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herarcadewasteland · 11 months

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Discoveries Pt. 3 ♥

A/N: Yes yes its been a little while but I've been busy okay? and i’ve been fired so emotional things. thank you all for the support so far and i hope this makes up for the wait.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

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Stretching in your bed the next morning, you let out a large yawn as you adjusted to fall asleep again. Turning over in bed, you weren’t expecting the face of Fred to be right next you. You let out a startled scream as he laughed you, your eyes rolling as your shoulders shook with laughter.

“What are you doing, Fred? It’s like 5am.”

“7am. You slept in missy~”

Groaning and flipping to face the other side of the room, your hair swung dramatically with you and into Georges face, who was crouched on the opposite side of your bed, expecting the trouble of waking you up. You screamed again and sat up with a huff, the twins high-fiving over your head.

“Will you two just let me sleep for another hour at least?”

“No can do. You see-”, George started.

“We need to be at Diagon Alley by 8:30.”, Fred finished.

You ran a hand through your knotted hair, partly in confusion and mostly in frustration. When it clicked in your head that you had to get some school robes adjusted, you panicked and half jumped, half fell out of bed. The twins backed your frantic movements with laughter as they walked down to the kitchen, the chatter of impatient and hungry Weasleys filled your ears.

“Why do we have to wait for Y/N to eat?! It’s her fault for sleeping too long!”, Rons muffled voice fell into your conscious and made you speed up your hair and teeth brushing.

Rushing down the stairs, you stumbled directly into Bill who caught you with a sigh.

“Clumsy as always, Y/N.”

You let out an almost ashamed laugh, your arms squeezing around Bill as he wheezed. Arthur walked in behind the both of you and ushered you into your seats as Molly set down the plate of bacon.

“Finally!”, Ron muttered as he grabbed the plate of bacon seconds after it hit the table, his plate piling with food.

Food was passed around between the family, conversation filling the air as you ate silently. Your silent bubble was disrupted when Ron dragged you into an argument between himself and Percy.

“It’s not my fault you have a bloody stick up your ass!”

“I am a prefect, Ronald, which is something that will actually get me into the Ministry!”

Ron shot you a look of ‘oh dear god not this again’ and you laughed.

“Percy, you do realize not being a prefect can get you into the Ministry. You just need good grades and the right classes.”

Percy snapped his glare to you, knowing you were right, and sighed. He had always had a sort of soft spot for you, knowing you weren’t actually a Weasley. Which was a dumb reason to not hate someone but you went along with it so not absolutely every child in the house had an argument with him every other day.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong, Y/N. I just have a better chance this way.”

He turned his nose up at you and you laughed, finishing off your plate just as the rest of the family had. The plates were cleared from the table as everyone dispersed to do their own thing.

“Y/N dear, we must be going if we don’t want to be late. Come now, to the fireplace.”

You brushed yourself off and followed Molly to the fireplace, your hand wrapping around another handful of soft powder. Your eyes glanced up to your mum as she nodded reassuringly. You still weren’t used to it yet and you had a feeling it would take a little while to feel normal and not like you were being vacuum sealed into a plastic bin. With a sigh you threw down the powder and clearly stated “Diagon Alley”, and then you were gone in a swirl of green smoke.

Stumbling from the grate in The Three Broomsticks, you ran headfirst into a solid mass. Panicked, you looked around to make sure you were where you were supposed to be and slowly glanced at whoever you bumped into. Your wide eyes met narrowed ones surrounded by the same white blonde hair from the other day. You took a subconscious step back from the man just as Molly came through the floo, her hands finding your arms as she stumbled lightly into you.

“Mr. Malfoy. If you’d excuse us.”, Her eyes narrowed back at the man as he looked between the two of you, “Come on, dear, off we go now.”

She led you away with gentle hands, your head turning to look back at the man as you swerved through tables. Your eyes met one last time before Molly was tugging you past the door with a firm but gentle hold on your hand. As you met the bustling roads of Diagon Alley, you squinted your eyes at the sun, a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth as you stared at the ground, trying to avoid any ray of sun you could. Leaping between shadows to the fitting, you panted as Molly gently pulled you to a stop in front of Madam Malkins. You sighed and Molly chuckled lightly, her hand taking yours and guiding you in.

