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adora-but-ginger · 1 year

Text

scrawled in sand

pairing: joel miller x gender neutral!reader

summary: a fight leads to a mistake that may be costly, and Joel might lose someone, again.

word count: 4.5k(ish)

warnings: typical tlou violence and the warnings that come with those, nothing in detail but some sexual thoughts so 18+, weapons/knives, mentions of the loss of children, joel is kind of being an asshole at some points, angst, fluff at the end though, reader is like a feral cat joining a group of feral cats, swearing, hallucinations kind of, spoilers for episodes eight and nine, talking of death, no y/n used, umm i think that's it

masterlist

a/n: please don't ask me what this is, i don't have an answer. i chugged it out on a whim yesterday and make some edits today to fit the story better, and i'm currently trying to fill the hole that the end of the show has left so here this is! pedro as joel truly makes my brain go brrr, this series is fr consuming my life oh my god. thank you for reading! <3

one more thing! don't repost my stories, because only those who don't cover their cough or sneeze do that, and frankly that's embarrasing.

enjoy!-ella

credit to gif owner!

Joel,

The letter started, and he felt the all too familiar feeling of guilt pool in his gut. The argument from earlier that morning back had ran through his head on repeat since you left him standing alone in the middle of the street, with nothing but the horses in the near distance remaining as his company.

He didn't know why he said what he did, or at least he didn't want to admit it. The ghosts of his past had been haunting his every waking moment the closer he got to you, after Ellie had asked you to come with them in Kansas City. To say you were a force to be reckoned with would be an understatement, and he frequently glanced to your features and saw the same fires that burned the kindle of broken memories in himself.

You were dangerous, fearless, and morally questionable. This meant that Ellie nearly fuckin' worshipped you, and that Joel followed not too far behind.

The fact that you were nearly breathtaking to him was also an added benefit. Had he met you before, Tommy definitely would've chastised him for fawning after someone so out of his league.

You were brutal, and had made your grand entrance by saving Ellie and his life when he thought he had failed once again. Even months after you had joined their little duo, he still hadn't figured out how he hadn't seen you in the shadows. You had gotten rid of the person holding the weapon to Ellie's head just as they were about to pull the trigger, the shock of this third unannounced party granting you the time to take care of the one suffocating Joel.

Apparently, you drew a line of morals somewhere, but the line must've been distinct only to you. You had introduced yourself to the two after making sure they were both okay enough to continue, and it didn't take him more than another twenty-four hours to know that somewhere along the line, you had lost a child too. He had never expressed his inference out loud, but only someone who personally knew the pain of losing a child like that would save a kid like that.

From then on, he could tell that his silent vow to protect Elle at all costs was shared with another--an unspoken agreement going between the two of you.

It didn't take long for his 'crush' (as Ellie called it) to develop for you, though he denied it at any and all costs. How could he not? You could take out a clicker in the most agile way he had ever seen, and still walk away looking saccharinely angelic. His angel of death, he called you, after a night of too much stale alcohol surrounded by the sounds of crackling embers and an audience of the stars. You had laughed, and it was the first time he had made you produce that sound.

To say that the thought made him a little weak in the knees would put it mildly, and he thanked the onlookers of dust and ice above him that he was sitting down.

You had told him that that was probably one of the nicest nicknames you had been gifted by another in the last two decades.

He responded with a small smile, one that hadn't seen the light of day in much too long.

You said you liked it, the way his eyes looked with the little crinkles, and got up to stand watch. He noticed the scar that adorned the length of your collarbone for the first time, and let his eyes travel downward for the briefest of moments, before he lectured himself on why he couldn't think like that, of you, of anyone.

Your guard slowly went down for him after that night under the stars, but that didn't mean that you were any less brutal. You plowed through infected with so much as a blink of an eye and a scoff, and could bring a person to their knees, in want of lust or life, often taking the latter.

You two had become close after the winter that he nearly died at the University and Ellie and themself had gone through some of the most trauma one could experience. In fact, the caring whispers you and him had shared during those weeks, well, he damn near thought he made them up out of how unreal they seemed. He remembers the feeling of your lips against his cheek, of you falling asleep on one side of him with Ellie on the other while he nearly bled to death.

He knew he loved you then, but chalked it up to his dying mind.

And then the incident with the hospital happened, and even though you had barely the slightest clue as to who these firefly folks were, you had informed him afterward that when you woke up and pestered Marlene into telling you what was happening with Ellie you blacked out--that there was a reason as to why he had given you that nickname all those moons ago.

Because even if these people thought they could make a cure, who was to say that it worked? These scientists, with barely any resources to perform the necessary tests, had no guarantee that they wouldn't fuck it up, or that they would even did the surgery right had they performed it. No practice on what to do, no clue as to if they even acquire the correct sample. In fact, the only thing that they could guarantee would be the blood of a fourteen-year-old on their hands.

Joel had met you halfway through his sweep of the first floor, the fireflies making the dire mistake of keeping you two on the same level.

He decided to lie to Ellie about what had happened earlier then, and you respected his decision to a point, but you told her that you couldn't speak for him, and that you had found the two of them through no innocent manner.

So now here the three of you were, in Jackson, Wyoming, with him head-over-heels for you, and you feeling quite the same. A home was given to you all, and Tommy had rightly taken up his role of annoying younger brother, reminding him that not only did he know those who were ordained within the town (should the time come for you to become him and Maria's sibling-in-law), but that it would contain the looks that those of all genders gave you.

Like he said before, you were breathtaking, and now he wasn't the only one who knew that.

You had let your guard down a little sine you all returned, but he could tell you were struggling with it. Acting as a parental figure to Ellie had come easy to you, which meant that Tommy wasn't the only one constantly pushing him to make a move on you. He wouldn't be surprised if Ellie and his brother had a damn bet going on as to who could get him to say something first. And even though you two shared a room and a bed, nothing was set in stone. You would only really go out when the other two were, besides patrols, which you damn nearly craved according to Tommy.

It was hard for you and him, but the effort was there. He would see a more relaxed version of you in the nights, with the musings spoken between you and him after the sun had set only heard when your arms were around him in bed and the lull of sleep was around the corners.

So, when you both came back after a significantly rough patrol and something within him snapped at your recklessness, the feeling so long subdued came out from the depths of both of your hearts.

"You need to start being more careful of your surroundings!" He had sharply huffed at you after you had gone in with your usual guard and lack of self-care. The shock at his sudden outburst on your face spoke for the both of you. He didn't know why he was so upset, this was nothing new, but his fears had started to best him.

"Pardon me?" You had said after removing the saddle from your horse.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about." He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, your actions soon mirroring his. "You can't just go into spaces we haven't checked alone all because you feel up to it."

"I went in there because I knew that there were infected, I don't get why this is anything different than the usual." The shock had quickly faded into confusion at his accusation. As much as he knew your readiness for conflict of the physical, he knew that you were never one for that of the verbal. That was one difference between the two of you--you insisted that problems were to be figured out and dissolved as soon as they arose, for there was no point in letting an argument brew.

"It's just--" he shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to keep himself in check, recognizing the fear that still remained from how fast you bolted into the abandoned barn. "We're a family now, you n' Ellie n' I, and you have to start caring more about what you do and your safety."

"I have been, Joel. So a stalker got a jump on me when I turned my back, but it's happened to the best of us. I wasn't bit, I'm okay." You had reached for his arm, but he moved his stance back just enough for you to halt your motion.

Something hardened in his eyes at that, feelings of what could've happened if you were bit flashing across his mind like a bad movie. "What if we hadn't been on your six? Huh? What would've happened if you did get bit? I couldn't live with myself, and you know damn well that Ellie wouldn't take the news well either. What you do doesn't just impact you anymore. That's all I'm saying."

You had sighed, nodding. "You have to see where I'm coming from too though, love." Pet names had flowed relatively frequently between the two of you since the beginning of the winter, but he still wasn't used to them. He liked em', loved em' even, but a little voice in his head always told him he was getting too close. You both hadn't said those three words, but he was terrified that he would push you away the moment they entered the air.

"I just, never mind." He turned to walk away, which was his first mistake. He knew you wouldn't let the subject just go like that.

"No, no, let's talk this through. You have done the same thing countless times, hell I've had to pry those fuckers off of your back more than I should, but you still continue to do it."

He spoke with his back still turned. "Yeah, but with me it's different."

Mistake number two.

You had both moved to the street now, the lights of early morning filling the colour palette surrounding you both.

"What do you mean it's different? What, you think I'm weaker than you or somethin'?" Your voice held more bite with the claim, and he screwed his eyes tight. He knew that your ability to hold your own was a touchy subject at best, after you explained your amount of loss long ago, but it didn't even cross his mind that his words could've been interpreted in a different manner.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He was getting annoyed, he was tired, but he turned to face you nonetheless. It was too early for a disagreement, but alas, here you both were.

"Yeah? Because that's not what it sounded like."

"Listen," your name tumbled from his lips. "You know that I know you're not weak, I have never doubted your strength and I never will. Goddammit. I just think that you go in over your head sometimes, thinkin' that you can handle more than you can."

Mistake number three.

"I know damn well what I can and cannot handle, Joel." Your chest was starting to raise faster, and he could tell that you were getting fed up, but so was he.

"Can you just listen to me for once?!" his tone became louder with every word. Memories of his life before ran through his head, alongside your image. If you wanted to be so stubborn, he could too. Maybe that's why he said what he did next. "You know what? No. I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"For the past how many patrols, you've come back with some sort of scratch because you don't care about what happens to you, and I'm sick of it--"

"--I've been working on it, and you know that. This isn't an easy change for me."

"But you're not workin' hard enough!" his voice was raised now, and he saw your resolve start to break. The dam had opened, and now the flood was rushing in. "If you're goin' to go and get yourself hurt, go do it away from me. In fact, it might just be better if you go on and leave, save us the trouble of worryin'." The words were leaving his mouth before he could even realize what he was saying, and he regretted every word that he processed.

"You don't mean that." He could see your breath hitch, your chest stumble as you spoke.

"I'll be damned if I don't. Can't have us thinkin' you're not gonna make it back if there's no back for you to come to."

"Joel, I am trying to work on getting better at it." Your voice matched his tone now, the anger seeping through you. "You don't see me pointing out every one of your flaws, and goddammit you have your fair share. You know I love you regardless, and--"

Mistake number four.

His body tensed up at your accidental confession, and your eyes widened as you realized what you had said.

"What did you just say to me?" He was too fired up to process his emotions healthily, and all the alarms to run were blaring loud and far. Did he feel the same? most definitely. Did he know how to express that in the slightest? Not at all.

But you held your ground. You knew him and how closed up he was, hell, you were nearly on par with his level there, but you had said it nonetheless. "You heard me, and I've got the feeling that you've known it for quite some time now."

He couldn't stop though. "Don't come home tonight. I don't want you there. Hell, you should've gotten bitten, for all I care."

You cursed yourself for getting close to that old grump. You didn't mean to say it, but you meant it, and you thought he felt the same. You left him there, then, not allowing him to see just how his words affected you. It was ridiculous really, how you let him get to you, but you liked the normalcy of Jackson, no matter how bad you were at it. You felt bad for leaving Ellie, but you thought it was best. Joel was right in that manner, she deserved a guardian that could keep themselves alive.

So that afternoon you talked to Tommy about taking your horse for a little joyride that evening, and though he wasn't too happy with your push for it, he obliged. It was past midnight when you came into the building you used to call home. You got your little belongings together, those consisting of a photo of the three of you, some flasks of water, some flasks of a liquid that was not water, some food, some weaponry, a journal, and went downstairs.

You scribbled a little note for Joel and went on your way. You couldn't look back, because if you did, you'd stay. Part of you broke as you imagined Ellie's reaction come the morning, but you continued on.

You didn't know where you were going, but you didn't really care.

After talking with Ellie that afternoon about what happened once the guilt had consumed him, Joel sought you out. You hadn't come home that night, and though in his fury he told you to do exactly that, he didn't expect you to actually do it.

He had checked the spare bedrooms but found only empty spaces. His heart started to drop as his hopes to see you dwindled. It was when he walked to the kitchen table was he met with someone. Ellie sat there, eyes glued to the small piece of paper in her hands, a tear slipping down her face. At the presence of Joel, she whipped her head towards him.

"I thought you were going to fucking talk it out." Her eyes were red, and she spoke with a bite. "Go get your fucking stuff, we're bringing them back." She stood up and went to go gather her stuff he assumed, leaving the paper on the table. He walked over and picked it up, the guilt returning as he read his name in your handwriting.

Joel,

Guess it really all was just one sided. You were the first person in years that I let myself care about, and I guess I'm facing the consequences. Like you said, you can't worry if I don't come back if there's no back to go to.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt his heart become erratic.

Ellie,

I'm sorry. I hope you forgive me for leaving, but please don't hate me for it. If I were to stay, it would just be awkward between Joel and I, and eventually you probably wouldn't see much of me anyways. Love you, kid.

I'm sorry.

Yeah, this was a mistake. You'd been with people for too long that you grew to be rusty by yourself, and it was costing you, big time. You had been on foot for who knows how long now, but it was dark and sleep was slowly lulling you to its call, so you didn't hear that someone caught onto your trail and began to follow you. It wasn't until a twig snapped no more than fifteen feet behind you that you caught on, and by then it was too late.

A short fight later, death had found another, and there was a nasty stab wound in your shoulder.

You had thought to bring food and water, but why you forgot a med kit was beyond you. So, here you were, your horse waiting by the creekside, while you tried to find something that would hold enough pressure to prevent you from passing out. That was quickly coming to no avail though you realized, and you cursed at yourself for being so torn by rage from your fight with Joel to prepare properly.

You could see drops of your blood reflect in the morning dew that coated the grass. This wouldn't be lethal if you found a way to patch it up, but you were losing hope by the second.

Being agitated enough to find a solution, you decided to press on the wound with your hand, causing your sight to briefly black out in pain. A groan surpassed you, and you begrudgingly dragged yourself to your horse, doing your best to keep the reins in place via a bigger rock, and slumped down against it. If you could rest for just a few minutes and regain your breath, then you could focus better on what was around you that could help. Just a few minutes, you promised yourself, and the darkness overcame your shutting eyes.

It was the sound of another horse that jostled you from your unconsciousness. Looking around, it took you a half a moment to recognize where you were, a part of you aching for the comfort of your shared bed. But that's when everything came flooding back.

Joel. The fight. The note. The stabbing.

You looked skyward and groaned when you saw the paint of warm colour canvasing the blue. With a curse and a deep breath, you pushed yourself up, barely making it to a standing position before the pain overcame you again. You risked a look to your clavicle, and to your dismay, it was looking a whole (no pun intended) lot worse. You figured that you should've known that sleeping it off wouldn't heal a literal stab wound, but what the hell, it was worth a shot. The blood loss caught up to you making you lightheaded, and as you stumbled to your horse, you thought you were hallucinating, because you could swear that you heard Joel's voice.

The version of him that your mind had cruelly made up was coming closer, and jesus christ you were hallucinating Ellie's voice now too. The trees around you started to spin, and when you saw them turn towards the crest of the hill you looked up from, you actually laughed.

You were about to possibly die, and your mind had to punish you for it.

Calling up to the false images, you got their attention with slurred speech. "Shit, you can't even let me go in peace, can you?" Another sour laugh followed your accusation, and the hallucinations had their own conversation before rushing down to you.

Getting off Callus, Ellie slapped Joel's chest at the sight of your shoulder. "Holy fucking shit, guess we know what the blood trail led to." She moved to you after that with Joel not too far behind, but you put all the remaining strength into stepping back from them.

"I know you're both not real, but I don't know why you're still here." This must have been the precursor to death's entrance because that could be the only rationale for this. "You clearly got your way, Joel, now go away so I can please die with some closure."

It was a shame that this is how you went really, with a wound from a dirty blade, but alas. Fake-Joel crossed the distance between the three of you, grabbing onto your good side with eyes wide, examining the injury. "When did this happen?" His eyes sought yours, and you rolled yours in response. "Ellie! Get the bandages from my pack!"

You gave a poor attempt at backing away. "Can't you just leave me be? You told me to go and made it quite clear how you felt about me." You were slipping, and could feel the darkness whispering your name.

"I'm real, this is real honey."

The little amount of push in you snapped, because you scowled in response. "Don't call me honey." You glanced at his hands, noticing that they were moving to the wound. "Plus, if you were real, I wouldn't want to speak to you. So what, I said that I loved--" A gasp caught the end of your sentence, the pain clearing your sight as he started to put pressure on your shoulder. "--love you, but you knew it anyway. We were a family, like you said, and I let my guard down for you--" You had used more energy than you thought on that last sentence, with nothing more than a whisper allowing itself to get through for any other words you had.

Ellie had given Joel gauze by then, and he started packing the wound as best he could. "El, get the horses together, we're takin' them back." He spoke your name then, and you wanted to cry out to the universe for making you think this up. "Bet that felt real, yeah? Listen, I know I said some things earlier, but I really didn't mean them. I'm not that good with bein' vulnerable yet, and I'm still learnin', but I shouldn't have acted that way." Your name spilled from his lips again, and why was he saying all of this now? He continued to talk, but you didn't hear anymore, your eyes unfocusing and starting to shut, the darkness finally coming to claim you.

It had been nearly a full day that you were out, and even though Joel knew that it was partially due to whatever the doc had given you, he was damn near terrified. All of the day's events seemed like a blur, and by the time he was given the okay to stay in the room with you, he had had his fair share of tears. Ellie sat next to him in the chairs he brought up from the dining room, the temporary cot in his room that held you looking extremely out of place.

He had apologized to you more times than he could count while you were out, but the guilt that still racked him rang strong. He had failed, again, this time because he was too bull-headed to talk it out.

Ellie's nudges brought him out of his train of thought, her voice saying your name as your eyes opened. A string of cusses flowed from you as you came to, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Once he had offered you some water, he saw your features twist into skepticism.

"If I'm dead, this is not what I was expecting."

Of course you'd say something like that, trying to diffuse any awkwardness of the situation. Joel played off of it, because he'd prefer this to anger any day. "Yeah, we're actually angels."

That got a snort out of Ellie, and a weak smile from you, one of his own following not soon after.

A few seconds passed in the welcomed silence of each other's presence, but all too soon things became real again.

"I don't know how much you remember from out there, but you gave us a real scare." His hand gingerly reached for your arm, silently asking for permission to hold it, sighing a breath of relief when you nodded. You weren't one for physical touch, especially after an argument, so this felt like a hopeful sign "I really am sorry about what I said to you. I shouldn't have, and I didn't mean a lick of it. I care about you more than I have for nearly anyone else, and I--" The words caught in his throat, and your eyes followed his as they searched the room for an answer.

"Joel," you murmured, eyes on him. "Shit happened, we can talk about it all later, yeah? You don't have to give any confessions now." You kept trying to break the tension there, and he could assume it was due to Ellie being there.

He pushed through though, because Joel Miller was a stubborn man, and damn it if he hadn't been working up the courage to say it since you all re-entered Jackson's gates. "No, no, I want to say it, and I mean it."

"I love you too."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller apologist #joel miller angst #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #tlou hbo spoilers #pedro pascal

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unrequitedloveletter · 9 months

Note

Hello !! Could you write platonic Matthias x squaller reader where they grew up together and were best friends until the reader just disappeared. Years later Matthias finally reunites with the reader who’s now working with the crows. They explain that they ran away due to the fear of being a grisha in fjerda and because they couldn’t bare the thought of Matthias finding out and turning on them. Thank you <3 - 👾

Lost- Platonic! M.H x gn! squaller! reader

Hi, purple alien emoji anon! Thank you for sending this in--I don't write for Matthias very often so getting the chance to do was definitely a bit of a treat!

On another note, though, requests will close around the end of this week! I have the close date for thursday right now but I'm leaning more toward friday because it feels more uniform in my brain so yeah! Send in anything and send in as much as you want--I've finished up with the first draft of my current WIP and I have been itching to focus on fanfic writing again

Fic type- this is hurt/comfort! There's a bit of an angstier element here too, though, and it does get a bit fluffier near the end

Warnings- death is mentioned a bit, burning bodies on a pyre is mentioned a few times, there's a mention of dying in the permafrost (it's not directly referenced--matthias calls it losing the reader to the permafrost)

As Matthias Helvar approached the top of the Ferolind, his eyes keenly watching the crew he'd been broken out of prison to join, he found himself listening to a voice that sounded all too familiar--much too familiar for his tastes.

It was the voice that had belonged to you--the person who had once been his best friend. How long had it been since you'd last seen each other? Two years? Three? Matthias had lost count.

He'd not seen you much in the heist, which confused him, but he was glad that all was said and done regardless. All of it was exhausting, and trying to help Nina as she went through everything with the parem was turning out to be exhausting still, too.

His hands had been freed of the shackles they'd once worn, but still he rubbed at his wrists in something that almost felt a little like habit.

He looked in the direction of the sound of your voice hesitantly--carefully, as you gave a response to Kaz regarding something about something else. Matthias barely cared to listen when Kaz was speaking with regards to anything other than Fjerda or the letter declaring Matthias' freedom, so he'd missed out.

You were manning the sails and keeping the crew forward moving as you left the icy waters of Fjerda behind you and escaped on the tail end of disaster. It was a relief that was palpable--everyone was feeling it as they all stood in various spots on the deck.

"I think I'll be sleeping until we get to the harbor once we've reached Ketterdam waters, honestly," you said with a laugh. "I've only really been able to practice this stuff for two years--I'm not nearly as talented or as comfortable in my small science as someone like Nina might be. I thank you for your patience."

Kaz only waived a dismissive hand. "I'll bring you a bit of coffee--Inej says that Specht is brewing a pot in the lower levels."

Matthias watched you grin, watched you watch Kaz walk away. Your gaze turned to Matthias and you jumped, causing the sails of the boat to ruffle.

"Is this real?" Matthias asked. "I'm not seeing the ghost of my childhood best friend, am I? I know that being around this bunch might bring me a bit of mild hallucinating, but there's just no way. It makes no sense."

You sighed, glaring at him just a bit. "Druskelle," you said. "I've thought about this moment a lot since everything happened. I've tried to figure out whether the emotion I felt in the regard of the thought was excitement or anxiety. It seems I've found myself within a lethal mixture of both."

"I thought you were dead," Matthias said. "For two years, I have thought you died, Y/N. What happened? Why did you leave? Grisha have save spaces in Fjerda. Dozens of them according to the networking that I saw before prison."

"Thats completely irrele--Matthias. Druskelle are in Fjerda," you said. "Being Grisha in Fjerda is dangerous because in Fjerda you are not the blessed like the Zemeni believe; your small science is not considered a gift, not treasured or celebrated like it is in most Ravkan towns. In Fjerda, if you are Grisha, you are the wicked; your death is celebrated, not your life, when they put you on a pyre and burn you for the misdeed you committed by existing. The things that you saw before you were imprisoned were not real. They were fake networks to get Fjerda to attack it's own military bases in the assumption that Grisha were waiting close by. I couldn't--once I realized that I was a squaller I left. I went to Ketterdam and I found myself in the Barrel, and here we are now."

