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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

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An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 (here) Part 4 Part 5 Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

It’s back! The boys get hitched, and Geralt gets nervous.

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Three days.

Three entire, fucking awful days until the wedding.

Geralt had paced in their quarters, he had paced in the halls, he had paced in the courtyard (after getting lost and pacing until a footman found him). He had taken Roach out for a ride and paced her.

It wasn’t just cold feet, pre wedding jitters, or the usual sort.

He was afraid for Jaskier, afraid for himself, and afraid of letting down witchers. If Jaskier became unhappy in their marriage the contract was void. Jaskier didn’t seem happy in Lettenhove but it was comfortable and he had plenty to eat and a warm place to sleep. Nice clothes. Like minded, well educated people. The list just kept getting longer.

Geralt had to keep him happy.

More than that, he’d have to keep him safe. The path was dangerous, no place for an Earl’s son who’d only known luxury. He understood Jaskier had been at Oxenfurt, so he must know something of the world, but only of the academic world. He’d studied literature and music, what good was that for a witcher’s companion?

He liked Jaskier. It would be hard not to. But would he like him on the Path, as a constant companion? Another person to look after, another mouth to feed? He liked Jaskier, but he also barely knew him. He knew he was young, thankfully unafraid of witchers, but could he fight? Would he do as he was told?

And Geralt would be around him all the time.

Geralt didn’t like being around anyone All. The. Time.

He needed space even at Kaer Morhen, sometimes disappearing into his room all day, or if the weather allowed just taking Roach into the forest for a day.

Eskel was beating the stiffness from Geralt’s muscles again, the evening of the day before the wedding, and said quietly, in between vertebrae numbing digs,

“You ever think all that worrying will be a self fulfilling prophesy?”

“Hmmm...OW Eskel the fuck!”

“Listen, first of all I didn’t even do it that hard. Geralt, you’re my brother, and I know you better than anyone. You get all trapped in your head, and you worry, ‘cause you don’t understand people. You think you’re different.”

“I am different.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Eskel said, popping Geralt’s back with well placed pressure. “You’re different, okay. I don’t know what all they did to you with that extra trial. I don’t think Vesemir knows, really, no one does. But I remember you before, alright? You were like this before. It isn’t a bad thing, some people just don’t always get other people. Jaskier does though. Allow him to understand you, don’t try and understand him all at once.”

Eskel finished the massage with a truly bone-wrenching press. “I think you could be really good for each other, just don’t...don’t go and mess it up just because you think you shouldn’t have something good.”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt woke up on his wedding day feeling hungover, except he hadn’t been drunk last night.

Eskel didn’t look well rested either, although he had a sort of stupid grin on his face. Mabel had been by a few times in the past days, and Eskel at least was having the time of his life.

Judging by the scratch marks she’d left all down his back, she’d been having the time of hers as well.

Geralt sunk into the bath, which had been tepid by the time the tub had been lugged up the stairs and servants had filled it with water. Igni took care of that, and Geralt sat and steamed behind a little standing wooden panel that the servants had also brought.

The little modesty panel room divider had been a source of some amusement for the witchers. Body shyness was bred out of witchers before it had time to form. Lambert did comment, however, that it would be nice not to have to watch Geralt sit and cook in the bath like a boiling potato.

Rosewater had been put in the bath, not much, and it wasn’t a strong scent, but to witcher senses it was heady.

Geralt scrubbed his hair. Then Vesemir scoffed and told him he was too gentle. Vesemir practically beat his scalp into submission.

Geralt had a gold doublet and he felt like a ponce. Lambert insisted that he couldn’t wear black to a wedding, and certainly not his own. Geralt wanted to protest, but he couldn’t, not really. None of the wolves were wearing black, and if the occasion had pried black from Vesemir, then it really was time for colors.

Lambert was in a mahogany brown-red, and looked almost dashing, if a little rougish. Eskel was in dark green, he looked good, too. If Maybel was serving at the wedding there would almost certainly be some appreciative remarks. Vesemir was wearing brown. If he couldn’t wear black, Geralt supposed a neutral color was the next best thing.

It was still inexplicably a party brown. There was some quilting on the sleeves of the doublet done in a coppery thread and, all in all, Vesemir looked as festive as Geralt had ever seen him.

Geralt didn’t look festive, he looked like Midas had touched him, then, when apparently that wasn’t enough, covered him in glitter and embroidery. The wedding was to take place outside, and Geralt wondered if he wouldn’t blind people. Still, looking at the School of the Wolf, he thought he at least had a rather handsome entourage.

His face was scrubbed and, short of the miraculous disappearance of a couple scars, he was as handsome as he could get. Lambert had pulled his hair back with a couple braids. Also, in Geralt’s opinion, poncy, but he’d seen a few of the other nobles in a similar style so perhaps he’d best leave it to fashion and not put up a fuss.

They were lead by a footman, more a foot boy, with a face full of freckles and unfortunate ears, to a garden. It was probably a bower but Geralt didn’t know about horticulture. Trees had been planted and then twisted by someone dreadfully patient into a sort of cathedral of arching limbs. Spring meant flowers, and they were everywhere. The trees were the flowering sort, almond trees with fragrant blossoms. Delicate petals had fallen to the ground in a sort of pale carpet. Every time a breeze blew a few more drifted to the ground like spring snowflakes. Smaller, brighter flowers abounded near the edges of the manmade clearing. Their perfume was giving Geralt a headache, but he couldn’t blame the knee-knocking terror on them.

Little stone benches had been arranged in rows, but were empty as of yet. Vesemir sat in the position traditionally meant for the father of the groom. Eskel was best man, with Lambert beside him as the other groomsman.

And they waited in silence, blossoms falling around them as Geralt’s knees turned progressively into liquid.

He felt sick.

He might throw up.

The image of stuffing his head into one of the bushes of pink and yellow roses and puking lurked threateningly in his head.

Lambert smirked at him unsympathetically.

Ladies swept in, dusting petals from benches and hanging little baskets of flowers off the back of the benches. Geralt absently wondered what for, all the while fighting his roiling stomach.

He’d been too nervous to eat this morning, and now he was worried it would growl during the service, but if he ate now he’d vomit for sure.

His flower question was answered when a broomstick-thin lass came up to him with a basket in hand and nervously proffered a little twist of flowers. He took it, baffled. One of the funny pink and yellow roses, something purple, a bit of greenery, and a couple almond blossoms. He glanced at Vesemir, questioningly, who pointedly stuck the flowers in a decorative slit in his doublet.

Next to him, another girl nudged the skinny, nervous one out of the way. He recognized Mabel. She gave him a cheerful grin.

“Switched places with Leeann for the day,” she whispered to Eskel. One of her hands slid slowly up his chest, wrapped in green silk. “And I’m so glad I did.” She stuck the boutonniere into the collar, his doublet lacking anywhere else, and sent him a wink that, in more conservative countries, got women jailed.

Past Eskel, the nervous girl was holding flowers out to Lambert. They shivered in her grip. Instead of the vicious grin Geralt expected, Lambert gave her a polite smile and an attempt at a courtly bow. She scuttled off and he tucked the flowers into a small pocket on his doublet, looking at his brothers and shrugging.

Geralt looked at the twist of flowers in his hand. They seemed very easily bruised and broken in his fingers. He didn’t have anywhere to tuck them.

Eskel came to the rescue.

“There’s a little slit here somewhere,” he said, poking at the embroidery on Geralt’s chest. He found it. “Ah, here we go, just stick those in there.” Geralt did. “You almost look presentable.” Eskel said, not totally unkindly.

Then he must have seen the raw terror in Geralt’s eyes.

“It’ll be fine, brother,” Eskel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You look good.”

Eskel stepped back into place, sending a wink towards Mabel, lined up near the back with the other housemaids.

Guests slowly filtered in.

There were more jewels and crystals about the throats and in the hair of the ladies than Geralt had ever seen before. Geralt felt a little better about his golden doublet, because there wasn’t an outfit on the benches that didn’t glitter.

Then a couple minstrels struck up a sweet, simple tune, and two little children entered. A girl in an almond blossom crown was scattering pink petals on the already well-petaled floor. She was so sweetly serious about her duty, solemnly distributing the petals, that coos and chuckles filtered through the crowd. The little boy was holding a cushion with wedding bands.

Geralt cursed mentally and began to panic. He’d left Jaskier’s mother’s ring in their rooms. It was too late to get it. He felt even more sick. Vesemir gave him a worried look and Geralt took a deep breath. They could always swap the ring out later.

A young woman in a pale blue dress entered, holding a small bouquet of the white almond blossoms. She was followed by another young woman, in the same dress and a very similar bouquet. Bridesmaids, Geralt supposed. One of them reached down and took the hand of the little flower girl. The ring bearer, slightly older, stood without a hand, but fidgeted. Geralt could sympathize.

