn’t seen him in what felt like an eternity. She remembers afternoons drenched in a golden haze, running around these very grounds with the likes of him and whatever children were amongst the castle, until she was ripped away by her mother just the same as she always was when she strayed too far from the sidewalk. Somewhere deep in her mind, Y/n knew why her mother acted the way she did. Kept her locked away like she had done her whole life.

It was to protect her. The King could be very cruel to anything and anyone that stepped too far out of line. Her mother was terrified that one day her daughter's wild imagination and wanderlust tendencies would get her into the wrong situation at the wrong time, with the wrong people. All she wanted was to protect her precious Y/n. This was the only way she knew how.

Harry, as angelic as he had been as a child, she recalls, slowly slid closer to her, remembering the days they would sneak away and play together until his keeper would come yelling for him. Any and all communication had been hastily cut off with her as soon as his keeper realized where he was and what he was doing. Thankfully for both of the children, it was never discovered who he was with. But nonetheless, Harry was kept under tight lock and key. His keeper would lose her head if the king found out that his son was galavanting around his castle with the help.

But on this day, in the garden amongst the Gardenias, their souls re-intertwined themselves as if they were still those young little kids, playing damsel in distress in the warm afternoon sunlight, as if they had lost no time at all. The only difference now being that they talked instead of played, kissed instead of screamed, and fell into a real love instead of one carelessly crafted from a children's game.

This went on for weeks, months it seemed. Meeting under the disguise of Y/n working in the farthest garden and Harry wandering off to a quiet corner for his studies. It was here, cushioned by soft grass under their bare bodies, that Y/n learned to live off the beaten path she had always known, in the midst of the forest green that was her lover's eyes.

“Petal, we can't stay here,” He sighed one summer afternoon. A mimicked sigh fell from his Love’s lips. She knew they couldn’t. This thought had plagued her mind, keeping her from sleep most nights. In their world, the prince doesn’t get to fall in love with the peasant girl and live happily ever after. A fairytale ending had never been an option on the table.

The only way they’d get to be happy was if they fled the only life they had ever known.

“I know, H. What are we to do though? Where do we go?” It was hard to imagine being anywhere but the castle grounds. But she knew that no matter where she went, as long as Harry was with her, she would be safe.

“We can find a clearing, far away from here, deep in the woods. Somewhere they won’t ever look, and I can build us a cottage, and we can have a garden just like this one. We won’t have to worry about doing the wrong thing in the King’s eyes, or saying the wrong words. We won’t have to hide ourselves.” He said, a dreamy glaze over his eyes.

“You’ll build us a cottage? How? We won’t have anything Harry!” The girl exclaimed. Sure, she knew they had to leave, that they couldn’t stay. But the reality that they truly had nowhere to go was setting in like a thick heavy fog, distracting her from anything else.

“M’love, look at this,” He whispered, taking her hand in his. His free hand came up in front of him, palm out, facing the grass below them. A flower sprouted right before their eyes, out of nowhere. Y/n gasped. Harry had never told anyone this secret. Nobody but his mother knew, and she had passed away three years prior during childbirth complications. Now the only person that knew of his secret was his Love.

It wasn’t a surprise that the Queen had never told the King of her affliction. He would have lost his head, and in turn- she would have lost hers. So she kept it from him, and when her only child began to show the signs that he too possessed such essence, she knew she had to protect him from the likes of his father. She never loved that man, she only ever wished for him to suddenly fall ill so as to free her and her son from his fury, but alas it has been her that faced such a fate.

Harry knew what he would face if anyone other than his Love were to know. It was why he hadn’t told her until now.

“This is how I’ll build our home. You’ll not want for anything, m’love. Whatever it is you desire, just tell me and I’ll make it so,” He had dreamed since he was a child to be able to spoil the girl sitting next to him. Y/n’s effervescent eyes grew wide. She felt a new warmth spread through her at this discovery, now she knew for a fact that as long as she had him, she was safe. For he had just proved to her that he was more than capable.

“Why have you never told me? Did you thinkI would judge you?” Panic grew in the girl's chest. How could her lover think she would ever judge him.

“No, no, no Pet, I didn’t tell you for your own safety! My father is a very cruel man and he would stop at nothing to have my head if he knew about this. I couldn’t bear to live if he went after you because of me so I kept to myself.” Her eyes softened at this and the warmth grew even stronger. She truly did love this boy, he was the only one who’d ever looked at her and seen a person. Not just a peasant girl or a daughter whose only job is to cook and clean and tend to the garden. Harry saw much more for his Love. He saw greatness for her, and he would stop at nothing to give her just that.

So now here they are, standing at the edge of the trees, moon over the meadow, ready to leave behind the only thing they’d ever known. Harry could feel his Love’s pulse racing, he knew she was scared. She had assured him many times that it was only because she was afraid of what lay ahead, not because she didn’t want to go. They both knew that Harry wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The girl had left a letter to her mother on the pillow she used to rest her head upon. Part of her felt bad for leaving the woman behind, but she had no choice. Her mother wouldn't approve of this and she certainly wouldn’t come. She would scold her daughter for running away. Your problems don’t leave just because you do, child. You must face them or they will haunt you forever. Y/n felt she wasn’t running away from her problems though, because this was the only solution. There was no way to make the King accept their love. So they could either leave or dare to sit and watch what would become of their life. Harry would end up married off or dead, Y/n would, well- she’d be dead either way. She couldn’t breathe without Harry by her side.

In the shadow of the moonlight, Harry led them through the forest. The guards had been alerted that the prince was not in his chambers so they didn’t have much time. They needed to move fast. He went where his intuition led him, moving obstacles out of the way with a small flick of his hand as they went. In the distance, he could hear the cries of men searching for him and the loud cracks of whips used to keep their horses moving.

His Love hummed a tune to distract herself from the loud noises and fear she felt heavy in her chest, Harry’s hand clutched in hers so he didn’t lose her. It was dark but they never stumbled and they never felt danger get too close. Y/n assumed Harry had something to do with that. Every so often they would pause and rest, Y/n’s head laid upon his chest, his back against a tree. His heartbeat kept her own steady as she matched her breathing to his. He had always been able to calm her down by just being near her. His presence was all she needed to feel at peace.

Harry laid his lips on the top of her head, his hand lightly stroking her hair.

“What will we do in the morning light when people can see us?” They had been traveling most of the night now, but she didn’t quite know how far they had made it. She just knew they had lost the guards. Their breaks didn’t last more than 5-10 minutes so as not to waste time, but they were traveling by foot so they couldn’t have made it too terribly far.