"You didn't just leave," Matthias said. "You disappeared. I thought you had died, that something had killed you."

"You had joined the Druskelle when I decided it was time to go," you said. "I thought you would've hated me for the fact that I am a squaller. You were my best friend, Matthias. I couldn't bear the thought of it but I couldn't figure out how to leave so I thought that I should just go. Go before I could register that I had left my life behind."

"You thought that I would turn on you?"

"You had just joined the ranks of the Druskelle," you said, turning finally to spare him a glance. "Am I really the one who is to be blamed for such a thought process when you joined the largest organized group that remains actively hunting Grisha down, burning them on pyres in false trials, and leaving the bodies for their families to find?"

Matthias silenced himself. You made a good point.

He stayed with you on the top of the Ferolind for a long while, neither of you saying much of anything as Matthias took to watching the sky as the sun began to set and the stars that lit the sky up began to show themselves.

"If it helps," he said. "I am glad that you survived. I do not know what I would've done had I gotten word that you'd been lost to the snow and died amidst the permafrost."

You grinned. "I'm glad you're still kicking around," you said. "I bet Nina is, too, the way she looks at you."

Matthias gave a shake of his head and the silence settled again, though that time it was plenty more comfortable to stir in than the first.

#matthias helvar #matthias helvar x reader #platonic! matthias helvar x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

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caseyqdilla · 1 year

Text

My Theory for Eddie Munson

This is inspired by that look that Joseph Quinn gave in one of the interviews in Brazil when the interviewer at the end, I don't remember the person's name, says they hope Eddie is alive and he looks like he KNOWS something.

Warnings: Season 4 spoilers, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of grieving, mentions of burning, and if there's anything else I will definitely make sure to add it before posting it.

Eddie lay there amongst the demobats that viciously attacked him, biting through his signature Hellfire shirt; nearly killing him. Nearly, but something in the way Dustin looked at him as Eddie finally brought himself to tell someone other than Wayne that he loved him. How could he not? The kid had become his shadow as soon as he brought him under his wing, hell he raced back into a demonic hellscape to try and save him. Something in the way he clutched to him, in what he thought were his final moments, urged him on, urged him to fight. To fight like he'd fought against all odds, against all the naysayers that expected him to be some kind of monster. A monster he fought so hard to never become and to his merit, he never did. Eddie is a kind and gentle soul, sure he's different but he never let what people said about him or to him change the way he was.

He gasped as he rolled over slightly to cough the blood out of his throat, he knew his friends would be gone, but that just made him more determined to fight and get back to them. Unbeknownst to him though, Vecna lived; their plan to kill the bastard had only weakened him momentarily, but he lurked in the shadows gaining back his strength and formulating a new plan. A plan that would involve the loveable metal head that is trapped here in his domain.

Back in Hawkins the group would mourn in secret, not having the heart to tell Wayne what really happened Dustin told him he died during the 'earthquake', but that he died saving him. It broke Dustin to have to say those words, still not wanting to believe them even though his best friend, the closest thing to a big brother he'd had, died in his arms. The group met up almost weekly, sometimes twice depending on how they were coping or if they had nightmares. When they met up, they did have fun just as they did beforehand, but when no one was in the mood to talk, they'd just sit there in comfortable silence supporting each other with reassuring glances and soft embraces. They tried not to force him to talk about it until he was ready and initiated the conversation.

Time in the Upside Down seemed to move differently when you're stuck with no way out. Then as he's wandering around trying to see what seems familiar from the time he was here with Steve, Robin, and Nancy, he sees Chrissy; at least what he believes to be a hallucination of Chrissy. He smiles sadly and as if she were actually there with him he speaks to her, "I'm so sorry Chrissy...I'm so sorry I ran, I just left you there alone Chrissy. I could have..I should have called someone for help."

In the shadows, Vecna uses Chrissy as his puppet, like a sadistic puppeteer. "But you did leave me Eddie."

Eddie's head snaps up to meet her scrutinizing gaze, "After all the people in your life left you, you still chose to run." Guilt hit him like a sucker punch, twisting his gut into knots. He knows what he did, he knows he put his self preservation first, he let his fear control his actions; after all he knew how it would look even if he did the right thing.

"I'm sorry." he drops his eyes to the ground as it comes out small and broken, but lord knows how much he means it, not that it matters, it doesn't change anything. Vecna smirks, his plan is working; why hadn't he targeted this boy before?

The scrutiny in Chrissy's gaze softly disappears as she makes her way to Eddie. He's shocked when he feels the softness of her hand on his chin as she brings his eyes to meet hers. "Come with me Eddie. I can help end your pain. End your suffering." she says barely above a whisper. Without realizing what he's doing Eddie nods his head as Vecna uses Chrissy to lead the boy where he can use his vines and the newer powers that he'd acquired to put his plan in motion. As the unlikely pair make their way, Eddie realizes too late as Chrissy suddenly disappears that it's a trap. He tries to run only to be grabbed by vines and fall to the ground knocking the wind out of him and making his injuries from the bats ache and he winces in pain. He's lifted up by the vines and brought to meet Vecna's eyes, tears begin to fall from Eddie's eyes; memories of seeing Chrissy being snapped like a pretzle and drained of life flashing before his eyes as he clamps them shut awaiting the end.

To his surprise and horror, Vecna approaches him, this is the first time seeing the creature up close and terror grips him.

"Join me Eddie." Vecna croaks out in a bone chilling growl.

Eddie can't speak so he shakes his head violently, mind flashing to his friends and sheep that needed his guidance knowing he'd face this hellish nightmare thing a thousand times over to keep them safe.

Vecna lets out a low chuckle that sends shivers of terror down Eddie's spine as he brings his grotesque hand up to force new thoughts in his mind; much like he did with Nancy before they got out of the Upside Down the first time. He saw flashes of his friends, his uncle Wayne, Dustin all writhing in pain and screaming for his help. Eddie cries out in pain at seeing them like that and hangs his head low, hoping that if he gives himself to Vecna that he will truly leave them alone and find a new hell hole to terrorize instead of Hawkins. "Okay." he says so quietly that if you hadn't been right next to him you'd miss it.

At hearing this Vecna smiles wickedly as the vines that held Eddie begin to engulf him, searing Eddie's skin causing him to scream in pain. Vecna laughs maniacally as he begins to transform Eddie into a new minion to do his bidding. Eddie falls to the ground, breathing heavily, his eyes open to see his reflection in a puddle on the ground seeing that in a cruel twist of irony Vecna has turned him into a horrible hybrid of human and demobat; the same vile flying creatures that nearly took his life. He hates that he still vaugly resembles himself, the bat tattoo on his arm still plastered on alabaster skin, the Hellfire logo now etched into the skin of his torso, and his hair still an unkempt mess of curls. He's got wings now, his legs resemble those of a werewolf's, the rest of his skin charred aside from where his tattoos lie most of them now presented on graying skin. As Vecna starts to put other pawns into place, Eddie remains staring at this new version of himself. Tears, somehow hotter than the vines that had just released him, now flow down his face as he realizes that he looks like a devilish creature. He's now become exactly what the majority of Hawkins had expected him to be.

Listen here okay, I'M SORRY. I didn't want my brain to go there, but alas here we are. I'm not happy about it either...

#eddie munson #Stranger Things #Stranger Things theory #Duffer Brothers #eddie munson theory #eddie munson fandom #stranger things fandom #fan theory #IM SORRY #fanfiction #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington

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stationerykid · 2 years

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Dying Light 2 fandom why is no one talking about Rowe?

#like I was actually invested in his character wth #possible spoilers #don’t read these tags actually unless you’re far into the game or someone’s let’s play #but um #you don’t get much about the guy beyond sparse interactions the drinking game and some things that his fellow peacekeepers say about him #like did I hallucinate this or did someone mention that he ran into a burning building for one dude??? like gimme more on that #he cared so much about his men #give me more backstory #Arin Hanson voice: mORE OINION PLEASE #anyway #dying light 2 #dl2 #dl2 spoilers #dl2 Rowe #dying light 2 rowe #okay to reblog #reblogs encouraged #please i need answers

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its-a-hot-girl-thing · 2 years

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Antología | Bruno Madrigal x Reader

Slightly based on Antología by Shakira

Summary: Years before disappearing, Bruno and (Y/N) had an ephemeral romance that ended unexpectedly by the tragic whim of fate.

"How foolish of me to think you could be mine, when you're the light and I'm the eternal night.”

He saw her talking to Julieta near where the entrance was being built, handing her two baskets full of food as she smiled gently, air moving her skirt like butterfly wings. For a moment, as his sister took the baskets, he believed to be hallucinating, that she was just the ghost of a worn-out memory after a decade of playing it over and over again in his head out of pure masochism.

“Ah, (Y/N)” Julieta stopped as she turned to leave. “You probably already heard from the neighbours, but Bruno came back. Well, he never actually left, but it's a long story... "

She had stopped hearing the woman the moment she mentioned his name, surprised to hear someone pronounce it after so many years in exile. A dozen emotions flood her body, leaving her dismayed and lost, not quite sure how to react. It's as if she had been awakened from a profound sleep because her heart starts beating vehemently against her chest, pumping blood to her cheeks to tint them with a slight pink hue, her brain going so fast not even she understands what's happening.

<I'm dreaming> she thought, it wouldn't be the first time. She pinches her wrist, but Julieta's still there, telling her something she can't hear thanks to the commotion a simple name caused in her insides: happiness, delight, guilt, despair, anger, and so much more piles up in her chest. She wanted to see him, hug him, kiss him, tell him how much she had missed him and how sorry she was for not arriving that night. And it's precisely the memory of that night that makes her smile fade and her face go pale, a hole replacing the butterflies in her stomach.

"Let me go look for him, I saw him with Luisa a few minutes ago." Julieta turns around, but the man had run to hide already.

"I have to go, I left the children alone." It was a lie, Amparo, her sister, had stayed at home with her husband to look after them.

Heart racing, she turned around and nearly ran downhill, leaving Julieta confused and puzzled: She'd expected another response given the way she had reacted years ago when she found out about the disappearance of the youngest triplet.

<He hates me> she kept repeating as she walked between the townspeople <He hates me more than anything>. She had learned to live with that thought over time, but it was one thing to suspect and another to confirm. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to see him, but she didn't think she could bear his disdain and rejection; she'd rather die before seeing the slightest hint of resentment in his eyes.

<She hates me> Bruno torments himself with made-up scenarios. <She hates me as I've never been hated before, and that's saying a lot.> Had she received his farewell letter? And even if she did, would it make any difference? He'd left her with little to no explanation, the only person who saw him with tender eyes and not as a bad omen, she who had dared to defy reason to devote herself in heart, mind and body to him, to whom he vowed marriage... To ultimately disappoint her like he did with everyone else.

He didn't deserve to see her, (Y/N) probably didn't want to either, and he could live with the hatred of the entire Encanto - with being perceived as a cold and calculating monster - but not hers. Bruno wasn't strong enough to look her in the eyes, once burning with love for him, and only find rage and repulsion.

Their minds went back to the first day, eleven years ago, when their lives crossed at the same place that now lies in ruins behind them.

<I'm sorry for falling in love with you, mi Mariposita> Said his last letter. <You deserve better than me>

And as she disappeared between the houses and the crowd, his words seemed truer than ever to him.

#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal #encanto #fluff #angst #bruno madrigal x y/n #bruno madrigal x female reader #los madrigal

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

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Absolutely love your work 😚 Can I get a : “Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?” with Gibbs please?

Thank you so much, anon!!! 🥺 I hope you’ll like it! ❤️

Warnings: fight, mention of physical abuse, panic attack

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921

The ex

The first time you saw your ex across the Navy Yard, you thought you were hallucinating. It couldn’t be him, he disappeared of your life à long time ago, he’s not even supposed to know where you are. You convinced yourself it was just someone looking like him.

The second time, your eyes actually locked with him. You would recognized those eyes anywhere in the world. As soon as he smiled, you started to panic and ran away.

The third time, you heard his stupid voice. He was right behind you at the coffee cart. “Hello Y/N,” he said, all charming and innocently. Like he never done anything to you.

When you were handed your coffee, you grabbed his arm and took him apart. “What the hell are you doing here? You have nothing to do in the Navy Yard. How the hell did you find me? I’m a federal Agent now, I’d have no second thought about shooting you,”

“Aw Y/N,” he smiled and tried to cup your cheek but you slapped his hand away. “You know better than threatening me. I told you I would find you anywhere in the world, didn’t I?”

“I can throw your ass back in prison, Liam. Leave me the hell alone,”

“Never,”

You held your cup of coffee so hard, it spilled all over your hand. You avoided showing your ex that it was burning your skin, you just left. Once in the elevator of the headquarters, you turned the switch and let your panic attack washed you over.

You stopped by Autopsy to see Ducky, showing him your hand. It was indeed burned, and he took care of it. “What happened, darling?”

“Spilled my coffee,” you told him. It isn’t a lie.

You came back to the bullpen with your hand wrapped and obviously, they all got curious.

It’s starting all over again. Technically, your ex didn’t physically hurt you like he used to, but it’s definitely his fault. Why is he back in your life? Can’t he let you go for good?

For the next two weeks, you didn’t see him at all. You started to hope your threats got to him. But it didn’t. Somehow, he managed to find your home address and one night after work, he was waiting for you in front of your door. Mechanically, you put your hand on your weapon, ready to fire if needed. Or at least, you hoped you’d find the strength to shoot him. He’s always been your fucking kryptonite. For years, he hurt you physically and mentally, but somehow, you were the one to apologize every time.

“Get out of here before—“

“Before what, Y/N? Before you shot me? You wouldn’t dare. You never had the guts to fight me,” he dangerously walked up to you and you took a few steps back, until you were stopped by the wall.

“Don’t tempt me, Liam. I’m not the one I used to be,” you tried to be strong but the truth is, he still scares the hell out of you. Why is that? You’re a federal agent, and a good one. You fought a few suspects in the past years. Why can’t you fight him?

He smirked at you, and brought his hand to your chin. He strongly held your chin, his lips a inch away from yours. You could smell the alcohol on his breath.

It started with a slap from him. And another. You fought back with a kick in his crotch. You started to run downstairs but he managed to catch up with you and pushed you down the stairs. You were stunned for a moment, and Liam used it to sit on you, starting to throw a few punches.

You don’t know how, maybe thanks to your survival instinct, but you fought back this time. You got rid off him and gave him back the punches he just gave you. The last thing you remembered is holding your gun against his temple. You almost shot. Almost.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Gibbs’s door, as he opened it. His face went from pleasure to see you to worry when he noticed the bruises and cuts on your face. He gently grabbed your hand and brought you inside.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

It was so obvious, you couldn’t help but to answer. “No.”

“Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

“Nothing.” You muttered.

He quickly went to his bathroom and came back with a first aid kit. He sat next to you on the couch, and started to clean your face. “You better tell me what happened,”

You whined as the product he used sting. “Liam happened,” you just said.

Gibbs breathed deeply through his nose. Anger was obviously rushing through his veines, but at this moment, you needed him to take care of you. “I almost shot him, Gibbs,” you sobbed.

“After everything he put you through, I get it,” he said, cleaning your bloody lip. “Why didn’t you tell me he was back?”

“You’d have shot him,”

“Cause you think that now, I don’t want to shot him anymore?” he exclaimed.

“He doesn’t worth the problem, Gibbs. I don’t want you to get in any troubles of any kind,” you locked your eyes with his. He could see the pain and hurt on your face, it broke his heart.

When your face was finally cleaned, he put everything down and softly kissed your temple. “Can I stay here tonight?” You asked, exhausted.

Gibbs laid against the back of his couch and took you with him. You had your head resting on his chest, his breathing was steady. He stroked your hair, letting you cry until you fell asleep.

You never saw Liam again. But you don’t know that Gibbs beat the crap ouf of him and threatened to kill him.

#jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs x reader #protective!Gibbs

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theacevampire · 2 years

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Traces

Pairing: Itachi x fem!Reader

Genre: angst

Wordcount: ~2.1k

Warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts

Track: Breaking Benjamin - Dance With The Devil

Synopsis: It’s been six years since eighteen-year-old Itachi Uchiha massacred the Uchiha clan and disappeared without a trace. Until you wake up one night, strongly believing he’s back.

A/N: I always thought I could hardly write angst, but the more angst I write the more I like it. I get now, why so many writers like angst, help. Let me know what you think!

You ran through the night, sprinting over the rooftops of Konoha, always following the jingle. The streets were suspiciously empty: No signs of civilians, other shinobi or even animals. As if the village had turned into a ghost town. As if he had returned to slaughter the whole village, leaving only you alive.

Itachi. There was no way you had imagined his voice, his presence, his feathery touch in your sleep. You had woken up drenched in sweat with the lingering feeling he had been in your bedroom. Though you had no evidence, just your heart screaming he was there, you believed it. Hastily, you had thrown on your jōnin uniform and left your apartment through your window, looking around for any signs of him, whether it be the smallest shadow moving or the slightest breeze from his movements. Would he really do this to you? Again?

Once more, the jingle echoed through the night. Silently, you leaped over a narrow, dark alley, always in direction of the sound. Despite you could neither see him nor did you feel his chakra signature, you knew he was there. Somehow, he had managed to sneak into Konoha, tricking all safety measures, almost as if they had let him pass.

A cloud passed by the full moon as you passed the entrance to the Uchiha compound. There was still no sign of life anywhere. A shiver ran down your spine. It was a sinnister atmosphere. Where were the citizens? Had you fallen under a genjustu? Was he really doing this to you again?

Your gaze fell on a utility pole, the moon arising in the sky behind it, its round edge seemingly resting on the pole’s top. You came to a sharp halt. Was there someone standing on the pole? You blinked as a cold breeze hit your face. When your eyes opened again there was no silhouette to be seen.

Just when you were about to continue your chase after the phantom that was Itachi, a swaying movement of a piece of fabric caught your attention. Across the distance it was hard to tell what it was, so you threw one of your kunai in its direction, hopefully pinning down whatever this was. But before you could set foot into the direction, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Stop.”

Your head flung around and you were met with a glowing Sharingan. Your heart dropped as soon as you realized it was only Kakashi’s. His grip was firm and you knew he wouldn’t let you go easily.

“He is here!”

The moonlight reflected the pity in his eyes as they flickered between things behind you. Your arm twitched in a subconscious attempt to free yourself, but his grip only tightened even more. “Stop. It’s pointless.”

He didn’t outright say you were hallucinating as he wasn’t too sure himself. Earlier that day, he had encountered two guards at one of Konoha’s gates, who had been put under a genjutsu. One reeking after an Uchiha. The question was what brought him here? What was he after that made him return to the village he had left behind after practically eliminating his whole clan? Surely, it wasn’t only for you, was it? But why now? And why was he giving so obvious hints if he was here? A shinobi like Itachi Uchiha could and would leave absolutely no traces behind if he wanted to. This meant he had intended to grab your attention.

“Kakashi, please!” You looked at him with a pleading look, tears burning behind your eyes.

Internally he thanked every god in existence you were too distracted to observe these hints. It was better for you. He wanted nothing more for you than to move on from Itachi and be whole again.

“Do you think he would’ve killed me too if I was an Uchiha?”, you had asked him once.

Back then, Kakashi’s answer had been, “I think so.”

“I wish he had.” The pain in your eyes had been unbearable. It had been neither the first nor the last time you had expressed such thoughts, because death wouldn’t have hurt so much. Before he and the person claiming to be Madara Uchiha had slaughtered the Uchiha clan, he had paid you a visit. Breaking up with you by showing you an illusion of him living a happy life with Izumi Uchiha. Illusions of their proposal, their wedding, their child. Without a word he had left you behind a sobbing mess.

You yourself had told Kakashi about the void, the emptiness, in your heart after he fled the village following the Uchiha’s massacre. Despite the obvious evidence and what he had done to you, you never believed Itachi was the traitor everyone made him out to be. You were convinced there had to be more behind the massacre, ulterior motives than simple hatred for his own clan. Because why would he break up with you, showing you an illusion that would never happen since he would kill Izumi just minutes later? That question of yours would remain unanswered forever.

Over the years your wound started healing, slowly but steadily, and you kept your faith in him, though you understood he wouldn’t – and couldn’t – come back and if you knew now, Itachi wanted you to notice him, it would rip open the little bit your wound had healed again. Because you would get thrown back to years ago, every progress you had made diminished. You would go back to the shell of yourself you were when he had left the first time. And Kakashi couldn’t let that happen.

A dog’s low bark coming from the direction of your kunai ripped through the night’s silence as you heard the tingle from before again from the opposite direction. Kakashi’s brows furrowed. When he had become aware of you chasing after something – or rather someone – he had sent Asuma and two of his ninken to check if your kunai had caught anything. Bull should bark in case they found anything and howl in case there was nothing. This was bad.

The bark had distracted Kakashi enough for his grip to loosen and you took the opportunity to free yourself from his grip. Instantly, you took off into the direction the tingling sound had come from – much to his surprise. He had expected you to chase after your kunai, not leave into the opposite direction.

“Shit”, he cursed before taking off to Bisuke, Bull and Asuma.

Asuma greeted him with a scowl, a black cloak in his hands. “They say it’s Itachi’s.”

The crease on Kakashi’s forehead deepened. If his cloak was here, why did you run into the other direction? Was the cloak a distraction? But why did you initially make a move to go after your kunai? What made you change your mind?

“Kakashi. What shall we do now?”

He thought for a moment. “If it’s really Itachi Uchiha we’re dealing with, I should be the one to confront him. Take Bisuke with you and go find her, she went the opposite direction from where we stood. Bull and I will take on the intruder.” He hung onto the last bit of hope his ninken were wrong and the intruder wasn't Itachi Uchiha.

With only a nod Asuma left, his chakra blades in his pockets and Bisuke following him to find your track. He was glad he outclassed you in speed, so he could catch up to you. It took him only a few minutes to get near enough to spot you between the chimneys once Bisuke had picked up your scent.

You ignored Asuma calling after you. Finding Itachi was more important. Unfortunately, Asuma was significantly faster, so he caught up soon and blocked your way, bringing you to an abrupt halt.

“Stop”, you got told for the third time that night. Rolling your eyes, you tried getting past him, but he cut you off again. “He’s not worth it.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. “So, he’s really here. I didn’t imagine it. It’s him.”

Asuma winced internally. He could’ve slapped himself for confirming your suspicion. Apparently there had still been doubts in you which he had successfully eliminated just now. Great. Kakashi would be proud of him. He licked his lips, choosing his next words carefully. “Kakashi’s ninken confirmed it.”