The music changed.

A slow processional began and a hush fell on the crowd.

The Earl stepped forward, Jaskier on his arm. The earl wore grey, like a dove, but Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Well.

Wow.

He wore pearly white, with a crown of almond blossoms and roses, and every inch of his doublet was covered in tiny, delicate seed pearls. In this beautiful bower, with delicate flowers all around, he looked like the spirit of this place. Like a dryad made of almond blossoms and sunlight.

He was beautiful. Truly breathtaking.

He wore no boutonniere, and his hands were free of bouquets. Geralt’s stomach chose this exact moment to remind him that he really, really wanted to throw up right now. His head pounded and his knees felt weak.

He vaguely registered the slow procession being brought up at the rear by a priest in white. Next to Jaskier, the white looked dull and lifeless as the priest took his place.

“Who gives this man,” the priest croaked.

“I do,” the earl said, linking Jaskier’s hand with Geralt’s and sitting in the mirror of Vesemir’s position.

Geralt looked at that hand, so delicate in his giant paw. He thought of the flowers tucked into his doublet, so easily crushed.

The priest was saying something about eternity, but Geralt’s blood was rushing in his ears. Jaskier was looking at him too, but Geralt’s gaze was locked on their hands.

Vows were said, and Geralt was lucky they were short.

“From this cup we shall drink,” Geralt repeated, taking a sip of wine from a goblet that appeared out of nowhere and handing it to Jaskier.

“And we shall share this wine as we share our lives,” Jaskier said, taking a sip.

“All the days of our lives,” the priest said, taking the goblet.

“All the days of our lives,” Geralt and Jaskier said in unison. Their eyes met for the first time, and Geralt’s stomach protested.

“Have you the rings” intoned the priest. The little ringbearer stepped up. Jaskier took a wedding band and thanked the boy with a smile. Eskel nudged Geralt and palmed a ring into his hand, Jaskier’s mother’s ring.

The ringbearer took this well in his stride and went back to his place.

Jaskier smiled up at Geralt, then carefully slipped the little golden band onto Geralt’s finger. Geralt gulped, Jaskier’s smile slipped a little, looking concerned, and Geralt wondered what he’d seen in his face.

His big fingers fumbled a little with the delicate ring, but he slid it into place on Jaskier’s finger. It fit as exactly as it had in the little study, which seemed very long ago now.

“You may kiss the groom,” said the priest.

It felt like a badger was gnawing Geralt’s intestines. He slid his hands hesitantly around Jaskier’s waist. The young man’s arms wrapped around his neck. It would have been nice if Geralt wasn’t so nauseous.

Geralt gave Jaskier a peck.

He pulled back and caught Jaskier’s disappointed look, but then they were being ushered back down the aisle and into the hall and there were congratulations. Bells were ringing, people were throwing rice, Geralt’s head was pounding like his brain was about to leak from his ears.

Out on the steps of the chateau they were handed plates, most of the wedding party were, and they smashed them on the ground, to the misery of Geralt’s poor head.

Jaskier seemed to be having a wonderful time, laughing as the porcelain smashed and shining even brighter in the bright sunlight on the steps. Geralt longed for the dimmer lighting of the glade. Jaskier kept looking over at Geralt, and the laughter in his eyes kept dimming.

It made Geralt’s ribs ache to see. He knew he must be scowling, but the thought that Jaskier’s day was being ruined by him was awful. He wasn’t an ideal husband but surely he wasn’t that bad. It definitely didn’t bode well.

The tide of people bore them into the great hall, and they were sat at the front table with the earl and Amaria. Vesemir and Geralt’s brothers were at another table and Geralt felt very alone.

“Is everything alright?” Jaskier asked, leaning in close to whisper in Geralt’s ear.

“Headache,” Geralt grunted.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, rubbing his thumb over Geralt’s wrist. On his finger, the opal caught the light. The young man’s shoulders slumped a little. “I’m sorry too that you’ve been roped into all this,” he released Geralt’s wrist. “I know this isn’t your choice.”

It wasn’t Geralt’s choice of course. But if he was getting married, Jaskier didn’t seem like a bad husband. There was something in Jaskier’s eyes, though, a sort of wistful distance. It occurred to Geralt that Jaskier was in this arranged marriage too. This wasn’t his choice. From what he’d said before, the viscount had probably grown up believing he’d be able to marry for love, or at least someone he liked and was of suitable social status.

Geralt wondered if the young man wasn’t looking around at his own wedding, wishing love were the base of it after all. True love, a smile during the procession, giggles during the ceremony and little jokes and kisses during the reception, instead of a witcher with a headache.

Geralt realised that he didn’t know if Jaskier liked men at all. Perhaps he was looking around wishing some pretty noble lady was wearing white instead of he.

Clanging started up as first one, then many people tapped spoons to glasses.

“They want us to kiss,” Geralt said numbly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, turning towards Geralt and leaning in. At least he didn’t seem to horribly mind kissing men. Geralt rested a hand, the one towards the audience, on Jaskier’s face, hiding the view of their lips. Then he leaned in and kissed the air less than a centimeter from Jaskier’s mouth.

It satisfied the crowd, but Jaskier looked unhappy as he pulled back. Had he minded the play acting? Did he just want Geralt to let them ring the glasses indefinitely? Had Geralt crossed a line, even pretending to kiss him? Jaskier stared at his lap.

Geralt stared at his own.

They both picked at dinner. Sounds swirled in Geralt’s ears.

“Geralt.”

He wouldn’t have heard it but for his enhanced hearing. To anyone else it was just another murmur of conversation, the susurrus of the ballroom. Geralt looked up, to meet eyes with Eskel.

“Geralt,” Eskel said. “Don’t mess it up, you deserve nice things.”

Geralt nodded, and Eskel broke their locked gazes.

Some of the headache had subsided by now, and it was too late to be nervous. He took a big swig of the wine.

Jaskier may not have wanted to marry him, may be dreaming of a different wedding day, but Geralt could still make it memorable. He took another swig of the wine and wished it were stronger.

Dancing hadn’t been planned, but there was music and a clear space between tables. Geralt stood and took Jaskier’s hand, giving him an only slightly wan smile.

Jaskier looked baffled, but followed Geralt to the impromptu dancefloor. The minstrels picked up on what was going on, and a rather cheerful waltz was struck up.

Geralt wasn’t much of a dancer, but he’d been taught the basics long ago, and Jaskier was an excellent partner. His skill made up for Geralt’s more clumsy footwork. Geralt slid his hands to Jaskier’s hips, keeping his grip firmly appropriate, then lifted Jaskier into a twirl he’d seen once before at a ball he’d been forced to attend.

In that case, the lady’s skirt had swirled and swished most attractively. Here, Jaskier’s slightly wilted flower crown came off, but Jaskier was laughing, head back, the sound like sunshine. The crowed oohed appreciatively at the display and Geralt guided his new husband down to the ground again.

Jaskier’s fancy footwork saved them from stumbling into one another but Geralt wasn’t paying attention. He’d saved Jaskier’s wedding day, or at least he hoped, this portion of it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw motion, Lambert flinging the recovered flower crown to Geralt. He snatched it from the air and placed it firmly back on Jaskier’s head, to applause.

More couples joined the dancefloor, and soon it was pretty crowded. Jaskier led them back to the head table, giggling a little.

The earl wasn’t dancing, and Amaria looked wistful, or perhaps just distant, it was so hard to tell with her.

“Look,” Jaskier whispered, pointing surreptitiously at a couple. It was Eskel. Geralt half expected him to be dancing with Mabel, but she was busily serving tables.

Besides, Geralt reflected. Theirs wasn’t a romance, per say, more simple physical appreciation.

No, Eskel had the little flower girl standing on his boots, and was happily spinning them about the dancefloor. He took great, hopping steps that bounced her about, holding her hands gently to keep her grounded. Geralt listened carefully and, in the din of the hall, picked out her delighted, pealing laughter.

Lambert liked dancing, and Geralt carefully pointed him out to Jaskier, as he showed the shy, thin housemaid how to do one of the fancier spins.

Jaskier seemed to delight in the people watching, and they chuckled together at a couple, a very large, glamorously dressed woman with her small, slim beau. She whirled him about, sometimes holding him entirely off the ground.

“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked at the man’s expression as he was crushed against a frankly enormous bosom. It looked blissful. “No, he certainly doesn’t.”

Vesemir approached their table.

“My congratulations,” he said to Jaskier. He gave a handshake and then pulled the lad into a warm hug. “Welcome to the family,” he whispered.

“A fine party,” he then said, to the earl and Lady Amaria. “If you do not care for dancing,” this was adressed to the earl. “Would the lady perhaps wish to join me for a dance?”

“By all means,” said the earl, waving Vesemir away. Lady Amaria smiled absently and limply took Vesemir’s hand.