“It’ll only take a minute. Don’t worry dear.”

~~~~~~~~~

“A minute my butt!”, you exclaimed as you stumbled out of the fireplace in the Burrow, Fred sweeping you off your feet immediately and up to your room where a trunk lay on your bed.

“What is this? Why is my trunk out? What did you do?”

You rounded on Fred and George as soon as you were placed onto the floor, their faces innocent as could be as they watched you with crossed arms and very small smirks of entertainment.

“You need to pack for Hogwarts!”

“We all have. Our trunks are-”

“-Waiting by the front door.”

“Only two are missing~”

You sighed and stared into the empty space, your eyes tracing loose threads along the seam as you nodded.

“Okay, I’ll go bother Ronald after I’m done.”

“That's what we like to hear!”, the twins chorused as they walked from your room to raid the kitchen, if Mollys loud reprimanding was anything to go by.

The packing only took you a few minutes, most of your school things were in a separate drawer as it was so all you had to do was move them into the trunk. You finished your packing with relative ease and an overactive mind, the zipper closing breaking the silence you had been working in. WIth a sigh, you pulled your trunk to the top of the stairs before making your way to ROnalds room to aid him in his no-doubt messy packing. Your suspicions were confirmed when you pushed open the door to encounter the entirety of Rons wardrobe scattered around the room.

“Ron, how? There is no way you had to destroy your room to pack.”

HIs frantic eyes met yours as he scoffed, “Well no, but it felt necessary at the time.”

You hummed and cleared a few spots across the room, handing things to Ron you knew he would want with him. His eyes followed you around when he wasn't haphazardly throwing things into his trunk.

“At least fold things!”, you stomped over to his trunk and folded piece by piece as Ronald sat and watched you with a blank expression until you reached his Chudley Cannon jersey. Then he reacted and grabbed it from your hands with a gasp, his own carefully folding it in a mess. You shrugged and packed it neatly with the rest of his things, the heavier items resting on top of his clothes as the lighter things went on those.

“There. All done.”, you heaved a sigh as you closed the lid of the trunk, the click of the lock creating a satisfying noise in the otherwise silent room.

“Thank you, Y/N~”, Ron grabbed you for an overly tight hug, your hands pushing at his arms as you wheezed for a single breath of air that wasn’t from Ron’s vicinity.

“Ok ok ok! I get it, just get it downstairs with the rest of them!”

Ronald let you go after a moment, his frame moving out the door with his trunk in hand as you followed after him.

“You made it sound like you brought yours down! But nooo look at what’s right here!”, Ron huffed and lightly kicked your trunk as he passed it.

“I said the rest of them! Never included mine!”, you shouted after him as you grabbed your own trunk and carried it down the stairs to see Bill and Charlie in front of the floo.

Molly gave the two a big hug with large containers of sweets being shoved into their hands after Arthur gave them a hug as well, Percy nodding a farewell from the couch as he read through the Ministry’s handbook for rules and regulations.

“Nooooo~!”, you whined, “You can’t leave yet! You like... just got here! We didn’t get to talk about Hogwarts!”

The eldest Weasley boys chuckled and pulled you into their arms for a group hug, tears filling your eyes as they pet your hair lovingly.

“You know we have jobs to get too, Y/N. We can’t stay to see you off.”

You huffed at them and lightly punched their chests as they smiled at you. A small nod moved your hair into your eyes as you grasped them tighter. While you weren’t as close to them as you were the twins, they had still helped raise you in a sense and that created a connection, plus you were their little sister. Blood or not, that created an even greater connection. Still not one large enough to rival that of yours with Fred and George but it was enough.

“Fine. Just send owls, okay? I wanna tell you everything!”

The boys nodded and placed kisses on the top of your white hair, their eyes slightly glossy as yours overflowed with tears.

“We will.”

“Absolutely we will.”, Charlie finished as he guided you to Molly’s embrace, Bill giving a last wave and goodbye to the family as he stepped through the floo with a call of his destination.

Charlie gave a similar exit with a blown kiss towards yourself and your mom as he called out for the Ministry of Magic for Romania, however he pronounced it. Their departure set the family in motion as Arthur ushered everyone into the kitchen to go over the basic checklist of the things you would need for your time at Hogwarts. Most of the list was checked off smoothly, Ron mumbling under his breath that it was unnecessary until your dad reached an item he had forgotten and cursed. That got him a small ass-whooping from Molly as she urged him to go get what he had been missing. Fred and George mocked him as he ran up the stairs, your quiet giggles backing them until your parents shushed you all and continued with the list as Ronald slipped down the stairs to his trunk and frantically packed his wand. The list went smoothly after that, everyone having followed the list to pack, well... you had. The trunks were smooshed in the back of the Ford Anglia with a small extension charm, a suspicious popping noise coming from one of the twins trunks, a huff of air and confetti falling into the trunk as they stood rubbing the backs of their necks sheepishly.

You were all set to head out for Hogwarts, all that was left was getting onto the platform and finding a seat. Easy enough, you told yourself as Fred and George popped confetti onto Arthur as he walked away, their lanky frames sprinting away from a charmed broom as it chased them across the lawn. Easy enough... right?

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mt07131 · 10 months

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Three And One- The Ghost

Or, three times the Ghost and the Prophet said I love you without having to say it, and one time they did say it

“Ghost, have you seen my…” Prophet trailed off as he walked into the command center. “That’s my jacket.” He stated, pointing at her.

She didn’t turn around, nor did she hesitate in her response. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He came up next to her from where she leaned over their planning table. If she wasn’t at her bank of computers (her throne, Prophet liked to joke, which usually garnered a dry look from her), she was hunched over this table planning their next escapade. “It has my name on it.” He pointed out, tracing the arch of her upper back, and the painted white letters that most definitely said Prophet and not Ghost.

“Does it?” Ghost turned her head, not to look at him, but to barely glance over her shoulder. “Huh, look at that, it does.” She noted with a nonchalant shrug, turning back to her work.

Prophet squinted at her. He knew Ghost, almost as well as he knew himself if he were to be bold, so he knew she wasn’t that blind. “And it’s clearly a little big on you.” He ventured further. She only responded with another shrug, readjusting herself to rest her chin in her idle hand. An idle hand, he noted, that had no sleeve attached to it, unlike its pair. The very sleeve he had cut off the jacket. “And you cut off both sleeves of yours, whereas I only cut off one.” He continued.

Ghost finally dropped her pencil, turning to him with a raised brow. “You must be so very proud of yourself, Prophet, for being able to state the obvious. Do continue.” She challenged with a small smirk. She was definitely messing with him.

He shrugged, then wrapped his hands around her hips and lifted her onto the planning table, a yelp escaping her mouth. He could rarely surprise her, but that was something she never expected from him, no matter how many times he did it. “I’d much rather care for you to elaborate, darling.” He retorted with his own grin.

She rolled her eyes, idly kicking her legs. “First thing I grabbed when I was getting changed. You slept in this morning, you lazy butt.” She teased, poking a finger into his very bare chest. “You snooze, you lose. Besides,” She shrugged, wrapping the jacket around herself tighter. “It smells like you.”

Prophet rolled his eyes, but it was in that endearing sort of way. He enjoyed moments like these, precious little snippets in time where he wasn’t seeing the Ghost, but Maeve. Being Wild Ones gave them freedom that they never could’ve imagined. She liked to use that freedom to be an absolute nuisance to him specifically. But he didn’t mind it, he never would mind. It was one of the reasons he adored her so much, after all. Why would he be the one to kill that spark?

He leaned over, pressing his lips to hers. “You look good in it. You should keep wearing it.” He murmured once they pulled apart.

Ghost’s smile was soft, but now it was her turn to roll her eyes as they rested their foreheads together. “You are so dramatic, you know that? You and I both know you have more than one jacket that you could’ve put on before coming to find me. Trying to show off?” She teased.

“For you, darling? Always.” He said.

“Prophet, hand me the thing.” Ghost’s voice came from behind the pair of server stacks, a gloved hand reaching out and grabbing at air. The Wild Ones had been bold recently and somehow managed to steal them from one of the settlements, and now Ghost was working her magic on them to get them up and running for their own use.

He reached over to the assortment of tools on the desk, finding the one she was looking for before placing it in the proffered hand. Said hand snaked back behind the stacks, and he could hear the sounds of her tinkering, occasionally interrupted by a charming expletive like ‘work you little fucking bitch’. Eloquent as always, she was.

After a few minutes, her hand reached out again. “Now the other thing.” She commanded, pointing at the desk.

“How are you two doing that?” Mourner asked as he watched the pair work.

“Doing what?” Prophet asked as he traded out the tool in her hand for the other one she requested.

Mourner gestured to them. “That. How do you know which thing she’s talking about? There’s about twenty different things on that desk alone.” He pointed out. Sure, he knew his way around tech just as well as Ghost did, but Prophet and Ghost were on a different level all together, a level that had nothing to do with knowing how computers worked. Did it have something to do with the fact that they were rarely, if ever, found separate and that he had seen them trading chaste kisses when they thought they were alone? Definitely. They weren’t subtle, especially when they thought they were being so.

Prophet shrugged. “It’s just… I don’t know, man, we just get each other. Same wavelength, or something like that.” He explained rather poorly, reaching over to offer a wire to Ghost before she even asked. Mourner shook his head at his friend’s reasoning.

“AHA!” Ghost called out. Finally, her whole body slid out from behind the stacks. Perks of being as slight as she was. “Give me the good news, oh mighty Prophet.” She said.

He turned to her bank of computers, watching the screens light up as they connected to the servers. It never failed to amaze him when she was able to get these things working. “You’re in, darling. You’re a genius.” He lauded with a smile.

Ghost sauntered over to him, stretching as she did so. “Couldn’t have done it without the world’s best helper.” She responded. It was amazing to Mourner that they definitely forgot other people were in the room when they were around each other. But, they were both happy, he could see it in the way they were relaxed with one another.

Prophet rolled his eyes. “All I did was hand you what you needed, I don’t know if that really counts as helping.” He argued back lightly.

She sat herself down in his lap, leaning on top of him and trapping him in the chair as she crossed her legs over the armrest. “Details, details. What matters is we got it working, and we now have easy access into the F.E.A.R systems whenever we need it. Perfect for causing a little mayhem, don’t you think?” She offered.

“Like I said, darling, you’re a genius.” He repeated.

A roll of her eyes started his response. “Keep that up and you’re going to feed my ego. You’re playing a dangerous game there.”

He shrugged. “And what gave the impression that I was ever afraid of a little danger?” He retorted.

Watching them, Mourner shook his head and left the room, leaving them to whatever they were going to get up to. He didn’t need to be there to watch them fawn over each other.

“If you do not hold still, I swear to all that is good and holy-” Ghost muttered, using one hand to push down on Prophet’s shoulders. The other was currently holding a needle that was connected to his arm by way of thread, and she was doing her best to keep it steady as she knelt on their shared bed.

Prophet moaned. “But it huuuuuuurts.” He drawled out. Was he acting a little childish? Yes. Did he care? Absolutely not. He had a right to do so.

He didn’t need to look at her to know that Ghost that giving him a very unimpressed look. “You have let Rapier poke into your damn skin more times than I can even count, and yet you still complain when I have to sew you up?” She pointed out, referring to the myriad of inked designs across his arms that he had acquired over the course of being a Wild One. “You are ridiculous, Prophet. Maybe next time,” The needle went through his flesh again, and he winced. “You shouldn’t try to be a damn hero and take on two Acolytes at once, hm?” She suggested dryly.

“Okay but I did take them down, you’re forgetting that part. I did very much take them down and secure our escape.” He pointed out. Prophet loved Ghost, he really did, but he wouldn’t let her think less of him.

A sigh escaped her lips. “I’m just saying… no, I’m asking you as your partner to be more careful. I don’t…” She trailed off for a minute, deep in thought. “I don’t want there to come a time where I can’t patch you up, okay? You know what we’re doing is dangerous, and… and I don’t want to lose you to your own idiocy.” She finished, the anger draining from her voice as it gave way to worry. He was one of the best things she had found in this new life of hers, she didn’t want to throw it away.

The pair was silent as she finished closing the gash on his arm. Usually, whenever there was silence between them, it was comfortable, fitting in there perfectly. This silence, however, didn’t feel so awkward as it did heavy. Ghost placed a bandage on his arm after she rubbed in an ointment, one of Sparrow’s latest concoctions. “You should be good, just don’t-”

“Ghost, look at me for a minute.” He directed, interrupting her train of thought.. She did so, and he cradled her cheek with his non-injured arm. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I know what I’m doing, and I’m not so stupid that I don’t know when I need to get out.” He said, his voice low.

Ghost reached up, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and closing her eyes. “Just because you say I don’t have to worry about you doesn’t mean I won’t.” She responded. “I… you’d think I’d be afraid of a lot more with what we’re doing, with what I started but… I’ve come to realize that the thing I am most afraid of is losing you.” She confessed. “It’s silly, but it’s the truth.” She laughed quietly.

Prophet shook his head. “It’s not silly at all, darling. Not when you and I agree on that. You make me feel more alive than I ever have before, so I promise you that I’ll be more careful. You just have to promise me the same thing” He finally uttered.

She nodded. “I will. I do.” She responded, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

“There you are.” Prophet’s voice came from behind Ghost. She turned around, watching him walk into the lookout post where she had been. “Been looking for you.” He said.

She shrugged, turning back to the open window. “Nothing’s on fire and I don’t hear screaming, so I’m guessing it’s not urgent.” She joked quietly, her shoulders shaking with a tiny laugh.

“No, nothing’s burning down. Well, unless you count Destroyer’s pride, considering I just watched Mystic absolutely demolish him in a spar.” Prophet chuckled. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her loosely, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Whatcha thinking about?” He prompted.

Ghost was quiet for a minute. “Who says I’m thinking about anything?” She challenged. “Am I not just allowed to come up here for some peace and quiet?”

Prophet snorted. “I know you, you’re always thinking, darling. Those gears in that lovely little mind of yours never stop turning. Besides, this is where you come when you’re feeling particularly melancholic.” He explained.

She shook her head, a small smile on her face. “You know me entirely too well, huh? Guess I need to start being more mysterious and enigmatic.” She teased. Another beat of silence passed before she spoke up again. “Just been thinking… y’know it’s been a year?” She pointed out.

“Of what?”

Ghost pointed out of the window, down to the church entrance that the lookout post overlooked. “A year ago today, someone made an extremely bold and probably stupid decision to trek across the desert thanks to the rallying cry of someone simply trying to make a change. Ended up being threatened at gunpoint, if you could believe it.” She narrated.

Prophet smiled. “Man, real stupid of that guy indeed. I wonder what happened to him.” He joked along with her. “It’s really been a year, huh?” He asked quietly. It didn’t seem like it had been. If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the Andy from a year ago, the one who just went along with the norm because that’s how it had always been. He felt like he had been a Wild One forever, that he had known his darling Ghost forever. Time seemed to pass by in an instant when you were dedicated to something that mattered. He wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, even with all the scars it came with.

Ghost turned around in his arms, finally looking at him. Of all the things she expected when she started living this life, finding love was not one of them. To find someone who understood her, who knew her better than herself, it was a gift she never took for granted. “Any regrets?” She asked him.

He shook his head. “Never, darling. Not when that decision led me to you.” He responded almost immediately. Some might say that they were too young, that they had bonded simply out of necessity. That was not the truth, nor would it ever be the truth. Even though they didn’t say it, they both believed that they were destined to find each other, to be at each other’s backs. “One year down, here’s to many more.” He said.

“To many more of living wild and free.” She agreed. “I love you, Andy.” Maeve said.

“I love you too, Maeve.” He responded, their words a promise that only the desert winds were privy to.

#my writing #writings: the ghost #the wild ones #waaaaah happy birthday babygirl #one of my favorite things I've written for her #don't worry about any context you don't have it's fiiiiiiiine

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errythinisblue · 2 years

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Hi could you write a mason one where you have a daughter and you have a Lazy morning together with the tv on in bed and him making breakfast with her and then she asked if his daddy can take her to school.

Hi sweet anon!🤍 thank you for this insanely cute request! I loved writing this, and I hope you’ll love it too!!!🤍

Pink plasters.

Mason Mount x Y/N

Summary: Y/D/N is definitely a daddy’s girl, and she loves having Mason at home with her. She loves it just as much as she loves spending lazy mornings in bed with the two of you.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff really!

gif credits to @masnmount

The sun had barely risen that morning, and it was already peaking through the curtains of your bedroom. The room was invaded by the morning light, painted in pink and orange, as Mason slowly opened his eyes. A soft smile tugged at his lips at the sight in front of him: his two girls sleeping right next to each other, with the same peaceful expression on their faces, the same pouty lips, the same pointed nose, and their left hand in between their faces and the pillow.

These were his favorite mornings, and for a second he was glad he could stay home and enjoy them with you and Y/D/N; even if he was actually home because of an injury, and that meant being out of training for two weeks. But that really didn’t matter to him in that moment, as he was admiring you two sleeping.

As if she sensed his dad’s stare on her, Y/D/N slowly opened her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them before setting her big brown orbs on her father. She clumsily removed her hair from her face, as her dad scooped her tiny body close to his own, leaving a feather light kiss on her forehead and removing those locks that escaped Y/D/N’s little hands from her cheeks.

“Good morning sunshine,” he whispered to your daughter, “did you have a good sleep?” he asked her as he kept leaving kisses on her little face, making her giggle.

“Morning daddy!” she said in a fit of laughter, she knew her dad was tickling her with kisses on purpose, yet she adored him when he did that, “I slept reeeaaally good and you?” she smiled, putting her little hands on his prickly cheeks.

“I always sleep good when I have you and your mum next to me…” he sweetly told her as she leaned her cheek against his naked chest, a habit she had since the day she was born.

Mason remembered that moment like it happened the day before; Y/D/N was two, or maybe three hours old, when the nurse brought her in your room in a little crib, and he was instantly under her spell as he stood there, watching his little girl, taking in every little feature of her rosy face. He watched you breastfeeding her, admiring the strong bond between the loves of his life, admiring that little miracle you two created. And he felt his eyes well up with tears, as he laid next to you, while Y/D/N rested peacefully on his bare chest for the first time that day.

“I’m happy you slept good daddy,” she snuggled even closer to him, “Does your ankle hurt now??” she curiously asked him, the little nurse in her was waking up too, ready to play with her dad like she did in the past few days.

“Not that much sweetheart,” he shook his head as he looked at Y/D/N’s concerned face, “that beautiful pink plaster you put on it yesterday must have worked its magic!” he wriggled his eyebrows at her, making her smile again.

“Then we’ll have to put another one today daddy!” her eyes were so big and so shiny, he couldn’t really say no to her, “So you won’t feel any pain tomorrow!”

“Of course baby,” he kissed her chubby cheek, “but we’ll put it on daddy’s ankle once you’re home from school, okay?”

“Okay daddy!” she sat up in bed, the sudden movement making you stir in your sleep.

“Who dared waking me up from my beauty sleep??...” your dramatic voice was covered by your daughter’s laughter, as you couldn’t really contain the smile that was making its way to your lips.

“It wasn’t me this time mum!” Mason raised his hands, smiling at Y/D/N.

“Daddy!!! This is not fair!!!” the little girl whined, making you laugh as you sat up in bed. While you leaned your back against the headboard, stretching your arms over your head, your lap was clearly undefended from your daughter’s attack.

“Hey!” you jumped as she suddenly sat in your lap, “First you wake me up, now you’re attacking me?? Come here you fussy pants!” you said as you started to tickle her belly, making her laughter resonate through the house.

“Mummy please stop!!!” she couldn’t help but continue to giggle even after you stopped tickling her, “Please don’t tickle me!”

“I want a kiss, then I might not tickle you…” you smiled at her and pointed at your cheek, where she immediately left countless kisses.

Mason was watching the two of you with heart shaped eyes, as he leaned on his elbow by your side, while his other hand was slowly caressing the warm skin of your thigh.

“Should we give daddy a cuddle too??” you asked Y/D/N, as you threw a glance at Mason.

“Come here daddy!” she beckoned him to come closer with her tiny hand, “Here!” she said, patting on your chest to tell him to lay his head there, before she rested her on the other side of your chest, laying directly in front of him.

“That’s how quick I became a pillow then…” you softly smiled, caressing your daughter’s curls and Mason’s soft locks.

“Can we watch some cartoons before we get up??” she turned her little head to you, begging you with her big brown eyes that were a copy of Mason’s.

“Of course we can,” you kissed her forehead before switching on the tv, “here bubs…”

“Can I say that I prefer this pillow to my own?...” Mason raised his head from your chest to whisper in your ear, smirking against your skin as he left a kiss on your jaw, “Good morning babygirl…” his voice, still thick with sleep, was the thing that you loved the most in the morning.

“Well maybe you should have said good morning first Mase… that was a little rude of you…” you smirked at him as you turned your head to leave a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“My bad…” he murmured before making himself comfortable again, “But your boobs really make up for a good pillow…”

“Do they?” you laughed before you looked at your daughter, that was looking at the two of you with an unreadable expression on her face, “Is everything okay sweetheart?” you asked her as your lips curled up in a smile.

“Why’s daddy saying your boobs are comfy mummy?” she was confused as she tilted her head to the side, with her long curls falling over her shoulder.

“Because daddy is just a big baby, angel-” you touched her cheek with the back of your fingers shaking your head.

“I’m not a big baby.” Mason whined as he got up from bed, “I’m gonna make breakfast now, since I’m starving here and you two are clearly teaming up against me.”

“Can I help you cook breakfast daddy??” Y/D/N immediately got up on the mattress, jumping on her little feet as she heard her dad talk about cooking breakfast.

“Of course you can princess, we can cook whatever you and mummy want, c’mon!” he took her in his arms before letting her down on her feet, looking at her as she ran out of the bedroom door.

“I swear she gets all this energy just from having you home…” you yawned as you looked at Mason, who was kneeling on the bed next to you, inching his face closer to your own.

“And I swear, for your information,” he said with his low voice, “That I’m big, but not a baby.” he told you before pecking your lips, “Now rest…we’ll call you when breakfast’s ready babygirl…”

��Having her daddy home was one of your daughter’s favorite things in the world. She absolutely loved spending time with him; well you couldn’t really blame her, he was the best dad in the whole world, always spoiling her with endless cuddles and lots of kisses when he could spend his time at home with her.

If there was something she liked more than lazy mornings in bed with the two of you, it was cooking with Mason. She loved watching him cook, and she loved that he would always let her help him. And this morning was no different; Mason waited for her to be ready in her kitchen helper, before they could start making pancakes for the three of you.

“Do you want me to teach you something new princess?” he asked his little girl as he helped her roll up her sleeves.

“Yes daddy!” she exclaimed, absolutely excited about her dad teaching her some new cooking skills.

“How about we make letters shaped pancakes?” he suggested her, “Like we can write ‘mum’, ‘dad’ and ‘Y/D/N’, what do you say?”

“Okay!” she clapped her hands as her smile couldn’t really get any wider now.

“Okay here, take this bottle in your hands,” he instructed as he went to stand behind her, always holding her hands in his ones, “We’ll draw letters on the pan with this bottle princess okay? Are you ready? Remember to pay attention, and don’t touch the pan.” he smiled at seeing her so eager to learn.

“I’m ready daddy!” she giggled as Mason turned the bottle with the pancakes mix in her tiny hands, slowly teaching her how to write those simple letters from the alphabet as the pancake mix fell on the pan in the shape they wanted.

You admired the two of them cooking together as you stood with your body leaning on the doorframe. You had to see this, and you knew that when you heard their laughter from upstairs. The way Mason’s soft hair fell in front of his face as he looked down at Y/D/N, making sure she was having fun without hurting herself, the way his smile never left his face at seeing his child so happy, the way he was softly instructing her on how to make pancakes properly, on how to write those letters correctly; all those things warmed your heart as a sigh left your lips subconsciously.

“Hey cupcake, looks like someone is spying on us!” Mason whispered to Y/D/N, as they were writing the last letters on the pan.

“Mummy don’t look!!!” she shouted at you, “This is a surprise!” she said like it was the most obvious thing ever, raising her little arms in the air after she left the bottle to her dad.

“I’m only watching you cook! I can’t see what you’re cooking from here grumpy pants!” you said to her, “And by the way, we should eat if we don’t want to be late for school missy.”

You watched her as she came down of her kitchen helper and padded her way to where you were standing; she took you by your hand and took you to the table that they set for breakfast. The table they prepared was lovely, colorful, in full Y/D/N style; the drawing in the middle of the table made you smile, as you looked at it and then at your daughter.

“Who drew these beautiful flowers?” you asked her as you held her drawing in your hand.

“I did mummy! I wanted flowers but daddy said we couldn’t get them ‘cause it was too late,” she started rambling, “so while he prepared the mix I drew them!”

“Aw my beautiful, talented girl,” you took her in your lap, “I like these flowers way more than the real ones you know?”

“Really??” she looked at you with her eyes so bright.

“Absolutely!” you kissed her cheek as you held her tight, “These will be my favorite flowers from now on!”

“Did you hear daddy??” she jumped down from your lap and ran to her dad, “Mummy liked my flowers!”

“I told you she would princess!” he took her in his arms as he spoke to her, “Now should we put those pancakes on our plates?”

“Yes daddy! I wanna start from mummy’s plate!” she said, “How should I put them daddy?”

“Okay baby, ‘Mum’ is an M-word, so it starts with an ‘M’, then ‘U’,” he watched as the little girl in his arms put those letters correctly on the plate, “and finally another ‘M’…that’s my good girl! Well done baby!” he praised her as he raised his free hand for Y/D/N to high five him.

After she put pancakes on each of your plates and brought them to you, you started eating your breakfast together, as you admired the hard work from your boyfriend and your daughter.

“I can’t wait to tell my teacher what I’ve learned daddy!” she told him smiling from ear to ear.

“She’ll be so proud of you,” he leaned down to her to kiss her head, “my clever girl!”

“Indeed she’ll be,” you said as you got up from your seat and crouched down between the two of them, “you two did an amazing job, breakfast was perfect! And thank you for your flowers my angel…” you told them, standing up again, “Now, shall we go and get ready for school??”

“Yes!” Y/D/N slid down from her chair, “Can daddy take me to school today??”

“Aw sweetheart, daddy can’t drive you to school, his ankle is still bad,” you kneeled down to her height and your mood saddened at seeing her frown, “but he can come with us if you want okay? I’ll be driving and he can sit next to you in the back…”

“Okay mummy! Thank you!!!” she hugged you quickly before she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, leaving you and Mason laughing.

“You’re such a good dad to her Mase, Y/D/N loves you so much…she’s such a daddy’s girl…” you told him as you wrapped your arms around his waist, the warmth of his skin relaxing you immediately.

“Nah baby, she loves us two the same really-” he was saying before your daughter cut him off.

“Daddy c’mon! Come and get ready!!!” Y/D/N shouted from upstairs.

“Told you.” you pointed with your finger to where the shout was coming from as you laughed at him, “I could even go out looking like this, she wouldn’t care!”

“Well I mean, it’s me who goes around with pink plasters on his ankle so…it only seems fair that I’m his favorite parent!” he shrugged his shoulders before slapping your butt and making his way upstairs, “And by the way you look good in everything, so you don’t really have to worry about a thing baby!” he turned around as he walked up the stairs, sticking his tongue out at you as you laughed and shook your head.

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Spare Room

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning, you and Draco paint your spare room.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, fluff, kissing

You awoke to the clock chiming far too close to ear shot for your liking, laying in a position that was rather uncomfortable if you must admit it. Rather, you were more so in a tangled heap as you lay crammed in the tattered leather recliner with the very love of your life. That was more like it.

When you peek open an eye, you open them completely with a sigh at the sight before you. Sitting crooked and near broken on the very tip of Draco’s nose were the glasses he so rarely wore to read, said book on the brink of slipping and falling from his fingertips. You swiped it from his hand before it could clatter to the floor unceremoniously, tossing it on the couch not far from you. The lamp just behind you had yet to be turned off from its use the night before, it’s glowing light a bit too bright in the windows reflection as the clock rang a seventh and final time for the next hour.

Despite the lack of space to allow such things, he engulfed you in his embrace nonetheless, his chest rising and falling against you. His fingers remain loosely entwined with yours as they had been all night you assumed, his breath puffing warmly just under your ear in a way that tickled if you thought too long on it. His hair was an absolute mess of platinum that stuck every which way it had pleased, dark lashes splayed across pale skin as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. The flannel blanket once laying over you both had just about fallen on the floor completely by that point. You can’t imagine he’d slept for long, not with the way he’d been caught up in his own mind for quite some time. For that reason, you hated to do this, but you felt as though you might just remain permanently in that dreadful position if you don’t stretch.

You release his hand and do so, a soft hum of utter relief leaving your lips at the ever so blissful feeling pulling at the tension in your body. A hum that sure enough caused him to stir from his light sleep; that, paired with your obvious jostling. His grip on you tightened then, his newly book-less hand coming up to rest just under the sweater of his that hung from your shoulders in ruffled heaps of black yarn.

“Good morning,” he mumbles half-heartedly, the coldness of his hand seeping into your skin as it rests further up on your hip.

“Good morning,” you start, squirming at the undesirable shiver it gave you, a frown on your lips, “And just where do you think you’re putting your hands?”

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, darling ,” he murmurs just behind your ear with closed eyes, though his hand splays and lays flat across your stomach now as his laugh tickles against your cheek, any traces of warmth quickly leaving you.

“Draco!”

When you try and wriggle from his grasp your attempts rapidly become futile as you fall back to his chest, trying desperately to stifle your giggles because he most certainly did not deserve the satisfaction. His sleepy smile was immediate as he looked at you, blue eyes tired but full of adoration nonetheless. It was then that you give in and laugh, shaking your head at him.

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed slightly.

“You know, for being twenty-four, you’d think you would remember to take your glasses off before you go to sleep on the very rare occasion you decide to actually wear them,” you say, plucking the brown tortoise colored frames from the tip of his nose. You toss them on the couch to join the book laying there. “How very irresponsible of you.”

He narrows his tired stare at you and your wit, a frown tugging on his lips. Lips you immediately kiss with a soft smile, his halfhearted frown disappearing instantly. A sleepy hum sounded against your parted lips, his hand settling on your cheek. When you pull away all too soon his lips press to the corner of your mouth, finding himself chasing after you for more.

He sighs in dramatic exasperation, tugging you closer and tangling his legs with yours in an effort to get you to stay, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he lays his head back against the chair. You bite the inside of your cheek, holding your laughter at his antics.

“Dray, we’ve got plans today,” you say, tracing your fingertips over his chest. His brows furrowed as he continued to try and sleep.

“Do remind me, darling, just what would they be?”

“We’re painting the spare room, remember?” You kindly inform him, sitting up a bit more in your haphazard position. “You promised you’d help.”

He peeks an eye open as he stills your hand from dancing across his chest any longer, enveloping it in his own as he drops his head to the crook of your neck. You knew what was coming.

“Can’t we just enchant some paint brushes? It’s quite easy really,” he suggests in a groan, his lips pressing tenderly and tiredly up the skin of your neck, the warmth of his breath ironically giving you shivers. “I’ve got much better plans of my own.”

“To what, go to bed?” You counter, laughing softly.

“Precisely,” he agrees, the single word pressing into your skin just below your ear. “With you, might I add.”

You find yourself melting into his embrace, into the kisses proving to be far more intoxicating than you had hoped they’d be. Kisses that moved warmly from your neck to your jaw, from your jaw to your cheek, and perhaps the most delicately to your lips. They were soft and languid, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. The feel of his lips paired with the warmth of his arms was nearly far too comfortable and spell binding for you to want to do anything other than what you had been doing. But the excitement of your plans quickly overshadowed that in that very moment.

You break from him with another peck, his lips kiss swollen and pink, dropping to a slight frown at the action. More so when you reluctantly make your leave from his arms. “This room isn’t going to paint itself.”

“Love, it most certainly can!”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him once more. “Get up, Dray.”

—

With a lot of complaining and yawning on Draco’s end, you’d finally gotten him to get up and help with the promise of kisses. That always works. He’d tried to enchant his paint roller on more than one occasion but you had insisted to do it by hand, it was far more meaningful that way.

Over the course of the hours you spent, the hardwood floors had since been covered in every piece of newspaper you could find in your home, scattered haphazardly and crinkled. After the first hour, you were convinced there was more paint on yourselves, on anything other than where it should be. Countless spells were used when it inevitably seeped through the paper beneath your feet and smeared over the floor. The record in the player Draco had pulled in the room had spun every song on it at least two times over, and a good thirty minutes had been lost when Draco had taken you by the hand for just one dance, as he put it. One turned to two, and two turned to three with the addition of a myriad of paint smudged kisses pressed on flushed skin and breathless laughter.

The room now smelled of fresh paint and the chilly spring breeze that had filtered in through the open window. Nearly the entirety of the four walls were painted a soft sage green, as well as the splotches smeared across Draco’s cheek in payback for the ones on yours.

You swept the paint across the last bare patch of the wall, turning to Draco with a beaming smile as you set the brush down in the tray.

“What do you think?” You ask with a triumphant yet defeated sigh, twirling in the near empty room with open arms.

You hadn’t twirled so much as twice before his hand grabbed a hold yours, tugging you close to him. He had yet to change from his pajamas, miscellaneous smudges of green mingling with the pale freckles smattering sparsely across his chest.

“I don’t think it’s quite green enough,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear with a playful smirk. “Not the right shade.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from his touch, fighting to stifle your laughter and contain your smile. But the moment you looked at him again, at the softening smile gracing his lips and the hair falling down in his eyes, you knew you couldn’t possibly refrain. “You’re terrible sometimes, you know that?”

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, soft and tender as his laugh puffs against your skin.

“I do know that,” he starts, fingertips trailing down your arms before interlocking with your own. A softer smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his blue gaze bounced around the room. “It’s perfect.”

It truly is. It may have just been a simple matter of painting four walls of a spare room a color that you’d been dreaming of since the day you’d moved in. It may have been a simple moment on a lazy Sunday morning. But it was perfect and something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to have.

He knows he wasn’t the best person, he knows he wasn’t even remotely so as a child and the teenager he once was. He knows he’s not even the best person now either, not with the memories still taunting and weighing heavily on him. What he also knows is that he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, nor had he done what was expected of the only Malfoy heir. There were no intentions of living in the Manor and throwing fancy soirées, no desire to live within a larger than necessary estate composed of the same gray walls and dust covered shelves, sparsely decorated with expensive furniture and paintings. As much as Narcissa wanted him to continue on the family inheritance, and as much as he loved her dearly—he did not want that for himself.

Now, he’s got a wonderfully sweet cottage tucked away in a neighborhood where no two homes are the same. He lives in a home where every room is painted a different color that didn’t necessarily match from one to the next, where every room feels cozier than the last. He lives in a home that feels lived in, that radiates a kind of warmth and love he could have only ever dreamed of his entire life. One that houses a culmination of each of the things that matter the most to the both of you.

He lives with the love of his life, someone who he felt he didn’t deserve the affections of but received them regardless. He lives a life of matching coffee mugs and 2 am slow dances to a melody unheard. With bookshelves lined with shared tastes in literature crammed together and the occasional picture frame with the two of you captured within it. In a home surrounded by untamed wildflowers and borderline unkempt lawns with deep maroon shutters by each little window. All of it encompassed by a matching wooden fence with an iron latch, the numbers of your address engraved in an old metal slab.

His parents might have frowned upon his choice in living arrangements in noticeable comparison to the luxury of their own, but he no longer cared about their opinion. It was merely that; an opinion.

“What are you thinking of?” You ask after a little while, your voice pulling him back to the current moment as you brushed the platinum strands away from his eyes.

His gaze shifts to you, smile soft and beaming as the breeze sweeping into the open window sifts through your hair. As the late afternoon sunshine glimmers across your skin. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives. Stay with me.”

He watched as your expression filled with a delighted confusion, one so adorably curious he wanted nothing more than to kiss you for the rest of the day. You laugh softly, smile bright and eyes sparkling as you took in the loving sincerity of his words spoken so freely, so meaningfully. What he hadn’t known, however, was the butterflies fluttering around relentlessly in your stomach and the racing of your heart. You had known of such things already, but to hear them spoken was something else entirely.

“Painting our spare room really has made you sentimental, hasn’t it?” You jest, your squeal ringing out when he lifts you in his arms and twirls you in retaliation.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as your laughter fills the room, his lips pressing to the column of your throat. He knew you’d say something along those lines, he absolutely knew it. He sets you down but keeps you just as close, his lips continuing to press upon your neck as you continue to giggle at his mercy. He moves to your cheek and bumps his nose against yours, foreheads resting on one another as your dwindling laughter mingles in the space.

“I mean it, darling,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your expression fully. He looked at you carefully in the close proximity, hopeful of your answer as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

It was then that the corner of your mouth quirks up into a grin. You bring your arms up to rest on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his nose. “For the rest of our lives,” you repeat softly with a widening smile, just to hear how it sounds. “I quite like the idea of that.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh, kissing you again and again, his arms tightening around you as he engulfs you in his embrace so much so he nearly lifts you off your feet once more. But soon there was muffled laughter and a gasp, your gazes traveling to the floor as you’re met with adorably large blue eyes and ever so sweet purring. Ivory.

Her once clean paws were doused in paint after walking freely through the tray without a care for much else, tracking it across the newspaper set across the floor, perfectly tiny paws pressed upon your feet in little sage-colored prints as she walked on you both. You sigh as you bend down and scoop her up, a delighted meow escaping her at the attention she was aiming to receive. It was immediate that she nudged Draco’s nose rather roughly, the action aggressively affectionate as she stood her front paws on his chest. He scrunched his nose at your laughter of the footprints left behind on his skin.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” He says lightheartedly to the feline, using your earlier words as he scratched under her chin. She responded with another nudge, whiskers brushing over his lips.

He smiled fondly, one that was soft and true.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes shifting to you once you set her down, a gust of the spring breeze blowing his hair back in his eyes, a shimmering blonde in the sunlight. “I love you in every possible way.”

You smile, cheeks staining a soft pink as your arms wrap around his neck once more. “And I love you,” you whisper, leaning on your toes to kiss him, gentle and sweet. “In every possible way.”

Draco Malfoy lived a life entirely decided by himself for once, and he was destined to make better of it than it once was. He was perfectly content with the one he made for himself now; one with the love of his entire life and the precious little kitty he’s come to love. The three of you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of just merely basking in each other’s company.

He found himself excited to decorate yet another room with your things and his combined. It was more than just a spare room; it was a piece of your home, of a life your own.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fluff

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deafeninggardenerpanda · 3 years

Text

Mr. Fugo woke up suddenly at the sound of the alarm. He was tired, but as he listened to the guard’s reports, that tiredness went away. His temples tingled and his mustache swayed. He glared daggers and growed low.

"Thieves ... Unforgivable! I’ll catch you for sure ... You’ll pay for this! Don’t get in my way—I will fix the machine ...! " This wasn’t the face of a gentle millionaire—it was Mr. Fugo’s true face.

He recalled what happened a month ago.

One day, Mr. Fugo received a strange report from the mine manager. A huge cave was discovered while digging in the mines, and in it, was a mysterious machine. He went to the diamond mine and saw the machine with his own eyes, but the machine did not work and its purpose was unknown.