“Then let me go! I need to talk to him!”, you protested, your tone slipping from determined to desperate. “Asuma, I will fight you if you continue keeping me from going further.”

To your dismay, Asuma didn’t fall for your bluff and pulled his weapons. The blades reflected the moonlight in a shade of blue as he infused them with his chakra.

Because you left in a hurry you were unarmored aside from a few kunai. You pulled one of them, storming towards Asuma. His blade blocked your kunai. You turned, trying to kick him. He dodged it again.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I must. Fūton: Fūjin no Jutsu!”

There was no escape from his dust storm. Within the blink of an eye, you were engulfed by its cloud. Now, it was on your ears to determine Asuma’s position. Standing completely still, you perked up your ears, waiting for the slightest noise. Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity.

“I realize you yearn for him, you miss him, but please think about all the progress you made. Do you really want to throw all of this away just to start over tomorrow from the same point you were at six years ago? Because he can’t stay here. You know that.”

Frantically, you turned around to where his voice was coming from. You were about to move when a sudden pain shot through your calf. Your leg caved in and you hit your knee on a roof tile. Bisuke had used your focus on Asuma’s movements to bite you, essentially keeping you from running anywhere.

You felt like hailing down insults on Asuma and Bisuke for interfering with you, but when you opened your mouth all that left was a sob. Fingernails scratched over the roof as you balled them into fists, desperately trying to fight back the tears. Asuma was by your side in an instant, pulling you into his arms, and Bisuke lied his paw on your arm as your broken cries ripped through the night, startling a crow on a near-by chimney.

Itachi’s heart clenched. For a split second his stone-cold mask slipped. You were so near, yet so far. His leg twitched mechanically, the urge to run to you overwhelming.

“Don’t.” Kakashi had his hands in his pockets, seemingly relaxed, but he watched his opponent like a hawk and the twitch provoked him enough to activate his Sharingan. “You’ve done enough damage. To the village. To Sasuke. To her. Leave the two alone, give them a chance to heal.”

Neither of them said anything as your sobs filled the silence between them, hurting both of them. Itachi never wanted to hurt you. But he had to fulfill that mission years ago. For the village. And he knew Kakashi was right. It was better for the village, for Sasuke, for you and even for him, if he stayed away from Konoha. Still, his heart’s longing had pulled him to the village, to the place he had once called home, to you.

“I’m aware a fight with you might very well not end in my favor but know that I will do anything to protect her.”

A crow landed on Itachi’s arm and let out a croak. He’d rather not take on two jōnin. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be here. “What will you tell her?”

Kakashi didn’t know yet. It would be hard to convince you Itachi hadn’t been here, what again, made finding words which wouldn’t rip your still healing wounds open again even harder. “That’s not your concern.” He had still time to think about what to say.

Itachi nodded. He understood his opponent’s reasoning and while he wished he could explain everything to you – or at least see you one more time – he knew Kakashi was right. “Protect her.”

“I have always and I will always. Better than you did.” The jab was childish, but Kakashi couldn’t stop himself. Itachi should know how much he hurt you. Itachi turned around and was about to leave, when Kakashi spoke up again, “This is technically none of your business, but I think you should know she said a few times she wished you had killed her with the Uchiha.”

Again, he nodded. “Thank you, Kakashi Hatake.” For a second, Kakashi got to see a glimpse of genuine regret, sorrow and misery in Itachi’s eyes, before the ladder turned around and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“Do you think he would’ve killed me too if I was an Uchiha?”, you had asked Kakashi once.

Back then, his answer had been, “I think so.”

Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

#tw suicidal ideation #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi uchiha #itachi traces #vampire:SSD #vampire:narutoOS

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trvncyz · 3 years

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now playing: save your tears by the weeknd

pairing: kokonoi hajime x seishu inui

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of alcohol

Once again, a celebration. That’s all the Haitani brothers ever wanted. Killed a man? Time for a celebration! Acquired a great deal of weapons? This calls for another party! What’s worse, that they wasted all of Koko’s money on these unnecessary parties or that they made every member of Bonten attend all of their parties? It didn’t matter to them if Kakucho is down from a cold or if old man Takeomi has back pain. They have to attend the fucking party.

“Get dressed Kokonoi! We’re going out!” The older Haitani said barging into Koko’s room announced.

“ASSHOLE EVERY HEARD OF KNOCKING?!” Koko screamed at him, throwing a pillow at him.

“Dude I don’t care if you’re jacking off or whatever. We’re plenty fucked ourselves.” Ran said, finally leaving Koko’s room. Koko wasn’t doing weird shit that can be considered personal; he just valued his privacy, that’s all. It wasn’t complicated but people who don’t want to understand never will.

He got up to go scream at the Haitanis again. He had had enough. He was tired, he didn’t want to go out and fucking party. Not to mention the amount of money they waste on it. He knew that it would be pointless though, they never listen.

“Get your ass out here Koko! We’re leaving soon!” Rindou shouted from the other room. Koko sighed. They’d never understand, they weren’t Inupi.

“We decided to go somewhere relatively cheap this time. You can thank us later Koko!” Rindou said patting him on the back. He was unnecessary loud for some reason, how much did he drink already?

“Leave me alone” he told the other gang members and sat far away from them. He’s said it before, he’ll say it again, he was in no mood to fucking socialize. He ordered a few drinks for himself and sat down in the corner, sulking. Koko allowed his eyes to wander around the bar. It wasn’t that different from the other bars he had visited before. The same headache causing lights, stench of booze and sex, women whose dress reveal more than cover, blonde and black haired guys with dragon tattoos and burn scars. Hold on a minute, what?!

Koko thought he was hallucinating, had he drunk that much already? Are hallucinations always these detailed? And if they were, why did the entire ex-Toman members look different compared to how Koko remembered them? Draken’s hair used to be longer and blonde. The first division vice captain, what was his name again? Matsuda? Matsukawa? Didn’t he have blonde hair too? Or was it just the lights? And who were the guys sitting beside them? Long hair and a tiger tattoo? Who was that, was he even in Toman? And beside him, long blonde hair and a burn scar. Was that Inupi? The same Inupi he walked away from years ago, straight into a path of darkness and despair? Koko rubbed his eyes; yeah he was sure of it that was his Inupi.

His Inupi? Could he still be called his? Or was he ever his to begin with? That’s right, Inui was never his. Then why did it sting so much? Why did it feel like someone was slowly twisting his insides? Inui looked so happy slightly swaying to the music. He had that smile on his face, one which had the power of lightning up the darkest of Koko’s days. He remembered all the times when Inui took care of him on his bad days. Inui respected his boundaries but he was always close enough to him. He knew just what to do, just what to say to make Koko feel better. He never quite understood how he managed that but maybe it was just his charm. Inui was the sunshine on his darkest days and ever since they parted ways Koko has been drowning in a world full of darkness which slowly took over his entire being.

He looked so happy without him and Koko felt… glad? He knew that if Inui stayed with him he’d extinguish the spark inside the boy. He’d drag him into the mud with him, so deep that no amount of cleansing could ever completely purify his tainted soul. He was glad that Inui found happiness again. He could hear him laughing and he swore he could cry right there. Oh how he missed that laugh, it stung. He wished that all those years ago he didn’t say goodbye, didn’t walk away from the person he wanted to stay beside. There’s nothing Koko could do about it but mope, cry, drink and blame himself. He laughed at his own pathetic state. “Never regret your decisions,” they said. Yet here he was cursing out every decision he has ever taken in his life, going as far as blaming Adam and Eve for eating the fucking apple and whatnot. Was it the alcohol fucking up his cognition and reasoning? Probably, but Koko didn’t care. And to be honest, no one did.

He looked at Inui again and it felt like for a moment there it felt like time stopped. Blue shocked eyes stared back at him and Koko knew that never again would he see eyes so sincere. His eyes weren’t exactly twinkly like a baby’s but they still shined under the dim lights; Koko knew that Inui would’ve lost that shine in his eyes if he stayed with him. Leaving behind Inui was the correct decision to make; he couldn’t bring himself to ruin him. Still Koko craved Inui’s company, his warmth, his love. Yet all he got in return was Inui looking away from his face and hastily rubbing at his eyes. Inui was probably checking to see if he was a hallucination, he wouldn’t cry for Koko, he shouldn’t cry for Koko. Inui shouldn’t be thinking back to those days of his childhood and teenage, or thinking of Koko and everything they ever did together. He shouldn’t be thinking of Koko’s sharp and intimidating eyes or his surprisingly soft lips. He shouldn’t be remembering about how Koko made him feel strong but hurt at the same time. Loved, but used at the same time.

Inui felt a tornado rise in his head. He wasn’t here to cry over Koko, he was here to enjoy himself with his friends. That’s right, he had friends now. He had new people to care about. There was no reason for him repent over love lost. And there was nothing he could do about it either. Koko was the one who decided to walk away from him. Inui shouldn’t be blaming himself for the separation but he wished he followed Koko to wherever he went to. Inui didn’t care if they ended up in hell, as long as they had each other.

Koko didn't like confrontation, yet right now he wished that Inui would walk up to him, grab him by the collar and beat some sense into him. He wanted Inui to ask him why he left everything they had behind in the dirt or maybe even scream at him for losing his sanity but Inui was just pretending that he wasn't present there at all. In a way, Koko was glad because he didn't have any answers. Why did he run away? How could he possibly tell Inui that he loved him yet he couldn't stay? He didn't have any answers yet he wanted to be questioned. He'd do anything to feel Inui's hands on him once again or hear him talk to him again but none of that would be happening. They weren't someone who were meant to be together. A match, but not a fit, as some might call it. He knew that the company of Inui again was just an unrealistic dream. They were far gone from the point of repair, they won't have a second chance. Koko would sell his soul to have those days back when Inui was still his lover, but love wasn't something that could be bought.

Inui just wanted to say one word to Koko. Why?

Why did you leave me alone?

Why did you break my heart?

Why did you walk away?

Why wasn't I enough for you?

He couldn't form sentences but he hoped Koko would understand. He couldn't walk up to him and talk but he hoped Koko heard him.

Koko would've, if it wasn't for the loud thumping of his own heart. He felt restricted, his heart felt squeezed and stabbed. He wanted Inui to take him back, he wanted to stay, but he could not run away from his monsters. Inui deserved someone better, someone pure, unlike Koko. Inui was everything Koko ever wanted in his life and much more but Inui was just too pure of angel to be dragged down to hell with him.

"And what if something happened to me?" Koko said, adjusting his position to nicely look down at the face of his lover who looked weary and incredibly sleepy.

"I'll protect you." Inui said sincerely.

"But then I'll owe you my life."

"Then spend all of it with me."

Koko really wanted to spend all his life with Inui but he chose to run away from his instead. It was his decision and by now he should have moved on. But where would he go then? Koko couldn't live without Inui and though 10 years had passed, Koko never really lived a single day of it. He just survived.

The room felt like it was burning and the only thing Koko could make out were flames in the shapes of Inui. Seishu, Seishu, Seishu, that's all he could make sense of. He needed to get out of there right now, he'd end up crying otherwise. He knew that he wasn't a part of Inui's life anymore, he was just somebody from the past. Somebody that Inui once loved. Koko turned his back from Inui's peering blue eyes and walked away once again, just like he did 10 years ago. He still loved Inui but it only brought both of them endless pain. So Koko walked away silently, willing himself to not start crying. It was the hardest thing to do, walking away from the one he still loved. He felt it again, the pain, the despair, the sadness. Koko could feel his heart breaking all over again but he just walked forward, the whispers of "Koko, please don't go" left unspoken and unheard.

#yasha writes #kokonui fanfiction #kokonoi x inupi #koko x inui #hajime kokonoi x seishu inui #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #hajime kokonoi #koko #seishu inui #inupi #kokonupi #kokoinu #kokonui #hajime kokonoi fanfiction #inui seishu fanfiction #tokyo revengers fandom

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ithehellisbucky · 3 years

Text

forget me not

spencer reid x reader

Request: No

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, drowning, murder, drug mention, etc

Summary: You and Spencer don't realize you love each other until it's almost too late

Author's Note: First thing in like fucking forever, so yeah. This was originally a request and then I was at school and I couldn't look at my request so it was way off script, so I just did my own shit, this also takes place in the 5th season, in the middle just after hayley dies.

"The unsub is a white male between the ages of 35-45. His modus operandi is drowning in the great lakes, he's already struck Superior, Michigan, Ontario, and Huron, so we expect Lake Erie to be next." Hotch says, glancing at his phone every minute or so. It's his third case back since Hayley died, and he's picked up a habit of waiting to hear bad news.

"This unsub has recently developed a hallucinative disorder where every face he sees has an emotional connection. There were no discernable connections between his victims which leads us to believe that his mind is filling in the gaps at random." Reid says, gesturing abstractly at nothing at all in particular.

"This disorder was likely triggered by a recent brain injury connected to the Great Lakes so keep a lookout for any recent accident victims. He was very social until the accident, and after it he immediately became anti-social. He was probably in a relationship recently, but then broke it off, he is not married, but possibly has children, which he will not shy away from using in a hostage situation." Morgan exclaims as he leans against a desk.

"His victims are all over the place, so we advise everyone to be on high alert. There is no pattern to the murders, from a 51-year-old single mother of two to a 14-year-old on vacation." You pause and take a breath, looking back down at your notes. "Someone out there knows this man, so we implore you to tell as many people as possible, our Media Liaison Jennifer Jareau will be setting up a press conference, and it is very important to get this out to as many people as possible."

"Won't that just spook him more?" One of the sheriff's deputy says, with a concerned look on his face.

"Yes, but at this point, he will kill again no matter what, it's better to have the public be informed because he will take another victim, whether we find him during or after is up to us."

He nods, and looks down at his notepad, badly masking his disturbed grimace.

"Thank you and let us know if you have any leads," Hotch exclaims, closing the meeting.

You walk up to Spencer "I bet we're their favorite people right about now." You say, sipping on your coffee.

Reid avoids your eyes and continues to fidget with the chess piece that he probably stole from one of the officer's desks. "What's wrong Reid?"

"I dunno, I just have a really bad feeling about this one," He picks up his cane and walks away. When Spencer has enough he needs to walk away, and as long as he wasn't hurt that was fine with you.

"Reid, y/l/n, Garcia's got something." Morgan raps his knuckles on the doorway and calls you into a conference room. "Hey babygirl, what do ya got for us?" He exclaims, shifting the call to speakerphone.

"A luscious blonde mane and an intense yearning to hold you." Emily giggles a little bit and Garcia can probably feel Hotch's glare "oh come on Derek."

"Sorry baby, keep goin'."

"I have a name. One Larry Todd. 3 weeks ago he was in a boat accident in which he had a severe concussion and was unconscious for 3 days. He immediately broke up with his girlfriend Shelby, which she was very angry about, adieu to her Facebook page. His ex-wife reported that he missed his last two visitations with his daughter Amelia." She takes a pause "he owned a bait shop that's been closed since his boat was destroyed in the accident, and it's listed as his last residency.

"Fits our profile to a tee," Emily exclaims.

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch says, hanging up the phone call. "Emily, JJ is in the conference so run out and let her know. Morgan and Rossi, go to the bait shop with SWAT, and Reid and y/l/n go to the ex-wife's house; Emily and I will stay here and see what else we can dig up."

Everyone goes their separate ways. The sheriff takes the driver's seat, with you in the shotgun seat and Spencer in the back. You can hear the clang his leg makes against his cane and his foot bouncing.

"I'll take the daughter, and you can have the ex-wife."

"Okay," responds Spencer.

The ex-wife Miranda opens the door sobbing when you knock on it. "Excuse me, ma'am, my name is Agent y/n y/l/n and this is my partner Dr. Spencer Reid, do you mind if we ask you and your daughter a few questions about your ex-husband?"

She continues to sob but lets you in. You look back to see the sheriff playing video games on his phone and you scoff.

Spencer sits down with the crying woman and you politely ask if you can speak to her daughter. She tells you yes and that Amelia is around back.

"Bye, Reid." You blow a kiss to Spencer and walk out the door, shaking a sinister nagging feeling itching at the back of your neck.

You walk across the pavement and open the gate to enter your unsub's former backyard. "Hi Amelia, my name is y/n, I'm a friend of your mommies."

Beginning to grow more suspicious, you pull out your gun and triple-check to make sure it's on safety. If Todd is there you know that he would be fine with sacrificing his daughter for his own goals and you wouldn't let that happen "Amelia? Is your daddy here."

"Boo!" A little girl with pigtails holding a stuffed rabbit jumps from behind the recycling bin and you chuckle, putting your gun away in your holster. "Did I scare you?"

"You sure did!" You laugh. "Wow, that's such a pretty bunny, where did you get it?"

"My daddy got it for me." She said, showing off her gap tooth.

"That's so cool! Do you remember what it was like when he gave it to you?" You kneel to be at eye level with the child.

"Yeah, he was super cuddly, now he's a little more pokey, but that's okay." She says, playing with the bunny ears.

"When did he get pokey, Amelia?" You hesitated, something was off "I just want your daddy to be cuddly again."

"A little bit ago. He used to tell me stories till I fell asleep eeeeeverynight, but then he stopped for a week and when he came back he was like a big lion."

You had a growing sense of paranoia budding in your spine, why was she telling you all this so fast? "What type of stories?"

"He used to tell me princess stories, but after he stopped for a week he talked all about ones about the scary lady who tried to take me away, but then he stopped her! And the boy who was being dangerous so he had to make sure that she didn't hurt me." She exclaimed absentmindedly.

You start to pull your phone out of your pocket until Amelia starts talking again "and just now, he was talking about the bad knight who tried to take me away."

Your jaw dropped and you tried to find the best course of action, but by the time your brain started working it was too late. He walked up behind you and whispered into your ear "Nighty-night."

And then everything was black

~~~

"Hey, mommy."

"Yes, sweetheart?" She quickly wiped the tears off of her face to turn to her daughter.

"Can I have ice cream?"

"Of course sweetheart" she gives me a small smile and gets up towards the kitchen. "Where's that nice agent that came here with Dr. Reid?"

"They weren't a nice agent, they were a bad, bad, bad knight, and they were trying to take me away, so daddy took them instead."

No.

Oh no.

No no no no no no no no.

Where were they? Where was y/n?

I pulled out my gun without a second thought and left my cane behind, I ran as fast as I could without it, and by the time I was in the backyard my knee was burning and they were gone.

~~~

You woke up halfway through the drive. The road switched from smooth the bumpy a million times over, and it smelled like bees. Not like honey, not like pollen, like bees. Just bees. It smelled nice, but you don't want to die smelling bees.

You wanted to move. Move your body, move your head, move your eyes, move anything, but you couldn't move. Nothing could move. There was a sweaty tv shirt shoved between your teeth. Your hands were bound with bristled rope and there was metal all around you and you were certain that this was the back of a van. At first, you thought there must be a blindfold over your eyes, and then you realized that they were just too tired to open.

There was an old country song playing over the radio, a love song about a family in a house. The truck stopped shaking and he pulled the ignition. A growing sense of dread filled your stomach as he walked around towards the back of the truck. He opened the door and you saw his face.

That could only mean one thing- you weren't leaving here alive.

~~~

Within minutes crime scene techs were on the scene, but I knew they wouldn't find anything useful. The only thing that was there was the absence of y/n and our distraught profile.

"They were right here, right here, they were- they were right here, right here." Hotch looked at me somberly, and Morgan rubbed my shoulder with sympathy.

"We need to update our profile," Emily said, there was no time to waste, "we know what this guy does to people, and if he would risk abducting an armed federal agent in front of his daughter there's no doubt they in danger."

"We know Emily," Everyone looks at me kind of funny like I've said something wrong, but at this point, I don't care what anyone thinks of me, "His reason for doing this was for his daughter, he took out anyone he saw as a threat, a motherly figure, someone who could be her older brother, anyone who was a threat and wanted to take Amelia away from him.

"His disorder is fairly undocumented, being exactly the opposite of prosopagnosia, where patients disassociate faces from their loved ones, causes him to feel emotions about people he's never seen before, and his subconscious is assigning meaning to them at random, picking up anyone shows the slightest twinge of distaste.

"y/n picked up more than a twinge, they were there to take his daughter away, so he likely believes they're the mastermind." Everyone looks at me and waits for me to say the thing we all know is coming "he's not going to kill them before they suffer."

As we hitched a ride back to the station my leg was bouncing like crazy and my fingers were tapping the numbers of pi into the leather of the car door. Emily put her hand on my shoulder but I couldn't feel her, y/n missing was the only thing I could feel.

"Garcia I need you to check if Larry Todd owns any vehicles large enough to hold a person, trunks, vans, trucks anything," Morgan says into his speakerphone once we get back to the station.

"Oh god it's true, he really has them?" I can hear the distraught coated thick on her voice "do you think they're in pain, do you think he-"

"Garcia we don't have time for this, does he or does he not have any vehicles in his name." I snapped, I could apologize later when y/n was in a hospital bed.

"No, but you know I'm never one to go to bed early, and it turns out his great uncle died a year and a half ago, but his van was pulled over and given a speeding ticket a few months ago, how much do you wanna bet that's our guy and not a psychopath's uncle."

"Thanks, Garcia," Rossi hangs up the phone and turns to one of the sheriff's deputies in the room, "put out an ATB on that van."

"Okay, I'm gonna go through the medical files again, see if there's anything I missed," Hotch catches my arm.

"There isn't, right now all we can do is wait and look." He pauses "we've sent out patrol cars to look for the van, go out with Morgan, and circle around Lake Erie."

"Hotch, what if- what if we don't find them, or we find them and it's too late, or we find-"

"Right now she's alive, you said it yourself, he's not gonna let her die so easy."

As disturbing as it is hearing that someone you love more than anything is being tortured, I found it strangely comforting. They're alive. They are alive. They are prepared. After Tobias took me they brought me to a CIA torture seminar, just on the off chance that anything happened, I wouldn't break again.

I stared out the window of the passenger side of the SUV. Morgan wasn't talking, he knew what I was feeling, because he felt it before, when it happened to me.

"We've got a report of the vehicle going down sunmist lane" the scanner jumps to life.

I had memorized the map the second we landed; "we're five minutes away" and then, quietly under my breath, I whispered, "I'm coming y/n."

~~~

He held your head underwater for the 7th or the fiftieth time. You can't remember. You can't remember. You can't remember anything other than the water under the dock filling my lungs.

"What do you want with my daughter?!" He screamed at you as he pulled you out again, You vomited up all the water that my body could muster. You didn't know he had a daughter.

You forgot everything you learned to do. You forgot to pretend it was affecting me, You forgot how to hold my breath, You forgot. You forgot everything.

Except for Spencer, Spencer's smile, Spencer holding you, Spencer missing you until that was gone too.

Everything went away but the water.

He kicked you back off the dock again, and for a second you gasped for air, and then you sank, nothing even mattered anyways.