Geralt knew trading dances was usual, but he was curious to see his mentor dancing. As he watched the couple, he saw Vesemir conversing with her ladyship, whispering into her ear. Even Geralt’s advanced hearing couldn’t catch the words.

After the dance Vesemir returned Amaria to her seat. Perhaps it was a fluke, but she looked more alert. Then the earl tapped his knife to his crystal goblet.

It had the same effect as a drop of ink falling into clear water.

Silence spread through the hall, twisting between couples and curling around tables until everything was still.

The earl stood.

Like his son he was a fairly tall man, and in the grey, with his steely eyes and sharp demenour he didn’t just command attention, he demanded it. He got it, too, as men rich enough to have dungeons in their basements tend to.

“I wish to make a toast to my son,” he gave a smile like a stiletto. “And his new husband.

“Before, witchers have been seen as wicked mutants, monsters,” a tiny pause, like the glint of a crossbow bolt. “Butchers.”

Unease was in the hall, and there was something in the earl’s voice, he was a truly charismatic speaker. And a dick.

“Long has it been known how they viciously kill, dismember, and pillage.”

“No,” Jaskier whispered under his breath. The words had really set the cat among the pigeons. A few short sentences reminded the crowd of their distrust. The flower girl, still standing next to Eskel, was ushered away from him. Lamberts dance partner was edging away.

“Of course, not anymore,” the earl continued, snakelike. “And it behooves us to make a contract, that so long as they act appropriately, they are to be treated as other migrant workers.”

Damn, Geralt thought. Migrant workers weren’t treated that well, and after this speech...well.

“It brings me great joy to marry off my only son,” the earl gripped Jaskier’s collar and hauled him to a standing position. “Although many of you know, he is more of a daughter,” here the earl gave an unpleasant chuckle. “And a troublesome one at that, not much of a warrior, too headstrong for knighthood...but today he sacrifices for his people.”

The earl’s voice swelled, an impressive, ringing oration, like a good preacher ringing home the moral point. “He sacrifices much, and it is sad, I am, that I may never see my son again, to submit him to the ravages of a witcher,” a vicious breath, “’s lifestyle.”

Lambert looked murderous, Eskel betrayed. Vesemir’s face was entirely impassive. Granite. Unreadable.

“But we each make sacrifices for the greater good, and I place my faith in our people, as I have always done. My, admittedly troublesome, shameless son has become part of a new...family.” Family was said like it poisoned the tongue. “And my people become my children. I work for your benefit, my beloved subjects, and today, so does my son, Julian. Three cheers for the new couple!”

Three very hesitant cheers were given, then Geralt and Jaskier were very nearly pushed into a room.

“What the fuck?”

“Evil, stupid, bastard,” Jaskier cursed at the same time.

Jaskier looked furious, but there were tears in his eyes.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, crossing to the young man and guiding him to sit on the huge, lavish bed. Their marriage bed, Geralt supposed. “Jaskier I don’t understand, what was all that.”

“He couldn’t resist humiliating me, his last chance, I suppose,” Jaskier said, pulling off his boots. “But it’s worse what he did to you lot.”

A tap at the door. Geralt opened it hesitantly, but it was the wolves, and there was fire in Vesemir’s eyes.

“I didn’t know,” Jaskier said, looking up at Vesemir pleadingly. “I swear I didn’t know what he would do.”

“I understand lad,” Vesemir said, but the fire in his eyes didn’t bank. At least it wasn’t directed at Jaskier, who looked positively wilted.

“I don’t,” Geralt said. “He said, some awful stuff, he referenced Blaviken, I get that, but what does it mean.”

“The common people don’t know the specifics of out contract,” Jaskier said. “Most of them can’t read, and they’ll never see the document in any case. He implied that you’re going to...well, that ravaging bit, he implied that there is a consumation requirement, and the rumors about witchers...”

“Ah,” Geralt said. The rumors about witchers were never kind, what they said about their sexual interests he didn’t know, nor cared to find out, but they wouldn’t be kind.

“I’m rather well liked by our people,” Jaskier continued, tearfully. “Father’s convinced most of them that I’m simple, but I make a point to be kind and a kind reputation goes around. They’ll hate and fear witchers even more.” He began to cry in earnest, not loudly, but hot, angry tears rolled steadily down flushed cheeks.

“Worse, now,” he said, looking up at the witchers. “He’s some sort of martyr, sacrificing his son to keep the horrible witchers at bay.”

“That’s not even what he said!” Lambert exploded. He’d been fuming this whole time, but his temper was short and he was done.

‘No,” Eskel said. “But that’s what rumor will make of it. He’s going to be seen as some sort of a self-sacrificing hero.”

“He’ll probably use it to raise taxes,” Jaskier said, damply. “And I doubt witcher treatment will get better either.”

“But then, is the contract void?” Geralt asked.

“Not officially,” Vesemir grumbled. “Improved conditions hold de jure, but not de facto.”

Jaskier shivered. “If the contract is voided everything will only get worse.” The witchers looked at him. “Whatever reason the contract becomes void, Father will say I was mistreated. That’d be enough to convince most of the country to go to war with witchers, all witchers.”

“It wouldn’t take much,” Vesemir mused.

“And I’d be a ruined woman, except that I’m a man.”

“What?” said the witchers.

“I’d have been married,” Jaskier explained, fiddling with the ring. “And no matter the situation, in Lettenhove the woman is almost always blamed for the failure of the marriage. There is no woman in our marriage, but I take on that role, If I’m mistreated, I should have better pleased my husband.”

“That’s idiotic,” Lambert said.

“I’d never be married off again either,” Jaskier continued. “Not only was I ruined, I was ruined by a witcher.”

A deep, heady pause.

“I could probably even be put to death, for failing the contract and shaming my father.”

‘But your people like you,” Geralt said.

“They won’t if I’m the reason we go to war with the witchers,” Jaskier said. Then, a little more brightly, “At least whatever happens, I wont be an earl. My father may be a rat bastard and a small minded pig and a...” he paused searching for more insults.

“A cunt?” offered Lambert.

“Yes, thank you, a cunt. But he’s right about one thing, I’d be a very poor earl. No head for politics, I can understand it, I just can’t do it.” He looked up at the witchers apologetically.

“And now because of me,” he said, “You’ve all been dropped right in it.”

“No worries, lad,” Vesmir said, clapping him on the shoulder in a gesture that made Jaskier’s spine visibly buckle. “We’ve been dropped in it before. As it happens, I may have caused some political trouble for your father all by myself, and it might even be better if we leave a little earlier than planned.”

All the boys looked baffled, but Vesemir looked satisfied.

“Can we leave tomorrow?” Jaskier asked hopefully. “I don’t have much stuff and I want to get out of here.”

The witchers agreed, and then Jaskier and Geralt were left alone with just one bed.

Geralt coughed awkwardly.

“I thought there wasn’t a consummation requirement,” he said.

“There isn’t,” Jaskier said, taking off his flower crown, now quite battered. “There isn’t explicitly, I mean, but there is a hidden fidelity agreement.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He meant a panicky, ‘what!’, but couldn’t say it.

“We both need to be happy in our marriage, if word get’s back to father that either of us is sleeping with someone else, well...”

Shit. Geralt thought. Shit shit shit.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said aloud.

There were no extra clothes in the chamber, meaning no sleep clothes, so they both undressed to undershirts and smallclothes, then Jaskier snuffed out the candle.

On either side of the large bed, there was plenty of room between them.

Geralt heard a sniffle.

“Are you okay?” he asked, feeling awkward.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said. “It’s silly anyway.”

“Can’t be silly if you’re crying over it.”

“It’s just, this isn’t exactly...” Jaskier trailed off, but Geralt thought he had it.

“Isn’t how you pictured your wedding day?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Jaskier sniffled.

Geralt didn’t know what to do, but he stretched an arm out, above the soft covers, and covered Jaskier with an arm. The young man turned over, so they were facing one another, and inched a little closer.

It wasn’t an embrace, not nearly, but it had a whisper of the same emotion.

Geralt listened to his new husband silently cry himself to sleep on their wedding night, and wished there was some way he could help.

A part of him, long suppressed, was crying too, for the bright and cheerful young man in his arms.

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Wow 5000 words that I basically had to thumbscrew from my brain.

Taglist! Tags were being weird, let me know if I didn’t add you, forgot to add you, added the wrong person, etc.

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @ailorian @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstilliam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @1stbonesfan @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtee @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @west-moor @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @little-piece-of-tamlin @somanyfandoms @werevampiwolf

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage au #kinda sad ending to this chapter #vesemir #geralt #eskel #lambert #jaskier #+bonus clothing descriptions

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shinebrightlikeanarwhal · 3 years

Note

Imagine if he did have both of his eyes look like his moms so Kenneth makes him wear colored contacts and they make it even harder to see properly so now he can’t see far away or up close. One day like all of the gang would bust into his room and see him putting on make to cover his freckles and contacts to change his beautiful eyes they would try and kill Kenneth in just the most painful way

they might have gotten some of the animals Travis takes care of to torment Kenneth.