On investigation, there was a silver plate attached to the surface of the machine. Fine ancient characters were inscribed on it. Mr. Fugo searched for a scholar who could decipher the characters, but he knew the citizens would be of no use. He decided to keep the machine secret until he knew more details, as it could be useful for making a profit.

While investigating privately, Mr. Fugo received a visitor. He was a medicine peddler who carried a heavy trunk and wore a large hood.

"Hi! I’m Magolor," the merchant said and waved.

"I have no use for merchants, I'm busy," Mr. Fugo frowned. He tried to turn him away, but Magolor spoke quickly.

"You found an ancient machine, old man! I want to see it."

Fear coursed through his veins. "Why do you know that ...!? "

"Aren't you looking for a scholar who can read ancient characters? I can read them!"

"What ...? You can?" Mr. Fugo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was no way a suspicious medicine merchant could read ancient characters ...

But, he took a chance.

He took Magolor to the mine and showed him the ancient machine. Magolor stared, fascinated by it for a while.

"What a funny thing ... It's a machine, but it looks so strange. Sleepy eyes ... a cat-like mouth ... a compass and scissors attached to it ... "

"I don't care what the ancient machine looks like!" Mr. Fugo said, frustrated. "What I want to know is this. What is written here?"

He pointed to the silver plate inlaid at the bottom of the machine. Magolor, then, somehow, began to read what was written.

"Umm ... ‘I will leave this important message for the people of the future’... "

" ... What? You can actually read these characters!?" Mr. Fugo eagerly listened to Magolor's next words.

"Yup, the continuation ... ‘This machine is the worst invention in all of history. Instead of turning stone into priceless material and making tremendous amounts of money, it only scatters misery.’ ... "

"Ah ... Amazing, the machine makes tremendous amounts of money!?" His tone changed.

"Once upon a time, when this machine ran day and night, more money was made than anyone could spend in a thousand years, however, only the aristocrats profited. A terrible stench filled the town as the machine worked. Suffering from such wretched miasma that one couldn't even open the eyes, I sealed the three gears with great magical power and stopped the machine. This saved the town, and the people of the later world!

Never start this machine again! The day that happens, this town will fall to ruin!"

Mr. Fugo turned bright red. His whole body shook and his attitude shifted dramatically.

"Ma- Magolor! No, Professor Magolor!" He knelt down and took Magolor's hand. "You are a wonderful scholar! You deciphered the characters! There was such a secret in the ancient machine!"

"Now that you know how to start it, you can make a lot of money. It’s amazing, huh?"

Mr. Fugo looked up at Magolor's face in distrust. There was a chance he would tell everyone this secret. It would be bad news if that happened. The citizens will surely oppose the starting of the ancient machine. He spoke to Magolor gently.

"Of course, I would like to show my appreciation, Professor Magolor."

"Appreciation? You’ll give me something?"

"That’s right, whatever you want! I’ll give you half my fortune, even. It doesn't matter."

"Really? Wow, I’m rich!" Magolor’s eyes sparkled with great joy. Mr. Fugo laughed darkly in his heart as he watched.

(Good, if you're happy right now.)

Of course, Mr. Fugo wasn’t going to give away any amount of his fortune to Magolor. If the plan was successful, the town would be destroyed. A weak merchant like Magolor wouldn’t be able to stop him. Mr. Fugo continued to laugh without showing any sign of his evil plans.

"Leave the gear finding to me! I have a good idea!" Magolor said.

"A good idea?"

"Put some prize money on the gears, and use anyone who's got the skill to find them. It’ll go well, for sure!"

"Prize money ... huh. I see, that's a good idea," Mr. Fugo smiled and nodded.

Of course, he wasn’t really willing to pay a prize, either. The gear finders would just be thrown out of the town along with Magolor. Thus, Mr. Fugo announced the ancient machine in the newspaper and promised a huge reward. Word of the ancient machine spread throughout town, and the residents began the search for the magical gears.

Magolor, who slept soundly in a hotel bed in the Town of Wind, was alerted by a messenger and brought to Mr. Fugo’s mansion.

"Why did you call me at this time ... I'm sleepy ... " he tiredly complained.

"Look!" Mr. Fugo shouted. He took Magolor to the hidden room. Magolor awoke fully upon seeing the opened safe.

"Wow ... What happened!? It looks as if a thief broke in ... "

"Oh noo~, that’s not what happened at all! I was the one who broke into my own safe!" Mr. Fugo usually spoke very politely to Magolor, but today, he was so angry he could not hide his real personality. "According to the guards, the bandits are a duo. One wore a red, silk top hat and cloak."

"Red, silk top hat and cloak ... Hm, maybe ... "

"Oh, these days the Town of Light is troubled by a great thief. Many mansions have been hit. I hoped this wouldn’t happen ... "

"What was stolen?"

"That's the problem!" Mr. Fugo paced as he spoke. "There are lots of precious treasures in this house. Lots of jewels, fine art, and of course, money, but the thieves didn't touch those at all! They invaded only this hidden room and ... " he continued, "they stole everything regarding the ancient machine. Even the photo I kept in the safe!"

"What photo?"

"A photo of that silver plate," Mr. Fugo said, covering his face. "If that plate is deciphered, it will ruin everything! The citizens will be extremely opposed to the operation of the ancient machine. The plan is ruined!"

"Uh-huh ... " Magolor said in a carefree voice. "Don’t worry, some thieves wouldn't be able to read the ancient characters."

"They must have an interest in ancient technology, though. Because otherwise they wouldn't have been able to take the documents and photograph without getting distracted by the riches throughout the mansion."

"That’s right ... " he thought. Mr. Fugo turned grim.

"Then it’s come to this. There is no choice but to get the three gears as soon as possible. The machine must be started before the thieves have a chance to strike again."

"Uh, uh-huh. All right." Magolor was surprised by Mr. Fugo’s sudden steely determination. He stretched his arms wide. "I’ll hurry and get the gears for you, then."

"Really!? You’ve found them!?"

"That’s right! I know what I’m doing." Magolor waved and left Mr. Fugo’s mansion. He headed back to the hotel in a good mood.

"Meta Knight seems to have been successful in finding the gear. President Dedede retrieved the gear on the clock tower as well, and Kirby found the one in the field ... " Magolor couldn't stop laughing. "The three gears, they’re mine! Fugo doesn’t even notice he’s being deceived! My plan will succeed!"

Meta Knight returned to his mansion and took a closer look at the stolen material from the secret room. The most worrying item was the photo that was stored in the safe.

"These symbols ... I see, they’re characters from an ancient civilization." Meta Knight pulled out a thick book from the bookshelf and enlarged the text with a magnifying glass as he turned the pages. After a while, Daroach came in through the window.

"I'm back! I've returned."

"You’re safe."

"No wonder, they couldn't lay a single finger on me!" Daroach looked at the books spread out over Meta Knight’s desk. "What? What are you doing?" he asked.

"Deciphering ancient characters," Meta Knight answered without looking up from the book. "The photo in the safe has ancient characters on it. They probably have to do with the machine."

Daroach picked up the photo and blinked. "I've never seen characters like these before. You can read something like this?"

"Of course I can't read them. However, I have a research book on ancient characters. I’m looking for clues."

"Really ... " Daroach stared at the detailed symbols written in the book. His expression soured. "I can't. My head hurts."

"You should rest, already."

"Fine, I’ll leave you to that." He laid down on the couch as he said that.

"If you want to sleep, you can use the guest room."

"Goodness, here? I can’t settle down on a bed so gorgeous. Besides, I don’t want to get caught by your butler." He fell asleep quickly.

" ... A good man gets his rest," Meta Knight murmured. He began the process of deciphering the ancient characters. There was a long night to come.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Daroach was dreaming of delicious sweets when he was roughly awakened.

"Get up! Get up, Daroach!"

"Ah ... huh ...�� " He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Hm? Where ...? Oh yeah, I fell asleep in your mansion. Good morning, Meta Knight ... "

"Listen to me! I understand what the ancient characters mean!" Daroach, at last, remembered what happened before he fell asleep.

"You, did you not sleep last night? You've been working hard ... "

"It doesn’t matter, get up!" Meta Knight grabbed Daroach's hand and dragged him to the desk. "It was difficult, but I managed to decipher it. It’s a grave warning an ancient sage left to those of the future."

"Warning ...? " Daroach was still half asleep. Meta Knight pulled his arm sharply. "Please explain."

"I will. There are some parts I couldn't decipher, so I will read only the parts I understand. ‘This machine ... turns stone into priceless material ... makes a lot of money ... instead ... misery ... ‘"

"Hmm? What does that mean?"

"There is a continuation. ‘The aristocrats ... profited ... In the town ... stink ... suffering ............ Three gears ... sealed ... Stop the machine ... When this machine starts again, this town ... ruins ... ‘"

"What ...!? " Daroach’s face was drawn. "It says if the machine moves again the town will fall to ruin!?"

"That would be the case. The ancient machine can be used to turn stone into treasure and money, however, doing so will harm the inhabitants of the town and enrich only the aristocrats. It's a nightmare machine."

"Fugo ... Does he know this!?"

"Probably. Even I was able to decipher it, and he likely had an expert on his side."

"What a mess ... it wasn't an evil wizard who sealed the gears of the machine ... No, it wasn’t like that at all. The truth was Fugo was willing to destroy the Town of Wind for profit!"

"We can't let this happen. We have to stop the plan." At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Butler Vul’s voice was heard from the other side.

"Good morning, sir. That medicine peddler named Magolor has come again."

"Magolor?"

"Yes, it’s rather annoying this early in the morning. Should I turn him away?"

"No, it doesn’t matter. Let me through."

" ... Understood." Then— "Wah! Ma- Magolor!?" Butler Vul’s loud voice echoed. "I told you to wait at the front door! You’re just not going to listen and do whatever you want!?" The door opened and Magolor appeared.

"Good morning, Lord Meta Knight!"

"A good morning, it is not! Rude ...! " Butler Vul was on his way to throw out Magolor when he noticed Daroach. "Daroach!? You bastard, again, you’ve snuck in under my gaze! You’ve ignored me over and over ...! "

"I don't mind," Meta Knight soothed the furious butler swaying with anger. "You’re dismissed. Don't come unless I call you."

"But my Lord! I have a responsibility as a butler! Nevertheless! Nevertheless, when these guys—!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I apologize on their behalf. Get out." Meta Knight pushed Vul out of the room and closed the door, then turned to Magolor.

"You came back, Magolor," he said. Magolor looked curiously at Daroach.

"Eh ... who is this person ...? "

"A friend of mine, Daroach. He’s collaborating with me to help search for the gears."

"Wow! Nice to meet you, Mr. Daroach. I’m Magolor ... "

"Oh, I’ve heard about you, but nevermind that. There are more important matters at hand."

"Did you find the gear?"

"Well, we found out the unexpected truth. We’ll walk you through it, so sit down." Daroach picked up the stolen picture and gave it to Magolor. Magolor shook his head exaggeratedly.

"There’s something like characters written on it ... What is this?"

"It tells the purpose of the ancient machine found in the diamond mine."

"What’s it say? I can't read a single word of it!"

"It’s difficult to decipher ancient characters, but I understand the general meaning," Meta Knight said. He read aloud the parts he could understand.

"In other words," Daroach said, "when the ancient machine works, it turns stone into expensive treasure and makes the aristocrats a lot of money, but in exchange, it stinks up and destroys the town."

"Ehhhhh!? Whaaaa!?" Magolor covered his face and shook. "I didn’t realize the ancient machine was so scary! I didn’t know, not at all, not at all! What!?" Meta Knight turned his sharp gaze toward Magolor.

"Did you really not know? You're very familiar with the gears."

"Of course, but I just wanted to collect them! There’s no reason to think that way!"

"Why did you know where the gears were in the first place?" Meta Knight’s voice became harsher and harsher.

"U-uh ... "

"I doubt a mere medicine peddler could know such valuable information. Are you related to Fugo in any way?"

"Ehhhhh!? N-no wayyyyy!" Magolor waved his hands back and forth in a panic. "I used the Star Compass! That’s why I knew where the gears were!"

"The Star Compass? What is that?"

"It’s a tool used to find magical objects. My friend, Kirby, has it."

"Kirby? Airplane pilot Kirby?" Daroach asked.

"Do you know who that is?" Meta Knight turned to him.

"Mhm. He’s a celebrity in the Town of Wind. An interesting, gluttonous kid who likes to take naps." Daroach turned to Magolor. "This means Kirby also knows where the gears are?"

"Uh-huh ... Not only Kirby, but President Dedede, too ... "

"Let’s hurry to those two, then. We need to stop them before they turn over the gears to Fugo." Meta Knight picked up the gear and the stolen material, and, after a moment, the book on ancient characters as well.

"You want to bring that heavy book with you? For what?" Daroach asked.

"I may be able to decipher more of the ancient text if I have it on me. I want as much information as possible."

"You're right, let's go." The three left the room. They were led by Butler Vul, who muttered under his breath as he took them to the garage behind the mansion. There sat Meta Knight’s seven steam cars.

"Woah, sick!" Magolor squealed. "I’ve never ridden in anything like these!"

"I hope you've got guts, Meta Knight’s driving is something else."

"Wow, sounds exciting!"

Meta Knight opened the door of a bright red sports car. "This car is the fastest. Get in."

He sat in the driver's seat, while Daroach took the passenger side, and Magolor sat in the back. Meta Knight stepped on the pedals suddenly, and the car spewed out smoke and accelerated rapidly. It had ferocious speed. The wind blew in their faces with such force it was difficult to keep their eyes open.

"Waahhhhhhh!" Magolor screamed.

Daroach squeezed his eyes shut. "Hold on tight, Magolor!" he shouted. "If you don’t, you'll be blown out of the car!"

"Waaghhhhhhh! Scaryyyyy! Help, Lord Meta Knight ...! "

"Give up! Meta Knight’s personality changes when he drives!"

The car reached its maximum speed in the blink of an eye. They flew through the wide roads and sped off into the Town of Wind.

< Previous | Table of Contents | Next >

#kirby #meta knight #daroach #magolor #millionaire fugo #captain vul #Kirby: Search for the Dreamy Gears!#kirby light novel #translations #fun fact: this is the longest chapter in the novel!#even a little longer than chapter one :0

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digitalstowaway · 3 years

Text

I will not be accepting questions such as “How old is this baby?” Here’s my contribution to the Gavinners rpf potluck

It was an ordinary day for the Gavinners. Almost.

“Great practice today, guys!” Klavier said, tossing his long hair that was in a simple ponytail over his shoulder. “We should be able to get this album done soon.”

Daryan pulled off his guitar. “It’ll be our best album yet.”

They put down their instruments and began walking to lunch together. Klavier stopped all of them when he heard faint crying coming from outside.

“What’s that?” he asked.

He pushed open the emergency exit. Laying on the concrete was a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.

“A baby!” Klavier gasped.

He picked it up.

Daryan wrinkled his nose at it. “Get it somewhere else.”

“But where?” Klavier asked. “It doesn’t have any parents.”

“Does it have a tag?” Bongo asked.

Klavier pulled down its blanket. “No.”

“Can we take it to the police?” Bongo asked.

They looked at Daryan who rolled his eyes and took the baby in one hand. “Fine. I’ll take the stupid brat down to the station.”

He stormed off, baby under his arm.

“What’s his deal?” Bongo asked.

Klavier knew that something had to be up. Something deeper.

—

Daryan showed back up at the recording studio after lunch with the baby. It was still crying. He shoved it at Klavier. Klavier gently cradled it and it stopped crying immediately.

“The police won’t take him,” Daryan said.

“Why not?” Bongo asked.

“The parents died.”

“Oh.”

Klavier felt bad for the baby. So little and already without parents. An idea hit him.

“We’ll just have to be his parents!” he said.

“What?” Joe shrieked.

“We’ll raise him. He’ll go on tour with us, and we’ll teach him how to play guitar and sing.”

“Why can’t we teach him how to play keyboard?” Joe mumbled.

“Because no one cares about the keyboard,” Klavier said.

“Yeah,” the rest of the guys cheered.

“People care about keyboard! It’s the most important part of the band!” Joe stormed off.

“Well, what do we do about the baby? None of us know how to be parents,” Bongo said.

Klavier stood on top of an amp to give his dramatic speech. “All you need to do to be a good parent is love your child. Nothing else is that important. And I love our child.”

“I love our child, too,” Bongo said.

“Me three,” said Ricky.

Daryan stormed off again. Klavier watched him walk away.

“What should we name him?” Bongo asked.

“Hmmm… What about Obsidian?” Klavier suggested.

“That’s so cool!” Ricky said.

“Yeah,” Bongo agreed. “That is so cool.”

—

Klavier’s doorbell rang at 2 am. He tied his hair into a messy bun and grabbed Obsidian before trotting down the stairs of his mansion.

Daryan stood outside his door, wet. “Can I come in?”

Klavier let him in and gave him dry clothes to wear. He thought that Daryan looked very handsome in his clothes.

“I’m sorry I was angry earlier,” Daryan said, holding himself.

“It’s okay,” said Klavier.

He bounced Obsidian in his arms until he started crying. Daryan took him. He stopped crying.

“Why were you angry earlier?” Klavier asked.

Daryan looked into the black eyes of Obsidian. “It was hard to see you with a baby.”

“What do you mean, Daryan?”

Daryan sighed. “I like you, Klavier. I like like you. And I didn’t want to see you with someone else’s baby. But now that it’s our baby, it’s okay.”

“Oh.”

Klavier blushed. He liked Daryan, too. He liked having a baby with Daryan too.

“I like you, too, Daryan.”

“Good, Klavier.”

Daryan took Klavier in his arms. They kissed passionately for an hour before they went to bed. Klavier had never felt so nice before.

The next morning they woke up in the same bed and took Obsidian to the recording studio. Kristoph was waiting for them (AN: Kristoph is Klavier’s IRL brother, and if you didn’t know that already then you’re a poser!)

He crossed his arms. “Klavier, what are you doing?” he asked.

“We decided to adopt a baby we found outside. And Daryan andI are dating now.”

“You’re dating Daryan?” Kristoph said. “What about the girlfriend I got for you? You were supposed to marry her.”

“I didn’t like her,” Klavier yelled. “She was a bitch. And I’m gay. So get over it.”

Kristoph gasped and stormed out.

Two days later Klavier saw Kristoph again when they met for lunch at an expensive restaurant. Kristoph frowned at Obsidian, but Klavier ignored it. He sat his baby in a high chair and brushed his black hair out of his eyes.

“They don’t usually let babies here,” Kristoph said. “But I asked them to make an exception for you. Apparently, the owner is a big fan of yours.”

“Who isn’t?” Klavier asked with a shrug.

“And I knew you weren’t going to leave that brat at home.”

Klavier crossed his arms. He saw red. How could Kristoph be so mean to a little baby? (AN: I do NOT think Kristoph is a mean person irl he’s probably just as sweet ad Klavier!! But this is for the plot kay?)

“His name is Obsidian.”

“Obsidian. Fine.”

“If you’re not going to be kind to your nephew, then I don’t want you around him.”

Kristoph sighed. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What?”

“I’d like to see him more—”

“Oh, Kristoph!”

“I want to send him to a school where he’ll be away from your bad influences.”

“My ‘bad’ influences?”

“Babies shouldn’t be raised on tour buses. What are you going to do with a baby when you’re playing on stage?”

Klavier hadn’t thought about that. “We’ll hire a nanny.”

“What if he wants to go outside and play but you’re on the highway?”

“You can play inside a tour bus!”

“He’d be better off with me.”

“No!”

“Klavier, listen to yourself. You know nothing about kids. And your… boyfriend doesn’t either. What will become of this child if you let him grow up in a band?”

Klavier didn’t answer. He threw a couple hundred dollar bills on the table for the glass of wine he didn’t drink and took Obsidian, strapping him back into his stroller.

“Don’t talk to me ever again, Kristoph.”

And he left his big brother there, alone with only the complimentary breadsticks to keep him company.

—

A month later, the Gavinners were on their tour bus when a Nissan swerved in front of them and caused them to fly off the road. The bus tipped onto its side in the grass.

Klavier had been in the middle of playing a lullaby for Obsidian. But now he was pinned underneath the bus’s dining table, blood oozing into his eyes. He could hear Daryan yelling, but his vision was blurry. Everything hurt.

He could barely see Obsidian sitting in front of him, crying and reaching out for him.

Then, the world went black.

Klavier woke up three days later in a hospital bed with bandages over his bare chest. He blinked awake and looked to his side.

Kristoph sat next to his bed, cradling Obsidian in his arms.

“Kris—” Klavier began coughing.

Kristoph held water to his lips and encouraged him to take small sips.

“Is Obsidian okay?” Klavier asked.

“He’s fine. I’ve been… taking care of him.”

“Oh.”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Isn’t he?”

Klavier tried sitting up. Kristoph pushed him back down. “You need to rest.”

“Can I at least hold Obsidian?”

Kristoph laid Obsidian in Klavier’s arms. He slept in his bundle of expensive blankets that Kristoph must have bought for him.

“Were you good for your Uncle Kristoph?” Klavier asked, pressing down on the little button nose. Klavier frowned. “Does this mean you’re going to take him away to a school? Because raising a child on a tour bus is too dangerous?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not if it makes us fight. You could have died, and the last thing that we did was fight over Obsidian. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“I don’t want to fight, either.”

Just then, Daryan walked into the room. “Klavier?”

He sat next to Klavier, running his fingers through his hair and then bent down to kiss Obsidian’s forehead. Then, he glared at Kristoph.

“What?” he snapped. “Is he here to take our kid away?”

“No.” Klavier laid a hand on Daryan’s arm. “He isn’t.”

“I don’t want to take Obsidian,” Kristoph said. “I want you to be happy.”

“Really?!”

“Really.”

“Oh, Daryan!” Klavier threw himself into Daryan’s arms. “We get to be a real family.”

Kristoph left them to be alone as a real family, promising to come back later with baby gifts. Klavier settled against Daryan, Obsidian in their arms.

#ace attorney #gavinners rpf #gavinners rpf potluck #is this the tag we're using?#gavinners content potluck #gavinnerscontentpotluck

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hongism · 4 years

Text

sway with me - part two

↣ pairing: vampire!seonghwa x fem reader x ??? ↣ side pairings: mingi x jongho, wooyoung x hongjoong, hongjoong x yunho, wooyoung x san ↣ synopsis: you aren’t even sure why you agreed to go to a vampire nightclub with your best friend. it was a lapse of judgment on your part for certain, and because of it, you can’t get your mind off the man you met there. ↣ rating: M/18+ ↣ genre: angst, fluff, smut, s2l, modern fantasy + vampire au ↣ warnings: language ↣ word count: 4.4k

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↢ ♡ ↣

Waking up shouldn’t be as difficult as it is.

Despite being completely sober the night before, you still cannot recall much of what happened prior to Seonghwa bringing you home. What happened after, however, is at the forefront of your mind, but not because you got the most mind-blowing sex of your life. You were robbed of a good fuck thanks to your roommate sitting on the couch when you stumbled into the apartment connected by the lips with Seonghwa. You feel bad looking back because you and Hongjoong had an agreement not to bring anyone home while the other was in the apartment. You overlooked that because — well frankly, you glossed over that rule because Seonghwa is just that hot, and passing up on that opportunity would have been positively tragic. While you took the chance to bring him home, you still got left feeling sorely disappointed when Seonghwa pulled you off to bed without even a quick round of sex out of “respect” for your roommate. (Hongjoong doesn’t need more respect than he gets — his ego is big enough as it is, in your opinion, but Seonghwa wouldn’t know that).

Speaking of Seonghwa, as you come more into the land of the living, you realize that the bed is only dipped under your body, and upon patting around on the mattress some, you find that Seonghwa is no longer with you. You roll onto your side to stare at the empty space next to you, and a huff of air passes through your lips without you realizing it. Seonghwa most likely left during the night, now that you think about it, since he can’t very well walk out in broad daylight without getting burnt to a crisp by sunlight. That also leaves you wondering why he got in bed with you in the first place knowing that he wouldn’t stay or sleep a wink throughout the night.

You push the thought to the back of your mind in favor of slipping out of bed, letting your nightshirt fall back to rest around the midpoint of your thighs. Standing up is a struggle in and of itself; the moment you lift your head, a searing pain shoots through your neck, and you release a small whimper as the feeling spreads to your shoulder.

Must’ve slept on my neck wrong, you think before forcing your body up and towards the bathroom. The next thing to hit you is disbelief, because walking past the mirror makes you do a double-take and choke on your saliva. A dark purple bruise encompasses the base of your neck, two identical puncture wounds flushed a deep red centered in the bruise, and you lift a hesitant hand to brush your fingers over the mark. The bite is at least closed and not oozing any blood, but it’s still ugly and unpleasant to look at. Knowing Hongjoong, he will roast you to high heaven the moment he sees the dramatic hickey, and you aren’t about to risk three weeks worth of jokes that your best friend will inevitably join in on as well.

Seonghwa could have warned you that the bite mark would be so… visible, but you honestly doubt that you would have retained that information anyway since you were preoccupied with thoughts of desire and arousal.

“Fuck,” you curse, reaching for whatever stray piece of clothing you can find to help cover the mark. You have to drag an old pair of shorts out as well and tuck your shirt up under the sweatshirt you slip over your head. Once you have amply hidden all evidence of the mark and freed (read — hopefully) yourself of Hongjoong’s ridicule, you dare to step out of your room.

The first thing to hit you is the overwhelming stench of burnt toast, but you can hardly focus on that once your eyes hone in on the man sitting at your counter. He looks so sorely out of place in your home that you have to blink a few times before you truly believe that he’s sitting there, but for once, your eyes don’t deceive you.

It is, in fact, Seonghwa sitting at your counter with your dark-haired roommate perched across from him. Hongjoong doesn’t spare you a glance as you push further into the kitchen; he maintains his unreadable stare while clenching the edge of the counter so tight that his knuckles bleed white.

“I made breakfast,” Hongjoong states once you reach his peripheral. Seonghwa shifts to glance at you, and a small smile stretches his lips. A half-full mug of what seems to be coffee before him on the marble, pale fingers tracing the rim in slow circles, and a glint to his dark eyes that has you swallowing around nothing. Even if the tension hanging between your roommate and the vampire wasn’t present, you would still feel on edge just from the awkwardness in Seonghwa’s calm actions.

“He made co—”

“I made coffee too,” Hongjoong interjects before Seonghwa can finish his thought. The vampire doesn’t seem bothered by the interruption in the slightest, and he offers a broader grin in Hongjoong’s direction. “It’s in the pot.”

“Got it…” You mumble, slipping around Hongjoong to grab for a mug. Your roommate maintains his steady stare on the man across the counter, and you only realize what he’s attempting to do once you fill your mug halfway. “I don’t think he’s intimidated by you.”

“He seems pretty intimidated to me, thank you very much,” Hongjoong scoffs. He shifts to glare daggers into the back of your head, but you merely offer a small hum of denial.

“Joong, you are as intimidating as a field mouse. I don’t think he’s scared at all.”

“Excuse you — did you forget that time a mouse crawl up Wooyoung’s pants? That was rather terrifying.” You’ve taken his full attention now, causing the man to turn to you with an expression of disbelief over his features, and you return it with a gentle smile.

“Because he shrieked like a banshee. That’s the only reason it was scary, not because the mouse itself was scary,” you reason as you try to hold back a laugh. Hongjoong’s antics have brought a welcome break in the strange and lingering tension hanging about the kitchen, and you don’t miss a beat as you return his lighthearted tone.

“I’m just saying that I am very scary, and he’s not saying anything, so that means he’s scared.”

“If he wishes to believe that he’s intimidating, then I can agree to those menial terms,” Seonghwa interrupts. His tone reminds you why you were so drawn to him the night before with its cool overtones that remain laced with a hint of sultriness in every saccharine word he speaks. You’re certain that you look a little starstruck as you stare at him now, jaw hanging agape as your eyes drag over his sharp features before lingering a bit on those cherry red lips. Maybe it’s partially due to him being a vampire but you can hardly believe that any being – immortal or not – could look so good in the morning. You shake your head free of those thoughts, trying to focus on anything but the all too good-looking vampire not too far away, and instead resume your half-hearted ridicule of your roommate.

“Oh my god. Hongjoong, oh my god, did you hear that?” You’re practically asking for him to hit you although it would be worth it just to see the man riled up a little, and Seonghwa has opened a delightful door for you to step through.

“Shut up.”

“Hongjoong, he literally said he’s gonna fake being scared of you.”

“I can’t hear you,” Hongjoong huffs, puffing his cheeks full of air. He turns back to the stove where several slices of burnt toast reside, and you know it’s an attempt to hide himself from further embarrassment.

“He pities you, Hongjoong. Oh, you poor thing, that’s so embarrassing.”

“I actually don’t have ears so I can’t hear a word you’re saying right now!”

“God, I’m so glad I’m not you. That’s — wow, I wish Wooyoung could be here to witness this.” You place a hand over your chest as you try to bite back a laugh, glancing down at the counter to keep from laughing at Hongjoong’s disgruntled expression.

“I hate it here so fucking much,” Hongjoong grumbles. “I’m thrilled that Wooyoung isn’t here. He doesn’t need any more leverage over me at this point.” You purse your lips, barely containing the roll of your eyes as you look at the back of your roommate’s head, and it’s only then that you decide to turn to Seonghwa again.

“Um, do you… need anything? I – I’m not exactly sure what you guys e-eat outside of the obvious.”

“You mean blood?” Seonghwa asks the question so casually that it catches you off-guard, and it must have the same effect on Hongjoong as well because he chokes on his coffee and sputters into his mug. “Apologies, I forget how odd that can sound to humans.”

Seonghwa releases a small laugh. He brings a hand up to his hair and combs a few fingers through the dark locks there, and you find your gaze lingering on the motion a bit too long. If the vampire notices, he opts not to say anything in favor of continuing the topic at hand.

“Some vampires opt to eat the food you all need to survive but not out of necessity.”

“Because they’re gluttons?” You inquire as you toy with the handle of your mug.

“Hm, I suppose you could say that. Sometimes it’s a curiosity to see what it tastes like, just as I’ve had humans ask to taste my blood to see the same.” You must make a face of disgust because Seonghwa huffs out a laugh again and shakes his head. Beside him on the counter, the screen of a phone flashes. A loud ding echoes through the apartment’s small kitchen, and you blink down at the phone at the same time that Seonghwa does. “Ah, as much as I would love to stay and discuss all the inner workings of vampire culture and socialization, I believe that is my cue to go.”

“Have somewhere to be?” You ask, trying not to sound too disappointed in his early departure. Seonghwa’s long fingers dance over the granite counter before latching onto his phone, and he pulls it back without looking at the screen once. Seonghwa pulls his lips into a tight smile upon meeting your curious gaze.

“You could say that. Moreso that if the sun rises any higher then I’ll be burnt worse than that toast your roommate made earlier.”

“Hey!” Hongjoong protests, turning around to face the vampire with an expression of disbelief on his features. A knock at the front door interrupts whatever words were left on his tongue, and you exchange a confused glance with him at the sound. Unless Wooyoung is dropping by for a surprise visit at a bizarrely early hour for his lazy ass, you have no idea who could possibly be outside right now. Hongjoong places his mug down on the counter before stepping around the granite to make for the door.

“That would most likely be my friend here to pick me up.” The stool under Seonghwa protests loudly as he pushes it back, letting the scraping sound of metal on wood hit your ears in the most unpleasant manner. He pauses before moving in the direction Hongjoong went in and blinks at you over the counter. “I found our time together thoroughly enlightening, Miss Y/N.”

“So formal,” you mutter back, unable to do more than nod.

“Ah, well, to be lewd, I find it quite shameful that I couldn’t provide that real fun I promised to deliver.” You can’t contain the laugh that breaches your lips.

“If that’s your definition of lewd, then you need to spend five minutes with Hongjoong and our friend Wooyoung to learn the real definition of lewd talk.”

“Is that an invitation to see you again as well, Y/N?” Seonghwa’s question sounds innocent on your ears, but the underlying sultriness lies in his gaze. You don’t miss the way his eyes flit down to the neck of your hoodie and linger there. It’s almost as though he can see straight through it and right to the blossoming mark on your skin. You squirm a bit under his stare, which seems to please him quite a bit just based on the way his brows lift and one corner of his lips tugs upwards.

“That depends,” you utter after a small struggle to formulate the words.

“On what?”

“Maybe if we happen to stumble into each other at another club I’ll see it as a sign.” You hum the words, trying to seem as noncommital as possible, and Seonghwa’s only response is a dry laugh that rings in your ears long after it ends.

“Hyung.”

You don’t recognize the voice, and that’s what causes you to whip towards the source of it. All you see is a broad set of shoulders at first with your roommate practically hidden behind the height of the man. If you thought Seonghwa was tall last night, this man nearly puts him to shame. And coupled with that obscene height is a head of blond hair that bears brown underneath, although it must be freshly bleached because you can’t spot a hint of brown at the roots near the crown of his head. While you and Hongjoong exchange shocked glances, Seonghwa doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest as he grins at the newcomer and readjusts the collar of his coat.

“Yes, yes, Yunho, I’m coming. Well, Miss Y/N, I’ll wait with bated breath for you to receive that sign. Thank you for letting me stay the night here, and thank you, Hongjoong, for the coffee. The toast was…”

“Yeah, I get it! The toast was shit, you don’t need to say it again! I was a bit distracted by the fact that a damn vampire just appeared at the counter without warning.”

“Then next time I’ll be sure to say good morning before sitting down.”

“Oh no, I better not be present next time.”

Seonghwa opts not to provide a response this time; instead, he motions towards the door and allows his companion to lead the way out of your small apartment. You watch him go, eyes trailing over the vampire’s back with a strange churning rolling through your gut, and as much as you try to push it down, it persists with each step Seonghwa takes until he’s out of the apartment. The second the door snaps shut, the coil in your stomach snaps like a spell has been broken, and you have to shake your head to clear your mind of the odd haziness.

“I just know he has the biggest dick,” Hongjoong sighs, still staring at the door that’s just closed almost wistfully.

“What?” Your tone borders on the incredulous side, and you twist your expression into one of disgust as Hongjoong just shrugs. “Seonghwa?”

“What? Oh god no, not him. The one who came to pick him up. Why would I be interested in a guy who wants to fuck the likes of you?”

“Yeah well, you look like a fried piece of bread with the amount of bleach you’ve put through your hair.” Hongjoong doesn’t respond to your jab, nor does he even look at you as he taps his chin, evidently too deep in thought to spare you the smallest glance.

“I wonder how much it would take to get him to bottom for me.”

“Why did I agree to live with you?”

That’s all it takes for Seonghwa to walk out of your life just as quickly as he came into it, and you never even thought to revisit that club where you met him. Wooyoung never brought it up or invited you again, so you took it as a sign from the universe: you didn’t need him in your life. If destiny or whatever out there controls the universe didn’t put much effort into keeping him in your life, then you don’t think you need him that desperately. Life goes on just as before, and for a long while, it’s almost as though Seonghwa never existed as part of your life. Only the fading memories you share with Hongjoong remain, and the bite mark on your neck dissipates within two weeks so you could safely return to wearing something other than a hoodie around your roommate all the time. You think nothing more of it because it doesn’t strike you as something you need to cling to. That is until a little over a month passes.

↢ ♡ ↣

Park Seonghwa has suffered a lot in his lifetime. At the ripe old age of 1697, Seonghwa can very safely say that he has suffered quite a bit across all those years. And he has also made several mistakes along the way, including but not limited to biting and claiming a stranger although he hasn’t made such a mistake in at least nine hundred years. The pain never lasted long then because he had someone to bail him out of it at the time; in other words, someone went to fetch the person he claimed and brought him to Seonghwa before he could feel the full effects of withdrawal since he had no life partner at the time. He knows that he’s made a mistake now, however, because there is no one to bail him out of this, and he would like to think he has changed within three hundred years to a point where he realizes that kidnapping someone for their blood is not the answer. And out of all the members of his coven (yes, his coven, the one he raised and created himself), he knows he should be the most responsible as their mentor and elder.

So yes, Seonghwa has suffered. But never as much as he is now.

Yeosang will tear into him as soon as he figures out what’s going on, but Seonghwa at least has a bit of time to have the house to himself and suffer through withdrawal alone. It isn’t ideal in the slightest, of course; however, it is what needs to be done for the time being until Seonghwa can come up with some sort of explanation for Yeosang. He already scraped by the disapproving look Yunho sent his way at least thirty-two times in the past week alone even though it’s been around a month since Seonghwa’s little escapade with you, but thankfully the younger vampire did not utter a word past that, merely saying that he would save the lectures for Yeosang.

Seonghwa isn’t too proud to admit that he should have known better. He cannot blame it on any mortal inhibitions such as alcohol or lust — truly it was a lapse in judgment and nothing more than that.

“Master?”

Seonghwa jerks his head to find the presence who has interrupted his peace and quiet. He finds it to be Jongho, the young servant boy within his and Yeosang’s care, hand pressed to the door frame and shrouded by the yellow light filtering in from the hallway.

“Ah, Jongho. Is it evening already?” Seonghwa hums, glancing towards the drapes over the left windows.

“Have you slept at all, sir?” Jongho inquires as he steps further into the room. Seonghwa can only heave a deep sigh but says nothing else, which is an answer enough for Jongho’s question. The dark-haired man tugs the drapes back to expose the dark scenery outside the house. A bit of pale moonlight filters through and touches the floorboards.

“We've been together how long and you still can't lose the habit of calling me that?” Seonghwa jokes through his teeth.

“Give it a few hundred more years, sir. I'm sure I'll grow out of it by then.”

“Ah well, we have eternity. I suppose I can wait a bit longer. And no, I haven’t slept a wink.” Seonghwa pushes back on his heels to stand up, but he underestimates the weakness in his muscles at this stage of the withdrawal. It’s a quick fall since he’s barely up, and Jongho is quick to rush over to grab him by the arm, using those blindingly fast reflexes to catch Seonghwa just before his head hits the floor.

“This sickness can’t wait that long though,” Jongho remarks. Seonghwa struggles to ignore the warning in his tone, knowing very well that he is already bordering the precipice of a worse stage of the withdrawal in the next few days.

“I’ll be fine,” Seonghwa grits out, passing a weak glare in Jongho’s direction as the younger man tries to help him up.

“You have been telling me for three hundred years that withdrawal as a result of not having your marked one’s blood is the most dangerous thing for any vampire. No matter their age or experience.”

“Yes, but I always – ah, h-hold on, I – I need a moment,” Seonghwa pants as a sharp pain blossoms in his chest. The burn spreads to his shoulders in the blink of an eye, then all of a sudden, it’s down to his fingertips and toes. The sensation is so overwhelming that he nearly falls over once more, only kept up by the firm hand Jongho has placed on the nape of his back. The searing retreats after a few moments and pulls back into his chest. “If… Drinking the blood of your life partner — that takes away the side effects, so once Yeosang gets back from his trip—”

“Hyung…” Jongho’s tone holds too much sadness, and despite always being cold, Seonghwa finds himself hating the chill in his bones.

“I just need a bit of his blood. It’s alright.”

“You aren’t life partners anymore, hyung. We both know that natural physiology doesn’t make exceptions for these sorts of things. Besides… wouldn’t this be affecting your Marked as well?” Jongho at least remembers to ask the important questions in Seonghwa’s hazy state of delirium. The waves of pain return just as quickly as they left, and Seonghwa nearly doubles over from the strength of it.

“Yes, she’ll – she’ll be struggling by now. I have no way of contacting her so it’s out of my hands.”

“Don’t speak too soon.”

Seonghwa doesn’t need to look up to see who just stepped into the room, and neither does Jongho, but the younger of the two whips around to face the doorway nonetheless.

“Master, you’re home early.”

“Yes, all on account of a certain someone making more tragic mistakes and messes that I’m left to clean up.” Yeosang clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Seonghwa has lived several hundred more years than the shorter vampire, he’s seen more bloodshed and tragedy than Yeosang could dream of, he is the elder of the coven and Yeosang’s maker — all useless and meaningless facts in the long run because Yeosang has a nasty and peculiar habit of making Seonghwa feel small. Age truly is but a number when it comes to Yeosang because everything about him makes Seonghwa feel young and inexperienced.

“Yunho gave me all the important details. Also mentioned that he picked you up at an apartment in the city a little over a month ago. It’s safe to assume that’s where your Marked is?” Yeosang poses it as a question, but he gives Seonghwa no time to reply before he’s speaking again, that clear and sharp tone grating across Seonghwa’s ears in the worst way. “He and San departed not long ago to fetch… whoever your Marked is. They’ll be back shortly, and once again I will have fixed your mess. As usual.”

“Just give me your blood and call it a day,” Seonghwa spits out with a tad too much venom to his tone.

“You hardly have the strength to make it through another bonding process, and as I recall, we agreed to never do that again after we severed it last time.” The older of the two can’t resist the urge to huff out a laugh, and he’s certain that it’s because of the fog riddling his mind.

“Such a prude, Yeosang. You grow more cynical every year.”

Yeosang exhales through his nose. Out the corner of his eye, Seonghwa can see him bring his arms up to fold over his chest. There’s the faintest hint of affection lingering behind the disappointment in his gaze though, so Seonghwa knows that the bitter facade is merely that – a facade.

“Jongho, help him up and bring him to the dining hall. Yunho and San will meet you there when they’re back, and Mingi will join you once he’s finished unloading the new shipments of wine. I’ll be in the study if you need me. Try to make sure he doesn’t make any more rash decisions in such a short amount of time.”

“I’ll do my best, hyung.”

Yeosang offers a single nod in response before turning to leave the room, and Seonghwa blinks at the back of his dark head of hair until he’s completely disappeared.

“You two never change,” Jongho mutters as he helps Seonghwa to his feet. “I’d almost risk saying that you’re made for each other, life partners or not.” Seonghwa wishes he had the energy and strength to hit Jongho for the comment, but the younger gets away with it for now, only receiving a half-hearted glare for his words. And when Jongho grins softly at him, Seonghwa feels the slightest ounce of relief on his shoulders. Despite Yunho’s glares, Jongho’s lectures, and Yeosang’s whining, Seonghwa can rest in the fact that they care for him endlessly. That and the fact that Yunho and San will hopefully be bringing you as quickly as possible to rid him of the unending pain in his chest.

↢ ♡ ↣

a/n: okay this is somewhat a ~filler~ chapter before we really start picking up on plot points and such bUT this series will have shifting povs! and there will be 4-6 perspectives i’ll be writing from (reader, seonghwa, yeosang, hongjoong, maybe yunho as well, maybe wooyoung it depends) and this wont be a super duper long series? i’m thinking 15-20 parts or less? i am not sure yet!! we shall see! anywho i hope this is good and you guys enjoy it!

taglist; @sarangeulhaettda @xxbluestrifexx @naajix @daisyhwa

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hajimes-erect-ahoge · 3 years

Text

Diagnosis: Love Sickness!- Chapter 1

In the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles, 16 students have been imprisoned as part of a nonsensical dating game in which their objective is to find themselves in a budding romance with another student! Although reluctant to admit so, Shuichi Saihara has had his eyes on another student for quite some time now... Will Monokuma's new motive, the Despair Disease, be the driving force that pushes Saihara to finally confess his love? Or will he stay forever single in this twisted dating game?

Stay tuned to find out!