The man pulled you out again and kicked you in the ribs; you felt something rip inside of you and you screamed as loud as you could, which was more like a whimper.

"Larry Todd put your hands up!" Two men came behind the man who drowned you, you couldn't remember them, but you could remember the rip in your ribs filling with water.

He shoved you back into the water and you didn't even try to fight this time, you just sank, feet after feet after feet of water. You didn't hold your breath, you didn't care.

A figure appeared above you, and you saw the angel. He had a shimmering brown halo and a beautiful bright face that looked terrified, just like an angel.

And then he pulled you up.

~~~

This might be heaven, but it might be hell. You can tell the room is white without opening your eyes. There's a steady beeping sound to your left and it smells like chlorine.

When you finally manage to open your eyes you wished you hadn't. All you see is lethargy around you.

JJ is drooling in her sleep while Emily is asleep on her shoulder, Garcia is snoring in the corner with her knitting in a pile next to her. Morgan and Rossi are nowhere to be seen, but you can't blame them, seeing people they love getting beat up over and over again never gets easier. You can hear the faint sounds of Hotch arguing with someone over the phone in the hallway.

But worst of all is Spencer. He's wide awake and his foot is tapping like crazy on the ground. There are deep and dark eye bags surrounding his eyes and hints at a beard forming on his face. His cane is tossed uncharacteristically on the ground, and he pays it no attention whatever.

You open your mouth to speak, but when you do a stabbing pain shoots through your diaphragm and you gasp. The second Spencer hears you he shoots up and kneels next to the bed, which must be no easy feat.

"Hey, how are you?" He strokes your hair as gently as he can.

You try to speak but no words come out.

"Do you want some water?" You nod, trying to not feel pathetic. The second the glass of water comes into your eye line you knock it out of his hand and it goes shattering onto the floor, waking everyone else in the room up.

You start to cry, feeling guilty and scared about why a glass of water could've terrified you so much. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's just a bunch of sand made into something you can drink out of, it's not a big deal, don't worry." That calms you down a little bit.

You look around to see the rest of the team cradled around you. "How are you feeling honey?" Garcia whispers as if speaking too loudly would mortally wound you.

You reach up and touch your throat, and it burns. There's more confusion, and then JJ is getting her hand cut on the glass she was cleaning, Garcia was whispering too loudly and Emily was touching your arm, and Hotch and Morgan and Rossi were walking in the room and Spencer was pushing a button on your bed and the monitor was beeping and then you were screaming.

Screaming so loudly, screaming in pain, screaming in fear, screaming in confusion, screaming because you were overwhelmed and sad and scared. "Everyone gets out," Spencer says, and everyone quickly does, he knows you best, and right now, everything was too much.

"Wh-what happened" you whisper, throat and lungs still hurting but since you had screamed the worst part was over.

"The unsub kidnapped you, and tried to drown you, your heart stopped in the ambulance, but they brought you back." You remembered "You had been dunked in the water and brought back up at least 15 times, not including when I brought you out.

"You needed 53 stitches and had a punctured lung when we found you." He pauses "You're safe now, we have him in custody and he can never hurt anyone ever again." You let out a breath that you didn't know you had been holding.

"I'm so sorry," You were crying "I forgot you, I'm so sorry. He made everything go away but the water I'm sorry that I forgot you."

"It's okay, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, you were trying to stay alive." He stroked your hair and held your hands gently "He tortured you, when Hankel tortured me all I could think about were the drugs and the pain, you didn't do anything wrong, you survived."

"I survived?"

"Yes."

"Can I tell you something?" You chuckled, your tears had stopped but it was still wet on your face.

"Anything."

"I thought you were an angel when you saved, and now I realize that you weren't my angel, it wasn't magic, and it wasn't godly." Spencer looks puzzled, and you paused to take a deep and painful breath "It was the fact that I am so deeply in love with you, that seeing you love me back felt like heaven.

Spencer stares at you, his mouth closed and his mouth on the floor "You don't have to say anything, just know that-"

His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence. For a moment you forget about the pain in your throat, the burn in your lungs, and the agony all over your body; it was just Spencer.

You pulled away for breath, your breaths dancing with each other.

"I was so scared" he whimpered in fear.

You stroked his hair gently "I was more terrified than I had ever been. I was so horrified that I would wake up tomorrow and my reason for living would be dead. I was more scared than I had been when I thought my dad killed a kid, I was more scared than when Hankel tortured me, I was more scared when I realized that I loved drugs more than my own life.

"You were the person that held my hand when I was hurting so bad I would forget to breathe, and then you weren't here because you were the person in pain and I realized that I loved you because nothing hurt me more than the fear that I could lose the one thing in the world that made me feel okay."

He takes a deep breath and looks at you as deeply in your eyes as you thought could ever be possible. "I love you too, and I promise you I'll never let you go."

His lips meet yours, and through a kiss, you whisper "I'll never forget you again"

And you knew that you had Spencer and everything is going to be okay.

My Masterlist

Requests are open!

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257 notes · View notes

just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Text

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: (Please message me if you're on here and don't want to be!)

@honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #Statesman!Frankie Morales #Statesman!Frankie Morales x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack whiskey daniels

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angelicmichael · 3 years

Note

What if Xavier had a kid he didn't know about and he meets them for the first time after he's already a ghost? Maybe there's a kindergarten group that takes a trip to the camp, and he just has this spirit intuition as soon as he sees them and KNOWS it's his child. Do you think you could expand on this idea? I'd love to see what you come up with!

A/N: This was so fun, thank you for this idea dear anon!! I'm sorry it's late but hopefully u like it 😶. Also, I apologize this is so dark and heavy- I didnt intend for it.. it just, kinda happened lmfao. I turned this into a 'x reader' and it starts with Xaviers POV and ends with readers perspective!! First few paragraphs are pretty dark and then the rest is weird.. angst fluff LOL.Hope yall enjoy 💖💖💖

Warnings: First few paragraphs discuss Xavier's thots about dying SO, it highkey gets dark yall I'm so sorry, mentions of anger?? issues, mentions of murder, stops getting dark roughly around paragraph 6 if u wanna skip all that, MAJOR ANGST, reuniting, very brief Xantana reference 😈, mention of kids, bit of fluff.. think that's it :)

In Xaviers eyes; the worst part of being killed in a desolate camp and having to reside there for the rest of eternity; wasnt the fact that he would have to handle Richard Rameriez and tolerate his peers for eons to come. Sure, both of those things required an adjustment period but.. the realization that his life with you was abruptly cut short, was what truly broke him.

It took him being stripped from everything he once knew to truly appreciate how heavenly life once was before Camp Redwood. He had a steady job, good friends, and a relationship with a actual living, breathing person.. Not to shade Montana or anything, of course. However he had taken all of those things for fucking granted; moving to Camp Redwood definetly had made him become humble- at the very least. He was now nothing but a mere shell of the person he once was; nothing to bring him out of this absolute living nightmare he found himself in.. At first this mindset nearly consumed him, it drove him to kill multiple times.

There was no point in trying to conceal the anger he felt, no way of trying to channel it out into a more socially appropriate way and at this point.. there really was no point in trying to do so. Out here in the forest, espically after he was killed, life outside of the forest soon seemed as if it was some type of myth or fairytale- something not real or attainable. Time in the redwood forest felt different- days quickly bled and melted into weeks, and then months.. trying to guess the date was something Xavier gave up on doing after about the first week.

As much as he tried to deny it, being dead and becoming trapped here had completly made him lose his grip on reality and his previous life. Soon enough, the thought that life even fully existed outside of the camp and that there was actual fucking laws against killing (something which was now a leisurely hobby) had completly slipped his mind momentarily in the beginning as well. Out here in the forest, nothing felt real execpt for his anger that he held onto so tightly.

It was really the only thing he had left; atleast for a while.

The pain of losing his partner, (y/n), still remained but letting that grief not consume him was easily the hardest battle he had fought in his life. Xavier realized he still had his friends - and if he really was going to live for eternity, he sure wasnt going to spend it angry.

After so many years of being 'cursed' to spend forever in this forest, keeping track of the time was something Xavier rarely bothered with, but - it was obvious by the suns posistion, and even the slight mist that made the grass wet that it was just starting to cut into morning. Xavier walked through the forest alone, nowhere in particular to go or to necessarily do, only a sudden need to go and be alone. Almost a beckoning, for him to go and be somewhere else. To witness something.

His days were more often than not purely mundane; he had absolutely no excuse to not listen to this odd and sudden attraction he felt toward a very particular spot in the camp.. so, that's what brought him to where he stood now. Close to the road that brought visitors (a nice word for victims) into Camp Redwood, right next to the mess hall which was rarely used close by.

Xavier felt wildly uncomfortable standing so close to the place which previously held so much trauma - and honestly still did.. The place where Chef Bertie died. Xavier paused, about to just say 'fuck it' and just give up and go back to where his friends resided (or atleast Montana) when.. he heard it.

His sign, the thing that seemingly enticed him in the first place.

It first sounded like the old, familar sounds of tires coming across a gravel road - Xaviers mind immeadietly jumped to perhaps this could be new people.. new vistors.. new victims.

His blood ran cold when he heard something else; an eerie ringing of chains hitting against the ground. Something that was mostly a associated with buses.. and hauntingly familar. He had little to no time to think or even act on his suspicion when he noticed that a yellow school bus full, and nearly combusting with children was pulling into the camp.

Xavier wasnt exactly certain the bounds that ghosts had when it came to certain bodily functions like vomiting, but hes sure that under normal circumstances he would certainly be sick by now. Nevertheless he could feel his body tense up and the other natural symptoms associated with anxiety also kicked in. Urging him to clumsily get out of vision; he stumbled behind a few trees that poorly blocked him from sight. He continued to watch in complete and utter horror as the bus came to a stop, and it didnt take long for kids to start pouring out of the bus. Xavier felt his heart drop and his blood run cold every time a kid exited the bus and stepped on the dirt soil of Camp Redwood.

Xavier whipped his head around; scanning the surrounding area to make sure no other ghosts were here to bear witness to this.. Xavier was nearly always down to commit murder, it was really the only thing that kept him from fully going insane from pure fucking boredom but - kids? There was no fucking way he would let anyone touch them.

While he thoroughly scanned the area, he noticed a few adults leave the bus out of his periphery vision. He thought nothing of it, chaperones were to be expected on elementary field trips but.. the strange beckoning feeling he felt ealier visited him again, urging him to turn his head fully and look at one of the chaperones more closely. Instantaneously, he then automatically realized why he felt so compelled to come to this spot.. Why he was meant to be here at this exact moment.. It was you.

At first he thought he was merely hallucinating; you definetly looked significantly different from the last time he had saw you but.. he knew it was you, his partner that he had before his life completly went to shit (minus the catastrophe that occured with Blake, of course). He knew instantly, it was your eyes, your stature and just.. your overall warm and familiar aura that gave your identity away. He couldnt believe that the person he had so fucking desperately wanted to see more than anyone or anything was only a few feet away - and now, that you were finally here... All he wanted for you to do was to leave.

As soon as he saw you he felt a sudden tightness posses his chest and throat which accompanied the formation of tears burning his eyes; hastily blurring his vision. He had to physically restrain himself from sobbing outloud; trying his best to just swallow down his tears. His whole body felt as if it was on fire with anxiety, but he chose to continue to stand still behind a few dainty trees - trying to pull himself together so he could actually have the chance to think critically and choose what the ever living fuck he was going to do next.

While he waited for his blurry vision to clear, he chose to focus on the semi distant figure that he knew was you. He took in the little details; like how the sun highlighted the colors in your hair and your simple but charming outfit. It took him several moments to think of why you would even be here in the first place, with a school bus- and thats when another dreadful realization hit him.

Only parents were mainly chaperones when it came to elementary field trips.. meaning-

No other thought crossed Xaviers mind as his eyes flicked down inhumanely fast to the child where (y/n) stood next too.. and immeadietly he knew.

The features the child shared of both you and Xavier were partially a giveaway, but most importantly.. it was the feeling he had that confirmed his belief. The initial anxiety he felt of the kids arriving still remained but was significantly muted and mostly replaced with a overwhelming sense of pure love. The feeling spread to every fiber of his being, and so did a odd urge to protect this small being which he knew was his.

Not ever in his entire life had he felt this way about someone (execpt for perhaps, you). He felt himself taking a few steps forward, at first completly involuntary but he knew he had to talk to you. Just the idea of reuniting tasted so fucking good but, he knew he couldnt get too greedy if he was going to talk to you. He knew confronting you had to be solely done in order to save you and his child, he couldnt get carried away. He wouldnt.

He tried his best to appear casual as he submerged from behind the trees, his hands held behind his back - the only way he could get them to stop shaking. He tried to relax his shoulders and appear confident as he strided up to you; your back turned toward him. He continued until he was directly behind you, he wanted to tap your shoulder but - touching you seemed out of the question. That would confirm everything, it would make it seem actually real and not like this just some torturous dream.

"(Y/n)"? He spoke.

Xaviers breath hitched as he watched you whip around to face him. He studied your features as you went from looking utterly confused to surprised beyond belief.

"Xavier, what-"

"We need to talk".

Xavier quickly grabbed your hand, leading you away from herd of kids and the few sparse chaperones that were amongst them. A few of them gave you two a few odd looks but neither you or Xavier particularly cared, after all this was the first time in years you two had seen eachother. You hastily followed his lead, feeling slightly embarrassed that it was obvious how nervous and simply caught off guard you currently were. Your palms (one of which was still holding onto Xaviers hand) were starting to moisten with sweat. These feelings only amplified once Xavier turned around to face you. The intensity that was in his eyes put you on edge - never in your time of dating or knowing him did he ever look so serious with you.

"What are you doing here"? Xavier spoke, his voice was still in a higher pitch, slightly breaking.

"What"?

After years of not being able to see you, in fact; years of you not even knowing where he went - this was how he chose to greet you?? Automatically your blood ran cold with the sudden realization that something was wrong. Seriously wrong.. but the feeling didnt just apply to your ex boyfriend. It was the entire camp.

"Its not safe here, you need to take the kids and leave". Xaviers voice more visibly shook this time as he spoke; as if his words physically pained him.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sudden pain and anguish starting to fully settle in. You couldnt believe it; after years of not seeing you - this was all he had to say? Was he fucking joking?

"What? A-are you kidding? Xavier, I havent seen you in years- I didnt even know you would be here-"

"I'm sorry (y/n). I'm so sorry but you have no idea what this place is like. You just need to go, and the kids. And promise me you wont come back".

It was torturous to watch tears gather in Xaviers eyes, and watch as they streaked down his cheeks. The sadness you previously felt was now washed away with red, hot rage. The feeling spread throughout your body like a wildfire that he was seemingly rejecting you.. but you knew now this wasnt some pathetic excuse. Something was seriously wrong here; and now it was starting to become too obvious to ignore.

Xavier looked hauntingly the exact same from the last time you saw him. He forever, looked as if he was still stuck in the same moment of time - like in the summer of 1984, which was when you last saw him.

You didnt realize you were still holding onto one of his hands until you reflexively tried to move it to brush away his tears that were still staining his cheeks; but awkwardly.. you chose to do so with your other hand. Squeezing the one hand you were still holding onto a bit tighter.

He winced as you touched him, and as much you tried your damn best to hold it together - you could feel tears starting to burn your eyes as well.

"I cant promise I wont ever come back, Xavier. I need to see you again, and what about-" you said softly, about to reference the child you two shared together.

"No, you'll see me again (y/n). I promise.. okay"?

He brought your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles; the tears you trying so desperately to hold in were now sliding down your cheeks. Your breathing was now horribly choppy. You were on the brink of full on sobbing but you held yourself back - it was nearly time for you to go.

The fact you would have to go back to go the others and make up some bullshit excuse to leave, put a bitter taste in your mouth.. but your sure Xavier had a valid reason for ushering you to leave. Even if he didnt want to tell you right now; you trusted him with your life.

"Okay.. Fine. I'm coming back though, and I'm sorry I couldnt find you sooner". You admitted.

You dropped his hand that you were still holding in order to wrap your arms around him. To get one final touch to remember him by. You were desperate to fully touch him and to be wrapped in his embrace, something you had desperately and madly missed. As he held you; you tried to soak in his scent, his aura.. just the fact that he was even here seriously with you, in this moment.

You previously assumed Xavier had passed away; that was easier to come to terms with rather than thinking he willingly ran away or.. that something else more sinister had happened. A part of you wanted to be frustrated that you were leaving with more questions than answers but.. you didnt care. Your heart didnt care. You were just happy you were able to see your boyfriend.. no matter the circumstance or conditions it came with. Even though you were stupidly happy, your thoughts kept annoyingly circling back to the same question - how was Xavier here with you, living.. breathing.. in the flesh. How was this possible? You were about to speak your thoughts outloud when you first felt Xavier break away from you. You didnt get as much as a second glance just when you felt something soft on your cheek. Perhaps a goodbye kiss? and then.. just like he wasnt there at all, he was gone. Almost as if he completly disintegrated into the fresh, morning sky.

You felt your entire body stiffen as you realized he was gone.. again. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly how you felt. It was a nasty mix of both grief and anger that left you completly speechless and deathly still. You took a step back to combat the feeling, and attempted to look casual (and not like the person whom you were just hugging had completly fucking vanished). Sheepishly taking a look at the group you had arrived with and making sure none of them noticed your.. odd behavior.

Sure enough, none of them did. They all stood, and continued on conversing just like they were before you had broke away from them. Smiling and laughing as if nothing was wrong; just like they didnt have a care in the world - just as if the love of their life wasnt ripped away from them for a second time.

Even though Xavier was now gone, that odd, unsettling feeling still lingered with you. Like something was terribly wrong here, in Camp Redwood. The feeling wasn't entirely bad though; sure - the overall air in this place reeked of something terrible but.. now you felt something else mixed into it. A comforting essence of safety; Xaviers presence. You knew he wasnt directly beside you anymore but he was somewhere.. lurking. Watching you, as you begrudgingly walked over to the group you came with. Making up a bullshit excuse in your head so you could escape whatever this place was pretending to be.

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @instincts-baby let me know if u would like to be added!! :)

#xavier x reader #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton fanfic #ahs fanfic #cody fern fanfic #my fic #inbox is officially empty now 💅🏻#hopefully the pov switching wasnt weird LOL #it was my first time writing like that hehe #i lowkey feel bad i made this so dark so hopefully its still enjoyable LOL #also this doesnt rlly follow canon details that well but- idc djdjd

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (19/20)

word count: 16k

AO3

previous / masterpost

content warning: brief mention of blood

“You don’t have to play,” Geralt said, his brows drawn together in concern, but Jaskier made no move to put his lute back into her case that sat next to their bed. “You already made sure I got the coin for the basilisk. You don’t have to –“

“I know.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt, halting in his movements. “I don’t have to play for the coin, but…I still feel like I should play.” He hesitated. “You haven’t been able to listen to me play these past days and I wanted…that is, I don’t know if you’d even want to listen to me, but I would like it if you did.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier turned the pegs of the lute, despite rarely ever having to tune the elven instrument. Geralt put one of his hands above Jaskier’s, stilling the movement. The silence that came with the sudden absence of nervously plucked strings felt too big for their small room. Jaskier stared at Geralt’s hand, before slowly looking up at him with something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes.

“Of course I’d like to listen to you play.” He plucked Jaskier’s hand off the lute and turned it. Gently, he caressed Jaskier’s palm, where the hints of blisters could still be seen. They had healed a little with the ointment he had applied the day before, but Geralt couldn’t get the images of Jaskier’s hands, red and raw, out of his mind. “But I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not,” Jaskier said, his voice strong, though his hand trembled in Geralt’s. The evening light falling in through the small window, made his eyes gleam and his cheeks flush red. “I want to do this. I – I know it’s silly, but when you didn’t return form the basilisk hunt, I thought I’d never get to play for you again. I know it’s selfish of me, and I know I shouldn’t make this about me, but…you never got to hear the finished version of your song.”

Your song. Geralt’s.

There had been so many songs about him, his hunts, his accomplishments, his supposedly valiant character.

But there was only one song that was truly his. Not one of Jaskier’s songs about him, but the one he had written for him.

Geralt’s throat grew tight and he felt himself nodding, before his mind could conjure up any more arguments against Jaskier playing.

“If you are selfish, then so am I,” Geralt said. “I heard you- no, not you. My hallucination. I thought there had been music. I thought that would be the last thing I would hear. But it wasn’t yours, not really.” He pressed his lips together as his fingers slid from Jaskier’s palm to his wrist, right where he could feel his heart, that was beating unusually quickly. “I would love to hear you sing again. And I’m sure your audience would miss you if you didn’t play for them again.”

Jaskier’s pulse spiked beneath Geralt’s fingers. “My audience?”

Geralt rubbed a soothing circle into Jaskier’s skin. He had never seen Jaskier worried about performing for an audience before. His brows rose, as he realised what this meant.

“Am I the only one who ever heard that song?” He asked, his chest clenching when Jaskier nodded slowly. “Don’t worry. I know they’ll love it. I have only heard the unfinished version and it already was – “ so beautiful and meaningful that it did the impossible and made me fall even more in love with you. “-good. It would be wasted if I was the only one to ever hear it.”

A lie. A damned lie. Geralt wanted to be selfish. He wanted to keep the song for himself, but he knew he couldn’t. Jaskier might have shared it with him first and Geralt might have been foolish enough to ascribe more meaning to it than it had, but at his heart, Jaskier was still a performer and Geralt wasn’t a great audience. Not like the people who could watch Jaskier with starry eyes. People, in whose adoration and love Jaskier blossomed, so unlike the unwanted affection Geralt’s chest burst with.

“Come on then,” Geralt said and nudged Jaskier with a grin that felt wrong and stony. “Your audience is probably waiting to get wooed by you.”

“I thought I could – I wanted to…” Jaskier looked down, nervousness and a hint of disappointment, that Geralt didn’t understand, pouring off him. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll sing it downstairs. For an audience.” His voice sounded strangely flat, but when he rose his head again, determination and something unbearably fond shimmered in his eyes.

“You’re right. Let’s go downstairs,” Jaskier said. He slung the lute strap over his head and grabbed Winter from the night stand, holding it close to his chest. “I have a song to sing.” He hesitated, hs eyes flickering to Geralt’s, before darting away again as he echoed Geralt’s words, “And an audience to woo.”