ABSOLUTLEY YES

Like we all know Sal, Larry and Ash don’t have any concept of personal space when they like you. Once you’re part of the family you have no autonomy, only gang. No privacy, only gang. And if they LIKE like you??? ABSOLUTLEY no peace, Travis trying to dye his hair and these roaches are climbing in through his window to see make up and brushes, contact cases, hair dye and how to videos on his computer.

Larry seeing the contacts and then Travis’ natural eye color and instantly whistling to summon the hounds. Kenneth minding his business in the church and meeting the drooling jaws and vaguely reddish eyes in a pack of dogs.

Sal trying to get Travis to get glasses, even though he can’t afford to surprise Travis with any and Travis would vehemently refuse because he adores Sal to much to waist his money. Knowing Kenneth hates if Travis does or gets something kenneth doesn’t want him to have (and of course not in the ‘what creepy bastard gave you this’ way cause kenneth is a POS).

Travis is probably embarrassed and afraidZ Kenneth has. Beaten his self esteem down so low that he can’t help but feel ugly without the make up and contacts. Or the nasty little wig that Kenneth refuses to replace. Ash and Sal take the time to clean off the make up and removed the contacts to see natural Travis. Sal getting this foreboding feeling of seeing someone similar before.

Sorry, I just love the thought of Larry and the animals beating Kenneth up in the street. Like many people not liking Kenneth and pretending to try and help “noo, don’t kick him. His Shins aren’t strong enough to handle that” “leave him alooone, you’re gonna go to jail” but no one actively moving to help him. His useless cult members mortified of the animals after a pack of red eyed wolves mauled one of the members in front of them. Kenneth just had to accept some kid and a pack of street dogs are tearing him a new one. Maybe he’ll get his act together (spoiler: he doesn’t and continues to get his ads heat by generations of animals)

Larry getting his artists block cured after seeing Travis in his natural state is also super funny. Like it’s a complete contrast to Larry’s other works. Soft brown skin you can almost feel and hair is smooth as silk you can’t help but wanna lay in??

Sal ratting him out after finding his fifth nude painting of Travis on a canvas. Not sexual just naked, Sal found it funny and scurried to snitch on Larry. Ash is having a field day since Travis is comfortable with make up and has a face perfect for applying. Hairless, clear skin and a lot of features to accentuate that he isn’t self conscious about (that’s a lie he hates his face but is a people pleaser to people he trusts). Sal isn’t too comfortable because of his scars and missing flesh. Larry has hair, piercings and unhygienic. Ash liked to dress him up but god knows his nasty lil face gets irritating to scrub clean. So Travis is her saving Grace.

Larry coming back to find Travis in a full face of make up and his freckles highlighted: simpery activated

You can’t tell me Larry wouldn’t have a thing for freckles.

#travis phelps #sally face #sally face au #larry johnson #sal fisher #larry x travis #larvis #laravis #sally face headcanons #sally face hcs #sally face ideas #freckles Travis supremacy #Travis is super cute and the gang can’t handle it #he’s like an actual baby dear with big eyes #cute lil spots and hiding behind Larry for emotional support #he has severe body dismorohiia and image issues #like it’s bad #not just about his head but the rest of his body was badly belittled

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

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Here, have some of my stupid headcanons if you would like them! *hands you scraps of paper on one of those receipt spike thingies*

- Jaskier has FRECKLES, man. So many lovely freckles on his neck and back and the outsides of his elbows.

- Roach is actually very stupid emotionally, yet very intellectual. "I don't know why the Colourful Singy Man is yelling, but it reminds me of a scene in the Song of Roland."

- Yennefer is the world's worst Baker. If you tell anyone she will kill you.

- Ciri is the keep's best baker. If you tell anyone, she will kill you.

- Calanthe's favourite possession was a Sweet William bloom that Eist gave her when they were courting, and which Mousesack made immortal without being asked. It is now pressed in between the pages of Ciri's bestiary. (Swert William is one of the few flowers associated with 'masculine' traits and symbolises gallantry. She was his knight in shining armour.)

- Geralt's cloak was given to him as a parting gift by Vesemir; all of his generation got one, and it is the only piece of clothing he meticulously repairs.

- Lambert's gift was his gambeson.

- Lil Bleater is not, in fact, Eskel's favourite goat. His favourite goat is the one Geralt carved for him on the footboard of his bed at Kaer Morhen, so he would always be reminded that soft things do exist.

She is his favourite living goat, no matter how many times Vesemir threatens to cook her when she eats his needlework.

- When drunk (which wasn't often), Guxart had an excellent singing voice. He was actually a tenor.

- Lambert is an excellent whistler, which pisses Geralt off no end.

- Ciri's favourite smell is freshly picked pink carnations. Yen knows this, and made her a perfume from them, with help from Triss. (Pink carnations symbolise motherly love.)

- Jaskier didn't only go to Cintra to keep an eye on Ciri. He also went because he had a soft spot for Calanthe (and she for him, after a few years anyway), but mostly because Eist was a very interesting person to talk to. Having grown up in a skaldic tradition, where stories, odes and epics were passed on through speech, he was extremely knowledgeable about rhyme, meter, and holding a crowd in the palm of your hand.

- Ciri's intelligence actually comes from both her grandparents.

- If you scratch the nape of Vesemir's neck while he sleeps, he smiles. Lambert managed it once and he holds it close to his heart.

These are all very cute and sweet and I love them very much!!

Thank you for sharing <3 <3

#witcher headcanons #submission technically #bounceacoinoffyoursubmissions #the kaer morons #witcher found family cuteness #bouncey's buddies #long post

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

A Lover’s Kiss

Summary: After an unfortunate encounter with a mage, Jaskier finds himself cursed to never be kissed again unless he can find someone who loves him. Enter Geralt. (Also on my AO3)

Based on the prompt: A little bit of the bards chaotic behaviour getting him into some curse and Geralt saving the day? by @innocentcinnamonpun

Geralt swore as he approached the tavern where he’d left Jaskier. He could hear the brawling from the street and the sound drew out a long heavy sigh from the witcher. He hadn’t been away on the hunt long, it was why Jaskier had opted to stay behind to play his lute for coin instead. It was supposed to be the less dangerous place to be, and yet Jaskier had a penchant for trouble that Geralt just couldn’t fathom.

He consider drawing his sword before entering the tavern but that would most likely get them both in trouble. If he was lucky he’d be able to grab Jaskier by the scruff of his neck and pull them both out of there before any real damage was done. He huffed and double checked the fastenings on his armour before pushing open the door to the tavern.

As expected, Jaskier was in the middle of the fray. His doublet was torn open and he was pressed up against the wall by a cloaked individual who had a hand gripped around Jaskier’s neck. Geralt snarled and crossed the room, his presence creating a familiar silence in the tavern.

“Leave him be.” He growled.

The cloaked figure, a blonde woman with a freckled face and soft brown eyes, laughed a cold humourless laugh. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because whatever it is that you think he’s done. I can assure you he’s not worth it.” Geralt shot a weary glare at his friend.

Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed, presumably from too much wine, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling in the candle light.

“Geralt!” He grinned which was quite frankly a foolish reaction for someone who was about thirty seconds from being choked to death. “How was the hunt? Successful I take it.”

Geralt shrugged. “Drowners are dead. More worried about my bard that is currently in a death grip.”

“Shut up!” The woman hissed and Jaskier gasped as her grip tightened. Any protests he may have had were cut off by the lack of air. “Both of you!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. “What did he do?”

Jaskier croaked and mumbled something intelligible.

“This bastard tried to seduce my wife!” The woman hissed.

Geralt was almost tempted to leave the bard to his fate. How many times did he have to save Jaskier’s life because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself? The rumours of Jaskier being a eunuch hadn’t lasted long as his friend’s insatiable appetite for sexual pleasure had put those rumours to rest rather quickly. Geralt had two options that he could think of, use Axii on the woman and convince her that Jaskier hadn’t even looked at her wife, which was risky in front of a whole tavern, or find a way to put Jaskier’s lecherous ways to a stop, for good.

“I’m afraid there’s been a miscommunication.” Geralt grunted. “The man’s a bard.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The woman cackled. “I know he’s a bard!”

“And part of his job is to charm people out of their gold.” Geralt continued with a tilt of his head. Jaskier was still gasping which meant he was just about able to breathe but he would probably pass out soon if Geralt couldn’t get the woman to release her grip.

“But not into their beds, witcher!” She snapped, and pressed her fingers harder against Jaskier’s neck.