“We’re quite close m’love, so I assume we will be arriving just as the sun is ascending. I’ll have you rest while I place a protection barrier around the perimeter of the clearing and then I’ll get started on the cottage so you won’t need to worry about a thing.” He said, dusting his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Will people be able to see our home from outside the clearing?” She was worried about wandering strangers stumbling upon them and causing trouble. Harry beamed at the girl before him.

“I’ll make it so that people can’t find us Petal. We will be safe, I promise you.” This put his Love at ease and they got up to return to their journey when there was a rustling noise next to them. Y/n froze and slowly turned to see a bush being disturbed and clung to Harry in fear that something was about to jump and attack them. To her surprise, it was a small cat.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself little one?” Y/n sunk to her knees as the animal walked over. Harry’s heart almost burst right out of his chest at the precious sight in front of him. His Love had always had a soft spot for animals. When they were little she used to pretend she could talk to them and understand what they were saying. He used to think maybe she really could because, hey- he could make things appear out of nowhere- but it turns out she was just a very imaginative little girl. He loved her nonetheless so he would happily take care of animal communication if need be.

But just because his Love couldn’t understand what the animals were saying doesn’t mean she didn’t love to talk to them.

The little cat, who was small enough to warrant calling her a kitten, nuzzled right up the Y/n. She practically had hearts for eyes when looking at the little furball. She was a beautiful black kitten with starry blue eyes that could be seen even in the darkness, as they reflected the light of the moon.

“You are just the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” she beamed, “Harry we can’t just leave her!” He knew this was coming. He also knew she’d always wanted a cat of her own but the King was allergic, so cat’s were not allowed on castle grounds. That man would have killed her and the cat.

Harry never was able to resist the puppy dog eyes his Love was so good at giving him. Not that she had to do much begging to get him to do anything. He would do whatever she wanted, because when she was happy so was he.

“What should we name her?” He asked and a smile as bright as the sun and stars combined spread across her face. He would do anything to see that smile everyday.

“We can think of names on the way! Come little one, we’re your family now!” Y/n scooped the kitten into her arms as a motor-like pur erupted from her little chest. The kitten rolled over in her arms and nuzzled against her chest, falling asleep immediately. It was like a match made in the stars.

They kept walking, Harry still waving away obstacles to keep his Love from stumbling, and eventually they arrived at a clearing, surrounded by trees at the base of a mountain with a small river flowing through and flowers blooming all around. It was a place Y/n could have only mustered up in a dream, and now she was going to live there. It was more than she could have ever wished for.

Harry led her to a soft spot in the grass and she laid down. He could tell she was about to fall asleep on her feet. As soon as she laid her head down, she was out like a light with the kitten snuggled up to her. Harry cast his hand, warming the ground to keep them comfortable and got to work casting the protection charm. He made it so that people wouldn’t be able to see them or penetrate the barrier, but animals could roam freely.

As he worked the morning sun began to peak over the trees. The whistles of the flowing river served as calming background noise and the singing birds aided the ethereal glow that was cast all around the meadow that Harry and his Love now called home. He could see them living a long beautiful life there. One free of judgment and fear.

Harry hoped to raise a family here. He wanted to raise children who knew what it was like to have their fathers unconditional love, to see what it was like for a father to love a mother, something he hadn’t been privy to growing up.

Y/n woke up to Harry whistling a tune as he went about gathering little things like flowers and twigs. A small flower had been tucked into her hair, on top of her ear, she couldn’t help but smile. As she sat up, she stretched her body, letting out little groans of relief that alerted Harry his Love had awoken.

He strolled over to her and sat down, pulling the girl into his lap. His heart swelled as she buried her face into his neck, running her hand across his chest.

With a kiss to the top of her head, he whispered, “Good morning my sweet girl.”

“Good morning my love,” She sleepily replied, voice still raspy. She still felt tired but not enough to stay asleep and the sun was now too bright for her to rest peacefully.

“I’ve finished the perimeter, I’m going to work on the cottage now. Is there a particular way you’d like it to look?” He asked, stroking her hair lightly. She hummed in contentness before giving him an answer.

“Whatever you create, I will love. As long as there is a roof over our heads to keep us safe from the rain, I will be happy!” He felt her smile against his neck. Running his fingertips along her back, he sighed in adoration of the sleepy girl in his arms. If he could spend every day like this, he would be just fine.

“Alright Petal, can you grab my hand please and focus on taking deep breaths for me.” He asked her, holding his palm out. She took it without question and cleared her head of all thoughts. Harry’s other hand dug lightly into the ground beside him. Y/n felt a small buzzing where she was connected with the boy, and she opened her eyes to see his were closed. A dim golden glow surrounded their hands, surprising her.

Harry had never cast any spells that used this much energy so he knew that he would need the help of his Love. Y/n figured it would be best if she closed her eyes again so she did and waited for Harry to let her know when he was finished. It didn’t take but a few minutes for him to stroke her hair and ask her to look up. When she did, she saw a beautiful cottage. Long vines of Ivy twisted up the beautiful white brick walls, A wrap around covered porch with flower boxes sat atop the railing, and a bay window where Y/n could picture herself reading on sunny afternoons just like this one. It was perfect.

“Harry,” She gasped. This was more than she could have ever imagined. She absolutely loved it.

“Is it ok?” He asked tentatively.

“Love, it’s more than ok! It’s amazing, it’s perfect. Thank you thank you thank you!!!” She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face.

“I did good?” He smirked, rubbing her side before wrapping her tightly in his embrace.

“You did wonderful! I love it and I love you!” She gazed into his eyes before leaning up and pressing her lips to his in a kiss full of passion and gratitude.

Harry doesn’t think he could ever get tired of kissing his Love.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #prince!harry x reader #prince!harry styles #prince!harry #witch!harry #witch!harry styles #reader insert #harry #harry styles fanfic #cottage core #harry x reader #harry x you #y/n #one direction #harry styles imagine #motm series #motm

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chefdoeuvre · 3 years

Text

Under Control

Kelly Severide

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Sister!Reader

Description: Even when you think you have things under control older brothers always worm their way into helping.

Words: 1,595

Requested: yes by @ticklepete; Okay so can you do a Kelly x Sister where y/n is being seriously threatened by someone who she had a run-in with in the past (like an arsonist or former victim, etc) and of course Kelly's overprotective brother side kicks in. Her being the independent woman she is gets a little annoyed but ultimately is thankful. I feel like #46 and #12 would work with this.

Warnings: mention of minor injuries, blood, fluff as per usual.