It looked wrong, that wolf figure sitting at Jaskier’s feet where normally the wooden songbird would watch over his performance.

For once, Geralt wasn’t sitting in the far end of the taproom, but close enough to Jaskier that he could see all of him while he played. He didn’t know why Jaskier had asked him to come out of the shadows so that Jaskier could see him too, but he had followed the bard’s plea the second it had left his lips. It was uncomfortable, not being surrounded by shadows or sitting in a way that would give Geralt a view on the entire room, but if he was being honest with himself, it had been years since he had watched anything other than Jaskier while he performed anyway.

So now Geralt shifted in his seat, while Jaskier played a quick scale to warm up his fingers, before bending down again and making sure that the wolf figure sat there for all to see, as if it was a grand masterpiece. The care and pride with which Jaskier handled the figure made something warm and fuzzy blossom in Geralt’s chest.

More than one person gave the figure an admiring look and whenever someone commented on how lucky Jaskier was that he had found one of the fae-blessings, Jaskier’s chest swelled a little and his face glowed. Apparently, this was the first time anyone here saw the figure. The last one Jaskier still had, the only one not rotting in the woods somewhere. The one that had always meant more to Jaskier than the others. It was hard to believe that Jaskier hadn’t shown the figure around before. After all, with how proud he was of his carvings, Geralt would have assumed he had presented it before. Unless…Jaskier had traded the supposed fae-protection of him for protection of Geralt. Had the wolf sat next to Geralt’s bed all this time while he had recovered from the toxins?

He tried to catch Jaskier’s eyes to silently ask him that question that he already knew the answer to, but before their eyes could meet, someone interrupted Jaskier’s fidgeting with the wolf and demanded he should start playing already. It seemed Geralt hadn’t guessed incorrectly when he had said Jaskier’s audience would miss him.

Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat rabbiting, but Jaskier’s smile was even and blinding as ever, as he looked around the taproom until a hushed quiet fell over it. He took a deep breath and began to play.

The first note that left Jaskier’s lips trembled, like the first bird of spring singing while unsure if it really was time yet. Geralt held his breath when he saw Jaskier wince at the imperfection of his own voice, but then their eyes met and something seemed to come lose in Jaskier. He stood up straighter, his smile got warmer and his voice…his voice was no longer like a single songbird. He sounded like the stars shining above the coast. Like the feeling Geralt had gotten when he had shared the story of his first Roach. Like Jaskier standing before Geralt, a shield between him and the cruelty of humans.

Jaskier’s song sounded like trust and something that ran deeper than even that. Something that Geralt’s entire being burned to understand. What felt like a lifetime ago, Jaskier had asked him, if Geralt would be scared of feelings he didn’t understand. Back then, he might have thought that the answer had been yes. Now, he leaned closer to Jaskier, listening to every word, every break in his voice and everything his words didn’t say, desperate to understand what he knew was there, hidden underneath.

The words to the song were barely any different from last time Jaskier had sung it to him. It still spoke of the fae and their gifts. Of the figures bringing luck, but this time Jaskier mentioned how the luck had shown, when the bear he had found had brought him to Geralt.

He sang of how the figures meant that the gifter cared for him and for a moment his eyes flickered downwards to his hand. Jaskier never looked at his hands while he played. He didn’t need to see what they were doing to find the right place on the strings. But when Geralt looked more closely at Jaskier’s face, he found him smiling softly and still he sang of protection and care and healing. That last one had never been part of the stories about the fae that Jaskier had told Geralt. Why was Jaskier looking at his hands while singing about this?

His eyes snapped back up at Geralt and there was something in them, something important. Jaskier was begging Geralt to understand and Geralt was so close to doing so! The pieces were all there, laid out for him. All he had to do was reach out and grasp the truth, but his mind wasn’t working. Not when Jaskier was looking at him like this.

Not when he was singing about the carvings guiding him to the right way, only to describe places that Geralt remembered seeing with him. A lake shining in the colours of the setting sun. A grand market that was bustling with people and pretty things. The path to a small hut in which they had found shelter from a storm and a place for Roach to stay. Places that Geralt and Jaskier had been to together since Jaskier had found the first carving. But…surely Jaskier must know that the fae had nothing to do with any of these places? Geralt had been the one to take him to that market because Jaskier had been excited about it and Jaskier had been the one who had taken Geralt to that lake where they had spent the night. Why was he singing about those things in a song about the fae and their gifts?

All thought left Geralt, when Jaskier reached the last verse. The one he had dreaded and anticipated.

It was the verse in which Jaskier explained that the fae helped their favoured ones find true love within a year. From Jaskier’s lips, these words sounded like the sweetest promise and the cruellest trap.

Many months ago, Geralt had heard Jaskier speak of this part of the legend and since then, he had done his best to banish it from his memory. It hadn’t worked. Not when Jaskier kept singing about the person he loved, the one that Geralt knew would love him back and make him happy, once Jaskier confessed to them.

Geralt’s chest clenched, as he prepared himself for this song to mention blonde hair and a valiant character as well, but no such descriptions came. Jaskier just kept looking at Geralt, the determination from earlier having softened into something fond and vulnerably open.

Geralt wanted to stand up, to go over to Jaskier and cradle his head in his hands. He wanted to kiss these words off Jaskier’s lips and keep them in his chest where they burned like a wildfire.

He was not prepared for Jaskier begging the fae to let his love be returned. He was not prepared for the vulnerability in Jaskier’s eyes, the way his voice trembled and his fingers missed a note, making the lute give a dissonant twang.

Geralt felt like he was underwater. The world slowed around him and all sounds except for Jaskier’s song got muffled. He couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but watch hope and hurt chase each other in a complicated dance across Jaskier’s face.

This had gone on for too long. Geralt had taken it too far. His lies, his secrets, all of it. They hurt Jaskier too much. If Geralt truly loved him, then he couldn’t lie to him any longer.

And by the gods, he loved him. So much so, that this simple word that poets liked so much to use didn’t feel like enough. What Geralt felt was more than just this one word. It was sitting around campfires, it was singing and laughing. It was Jaskier seeking refuge in his arms during a storm and offering comfort after Geralt let go of Roach. It was carving animals just to see Jaskier smile. It was eyes crinkling at the sides and hands brushing and breath being taken away. It was…it was Jaskier.

Knowing him meant knowing this feeling. It meant loving him. In this moment, Geralt thought he knew Jaskier better than anyone else.

Knowing Jaskier meant loving him. And that meant, not being able to bear seeing him like this; so torn up about being unloved, about not being trusted with the truth.

The last note rang through the room and for a moment it was completely silent. Never before had Geralt seen a tavern go so quiet. The smell of salt filled the air and no one dared move in fear of breaking whatever spell had befallen them when Jaskier had sang his song.

Geralt barely paid any attention to them. He only had eyes for Jaskier who didn’t break eye contact. There was something between them, something that was either fragile enough to break with one wrong word, or strong enough to hold fast no matter what.

“Another song!”

The sudden shout made Geralt flinch. It was only when he threw a glare over his shoulder at the man who had demanded an encore, that he realised that he had looked away from Jaskier and broken whatever had been between them.

When he turned back, it was to Jaskier fiddling with his lute again. None of the patrons seemed to notice or care about his nervousness. More voices chimed in, demanding another song.

“Ah, my dear audience,” Jaskier began, his performer’s smile wavering and allowing a brief glimpse at the uncertainty behind the mask. “I’m afraid I don’t have any other polished songs that fit my mood for tonight.”

A noise of disappointment rumbled through the audience and Geralt could see the moment Jaskier’s resolve broke.

“I have one song,” he said, his eyes darting from Geralt to the wolf at his own feet. “I wrote it these past two days and it’s not finished yet. But I hope it doesn’t offend.”

He glanced at Geralt again, just long enough that Geralt got the feeling that Jaskier addressed him specifically, as if his opinion meant more to him than that of the audience he actually was performing for. Jaskier knew Geralt didn’t mind half-finished songs. Or he had never shown that he cared if Geralt was bothered or not, whenever Jaskier composed while walking next to him or repeating a line over and over until it felt right to him while Geralt sharpened his swords. Really, Jaskier should have no reason to worry about Geralt’s opinion.

Geralt tried to give him an encouraging nod, but he wasn’t sure if Jaskier registered it. He expected Jaskier to strum his lute again or pluck at the strings with nimble fingers, but instead Jaskier started hitting the body of his lute gently but firmly enough to create drumming.

When Jaskier started singing again, it didn’t sound like any of his usual songs. It wasn’t a sweet ballade, nor was it a roaring epic or cheeky ditty.

It was something else entirely. An easy and repetitive melody set to a steady and uncomplicated rhythm, not unlike the sea shanties Jaskier had learned from those seafarers at the coast. It was one of those songs meant to make work easier and entertain during a longwinded task.

Geralt’s brows drew together. What task did Jaskier have, to come up with such a song? He had assumed that Jaskier had spent all his time here performing or taking care of Geralt. With most of their supplies, including Jaskier’s books and notebooks, gone, there wasn’t much for Jaskier to entertain himself with. They had nothing but Jaskier’s lute, the medical supplies and Geralt’s weapons and Geralt seriously doubted Jaskier had chosen this time to steal Geralt’s knives and learn how to wield them for anything other than preparing a meal.

He shook his head to rid himself of his wandering thoughts and listened to Jaskier instead. It didn’t take him more than half a verse to realise what Jaskier was singing about. The rhythm might have made the song sound like a shanty, but the lyrics, so full of longing and deep-rooted feelings, left no doubt to what it truly was: a dirge.

He was remembering and mourning all the carvings he had lost. A bear broken. A friend staying with someone else. The others lost and gone, never to come back to him again.

Listening to this was like a punch in the gut, leaving Geralt breathless and with a throbbing pain inside of him. Having just heard about the joy the carvings used to bring Jaskier only made this worse.

Now, it made sense that Jaskier had been worried about Geralt being offended. Geralt was the reason why the figures were gone. If he hadn’t been so stupid to let himself get hurt during the hunt, if he had just kept his promise and made it back to Jaskier, this wouldn’t have happened. Jaskier wouldn’t have lost the one thing that had brought him so much joy over the past months. He had been able to find comfort in the carvings. He had held them close while sleeping, had stroked over the sanded down wood when he had needed to keep his hands occupied. He had loved those carvings. And Geralt, who had never meant for Jaskier to find any of them at first, was the one who had unwittingly taken them from him again.

His throat got dry and he gripped the edge of the table as tightly as he could. Jaskier hadn’t mentioned before how hard he took the loss of the figures, but it had hurt him so much that he had put it into song, even without his notebook to write down the words. Why hadn’t he been able to talk to Geralt about it? He couldn’t possibly think that Geralt would turn away from him because Jaskier blamed him for something he had done.

It felt like an iron chain was winding around Geralt’s chest and tightening until he couldn’t breathe anymore, when Jaskier’s voice softened.

“-but the wolf will still be mine.

Silently, afraid to splinter.

Mine to love and mine to hold.

Secretly, wood-heart of pine.

Not mine in winter

When it’s cold.”

The wolf, sat so innocently at Jaskier’s feet where the songbird should sit instead. It was wrong. It shouldn’t be the only carving Jaskier had left. Even Jaskier, who said he loved the wolf, sounded strained and afraid as he sang. He had trusted Geralt with the wolf once, but clearly not anymore. If the lyrics were any indication, he didn’t even expect to be able to keep the figure once winter arrived. Was he already imagining all the different ways in which Geralt could let him down and make him lose this last figure, this most precious one, too?

And why wouldn’t he imagine such things? Geralt had already betrayed his trust, had taken from Jaskier again and again. He had taken his touch, his smiles. And Geralt had so greedily taken the love Jaskier had for the gifts, though Jaskier had never known whom he was giving this love to. Now Jaskier’s touch must hurt Jaskier himself, with the blisters on his palms. His smiles must strain, now that the thing that had made him smile most often these past months was gone. And Jaskier’s love – well. Geralt had never truly had it in the first place, had he?

“Though I will still be his.

Not his to love, to long for, no.

But perhaps I’m his to miss,

As I will him, when I watch him go.”

Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul. Was this…this meant something. Jaskier’s songs always meant something and Geralt never understood. He knew he didn’t, but he needed to!

When I watch him go.

Was this Jaskier’s way of saying their time together was over? That he had finally realised that Geralt had taken more than Jaskier was willing to give? Just hours ago, Jaskier had allowed Geralt to dream about a future in which Geralt was allowed to visit him at Oxenfurt. Perhaps Essi had been wrong after all when she had said Jaskier wanted to stay with Geralt. But she had been so sure of herself and when Geralt had spoken about Oxenfurt, Jaskier had appeared to be excited. Geralt couldn’t have misread that…could he?

Maybe Geralt had gotten it all wrong and Jaskier was still talking about the wolf figure, still mourning a loss he hadn’t endured yet?

Geralt didn’t register the applause, didn’t hear the clatter of coins being tossed at Jaskier’s feet. To him, there was nothing but the burning gaze of the bard who might have already lost all faith in him.

He watched as though through a fog, how Jaskier collected the coin and strode over to him. Jaskier was clutching the strap of his lute as if it was protecting him, as if it was a barrier between him and Geralt.

“We should rent another room,” Geralt said, before Jaskier had the chance to open his mouth. “You don’t have to –“ he broke off, unable to say out loud how Jaskier wouldn’t be forced to spend another night with Geralt, if he didn’t want to. “With the coin from the contract I can afford to pay for a better room for you.”

The words tasted bitter in Geralt’s mouth. He didn’t look forward to staying in the small room by himself, but Jaskier shouldn’t have to stay in a place where it was impossible for him to put distance between them. As much as Geralt’s body ached to take Jaskier into his arms again and hold him as he had last night, there was no way Jaskier would want the same thing. Not now, that he had shown Geralt how disappointed and betrayed he felt by him. No, getting two rooms was for the best.

Jaskier blinked at him. “Oh…uh. I guess you’re right. The small room was a bit…cosy.” He shifted his weight and fiddled with a loose thread of his doublet. “I guess I’ll go ask the innkeeper for a new room then.”

Geralt watched Jaskier go, his heart sinking. He had known Jaskier would agree to his suggestion, of course, but a small part of him had hoped that Jaskier would at least put up a little resistance and say that he didn’t mind staying with Geralt.

When Jaskier came back, he waved a key at Geralt’s face, before pocketing it and gesturing to the stairs. “We better get our things.” His smile became a bit strained. “I wouldn’t want to lose any more of our stuff because we forgot to bring them to our new room.”

The guilt crashing into Geralt was too bitter for him to realise what exactly Jaskier had said. The words only caught up with him, when Jaskier pressed Geralt’s belongings into his hands, once they were in their small room and motioned for him to follow him again. Geralt did, though his brows were furrowed and his tongue burned with the question why Jaskier wanted Geralt’s stuff in his room as well.

It was only when Jaskier unlocked the door to his new room and ushered Geralt inside that he understood.

The room had two beds.

“Jaskier.” He turned to see Jaskier putting his lute gently on the table standing against one of the walls. “There are two beds.”

Jaskier winced a little and his hands nearly faltered on the lute. “Ah. Yes. There are,” he said, as if that explained anything.

Geralt’s heartbeat quickened and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. This was Jaskier meeting him half-way. He might have agreed quickly to not sharing a small room with Geralt anymore, but he was still fine with sharing a sleeping space with him. Not all was lost. Now Geralt had to take the next step somehow.

When Geralt didn’t reply, Jaskier’s brows furrowed. “Is that…alright?”

It was more than Geralt had dared hope for.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. More than alright. Jaskier was giving him another chance and Geralt would do everything he could to not disappoint him again. He could still have that future visiting Jaskier and taking him with him again. He could still keep Jaskier close.

“So…” Jaskier began again with a smile that didn’t distract from the tension in his body. “What do you think about my songs?”

His voice held none of that cockiness or self-assuredness Jaskier usually had when talking about his performances.

Geralt’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep the guilt sweeping over him once more, at bay. “I think I understand them.”

“Oh?”

Geralt didn’t need to hear the skip in Jaskier’s heart or see the way he tensed up even more at his words. He had known as soon as Jaskier had started to sing about Geralt’s failures that he had nothing left to win. A small smile that must be an attempt at pacifying Geralt, lit up Jaskier’s face.

“I understand,” Geralt repeated. He swallowed and put as much sincerity in his expression as he could. “And I’m sorry.”

Something in Jaskier’s expression crumbled, the shards left by his smile as if fell, cutting deep into Geralt’s chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jaskier said, the tremor in his voice betraying his lie. “I just… after finding you in the woods, I didn’t want to just keep going without having told you. We never have to talk about this again. It’s – it was a mistake.”

A mistake. Only one of many mistakes Geralt had made. How many more before Jaskier would have enough?

“I’ll fix this, I promise.” Geralt said firmly. He knew what he had to do. He would find the figures and bring them back to Jaskier, mend the heartbreak in Jaskier and hopefully fix what Geralt had broken between them with his lies and his carelessness that had taken too much from Jaskier. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “But… I thought…”

“I can’t wait until it gets colder,” Geralt said. He had never cared much for the carvings he left in the woods, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how long the wood would be able to withstand wind and weather before it started to rot.

“No, Geralt, you don’t have to go. Not so soon.” Jaskier’s voice was urgent and he spoke so fast that his words nearly slurred together. “I promise I won’t bring it up again. It’ll be just like before. We’re still friends, right?” His throat bobbed nervously. Quieter, he repeated, “Right?”

“Of course we are still friends.” Geralt looked away. There was too much hope in Jaskier’s eyes, too much trust. He didn’t deserve that trust. Not yet. Not until he had brought the carvings back. “But I don’t want things to go back to the way they have been.”

For too long, Jaskier had been hurting. He couldn’t go back to that. He couldn’t let this new loss fester in Jaskier’s heart and add to his doubts and pain. Geralt had to fix it and make sure Jaskier would be better than he had been before. He owed him this much.

“So you’re leaving.” Jaskier’s face was strangely devoid of emotion. “Without me.”

Geralt’s chest clenched painfully. With two long strides, he was by Jaskier’s side, tentatively reaching for his hand.

“I have to go alone,” he said apologetically. He couldn’t risk getting Jaskier’s hopes up only to shatter, in case Geralt failed. He would do what it took to get the figures back to Jaskier, but there was no telling how long it would take him. Three days had passed since Jaskier had brought him to this town. The trail they had left must have gone cold by now and Geralt had no way of knowing how exactly to get back to the abandoned camp. Knowing Jaskier, he wouldn’t know how to find his way back there either. No, Jaskier deserved to sleep in a warm bed and eat well-cooked meals until Geralt came back. He shouldn’t have to track through the forest in which bad memories waited for Jaskier, for who knew how long. Here, he would be able to live in comfort until Geralt returned and brought back Jaskier’s smile.

“The coin from the contract will pay for this room for at least a week,” Geralt said, placing the newly-filled coin pouch on the table next to the lute. “You’ll be safe and comfortable.”

“I’ll be alone.” The words were spoken so softly that even Geralt had trouble hearing them. There was no doubt they hadn’t been meant for his ears, and yet, Geralt’s stomach tightened when he heard them as if Jaskier had screamed them at him.

“I’ll fix this,” Geralt said again. “It might take me a while, so I can’t tell when I’ll be back. But I won’t let things continue as they are.”

Jaskier nodded dejectedly, his eyes wandering to the two beds. His lips pressed into a thin line and he looked like he struggled to decide whether or not to speak up again.

“Jaskier?” Geralt prodded gently, letting his thumb rub small circles into Jaskier’s hands.

“You should go to bed.” Jaskier pulled away from Geralt and turned his back to him, fiddling with the few belongings he had. “You shouldn’t be tired when you leave. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Not when I’m not there to take care of you.”

The nervous fluttering in Geralt’s heart softened. Jaskier was still looking out for him, even after he had messed up.

Geralt obliged him and got ready to go to bed. It should have been a luxury to have a bed all for himself, but it felt strangely cold and empty. He would have gladly exchanged his blanket for Jaskier’s weight as he lay on him.

He nearly asked. With his mind so focussed on how to make Jaskier feel better, he nearly crossed that line and asked Jaskier to join him in bed again, but when he rolled onto his side to face Jaskier, he found him still standing over his belongings, clothed and making no move to get to bed, though he rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands, clearly trying to keep the sleepiness at bay.

“Jaskier?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

“Sleep,” Jaskier replied quietly and his hands grabbed something out of his lute case and put it behind his back where Geralt couldn’t see. “I’ll just…I need to do something. I’ll be back. Goodnight.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jaskier hastened out of the room, leaving Geralt and the little bit of comfort and luxury he had wanted to provide Jaskier with.

He closed the door quietly behind him and yet the click of it rang in Geralt’s ear like a death sentence.

Geralt rolled back onto his other side, so he didn’t have to face the empty bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to calm his breathing and fall asleep as Jaskier had told him to. But the silence was too loud. Without Jaskier’s familiar tossing and turning, without his quiet breathing and heartbeat, his sleepy mumbles, the silence that remained was deafening.

He didn’t know how long he waited with bated breath and his hopeful heart beating too quickly, until finally the door creaked open again.

He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on the back of his head as he slipped back into the room and put the thing he had taken with him before back into his lute case.

He smelled like frustration and something else that Geralt knew he should recognise, but couldn’t discern under the heavy stench of Jaskier’s emotions.

“Jaskier?” Geralt turned his head just in time to see Jaskier flinch. “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” Jaskier said instead of answering. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Geralt shook his head, a movement Jaskier should be able to see even in the dark.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “Is there something I can do?”

He was trying. Already, Geralt was trying as hard as he could. Tomorrow, he would go out to search for Jaskier’s happiness and bring it back to him, but for now, he was helpless, relying on Jaskier’s guidance on how to best help and comfort him. How to be a good friend to him.

Jaskier remained quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke again, it was too quickly and too loudly for it to have been anything other than a spontaneous loss of control.

“Can I still sleep in your bed? Just for tonight?” Jaskier swallowed audibly. “I mean, I understand if you don’t… but we’re still friends.”

Silently, Geralt lifted his blanket in invitation. Jaskier waited only for another heartbeat, before flinging himself into bed with Geralt, as if Geralt would take his invitation back if he wasn’t fast enough. Jaskier was still wearing his chemise and trousers. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but Jaskier sighed as if he didn’t even notice.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered. “For…for still wanting to be my friend.”

Geralt had no reply, no words to express how much it meant to him that Jaskier still considered him his friend after Geralt had disappointed him like that. Tentatively, he gathered Jaskier into his arms and pulled him closer, until Jaskier’s head came to rest on his chest. Immediately, Jaskier pressed closer against him. He tucked his head beneath Geralt’s chin and let out a small noise when Geralt started caressing his back and running his fingers through his hair.

Slowly, Jaskier relaxed and yet, Geralt’s heart felt heavy. He wished –

They never did this without reason. Every time Geralt had gotten to hold Jaskier in the night, it had been to offer or receive comfort or out of necessity. During the storm, when they had said goodbye to Roach, they had comforted each other. When Jaskier had almost drowned, they had clung to one another as a reminder that Jaskier was safe. The night before, they hadn’t had much of a choice when it came to sharing the bed and Jaskier had still been worried about Geralt. Now, it was once again Jaskier seeking comfort that Geralt was happy to offer in any way that he could.