The bard finally had the decency to look afraid, his startling blue eyes met Geralt’s wide and now full of worry. Geralt scowled and licked his lips.

“An act, I assure you.” He said through gritted teeth, as calmly as he could manage. “Please just let him go.”

“No!”

Geralt panicked as Jaskier’s eyes started to roll back. “We’re married!” He blurted out.

The blonde dropped Jaskier and Geralt caught the bard in his arms. Jaskier gripped onto Geralt’s armour and gasped loudly as he tried to catch his breath. “Geralt!” He mumbled. “Oh gods, I thought I was gone that time.”

The woman folded her arms in front of her chest and watched them both with narrowed eyes. “Married?” She asked.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, partly to steady him, and nodded. It was too late to back out now. “Married.” He agreed firmly.

“What?” Jaskier spluttered and Geralt jabbed him in the ribs. “Oh yes, married! I umm… I’m just surprised to hear Geralt say that out loud. We were keeping it a secret.” He muttered before standing up straight and rubbing his neck, wincing as his fingers brushed over tender skin.

Geralt frowned. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

The bard nodded. “I’ve had worse from jilted lovers…” He paused and grinned mischievously up at Geralt. “Husband.” He sang happily and kissed Geralt firmly on the lips.

Geralt grunted in surprise but allowed Jaskier to kiss him. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact Jaskier was a good kisser. Geralt suddenly knew why his bard had never struggled to find a partner to warm his bed. Before he knew what was happening, Geralt was kissing back. He found he wanted to kiss Jaskier, which was a shocking revelation to him. Up until that point he’d only really thought of the bard as a friend, and even then he’d never admitted it before now. The vibration of Geralt’s medallion was the only warning he had before he was torn from Jaskier’s lips and pulled violently away from the bard by some unseen force.

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped as he too was flung back against the wall. “I was enjoying that!”

“If you really are married then I assure you there won’t be a problem.” The woman who was apparently some kind of mage hissed. “You, bard, will not be able to kiss or bed anyone who is not in love with you.”

Jaskier spluttered. “Oh yeah, sure, Not a problem. None what so ever!” He smiled too sweetly, trying to regain his composure.

Geralt couldn’t help the faint smile that graced his lips. Now that was one problem solved for the foreseeable future, although he also did not doubt the bard’s ability to make anyone fall in love with him. At least it would put an end to the more casual trysts.

Geralt glowered at the blonde one last time for good measure before grabbing Jaskier’s hand and pulling him away from her. “Whilst I appreciate your concern, witch, if I see your hands on my husband again, there’ll be trouble.” He growled and then tugged Jaskier from the tavern.

They’d barely moved two feet away from the door when Jaskier let out a long groan. “Geralt.” He whined. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Geralt smirked and patted his bard on the shoulder. “You should have thought about that before you tried to sleep with a married woman, again.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you! I’ll have you know that she didn’t tell me!”

“They never do.” Geralt sighed. “Come on, let’s get Roach and move on.”

Jaskier grumbled and pulled on the lute strap across his chest. “Easy for you to say, you’ve not been cursed.”

____________

Jaskier was going mad. It had been three months since his run in with the mage and he hadn’t even been able to go to a brothel to satisfy his more lustful urges. It was like a constant itch just under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. It was irritable and quick to anger, even Geralt was pissing him off more than usual and normally Jaskier had a remarkable tolerance for the witcher’s grumpy moods.

He had hoped that the mage’s curse had been faked but a few failed attempts at even just kissing some truly stunning people had proved his hopes to be false. He hadn’t even had the time to woo anyone. He’d been too busy travelling with Geralt and gathering new stories for his ballads and poems.

It didn’t escape his notice that his last kiss had been the witcher, and oh what a kiss it had been! He hadn’t expected Geralt to kiss him back. He’d simply been taking advantage of the witcher’s lie to satisfy his own curiosity. Honestly, he’d been in love with Geralt since the moment he’d laid eyes on him in Posada but he’d never really expected to have a chance to kiss his crush, so he really couldn’t be blamed for seizing the opportunity when it arose.

He sighed and plucked too harshly at the strings on his lute. The tightest, highest string snapped under his fingers and he yelped. “Bollocks!” He groaned and sucked the now bleeding fingertip.

Geralt looked up from where he was prodding the fire with a stick and sniffed the air. “You’re bleeding?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see that, Geralt.” He hissed and stuck his fingers back in his mouth.

Geralt sighed and crossed the camp in two long strides, taking Jaskier’s wrist gently in his hands and pulling the bleeding fingers from Jaskier’s mouth. He examined the wound carefully and hummed.

“I have some salve if you want but that should heal quickly on its own.” Geralt murmured and gave him a soft smile.

He’d been doing that a lot recently, smiling, especially at Jaskier. It was wreaking havoc with Jaskier’s feelings. His love for Geralt was burning brighter than it had in years. It almost felt like the brand new fire he’d felt in those first few years of travelling. After a while it had dulled to embers, never dying but more manageable and less painful, but now that love resembled a pyre or a brazier, a wildfire that spread through his entire body and there was nothing he could do to put it out.

It probably didn’t help that he couldn’t temper the flames with another warm body in his bed.

He was truly going mad.

He pulled his bleeding fingers from Geralt’s hand and glared at the witcher. “I’m fine, witcher.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not fine, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah well, whose fault is that?” He snapped. “Married.” He muttered. “You couldn’t have thought of a better excuse?”

Geralt scoffed. “I saved your life, Jaskier.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the witcher and then flailed his arms. “To the contrary! I am dying, Geralt!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Geralt grumbled.

“I am a bard!” Jaskier pouted. “Bards need to be kissed! To be loved!”

Geralt’s brow furrow and he huffed, spinning around so Jaskier couldn’t see his face.

“Oh yeah sure, just runaway from your mistakes. Again.” He snapped. He winced at his own words. It was a low blow after Cintra but Jaskier wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind. He made a note to apologise later when he’d managed to calm down a bit.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled and then spun around again, freakishly fast. He cupped Jaskier’s face in his hands and pulled Jaskier into a blistering kiss.

Jaskier squeaked, surprised by the sudden movement. Of all the things he’d expected Geralt to do, kissing him had been the last thing on the list. He’d been hoping to get away with not getting punched in the gut again after his cruel words.

But Geralt’s lips were on his and all other thoughts left his head. Geralt was kissing him…

Geralt was kissing him.

He pushed back on Geralt’s chest firmly with an indignant yelp. “Geralt!” He pointed at the witcher accusingly and stumbled back. “You. You kissed me!?”

Geralt blushed. Jaskier hadn’t even realised that was possible for witchers but here was Geralt blushing brighter than a ruby in the sunlight and all because he’d kissed Jaskier. The witcher grunted and stalked over to Roach.

“Oh no. No, no, no. No!” Jaskier trotted after him. “No riding away from me now, Geralt.”

“Shut up Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

“You love me!” Jaskier blurted out and then covered his mouth with his hands to stop a peal of laughter from escaping his lips. “You love me.” He mumbled again.

“Apparently so.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier beamed at the witcher and bopped him on the nose. “Since when?” He laughed.

Geralt snarled and scrunched up his nose. “Doesn’t matter.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “Of course it matters, Geralt. It matters to me.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave the witcher his most charming smile. “Because I would like to know how long we could have been snogging each other senseless for.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?”

“Oh my dear witcher. Surely you know that I love you? I’ve not exactly been subtle with the songs and the whole…” He waved his hands “following you around the Continent thing.”

“What?!” Geralt repeated with wide eyes.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, taking Geralt’s hand in his. “I love you, Geralt. I have loved you since the moment I saw you. So forgive me for wondering when you began to feel the same way.”

“Not sure. Some time after the mage and the curse.” He grumbled. “Maybe before that. I never did like it when you fucked around.”

Jaskier laughed. “Oh ho ho! Geralt were you jealous?”

“No!” The witcher snarled. “Maybe.”

Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore he squeezed Geralt’s hand and leaned in for another kiss. Neither of them were surprised this time. It wasn’t as heated as the last kiss, they knew they could finally take their time to relish in the feeling. The kiss was slow and filled with all the yearning that had followed Jaskier around for years. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss hoping Geralt would see that it was alright to love him, that he didn’t need to hide it.

Geralt hummed as they pulled away. Jaskier opened his eyes to find his friend gazing at him with gorgeous amber eyes, smiling that half smile that drove Jaskier mad. “You love me.” Geralt murmured as his fingers stroked Jaskier cheek.

Jaskier nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “I do. I always have.”

Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s and closed his eyes. Jaskier smiled and chuckled, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “She was right then.”

“Who was right, darling?”

“The curse. It won’t be a problem after all.” Geralt laughed quietly at the revelation and Jaskier soon joined in before pulling the witcher into another kiss.

The first of many, he hoped.