~~~~~~~~~~

Monokuma introduces the new motive, the despair disease!

ao3

The Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles was a rather interesting place, though its facilities were currently being used for a particularly strange purpose. Sixteen students, eight boys and eight girls, were confined within the walls of the academy for some sort of dating game, supposedly for the entertainment of the outside world. The cherry on top of this strange situation was that their captor was a small, animatronic black and white bear who walked and talked as if he were human. Monokuma, as the bear dubbed itself, would appear every now and then to inform the students of the structure and layout of the academy or to introduce some strange motive to encourage the blossoming of romance amongst them, but otherwise left them to their own devices. Having no choice but to mingle and make friends with one another, the students explored the academy and made use of their surroundings.

Speaking of which, the students imprisoned in this academy were not necessarily normal, either. Each and every one of them had an Ultimate Talent, making them special and distinct from one another. Their talents varied greatly from one another, even including something as far-fetched and sci-fi sounding as the Ultimate Robot, but they all managed to get along with one another and cultivate rather interesting friendships.

One exception to this, however, was Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective. Being naturally introverted and reclusive, he had a difficult time forming friendships with the other students, at least initially. Seeking to help the young detective out of his shell, two other students named Akamatsu and Momota attempted to befriend him, slowly introducing him to their small social circle and eventually the rest of the students. The two of them were social butterflies, flitting gracefully between the social groups that had formed, providing a nice complement to Saihara’s more reserved nature. Their positive and radiant energies bounced off of each other and onto Saihara, causing him to feel more empowered and confident than ever before.

It was a gradual process that allowed Saihara to become more sure of himself, transpiring over the course of their first few weeks at the academy. The culmination of said process was when, at Momota and Akamatsu’s behest, Saihara removed the black cap that he desperately clung to in order to avoid eye contact with others. His lifestyle had undergone a complete transformation since entering this academy, changing for the better as a result of the efforts of his new friends. Although his tendencies to doubt himself still persevered at times, Saihara was grateful for the progress he had made to better himself and make new friends.

But there was something missing.

As he spent more and more time trapped in the academy, Saihara noticed an increasing number of students crossing the boundary from friends to lovers. At first it was only Chabashira and Yumeno, followed by Iruma and Kiibo, but when both Momota and Akamatsu entered relationships Saihara couldn’t help but feel as if he were missing something. Although he was happy that his two closest friends were in happy, fulfilling relationships, Saihara longed for the intimacy and closeness that came with having a partner. It had been over a year since his last relationship, leaving him finally ready for a fresh start with someone new.

In all honesty, Saihara would be lying if he said he didn’t have his eyes on anyone in particular. But despite the fact that he had grown leaps and bounds in terms of becoming more secure and sure of himself, Saihara knew that he didn’t have it in him to confess his feelings for another person. In the past, it had always been various girls and boys confessing their feelings for him, not the other way around. On the lucky occasion that Saihara had actually returned the other person’s feelings, it would lead to a new relationship for the both of them. But that had only happened once throughout his whole life, and Saihara wasn’t sure if he was ready to enter another relationship and have his heart eventually be broken again. For now, all he could do was admire from afar and pray that the embarrassment when his feelings came to light wasn’t too much to endure.

~~~~~

Three weeks had passed since the imprisonment of the students had begun, meaning that it was time for a new motive to be announced. In accordance with their schedule, Monokuma had made an announcement instructing everyone to report to the gymnasium bright and early. Having no strong reasons to disobey, the students all gathered in the gymnasium awaiting Monokuma’s appearance.

Suddenly, Monokuma sprung up on top of the stage at the head of the gymnasium, drawing everyone’s attention. Although it was practically routine by now, there was no getting used to an animatronic bear appearing out of thin air. The murmurs and idle chatter in the room came to a stop, all eyes focusing on the small bear in front of them.

“Gooood morning, everyone!” Monokuma’s familiar voice rang out, chipper as ever. “I hope you all slept well, cuz I certainly did!”

“Huh? Do robots like you even need sleep?” Shirogane curiously asked, a twinge of doubt lacing her words. “I mean… You are a robot, right?”

“Why don’t we just ask the Ultimate Robot himself?” Ouma butt in excitedly, balling his hands into small fists as his eyes sparkled brightly. “Hey, Kiiboy! Is it true that robots don’t need to sleep at night like humans do?”

“I will not tolerate your robophobic remarks, Ouma-kun!” Kiibo fumed, crossing his arms angrily. “While it is true that I do not require sleep, there is a function on my body that allows me to-”

Kiibo was cut off by Ouma audibly yawning, signaling his disinterest in their conversation.

“Boooring! I don’t care about your stupid sci-fi robo functions!” Ouma complained.

“Quit lyin’ you shitty shota!” Iruma scowled, jumping to Kiibo’s defense. “Just the other day you were buggin’ Kiibo about exactly that, so don’t even try pulling that shit!”

“Hmm, was I? I don’t remember…” Ouma lied once more, irritating Iruma even further. “Either way, an ignorant slut like you shouldn’t be-”

“Aaargh, that’s enough!” Monokuma thrashed about, waving his paws in the air angrily. “I didn’t call this meeting for you guys to bicker like little kids! You’re ruining the moment!”

A silence befell them, allowing Monokuma to continue.

“I’m introducing the new motive and that’s final!” He announced, composing himself. “Now, since you idiots were too busy arguing, I bet you didn’t even notice that you’re one student short!”

On cue, everyone began looking around in order to confirm Monokuma’s words.

“Atua says that Shuichi is the one missing!” Yonaga declared proudly, clasping her hands together.

“Oh, yeah! About that...” Momota began, “He wasn’t feeling good when I went to check on him this morning, so I figured it would be fine for him to sit this one out… He looked pretty bad.”

“Did you provide him with any medical attention, at the very least?” Tojo asked, voice laced with concern.

“Err…” Momota glanced to the side, a guilty expression adorning his face. “I might’ve forgotten about that when the announcement was made…”

“So you just left my beloved Saihara-chan to die?! How cruel, Momota-chan! And here I thought the two of you were all buddy-buddy or something!” Ouma cried, crocodile tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“T-That’s not true! We were going to check on him as soon as this was over! Right, Maki Roll?” Momota sputtered, struggling to defend himself.

“...That’s right.” Harukawa agreed, fiddling with her pigtails in response to Momota’s pet name for her.

“Upupu!” Monokuma laughed, lifting his paws to cover his smiling face. “Looks like everything is going just as planned!”

“...Just as I thought.” Amami concluded, bringing a hand to his chin as he spoke his thoughts aloud. “Saihara-kun’s illness must have something to do with Monokuma’s new motive.”

Akamatsu gasped in surprise, frowning as she processed the implications of Amami’s statement. “Is that true, Monokuma? Did you do something to Saihara-kun?”

“Upupupu! I call it…” He paused dramatically for effect, “the despair disease!”

A wave of silence washed over them, the students carefully pondering over Monokuma’s words.

“Diss-pear duh-seeze…” Gokuhara sounded out, attempting to understand the information he had been given. “Gonta not sure he understand…”

“Nyeh…” Yumeno groaned, voicing her confusion. “Am I the only one who’s lost?”

“Tell us, Monokuma…” Shinguji spoke cautiously, “What is this ‘despair disease’ you speak of?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely I might as well tell you all!” Monokuma grinned, preparing to explain himself. “The despair disease is a highly contagious illness that affects each and every student differently, depending on the strain that they contract! The symptoms can range from physical ailments to complete personality changes, so I’d be careful if I were you!”

“Personality changes…?” Harukawa repeated to herself, turning to address Momota. “Did you notice anything unusual when you checked on Saihara earlier?”

“Now that you mention it, he was acting kind of weird…” Momota admitted, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. “Alright, I’ve decided! Me and Maki Roll will watch over Shuichi until he gets better!” He declared boldly.

“What about the two of you, then?” Hoshi questioned, raising an eyebrow. “If this disease is as contagious as Monokuma just said doesn’t that put the two of you at risk?”

“Don’t worry about that! I, Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, am naturally immune to all types of sickness! I could never let something as silly as being sick bring me down!” Momota boasted.

“You’re such an idiot…” Harukawa twirled a loose strand of hair between her fingers, a faint smile visible on her face. “But don’t worry about us. After we make sure Saihara is feeling alright, we’ll leave so that we don’t contract the illness.”

“Good luck, you two!” Akamatsu encouraged, flashing them a bright smile.

Momota gave her a thumbs up, heading out of the gymnasium with Harukawa in tow. One by one, the rest of the students exited as well, leaving only Monokuma.

“Upupupu…” He laughed to himself, grinning knowingly. “Let’s see how they deal with this...”