A/N: I just love Kelly Severide and his overprotective ways. This can be counted as a stand alone or a part two for Rivalry. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

—

There they were again, flowers sent to the firehouse addressed to you. At first, you thought it was sweet how you had a secret admirer. Now after a month and a half of this you were starting to be fed up with it. Of course, you couldn't throw the flowers away they were too pretty for that, clearly, someone had spent a solid chunk of change to get them for you. Obviously, Kelly offered to tell Jay and get him to find out who they were coming from but being the stubborn Severide you are you declined.

The next shift came by in the blink of an eye and this time instead of a large bouquet of fresh flowers you were simply handed an envelope. The envelope didn't have a return address on it only the firehouse's and your name printed on it. You stuffed the envelope into your locker when the announcement system went off signaling a call. The call was a fairly normal rescue. Thankfully, there was a simple solution to saving the victim and it didn't take long to get them to safety.

After heading back to the firehouse you went back to your locker and pulled out the envelope that's been invading your thoughts since you got it. Ripping it open you unfolded the single piece of paper in it and let your eyes scan the words. Reading over them multiple times you felt a pit in your stomach. It was clear to see that they were threats aimed at you. This only confused you, if this wasn't some secret admirer who the hell was this? The words were generic threats you'd expect from a regular old crime show so that's not what scared you. It was the fact that they went through these lengths just to get your attention. Instead of doing what a rational person would do you stuffed the envelope back into your locker and tried to get your mind off of it.

Making your way out of the locker room you bumped face-first into a hard chest. Immediately two arms reached out and grabbed onto your shoulders to steady you. Looking up with wide eyes you're met with the familiar steel blue ones of your brother.

"Hey, you all right?" Kelly asked as he scanned your facial expression.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You nodded quickly.

You tried to sidestep away from him, but his strong arms kept you planted there. Given the fact that he's your brother, he knew you like the back of his hand and he knew what you were like when something was bothering you.

"No, you're not. Talk to me." Kelly urged as you all but looked him in the eyes.

Sighing you shoved his hands off your shoulder and turned on your heel assuring him that you were fine. In truth, you were far from fine but you'd deal with it your own way. Which was being majorly stubborn about it and completely ignoring the fact that you weren't okay. You made your way into the common room and took a seat in between Herrmann and Mouch who were watching an old movie.

Kelly, being the nosy brother he is took it upon himself to check out your locker. Granted he only knew your combination because it was your birthday and as your brother of course he knew you would use that as the passcode for your phone as well. Pulling open your locker the envelope fell out and he quickly pulled it open. Reading the words across the page he suddenly felt the urge to punch someone.

Soon enough, the announcement system went off signaling a call. Apparently, it was a large abandoned warehouse on fire which meant all of Firehouse 51's help was enlisted.

Pulling up to the scene Boden started giving out directions to each unit. Squad was taking the brunt of the work by checking the building along with some of Truck's help. You and Kelly were paired up to go the furthest into the building, biting back a joke about the sibling power duo the two of you were you headed into the burning building. Kelly stood close beside you with a clenched jaw, still angered by the threats aimed at you.

"We're clear on the West wing." Cruz's voice sounded from your walkies.

"Same on the East." Stella agreed.

"All good on the North wing. South?" Casey asked.

You and Kelly were still making your way through the building about to reply when you heard a shrill scream. Looking up in alarm, the two of you shared a glance before setting toward the sound.

Taking the lead you made your way weaving through the crates to where the sound came from. Another high-pitched sound shocked you into place before you started toward the louder noise again.

"I've been waiting for you." A deep, gravelly voice sounded from behind a large crate.

"We have to go, this place isn't gonna last long." Kelly chided looking between you and the wooden crate.

"That doesn't seem to be in my agenda, Lieutenant Severide." The deep voice tutted.

You and Kelly shared a look of confusion. How the hell did this guy know who he was?

"Oh, allow me to introduce myself." The man all but cackled as he stepped out from behind the crate.

In his hands was a familiar-looking bouquet of flowers. He had a devilish smirk planted on his face and dark eyes that made him look demonic.

"It's Charles, but you can call me Chuck." He greeted with a sickly sweet smile and looked dead at you.

Kelly immediately stood to step in front of you and practically growled at the man.

"Cool it, Kell." You shoved your brother aside with a roll of your eyes.

"All right, Charlie was it?" You crossed your arms nonchalantly, "take your flowers and leave or I promise you I'll let the hound at you." You gestured a hand toward your fuming brother.

Of course, you were naturally sassy, but in times of danger, your sass levels would go up by a hundred. Was this the smartest idea to agitate the guy who lit this place up? No, probably not, but your instincts decided otherwise. The man was rendered speechless, to say the least. He was expecting a sobbing woman not a lady who could even out sass Jay Halstead on a good day.

While the man was a blubbering mess Kelly took the initiative to call it into Boden because of course this had to all go down in a burning building. A few moments later you turned on your heel and began dragging Kelly with you.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kelly berated.

"I'd rather get the hell out of dodge before I turn into a crispy treat." You hissed pulling him toward the exit.

Chuck still stood there trying to mutter out a response when he bolted after the two of you. Pushing Kelly ahead of you, you turned around to see Chuck barreling toward you. Grabbing his wrist in a tight grip you all but dragged him out of the building. Just in time the three of you made it out of the building before a huge explosion erupting out of the ceiling.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught sight of the Severide sibling's favorite detective and pulled Chuck along with you.

"I think your package was sent to the wrong building." You shoved Chuck forward as Jay pulled the man's arms behind his back and cuffed him.

"Thanks, Y/N." Jay nodded with a smirk adorning his features.

"Anytime, detective." You flashed a quick smile before heading back to your fellow firefighters.

Letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding you ripped your helmet off and dropped it to the ground.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kelly placed his hands on your shoulders before pulling you into his arms.

"Oh, come on. That was totally badass." You chuckled.

Kelly stared at you bugged-eyed, tilting his head in confusion.

"Come here, you big teddy bear." You wrapped your arms around Kelly's waist, hugging him tightly.

Locking your hands behind him you pulled back hissing in pain.

"What? What's wrong?" Kelly scanned you for any injuries.

"Damn bouquet had thorns in it. I'm fine though." You scrunched your brows pulling at the thorns embedded in your palm.

"What do you mean you're 'fine'? You're bleeding!" Kelly exclaimed.

"Dude, they're just thorns." You dismissed.

Kelly pushed you toward Gabby and Sylvie wordlessly as you wiped the little bit of blood escaping your hand.

After getting all cleaned up and heading back to the firehouse you went to find Kelly who was hunched over his desk in his bunk room.