Tag List: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #a lover's kiss #I wrote this during Skyrim loading screens today #i hate skyrim loading screens #Sorry it took a while!

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elliethesuperfruitlover · 4 years

Text

*sings* the family REUNION

A/N: A nice Klaus x Topazi. I’m projecting, and this is also comfort for me right now xx. I’m sick of this country, I want to get the fuck out, but I can’t, so this is what’s happened. I’ve thought about writing this one before, but I think what we all need right now is some tenderness and warmth, so what better way to do it than through fanfiction. This is the first time I’ve written for an OC, and I like it so far. This was initially for a black reader, then I thought, literally today “oh topazi” so here we are.

Warnings: food (and lots of it), mild drink, knowing myself small mentions of racism, mention of sex

Cheeky Tag List: @misskittysmagicportal, @super-unpredictable98, @badsext, @sean-falco, @the-freckled-luba, @iamsexytrash, @crabstick, @robertsheehanownsmyass, @frogs--are--bitches, @seancekitsch

“KLAUS, COME ON, I CAN’T BE LATE” Topazi yelled through the house, checking herself in the mirror one last time before springing to where Klaus was.

He was sitting on the kitchen island, nibbling on some chips. His feet tapped against the counter every other second.

“I told you, don’t eat yet, you won’t want to eat before we get there and that’s forbidden fruit sir.” she sternly stated, fauxly crossing her arms at him.

“Fine, by the way, your pasta salad is amazing.” he said, making a small chef’s kiss motion with his hands.

Topazi facepalmed as Klaus kissed her cheek, and he walked to the door and put his sandles on. Jesus sandles, actually. To spent hours making two tins of pasta salad, and he ate almost a full corner of it. He must’ve eaten some of it while she was in the bathroom, or when she was lightly scolding the cats for disturbing the resident mice. She rolled her eyes and packed into the car, but not before saying goodbye to the houseplants.

“How long is the drive supposed to be?” Klaus asked, long limbs extending in the car.

“Just about an hour. It won’t be long, trust me. You’ll wish the drive was even shorter when you get there too.” she said, smiling and Klaus grinned back at her, and he kissed her once more before shuffling over more to his side of the car.

About 45 minutes of time passed, and during that time, Klaus had opened a plethora of tangents, including pegging, ketchup being a smoothie (to him), why he doesn’t personally trust roaches(they just look weird, and they live forever), as well as why it took so long for him to cut that god-awful beard. All the while T was swerving in lanes, and glancing every now and then at the clock in the car. Klaus sat guzzling water while talking, and she knew the question was going to come up at some point, so she slapped her big girl panties on and took it.

“Are we there yet?” Klaus asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His stomach was poking out, but just barely, and Topazi sighed heavily.

“Klaus, come on. We’ve got a little less than 20 minutes left, it’s not my fault you drank all that water.” she said, half stern, half jokingly.

“But I have to gooo. Can’t you pull over or something?” he whines, puppy dog eyes showing.

‘We’re on a highway, Klaus.” she muttered, gritting her teeth before pulling into a lane. That caused him to cross his legs, and close his eyes, groaning.

“Please, I really have to go. I’ll try to repay the favor when I can, I promise.” he begs, hands covering his crotch. T thought about it for a moment, and she’d been meaning to have Klaus eat her out again, so why not. She reached in the back and pulled out an empty bottle, and he picked it from her hands.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” he says, turning away from her and she gagged lightly, but at least he didn’t wet his pants....this time.

Topazi continued to drive for the promised 20 minutes, and she arrived at her parent’s house, cars already piling onto the lawn. Klaus quickly headed to the trash can outside, and threw the bottle away, getting sanitizer from the car. She grabbed a tin of the pasta salad, as well as Klaus, and he followed her to the front of the house.

“Are they even going to like me?” Klaus mumbled, eyebrows scrunching. They’d had discussions about it before, and his worry was extremely valid. She didn’t want Klaus to feel left out, or bad about anything. He was still a really good lover. He’d voiced his concerns multiple times, and time and time again, she reassured him.

“You’ll be fine. If they say one thing you’re uncomfortable with, I won’t hesitate to leave this place and drive all the way back. You know that.” T replied, using a hand to softly rub his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and the door opened, right as she was reaching for the doorbell for a second ring.

“Hi! Come on it! And you bought a guest, who is this?” Alena asked, ushering her daughter and guest into the house.

“Mom, this is my partner Klaus. Also, pasta salad, which is getting warm as we speak, so let me set it down.” Topazi rushed into the kitchen, shuffling quickly into the house, Klaus bumbling after her, looking around. She opened the fridge and shoved her dish in, gently patting it before stretching mildly, an aftereffect of staying in one spot.

T walked back over to Klaus and he smiled at her mom, who was walking him outside to meet the rest of the family. She followed closely behind, and she noticed him getting more and more comfortable. He went around meeting everyone and shaking their hands, or hugging them. T met up with her siblings, hugging them, and letting her nieces and nephews up on her hips. She played with them and chatted for a while, and Klaus came back to her, almost skipping.

“Did you know that your dad served in the Army?” Klaus asked her, a small sparkle in his eye.

“Klaus....he’s my dad. Why wouldn’t I know?” she replied, tilting her head to the side. She giggled at his look, and her siblings noticed him, and gave him a collective small rundown. She did argue with her siblings a fuck ton, but they always tended to come to her aid if needed.

Klaus went around and introduced himself to T’s aunt that just came in, and she giggled as he was almost crushed by the force of her hug. She patted his back and looked him up and down.

“Goodness, you need somethin’ to eat, one more gust of wind, we won’t see you ‘til Christmas!” she stated, shaking her head jokingly.

He giggled at the effort, and prodded about needing to go to a chiropractor. She cackled, and he went back to T, placing a tiny kiss to her cheek.

“This is going surprisingly well, what the fuuuck?!” he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him. He placed his chin on top of her head and sighed in her touch. The moment, however, was short lived, as one of Topazi’s nieces came between them and giggled around their ankles, and Klaus picked one of them up, asking their name.

She was pleasantly shocked at his reaction with the kids, and soon enough, the two of them were running in the yard, playing tag. She was currently in the lead, and her siblings were bounding towards her, waiting for there to be a chance to tackle her. Klaus came up from behind her and tackled her, causing the both of them to crash to the ground.

“Oh come on, that’s nowhere near fair!” she yelled, trying to wiggle away from him. He looked into her eyes, and pecked her lips. They sighed against each other and the sun baked their skin. Klaus eventually rolled off of T, and just as they were getting hungry, dinner was called.

She ran to the backyard, dress billowing behind her, Klaus in tow, and she washed her hands before getting in line. Her mouth simply watered at the selection of southern food placed in front of her. Klaus was somewhat surprised at everything, but welcomed it happily when confronted with....wait a minute....sweet potatoes with cherries?? Topazi laughed at him, and promised to explain it to him once they sat down. Your family, and you could practically hear their thoughts “Shouldn’t he get more?”. It half sickened her to think of that though, so she found a lawn chair to sit in, carefully placing it to avoid the ant beds and tree roots.

“Okay so, what the fuck is with the sweet potatoes?” Klaus asked, shoving a spoonful of potato salad in his mouth.

“They’re called candied yams. The cherries help them become sweeter. And don’t take the fucking breadcrumbs off the mac and cheese. I’ll slaughter you, that’s the best part.” T whispered, slowly becoming more and more full.

She went back for another serving (or two) and stopped at dessert, which was provided graciously. Many cakes and pies laid in front of her, as well as tarts, and, wait, who the fuck brought Krispy Kreme?

“Who got lazy?” she mumbled, walking back to Klaus with her plate full of sweets, and she immediately took a bite from the glazed donut, eyes closing. “Still warm though.”

“I mean, Honey only taught me to make a couple things, and donuts weren’t one of them.” he stated, sipping his tea.

The sun began to set, and the drinks started pouring. The stories began to filter out, and Topazi saw Klaus start to nod off, and she announced their leaving. He sleepily said his goodbyes and when they got into the car, Klaus knocked out almost immediately. The drive home was very quiet. Music played quietly on the radio, and T hummed along quietly. Klaus shuffled every now and then in his sleep, and his breathing fogged the window on his side of the car. When they arrived home, Topazi gently woke Klaus, and he slowly made his way into the house, practically sleepwalking. As they were undressing and getting into bed, Klaus quietly whispered a couple words. Topazi barely heard him, and he repeated himself.

“Thank you for letting me meet your family. I enjoyed it. I’m happy I got to know the people who raised you. They did a damn good job too.” he whispered back, gently kissing Topazi’s head. She got a bit flustered from the compliment and gently thanked him as well, and the two of them fell asleep to the sound of their respective partner’s heartbeats.