~~~~~

After arriving at Saihara’s dorm, Momota knocked on the door while Harukawa waited.

“Yo, Shuichi! You holdin’ up in there?” Momota asked, speaking loud enough for practically every dorm to hear him. “Me and Maki Roll came to check up on ya!”

Saihara faintly called out to them, informing them that the door should be open. Momota and Harukawa entered, immediately noticing a sick-looking Saihara sitting up in bed.

“Damn, you still look pretty bad…” Momota observed aloud, stepping closer to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m so tired, Momota-kun…” Saihara drawled, flashing him a coy expression. “I was up all night thinking about you…” He smiled innocently, fingers grazing his lips as he watched Momota’s concerned expression morph into one of bewilderment.

“Huh?” Momota recoiled, taken aback by Saihara’s sudden advances. “Shuichi, what are you talking about?”

Before Saihara could answer, Harukawa approached, placing the back of her hand on his forehead in order to check his temperature.

“He has a crazy high fever…” Harukawa stated, moving to pull her hand away.

But before she could retract it completely, Saihara took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers.

“Your hands are beautiful, Harukawa-san…” He gave her hand a squeeze, looking up to make eye contact with her. “Just like the rest of you.” Saihara smirked, a beguiling expression dressing his face.

Harukawa was quick to pull her hand away, wiping it on her sleeve. “And your hands are sweaty.” She stated flatly, shooting Momota a quick look. With a sigh, she continued. “So, let me guess. You have a strain of the despair disease that makes you flirt with everyone you come in contact with. Correct?”

“Despair disease…?” Saihara repeated, “You’ve got it all wrong, Harukawa-san…” Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, the heat of his fever adding to the already prominent flush on his face. “The only disease I have is love sickness.”

“Do you want to die?” She threatened, expecting to wipe the smirk right off of Saihara’s face. But he continued to smile as he averted his eyes, another witty remark hanging off the tip of his tongue.

“Uhh… Can I talk to you for a minute, Maki Roll?” Momota spoke in a hushed voice, pulling her aside while Saihara simply observed. “Shuichi is acting kind of… weird, right?”

Harukawa rolled her eyes, another sigh escaping her lips. It was just like Momota to be this dense, especially when it came to flirting. Nevertheless, she responded, speaking in a low voice.

“Yeah…” She agreed. “Definitely weird.”

“So, what should we do?” Momota glanced at Saihara, who was simply staring down at the bedsheets. “I mean, someone has to take care of him… Right?”

“I don’t think we should leave him alone in this state…” Harukawa admitted. Despite Saihara’s odd behavior, it just wouldn’t be right to leave a sick person all by themselves. “I guess… We can keep an eye on him until nighttime.”

“Hmm… Alright! I trust you!” Momota gave her a small pat on the arm before turning back to Saihara, who seemed to be in a daze. “Listen up, Shuichi! Maki Roll and I are gonna be taking care of you until you feel better, so you better snap out of it!”

“Aha… Snap out of what?” Saihara responded, laughing a bit to himself.

Momota and Harukawa shared a suspect glance, before resigning themselves to their fate.

It was going to be a long day.

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mrs-cavill-wife · 3 years

Text

Forbidden Witch (2/?)

Pairing: Charles Brandon X Female Reader

Warning: Fantasy. Language. Forbidden Love. Tell me if I miss something.

Author's Note: This one is REALLY long chapter but here comes Charles Brandon, calm your tits! Hope you guys like it, if you do, please reblog it! I'm all ears to feedback and suggestions, thank you! DM or comment if you want to be on tag lists of Forbidden Witch!

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites @rmtndew

Riding for a few minutes, the boy was fun, he had many stories but I was grateful when he stopped chattering. I think this adventure exhausted him.

We arrived in Aluma and it was not difficult to find the castle, in a short time, we were well in freight for the construction. Aretuza was a beautiful place, but I had never seen such a magnificent castle, it was big, people were probably lost there. I approached the entrance and came across three soldiers, who immediately aimed the spears at me.

"Stop! Who's coming over there?"

I looked at them alerting them to stay quiet and I got off the horse slowly, the little prince was already asleep and I didn't want to find him. I think almost turning into monster food was a great experience, he needed to rest.

"Tsc-tsc. I don't think that's how you supposed to treat a lady. Especially when she saved and is in charge of the safety of her future king."

One of them approached to look closely and then looked at the others.

"Go, fast! Let your majesties know, Prince Eric has been found."

One of them ran inside the door, faster than a fox and I, even with the little boy, still had to wait outside. I looked at the blondie, and he slept soundly, hugging my Atlas, as if je were the most comfortable of the mattresses. Which is probably something he must have. Based on the aesthetics of the Castle, they must have everything from the good and the best, and even more.

"Eric! My little warrior!"

A voice, clearly desperate, screamed and, faster than her guard, the queen approached. A beautiful lady, blonde, thin but with curves, a beautiful green dress with gold details that matched with her hazel eyes and, of course, a simple but remarkable crown with rubies on the top of her head.

She approached me and the little boy, affectionately touching her face and then brushing her hair with her fingers. Her features were clear, pure happiness, relief and tears that I think, have been there since the little boy ran away. Eric woke up quickly with his mother touch and smiled softly, still tired.

She grabbed the boy, without caring about his soaked clothes, giving him a giant bear hug while sobbing.

"Oh my little prince, why? You know how worried your Mom is when you run away like that."

She said now looking at him with teary red eyes. I have to admit I felt bad for her.

"I think I'll have to put soldiers in to watch you again"

Again? Yeah, he didn't lie, and by the nickname "little warrior", I think he was really a little adventurer and a big runaway kid.

"Mom, I'm sorry and I'm fine. The witch saved me. Without her, I would be monster dinner right now."

Said the little troublemaker and after the brief moment of mother and son, the queen noticed me, gave a big smile and I bowed in respect, but she soon shook her head and held my hand.

"You, my young lady, no need to bow. You saved my son, my greatest treasure, you don't know how grateful I am. What's your name?"

I didn't knew exactly what to say. I looked at Eric and he just smiled comforting me.

"Oh.. your majesty.. I'm Cassandra, Cassandra of Boudicca.. and I just.. I just did what any sensible person would do."

"One way or another, me and your majesty, the king, we are very grateful, and by the way the king would love to meet you."

Meet me? Oh Lord, I can't say no to a queen, right? She's being so sweet with me but I'm even dressed properly to meet a king?

"My queen.. I.. well.."

"No no, I'll be offended if you refuse"

I sighed and nodded. The soldiers led the way and the queen took me into the huge castle, holding my right hand and with her son by the side, but within minutes he ran into a room with large wooden doors, apparently the throne room.

I thought we would get in there but the queen is still walking and I had no choice but to follow. We arrived at a door, it was opened and it was a beautiful room, with a huge bed that would probably fit three people, a nice balcony, a dressing table, a shelf with some books. The queen took me to the room on, had a huge mirror, a beautiful bathtub, prepared with some foam and next to it, a black girl with a simple dress, braided hair and a beautiful smile.

"This is Juliette, one of my chaperones, she's a wonderful lady, she will help you bathe and get ready."

The lady Juliette bowed at me and I looked surprised at the queen.

"Your majesty, that's not necessary, I.."

She cutted me before I could say something more.

"Darling, you can call me Madeline and maybe it's not necessary but I asked my man to treat your beautiful horse and I think you need too, besides.."

She grabbed a little cloth and gently rubbed under my nose wiping it. Something a mother would do. And I saw a little of blood when she pull away the cloth. Fire spells always consume a lot of my strength, occasionally, my nose would start bleeding and on the worst situation, I would pass out.

"..You look very exhausted, please, let my lady help you.."

Alright, maybe I need it and won't hurt, right?

I nodded causing the Queen and her lady to smile widely at me.

"Huh.. At least, lady Juliette, can she let me take care of my bath? By myself, please? I don't want to be disrespectful to your kindly, but I'm not used to undressing in front of anyone."

The queen smiled softly and nodded at Juliette and soon, she were our of bathroom.

"Darlin, one question. What's your favorite color?"

"Black!?"

I answered a little confused and she left me alone in the bathroom. I undressed and went into the warm water.

I would not feel comfortable naked in someone's presence, at all, even if I were a man.. I imagine that some people think I can be experient, I admit that I have a beautiful body, at least I think that I'm beautiful, attracts many masculine looks, I have been courted but always by men who saw me with a piece of meat or out of curiosity to know what spell a witch knows how to do between four walls. Pathetic.

The truth is that I have never been with a man, I have never fallen in love. When I was younger, I used to imagine what my future husband would be like. I imagined your details, I remember everything I liked.. He would be a tall man, defined body, fair, strong, sweet, romantic, noble, fair skin, blue eyes like the sky in a spring morning, dark hair like the night, short or maybe curly, lips chubby that would always leave me wanting more, hands that when..

Oh my God, stop Cassandra, you're not a teen anymore.. and it's not going to happen.

I blew away those stupid thoughts and got up from bathtub, grabbed a towel and wrapped around my body. When i arrived on room, I meet Lady Juliette, holding a box and next to her, on the bed, a simple, but for my eyes, a really gorgeous black dress.

"Oh my God, that's..?"

Lady Juliette laughed softly and opened the box, revealing a necklace.

"The queen want you to wear this for tonight. She thought you would like the style and it's also a gift for saving her son"

I don't wanted to sounds dramatic but it's beautiful, the dress, the necklace. I grabbed the dress and ran back to bathroom to get dressed. I admired myself on the mirror for a second and quickly, Juliette was behind me, helping me with the necklace.

"By your smile, I see you approved. The queen will love to know. Your majesties await for you on the throne room, I'll lead the way."

I nodded and followed Juliette to the throne room

Charles Brandon POV

Another beautiful morning. I woke up and rubbed my eyes, yawned getting up and wearing a shirt. I went to the window, opened the curtains and let the sunlight in. Oh, fresh air. Honestly, I could not have chosen a better place to be my home, in freight to a beautiful and immense river, around the splendid nature, far from the city, that noise makes me crazy, horses running, people screaming, songs out of tune, poor people begging for help and old "relationships" knocking on my door. That's peace right here.

I looked to the side. Seeing my wife, Phoebe and my little princess, my daughter Mackenzie. Christ, she is growing up so fast, she is only six years old now but she is a very smart little girl, loves to read, write and draw. She is the most special thing in the world for me.

I remember when Phoebe told me she was pregnant, four weeks after our wedding. I have always been a man who lives in the present, the now. But at that moment, I cared about the future, about me, about being a better man, something I never was and my wife suffered a lot from it, she would pretend to don't mind sleeping all alone almost every night, pretended not see me arriving late, often drunk, lipstick and sweat on my skin. Today I don't like to talk but, loyalty was never on my list of tasks, not before Phoebe give me someone so innocent, so sweet and pure, someone who depended on me. There's a Charles Brandon before Mackenzie, and another Charles Brandon after Mackenzie, and long before that, long before I met Phoebe, I was just a farmer's son.

How do I become Duke? Well, I was always in love with horses and swords, my father died when I was little and my mother was a queen's lady. I practically lived in the castle because of my mother's work, and this work, gave me a chance to see the soldiers training, fighting, riding, I just loved it and the captain ended up realizing my admiration, despite my young age, I became a helper, simply started carrying things, gave a little help with the horses. My dedication took me far, in a short time I cleaned the armor and then I was sharpening and testing the swords and when I really became a man, after my mother died of natural causes, with the blessing of King Edward, I became knights, soldier, one of the best.

Going to war was incredible for me, it seems sick but I liked to cut off heads, tear apart, see blood and defend the kingdom that treated me like a son. King Edward had a best friend, a king from a distant continent. King Alexander. On one of his visits, there was a feast, and that's when we met. That same night, there was an ambush in the castle and unfortunately, the king in which I served since I was a child, was murdered, as well as several soldiers, I remained standing, even injured and saved King Alexander.

After all that, King Edward gave me a lot of support. He knew it was a big loss for me, I lost a lot of friends and he knew that King Alexander was almost like a father to me. He knew of my dedication and love for the royal guard, for being a soldier and he invited me to be part of his soldiers. I was reluctant but after thinking a lot, I really had nothing else, nothing to lose so, the next day, I am already on my way to Aluma, his kingdom. There I met his wife, he told me they were trying to have a baby, they hoped it was a boy, an heir, I honestly, I always thought it was bullshit but I wouldn't say that, I was treated like a son.

For a few years, I exercised my place in the royal guard, I became a captain, and of course, the title attracted several lovers. Redheads, brunettes, blondes, fair skin, black skin, a whole meal full of colors and tastes.. each dawn I got up from a different bed, and "finally", I met Phoebe, a young lady, from a noble family. At first, it was just a carnal thing but it ended up becoming a passion, and soon, we were married. Being a captain, having a wife and being a party boy. My favorite things in life, but they were colliding. Phoebe suffered from wondering if I would return alive from a battle and the other night, she slept alone while I had fun with some harlot. It got to the point where I realized that it couldn't be like that anymore, I had affection for the woman who woke up more than I want in me, so I made the decision to relinquish my post as captain of the royal guard. King Alexander tried to insist that I stay, it's true that we ended up becoming great friends but he ended up understanding my decision.

As a thank you for years of loyalty to him and his best friend, he gave me a title and his best builders would build my home, wherever I wanted. I chose, Sullfolk, a beautiful continent, full of nature. I became Charles Brandon, the Duke of Sullfolk.

"Daddy?"

I leave my daydreams of the past, hearing that sweet voice of my dear Mackenzie. I looked at the bed and saw her with a sleepy face and a smile in my direction. I walked over, sitting next to her on the bed and placing a kiss on her messy hair.

"Good morning, sunshine. how did my little princess sleep?"

"Good daddy, are we traveling today, right?"

I laughed softly nodding at her. Since King Alexander sent a letter, inviting me and my family to Aluma, my little Mackenzie is not holding on to happiness, she would ask me every night, "When are we going? It's closer daddy?".

It would be her first trip, she would know the place of my stories that she loved to hear. It would be a visit, it had been a few years since Alexandre and I had seen each other and he said he would prepare a banquet, talk about the old days, it would be fun for my family, a chance for Mackenzie to know a new place and Phoebe would review the place where he was born. In fact, we were all in stasis.

"I'll get ready and tell our servants to put our breakfast. Wake up your mother and meet me in the dining room. After we eat, we go to the road."

She smiled widely causing me the same action of affection and I left the room.

#henrycavill rp #henry cavill x female reader #charles brandon x you #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

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rhetoricalrogue · 3 years

Text

Five More Minutes

Inspired by all the talk about various detectives turning and knowing that Astrid needs to be Dramatic™️ at times, here she is, giving her boyfriend (and mother, and honorary mother figure, and best friends, and...) grief post-turning. This most likely would take place a couple of years into a relationship with Adam, and she’s had a while to decide that this is the path she wants to take for the rest of her (hopefully long) life.

As always, Fiona belongs to @asaucyginger. I borrow her from time to time for shenanigans and to antagonize Adam. Astrid also has Chris Hemsworth giving out complements as her alarm clock on her phone, but only has that alarm on when Adam’s not around since while she may appreciate waking up to the sound of her celebrity crush, she knows the feeling is most definitely not mutual for Adam.

She slept for a solid week after making the transition from human to vampire. It’s wasn’t even a typical for her type of slumber - eyes twitching behind closed eyelids, breath soft and limbs relaxed - she slept as if she were literally dead, stiff, no movement whatsoever. If it weren’t for the sluggish single beat of her heart every ten seconds (Adam knew, every count of ten had been absolute torture until he heard it beat again,) Agency doctors would have deemed the procedure a failure.

One of the few positives for her being unresponsive after her change - a change that had been fairly uneventful, boring even, blessedly peaceful in it’s own way with a minimum of pain - was that she hadn’t been awake to witness the doctors perform surgery on her leg to extract the various screws and plates that she had lived with since she had been nineteen. Adam wondered how their absence would change the way she fought, seeing that she and Fiona had worked to design a swordfighting style to accommodate for a weaker knee and to protect her ankle.

The scar would remain, the doctors told them both, fairy and vampire momentarily setting aside their differences for the person they both loved as they had both paced the waiting room in worry. There was a slight tone of apology to that announcement, but both of them had breathed a sigh of relief.

One of the things Astrid had worried about was losing her scars, voicing a fear that everything her body had gone through in her short thirty-three years of existence would be wiped clean and rendered meaningless. Adam hoped she would be pleased when she discovered it hadn’t, even though the last traces of the scar Murphy had inflicted upon her had vanished, her new nature taking care of what Agency magic and medicine had started. He wondered if she would be relieved to have it gone, seeing as its presence had always bothered her and she took pains to hide it, even though it hadn’t been that visible to the ordinary eye.

Since she’d still been unresponsive after the first hour, her first feeding, and every other feeding since, had been done intravenously. Adam watched through the security cameras as Elidor had carefully set her up for the transfusion. No one had voiced it out loud, but everyone knew about how she had bitten Murphy in a similar situation. If she had bitten off a piece of his face as a human, there was no telling what she could do as a vampire if she suddenly woke up and had a negative flashback response. To his credit, Elidor had been unafraid, patting her limp hand and holding a cheerful, one-sided conversation with her the entire time.

A day passed and visitors arrived at the observation room. Markus and Tony became fixtures, both refusing to leave even after Tony almost got into a fight with security about not being allowed into Astrid’s room. She was too unstable, they said. There was no way to know how she would react if she woke up: she might be fine, she might decide to make a snack out of one of her oldest and dearest friends. It took both Fiona and Markus to talk him down and lead him back down the hall before he got kicked out of the facility.

Adam and the rest of Unit Bravo learned a lot of goofy stories about Astrid from the other three. Markus tended to stick with anecdotes from battle re-enactments and drunken post-fighting party hijinks while Tony went on tangents about their many annual Fancy New Year’s Eve parties in the City. Fiona’s voice grew soft as she recounted Astrid’s childhood and what it had been like to be a caretaker turned honorary mother figure to her since Astrid was two. Rebecca, who hadn’t budged from looking at her daughter through the monitor, thanked her for being there for Astrid when she couldn’t.

On the sixth day, the doctors allowed Cashew in, thinking that a familiar pet would bring her out of her catatonic state. Cashew, Adam was relieved to see, was unfazed by his mistress’s transformation. He merely gave her chin a few headbutts while honking plaintively before curling up at her side, his head resting in her elbow and his feet fitting into the palm of her hand. After an hour of no response, Cashew was put back into his crate and taken back to Adam’s room in the Facility. Adam knew that he wouldn’t stray far from the place until Astrid could go home, so prior to her turning, the two of them made sure Cashew would be comfortable there. Aside from a few honks to let them know he would have rather preferred his own home instead of the temporary setup, the cat had seemed fine.

Adam broke rank on the seventh day. He didn’t know if it was his fear that the woman he loved would never wake, agony at being so close yet so incredibly far from her for an entire week, the fact that he desperately needed to sleep - Nate had begged him to rest, promising that he would wake him at the slightest hint of change. Adam had refused; how could he sleep with Astrid in this state? - or a combination of the three, but in the early hours of the morning, he silently made his way out of the observation room, moving past everyone dozing in chairs and cots that had been set up for them, and walking purposely down the hall. The lone security guard only made the barest of attempts to stop him before standing down, most likely because the look on Adam’s face had stopped them in their tracks.

Astrid’s room held a faint antiseptic scent to it, most likely from the wipes used on her arm for her daily transfusions. The monitor she was hooked up to beeped in time with the slow beating of her heart and now that he was there with her in person, he could see the shallow, barely there rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath. Adam sat at the edge of the bed and counted: ten beats for her heart, twenty for her breath.

“Must you be so dramatic?” he asked, his hand reaching out to bring hers up, his lips pressed against her knuckles before turning her hand over and leaving a lingering kiss to her palm. “This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

The video in the observation room, no matter how crisp, had failed to capture the almost luminous quality of her skin correctly. She’d always had a healthy glow to her pale skin, but now it was highlighted even more. The freckles that dusted the tops of her cheeks and across her nose were still there as well, but they were subdued, like constellations obscured by a cloudy sky. Adam winced at the thought, knowing Nate could come up with a better metaphor.

He pressed a second kiss to her palm, then another to her wrist. Aside from the barest of changes to her complexion and a brighter, healthier sheen to her copper hair, Astrid had not changed. It wouldn’t have mattered to him one way or another: Astrid was Astrid no matter what she looked like and he would love her in any form she took, but he knew it would matter to her. Adjusting to whatever new preternatural abilities she gained would be an ordeal in itself, adjusting while feeling like a stranger in her own body would have added a level of difficulty to the process.

“I know you hate to wake on time, but please.” Adam reached out with his other hand and tenderly cupped her cheek. “Wake up. For me.”

Moments passed. Three heartbeats, two exhales. Adam hunched down and pressed his face against her chest, silently hoping to feel her fingers comb through his hair. “You’re forcing my hand,” he told her, gathering her close. Moving until his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear, he closed his eyes and grimaced. “The things I do for you.”

“Hey you. Yes, yes, yes you. Today is your day. You’ve got this. You’re absolutely crushing it at everything you do.” He leaned back when the familiar sound of her heart sounded at eight seconds, then another at seven. “You’re more than capable of taking on the world, the whole world, by storm.”

It was faint, but he swore he saw her eyelid twitch. “Speaking of the world, did you know that it’s a better place with you in it?” He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “You’re strong, you’re confident. You’re intelligent, you’re charismatic. On a scale of one to ten, you are an eleven.” He held his breath, desperately trying to find a change as he continued to recite words from a video she’d set as her usual alarm clock. The heart rate monitor next to the bed gave one beep, then two, the long, flat line on the screen making more regular jumps.

It would figure your blasted favorite actor would cause a reaction, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers. “You make me want to be a better man. Astrid, please. Open your eyes.”

One heartbeat, then two, then more until Astrid’s heart gained a cadence that was oh so familiar to him. Her breathing patterns reminded him of lazy Sunday mornings, of her asleep in his arms and half-mumbling about five more minutes. You’ve had longer than five minutes, he thought, hand tilting her face up. He didn’t have long, even if people woke to cause a diversion, until Agency doctors burst in with protests about how unsafe it was to be in such close proximity to a newly made vampire, no matter how well-fed they ensured her to be.

Astrid would never intentionally harm him, he knew that fact down to his bones. His faith in her was the reason he held no fear as he kissed her, hoping that the wishes he held back for her safe return to him would take root.

There was a twitch, the barest feeling of being kissed back that had Adam slowly sitting up straight so he could better look at her face. Ever so slowly, Astrid’s eyelashes fluttered until she blinked up at him.

“Hi.”

Adam let out a relieved laugh, heart soaring at the sound of her voice, cracked and groggy from sleep as it was. “Hello.”

She took a deep breath and blinked again, looking as if she were taking a mental inventory of her surroundings and wincing at every sound. “It worked?”

He nodded. “It did.” Reaching over, he turned off the monitor so it wouldn’t continue to irritate Astrid’s sharper hearing. “How do you feel?”