"Thank you." You spoke up leaning against the door frame.

Kelly snapped his head toward the sudden voice.

"What?" Kelly asked with a small smirk.

"I said it once, that's it." You crossed your arms with a pout.

Kelly raised his brows and you let out a defeated sigh, "thank you for being my protective brother, even if I don't need you to be." You stepped forward and placed your hands on his shoulders with a small smile.

"It's in the job description." Kelly reached his hand up to ruffle your hair.

"Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to touch my hair?" You laughed, pushing his hand away.

"You're gonna be the death of me, I swear." Kelly rolled his eyes playfully.

#request #fanfiction #imagine #one shot #one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago fire #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire imagine #kelly severide imagine #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide x you #kelly severide imagines #kelly severide fanfiction #kelly severide #lieutenant kelly severide

229 notes · View notes

m00nycore · 3 years

Text

𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙊𝙁 𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙐𝙋𝙄𝘿 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙏 ;; 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 .

𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙤𝙘 (𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨)

𝙏/𝙒 : 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚’𝙨 𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙨, 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣, 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝘼/𝙉 : 𝙞’𝙢 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙖 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧!! 𝙬𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙢𝙖 .. 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 :)) 𝙞 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩! 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨? 𝙩𝙗𝙝 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚. 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 <3

𝙏𝘼𝙂𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 : @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lord-byron @drxcomvlfx @neocityslut @gloryekaterina @sunles @cherrytomato2 @confuscita

Draco couldn't help but glare as he descended the stairs from the dormitories.

It was odd, even to him. He couldn't have cared less about Persephone's friendship with Blaise prior to the engagement, betrothal be damned. Now, however... Draco Malfoy was infuriated by the sight of his fiancée cozied up to Zabini.

"Darling," Draco purred, approaching the two, and surprising himself with how genuine it sounded, how soothing he sounded, in contrast to the rage he felt.

Persephone looked up, confusion written on her features for a sixteenth of a second. Her face quickly smoothed into a smile—seemingly genuine, but Draco knew better.

Again, he made a mental note to learn the secret to her happiness.

"Blaise," Draco greeted. The boy nodded in response.

His fiancée was small enough for him to fit in the chair with her. He rested a hand on her thigh and couldn't help but marvel at how his hand dwarfed her leg.

"Feeling better?" Persephone asked, a hint of concern coloring her tone. Another surprise.

"Much, thank you," he replied, managing a smile.

Blaise had his brow furrowed.

"You speak like business partners," he remarked.

Draco was aware of his quick temper—but awareness was not synonymous with control, no, never for Draco.

"You'd do well, Zabini," he seethed, removing his hand from her thigh. "To keep yourself out of our relationship."

"Draco," Persephone warned. "That was unnecessary."

"I won't allow him to speak ill of—"

"You aren't in charge of him."

"I'll leave you to it," Blaise was smirking as he rose from his seat, and Draco resisted the urge to draw his wand and jinx him.

Persephone sighed, closing her eyes.

"Could you not be so sour?" she wondered, annoyed by the display. "He's right, Draco. Every interaction we have is as if...," she paused and ran a hand through her curls, struggling to find the words. "It's as if we're being held at wand-point."

Draco was silent, mulling over her words. Anger, of course, was at the forefront of his mind... but she was right.

But he smirked.

"Your love poem in potions seemed rather genuine."

She exhaled, the slight curve of her lips betraying her amusement.

"I thought I did a decent job of dressing up your... odor."

"Odor?" He asked, offended, and ruining their first semblance of a lighthearted conversation. He sounded the way he used to, pompous, stupid, and the realization dampened his mood.

Frowning, as if she had sensed the flavor of his distaste in the air, she ghosted her hand over his arm.

"Sorry, I just—"

And without another word, he stood and made a move to exit the common room. He was tired, far too tired.

Draco Malfoy was too tired to pretend.

Every day that had passed since the first term began was as excruciating as the first.

Wren recognized that she had became the subject of scrutiny among her peers, and, honestly, she couldn't blame them. She would have been a fool to expect anything different. Between her sudden engagement and obvious personal deterioration, whispers and stares were the least of her worries.

But the unyielding gaze of Harry Potter was fueling her anxiety.

She wanted to tell him, to beg him, to stop, to let her focus on classwork and how to breathe. Green eyes followed her through classes, halls, and mealtimes. He observed her whereabouts, her tone, her gait... he was perceptive, it seemed, in matters related to Draco Malfoy.

Unfortunately, she had fallen under that category.

Wren assumed Draco was off plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore when he hadn't shown for breakfast. Truthfully, it was bothersome that he was refusing to involve her in any plans he may have. For him, it wasn't out of care. It was his pride.

Blaise had elected to eat in solitude that grey morning. She found herself relieved—her own company was all she wanted. It was hard enough to choke down porridge alone... but with watchful eyes, it neared the impossible. Her status as Malfoy-to-be worked in her favor during such times—an even wider berth was given to her than before.

Until Harry Potter appeared at her shoulder.

"Persephone," he greeted, awkwardly. "Er—how are you?"

It was in that moment, when Wren found herself at the verge of hyperventilating, that she realized she may have needed psychological help.

The stares the interaction had already attracted made her hands shake more violently than they had already been prone to. She gripped her napkin so tightly that she thought her bones would burst through her skin.

He saw you on the train. He knows. You heard his bone crush under Draco's sole. You're not innocent. He knows.

She wondered if admittance to Saint Mungo's following a nervous breakdown would exempt her from the mission.

Breath, she reminded herself. He can't hurt you. You're in control. Act the way you were taught—or you'll end up like mum.

In an instant, she had regained composure.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted, with a smile that might have been dazzling months ago. "I'm alright—ready for the weekend, of course. Yourself?"

He looked slightly confused, which almost reassured her—but she had hesitated a second too long. She knew he had caught it.

Breathe.

"Brilliant," he responded slightly too quickly. The word had tumbled from his mouth, indicating he had his script written and he didn't want to forget it.

"Um... was that all?" she wondered, mirroring his awkward disposition, and slightly cocking her head to the side. Good, play innocent, she praised herself. You can avoid this. Evade it.

"Well...," Harry scratched the back of his head, looking towards the Gryffindor table. She followed his eyes to the disapproving gaze of Hermione Granger, as well as the scrutiny of Ron Weasley.

"I was just wondering," he lowered his voice. "I was curious about your... relationship... with Malfoy."

"My engagement?" She continued to feign innocence. "What's there to be curious about?" She made a point to glance down at her engagement ring with a smile.