Yet, his chest ached. He wanted to have this in a different way. Just once, he wanted to wake up entangled with Jaskier knowing that they had spent the night together simply because they wanted to. Because they were happy with each other and couldn’t imagine a better place than the other’s arms. No pain, no danger, no too small bed to push them together like this. Simply the fact that they were important to the other.

Maybe, once Geralt got the carvings back and Jaskier wasn’t hurt and frustrated with him anymore, he could ask him for that.

Tomorrow.

Geralt closed his eyes, as he listened to the soft noises Jaskier made as he drifted in his sleep.

Tomorrow, Geralt would end Jaskier’s doubts and bring back what he had lost. They were still friends now. If Jaskier still sought comfort in Geralt’s arms after how Geralt had let him down, then there was still a chance that he wouldn’t tell him to leave once Geralt confessed to all his lies and secrets.

He inhaled a deep breath and surrounded by the scent of Jaskier and wood, Geralt fell asleep.

The next morning brought no more lazy hours to waste in bed with Jaskier. As soon as the first rays of the sun climbed over the horizon and fell through the window into their room, Geralt steeled himself for the task ahead of him.

Carefully, so as not to wake Jaskier, he lifted Jaskier’s arm that was wrapped around Geralt’s waist in his sleep. Jaskier made a disgruntled noise when the bed dipped as Geralt shifted his weight and got up.

As silently as he could, Geralt put on his armour, yet the snapping of the clasps as he tightened them, was still loud enough to rouse Jaskier.

“Geralt?” he mumbled, still half-dazed from sleep. He blinked blearily, before suddenly his eyes opened wide and he sat up in a flash. “You’re leaving.”

Geralt nodded and tightened the straps of his armour. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he couldn’t risk not coming back to Jaskier a second time.

“Don’t tell me you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

Geralt gave him a soft smile. “I wanted to let you sleep in. You went to bed so late last night.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jaskier said, as he swung his legs out of the bed and ran his hands through his hair and down his chemise to straighten it. “I’ll go downstairs with you. If nothing else, you at least have to let me say goodbye to Roach.”

Geralt’s lips quirked up in amusement. Despite how cold the late-autumn air might be, Geralt’s chest was warmed from the care and easy affection Jaskier had for Geralt’s mare, going so far as to bid her farewell, even though they would only be gone for a couple of days, if everything went well.

Jaskier followed him to the stables, where he hugged Roach around the neck and didn’t complain even once when she started nibbling at his chemise.

Geralt pretended to be busy fastening Roach’s saddle and let Jaskier have his moment, but he couldn’t help but listen in, when Jaskier leaned closer to Roach’s ear and whispered, “Take care of him for me, will you? Don’t let him be lonely. And…bring him back to me. He promised to visit me in Oxenfurt. Make him keep that promise. Please.”

The warmth in Geralt’s chest spread into his fingertips and his expression was soft, when he turned to Jaskier again.

“Take care, Jaskier,” he said.

“You too.” Jaskier hesitated, before opening his arms a little. “Can I…?”

It took Geralt a moment to understand, but when he did, his heart skipped a beat and he opened his arms, mirroring Jaskier. A tentative smile appeared on Jaskier’s face, before he stepped closer and buried his face in Geralt’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Geralt’s throat grew tight and he could do nothing but hold Jaskier close and make himself remember why he needed to leave or else he would never let go. Jaskier needed him to do this. He would be happier once he had his carvings back. Their friendship would be stronger for it.

Yet, standing here in the stable with Roach happily nudging Jaskier’s back as he clung to Geralt, it was hard to gather the strength to let go again and leave. Geralt wanted just a few more moments to savour this. He could allow himself that much.

Jaskier had never hugged Geralt goodbye before. He had been ready to give Eskel a hug after having known him for no more than a couple of hours, but he had never parted from Geralt by leaving him with the memory of how his arms felt around him. Safe. Warm. Like home.

Geralt hadn’t known he had longed to be send off like this. Before, whenever they had separated for a longer time, Geralt hadn’t been sure if he was allowed to hold Jaskier like this and all the short separations didn’t warrant a big farewell. And then, ever since the first time Jaskier had wrapped his arms around Geralt, they had been together. For nearly a year, they had spent every day together. It felt strange knowing that he wasn’t going to see Jaskier for the next couple of days. Jaskier must feel the unpleasant tug in his chest too, that came from the sudden split, however brief it may be, for he tightened his hold on Geralt.

It felt wrong, to have the ache of saying goodbye taint a hug like this. The few hugs and half-embraces they had shared before in broad daylight had been meant to say I’m here. For you. With you.

Geralt didn’t want Jaskier’s embrace to mean that he let him go. So he tried to pour everything he felt into the hug. A promise to come back, to not disappoint Jaskier again.

Jaskier let out a shaky laugh.

“I guess I was right all these months ago,” he said, voice muffled against Geralt’s neck. “You do give the best hugs. Bear hugs.”

Geralt’s hands wandered up to the back of Jaskier’s head, cradling it gently, as he was unable to pull him even closer.

“That was so long ago,” Geralt replied.

It had been back when Jaskier had still had Bumblebee. The first of Geralt’s carvings that had been lost to him. Even back then, it had been for the same reason as it was now: Jaskier’s carvings were sacrificed for Geralt.

He took a deep breath and pulled away.

“Goodbye, Jaskier,” Geralt said his voice thick with the overwhelming urge to right his wrongs.

He knew he couldn’t linger as he wanted to, or he would never leave and do what he needed to do.

Without so much as looking back at Jaskier, he swung himself onto Roach’s back.

The last thing he heard, nearly inaudible compared to the click-clack of Roach’s hooves was Jaskier’s whispered “Goodbye, Geralt.”

He missed Jaskier already. It had been no more than hours since Geralt had left him at the inn and yet, he found that there wasn’t a single moment that he didn’t spend thinking about Jaskier, about what he would say if he were here with him now.

As Geralt gathered sticks for a small campfire, he imagined Jaskier composing a little ditty to sing while he worked and as he lit it with Igni, he could practically hear Jaskier sigh contently and cheerfully announce how good it was to have a travel companion who could create fire just like that.

Geralt’s heart ached to hear his voice again, his footsteps behind him, his heartbeat. Anything.

And yet, as night fell and Geralt curled in on himself on the cold, hard ground with neither bedroll nor tent to shield him from the cold seeping into his bones, he was glad that he hadn’t surrendered to the begging of his heart and asked Jaskier to come with him. Though Geralt shivered from the cold and wished for nothing more than to have Jaskier’s warm body to hold, he knew that Jaskier deserved better than to be in these conditions. At best, he would have been uncomfortable, at the worst, he would have fallen ill in the middle of the woods from which it was a day’s ride to reach the town and a healer again.

No, it was good that Jaskier wasn’t with him, that he was comfortable at the inn. Perhaps he was performing right now, spending his hard earned coin on ale and a hearty meal, now that he didn’t need to pay for Geralt’s health as well. Maybe, while Geralt had trudged through the forest, keeping his eyes out for any sign of a trail he and Jaskier could have left when they had been here, Jaskier had strolled around town or talked to people who laughed at his jokes and admired his eloquence.

Whatever Jaskier was doing, it was better for him than being in the cold with Geralt.

And yet, selfishly, Geralt wondered if maybe Jaskier was looking at his wooden wolf and missing Geralt in the same way that Geralt was already missing Jaskier.

Geralt feel asleep alone and cold and begging for the next day to bring him to the abandoned camp so he could get back to Jaskier quickly.

A light drizzle turned into a downpour. With no cloak to keep him covered, Geralt was quickly drenched to the bones, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The trail had been near impossible to track before, but now with the water washing it away, there was no hope that there was any of it left still. Now, Geralt could only rely on guessing and luck to guide him to where he needed to be.

A sour taste filled Geralt’s mouth as he realised that the naïve estimation that he would be back with Jaskier in a couple of days wouldn’t be possible to achieve anymore. At the least, it would take him a week to find their belongings.

Still he trudged on.

Behind him, Roach snorted in protest when he pushed too hard and walked for too long.

“I know,” Geralt muttered as he eventually came to a halt and stroked down Roach’s neck. “We’ll get back to him soon. And then I’ll let him spoil you with as many treats as you like.”

He wanted to be back with Jaskier, wanted to pillow his head on Jaskier’s legs while Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair and talked about everything and nothing, or maybe quietly read a book.

This unlikely fantasy was the only thing keeping him warm, as hours bled together and the fourth day away from Jaskier turned into the fifth.

Had this forest always been that huge? It had felt smaller with Jaskier there to tell him stories and softly sing to him. More than once was Geralt tempted to give up on his fruitless search and go back to Jaskier, his warm arms and warmer smiles.

Perhaps Jaskier would make a song out of Geralt’s search for the wooden animals he had never before cared so much about. But first, Geralt had to find them. For Jaskier.

A little more than a week without Jaskier was enough to make Geralt feel utterly miserable. He had no idea how he was going to make it through winter without Jaskier by his side.

Geralt brushed a low hanging branch to the side – and stopped dead in his tracks. His heartbeat spiked up and for a moment he was frozen where he stood, unable to believe his eyes.

But there is was: The camp he had been looking for. The bags with their supplies, Jaskier’s bedroll that he had clearly abandoned in a hurry.

Roach’s neighing behind him shook him out of his stupor and with hasty strides, he rushed over to the bags, rummaging through them until he found what he had come here for.

A crushing weight was lifted off his chest, when he finally held the figures in hand again. They were all there. In worse condition than when Geralt had last seen them and covered in mud and with dark spots, but they were there nonetheless.

A relieved breath escaped Geralt as he gathered them close and wiped off the traces of mud as best he could with one of his undershirts that he carelessly pulled from his newfound bag. Then he took out his hunting knife – the smaller knife had somehow disappeared, he must have lost it on the way here somehow – and started carving away the blemishes of the wood, until the figures looked less miserable. Jaskier would be able to see that they had been tempered with, but in this moment, it was more important that Geralt made sure that they didn’t look as if they had been abandoned.

Geralt had never cared much about that before. Countless other carvings were probably still rotting somewhere, unfound and uncared for. But these ones were Jaskier’s. They were important.

And when Geralt got them back to Jaskier, it wouldn’t make a difference if he could tell that Geralt had polished them up or not. Because Geralt would finally tell him.

His chest tightened at the thought, but with every second he spent fixing up the carvings, his resolve hardened. It was time.

Quickly, he gathered up anything salvageable – some of their clothes, the coin pouch, the pots and pans, the tent and thankfully Jaskier’s notebook – and fastened them onto Roach, who was already prancing nervously.

“Let’s go, Roach.” For the first time in a week, Geralt smiled again. “We’re going back to Jaskier.”

Geralt was spurning on Roach to gallop faster than she had in a long time. In the hand that didn’t hold the reins, he held the bag with the carvings, not willing to let them out of sight and risk even the chance of losing them again.

He barely paid attention to the way, trusting Roach to bring him back to Jaskier on the fastest route. His mind was too preoccupied with figuring out what he was going to tell Jaskier. For weeks, he had told himself to confess that he had been the one who had carved the animals, always waiting for the perfect moment, but not once had he actually tried to prepare the words he was going to say. And Jaskier would need words. Any other time, actions might have sufficed, but with something this important to Jaskier, Geralt could leave no doubt in Jaskier’s mind that Geralt hadn’t meant to deceive him out of malice or lack of care for him.

Yet as the town came into view on the horizon, Geralt was still no closer to having found the words and now that he was so close to Jaskier again, his mind wouldn’t stay focussed for long enough to come up with words to explain himself.

He was going to see Jaskier again and he was going to make him happy. For once, Geralt would be allowed to give him the gifts, he had made for him all along, openly. A twinge of dread stung in his stomach. The well-known fear of the rejection he had spent so much time anticipating.

There was still the possibility that Jaskier’s face would twist in disappointment and anger at his betrayal, but when Geralt had told him that he was going to do his best to fix what he had inadvertently broken, Jaskier had still considered him his friend and had said it with so much feeling, that it had ignited a hope stronger than his doubt in Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier might get angry at him, and rightfully so, but there was still hope that they would get past this.

For now, all that was important, was that Jaskier got his figures back and that Geralt could see him smile again as on the days he had found each of them.

When he reached the town, Geralt didn’t bother dismounting Roach, though he slowed her down as he rode through the streets. In front of the inn, Geralt jumped off, not bothering to bring her to the stables first. She knew better than to walk away and get lost in the town or let anyone steal her.

And Geralt had no time to waste. He threw open the doors to the inn, rushing through the pub room, ignoring the strange looks he received and sprinted up the stairs to their room.

He pushed against it – and found it locked.

Geralt’s brows drew together. It wasn’t unusual for Jaskier to lock the doors when he slept or had company – a habit he had developed while travelling with Geralt to either avoid danger or Geralt walking in on compromising situations – and it wasn’t unlikely that Jaskier was out and about in town at the moment. Yet, something prickled at the back of Geralt’s neck. A foreboding feeling, he couldn’t shake.

“Jaskier?” he called, knocking against the door, while his other hand tightened around the bag with the carvings. “It’s me. I’m back.”

No reply.

Geralt’s frown deepened. Even pressing his ear against the wooden door, Geralt couldn’t hear a single sound coming from within the room. Not as much as a heartbeat. And something else was off. The usually inescapable scent of Jaskier wasn’t there. Not so much as a trace of it.

“Jaskier!” He called again, louder this time, though he already knew that he would get no reply.

Huffing and the creaking of floorboards made Geralt whirl around, half-expecting Jaskier to come running towards him. The hope that flared up in him disappeared just as quickly as it had come, when Geralt’s eyes fell on the maid who hastened towards him.

“Sir Witcher, I need to ask you to quiet down,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “The other guests are complaining already and-“

“Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt interrupted her, not wasting a single thought to how rude he might sound.

The girl’s eyes snapped up to him. Her brows knitted together for a second, before recognition flooded her face.

“Master Jaskier? The bard?”

Geralt nodded, his fingers twitching impatiently around the bag. “This is his room.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” the maid said, a blush colouring her round cheeks. “But it’s not. Hasn’t been for about a week.”

Geralt’s blood turned to ice.

“What?” His voice was toneless and he knew his expression must be as hard as stone.

“He left. Not long after you did. I thought he had gone after you.”

“He didn’t.” Geralt hands clenched to fists helplessly. “I know when I’m being followed and I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” The maid’s blush deepened in embarrassment. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt didn’t intend for his voice to come out as a growl, but Jaskier was gone and he didn’t understand why. He had known Geralt would come back for him. So then why hadn’t he waited?

“He…I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” The maid fisted her hands into her skirts and played with the fabric nervously, not unlike how Jaskier sometimes played with the hem of his doublets. “But after you left, he stormed back to his room,” she nodded towards the door, “and got his lute. I thought he was going to perform again, which I thought was strange because it was so early still, but when I asked him about it, he said that he couldn’t stay here a moment longer. He…” she lowered her voice. “He didn’t look very happy.”

“What do you mean?” An abyss opened up in Geralt’s stomach, swallowing all the excitement he had built up when thinking about seeing Jaskier again.

“Well, his eyes were red and his voice was all,” she gestured vaguely, “as if he had been crying.”

Geralt’s heart sunk. He had known that Jaskier hadn’t been feeling well, that he was mourning the figures he had lost, but that had been why he had gone out there. So that Jaskier wouldn’t have to feel like that any longer. So that he would know that Geralt wouldn’t let him be miserable if there was anything he could do to help him. Jaskier had known that…hadn’t he?

He wouldn’t have just left without at least leaving a note, not after being so adamant about them being friends that he would even tell Roach to make sure Geralt kept his promise to visit him in Oxenfurt.

Oh.

Oh no. That was where he was going. But it wasn’t time yet. No merchant caravans that Jaskier could join for safety would head there for at least another month. What could have possibly driven Jaskier to head out on his own?

What, if not Geralt himself?

Geralt’s face must have shown the cracks in his heart, for the maid’s face scrunched up in concern.

“Sir Witcher?” she asked tentatively, but Geralt didn’t listen to her anymore. He stormed past her and down the stairs.

Jaskier was out there somewhere, had been for days. With no horse, no protection and no possessions but his lute and possibly some coin. It wasn’t safe for him. Even if monsters or bandits didn’t see him as easy prey, he would still have nothing to fight off the cold with.

Geralt needed to find him. Right now.

The urgency with which Geralt had ridden Roach before was nothing compared to now. He knew he was pushing her too hard, but he couldn’t slow down. The roads were too unsafe for a bard travelling on his own and a week was more than enough time for Jaskier to get hurt or lost.

Just as it had in the woods, the rain had washed away all tracks Jaskier had left, but at least Geralt had a direction to follow and a road that Jaskier must have taken.

At least until two days later he came to a crossroad and the road split into two smaller paths, one of which led in the direction of a forest.

Dread pooled in Geralt’s stomach. Silently, he begged with whoever was listening, that Jaskier hadn’t taken this path, but he already knew that his plea was useless. It was the path leading vaguely in the direction of Oxenfurt and Jaskier had never been good at calculating risks.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Geralt nudged Roach to follow the path. If he was lucky, he would get to Jaskier soon. Two days on horseback should be enough to catch up with a man, even if he had great endurance from being used to walking a lot.

It didn’t take long for the path to veer directly into the woods stretching out before Geralt. He gritted his teeth but pushed on. With every step Roach took, he was praying that Jaskier hadn’t been stupid enough to take this path, though he knew it was useless.

Jaskier’s scent hung in the air, faintly, but leaving no doubt that he had passed this place not long ago. A day ago at most, if Geralt had to guess.

Geralt’s only hope was that Jaskier had listened to him when he had tried to teach him basic survival skills. Jaskier had struggled with putting up the tent, but he knew which sticks to gather for a fire – except Jaskier had never had to light a fire himself. He had watched more than enough times how Geralt gutted a rabbit or other animal he had caught to make it edible – but Jaskier had neither a knife with him nor did he ever try to catch an animal himself.

Geralt cursed under his breath. He needed to hurry.

Had there been anything useful he had taught Jaskier in all these years? Anything at all that might make sure that he didn’t starve out there in the wild?

Water. That was always the first thing one needed to find. Last time Geralt had seen Jaskier, the bard hadn’t carried a waterskin or flask with him. If he wanted to drink, he’d have to veer off the path and find a body of water. The thought sent an unpleasant chill down his back. Too many dangers lurked in lakes and swamps.

Geralt sharpened his senses, taking note of any sign that Jaskier might have left the path.

There! Twigs that were broken in a way that made it unlikely that an animal had done it. Geralt followed the trail, his heart beating faster with every sign of Jaskier he found.

Footsteps.

More broken twigs.

Leaves that were shredded on the ground, doubtlessly something Jaskier had done to keep his hands occupied.

Finally, after another hour of trudging through the underbrush, Geralt found it. A pond in the middle of a clearing. He took in a deep breath and relief flooded his senses. Jaskier’s scent was stronger here. He must have been here recently and lingered for a while – not a surprise, considering he had likely been on the open road for days without a chance to drink much or wash himself.

Geralt’s shoulders dropped slightly and he felt himself relax, when he noted something else. Another scent, coppery and pungent. Blood.

“No.”

Geralt rushed forward, his mind refusing to understand. His eyes fell on something he had mistaken for twigs lying on the ground before. But it was something else. A makeshift fishing rod, the line of which was a thin strap of the same fabric Jaskier’s chemise had been made out of. It was snapped in half.

He kneeled down, picking up the halves with a trembling hand. It smelled like more blood and to the splintered ends hung a blueish-grey flap of skin. Drowner skin.

Geralt’s stomach churned and his grip on the rod became tight enough to nearly snap it again. He needed to breathe. To focus. To find Jaskier.

With more strength than he believed himself to have, Geralt pushed himself back to his feet. There were signs of struggle all around. Someone – Jaskier – had been dragged through the grass towards the water, but the tracks didn’t reach the pond.

When Geralt came closer, something glinted in the sparse light that shone through the canopy of leaves overhead. He furrowed his brows, but a wave of relief hit him when he recognised what it was. The small knife he had thought lost. Its blade was covered in the sickening smell of blood. Jaskier hadn’t been helpless, neither in a fight nor when it came to survival.

Geralt took another deep breath, this time, as his mind wasn’t clouded with overwhelming fear, he could find only mild traces of Jaskier’s blood in the air. Most of it came from the drowners that must have attacked him.

Geralt was just about to turn away from the pond to find where Jaskier could have run off to, when something caught his eye. Something was half-buried in the mud at the water’s edge. Perhaps something Jaskier had flung at the drowners as an improvised weapon?

Geralt didn’t know why he leaned closer. It wasn’t important what exactly Jaskier had used to fend off the drowners, the only thing that mattered was that he had gotten away. And yet, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the light brown object lying there, an eerie feeling creeping up at him as he stared at the one thing he had never dared to think he could be finding out here. He blinked, not comprehending, as his fingers touched the wood and pulled out a carved animal.

For a moment he thought it was the wolf – the figure that was more important to Jaskier than any of the others. The one that was meant to stay with him when Geralt was gone. The one thing beside his lute that could still offer him comfort –, but then Geralt looked closer.

This carving had none of the craftsmanship of someone who had been whittling for years. He could recognise a head and legs, but most importantly, he didn’t recognise it as anything he had made. This wasn’t one of the carvings he had given Jaskier.

His brows drew together and his grip tightened on the carving. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the impossible thing in his hand and focus on the scene of the fight again.

The signs of struggle turned into muddy footprints again, leaving away from the pond. Without hesitating a second longer, Geralt followed them.

Roach snorted in displeasure, when he led her through more rough terrain, but he couldn’t consider losing Jaskier’s trail for a more passable path. He was close! He could feel it, smell it in the scent that Jaskier had left, could hear it –

He could hear it. Jaskier.

It was faint, at first, far away. But it was unmistakably singing. Geralt wasn’t close enough to understand the words yet, but it was Jaskier’s voice.

Geralt didn’t think. He sprinted through the trees, trusting Roach to follow him on her own.

The singing grew louder the closer he got. Loud enough for Geralt to recognised the melody that had sent him off on his search for the carvings. The song of Jaskier’s heartbreak over the loss of his carvings.

Twigs snapped into Geralt’s face, tore at his hair, scratched his skin, but he didn’t care. Jaskier was here. He was safe. He was so close!

“But perhaps I’m his to miss

As I do him since I watched him go.

I’m yours, my wolf.

Oh tell me, please

Won’t you be mine?”

This was new. It was rawer than anything Jaskier had sung before. It was pure heartbreak.

The bushes parted before Geralt and his breath caught in his throat. There Jaskier was, sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and his hands he clutched the wolf figure. Scratches littered his face and arms where his doublet was torn, but there were no injuries bigger than bruises and scratches. He was breathing. His heart was beating. He was here.

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathed his name like a blessing.

Jaskier’s head snapped up to him, but before his expression could fully morph from shock to anything else, Geralt had run over to him and fallen to his knees before him.

“Geralt, what –“

He didn’t let him finish. He dropped what he was holding and just grabbed him by the shoulders, crushing him against his chest.

“You’re safe,” Geralt whispered in Jaskier’s hair, his hands roaming over every inch of Jaskier’s body they could reach. “You are alive.”