She peeled off the sticky sensor from her chest and made a move to sit up, Adam standing and offering his hands to assist. “I feel…” she looked around, her hands squeezing his. “Different, but sort of the same? I can’t describe it. I’m me, but…”

“Take your time.”

She grinned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, eyes instantly locking onto her leg and shoulders sagging in relief at the sight of a familiar scar. “Sort of have all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

Adam pulled her to her feet and held her close, fingers sinking into her hair. “That we do.”

“So, how long was I out? Did we miss that special on the History Channel we were going to watch while sipping on blood bags and eating a cheese board?”

He held her closer, the side of his face buried against hers. “Astrid, you’ve been asleep for a week. We most certainly missed the show, but I recorded it for you to watch when you’re ready.”

She jerked up, the top of her head banging against his chin. “What?” her voice was louder than normal and she winced at the sound. “A whole week?”

“Trust me, it was troubling for us all too.”

Her eyes widened. “Cashew! Who’s been taking care of my cat?”

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Adam settled for raising an eyebrow instead. “Our cat. Don’t worry, I made sure he didn’t starve.”

She froze, head cocking to the side. “There’s someone coming down the hall.” Her nose crinkled a bit. “This is so weird, how the hell do I know that’s Tony by smell alone?” She sniffed again. “And why does he smell like the cotton candy from that boardwalk we always go to on his birthday?”

“You’ll get used to it. I don’t think you’ll have a lack of vampires ready to help you answer any questions you may have.”

Astrid’s arms tightened around his waist and he felt the barest of trembles. Knowing her as he did, he knew she was trying to put on a strong front as she attempted to center herself in her new reality, acute senses and all. “I do have one question,” she stated, head against his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Would it be possible to get a few minutes to myself? Markus is coming down the hall with like five other people and…” She looked up at him, the barest hint of fangs peeking out from behind her lips. It was maddeningly endearing. “I love them all, but it’s a little much?”

He nodded, kissing the crown of her head as he did so. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He had his hand on the doorknob when she called back to him. “Once you stall them, will you come back? I don’t really want to be alone-alone, and you…”

He understood the look she gave him, the unspoken sentiment that hovered between them. There would be time later to express it - and how light he felt, knowing they had today and tomorrow and a million other tomorrows after together! - but he knew what she meant. The noise and the presence of others may be a bit much, but just being around her was a balm to his senses, the sound of her voice soothing, the feel of her hand in his right, clicking into place as if he had been made to be at her side.

She was his home, and it still astounded him (and most likely would forever astound him) that she regarded him as hers.

Adam nodded, his mouth curving into a smile that matched the one Astrid gave him. “Always.”

#my writing #pairing: stoic and stubborn #astrid sinclair #adam du mortain #this is so ROUGH but I had the idea and the time/energy to write and HAD to get it out before I lost my opportunity #totally unedited but what the hell I’m sharing anyway

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

in the night, ii.

read part one! dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle because she loves assassin!kook and so do i. i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them. oops.

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. ... general? tags. soft romance in the form of: pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons. maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times. it’s just them being... them? ig. wc. 1.8k. beta reader. @hobi-gif 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup. You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side. You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him. It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?” He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare. It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees. “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.” It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.” It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly.

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,” he repeats, just that bit harder. The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words; his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy. They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple. Your weakness - or so he’d like to think.

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements. He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist.

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat. He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate.

“Bored?” The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter. It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion.

“No.” But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused.

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh; his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set. “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures. Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier.

Note to himself: pick up some new clothes.

“I want every dessert on the menu,” you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order. You go take a shower or something.” It’s not as dismissive as he means; the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk. It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists.

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against. Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.” You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you. Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it.

“Name one time,” he retorts, fully on the defensive. Even though he knows you’re right. Even though he could list off just five things since last night.

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three.

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?” Okay, you have him there. “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?” Another solid and mildly embarrassing example. “Or—”

“Okay, okay.” A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop; the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top. “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon. “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!” And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session.

“You’re an idiot,” you state, with a surprising amount of affection. He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities.

“You still came,” he challenges.

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good. Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him. It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap. Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen. He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer; it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you.

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap.

“Doc?” Barely a word, made in a whisper.

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath? Is it your medical training that gives him away? Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes.

He wants to ask. He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you.

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile. “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation. It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw. “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.” Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh. It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite; it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic. He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well.

“Grab a bath, Doc,” he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand.

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.” A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare. For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation.

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs. He still hears you. “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”

“We don’t talk about that!” He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter. Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent. He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder. It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body.

It’s dangerous, he knows.

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon. That living a life like this came with sacrifices. Things he’d never really cared for - at first. But now?

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between. They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences: coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night.

All because of you and your healing hands. He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep. It’d keep you safe - and him, too. Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,” he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck. The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?” Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Might as well milk it,” you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin. He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do; it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,” he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years

Text

And Me Wearing Your Clothes

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,992

Summary: A creature in the woods is killing village girls in the woods, but to keep you safe Jaskier volunteers himself, and one of your dresses as bait instead.

A/N: This one probably needs some level of explanation. So, Joey wears a dress on the cover of The Horror and The Wild, and it has lived rent free in my mind since I first saw it so I had to get around to writing Jaskier in a dress eventually. Also, I know I’ve used Little Miss as a pet name for the reader in fics before, but don’t know if I’ve mentioned that it’s because of the song Little Miss Why So, which the title is also taken from- Just in case anyone was wondering where the fuck I pulled that from.

There’s some mild smutty elements in this too. No explicit smut in this chapter, but this is gonna wind up being a two-parter anyway, so you’ll get the explicit stuff later. It’s worth noting that this is chronologically the first part of my whole series with Jaskier, at least so far- so sorry for any confusion.

When Geralt had informed you that there was a job in a village not far from where you had set up camp, you had been more grateful of it than you would admit out loud. Villages mean inns, taverns and a chance to sleep on something that isn’t dirt, but the way the white-haired man looks at you lets you know this won’t be as easy a job as you could hope for.

“Small village, no inns or taverns, less than a hundred and fifty or so people- less by the day.” He sighs and heaves himself off of Roach to sit on a felled tree by the fire.

“Less by the day?” You raise an eyebrow. Little places such as these tend to have smaller problems, thieving little creatures, the occasional Doppler; but Geralt’s words make it all too obvious to you that the diminishing population isn’t just because people are leaving for somewhere that actually has a place to drink.

“They say there's something in the woods.” He says, as if that’s all the explanation that you require. It takes a second of looking at him pointedly for him to realise you need more information than just that. “Sounded like an Aswang from what they said. Been snatching up local girls, sucking them dry and leaving the bodies to be found come morning.”

Talking to The White Wolf is a Sisyphean struggle; so often it's like drawing blood from a stone, but on the days he decides to speak you can barely understand what he's saying. Not for the first time, you consider simply pretending to know what he means, to act sage and wise, but think better of it all too quickly.

“The bloody hell is an Aswang?” A fair question in your eyes, but the man sighs. You think, on occasion, Geralt forgets that just a few years ago you were just a barmaid with a love of brawling, not some monster hunter with dreams of Glory. Not that there’s much glory in your hunts, just bruises and wounds, limps that last too long and perpetually sore back, even if the occasional song comes from it.

“A type of vampire.” He clarifies. “Dangerous. Normally have a taste for pregnant women and baby blood, seems this one has a taste for any woman it can get its hands on.” That makes your blood run cold. Travelling with the Witcher and his Bard has been the first time in your life where you’ve been free from the limitations of your sex, but the way those amber eyes are watching you now has you suddenly all too aware of yourself.

“A taste for women? Why, Geralt, that’s a very tasteful way of describing yourself in a brothel.” A voice pipes up from behind you, causing you to jump. Jaskier. You thought him still asleep, he'd slept poorly the night before, but if the tiredness lacing his voice is any indication, he's only recently been roused.

“Not now, Bard.” Geralt growls out, but the bard just chuckles and gets to his feet, leaves crunching underfoot as he walks up behind you and settles at your side, a hand pressed to your lower back. Warm, especially through the thin material of your blouse.

“Oh, Geralt, a smile won’t kill you.” He trills and in spite of how serious you know the situation to be, your lips turn up in a far too easy smile. It does just as quickly though, when you realise that Geralt is still looking at you.

“...You want me as bait.” It comes out less as a question and more as a statement as your own eyes meet amber. Geralt doesn’t say a word and you look down. It’s not meant as an insult, and you know that, but it stings none the less; hurts to be asked to be less useful on account of having a cunt. He's asking you to make yourself weak, it’s a request that should be seen as an honour, a few minutes of acting like something you aren't to spare the lives of those girls in the village, but instead it leaves a sour taste in your mouth- like talking a gulp of milk only to discover it's curdled on your tongue.

The hand at the base of your spine rises quickly and rests on the curve of your back as Jaskier seems to realise what you just said.

“Bait?” He sounds as incredulous as you feel. “For what?”

“Vampire.” Geralt says crudely, “It's it targeting women.”

“And you want to send Little Miss in there as bait?” Jaskier snaps back at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if you'll be plucked away without a second’s notice. This, this concern is all too welcome, and you glance at Jaskier from the corner of your eye. His clothes are still crumpled from sleep, but he's pushing himself up to his full height as if he expects that to intimidate a Witcher. It’s a foolish endeavour, but gods how you appreciate it.

“She can handle it,” is all the response that is given, which only sends the man beside you into further ramblings.

“She can handle it? She could fucking die, Geralt!” His voice raises, and you're quite sure he’s forcibly making his voice lower to try and sound less emotional about this. “You want to send her in, I’m betting almost completely unharmed, to act as a lure for a blood sucking creature of the night!”

You should feel insulted, to be talked about as if you aren’t there, but now you’re far too focused on the hand resting on you to focus on much else. Early spring's chill is still in the air, making the bard seem warmer than be likely is; and which is the cause of the goosepimpling of your skin is a mystery. Since the bard and yourself started your... entanglement, even the lightest most mundane touch has seemed like lightning crackling through your body. Entanglement is one way of describing it. Really, all that has happened has been kissing- the sort that start as barely more than a brush of lips and don't stop until it turns to heavy breathing and you removing yourself from the situation before you can do something you may regret.

He's always been a mother hen, flapping about to stitch whatever wounds he can and forcing you to seek out healers when he feels it more extreme than a simple slice, but you've no doubt that this concern is coming from a more selfish place than simply wanting you safe. The grip of your shirt is all the confirmation you need.

“It only attacks women, Jaskier.” Geralt growls out slowly, as if teaching an especially slow child. “And unless you’ve a secret to share, Little Miss is the only woman we have.” The pet name comes out in a patronisingly saccharine tone that makes you turn your eyes to the ground.

“I would sooner go out there in a dress myself than let you put her in harm's way for no good reason!” Jaskier shouts back at him, sending your eyes up to meet the Witcher's, when you catch sight of something rare. A smile.

This is a bad idea.

Awful idea. Terrible. Quite possibly the worst idea that the three of you could have come up with, and the fact that Geralt is allowing it to go forward is a mystery.

Well. Not a mystery. Geralt, for all his attempts at stoicism and claims of emotionlessness, has a sick sense of humour: and a chance to humiliate the Bard who interrupts his silence with every passing second must have been more tempting to him than you ever could have anticipated. You, on the other hand, were less keen. Especially when informed by Geralt that Jaskier would need to borrow your only dress for this humiliation tactic. It had taken an hour and a half for it to be taken from you, and it was only really able to be taken because Jaskier had pulled you into a kiss unexpectedly, causing you to drop the dress to wind your arms about his neck. A genius manipulation, really. Should have seen it coming.

It'll never succeed though

Jaskier is perhaps more attuned to his feminine side than many men; His love of scented bathing oils and ointments for his hands, fine clothes and penchant for the dramatics spring to mind, but there's no way that he could be mistaken for a woman unless this Aswang has incredibly poor eyesight. Sweet smells and minor theatrics do not a woman make, even in a borrowed dress. You sit by the fire pit, poking, poking, poking at the burning logs with a long enough stick that you don’t risk your hands with each jab.

Geralt won’t even let you help him set up the trap, and all at once you’re reminded of your girlhood; how the boys in your little home town had allowed you to play knights and dragons with them, only to have you act as Princess. You had always hated it, sat stock still and aloft chairs stacked like a tower for hours while the boys would tumble around fighting each other, roaring and crawling, stabbing and calling in their presence until it was finally time to rescue you- always long after you had grown resentful of your place waiting. You wanted to nothing more than to pick up one of those wooden swords and take part properly, but every time you had asked you had been told that there are no female knights, only princesses. You would always run home to your mother to complain only to be tapped lightly on the nose and told what an honour it is to be picked as a Princess, and given a bowl of peas to de-shell for supper. It didn’t feel like an honour then to sit around feeling useless, and it doesn’t feel any better now. The only respite that comes is from the jabbing and stabbing of the logs.

“I think they’re dead, Little Miss.” Jaskier speaks in your ear, sending you to the ground in shock. The self-pitying had ensured that you hadn’t heard him coming, and he laughs. Chuckles that drip honey have you look up at the bard, ready to curse him for frightening you, but the words wither away on your tongue. Your lip trembles and you drink him in.

With you on the ground, he looks so much bigger than he already is but that isn’t what has you tongue tied, no, not at all; it’s the dress. It’s white, and you always thought it made you look sickly, but on him it’s almost otherworldly, like something you might see on a god, flowing in a wind you hadn't felt before he reappeared. It’s beautiful. He's beautiful. The fabric clings to his pectorals and tapers in at his waist and you realise something that has never struck you before: Jaskier is muscular. Not to the extent of Geralt, but muscular none the less, the muscles of his arms thickening as he crosses his arms across his chest, which only accentuated the sculpture of his pectorals and the dark thatch of hair visible from the plunging neckline of the gown. Tanned skin all but glows in the light of the flames, given richer colour by the stark and almost holy white gown, giving him the illusion of something more than just your bard; some manifestation of Apollo, youthful and beautiful, still grinning that boyish grin, looking for all the world both like he has spent his whole life lounging about and spent it in fields to develop those muscles. Logically, you know he must be muscular, spends his days walking across the continent, carrying bags and bedrolls and whatever can’t, or won’t, be carried by Roach but it catches you off guard. You've always considered him a dainty flower of a man, always singing, always strumming, but now you're confronted with the reality of the situation, Jaskier is all sinewy muscle and dark hair and truly, you’ve no idea how patterned doublets and a lute have kept this reality a mystery to you. He’s beautiful, always beautiful, but this is something else entirely. Beauty implies something entirely understandable. This is otherworldly, incomprehensible in how it makes both so much and so little sense all at once. Your throat is dry and you take a deep gulp of air and struggle to find the words to say and settle on a soft little,

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He smirks, eyebrow raising as he offers out a hand to you. “Does it not look nice? Do I not look like a delicate lady in need of protection?” He teases, skin around his eyes crinkling with his grin.

“You look better in it than I do.” Your voice comes out weak, and he smiles and tugs you to your feet once you take his hand. “Though you are perhaps the hairiest delicate maiden around here.”

“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Dear Heart.” He says tenderly and cups your cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He calls that space Your Kiss, as if a kiss is a part of your body rather than something people give each other. “You look beautiful in everything and anything- and nothing.” You raise an eyebrow at that, smirking slightly at the comment. “Not that I know what you look like naked! Not that I haven’t thought about you like that, unless that makes you uncomfortable-" He rambles, cheeks flushed a pretty sort of pink, so you lean in and peck his lips.

“It looks much better on you, Dandelion.” You say decidedly, settling on the balls of your feet. “Though I rather think it isn’t complete.”

“Is that so?” Jaskier asks and watches you as you scramble through your bag and pull free two small pencils before settling yourself on the ground and tapping on the log. It takes a second, but he does sit, eyeing the pencils like they might be weapons. “Are you going to stab those into my feet, so I walk in a womanlier way?”

“...Is womanlier even a word, Bard?” You tease, trying desperately to avoid the hand attempting to swat at your head for questioning his obviously superior understanding of language. “And no. Not at all, they’re cosmetics.”

“Cosmetics?” He repeats and watches you as you grab one of the pencils and a dagger, carving at the wood until it is sharp enough for you.

“You do understand women put products on their faces to look prettier, don’t you?”

“You don’t,” He snaps back at you, indignant that you would even question his understanding of the fairer sex. “You’re all bare and natural, and look all the prettier for it, like a rose.” A hand moves forward and cups your cheek, you can feel every callous and scar that riddles his skin. He’s trying to avoid you putting the makeup on him, but just for now, you allow yourself the indulgence. It’s only dusk. Geralt said that the plan won’t need to be enacted until close to midnight and he has yet to even return from his setting of the trap; a little time to take pleasure from something as simple as the man who kisses you having a hand on your cheek. “Beautiful, fresh like a daisy and lovelier than the month of May...” He continues, hand shifting a little forward so that his fingers bury themselves in your hair, causing you to lean towards him, head shifting into the touch- reminding you all too much of the little cat who used to come begging for scraps when your mother and you would eat outside in the warmer months. It’s a strange thing to catch your attention so, but now that the thought has entered your mind, you cannot help but wonder if your mother has been feeding the tiny little beast in your absence-

“Little One?” Jaskier says gently, snapping you free of your thoughts, you’ve no idea how long you’ve been thinking, but it was clearly long enough that the man before you has noticed it.

“...Yes?”

“I asked if I could kiss you.” Can I kiss you? Although you’ve never been someone with much interest in the romantics, you’ve never so much as kissed a man before you met Jaskier, you’re quite sure that men don’t normally ask if they can kiss you. Most that you��ve seen interacting with women simply crash their mouths on their partner’s, breeching their mouths with their tongues like they’re stabbing a creature that means them harm. But Jaskier asks. He means to ensure that you are always completely comfortable with his touching you, to make sure you know that if you have no interest in this contact that it will stop. He won’t push. It’s enough to make your lips turn up in a tiny little smile and you nod, leaning towards him and resting hands on his knees, lips puckered tight and eyes falling shut, and he chuckles. “Melitele, Dear Heart, relax your lips, you aren’t trying to pierce my lips with yours.” He lets his thumb glide across your lower lip, causing you, quite instinctively to relax your lips. “There we are.” A rush of pleasure overtakes you, making you shiver and heading straight to your core. Simple praise is all it takes from him to make you unsure of yourself, and want to do anything to please him, so when he pulls you up gently and settles you on his knees, you do so without complaint, and as if as a means of rewarding you, kisses you softly.

In the months since the two of you have begun this not-quite courtship you’ve grown more accustomed to kissing him than you ever would have anticipated. It happens so often that it’s almost strange to you. He kisses you as a means of waking you, kisses the back of your hand to reassure you, kisses the back of your neck when he passes you, hell; you’re more than a little sure he kisses you sometimes just to annoy Geralt. It feels so natural to you now, to have his mouth on yours, moving languidly like the rest of the world does not exist. He kisses like he’s afraid he might hurt you, all gentle touches and reassuring rubs of thumb against flesh. He knows that you’ve never so much as kissed a man before him and seems to take some pleasure in that- not in the kind of way that the boys at home seemed to when talking about deflowering some virginal girl, but in a way that he seems to enjoy teaching you something about intimacy, or at least this version of it. He acts for all the world like some sort of teacher, gently reassuring you when you go wrong and guiding you back on track, and you preen under the attention. He never pushes, never asks you to do anything you don’t want to do, and it’s far more appreciated than you will ever say, even if in the last few weeks you have found yourself wanting... more.

His lips are wind-chapped but somehow soft, and press into yours so softly, hand curved around your cheek and guiding you to tilt your head slightly, so you follow his lead, reciprocating the kiss as sweetly as you can, winding fingers around his wrist to hold it in place. The kiss is chaste, with no sign of moving beyond just the plush push of lips on lips but still, this position makes it feel more intimate than it has any right to; sat on his legs, your own parted and on either side, and the dress makes it more intimate still. In his doublet and trousers, the only warmth you feel from him while kissing comes from his hands and face, but now with so much skin exposed it’s seemingly coming from all around you, seeping through the fabric beneath you, from the arms extended in front of you, from a heart beating so close but so out of reach. The fire roaring just behind you is hardly helping the situation. Jaskier hums softly against your lips, little more than a vibration, but it makes you smile. Even when kissing he makes noise; he cannot bare to be silent, relish in the sounds of nature, no, he simply must make noise. It’s lovely really, such consistency is hard to find, especially on the road, but Jaskier is consistent. It takes a little more bravery than it should to swipe the tip of your tongue across the seam of his lips and the movement seems to shock the bard, who ceases his kissing for just a second before opening his mouth slightly and dragging his tongue across your own. Normally you would wait for him to deepen a kiss but with him looking the way he does, and the overwhelming need developing between your legs, you cannot continue this lazy sort of kiss as you normally might. No. Now, you need something more than this innocence. So, you shuffle closer to him, legs tightening around his and both hands moving to wind around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Your own bravery seems to have inspired some in Jaskier too, so he wraps his arms about your waist and pulls you even closer still, tongue lathering over your own before his teeth drag across it and then bites gently. It makes you shiver, letting out a quiet moan which brings a moan out of him too. Not too long after that he pulls back and heaves a deep breath while you pant, head tilting back.

“That was new.” He laughs, fingers tracing circles into your back.

“What can I say? That dress really does look good on you.” You respond with a chuckle before leaning forward again, this time to mouth at his throat. You feel Jaskier gasp before you hear it, the skin of his neck going taut beneath your lips.

“Dear Heart,” He starts, and the pet name does nothing but make your heart race, “If you don’t stop soon, we’re going to have a... well, an issue.” He stammers out, and you pull back immediately, eyes wide with worry. Had you been too intense in taking your own pleasure from this situation that you had missed some clear hint of his that he was uninterested in going further? He goes to such painstaking lengths to ensure your comfort and you feel like you’ve encroached on his.

“An issue?” The words come out shaky, and you try to shift yourself back from him, but he holds you still. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to upset you-”

“You haven’t. Gods, Dear Heart, I think you could stab me, and I would still thank you.” He says, still rubbing those reassuring circles into your back. “You’re just. You’re...” Jaskier stops and seems to deliberate his next few words, “You’re exciting me, that’s all.” That makes you blink. He doesn’t look all that excited to you, if anything he just seems to be riding the same high he always is after kissing turns a little more passionate, pupils blown wide and lips pink and plush from kissing, but he doesn’t look excited. Your confusion must be visible because Jaskier sighs, muttering something under his breath before his hand creeps higher toward your shoulder blades. “You’re making me hard.” He says, the words said carefully as if afraid he might upset you.

“Har- Oh. Oh!” Realisation hits you all at once and your eyes dart down to his lap, suddenly seeing the tent in the dress that certainly hadn’t been there when you first settled on him. It was mere centimetres away from your core when you were kissing him, and you hadn’t even noticed. It’s the first time you think you’ve ever seen someone be hard, even if it is completely covered up, and the knowledge that it was you who has done this to him fills you with pride. You’ve never really considered yourself the kind of person to have that kind of power over a person, you only ever really feel powerful in a fight, but the feeling overtaking you now feels like power. With nothing more than a mouth and tongue, you’ve affected him in this way. "I wouldn’t call that an issue.”

He blinks at you, lips slightly parted and he looks you up and down. For the first time, you wonder if he’s thinking of other trysts, where it was him in shirt and trousers on top of some woman in a dress who is falling apart at next to nothing. It should leave a sour taste in your mouth, but the feeling of power is more overwhelming than any insecurity.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Little Miss.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never seemed interested in... progressing.” He’s being careful not to say anything he thinks might offend you. Jaskier is never one to mince words, but your virginity seems to have him somewhat uncomfortable when it comes to what language to approach sex with. You aren’t a child, and used to work in a tavern, you’ve heard all too many terms for sex; shagging, fucking, making the beast with two backs, a labour for Venus, but Jaskier calls it Progressing. Like it’s travelling, moving from one destination to another, from kissing to something else entirely. It’s quaint coming from a man who you’ve heard sing songs about receiving hand-jobs. “I don’t want to push you into anything you might not be comfortable doing, Little Miss, I don’t want you to feel pressured by me or this or anything-”

“I’m interested in progressing.” You cut him off, a little too eagerly. “Truly, I am. I just. Haven’t done anything like this before. So, I wasn’t sure how to go about it, you know. I couldn’t just... I don’t know. Ask you to take my virginity.” Jaskier chokes a little at the words.