"You've never talked to Malfoy much before," his inflection was becoming bolder, challenging.

"Harry," she exhaled, still smiling. "Draco and I grew up together... I love him, and he loves me. It just... took us a while to realize, is all."

"I don't believe it," he whispered, harsh, an edge to his tone.

"I can't help you there, then," she returned, an edge forming in her own inflection. The stares from other students remained steady. She wondered what Blaise made of it, or if he cared enough to even pay attention. Her nerves had receded, shifting to irritation.

Harry searched her face, but she had molded her mask. She was impenetrable, unyielding.

"Persephone," his tone took on a different tone, one of... desperation. Pleading. "You were on the train. I know you know what's going on—please, just tell me. I-I can help you, alright? I know you're not like him."

Fortunately for Wren, she had settled into her part, and was damn good at playing it.

"Listen, Potter," she hissed, cold, dangerous. "You'd do well to leave behind your delusions about myself, my fiancé, and our relationship. Chosen One or not, you have no right to project your savior fantasies onto me. I don't need your help. I'll be sure your wedding invitation makes it to the cupboard under the stairs," she snarled, standing.

As she approached the exit to the Great Hall, she spotted Draco entering.

It was a snap decision, and she had never been so thankful for the unwanted attention the morning had provoked.

Taking in the tiredness, the irritation, the questioning written on his visage, Persephone Wren Bardick grabbed Draco Malfoy by the lapels of his suit and pressed her lips to his.

#with all of my stupid heart #harry potter #harry potter angst #harry potter fic #harry potter smut #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco x you #draco x reader #draco angst #draco x oc #draco fic #draco smut #draco malfoy #draco #malfoy #malfoy x reader #malfoy x y/n

47 notes · View notes

curioussubjects · 3 years

Text

“Probably think you’re overcompensating:” Perception, Masculinity & Queer!Dean

So I’ve been wanting to write about my particular take on Dean, queerness, and masculinity because all the time I see takes, and I get into discussions, and I keep having to repeat myself. Not exactly an issue except peddling takes via hyperlink is much easier. This post is a bit of a journey, as anything I write tends to be, but the central thread here is fairly straightforward: emotional vulnerability. Most of my understanding of Dean circles around issues of emotional vulnerability and perception, which is not wholly unconnected to my reading of Cas and happiness -- that is, allowing yourself to be open and vulnerable, and accepting your worth is crucial to accurate perceptions of reality.

In the beginning, we had John Winchester: after Mary died, John “was just a shell.” He became entirely closed off and focused on one thing, and one thing only: finding YED and killing monsters. John actively suppressed his grief over Mary by immersing himself in hunting, a new found mission meant to avenge and protect. The change in John is so marked that in our encounters with younger John lead to his own disgust at the parenting Dean describes, without knowing it’s himself he is censoring. Furthermore, in the Winchester motto being “saving people, hunting things, the family business,” we can see into what drove John in his mission: his guilt in not being able to save Mary, hunting as an outlet for that guilt, the imposition of that mission onto his sons. When Mary died, John’s entire philosophy and modeling of how to be Father and Husband (and Man, really) rested on his ability to be a sword and shield. A protector, unflappable, steady, focused. Someone who should always put the mission first, with little to no distractions.

Dean, as eldest son and the natural second in command, inherited John’s mission and philosophy. While John was away, Dean was in charge of protecting the family (Sam), and was expected to that steady, unflappable protector. Someone who was in control of their vulnerability and never open to weakness. If John’s mission was to avenge Mary, Dean’s mission was to look out for Sam. Anything that caused Dean to deviate from that was a failure. It meant that Dean failed as A Father (and Husband mirror, not that he was a spouse proxy, but that John projected his own image onto Dean). Crucially, when we see Dean “fail” in the mission of looking out for Sam, they're due to Dean doing something for himself, or even doing something for Sam -- hence how he ended up at Sonny's for shoplifting. because apparently theft is wrong if it's not credit cards scams, thanks John. And in looking out for Sam, we find the first fault line in Dean being able to uphold John’s maxim of being invulnerable because to protecting Sam also meant, to Dean, to shield him from John’s abuse and expectations, it meant that Sam was nurtured, as best Dean could manage. Beyond protecting Sam, however, Dean would also inherit John’s mission should he die in the line of duty. And so Dean did. He was tasked to kill the YED and even Sam if Sam became a threat. Anything that would make Dean deviate from that single minded mission was to be purged. Or shoved so far down that the mission would not be affected.

In short, the baseline of duty Dean was operating on was: look out for Sam, look out for the Family, obey orders from the Father, carry out the Mission, avenge mom, kill monsters (noble and good, sure, but still immersed in the revenge mission). Whatever tool you use to carry on another day is acceptable, so long as it is ephemeral and utilitarian. If you need to drink, fuck, etc, in order to keep going so be it, but whatever you do must never impact the mission. College, relationships, picket fences, and dogs, are distractions. They are things that would necessarily take you from The Life. They can only ever be the rewards for completing the Mission. Paradise, if you will.

Emotional vulnerability, then, that which allows the world to thing touch you that deeply is a distraction. You have to be a shell. You fight, but you also fight because the hunter life is not for others. All in the hopes that one day the mission will be done, and there’s an end of the tunnel with peace and a normal life, which is a lie. Not a lie because hunting is antithetical to happiness, but a lie because the mode of operation created and imposed by John makes it impossible for one to ever reach happiness. Happiness needs a way in.

But what’s all this have to do with Dean being queer? Well, this has everything to do with how Dean experiences his queerness. A lot of the time I see people thinking of Dean as someone who suppresses, or, even worse, represses his sexuality when neither of those things are true (someone suppresses or represses their queerness doesn’t go around loving queer film, gushing over crushes, and making queer cultural references). Personally, I don’t think Dean represses as his go to coping mechanism (though he does repress, sometimes, like how John wasn’t a good father, actually). Dean is much more likely to suppress his feelings and his trauma: those are his to handle, and his to stow so he can Get the Job Done. But if Dean ever suppressed his bisexuality, which at some point he might have, I’d argue had much more to do unnecessary risks, than something like self-hatred.