Jaskier tensed and his shuddering breath tickled Geralt’s neck. For a moment, Geralt thought Jaskier was going to push him away, but then he returned the embrace, pressing himself impossibly closer against Geralt, clutching the fabric of Geralt’s shirt desperately.

“What are you doing here, Geralt?”

Geralt pulled away again, but his hands didn’t leave Jaskier. They wandered up his back and over his shoulders until he was cupping Jaskier’s face tenderly. His eyes raked over the small cuts in his skin.

A crease formed between Geralt’s brows. “Searching for you. When I came back to the inn and you weren’t there, I thought – why did you leave?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted between Geralt’s.

“I- You left. We were talking about separating for winter and then I messed up and I thought… I thought this was it. I had finally been too much.” He hesitated. “Haven’t I?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said softly. “How could you be too much? How could you think I’d ever just leave you?”

Jaskier swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “You heard my song. I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Not in front of all those people. But…I knew that if I did it close to winter and you rejected me, you’d be able to put distance between us easily.” He closed his eyes and placed his hand that wasn’t still holding Winter, over Geralt’s wrist and gently pulled it away from his face.

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Jaskier’s flickering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You were clearly uncomfortable with how I felt and then you left. What else was I to think?”

Geralt’s frown deepened in confusion, but he made sure his voice was soft and soothing, when he said, “I wouldn’t leave you because you were angry at me. I understand how you felt and – that is, unless you want me to leave?” Sudden uncertainty seized Geralt. “If you want to be away from me, that’s alright. Just let me get you to Oxenfurt safely first.”

“No!” Jaskier’s grip on his wrist tightened. “Don’t. If you don’t want to leave, then don’t.” Something shifted in his expression.

Geralt nodded slowly. “Then I won’t. I always meant to come back for you. I told you, I just needed to fix what I had broken.”

He let his thumb caress Jaskier’s cheek one last time, before pulling away and reaching for the bag with the carvings he had carelessly dropped before.

“I couldn’t let you be alone for winter without your carvings.” Without something to remember me by. “I had to get them back for you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. A disbelieving smile stretched his lips.

“You did that? For me?”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “Always for you.”

Slowly, Jaskier let go of Geralt’s wrist and reached for the bag, but just before he could touch it, Geralt brought it closer to his chest again, pulling it out of reach from Jaskier.

“Wait,” he said quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

Geralt’s mouth went dry and his throat grew tight. “I…There’s something I need to tell you first.”

He could hear Jaskier’s breath hitch and his heart speed up.

“What is it?” Jaskier nearly whispered, leaning closer to Geralt.

“I’ve been lying to you.” Geralt forced the words past his lips, despite a year of doubts and fears screaming at him to just shut up. “I’m sorry. I never meant for it to go this far. I never meant for this to break your heart.”

“Geralt…”

“I made them,” he blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear look at Jaskier as he confessed to his lies. Couldn’t see the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes. “The carvings. They are mine. I didn’t…I couldn’t ruin your belief in the fae and they made you so happy. I know I should have told you right away but…I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “The figures were never supposed to mean anything. They were just something I made and left and forgot about. And then you found the bear and…and you gave it meaning. And every single figure that came after it seemed to mean more to you and I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t…I didn’t know how not to break your heart.”

A soft hand touched Geralt’s atop of the bag he was gripping tightly and softly caressed his knuckles until ever so slowly, some of the tension eased away.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “Can you look at me?”

That was all Jaskier had wanted. He had said it at the coast. He wanted the fae to look him in the eyes and tell him why. The reason was already at the tip of Geralt’s tongue. Another confession ready to hang between them. But when Geralt opened his eyes, his words got stuck in his throat.

Jaskier wasn’t looking at him with contempt. No trace of anger was etched into his skin. Yet his eyes were glistening with tears.

Geralt’s heart clenched painfully. He wanted to reach out, to hold Jaskier close, to make this better.

But he was the reason why tears threatened to spill from Jaskier’s eyes, why he had left on his own to go to Oxenfurt without protection, why he had lost the trust that people could want to stay with him.

“Jaskier-“

“I had hoped it was you.” The corner of Jaskier’s lips tugged upwards into a weak smile. “For such a long time I had wanted it to be you and then when you gave me the wolf, I had known for sure, but I hadn’t known why.”

“You knew?” Geralt blinked, unable to understand. “But – how? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you didn’t. Because as long as I didn’t ask you why you kept making the figures, I wouldn’t have to hear you say that there was no meaning to them, that I just got them because you had nothing better to do with them. At first I thought you were afraid of telling me, so I tried to tell you that it was alright, that you could trust me with this. But when you still didn’t say anything…I became the one who was afraid.” He added the last part quietly, his voice barely more than a breath.

Geralt’s mind was racing. It didn’t make sense. “You still took them. You knew they weren’t from the fae and you still accepted them.” He let out a sharp breath, his eyes searching Jaskier’s face for something to help him understand. “You knew they came from me and they still made you happy?”

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped Jaskier. “Of course. Why did you think they meant so much to me? When I still thought they came from the fae, they were special. A novelty. Everyone wanted to find one. But a gift from you? Geralt, there is nothing that could be more meaningful to me.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered. “I didn’t know – I wanted to tell you. When I was hallucinating. I’m not even sure you were really there, but I wanted you to know.”

“I was there.” A shadow flashed through Jaskier’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to tell me then. Not if it wasn’t really your choice. With the toxins…I didn’t want to break your trust by letting you tell me without having control over it.”

“You deserved to know. If I had died without telling you-“

Jaskier winced. “Don’t. I know. That’s what I kept thinking about while you were unconscious. What if you died and I never got to tell you?” He hesitated. “That’s why I started – but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Started what?”

Jaskier avoided Geralt’s eyes and his fingers on Geralt’s hands twitched nervously, but he didn’t let go.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “I lost it anyway.”

Geralt furrowed his brow as he searched Jaskier’s face, trying to understand. What had Jaskier lost? Geralt had brought back everything important to Jaskier from camp. His notebook, his clothes, the carvings…

Geralt’s gaze dropped to the carving he had found at the pond, lying innocently in the grass next to them. His eyes went wide.

As if in a trance, he reached out for it, lifted it to his face to examine it closer. He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him as he ran his thumb over the unevenly carved wood. Jaskier hadn’t taken Geralt’s knife to help him survive, had he?

“It’s not as good as the ones you made,” Jaskier said quietly, shrugging in a vain attempt to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

Geralt turned the animal over. Four legs, one of which was cracked, while another was broken off. A tail that looked a bit lumpy, a head that was misshapen and the proportions were all off.

Still, it was unmistakably a horse.

Geralt’s lips twitched as he looked up at Jaskier again, unable and unwilling to hide the wonder and affection in his expression.

“Roach?”

Red heat rose in Jaskier’s cheeks as he nodded. “It’s not finished yet. I wanted it to look better and I thought I’d have more time. And then, when I had missed my chance, I stopped working on it.”

“More time before what?” Didn’t Jaskier have all the time in the world? Surely, once he had reached Oxenfurt, Jaskier would have found time between lectures to continue working. There would have been no rush to finish it.

Jaskier looked at him with an unreadable expression and his voice was small, when he finally answered.

“Before you left.”

Joke, you know it would break Roach’s heart if I left you.

“Did you want my help? I can…if you wanted to, I could still teach you how to whittle.” Geralt remembered vividly how lost and frustrated he had felt, when he had first started woodcarving. If possible, the bird that had been his first attempt at whittling had looked even more misshapen than the horse he was now holding. Not to mention the blisters Geralt had gotten from whittling that had made it uncomfortable to hold his sword and –

Geralt froze. Slowly, he let go of the bag with the carvings and turned his hand so that he was now holding Jaskier’s. He turned it until he could see Jaskier’s palms.

“You hurt yourself,” Geralt said, rubbing small circles into Jaskier’s wrist. “The blisters, your wrists…that didn’t come from playing the lute too much, did it?”

Jaskier shook his head silently. Something twisted painfully in Geralt’s chest.

“But why? If it hurt you, why did you keep working on it?” Geralt faltered. “Is it because I stopped making them after we went to the coast?” He gave Jaskier’s hand a light squeeze. “I can still make you another one. If you want a horse, I can make one. Or…or a rabbit. Or a squirrel. Any animal you want.” He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the bag in his lap that Jaskier hadn’t taken from him yet. “That is, if you still want to have the carvings I made.” After Geralt hurt him enough to leave all on his own, he wouldn’t be surprised if the gifts had soured for Jaskier. “But please, don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier let out a choked noise and his fingers twitched again. “You don’t need to give me things, Geralt. We’ve been over this.” He let out a small noise that could have been a laugh. “You gave me a stick once and it meant the world to me. Besides.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, “I didn’t make the horse for myself. I know it’s not good enough to give it away, which is why I kept it, but the horse was never mine to keep.”

“Oh.”

Geralt’s heart dropped. Of course. How could he have forgotten. Jaskier still had someone out there, someone whom he wanted to give gifts too. Geralt’s chest cramped up at the thought of Jaskier gifting his beloved the same thing that Geralt had given to Jaskier when he had had no words to make Jaskier smile.

And still. If this would guarantee Jaskier’s happiness…

“I would still do it,” Geralt said quietly, the words tasting like razor blades on his tongue. “If you want the horse to be a gift, I will still help you.”

Jaskier gave him a crooked smile. He hesitated, but then he took his free hand and closed used it to close Geralt’s fingers around the horse.

“That would defeat the purpose, don’t you think? Working on your own gift.”

“My own…” Geralt’s eyes went wide and his treacherous heart skipped a beat. Jaskier couldn’t possibly mean what Geralt’s foolish heart thought he meant.

“It’s for you,” Jaskier said softly and let go of Geralt again. “I know it’s not beautiful or useful and it would probably take up space you need for other things, but if you want it, it’s yours.”

Mine.

Geralt’s breath got caught in his throat. For a long moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Jaskier, but then he looked back down at the wooden horse in his hand. It was imperfect and, as Jaskier had said, far from beautiful. Geralt had no need for carvings or trinkets. There was no use for them and if this had been one of the carvings Geralt had made himself, he would have had no qualms, leaving it in the woods.

But this was from Jaskier. He had made it for him. The little lumpy horse with the missing leg and strangely proportioned head was the most beautiful and precious thing Geralt had ever owned.

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes started burning.

“Why?” His voice was raspy and bordering on desperate. There was so much more that he wanted to say, to ask, but this was all he could get out before his throat closed off again.

Jaskier shifted his weight and pulled his shoulders up a little.

“You have given me all those beautiful carvings. So many gifts to remember you by and yet you had nothing from me. I wanted you to have something of mine when you left. So that maybe in winter, you could look at it and think of me.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest, to say that he didn’t need any reminder of Jaskier, that not an hour went by without Geralt thinking about the way his laugh sounded, his touch felt or his eyes looked. But before a single word could leave his lips, Jaskier continued.

“When I found you in the woods, I thought I had missed my chance to tell you how important you are to me. I needed you to have something to remind you of that. I thought that if I gave you something I had carved, you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide anymore that you had been the one to give me the gifts. And I hoped that maybe – no, it’s stupid. Forget it.”

“Jaskier-“

“No, you were right. I gave the carvings more meaning than they had. I shouldn’t have. Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t made them mean so much to me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Geralt said in a voice so sincere that Jaskier’s big eyes got even wider.

“Then what did you mean?”

“The carvings I made before you found the bear didn’t mean anything. But once I started making them for you, it was impossible for them to be meaningless anymore. You mean too much to me for them to mean nothing.”

Geralt hesitated. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and he wanted to hide. To turn tail and not bare this last secret of his heart to Jaskier.

But this was what Jaskier had wanted. The truth. The one thing he had asked for that Geralt had refused to give him. Until now.

Taking one last deep breath, Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hand and reached into the bag instead, pulling out the first of the gifts he had made with Jaskier in mind.

He held the bird up for Jaskier to take. “I know I don’t say it nearly often enough, but you have the most beautiful singing voice. Your songs make being on the Path so much easier. Not only the ones you sing in taverns to change my reputation, but all of them. Hearing you sing to yourself while you search for firewood, listening to you senselessly serenade Roach to bribe her, seeing you deep in thought, plucking away at your lute. All of it. The Path was always quiet before you. The only thing I listened for, was whether there was danger nearby. You gave me something else to listen to. Something soft and beautiful.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s lips moved silently, as if he couldn’t find his words, while for once Geralt was the one who couldn’t stop his own words from tumbling from his lips, despite not having known exactly he had wanted to say until he had opened his mouth.

“We don’t have Friend anymore,” Geralt continued, before Jaskier could find his words again or courage forsook Geralt, “but that is what you are. The best friend I could ever ask for. The first friend I had made since Blaviken and the only one who stayed with me for as long as you have, despite what you have seen of me. You are…warm and soft and so full of comfort. I don’t know if this is too much to say, but to me, you are family.”

The pungent smell of salt pierced Geralt’s nose and when he looked at Jaskier in alarm, Jaskier was blinking furiously.

“Jask,” Geralt began uncertainly. “Are you alright? I…I’m sorry, if I said anything wrong. I can stop. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier said. HIs voice sounded choked, but his hand shot forth to take the songbird out of Geralt’s hand and cradle it against his chest. “Please don’t stop.”

Geralt hesitated for a heartbeat longer, uncertain despite Jaskier’s words, whether he was hurting him again somehow. Then he swallowed thickly and nodded.

He searched for the next carving, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he found it and sat it down in front of Jaskier.

“I don’t know if you remember, because you were quite drunk when I told you, but I haven’t been able to pet a cat since becoming a witcher.”

Jaskier nodded and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“When I told you back then, you gave me the sheep to hold instead. Because that’s something that had always made you happy.” A fondness welled up in Geralt at the memory. “You make me happy, Jaskier. I am alright with knowing that I won’t ever pet a cat and I was fine knowing that I would never find someone like you either. But you’re here. You’re always here. You give me so much. You make me want something – someone – I never thought I could have. You make me want and need you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing.”

A choked noise escaped Jaskier and he turned his face away, but not fast enough to hide the tear that rolled down his cheek. Without thinking, Geralt brushed it away, letting his hand linger on Jaskier’s cheek until his hitched breathing got back under control. Jaskier leaned into the touch with closed eyes, letting Geralt caress his cheek with his thumb and wipe away any tears that escaped Jaskier.

When Geralt made no move to speak up again, Jaskier opened his eyes again and with a watery but bright smile said, “The snake is next, isn’t it?”

Geralt snorted. “I still can’t believe you didn’t just throw it away.”

When Jaskier lifted his chin in defiance, Geralt shook his head fondly and pulled the stick out of the back and held it up to Jaskier, who snatched it out of his grip, immediately.

“Of course I didn’t throw it away. You gave it to me.”

“Anybody else would have discarded it. They wouldn’t have bothered to accept it in the first place. It’s just a stick. Nothing special. It’s just making your bag dirty and it’s not beautiful.” Geralt couldn’t stop his expression from softening. “But you still kept it. Thank you, Jaskier. For not casting me aside.”

“You didn’t cast me aside either,” Jaskier said tentatively. “I’m sorry for thinking you did.”

“Don’t be.” Geralt gave him a soft smile, though his stomach twisted when the tears kept streaming down Jaskier’s face.

For a moment, he watched helplessly, as Jaskier tried to stop the tears and wipe them away with his sleeve, before he pulled out the next carving. The fish.

“I guess we have a matching set now,” Geralt said with a lopsided smirk and lifted the horse in his other hand.

Jaskier let out a watery laugh that made Geralt’s chest warm from the inside.

“I never told anyone but Eskel about why I call all my horses Roach. You listened. You always do, even if I don’t say anything with words.”

Jaskier sniffled. “I’m not always good at listening.” Pointedly, he looked at the trees surrounding them. “If I was, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Geralt let out a low hum. “Maybe not. But I don’t mind being here with you. And you still hear more than I can say with words. You…you pay attention. There are not many people who would bother to learn what I mean or even listen to a witcher. I negotiate contracts and pay and for most people that is it. They don’t care about what else I have to say. And then there’s you. You keep needling me about details of my hunts and ask me for my opinion on your songs as if it mattered – “

“It does,” Jaskier interrupted him. “Of course your opinion is important.”

“It is to you,” Geralt relented quietly. “You have no idea how special that is to me. I know I still don’t talk much often, but you make me feel like I can try. I’m not a poet. I know my words aren’t as good as what other people can say to you. I can’t speak in verse or compare you to the sun or moon.”

Jaskier’s tear-streaked smile was like the sun bursting through a rain cloud. “I like the words you’re saying right now.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, but it was overshadowed by the sincerity that gave it weight.

Geralt’s chest grew even tighter and he grinned when he pulled out the last carving, the fox that reminded Geralt of a night spent under the stars. Of Jaskier leaning against him and being happy to receive a gift, even though he had known that Geralt had lied to him about having found the fox figure. And it was a reminder of Jaskier crumbling before him, devastated and thinking that he wasn’t trusted enough to be told the truth. That he wasn’t important enough to Geralt.

Geralt placed the fox in front of Jaskier like a sacrifice. Jaskier’s eyes followed the movement and remained on the figure, a small smile dancing around his lips.

Without the figures, Geralt’s hand felt strangely empty. Without thinking, he took Jaskier’s chin in his hand and tilted his head up until their eyes met again.

“My little fox,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He heard Jaskier’s breath hitch and Geralt’s thumb caressed Jaskier’s chin, brushing lightly against his bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” he repeated. Panic overcame Geralt, when Jaskier’s chin began to wobble again and he squeezed his eyes shut to prevent more tears from falling. He didn’t know what to do, how to make Jaskier stop crying. Helplessly, he grasped the first thing that came to mind. With a lopsided grin, he added, “One might even say you’re roguishly handsome.”

A laugh bubbled up in Jaskier that soothed the panic in Geralt.

“Oh?” Jaskier said, the teasing now obvious and when he opened his eyes again, they were glinting with mischief rather than tears. “What else could you call me?”

Geralt’s lips twitched and he groaned in a mockery of annoyance. “Don’t make me say it,” he begged, already knowing full well that he was going to repeat the ridiculous word Jaskier had described himself with at the coast.

“Make you say what?” Jaskier asked with false innocence.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him and when Jaskier only lifted a brow, he let out a sigh and relented.

“Fine. You’re foxy. Happy now?”

“Very,” Something in the way his eyes softened as he said it, made Geralt think that he didn’t only mean his triumph about getting Geralt to call him that.

“You are?” Geralt asked again, uncertain if he hadn’t misunderstood. “Happy? With me here. Despite…despite me having lied to you and made you believe that I had left you?”

“You came back,” Jaskier said as if that explained everything, leaning into Geralt’s touch. His eyes drifted down to the carvings sitting between them, each one with their own precious meaning hanging in the air. “And you gave me the most wonderful gift.”

“I’ll always come back. You – I always thought that I couldn’t have anyone with me. That having someone worth coming back to was dangerous.” When Jaskier’s brows pinched together and he opened his mouth to protest, Geralt continued quickly. “And it is, but you make it worth it. You make me want to be more than what they taught me to be at Kaer Morhen or what other people see in me.” He let go of Jaskier’s chin and as his hand sunk back down, it hovered for just a moment above Jaskier’s heart. “You make me want to be the person you see in me.” He swallowed thickly and dropped his hand back into his lap where it clenched and unclenched. “Because of you. It’s always been because of you.”

He didn’t know what exactly he was referring to. Everything. For years, everything he had done had been influenced by Jaskier, by what would make him feel safe or make him smile. By what would make him want to stay with Geralt.

“I know this,” Geralt gestured to the carvings, “isn’t much. Others can give you more and you deserve more than gifts from a witcher, but it is all I can give to you.”

Jaskier’s shoulders moved as another sob shook him, or perhaps it was a watery laugh.

“Geralt,” he said, with disbelief and unbearable fondness written on his face. “How could you think I’d ever want anything from you but you?”

Geralt’s heart sped up as hope welled up in his chest. “So you’re not leaving for Oxenfurt? You’ll still travel with me for a bit?”

“For as long as you’ll have me. I thought I had made myself clear with my song, but evidently I have been wrong.” Jaskier placed a hand above Geralt’s hand holding onto the horse carving. “Do you understand the carving, then?”

Geralt mouth went dry as Jaskier’s thumb caressed his knuckles.

“I think I’m starting to understand. Or maybe I’m just hoping.” His eyes followed the movement of Jaskier’s thumb, then he looked back up and met Jaskier’s gaze. There was a depth to the fondness in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt had never allowed himself before to think it could be for him. “Explain it to me?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched up. “It’s a horse because you love Roach. I wanted you to have something of mine that you could love. And…” He hesitated, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. One last moment of doubt for the both of them, but for once, Geralt was the brave man of Jaskier’s songs and let everything he felt show on his face for Jaskier to see, “you know what the legend says. He, who finds the fae’s gifts will find their love within a year.”

“Even if that myth were real,” Geralt said with deliberate slowness, so that there was no doubt Jaskier could understand him, “I wouldn’t need the fae’s favour. I have already found the one I love.” His smile became crooked. “Though I suppose, the carving has led me to him.”

When Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, Geralt asked carefully, “What about you? You found the first carving months ago. You still have time before your year is up.”

“I still have the winter months to get my love,” Jaskier agreed with a faint smile, “but I’m afraid I won’t be seeing him in those months. He has the habit of leaving me for the winter.”

The glimmer of hope flared up in Geralt’s chest, turning into a blazing fire, just shy of becoming a certainty, but enough to give him the bravery he had lacked for so long.

“If you were to come with me to Kaer Morhen, you’d still have those months. Will that be enough to find your love?”

“I found it years ago,” Jaskier lifted Geralt’s hand, despite the horse still clutched in it and brought it to his lips. The light press of Jaskier’s lips against his knuckles sent a pleasant shiver up Geralt’s spine. Jaskier’s lips brushed once more against Geralt’s skin, when he began to sing, while keeping his gaze locked on Geralt’s eyes. “I’m yours, my wolf. Oh tell me, please. Won’t you be mine?”

His free hand trembled, as it came up to touch Jaskier’s face once more. “I never told you what the wolf carving meant, did I?”

He leaned in closer to Jaskier, their breaths almost mingling.

“What does it mean then?” Jaskier asked. He was so close, Geralt could almost imagine feeling his lips against his own.

It meant everything. It meant that Jaskier was part of Geralt’s family. It meant that when Geralt was with Jaskier, he felt like he truly belonged. It meant that Jaskier was his home.

“It means that I’m yours,” Geralt rasped.

Jaskier let out a small gasp, leaning impossibly closer, but still not touching.

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“You know I don’t need you to give me things, but…can I ask one more thing of you?”