“I wouldn’t be taking anything.”

“But I do want you to.”

“I don’t mean in terms of... not wanting to. I do. Melitele’s tits, I’d crawl over shards of glass just to put my mouth on you, Darling. I just mean, I wouldn’t be taking anything from you. There’s nothing to take. You would just be someone who has been intimate instead of someone who hasn’t. You don’t lose anything.”

Your heart, something in the back of your mind says coyly, you’ll lose your heart to him if you allow yourself to be breeched by him, he’ll take it unknowingly and not be able to give it back to you. Each step, each breath, each blink and each song, he will have your heart entirely and there will be nothing you can do to have it returned. He’s had so many lovers before, it’s unlikely he’ll give his heart to you in return for you giving him your own- and it won’t be because he’s cruel or unfeeling, it will be because Bards give their heart to anyone who hears their song, and there isn’t enough of it left for you. He’s entirely enough for you, but you will never be entirely enough for him.

“If I lose nothing by it then why are we discussing it instead of... progressing?” You have to bite down on your tongue to keep from saying shagging. Fucking. Anything but this dance around what it is that the two of you clearly want.

“Because I want you to understand.” He says, and it sounds like a plea. “I want you to know that you don’t lose a thing, and I want you to be doing this because you want to do it, not because you feel like you ought because I’m hard or because you feel you owe it to me. I want you to do this because you want this, and because you want me.”

Because you want me. It makes you falter for a second. Of course, you want him, you wouldn’t kiss him if you didn’t. Your heart aches at the thought of someone kissing or sleeping with him and not wanting him, using him and discarding him afterwards.

“Of course, I want you, Jask.” Your voice is little more than a whisper.

“I mean it, Little Miss. If I do this, I won’t want for another person in my life, I won’t be able to not think of you, and if you’re doing this out of obligation and not because you want me, it will kill me.” He continues, the hand on your back moving up still until it’s buried entirely in your hair, twisting and feeling about your scalp like the answer to every question he will ever ask is written in your hair. “If this is only for once, I cannot do it. It would kill me to know how it feels to be inside you, to feel at one with you, and know you don’t ever intend to do it again. I care far too much for you to do a thing like that.”

“Jaskier...”

“I admit, I have a... reputation for leaving a string of not-quite-crying lovers behind me, but I cannot add you to that list. I won’t. And I refuse to spend the rest of our days together writing melancholic songs about how I want you, desire you, crave you, only to know you only have eyes for others, I would sooner-”

You can see by the impassioned look in his eyes that he has so much more to say, but can’t bear to hear anymore, for fear of fooling yourself that the beautiful man in front of you loves you. So instead, you reach down and wind your fingers around his member and relish in how his words choke to a halt and he lets out a sweet sigh.

“I don’t want to sleep with you once either, and your former lovers and I have nothing in common. For one, I’m not married, and two, I want you Jaskier. Not reprieve from some small pricked husband. I want to have sex with you because I want you, I care about you.” I love you; your mind screams the words you don’t dare say. It’s enough though. Enough for Jaskier to smile and move both hands around your waist once more and gently lay you on the floor beside the fire, hair fanning out like a halo among leaves and grass.

“I. I had intended this to have a more romantic location.” He admits to you as he parts your legs and settles on his knees in the space he has made. “Some inn, where I could strew some petals about, draw you a bath, sing a song.”

“I don’t need petals or poetry or baths.” You smile at him, but he shakes his head with an affectionate smile,

“It’s not about need, Darling, it’s about what you deserve. And you deserve to be treated like a princess.”

“In that dress I rather think you’re more the princess out of the two of us.” Out of the dress too. You’re rougher than any woman should be, and if your mother could see you now, you’d be pulled by your ear off to be told how good and proper ladies dress and behave- you find yourself covered in monster gore more often than you would like to, and have taken to wearing darker colours so that the dirt on them doesn’t show quite as much, but Jaskier with his sweet voice and fineries? He’s a crown away from being a prince, the sort who appear in every story you were told as a child who could fix any maiden’s problems with a kiss that would end in happily ever after.

A cough draws the both of you from each other and you turn your head to see Geralt and realise the light purple sky of dusk has been replaced with the near pitch of somewhere closer to when your plan needs to take place. He looks as uncomfortable at finding you as you feel at being caught. You feel like a child whose mother has caught you doing something they expressly told you not to do, and the fear of whatever comment he shall make keeps you from laughing at the mental image of Geralt dressed as some mother, in a drab old dress and dirtied up apron, flour dusted about his face, still world weary and with his swords strapped to his back.

“...Aswang will be here soon.” The Witcher says, and you’re grateful he’s decided not to address what he had walked in on. “We need our... beautiful woman to be wandering in the woods.” He gestures with a movement of his head to Jaskier to come towards you, and the bard does, albeit slowly, remove himself from the spot between your thighs. Geralt’s stoic face might be enough to fool most people who don’t know him, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. He’s glad he called Jaskier’s bluff on the dress, this story will never make its way into a song for the sake of Jaskier’s ego but will be brought out by Geralt at any and every ball that he is dragged to from now on. His fictional tale of the Bard being castrated by an unfortunate kick to the bollocks by an Ox as a child will now be replaced with an honest account of the esteemed bard Jaskier having volunteered himself- seemingly at random- to serve as bait in a dress for a very dangerous beast. You think he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in the dress, but Geralt very clearly sees it as funny. Men are strange. It’s just a dress, and a dress that makes him look far more attractive than any fine suit or set of armour ever could, so what is so funny about it. The Witcher says your name and you look up at him and nod. “Stay here.”

“But-”

“Hopefully the ‘fair maiden’ is enough to get the Aswang. If it sees an actual woman, it’ll attack it and not try to attack him. I’d prefer not to have to carry your corpse back to your village. It would be a long journey.” He’s being facetious, at least you hope, but you nod anyway. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

“Stay here, it’ll all be over soon.” Jaskier tells you, smiling that disarming smile he uses to try and charm more coin from locals.

“But the memory of you in a dress will live on.” Geralt says, unable to keep the smirk from his face, which makes Jaskier’s face morph between anger and confusion quickly before settling on incredulousness.

“No one is to hear of this Geralt. Geralt! Do you hear me? No. One. Geralt!” His protests increase as the White Wolf begins to trek back into the thicket of trees, Jaskier following behind him and shouting all the while.

“Jaskier!” You call to him, and the complaints die as he turns to face you. “Please, please be careful.”

“I promise, Dear Heart. I will be fine.”

Somehow, you don’t quite believe him as he disappears into the trees to join Geralt at his trap, leaving you alone with only the fire and the moon for company. Eyes turn up towards the full, round beacon of light, the only break in the darkness overhead with no stars to join her. You aren’t religious, and don’t believe in worship or prayer but now, tonight, you close your eyes and breathe deeply. You trust in the moon more than you trust Geralt and Jaskier not to take any unnecessary risks,

“Please keep him safe for me. Please.”

#jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier smut #the witcher imagine

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 11)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 10.1

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Men couldn't really be trusted with a girl who had her first menstruation especially in their dimension because their hunches could get a good laugh out of you; suggesting that Cirilla has been attacked by some beast. Feelings are shown and couldn't be avoided, however; after the Djinn incident, it seems like those feelings turn into cravings that seem to be voracious for you and Geralt.

Warnings: Sexual implications. (But, still no smut. I'm frustrating myself in this one) Mention of breasts. Ha! Geralt being one enchanted and cheeky lil' shit. (Ya’ hot witcher 😫😘🥰😒) Reader being one innocent, naive lil' shit as well. Jaskier and Geralt being idiots. Cirilla being our soft baby. Mention of coochie. Honeypot slang also means vajayjay. The menstruation talk. Blood. Also mention of WOW characters and LOL.

Words: 8.8k

A/N: 💖 Thank you for all the positive feedbacks I've received from this fic of mine! This is quite long but I hope you'll love it because I did! Hehehehhe! Thank you to @uncoolcloudyhead because she has told me about the menstruation idea and I actually liked it so here it is! THANK YOU, BB'S! Also, this is prolly my bday update for Henry Cavill! (It’s already May 5 in my time, so...Heehehe) HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVEYYYY! *CRIES* WHERE YOU AT? WE STILL HAVE BABIES TO MAKE, HENRY. 😭😭👶😭😫🥰😂😂😂

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Random familiar voices came echoing outside the room. The sun was shining, in a way that got you groaning because it was attacking your face in full blast. There were ravens standing on the edge of the windows, chirping quietly as a form of your alarm. You've straightened your arms to reach for a certain person who had slept beside you, but you've tapped the mattress to feel the cold white sheets, informing you that he had already been up for hours.

You were alone. Again. Well, it wasn't like you and Geralt had a rule to not leave the bed when the other hasn't yet nor did you both have some sort of relationship that gives you that kind of priority.

The loud exclaims began to echo louder, lifting your back to squint your eyes and scrub them with the back of your knuckles; swiping off the morning glory that has been stuck on your eyelashes. You've heard the panicked voice of Cirilla down stairs as you rested your back on the headboard, listening to their talk, "I'm bleeding, Geralt. Why am I bleeding?!"

Then, Jaskier's voice resonated next, "She needs a healer!" pause. "What beast must attack her in such a delicate part of a child?!"

The witcher woke up with Cirilla never leaving her bed. He'd knocked on her door three times because they had training today before he'd heard her screech so loud, throwing the sheets away to see her bed with blood.

Shock was the least to describe Geralt's expression, he was utterly floored when he realized that their house has been invaded by some type of beast that devours a woman's delicate pearls. He deeply tried to search inside his head for whatever was close enough to be too sleek that he hadn't heard the monster enter their house nor did he even got the gist of its smell.

The monster was technically too good or maybe somehow idiotic as well because of how it probably only bitten Cirilla in between her legs.

"Jaskier, calm down." Geralt deeply rumbled, eyebrows tightly creased to the extent of thinking too much. The bard huffed to himself, crossing his arms in a snobbish way to watch Geralt leaning on their new dining table, hands flat as he had his head dropped down, thoroughly thinking it through.

"You're panicking as well because you've been too distracted with your delightful slumber with your midget that you were slacking and your witcher senses were unrealiable because of your protective fingers threading along the scented locks of her hair---"

The witcher snapped his head back to see Jaskier forming flowery sentences about what he saw last night. Though, he processed it and simply to say that he peeked through his room to see you and Geralt cuddled in each other's arms, "Did you enter my chambers?"

Jaskier looked around to see who he was talking to, but see no one and muttered an answer devoid of guile, "No?"

Geralt roughly growled, his nose scrunched in ferocity as he gave the bard a sharp glint of his cat-eyes. He should've left the door locked last night, "I'm locking the door next time. You can't be trusted anymore, bard."

The bard had a smug look on his face, a winning grin because of how he had caught the witcher red-handed. Geralt gave him a subtle roll of his eyes; ignoring the gloat etching his features.

The princess of Cintra stood in the middle of the kitchen, her beige silky night gown all bloody from her thighs down to her feet like there has been bloody murder. She was cocking her head in a way that tells she was wondering what has happened and why she feels no pain other than the part of her lower belly.

"Geralt, the only thing hurting is my stomach. What beast was it?"

"I...don't know," the witcher sincerely murmured, sighing a loud one as he straightened his back and stood tall, his amber eyes scanning Cirilla from head to foot to see what else was wrong; though, she appeared to be utterly normal, "---If it was a beast, then it is too conniving to have invaded our home,"

You cautiously took a trek down the stairs, your soft pitter-patters along the wooden staircase can be heard by the witcher as he instantly snapped his head to where you're coming from. Howbeit, before even jumping on the last step, you've took a sneaky peak at the family; head out in the open as your eyes immediately saw questioning amber eyes that held softness beneath the glow while Cirilla and Jaskier has been arguing.

What a wonderful sight to wake up in the morning; maybe having your three wishes from the djinn can be worthwhile when having Geralt look at you with a hint of such tenderness; stirring warmth growing in your belly.

You've raised a hand to give him a little wave before receiving a surprising small beam from the witcher himself as it was completely out of the blue; you've expected him to arch a brow or scowl but today seemed like a better day than he had prior to the mornings before.

Jaskier continued to deliver his tirades, palms spread out to exclaim Cirilla's current condition that knocked down all their feathers first thing in the morning, "Oh, dear gods! You looked like you were stabbed--stabbed in the---"

When you've suddenly emerged from the staircase and in the guise of being sardonic, your face was apathetic as you sarcastically muttered; pacing through the middle of the kitchen and interrupting their panic attacks, "This is why men can't handle a child alone; more so, a woman especially in times like this,"

From the moment you've seen Cirilla and that blood trailing down her legs, staining her night gown; you instantly knew what was happening. It was a natural circumstance in the lives of women.

Cirilla was having her first ever menstruation and these men were thinking of other worst case scenarios that made you wince from how uneducated they were about a menstrual cycle of a woman.

"Midget." You've heard Geralt acknowledged your presence, those butterflies in your stomach twerking from his gaze that rested upon your face; yet you tried your best to appear like he wasn't giving you any effect.

Probably too late for trying to let him know that you weren't that into him because you actually were. Big Time.

You were head over heels for the amber eyed witcher; even feeling a lot more after you've wished to a genie.

You bashfully bit the insides of your cheeks, clearing your throat to retain from squealing by how the witcher was trying to melt you with his peepers, "Tell me what beast it is," a demand was sent to the bard who gave you both rogueish looks when he glanced at the witcher who kept on staring like he was smitten with you.

The bard couldn't help but try to bite his tongue from saying any mockery to the both of you because there was a serious situation at hand, "Ughm. We've had hunches about a Nightwraith because it has been a full moon last night," Jaskier explained, holding his cup of water on one hand while the other was used as gestures as he continued to widen the scope further, "---Also, they appear in meadows or fields, and apparently we are in one. Right, Geralt?"

Jaskier glanced at the witcher, his forehead furrowed in seeing the witcher who still has his gaze fixated on you. The latter only gave him a pleasant hum to answer his question; never sparing him a glance.

"Hmm."

In which, Jaskier couldn't help but dramatically roll his eyes at Geralt from not being able to keep his eyes away from you, "Oh. Oh-no-no-no-no, here he goes again,"

You've clicked your tongue, trying to hide the blush from the witcher as you turned your heel a little and angled till you were face front with Cirilla and Jaskier, your side-profile only being seen by the man who kept his eyes solely on you like he was trying not to let you get away from his line of vision.

Oh, dear. He was utterly making your insides go in a twist.

"Nightwraiths eat women's coochies?" you lightly snorted, biting your lips to keep yourself from laughing out loud by how clueless Jaskier was.

He slanted his head to the side, thinking what you actually meant and raised a hand, "I eat coochies," pause. You've snorted another one, louder than you had before as Cirilla was looking at the bard like he'd transformed into something else, "I mean, you were referring to cookies right?" Jaskier subtly pointed to the witcher beside you.

"---Geralt does too,"

Your snorts were suddenly ceased all of a sudden when the bard pointed to the witcher who still had his eyes fixated on you. The snort died down and so was the smile that was about to creep up your face at the realization and memories that Jaskier and the lady in the marketplace said that he'd bedded a lot of women already, only does his whores in brothels and actually thought he'll live like that forever.

Huh. So much for the hoity-toity. Geralt was a fuck boy in his dimension. He's a fuck boy, you needed to remember that. Do not relish in the thirst. Do not. Not today. Not ever.

Fuck boys are assholes. But, if it were boys looking like Geralt...then, why not the lucky impaling?

You cleared your throat and push those thoughts away, "I bet he really does. No doubt," a nasal, sarcastic response was enough for Geralt to give the bard a glare of his cat-eyes. He sensed the hostility when Jaskier has said whatever he did, and the small frown etched on your face was no good.

The bard gave him a shrug, eyes all guileless and questioning.

You crossed your arms in front of everyone, masking up the prior disappointment and insecurity with a small, teasing smile, "What's the next theory? Sylvannas Windrunner? Illidan Stormrage? any world of warcraft characters? Or maybe league of legends too?"

Jaskier was expressive as he bellowed, "Gibberish. Utter gibberish, Small rat. We do not speak alien language,"

"You know aliens?" you blinked in surprise, eyeing the bard with a look of antonishment for even knowing what an alien is before he began to take it back, "I don't know, did I say aliens?"

You've narrowed your eyes at the troubadour, trying to see if he knew what he was saying but see none but only a confused epic teller. One tap, two taps on your arm and you gave a tiny beam at everyone, giving each a look of reassurance as your gaze lasted longer when you've passed by Geralt and then Kolby who was crouched under the living room table.

They've waited for your answer, patiently and intrigued by what they could learn from a person who lived in another dimension. You gave a soft sigh before grinning like a cheshire cat, "You are panicking over a girl having her period,"

Thus, your explanation made their foreheads crease a lot more as they couldn't understand.

"Do you both trust me?" you've given Jaskier and Geralt a look. The witcher gruffly answered in a jiffy, quick as a wink when he did so; leaving Jaskier to give him the craziest expression he could create.

"I do."

"We don't especially when you came from another dimension---" he gave his friend a double take, feigning the stun and offence as he brought a hand to his chest like he broke his heart, "---A traitor you are, Geralt!"

You gave the bard a crooked grin, shaking your shoulders to infuriate him, "It seems like your witcher trusts me enough, Jaskier."

He crossed his arms like a braggart, loudly huffing to his disappointment and shaking his head in consternation, "Oh, I swear he's acting like the dunderhead he is again. Next thing you know, he's as cold as a dead Alghoul's bum,"

A quick trudge towards Cirilla, you've gently held onto her shoulders; giving her a genial gaze of your eyes as she eyed you back skeptically.

"Cirilla, you need a warm bath. You feel uncomfortable, correct?" in consequence to your question, she'd felt another blood flow down her thighs, making her squirm from how uncomfortable it felt. It's like an endless stream that she couldn't handle, "I want the blood to stop, it doesn't cease!"

You gave her arm a gentle pat, trying to dispel her fears and perturbation about periods, "Don't panic. That's normal. I also do get that because I'm a woman. I prolly would soon. We get it every month, alright?"

Jaskier paced towards where Geralt was; regarding what seem to be a captivated witcher who was watching you handle Cirilla like a mother.

"Geralt." the minstrel tried to catch his attention, yet he paid no heed as Geralt was likely and certainly giving you the heart eyes already, "---I thought I may never see you acting like this again but this is perfect for bribery and another marvelous epic to be written. Geralt of Rivia, thoroughly under the rat's spell as you may see fit, looking like the witcher would give her the sun, an eye of a dragon, a dead body of a Golum or the moon if she wanted to," his bard of a friend scoffed, finding humor from the doting Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt turned a blind eye from Jaskier's jeers. His expression lethargic as he continued to gawk.

"Why? Why must I be born as a lady?!" Cirilla fumed out of nowhere, slightly growling to whatever mischances she have gotten.

The rhymist threw an arm around the smitten witcher, his silence humoring him to the bones as he snorted, "You can ask Pavetta and Duny on that,"

Cirilla of Cintra gave him a lour as you bunched the hem of her nightgown, bringing the ends of it in a degree that let you saw the small pool of blood she created. Obviously, there were no napkins in their time if the men in the household don't even know what a period is. You tried to think how you would get one when you remembered those DIY menstrual pads in Pinterest that you have saved in your phone; maybe making one would be nice, "Will you get me new clothes for Cirilla? Let's give you a bath, shall we? I'll also try to create something that can help the blood from dripping,"

The request was sent to Jaskier, since he wouldn't be frugal for any help that was asked. Though, you were moved and taken aback when you've instantly saw Geralt stepping out of the ground he was rooted on and literally given effort to your demands.

He was certainly giving you wonders that will never cease in each passing day.

"I can get that---" the bard stumbled when Geralt moved away to your command, puffing out a breath as it gave his heart a jump, "---Oh. Geralt's doing it already, you're quite helpful today, witcher. You're very much appreciated!" he loudly tattled, watching Geralt evaporate from the walls of the staircase.

The bard snickered; giving you a shit eating grin, "The power of honeypot can be quite impressive, don't you think?"

You've gave him a baffled glance, tilting your head in wonder. Honeypot. You thought in the back of your mind, it sounded nice and scrumptious to your ears and so you left it at that; sending the bard a twinkle of your smile and an ingenuous flicker of your eyes because you didn't understand him and his references but chose to be kind.

"Maybe it is quite impressive, Jaskier."

You were gobsmacked to see a room that had a largely square in-built bath tub nailed to the floor of the room; like a bath house back in the medieval times. You've crouched beside the undressed princess, mindlessly tapping the floor with your index finger as you waited. They seem to be bold in terms of their body; thinking she would dismiss you once she was unclad from her night gown but alas, Cirilla wanted you with her. Not that you mind because she was also a woman and maybe she was just very much comfortable with you.

"I must say, you like Geralt?" she uttered, very straight to the point as you stopped tapping on the marble floors. You've heard a splash and realized she was already washing the milk away from her skin.

That question. Do you want her to know your honest thoughts?

"Oh--what?! yes, I mean--no. Yes?" you sheepishly stuttered, swallowing your embarrassment down your throat because it was that obvious to the eyes of people.

Cirilla quietly giggled from your bashful reaction; finding it funny that you were that shy enough to tell her.

"You always blush. Always clumsy and fidgeting whenever he's around. It tells me how much you like him when he could get you acting weird like that,"

You bit your lip, feeling the heebie-jeebies come around because of the topic at hand, "I think he likes you too," she surprisingly revealed, scrubbing some Epsom salt around her skin.

The abrupt presumption made your heart skip a beat. That wouldn't be possible especially that you were...you. A weird, insecure, small woman who came from another dimension wouldn't be liked by a dashing witcher. You expected nothing with the affection you had for Geralt, your hopes always on the low to keep the disappointments lesser and the pain more tolerable.

Besides, you were useless. A midget who held no strength nor magic within you. Your existence would certainly only be a burden for the witcher, so expecting fondness from him was the least of your worries.

You were happy this way, just seeing or having the witcher around before he sends the cargo off to her rightful dimension.

Cirilla was unaware of your frown as you crouched behind her, she continued to tell her findings out in the open; oblivious of how your self-doubt was starting to eat you up alive, "Geralt can be quite unscrupulous by bedding tons of women in brothels,"

You studied her from behind, forcing a smile at the honest facts you've received since the day you've arrived, "Who'd given you that talk?"

"Jaskier. He tells them whenever he's drunk. You couldn't trust the bard with your secrets, he tells them in the midst of his intoxication,"

"Yet, he didn't give you the period talk. Nobody did, even though they knew what it was and just chose to act like idiots," Your mouth fell into a tight, thin line. Obvious that you were dismayed by their lack of teaching thereof, it was not like you expected the witcher to give her the talk; Geralt of Rivia, teaching Cirilla what a menstruation is to his child of surprise. It can be comical because all he'll ever say was 'Hmm's' and a ton of 'horseshit' with that scowl on his face because he didn't know what it even is. You've had hopes for the toubadour but he'd crashed those faith of yours by telling Cirilla that it was probably a Nightwraith.