Nevertheless, the issue when it comes to queerness, then, wouldn’t be Dean fucking men or being attracted to multiple genders. It wouldn’t wholly be an issue with masculinity either because the Masculine Values™ the Winchesters operate under a very specific to their situation, as I described above. It’s less about manly posturing, and more about being the perfect soldier (and, eventually, commanding officer). However, queerness brings with it queer & homophobia. As such, one’s sexuality could be leveraged as a weakness. It's something that can be exploited, if one allows it to hurt them. It’s also something that could draw attention to oneself, which is a bit dangerous for a hunter. So, for me, if John ever knew about Dean being bi (and with his neglect, he very well might not), his main problem would be with it being unnecessarily dangerous. Taking these issues into account, it makes sense to me that Dean would be uneasy with being perceived as queer because of it being a tactical disadvantage rather than him having an actual problem with being queer. So when we see posturing and overcompensation, when we see Dean lean particularly hard on the more overtly macho sides of his personality, it’s a mask. Incidentally, if Dean ever found himself in queer spaces he wouldn’t be so uneasy to the point of having to lean into the overcompensating mask -- which, of course, is influenced by cultural heteronormativity and all that mess.

Ultimately, Dean wants to control how he is perceived because it gives him the upper hand. He had to learn to be a chameleon to survive, and he had to develop a thick skin because to show weakness is to fail the mission, and weakness means that you die, or, worse, the one you are meant to protect dies. It’s no wonder that Dean’s character development had little to do with him accepting his queerness (which canon, refreshingly, presents as just a fact of who he is, no fuss), but learning to be emotionally vulnerable. To let love and happiness in. To be who he is completely, without fear, without guilt, without shame, and without self-doubt. That letting himself be happy isn’t a sign of weakness or leading to failure, that it isn’t a gateway for hurt. And none of that, none of it, is about some internalized hatred of his own queerness. Finally, Dean’s freedom and lesson is that the true steadfastness is self-actualization, and really, to quote Cas:

I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #john winchester's a+ parenting #spn meta #my writing #polol #dean is bi

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years

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Flesh, Part 1

Excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

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And now we come to what you’ve all been waiting for, the meat of this book {Editing Note: Boooo}. The gory details, such as they are, of how we acquire our flesh. It’s a topic that’s captured the public imagination for a long time - we’ve all heard plenty of lurid stories and speculation all our lives. I frankly wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve skipped straight to this chapter to finally hear it straight from the monster’s mouth. I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. Understand, though - this topic is deadly serious, and more than almost any other subject I’ve covered, I’m aware of the danger inherent in revealing this. If the information I lay out here compromises these avenues of flesh, people will die for it. I will tell you as much as I can without risking that outcome.

{Editing Note: Everything after this needs strict review, and not just from me. Get as many eyes as possible on this before publishing.}

Nearly every ghoul has or will participate in the direct acquisition of flesh at some point. Finding food is an involved process, and not a particularly scaleable one. There are no factory farms for humans, nor should there be. Truly steady supplies of flesh are rare. Most of our methods involve gathering a small group of ghouls periodically, rather than just one or two of us working continuously. This, unfortunately, causes inconsistencies in supply more often than is comfortable. As such, we’ve had ample opportunity to figure out exactly how much flesh we need to survive.

For the average mature ghoul, 5 pounds of flesh per day is the ideal consumption rate. Very roughly, we should be eating one adult human body per month for peak health. Put that starkly, it’s a grim picture. Extrapolate from that, and that means each of us is eating 12 humans a year. Obviously, we don’t eat that much from the moment of birth. I remember starting to get hungry more often around age 15, and I can count on one hand the number of ghouls I’ve met over 50, so let’s call the 35 years between those two ages our lifespan. Over the course of our lives, we will each eat over 400 humans. When you look at it from that angle, one life against 400, it’s no wonder that you have, as a whole, decided that we need to die.

But that angle misses some important subtleties. For one, we can handle some remarkably flexible feeding patterns. We can subsist on much less than an ideal diet for a very long time without serious ill effects. For example, I follow a fairly common feeding pattern and only eat half-meals three weeks out of every four. The only ill effects I notice are increased exhaustion and soreness, usually beginning towards the end of the second week and gradually escalating until the fourth. We can also go for multiple days without eating before noticing any ill effects. Many ghouls have only one or two very large meals each week. I personally prefer to have smaller meals more consistently - it makes me feel more human - but it’s a pattern I’ve followed plenty of times when flesh is scarce.

The other main subtlety that the math I presented above misses is that, often, we do not have to kill for flesh. People die all the time from causes that have nothing to do with us, and rarely in ways that make their flesh inedible. We have hardy constitutions and strong stomachs - most diseases and toxic chemicals can be processed and rendered inert in our digestive tracts. There are nearly three million deaths every year in the U.S. alone, the vast majority of which have nothing to do with us. If we could utilize all of that flesh, we could comfortably feed 250,000 ghouls without harming a single person. Obviously that’s never going to happen, but I also doubt there are that many ghouls in the country, so… Suffice to say that there is, theoretically, more than enough ethically-sourced flesh to go around.

Utilizing that flesh, however, is a significant logistical challenge. People aren’t in the habit of donating their bodies for our dining pleasure, and people tend to take the security of their loved ones’ remains pretty seriously. Taking flesh by force, even when we’re not trying to part it from a living body, is difficult, dangerous, messy work, so we prefer to sidestep that wherever possible. This brings us nicely to the first of our three main strategies: farming.

Farming is, unfortunately, our least productive method, but it’s the one that I hope we’ll be able to rely on entirely, some nebulous day in the future. Farming is the practice of discreetly smuggling dead flesh, produced by natural causes, out of the facilities where it is held. This is the only method we use that is sustainable, in the sense that it requires one or two ghouls working constantly and delivering a steady supply, rather than the periodic group efforts I described earlier. This method is also unusual in that it depends on us being integrated in human society, integrated enough to have unsupervised access to dead flesh.

There are two primary sources that we farm. First, there are hospitals. Countless surgical procedures result in the separation of flesh from living humans. Sometimes this flesh is passed along for scientific analysis, but most of it ends up classified as medical waste sooner rather than later. As I’ve said, though, we can safely handle most of the factors that cause limbs to be amputated or organs to be removed. Once these have been marked for disposal, ghouls working at the hospital can usually hide away the flesh for later retrieval without anyone noticing its absence. Unfortunately, caution requires our farmers to take less than is truly salvageable, given how damning it is to be caught stealing flesh. They also avoid taking whole cadavers, which are much more closely observed while in the hospital, and are typically handed over to other people rather than fully disposed of. We also, as a general rule, are careful to avoid eating anything cancerous. Tumors are something of a taboo, only to be eaten in times of extreme famine. We are as vulnerable to cancer as humans are, and there is a strong fear that eating tumors may cause you to absorb some of the cancerous cells into your own body, where they will be free to grow again. I can’t speak to the truth of that, but it’s not a fate I’m interested in tempting.