Masterlist

#klaus hargreeves fluff #klaus hargreeves x topazi #klaus hargreeves x oc #hehe this is fun #tua fanfic

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your-highnessmarvel · 5 years

Text

What’s This? NSFW

NOT REQUESTED but since yall loved my dom!chris fic so much.

Summary: You are invited to a party at Chris’s penthouse and while partying, you find a particularly interesting accessory behind a mantle piece over the foyer...

Warnings: smut, dom!chris, rough!chris, sub!reader

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

The party had started rather smoothly. Drinks were being made and served in the kitchen. People were milling in and out, clustered in the living room and dining room, chatting, drinking. Some soft music (more like elevator music) was streaming from the sound system.

No one was actually partying.

Now you felt like an idiot. When you’d gotten invited by Chris, he’d made it sound like it would be a raging party with people hanging from the chandelier and a beer pong tournament. Maybe people making out in closets. Maybe someone doing body shots off of Tom’s belly button. Maybe Scarlet starting a dance off.

But none of this boring, hanging out, sitting stuff.

You stood by the kitchen, watching the living room with a bored expression. There was a cold drink in a red solo cup in your hand, pressed against your sternum. Chris was somewhere in the throng of people, but when you’d arrived, he’d been too busy greeting everyone to offer any company.

You knew Chris from your friend, the stunt director. You’d all met one night at your friend’s party, and you felt like this invitation was more of a pity invite than anything else. But here you were, watching your friend mingling with the rest, while you stood there.

But as the night wore off, and the boring people left, Mackie put on the sound system to the max and someone started playing throwbacks. The drink started to get to you, and you ended up dancing with Scarlet and Mackie and your friend, while Chris had finally started a beer pong match in the kitchen.

You twirled around with your friend, laughing, enjoying the night. Making friends with A-list celebrities wasn’t all that bad. They were fun when they weren’t being followed by paparazzi and journalists. They were clever and cunning and oh - was that Mackie starting a dance battle with Scarlet? Yes.

You laughed, leaning against the brick and stone fireplace because the laughter was beginning to make your stomach burn. When you turned to see if Chris was winning, you spotted something shiny behind the mantle piece on the fireplace. Your smile was replaced by a confused frown. Tilting your head, you reached behind and wrapped your fingers around something metal and cold. You pulled it out slowly.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Almost all action ceased entirely. Only the music still blared, and after one second, Mackie turned it off.

“No fucking way, Chris,” Mackie said in disbelief.

Chris, midway from throwing a winning shot, was staring at you with his mouth parted, blue eyes wide. His chest heaved once, twice, three times.

You held between your index and thumb a pair of glittering handcuffs.

“Chris, buddy, I didn’t know you were like that,” Tom chuckled.

Your eyes went from face to face, but you were blushing because Chris was into bondage?

But then your moment of reflection over Chris Evans’s bedroom preferences was ruined when he came lunging after you. His run began as he threw away the ping pong ball, dashing across the kitchen. He jumped over the railing, landing smoothly on the living room floor.

You yelled. Your instincts told you that if a six foot tall, (close to) two hundred pounds of muscle came barreling towards you with murder in his eyes, you run.

You turned on your heels and dashed out of the living room, into the hallway. For a second, you hesitated between running around the living room and into the dining room, but everyone would be there to see you fall to Chris’s humiliation. So after a split second, you dashed down the hall, hearing Chris stumbling after you.

You let out a squeak and burst through a door, turning without contemplating the room and trying to close it.

A hand came onto the door, fingers inches from your eyes, and pushed. You tried to put up a fight, but like you said, almost two hundred pounds of muscle could not be competed with.

You let that option go, and dashed across the room, but just a few steps in and you stopped. It was a bedroom. It was a queen size bed with blue sheets and white sweaters spread all over it kind of room.

Fuck. This was Chris’s room.

He was behind you, heaving. You could hear him there, silently watching you asses the fact that you’d ran right into a dead end.

But what made you frown was the sound of the door closing and clicking shut.

“Oooooh kay,” you said nervously, putting your hands up and twirling on your heels with a smirk.

Chris stood there with a lifted brow. He wore a dark blue sweater and black trousers, hair pushed back behind his ears, and the way he stood there with his fists clenched, let you know just how mad he was that you found his handcuffs.

You cocked your head. “Look, whatever you’ve got going on here with these - uh - things, it ain’t my fault I found them.”

His lips turned upwards.

“Okay, look,” you tried again. “I found it because you left them there! And what the hell were they doing in your living room, Christopher? Like, leave them in here or something. Did you tie someone up against the fireplace? ‘Cause that’s wack. And if you’re going to use handcuffs to tie someone up, at least they should be in a bed.” You stopped. Oh, God, you were rambling.

Nervousness tightened in your chest when you realized Chris was just staring with a smirk.

“You sure know a lot about tying people up,” he said, eyeing the cuffs you were still holding.

You opened your mouth, frowned, then thought twice, closing your lips. You backed up a step, but he followed. “I’ll give them back,” you said. “Just be responsible.”

He shook his head.

“Or not, you know,” you said with a shrug. “You can be a child also.”

He shook his head.

“Okay, well, I’ll just leave them here,” you deadpanned, dangling the cuffs over the edge of the bed.

“No.”

You frowned, turning your eyes to him. His gaze was shimmering, and the way he was looking at you - as if he could see through you and into your soul - was making your knees begin to tremble.

Oh boy.

“To you?” you squeaked, and you couldn’t help licking your lips.

He shook his head.

“Well fucking get decided!”

He smiled wickedly. “Put it around your wrist.” His voice was commanding and dry, as if you weren’t friends, as if this wasn’t like, the third time you saw him.

“W-what?”

“I said,” and he took a long step towards you, “put it around your wrist.”

He was close enough to look down at you. Close enough for you to see the freckles almost fading on his cheeks and the way his beard was a little ginger at the edges. Close enough to see the vagabond black dots in the blue of his eyes and the absolute pink color of his mouth.

“I - I...”

But he stopped you, gripping the cuffs from your hand while simultaneously grasping your wrist in his large hand.

“Hey!”

But the cuff wrapped coldly around your right wrist, and Chris held it up to your widening gaze as he tightened it by closing his hand, the metallic sound of it echoing in your ears.

“Now, since you went snooping -”

“I didn’t.”

“Since you went snooping,” he reiterated in a more ordering tone, eyes searching yours, “you get to wear them.”

Your mouth opened, but before you could tell him off, his free hand gripped your jaw. The pressure of his fingers didn’t allow you to close your mouth, so you stood there, staring at him, looking like a fish out of water.

He stared at your mouth, at your tongue, then dragged his eyes up to meet yours. “I’m tired of you speaking out of turn.” He was practically seething, but leaking from that clenched jaw and burning eyes was the smell of lust and desire. And it smelled so good. So good that just the change in his voice, the drastic change in his demeanor, made heat pool down your belly, like slime, dripping down your thighs and into your feet.

Then he let go of your jaw and you closed it obediently.

He looked lost in his work as he opened the free cuff and directed you towards the bed, your fingers trembling. He extended it, your arm straight as a rod, and swiftly, he cuffed you to the bedpost.

“Oh my shit,” you mumbled.

There was a small but sharp slap on your ass, and then Chris’s fingers were gripping your jaw again. Surprisingly, he was smiling when he said, “You speak when you’re told to, understood?”

You frowned. “Can I speak?”

He nodded.

“I understand.”

He gave a grunt of approval and let you go. Your ass was still stinging from his slap, and you had a feeling he could do much worse.

Then he took a step back, admiring you from top to bottom. He started by taking a strand of hair between his fingers. Then, looking at you for any signs of refusal, he let his index trail from your collarbone, over the bump of your breast, down to your belly button.

He hadn’t even kissed you yet and he’d first, slapped your ass, and second, touched your boob.

You watched him with a quivering lower lip, your eyes wide, drinking in the sight of him; composed and calculated with a keen gaze as he stepped around you. You tried to follow him with your eyes, but you were rooted to the ground as he circled you like predator to prey.

“It’s funny,” he said, his voice roach, as his breath came upon the back of your neck. Soft hands, gentle and almost tentative, pressed against the swell of your hip. “Those handcuffs have been there since last year’s Halloween party that I hosted here. I went as a cop.”

You frowned, but his hands flitted from your hips down to your thighs, and the sensitive skin there tingled so fiercely that your knees almost buckled.

“They must have gotten behind the mantle piece when I discarded them,” he continued, his lips grazing your ear. “It gets tiring to carry them around.” All you could do was stare ahead, the buzz on your skin flourishing anew when his fingers dragged along your waist, measuring you.

“But...” The words weren’t leaving your mouth because now the tips of his fingers were inching below your shirt.

You felt him shrug as he pressed his front to your back. “All this talk about tying people up, well,” he sighed. “I guess I just couldn’t get it out of my head. Having you all to myself. To my mercy.”