“What do you want?”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered close. “Your heart.”

“You have it. Can I give you something else too?”

Jaskier gave the smallest nod. And Geralt closed the gap between them and gave Jaskier a kiss.

---

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35 notes · View notes

fenristheorem · 3 years

Note

Oh, I'm sorry I didn't explain myself well, it's mostly Gardienne with a fever that makes her delirious (this mostly because it would be funny) but if you prefer one where she has difficulty moving (I love the physical contact with Lance, I apologize ) By the way I love how you write! I'm glad there are such talented people in the fandom <3

Don't worry about it! I wanted to check just in case I was reading the original ask wrong because this sounded like such a fun ask to write and I wanted to make sure it was what you were looking for lol.

Thank you so much for the compliment, it truly means a lot to me! ❤

I decided to write two headcanon topics; one for Lance taking care of Guardienne who's feverish and delirious and the second where she's too weak to move. They both sounded so tempting to write lol.

These both are a bit of a scenario-headcanon hybrid (it seems I’ve liked writing those recently), but I’m certainly not disappointed by it. I really wanted to be specific throughout for the sake of adding in moments of humor and adding depth (which made it a bit of a scenario), but they do sort of evolve into more traditional headcanons in time.

~Under the cut~

Lance with Guardienne who's feverish and delirious:

Oh by the Orcale; how did this happen?

Guardienne was feeling fine... and then she wasn't.

Ewelein wasn't very surprised - somehow she always gets hurt, or sick, or something. She tells Guardienne to isolate herself, rest, and overall not do anything. Ewelein knows there’s a risk that this advice will be ignored, but she figured Guardienne may at least have enough sense to heed her warning.

And then Guardienne starts complimenting the birds that are singing in the Infirmary...

"Get me Lance, I need to speak with him about Guardienne's condition."

Upon hearing news that his partner has fallen ill - and knowing that Ewelein wouldn't send for him about something so common and otherwise not of much worry - Lance entrusts a few last responsibilities of the day to a couple seasoned warriors and heads swiftly to the Infirmary. Upon entering, the Elven nurse immediately pulls him to a quiet corner of the room and explains that Guardienne has a very high fever that’s making her delirious. She’s been irritated, apathetic, and is even experiencing hallucinations, rambling about those hallucinations, then proceeding to forget about hallucinations that she was just rambling about, and she’s - despite having a fever - been restless and walking around, trying to chase after those hallucinations and putting herself in danger.

Lance is quiet as he looks at her like she just said that the sky was falling.

“What do you mean she has a major fever but is walking around? How is that possible, or safe? Shouldn’t she be subdued?”

“Illness is a strange thing, Lance. I can’t give a real reason aside from that’s just her way of coping with the discomfort of the fever right now, and again, she’s hallucinating so that doesn’t help either. I would give her a sedative but I’m not sure I trust the possible side effects with her current condition.”

“Eweleeeeiiiiin...” A hoarse, scratchy voice called for the nurse from an isolated bed further in the Infirmary. Ewelein looked towards where it came from before glancing back to Lance with a ‘please help me’ expression.

She led him back to the isolated bed and they found Guardienne - pale and heavily sweating, it was very clear that she was sick - sitting on the mattress, shifting through the thin blanket that was laid over her. It seemed like she was searching for something...

Ewelein did a few quick checks and let Guardienne nudge around the blankets as she explained to Lance that she needed someone to keep a consistent eye on her, as she couldn’t do that due to her other responsibilities.

Lance hesitated as his thoughts flicked to his typically busy schedule, but he couldn’t just leave his partner to suffer this without doing something. He could find someone to carry out his typical responsibilities, and Huang Hua will certainly understand when she sees Guardienne’s high-maintenance conditions herself.

“I can watch out for her. I’ll take a few days off-” “The birds - the birds are getting loud...” “-to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself by accident.”

“Thank you, I’m so sorry to ask this of you but with this illness going around-” “The birds are screaming.” “-the other nurses are too busy for us to have a constant eye on her. Fortunately she’s the only case this severe.” “Ewelein can you make the birds stop screaming? I think it’s upsetting the wall rat.”

Lance was about to reply to the nurse when Guardienne mentioned the birds and the wall rat, instead lowering himself by her side to try and look her in the eyes as alarm filled his being.

“What wall rat?”

Guardienne’s eyes flicked to his and she brightened, leaning to the side - teetering all too close to the edge of the bed - to rest against his abdomen and loll her head up to look at him as he straightened.

“Laaannce. Oh, you’re the pretty icy dragon, can you get rid of the birds? You have the big sword. The wall rat is angry at them and it keeps chewing at the rocks and the fluffy things are scuttl.... they’re around... in - trying to steal... why is it so bright, turn off the sun it’s burning.”

Lance nearly loses his breath as Guardienne just rambles and gazes dazedly around the room, shocked by how such a vibrant woman was now rendered nearly helpless. She’s making absolutely no sense.

He steels himself and decides here and now that he needs to take care of her. She has no sense of reality right now, and he needed to be here to make sure she would be alright. He gently took her chin to tilt her head back so he can look into her eyes again.

“What are the fluffy things doing? What rocks is the wall rat chewing at?” Guardienne stares at him for a moment with drifting eyes.

“What... the fluffy... no wall rat, no stones, the fluffy things... haha, how did you come up with that? You’re not usually funny, haha...”

Anxiety and distress for his partner settles heavily in his chest as he observed her continuously disturbing condition. He looks back towards Ewelein as she explains that she’s been providing Guardienne with a treatment. It’ll take a few days before it will begin to work, though - if it even does work. Lance was about to reply when Guardienne cut him off.

“The birds are loud, the birds are loud. Oww, someone please make the birds quiet.” She covered her ears with her hands and tucked her chin to her chest. Lance adjusted her gently and leaned her to lay back on the bed so she wouldn’t fall over the side.

“I’m not sure what to do about the birds... she’s kept talking about them. They seem to only be in the Infirmary because she didn’t complain about them when she wandered into the hall earlier.”

“She wandered into the hall earlier!?” Alarm shot through him again.

“Yea, Adalric seemed to argue her point though. He told her that the birds are everywhere, even inside her... Thankfully she doesn’t seem to have taken any attention to that.” Now exasperation.

“Ok, how about this; I’ll settle my plans with Huang Hua for the next few days and take Guardienne to my room so I can watch her constantly. I can stock up on a few basics from Karuto so I don’t need to leave her and set someone in charge of running meals to us from the Dinning Hall. She won’t ever be alone and she won’t need to go out anywhere. I’ll send a companion immediately if we need help of any kind.”

“May the Oracle bless you, Lance. You’re a lifesaver. Please don’t get sick, though.” She persistently thanked him more as she explained a basic routine so Guardienne can recover. Healthy food, don’t let her get too hot - not a problem, he’s an ice dragon - don’t leave her alone, and the medicine should begin to take effect in the next few days.

Lance responded by saying that it was no trouble - there was no way he was not taking care of Guardienne at this point - and quickly headed out to find Huang Hua while Ewelein could spend a bit of time watching Guardienne. Fortunately she was in the Dinning Hall, talking with a few other members of the Guard, including Karuto. He walked over with a brisk note in his step and stopped in her line of sight when he was a few feet away, signaling that he needed to talk to her.

Kindly, she stepped out of the conversation as the others kept talking - and Lance spotted a warrior within his guard that he trusts before waving them over as well. He quickly - but modestly - explained the situation and they both understood, Huang Hua even offered to persuade Karuto to share a few food items as Lance explained to his colleague what he needed to do the next few days. Once everything was set, he brought the food back to his room - storing it safely in a cabinet - and went back to retrieve the sick Guardienne.

Many strange and bizarre things happened over those few days he spent with his delirious partner - some things he thought he would never experience in his life. Like Ewelein said, she did ramble a lot about the most odd things that she’s hallucinated; ranging from watching Musaroses fly around the room (which may have stemmed from Floppy observing her from high surfaces, if he did in fact adopt Floppy, and I believe he did), the sun and moon rolling around the room, and even yelping incoherent words as she tried to run away from light flecks. When she did manage to make a coherent sentence, she was quite crass and tactless with her tone and words - she didn’t seem to be able to comprehend the idea of emotions, but her imagination sure ran wild.

When he first brought her into his room, she wandered around for a while - chasing shadows it seemed... and then she took interest in shiny things, like his weaponry.

“Ah, pretty!”

“Guardienne don’t touch that! That’s sharp!” He quickly leapt to her side and took her wrist as she reached for an axe hanging on the wall, gently pulling her towards the bed as she giggled giddily and danced around with him. He tried his best to reign her in without being harsh - she wasn’t in her right mind - while making sure she didn’t hurt herself on any surface as she flung her limbs around before finally managing to get her on his bed. She still burned with the fever as he settled her into the light blankets, but she seemed to be tempted to fall asleep as she curled into his pillows. Relief settled into Lance for a moment as he turned to quickly glance around the room, observing everything he would need to hide for her safety until she recovered.

He glanced back to Guardienne to find her gone. He’s never felt panic invade him so quickly.

Lance quickly scanned the room again to find her nowhere - actually it’s dread at this point, he’s definitely feeling dread - and then a feminine noise of surprise sounded from the floor before his bed. He rushed to the other side of the bed to find her laying on the floor, staring intently underneath his bed.

“I can see into realms...” She was probably staring through the gap underneath his bed to look at the other wall.

The thought of tying her to the bed to keep her still passed through his mind until he decided that that would be too inhumane for such a sickly woman.

Fortunately there were a few things that Lance felt he could do well. Occasionally he would ask if she wanted tea, or something to eat, and he definitely made sure she drank lots of cold water (being an ice dragon truly had some perks, like refreshing cold water at any time). She wouldn’t exactly respond - although on occasion she was brought back to reality enough to realize and comment that she was hungry at the mention of food - but Lance made sure to keep rigorous note of when she last ate and what anyways, so she stayed well fed. It was a bit of a struggle to get her to eat sometimes, but he found that she responded well to smell, so he tried to focus more on giving her warm (not hot) or stronger smelling foods. Once she caught the scent she seemed to snap back to reality a bit and nibble on it for a while - and when he’d sit beside her and eat a meal of his own she would catch on that it was time to eat and happily devour the food until she lost interest. He also realized quickly that her heavy sweating would mean that she’d need to shower more, so while it wasn’t always possible to wash her multiple times per day, he found that giving her a small bath with a wet cloth helped her - especially with cooling her down. He did make sure to shower her at least once a day, and he did join her for this. There was no way she’d be able to shower alone with her hallucinations...

These showers did lead to rather humorous events once in a while. The first time he showered with her, she tried to run away from the water because “the rain clouds are angry at her”, but she eventually calmed down - nearly going limp in his arms - when she realized how nice it was to feel the warm water on her skin. Surprisingly, when they’re out of the shower she seems to be brought back to her sanity a bit, being able to hold a... semi-normal conversation for a few minutes, usually remembering that emotions exist and being able to accurately describe her distress. However, Lance is perhaps most proud of the other times, late at night or early in the morning, when she’s burning hot in bed next to him and he helps relieve her of this.

He’ll lean up slightly, adjusting the pillows underneath him so he can recline back while somewhat sitting up and pull her gently into his arms, letting Guardienne rest her head on his chest or abdomen. She’ll moan in distress, dozing but not yet sleeping, and he’ll call forth his powers to help cool her. He’ll lay a cold hand on her forehead or the back of her neck, letting his body temperature drop to provide a cool presence that she can curl up with. Lance quickly found that she really enjoys this, she’ll cling to him all night as her breathing evens and her sweating calms down, and he finds that it even helps calm her during the day. Perhaps Ewelein was right; her restlessness was due partially to the fever.

Fortunately the medicine works, and within a week she’s feeling better. Guardienne woke up one morning; groggy, lethargic and overall feeling like shit, but she moves around to adjust her position anyways, rolling over to find Lance awake and watching her.

“Hey...” She greets him, her voice grating in a way that nearly makes her wince.

“Good morning. Did the wall rat wake you up?”

“...”

“Excuse me? What wall rat?” Lance looks a bit worried.

“Ok, she doesn’t remember the wall rat...” He mutters the words to himself as he glances away before meeting her gaze again. “Nothing, what about the Liclion under the bed? He’s not licking your hand again, is he? I can take care of him if you need me to. I could probably do something about those birds, too, if they’re here.” Guardienne stills mid-weak-stretch and looks at him with an off put expression, somewhat afraid of his random speaking. He blinks back with a calm expression before shock brightens him and he leans towards her a bit

“Wait, are you better!? Do you actually understand what I’m saying!?”

“Yes, Lance, but I’m not sure that you understand what you’re saying.” She looks at him in a concerned manner, but Lance is busy throwing himself over her in a desperate, gentle hug. She hugs back, still incredibly confused but thankful that he didn’t throw all of his weight on her as well - she was very weak and tired, she didn’t think she’d be able to breath if he rested his weight on her.

“Seriously, are you ok? What’s happened these past few days? I can barely remember anything.” Lance draws back to flash her a bright grin, overjoyed at the fact that he has his partner back.

“Yes, I’m just fine, but you’re not going to believe any of this...” He tells her the story anyways.

Lance with Guardienne who's sick and too weak to move:

It started slow. Guardienne was feeling a bit sluggish one day while training with Jamon, finding that she tired easier than normal and her reaction time wasn’t as fast as usual. She had to ask Jamon for a few extra breaks throughout, sparking concern from the Ogre. He asked if she was alright and she said that she was just feeling a bit tired. Jamon promptly reminded her of the time where she had the infected wound from the Warrifang, asking if she could have another bite like that that’s causing her fatigue.

“I don’t think so, I don’t recall fighting anything as of late. I suppose I should warn Lance if this gets worse, though, just so we don’t have a repeat of the market scene the first time I saw him again.” Her tone was light with humor, but she did dismiss herself from training. She didn’t want to push herself if she was getting sick.

She carried out the rest of the day with normalcy, but the following morning is where she was really hit.

Guardienne woke up sore, tired, lethargic, and nauseous. She should have seen Ewelein sooner. To make things even worse, she woke up with a headache and a pounding noise in her ears. Wait... no, that was her door.

She hauled herself out of bed, requiring much more strength than she expected, and immediately a flood of heat washed over her. Regardless of her swimming head and heavy limbs, she stumbled to the door and cracked it open as the pounding became more persistent .

“Oh, hey, you’re late for our breakfast! Mathieu was getting really worried - such a sweetheart! And Adalric started forming conspiracy theories of why you’re late. Karenn suggested that we - hey, you don’t look so good, are you alright?” Guardienne could barely pay attention to Koori’s rambling - her headache was terrible and she was reduced to clinging to the door frame to remain standing. She sighed, closing her eyes and groaning as she rested her head next to her hand on the frame.

“I need to go to the Infirmary.”

“Ok, come on, I’ll help you.” Fortunately Koori was a kind person - flirtatious, and bold - but caring for her friends.

Guardienne leaned her weight against the Kitsune as they headed to the Infirmary, nearly stumbling every other step as even the slightest movements took far too much energy - only to encounter Lance along the way.

Concern immediately struck him, showing clearly on his expression as he jogged to meet the two before asking what was going on. After a brief explanation, Lance offered to take Guardienne to the Infirmary. Koori put up a bit of a fight - not anything odd, she just wanted to make sure Guardienne would be alright (and she was curious of the illness) - but agreed to let Lance take her the rest of the way.

Koori gently let go of Guardienne, letting her stand on her own two feet a moment before she wobbled. Lance quickly took hold of her, gently taking her into his arms and lifting her from the floor as Koori dismissed herself from them, wishing Guardienne good health. He turned and set a brisk pace towards the Infirmary.

“You really don’t need to carry me. I know you’re a bit weird with touching in front of others.” Guardienne spoke softly - tiredly - as she rested her head against his chest, discreetly glancing around the room to see a few heads turning to look at them.

“Hush, I don’t care about that right now.” His tone said that there would be no arguing of that.

He walked through the doors, immediately calling for Ewelein - who was fortunately near the entrance. Within a few minutes Guardienne was rested on one of the many isolated beds - isolated to assure the sickness wouldn't spread if it was infectious. Ewelein began to check her over and verbally nipped at Lance to shoo him out of the room, only to be stopped as Guardienne requested that he stay with her. If he could, at least.

Lance paused, surprise written on his face as he let the knowledge that his partner wanted him around for this sunk in. He wasn't really expecting this. She's usually very independent and doesn't like to disrupt his responsibilities for the day, so her specifically requesting his presence was a bit of a shock

"It's alright if you don't want to stay, I don't want to get in the way of your job, but if I couldn't get here on my own then I don't think I'll be able to get anywhere else... so it might be helpful to have you around..." Guardienne gave him a gentle, fatigued smile before Lance softened and relaxed a bit.

“It would be a good idea. She shouldn’t risk walking around right now; she needs to rest. Fortunately this seems to only effect her energy - there’s no major fever or anything, only a faint fever, so she just needs rest - but if walking around will be a major issue then it would definitely be a good idea for you to be around to help her.”

A gentle warmth settled in Lance’s chest; his partner was asking for his help, she wanted him to lean on while she recovered from this.

How could he say no to that? How could he deny his partner who needed him right now?

“I’ll stay, I’ll take a couple days off. You’ll have my full attention.” He turns to walk towards her and sit down beside her on the mattress, taking her hand in his as Ewelein shuffles around the Infirmary. Guardienne squeezes his hand and looks gratefully at him through narrowed eyes, leaning against his shoulder slightly.

Ewelein returns after a few minutes with a vial in her hand and configures a dose for Guardienne, explaining what it is, what it should do and in how long it should start to take effect. After a few minutes - when Ewelein is still muddling around Guardienne but not saying anything particularly important - Lance excuses himself to find Huang Hua to notify her of his time off.

From there it’s the same as when Guardienne was sick with a fever and delirium; he notifies Huang Hua and sets up a replacement for himself, only excluding asking Karuto for extra food / tea as he can leave the room this time to retrieve food without worrying for her, but he does notify him that he’s taking care of Guardienne so he’ll need two meals to go. Karuto grumbles about the information, possibly not believing him, but agrees to it anyways. If anything, he can check with Ewelein later to confirm that Lance is actually taking care of her.

Eventually he returns to Guardienne - who was dozing peacefully - and gently picks her up after speaking with Ewelein before heading out of the Infirmary to settle her on his bed.

She curled immediately into the blankets and pillows on his bed, and Lance observed as she took in a deep breath, letting it out softly as though the sole reason for that was to breathe in his scent. A warm spark fluttered in his chest as he watched her - he’ll be sure to provide for her in the coming days.

And that’s exactly what he does; provides for her, in any way she needs.

He does this in a lot of similar ways as when she had the fever delirium; he’ll bring her food, help her eat if she’s too weak, will shower with her so she can lean against him (she really likes the showering with the handsome, wet, naked dragon), and watches her carefully when she insists on trying to take a few steps on her own to test how her strength is shifting - after all, his room certainly isn’t the safest with all the weaponry laying around and he promised to himself, for her sake, that he would take the greatest care of her, so he watches her without taking his eyes off her when she tries to shuffle around.

However, there are many other things that he does this time that he didn’t (sometimes couldn’t) do last time. He cuddles with her - a lot. After all, she can’t walk around on her own, so she’s bedridden most of the time, and what better way to pass the time than cuddling it out? If her minor fever acts up, he’ll use the same cooling technique on her by using his powers. Sometimes he’ll even entertain her by playing around a bit, forming delicate, glassy shapes out of his element and letting her explore his creations. He may lay a hand on her arm and let flat, snow colored tendrils drift across her skin like frost, a faint chill emanating from where they appeared as she watches with a fascinated smile when they curl elegantly around her arm.

He’ll let her sleep as much as she wants - which is a lot - and is just fine with being woken up at any hour for any reason. At first she was hesitant about this - she didn’t want to disturb his sleep when she woke up randomly in dark hours of the night with no sign of sleep threatening her consciousness again - so a few nights were spent messily nudging her body around to shift her position with the little strength she had. This woke Lance up a few times, and she was quite surprised when he decided to stay up with her and offer to occupy her time. Guardienne continuously told him that she was alright, he could go back to sleep, but he refused to do so. He was just fine with being woken up in the middle of the night - under this circumstance, of course, not on a typical day where he has responsibilities to carry out the next day - and eventually one night she found herself attempting this as she lay awake and unable to fall asleep again. She pondered over his offer to wake him up if she wanted entertainment, and after what felt like hours of trying to do anything else, she reached an arm over to brush her hand from his jaw, down his neck, and to his bare chest - eventually giving in to try and nudge herself closer to cuddle the sleeping dragon. He shifted slightly at this - waking fully as he noticed her movement - and grinned softly at her, pulling her closer to satisfy her wishes. They stayed up for many hours after that, talking quietly and nuzzling each other. Guardienne is a bit less hesitant to wake up him for company after that.

Sometimes his partner will grow a bit restless staying in one place, being moved only when she needs to use the bathroom, shower, test her strength limitations, etc. so Lance decided to take her into his arms one day and carry her around his room. Why? Well, she was tired of staying in one place, so now she’s moving around without moving around. Guardienne looks at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever exist, and then asks if he could take her to the Fountain Park. He happily complies, being sure to keep themselves a bit more distanced from others than usual for privacy and health’s sake.

A few heads turn to watch them as Lance casually carries his partner through the guard - but he doesn’t pay mind. He’s busy providing for his partner what she needs; fresh air and a change of scenery. They’ll spend a fair amount of time outside for a while before Guardienne eventually grows tired again, and he’ll carry her back inside to nest into his bed and cuddle.

Above all else, Lance is sure to remember the medical advice Ewelein gave to him - let her rest, don’t push her energy, keep her well fed with healthy food, exercise her a little bit per day so she doesn’t lose too much muscle function, and overall; be there for her. Lance is happy to provide for his partner, and he’s honored that she wanted him specifically to take care of her, so when times come where she’s sick and needs to be taken care of again, he doesn’t hesitate to offer his help. The last thing he wants to do is leave his partner to suffer alone.

Fortunately, within a week or two she’s usually feeling better, and after that they carry on their routine as normal.

She does still ask for him to carry her around his room on occasion, though.

I hope you liked these! I tried to add in a fair share of humor and fluff. The first scenario almost seemed to take on a few dark tones due to how heavily I made her hallucinate, but I tried to keep it light. That being said - if anyone is ever that sick and is hallucinating that heavily, take them to a hospital so they can have proper treatment and supervision. This is merely a story written for entertainment, so I can bend the rules of reality a bit.

Just as I thought, these were very fun to write. Thank you for requesting such an entertaining ask!

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#eldarya #Eldarya ANE #eldarya lance #Eldarya Lance ane #eldarya lance headcanons #fenristheorem writing #askfenris

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