Our other main farming source is funeral homes. Contrary to popular perception, and to government defence policies, we actually have very little interest in robbing graveyards. By the time bodies go in the ground, they’ve usually been rendered inedible by embalming practices. Given how robust our digestive tracts are, it’s my theory that embalming practices were, at some point in history, specifically designed to protect human bodies from us. Obviously not all bodies are properly embalmed, but there’s no way to tell that without digging one up, and digging up a grave is hard. It is far more beneficial for us to intercept the bodies before they get to that stage. Therefore, we find it very valuable to train as morticians. This allows us to take cuts of flesh before a body is embalmed. Over the years, we’ve figured out exactly how much flesh can be taken and from where without showing at an open casket funeral. For closed caskets, or for cremations, we can take nearly the entire body without detection.

{Editing Note: That’s going to be upsetting for anyone who’s ever buried a family member. I’m not sure how to address that gently. I don’t know how receptive most people would be to “it’s okay that we ate your grandma because it means we got to live long enough to eat other people’s grandmas”.}

Unfortunately, there are a limited number of jobs with access to farmable bodies, and as the number of ghouls in those positions increase, so does the chance of one of them being discovered. Some of you, I’m sure, have seen how paranoid everyone gets when one of us is outed among you. We can’t even come close to fully utilizing these outlets without risking a lot of us dying. My household is fortunate - three of our members are farmers, and we may be gaining a fourth, depending on what degree Scarlet actually settles on. But that supply of farmed flesh is not always enough to feed all of us, and it certainly isn’t enough for Yaga’s charity projects. So about once a month, we send out a group to engage in our second method - gathering.

As I said, there are a lot of deaths that have nothing to do with us. Gathering is our attempt to get ahold of some of those dead before other factors take care of them. Death is, unfortunately, unpredictable, so the best we can do is send people out at irregular intervals to scoop up what we can. A gathering party typically consists of at least half a dozen ghouls; the exact size depends on the amount of ground we want to cover, how many bodies we expect to be transporting, and how worried we are about getting into a violent confrontation. Ideally, no one gets hurt by our gathering parties, but no one is going to look too kindly on body snatching, and sometimes we just attract the wrong kind of attention. If we need an especially large group, or if we intend to cover a particularly large area, we might even reach out to other households for extra help in exchange for a share of our find.

A gathering run typically begins at night, in the poorer parts of the city. I’m sure gathering happens in rural areas, but I can’t speak to their methods. In the city, though, it’s the poor and the homeless and the addicts, the abandoned of human society that are most likely to die somewhere we can get to them. So we put on anonymizing clothing and start looking. Our most reliable leads come from homeless communities and drug sites. Sometimes it’s enough to just show up, make small talk, and look around for the dead or imminently dying. If it’s the latter, sometimes we just wait - keep them company while they wait for the end. Unfortunately for us, people don’t generally die all at once at predictable intervals; it’s not uncommon for us to find no bodies at all. Fortunately, there are some people who are desperate enough to sell us leads. Buying leads is a dangerous game - any person who knows us to be ghouls, even if we take pains to conceal our identities from them, is one more person who could bring the exterminators down on us - and the more effective the method of gathering leads is, the more dangerous it is. The safest thing is to find a stranger and offer them money for a lead, one time deal, and never contact them again. Regular contacts have more opportunities to expose us, whether for exterminator money, moral duty, or just by being careless, but if they know to expect us, they can amass leads, or sometimes even hold bodies for us to buy off them directly. I’ve heard that some households even have arrangements with organized crime to act as free, efficient body disposal.

Once we’ve thoroughly checked these areas, the next step is to check accident sites. Typically we’ll separate to stake out common suicide and accident sites. These aren’t particularly reliable either, but they turn up bodies often enough to be worth staking out once we’ve exhausted our more proactive options. Sometimes, on particularly slow gathering parties, we’ll break out a police scanner and listen for any incident reports likely to produce a body and see if we can get there before the cops. It’s a dangerous game, and often no more lucrative than our other approaches, but there is nothing more depressing or upsetting than coming back from gathering empty handed. Coming home empty handed means we need to take more drastic measures.

I’ve been on around a dozen gathering parties so far. Most of them went well enough, with minimal incident and moderate success. I’ve been on two where we had to chase police scanners. And I’ve been on one that came back empty-handed. That isn’t the only one my household has ever run that came back empty-handed, but it’s the one that stuck out most in my mind because it’s the one time I felt personally responsible for what happened next. When our regular gathering still doesn’t produce enough flesh, we have three options, none of them pleasant. We could all tighten our belts, ration our flesh carefully, and try to endure until we can make up our shortfall. There are a lot of factors that can make this approach unsafe, though. Starving isn’t any more pleasant for us than it is for humans, and it can make us less careful than is safe. Or sometimes someone is injured or sick and wouldn’t be able to handle stricter rationing. Our next option is to organize a gathering raid. There are plenty of hospitals and funeral homes that we can’t farm, for one reason or another, but sometimes we can steal from them. This is a high-risk endeavor, obviously. Anywhere that handles human remains is on the lookout for this kind of thing, and even if we get away clean, the raid will almost certainly make the news and bring exterminators sniffing around. That’s not even touching the fact that, just because we aren’t farming somewhere, that doesn’t mean someone else isn’t. The kind of scrutiny a raid draws can be a death sentence for any ghouls working at the raid target. So, most of the time, Yaga chooses to take our third option. She calls for a Hunt.

{Editing Note: I need to talk to Spatha before I write the rest of this. I need to convince her that I’ll just listen this time, and then I need to actually do that. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t want to reopen this wound between us. I don’t want to risk our friendship. Is this project really worth that? Do I seriously think it will make a difference?}

#my writing #memoirs of a flesh eater #original fiction #not tlt

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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Not Too Late

doing this thing | day 20 - hypothermia

I guess I’m just really into post-mountain reunion fics this week. I wish I had more time for this (I know I keep saying that, but I have like 10k worth of plot for this one).

Jaskier huddles in on himself, trying to remember what Geralt had taught him about keeping warm. All he can think of is Geralt's face and it only makes him more miserable, so he gives up on the attempt altogether. He's still so cold.

As a last resort, he pulls himself toward the edge of the cliff with the desperate hope that some of his own body heat might bounce back at him. It doesn't work and Jaskier is left shivering under his thin blanket, wishing he hadn't been quite so stubborn after they had parted ways on the mountain. If he had gone after Geralt like he wanted to, like he almost did dozens of times, he might not be here, on the brink of death frozen and alone.