You'ce softly bitten your lower lip as you tried to elucidate what a menstruation is to the princess, "Having a period, symbolizes your maturity. You're beginning to grow older, a flower that's about to bloom. You're turning into a woman now," pause. "You can bear a child if you..do the birds and the bees with the man you love, Cirilla. But, bleeding means to tell you that your ovaries is actually punishing you to death because you haven't gotten pregnant yet,"

You've heard soft splashing of the waters, seeing the child turn to her curiosity, "Birds and the bees?" there was a soft wince that came from you, lately realizing the words that came out of your mouth. So much for being educated about periods yet here you are labeling sex as 'birds and the bees' like you were a Tumblr account.

Nevertheless, you continued for the better of life and for her sake as well, "It's an act where a man and a woman does a natural deed after they're married or before when they both prefer it to as long as it is with consent. It can bear you a child," another biting of your lip got you scrapping your dried, chapped lips; tasting a little bit of blood as you do and suddenly hissing to yourself as your fingers held onto your vermillion, "---Sometimes, it can be because of love or utter lust. Happens between lovers,"

The lioness of Cintra gave a nod of understanding, swashing herself with her bathwater before straightaway delivering her thoughts to you, "If you and Geralt become lovers will you do the birds and the bees too?"

The question caught you off guard. Entirely floored as you felt your saliva caught in your throat, igniting loud sputter of coughs as you felt like choking from her query, "W-WHAT?" Cirilla beamed back at you, looking so child like as her smile turned into a grin.

You couldn't imagine how stunned you appeared to be like at the princess, "---Did you even understood a single word I said?"

She seemed to not care for your genuine explanation about menstruation and took your 'sex' labeling into account, the mistake of naming it like a fable would probably drown you in your own shame as she went on; especially now that she knew you honestly told how you liked her father or step-father or---how Geralt is labeled for the princess.

Her smile turned pensive as she poured the water from her palms down her arms. She continued to wash, "Though, you probably won't be bearing a child of your own,"

Your eyebrows were tightly furrowed together, perplexed by what she was trying to point out, "Huh?"

"Barren. Sterile. Comes in becoming a witcher when they had their trials,"

Now, you were gobsmacked. Utterly dumbstruck that you couldn't form any words to say.

Your heart stopped beating from the news. His fate took everything away from him, included being infertile; a man's duty on earth to have an heir or another form of happiness for one man is to see a child of his own. Yet, because he was a witcher; it was impossible that any form of magic wouldn't do the job just as how Cirilla explained the whole thing to you.

Though, there was Cirilla as his child of surprise so you didn't know if it was a bad thing or a good thing for Geralt.

You've looked at her, solemnly. "They've taken that away from him too?"

She subtly nodded, peering back at you, batting her long eyelashes as her blue eyes gave you an earnest gaze, "They've taken everything from him. Even his childhood which explains why he's...unstable and complicated to understand," pause. "---If he somehow hurts your emotions with his words, he probably doesn't mean that at all or it's just a habit that he does; pushing people away because he doesn't know how to handle his feelings well,"

Thus, as she muttered her next words; her eyes turned downcast and face turned as long as a fiddle like she'd remember something that already was in the past, "---It took decades for Geralt to accept his duties for me,"

The whole talk ended with that. His duties for the princess of Cintra; giving you a head start that she was his child of surprise for a distinct reason. A reason that made the princess fall into silence and you didn't try to dig onto the information because apparently, she appears to be sensitive at the topic and you respected it.

Cirilla offered that you should bathe as well when she was finally dressed in casual leather clothes that had been given by the djinn since you've wished for it. They were now blessed with more clothes and food; you name it, the Djinn has made it possible.

You gently took your bandages off, seeing how it was better than before. A lot better. The medicine was magical for it to be better in just three days; or maybe the numbness tells you that it was going well when it probably even wasn't on the inside.

"I'll fetch you your towels, Y/N." Cirilla softly announced as she was all dressed and proper, her ashen hair wet and all down as she fixed her leather boots.

You gave her a genuine smile as you tried pulling your tight leather boots free, "Thank you, Princess."

She stood beside the thick frame of the wooden door, brushing her locks with her fingers and trying to untangle them as she talked, "Ciri or Cirilla will be fine. It feels different and...enlightening when somebody doesn't tries to treat me like one,"

She was that type of princess. A humble one too. You were obviously lucky on getting to meet them because they were decent and kind. A quick nod was sent for her wants as you deeply respected it before she left the bathroom.

Before you could even go stark naked, Jaskier was kind enough to drop the towels for Cirilla; you've sent your thanks to the bard but eventually groaned when he left and saw how it was a bunch of face towels and not actually a large bath towel that you could use while you try to get your clothes in Ciri's closet because you forgot to take them with you.

So, there was reasons as to why Geralt was sometimes hostile as he can get. However, the antagonism has somehow faded through time to time for certain reasons; especially noticing how gentle he can get after raking those fingers through your hair as he slept was the most amiable gesture you have gotten from any man, ever.

But, Jaskier was right. You never know when he begins to turn cold like an Alghoul's bum because he was complicated to understand sometimes.

You were thinking about Geralt as you sat in the end of the tub. His prompt thoughtful gestures that certainly dithers your feelings for him while you were in your birthday suit. A soft creak of the door was heard and you languidly continued to scrub at your breasts; giving them gentle rubbing with some Epsom salt with a little bit of lemon that you've managed to get from the cupboards; not glancing over the princess as you pointed at a small wooden chair and expressed your gratitude for her kindness.

"Thank you, Cirilla." you continued to heedlessly exfoliate your body; abruptly pointing at the chair as your eyes were fixated on your body, "You can lay the towels over there, I can get it."

Chances of being lucky has never been a part in your life. Hence, hearing that familiar, rough, low baritone of a voice you've desired to have for the rest of your life as you bathed was surely giving you the shilly-shally when you've seen Geralt of Rivia standing rooted on the ground; his amber eyes bemisting with obscure thoughts that you certainly also felt as his eyes were glued to your perky, unclad chest that was displayed before him.

He was a man; heedful of his needs and wants. Especially that the woman bathing in front of him has been clouding his mind since day one. The witcher would obviously stare and ogle at the unexpected blessing that you ought to share.

Geralt was apparently staring at your boobs and he shamelessly seemed to not care at all.

"Ugh," he hoarsely croaked out, those glowing peepers clouding with something primal, raking your form with those piercing eyes as you were knocked out of your socks by seeing the witcher whom stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the bath room, "I've fetched you your---" Geralt cleared his throat, forehead creasing in surprise as he went on with his gawking; ceasing the moment to sketch the image inside his head by heart.

"---breasts---towels, I mean towels. Fuck," the latter gruffly cussed, scrunching his nose for even admitting that he was impudently ogling at your tatas.

You didn't know what to do as your arms began to fidget, trying to find anything that could cover you up as you panicked; not used to being in decent in front of people especially by a man who has crept inside your heart. The water furiously splashed as you squirmed in your side of the tub, yelping when you've seen those face towels far from your reach and you've decided to just cover your breasts with an arm.

Fortunately, your breasts weren't that huge enough for some nipple slipping. So, an arm would suffice. As well as your heated center that was covered with your bath water.

"Geralt!" you've finally called out the elephant in the room, doing nothing but stare at you like you've saved his life, also humming in a pleasing tone as he blinked, arching a brow in amusement.

It was utmost shameful to be seen by a man you were fond with; thoroughly starked like you were showing him your adorable sized watermelons at the witcher who didn't seem to mind the image. "Where is Cirilla?!" you demanded and panicked, the heat flowing up your face when you glanced at Geralt in utter stupefaction.

The witcher was trying his best not to snicker from what he'd seen from you like it was a gift to mankind; his mankind, "Plotting her vengeance for my attitude prior to that day," he remembered that he'd pissed the princess when he planned to bring you back in your world with a Djinn. Therefore, Cirilla was salty about the whole situation and didn't forget the retribution that he needed to receive after pissing the child off.

You could hear the nark and frustration in his timbre, though he sounded to be too quelled to your surprise that he actually didn't find Cirilla's plan to be rather much annoying because of what benefits was given, "---and she already got what she fucking wanted. That cunning child,"

The latter clicked his tongue, blinking out of his amazement in giving him an accidental flash of your breasts. Well, he'd seen more breasts than any type of normal, but seeing yours was different. You could see the crooked smile wanting to carve upon his lips, making you narrow your eyes back at the witcher who found everything delightful, "She promised you were...decent,"

Your brow instantly rose at that, skeptically glaring back at the witcher, "Is this decent enough for you?!"

Thus, he cocked his head to the side, feeling his heated gaze on you alone; never leaving, "Even...better?"

You've finally hugged yourself together, both arms crossed to cover those angels you were hiding from, giving Geralt the death stare as the witcher continued to gape; eyes definitely intrigued for what else could he find pleasing to look at. His face was now back to being stoic and serious but his eyes seem to be the opposite.

"Stop staring!" you timidly commanded, voice higher than usual due to the embarassment.

He didn't need to be told twice. Geralt sighed in way that got him smiling, entirely beguiled by your reaction.

You were a conservative woman, even pure as well based on how you were panic-stricken by being immodest. Unlike those other women who he has been with, they were all poised and unfazed by showing their perfectly shaped bodies at the witcher who they find utmost alluring and ravishing.

Yet, here you were. Being you.

"I'm trying." Geralt snickered, his grin lifting his lips in haste when you couldn't see his face as he turned around.

It was like you can feel him grinning. You knew he was grinning and so you stated your accusations out loud as he was grinning from ear to ear, "I can see you grinning! Judge my body for all you want! You probably saw better," "

But, his smile slightly fell when he'd heard your voice waver a little at the final thought of your message; hearing a little bit of insecurity or maybe a lot more if you were covering them up to not let them see.

"You---You can leave the towels there. Don't look as you do!" you pointed at the wooden chair close to him, raking his form from hair to foot and still couldn't believe how large his build was. A puff of breath left your lips when you could feel yourself grow hot that had more than a blush, your fingers suddenly flying up till you've touched the weird symbol that was inscribed in between the valley of your breasts.

The symbol was totally strange although familiar because it held no meaning for you. It was like a colorless tattoo or a scar that was meant to be there; an image that you have already seen or encountered because it was with Geralt.

It consisted of the witcher's medallion.

You've only seen it when you began undressing, wondering why it was even there in the first place.

"Hmm." he gravelly hummed, seeing his shoulders slump as he thought about it too long. How would he even place the towel without looking like an idiot pacing backwards? "I'm warning you!"

Geralt gave a scoff, turning his booted heel halfway that you could only see his gorgeous side-profile. He never looked at your way again, though it was thoroughly tempting for the witcher but he respected your wishes and just stared straight at the wooden chair that was a meter away from him.

Your naked presence didn't cease his jests, "It doesn't sound too threatening now, does it? Especially that it comes from you,"

An adorable growl erupted from you, igniting a chuckle from the witcher as it was the first time he heard it for all his life and it was certainly the cutest, "What are you implying then?!"

"That you're a tiny midget trying to scare off a big, bad witcher," his grin grew bigger as he went on with his teasing.

You've eyed the large towel in his hands, actually thanking the witcher for sending them off to you because of Jaskier's foolishness; grateful that you wouldn't run off the hallways completely naked because you only had face towels, "Is that even a decent towel? Not a face towel like how Jaskier tried to give?"

Despite of only seeing his side profile, you were sure his grin fell from the moment you've mentioned the bard, "He'd went in?" he grumbled with a spiteful tone, making you question him in silence, "---with you bathing?"

"What's wrong with that, Geralt?"

There was a murmur, and you couldn't quite comprehend what he said but you knew it doesn't sound like he enjoyed the idea of Jaskier walking in on you while you were unclad like it was nothing unlike him who'd been given warnings and death stares like you wanted to throw knives at him.

"That bard,"

Was he feeling the way you're actually thinking how he felt? you couldn't help but try not to scoff this time, never wanting to get caught that you were finding his irked reaction rather funny, "I was clothed when he did. Unlike you,"

He'd ignored your response as you watched him saunter towards where the chair is, gently dropping them on top of the clean set of face towels that Jaskier has managed to give, "These are your towels, midget." Geralt mindlessly muttered, heedless of his next words that came out of his mouth, "---all new, soft and perky...Ugh, fuck."

The witcher rigidly stood straight, his shoulders falling as he exhaled a long breath; waiting for the tumult of your loud protests, "You're describing my boobs!"

Did he seriously just tell you that your breasts were perky? Small? Or you just thought perky meant small for you?

Geralt had his brows in a twist, crossing his arms as he glared at the wooden chair, probably already dying from how he was giving daggers to the poor seat in front of him, "Your what?"

"My watermelons! My tatas! I know what you're thinking and how dare you tell me they're small?!"

The latter didn't meant it that way. He meant that it was upright and firm. Definitely firm as he'd already seen it with his own amber eyes, "I wasn't saying it was miniscule," he explained with a very relaxed pitch of his voice. The topic not shaking him off.

"---It's the right size for you,"

You were now red-faced, finding the whole ordeal of talking about your breasts with the man you fantasized about was giving your features a reaction of being too flustered by the words he say, "Geralt!" it was a sheepish loud hush and scold for the witcher to cease his talking, "Stop talking about it! This is embarassing!"

Geralt amusedly clicked his tongue, amber eyes downcast as you saw a slip of his smile before fully turning his broad back as he ignored you on the side, eyes focused at the door which will give him a way out.

Maybe after you bathed, he needed to also have his based on how your irresistable presence began to take its camp inside his leather pants.

"I'll...alright," he roughly cleared his throat, a hand on the wooden door before you suddenly beckoned him to stop.

"Wait!"

The witcher could help you with whatever symbol was on your chest. He was the only person who could explain what was happening to your body right?

Those constant withering you feel on your chest whenever he was around, a desire that wanted you having him up close and maybe ever closer than you wish for? The scorching want to touch his face, feel his body caressing you in a way that nobody else could?

The type of scorching thirst that made your soul corrupted from all the lewd thoughts inside your head. You've had it last night, when Geralt was up close and raking his fingers through your locks; by the time you were sweating and having the potent urge to just devour the man who was thoughtful enough to put you to sleep, all you wanted was to be raunchy with all the obscene whisperings inside your head.

It was like somebody wanted you to do it; to have your body corrupted by the witcher and you didn't know if he felt the same way.

Your thoughts was heading to a path that you didn't know about; since the moment that the witcher came into your life.

Geralt heard the splashes of the water, meaning to say you stood up; utterly naked and wet from your bath that it made the witcher's body turn stiff. "You're making this difficult for me, midget..." it was a serious warning that got your chest feeling all sorts of things again.

You swallowed the filthy want away and covered your body with the towel that reached beneath your knees as you paced towards where he was, "Don't worry, I'm all clothed now. I just need to show you something,"

"I've seen more than enough of your breasts that can get me---" he started with a dangerous tone of his timbre, but you immediately backpaddled and tied the towel in between the valley of your breasts, the symbol showing above the towel as you awkwardly fidgeted your toes on the ground, "No! Not that! This!"

He'd felt your nervous pats on his shoulder, urging him to turn around and when he did; Geralt was aware of that shining symbol carved on your chest like a necklace that he also had.

The witcher stared at it with utmost peculiarity, his forehead creased too deeply that made you ponder if he was mad at what he was seeing but you knew he was just trying to understand whatever it is that was outlined on your chest.

Thus, he'd inspected each and every curvature, ending at an image that he also had on as he worn it as a necklace for whenever he was in battles since it was sensitive to magic.

"It's...weird," you curiously mumbled, glancing down at the glyph on your chest before tilting your head till you could see the real one gleaming before you, rested upon his wooly chest that you so wanted to touch since last night.

The way it crawled in the deepest parts of you was antagonizing as you couldn't find any relief other than whenever Geralt was touching you, it somehow lessen the uncomfortable, scathing feeling.

A very odd feeling that couldn't be helped.

Hence, in the twinkling of an eye; Geralt already has his calloused, rough fingers merely brushing that mark you had on the valley of your chest, sparking a hitch of your breath as it got stuck in your throat; the witcher, touching a part of you that nobody else did yet.

"Did I say you could touch?" you bashfully whispered, all flustered when you've felt him gently tracing the emblem.

"Hmm."

"But, your touch somehow helps the ache and the bath did too as well," an earnest answer was sent to the witcher, his amber eyes snapping away from the symbol to give you a glance; seeing a satisfied flicker of your eyes as you found it soothing, "Very weird,"

From the moment his fingertips came in contact with the image stuck in your chest, you've held out a satisfying sigh; feeling the slight sting slowly pass by like a wind when Geralt has his fingertips on your flustered skin. His amber eyes were heavy, focused and entirely warm as his gaze darkened in question.

"How weird must it be?"

Was it also the same feeling he had before you both went to sleep? the moment you both had when you've first arrived after going home from the swamps? That temptatious feeling that got him all frustrated for desiring you?

Thence, you continued to dance on fire, whispering your next words like a secret you never wanted to reveal. A surprising urge that got you all bashful but somehow gaining self-assurance for even saying these things out loud, especially to the man whom you were smitten with, "I...feel things that shouldn't been thought about, corrupted feelings that would describe me as sinful..."

Were you really saying all these out loud? How? Why? yes, you were and you didn't know what force has taken you to even say these out loud like a minx.

The witcher leaned down for your sake, never getting to entirely tilt your head till you were giving yourself a stiff neck. He'd had those amber eyes of him, dancing in curiousness; his eyes sharp, cimmerian and held scampishness that you never saw until today.

"---about you..." the sound was utterly guileless. His thoughts wanting nothing but to taint the purity away if he was given a chance. The silence he has been giving, blinding you into saying more; hoping he would take the chance before it even ended without you knowing, "---It's like I've wished for something that will make me suffer...makes me more curious about you than I've ever been before,"

You've held your breath, seeming to be enraptured by the witcher who wanted nothing but to melt you in his gaze. His glowing Aurum eyes enticed by the perilous spell you've cast as he cocked his head to the side, a look of mischief mixing with the curiosity drowning in his peepers.

"You are having desires," he murmured as a matter of fact, enticed by the close proximity that you both shared. His breath fanning your face in a way that got you smiling as you've genuinely thought out loud, "Scorching...desires that makes me pant like a dog in heat, Geralt."

You could feel Geralt slightly move closer, inclining his head a bit more to have a better look upon your face, the brilliance of his enchanting eyes definitely more bewitching as he was giving you the mischief that pooled around his eyes, "Which explains...last night?"

Your heart was pounding so fast as you've held onto the ends of your towel, tightly than you could ever do because playing with fire was technically not a great idea especially when it was his; feeling the apprehension starting to take over by his intimidating but fascinating presence.

"Yes. You--You didn't need to state the obvious---"

A soft yelp was released as the witcher abruptly hauled an arm around your waist, grabbing you like a basket of groceries as he pulled you closer; overlapping that personal space you needed as he peered down before you, amber eyes burning with the desire you both wanted to release. You've ogled back at the man, blinking with that vindicated look of yours as it made him crazier and unstable.

Hence, his reply made you crazier as well because the least you expected was his virtue on filling that forbidding feeling that was needed to satiate.

"I could revel those desires you have that is needed to sate," he hoarsely taunted, emphasizing his words while he somehow stared between your lips and those batting doe-eyes as he seemed to be ensorcelled by you, "---I'll indulge your curiosity all night long or even days thereafter," his next words turned breathlessly low, stirring a primal warmth that got you suddenly excited for what he could offer.

"---If you'll let me,"

You were totally swept off your feet, maybe literally as you felt the tip of his nose tickle yours in a way that got you captivated, saying words that surely got the better of yourself as you fluttered your eyes closed, feeling his warm breath hitting your mouth enticingly palpable and peril to even experience, "God, That...was hot,"

Was that the response you only managed to create? Yes. You've honestly told the witcher he was hot when he was basically trying to woo you over and fill in those desires you wanted.

You've felt his breathing turn slow and erratic, the pillowy texture of his vermillion slightly tickling your mouth as it made your heart thump so fast that you were worried you were having a heart attack. Your eyes tightly shut just waiting to be kissed by the witcher himself as this moment was undeniably flattering.

You knew you were looking constipated while you awaited for those soft lips to land on yours. But, what you got was just a low, hushed growl and a puff of air that roughly slapped your lips as the witcher groaned out loud, his mouth momentarily whisking away that made your heart itch in a way that got you softly whining to yourself when he'd slightly leaned back.

Your nose was scrunched up to the extent of telling him that you were dismayed from the lack of lip touching like it was an intentional tease of his sly self. But, you never said it out loud to lessen the embarrassment that you wanted to kiss him that badly.

He was truly the living thirst to your randy teenage life before and a person who made you insane.

"The bard just doesn't know when to stop," his fiery, golden eyes looked through you, but it seemed to be distant as he had his eyebrows in a frustrated twist, nose also scrunched in a way that he was completely irked to the bones.

The witcher had a nasty scowl on his face. Did your breath stink?

"JASKIER." Out of nowhere, Geralt loudly exclaimed through gritted teeth, his arm around you never leaving as you stared into his eyes that also never left yours since he had you in his burly arms.

Due to your frantic state that keeps you antsy and fidgety, it decides to strike while the iron is hot. Meaning to say that you're taking the perfect opportunity to do something embarrassing. You've arduously stood on your tippy toes, struggling to reach Geralt's height before puckering those chapped lips of yours and doing the inevitable.

A quick, soft, honeyed peck on the side of Geralt's lips got him rooted on the ground, expecting it to land on those mouth of his that you've been dying to kiss but decided to taunt the big, bad witcher by pressing a peck that was dangerously close to where he wanted.

The latter was used to women who were straightforward, sexual and knew what they wanted. Thence, having a woman who's timid for wanting what she wanted was giving him a headache because of how your taunts were poking that rage of desire he had with you.

It was utmost frustrating and irksome because he wanted more.

You've dropped your feet to the ground before you heard the door creak where Jaskier emerged from and had a huge grin on his youthful pretty face, "Why, does anyone want me to rub chamomile onto their lovely bottoms?"

Geralt's hold on you slightly loosened as he looked at you with that questioning and frustrated look on his face, giving a grimace for whatever child-like kiss you have given him. It was completely unsatisfying. He didn't expect that and you couldn't help but want to snort and giggle at the same time from how stunned he appeared to be.

The witcher snapped his head to where the bard is, giving him a sharp lour that tells Jaskier that he ruined something important and he better get ready for some beating.

Jaskier gave a nonchalant shrug, "Don't give me that look, I was about to give the small rat her chamomile but it appears to be like she's having her own kind of chamomile being given by you, witcher." he roguishly muttered, wiggling his eyebrows.

You were sleek enough to slide away from Geralt's sturdy arms, swerving from his delightful presence with those butterflies flying wildly inside your stomach. A deep groan of disapproval was heard in the room when you've both given the men looks of query and saw Geralt glaring at the bard for his interruption.

Your fingers began to fidget over the hem of your towel, hair all drenched as it dripped to the ground. The citrusy scent that has been your brand lingered in the air as Jaskier gave you a once over, his pretty blue eyes scanning your indecent outfit before you've seen his adam's apple bob up and down; the bard's eyes twinkling in some sort of way that made you even more flustered.

"Ughm, I need to dress up? Bye!" you nervously exclaimed, shifting on your footing before grabbing onto the door and escaping from the eyes of both men that lingered on you.

When the door slammed shut, Geralt continued giving the bard a stinky scowl. Jaskier eyed him skeptically, muttering a defensive 'what?!' before hearing a dangerous grumble of the witcher's protests.

"Bard." Geralt gravelly warned, his mouth releasing an intense blasphemy for the defensive troubadour who tried appearing innocent like he wasn't admiring your newly bathe look, "I hope a fucking Nightwraith gelds you at night,"

YES. IT’S FOOKIN’ LONG AND Y’ALL GOTTA HANG ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER BECAUSE IT’LL BE LIT! (Sorry if there are typos in this chapter!) FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!

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