He wonders vaguely what Geralt is up to these days, whether or not he'll miss Jaskier when he finds out about his death, wonders if he'll hear about it. He's probably off somewhere with Yen - nothing can ever keep them apart for long. He hopes he's happy. Geralt is the last thing he thinks about before he shuts his eyes against the world.

Geralt is hesitant as he enters the city, acutely aware of his surroundings, ears pricked to any sign of danger. He's fully aware that most of the people here probably hate him, but the offer for the contract had been too good to pass up. Things haven't been great lately - or maybe that's just him - but he hasn't been taking as many jobs as he should and the winter will be setting in soon, he needs provisions before he heads north.

He heads to the mayor's house because the notice was unsigned, but he's quickly turned away, sent in the direction of the academy. It feels like a trap and he's not enthusiastic about walking right into it. But he knows he was awful to Jaskier, knows that if this is a trap, he probably deserves whatever he has coming. He's not at all expecting what he gets.

The professor he's been sent to is a young woman close to Jaskier's age and she smiles at him when she sees him, but he can smell the nervousness on her.

"Master Witcher," she says, "I wasn't expecting you to be quite so prompt."

"Monsters don't just wait around to be killed," he says and she gives him an odd look. He's used to odd looks, especially when he mentions killing things, but this one is new. It's less nervous, more sheepish.

"Ah, well, about that. Actually, sir, there is no monster. It's just you see, our Jaskier's gone off somewhere and no one's seen him for days. It's getting cold and he never goes off without telling someone." Geralt stares blankly at her, waiting for her to get to the point and hoping it isn't what he thinks it is.

"You see," she continues, "we've all heard the stories about how you never turn down a man in need and how you're the best tracker there is and, well, who better to go and find Jaskier than his best friend?"

Ah, fuck.

But he's only been gone a couple of days. Surely, that isn't unusual? And if he's gone on purpose, surely the last person he wants to see coming to collect him is Geralt? How could he want anything to do with him after the things he said? Even Yen is still upset with him and he didn't blame her for everything wrong with his life.

Apparently, he's taking too long to respond because the professor shifts in place and looks up at him hopefully. And because Geralt is a hopeless fool, he agrees. Jaskier could be in trouble after all and Geralt will not be the source of any more hurt for him.

"Do you need something of his?" she asks and Geralt barely resists rolling his eyes.

"I'm not a dog." And besides, there's nothing in the world that could make him forget a scent when it's absence has been haunting him for months.

He sets out immediately, asking around for any information on where he would have gone and all of Jaskier's peers seem delighted to see him. He doesn't understand. It's confusing and overwhelming and Geralt is happier when he leaves the city gates and heads out into the wilderness. He keeps to the riverbank; a heavy snow fell only a few nights back so looking for tracks is useless, but Jaskier knows to keep to the edge of the Pontar. That's how they find one another every spring.

The thought eats away at him. This coming spring will be the first for years that he hasn't met up with Jaskier and it's an uncomfortable feeling not knowing what Jaskier will get up to, where he'll be. Whether or not he'll be safe.

It's hours before Geralt finds any sign of his missing bard and he's worked himself into a panic in the meantime. What if Jaskier's been taken? What if he's run off and gotten himself kidnapped - or worse? He can't keep his mind from reeling and when he finds signs of a failed campfire off toward the treeline, he stumbles in his rush to reach it.

It shows nothing, but there is a trail leading away from it, deep footprints made more shallow by the newly fallen snow. Geralt follows the path to a large, rotting stump and at its base- fuck.

Jaskier is huddled in on himself, his skin a haunting bluish-grey and Geralt drops to his knees in the snow. He tugs him close instinctively only now able to hear the sluggish thud of his heartbeat and a little of the fear eases away. He's still alive, at least, but Geralt needs to get him warm - and fast. He bundles Jaskier into his arms, relieved to find his limbs still moveable, and carries him to the first place he can find shelter.

Oxenfurt is much too far to travel with him like this, but Geralt is familiar enough with the area that he finds a shelf of rock without much trouble. He's loathe to leave Jaskier even for a second, but he needs to get a fire lit and there is little he can do with the few sticks lying around. He tucks him up against the back of the shelter, wrapping him in his cloak. For a second, Geralt pauses, pressing his forehead to Jaskier's and breathing a silent apology before tearing himself away.

It's hard to find usable wood under the snow, but he manages and clears a space in the snow to build a fire. It's rough, but igni will get anything lit, so he doesn't mind. Once it's burning, he turns back to Jaskier, cupping his face in one hand.

"Jask," he says, "are you with me?" There's no response and Geralt takes a steadying breath, his thumb rubbing absently over Jaskier's cheekbone. "Okay," he says to himself and gets to work.

The first thing he has to do is get Jaskier out of his clothes and while he knows it's necessary, it still feels like an intrusion. But his clothes are soaked from the snow and sitting in them will only make things worse. He gets Jaskier undressed and turns to lean against the wall himself, hauling Jaskier into his lap. Getting out of his own shirt is much more difficult, being unwilling to let Jaskier go for a moment, but it's necessary; skin to skin contact is the easiest way to warm someone.

He wraps both blankets around them and he holds Jaskier close, tucking his head under his chin and shutting his eyes. He focuses on every inch of the body pressed against his own, rubs his arms, breathes against his neck.

"Please," he whispers, "come back to me."

Geralt has no recollection of drifting off, but he wakes with a start to something - someone - moving against him. There's a pained grumble and Geralt's arms instinctively hold him tighter as Jaskier shifts slowly in his lap. He presses his nose into Geralt's chest, humming quietly before stopping abruptly and twist himself to look up at Geralt.

"You know," he starts and his voice comes out raw and rough. Geralt hates the sound of it. "If you wanted me naked in your lap, all you had to do was ask."

He's bleary and still looks half-alive, still too cold and pale for Geralt's comfort, but he's okay. Geralt could cry with relief. Instinctively, he hauls Jaskier closer, bundles him up against his chest and buries his face in his neck. It's another hour or so before either of them moves and then it's only for Jaskier to pull his cold fingers from Geralt's chest.

"Put them back," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier pulls back to look at him - as much as Geralt will allow.

"You always get mad when I touch you with my cold fingers," he mumbles. Geralt brings his own hand up, slipping his fingers between Jaskier's and lifts his hand. Without thinking, he presses a soft kiss to his palm, lingering longer than he should as he mumbles,

"I never will again, I promise.

#rex writes #geraskier #october prompts 2k20 #i don't think the paragraph spacing worked properly on tumblr #bah

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