You couldn’t believe this. You’d trapped your own damn self into this by being the bigmouth that you were, and now, you felt like an idiot.

But you also felt on fire as his skin made contact with yours; fingers on your navel. Then, as he circled back to face you, he let them drag around you, lighting your flesh on fire.

When he came to face you, he was so close you could feel his breathing. His eyes were so dark, like the bottom of the ocean, and his lips pulled into a daring smirk. With a hand still under your shirt, he smoothed the other onto your cheek and leaned in swiftly, almost startling you.

His lips were warm and plush, soft as he grazed them onto your mouth. At first, his kiss was tender and almost kind, as if he was giving you time to process it all. His smell invaded your senses, and you hummed as you leaned in, pressing your mouth flush against his. This first sign of enjoyment from your part, albeit very late, produced a groan from his mouth as he gripped your neck with such force that your lips parted into a gasp. He slipped his tongue passed your teeth and onto yours, stepping into you until you were pressed so close to him that you didn’t know where you started and he ended.

He devoured you like you’d never been kissed before. Your lack of breathing from his fingers around your throat was causing your head to swim, buzzing, tingling with want that dripped down to your belly.

Then he stepped away from you harshly, ripping away from your mouth as if you’d given him a shock. Your eyes burst open, afraid you’d done something wrong, but the somber, tantalizing look in his blue eyes made the heat spread alarmingly fast down your legs.

“We don’t need these,” he said, voice rough, low, wanting, as he gripped the hem of your jeans and began undressing you. You let yourself get undressed, watching him hurriedly drag your jeans down your legs until he was pulling them off one foot at a time.

Seeing your bare legs, he pressed his warm hands against your flesh, dragging, kissing his way up. You felt his beard tickling the soft skin of your thigh. A whimper left your lips and you pressed your free hand to your mouth, not wanting to alert everyone else about just exactly what was going on in here.

Chris slowly got to his feet and pried your hand from your mouth. He shook his head while you watched with wide eyes. “If you want to be silent, I can gag you,” he stated, raising his eyebrows questioningly at you.

You shook your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then he took your mouth into another breathtaking kiss, muffling the hum that left your throat. He gripped each side of your head with his huge hands, and in that moment, naked from the waist down, you felt so small.

Keeping his mouth on yours, one of his hands slid down until he hooked his index into your pantie line. He pulled then dragged down, breaking from the kiss to rid you of your knickers.

Upon seeing you bare before him, biting your lips, anxiously looking around, he gave a soft smile. But then his smile turned into a glare as his eyes met yours, and even if he was half kneeling before you, you were not the one in control.

“Say this is all mine,” he commanded, looking at you from under his brows.

You opened your mouth, but your hesitation was not enough. Chris got to his feet in a flash and gripped your jaw, walking you backwards until the edge of the bed met the back of your thighs and you gave a small whimper.

“Say that this is all mine,” he gritted, watching you with vivid, sparkling eyes as you searched his face.

You couldn’t deny the heat between your legs, the slickness you’d felt as he’d pushed you backwards. You liked this.

“It’s all yours.” Your voice was low and small, trembling as it left your quivering lips.

“Again,” he ordered.

You licked your lips as he let go of your jaw, moving you forward so he could step behind you.

“It’s all yours, Chris.”

He groaned, a sound low in his throat, as he sat down on the edge of the bed behind you. You felt his hands on your hips, and you shivered as he lowered you down onto him, his firm chest meeting your spine.

You were sat on his lap, and he took each of your knees in his hands and put them on either side of his own. Then he spread his legs, and you noticed with a fluttering heart, that he was in control of your body. He was controlling just how wide you spread, or not, and as he opened his knees, yours went right along.

His right hand slithered up your chest, gripping one firm breast and then moving on until his fingers wrapped around your throat. On instinct, your head tilted back until you were leaning into him, head on his shoulder. You felt so vulnerable then; leaned back onto him, spread open like a meal on a table.

When you felt his fingers skim up your thigh, your cuffed hand gave a tug and the cuff rattled.

“All mine,” he groaned at the sound of your chain against the bed post. He skimmed higher, where the skin thinned, until he was pressing two long fingers against your throbbing clit.

You gave a muffled yelp and Chris’s fingers tightened around your throat. You hadn’t noticed just how deprived you were. Just how ready and bursting at the seams. Just how riled up like a fucking rod you were.

The sound of Chris’s voice reverberated into your spine, droning in your ears. “You’re so fucking wet.” It was breathy and vulnerable, the first sign of humanity on him. “So fucking ready.”

His choice of words made you whimper, falling limp on him, to his mercy. The whole ordeal was so vulgar, but as he continued to press and circle your clit, you couldn’t care less about how you looked. You just wanted release.

And your precipice was approaching fast. Faster than you’d thought. The knot coiled deep in your belly, and with Chris panting behind along with you, squeezing your throat and rubbing tight little circles on you, it wasn’t long until you were writhing against him.

“Already, baby?” he breathed into your ear. When you didn’t answer, too lost in your pursuit, he tightened his hold on your throat. “Answer me.”

You tried, but if you concentrated on anything else but maintaining a lid, you’d burst.

“Answer me, Y/N, or I’ll have you writhing like this all night.”

“Yes!” It came out as a gasp, or a moan, you weren’t sure. “I’m close!”

He gave a grunt of approval and his fingers pressed even more onto you, searching your climax, pushing you to the edge. You clenched around nothing, writhing against him, feeling tantalized and empty. Your free hand balled into a fist.

“You want to be filled?” he asked, huskily. The moan that left you was more like a whine. “Ah, yes.” And when his long middle finger slipped into you easily, you shattered.

With a strangled moan, you clenched around him, writhing, the force of your orgasm flowing through you like crashing waves. You could feel Chris groaning behind you, rubbing that spot inside of you, riding out your orgasm while the heel of his hand press against your clit.

Heavens.

“Fuck, baby, that’s tight,” he whispered in your ear, fingers around your throat, still rubbing that spot inside you.

When you were but a sighing mess, legs jelly over his, he slipped his finger out of you and picked you up, bridal style. For a few moments, while he shuffled around and your cuffed arm dangled, you were cocooned in his embrace.

Then your back met the plushness of his bed, your head reeling, still buzzing from your climax. Behind your closed lids, you felt him parting your knees. Your cuffed arm was rigid at your side, while the other hand struggled to drag up your thigh, searching for him.

You opened your eyes to see Chris all but rip his shirt over his head, exposing a firm chest. Fine hairs sprinkled across his golden skin. Your eyes wandered lazily across his shoulders, down to the shadows across his collarbone and pecks.

He looked at you, watching you admiring him, and a lazy smirk spread on his lips. Then he wrapped his hand around your wrist and guided your free hand to his crotch. Through his trousers, you could feel just how hard he was. You could feel the warmth of him seeping through the fabric. You could feel the length and impressive girth of him, and a small yelp got caught in your throat.

“You’ll take me,” he said in a low tone after hearing you. You gulped, and his smirk turned into a frown. “You will.”

You nodded, fingering the button to his trousers. He helped you unbuckle himself, and as he took himself out, you caught the first drop of precum on your thumb.

He groaned lowly, his eyes watching you intently as you carefully wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave one tentative pump.

“You look so small like this,” he breathed, one hand on your spread knee. You moaned at his choice of words, continuing your ministrations, carefully pumping him up and down. You wished you could drop to your knees and taste him, but by the way he’d reacted earlier to your “talking out of turn”, you didn’t want to try to control him now.

His eyes kept going from yours to where you were pumping him, the fingers on your knee pressing more and more harshly into the skin. You turned your pumps into twisting motions, pressing your thumb under the engorged head to smear his precum all over it.

Chris grunted, spreading your knee wide so he could slip his hand between and press his thumb to your aching clit.

“Chris.” The name came out like a whisper, but it was enough to alight the fire in his eyes.

His other hand shot from your knee to your throat. “Tell me,” he ordered, panting, bent over you completely. “Tell me you want me.”

You gasped out, “Yes.” But it wasn’t enough. The fingers on your neck squeezed. “I want you, Chris.”

“Good.”

The pressure on your clit left, his hand going around your wrist and pinning it to the bed. He hovered over you for an instant, his knees on the bed now for leverage.

“Look at you.” His voice was tantalizing, as if taunting you. You were breathless, begging, almost writhing beneath him for a second release. “You’re all mine. All mine and begging. Say it.”

This time, you didn’t have to be told twice. “I’m all yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He hooked his hand under your knee, bringing it to your chest.

He slowly slid in, surprisingly. You had expected him to give you no reprieve, but he watched you intently as your eyes widened, the stretch of him consuming your body. But with your knee to your chest, it was easier, and the fact that he’d made you cum seconds before was aiding you as well.

But he was a lot. A lot of man to take in, with his weight on top of you and his girth stretching you out like never before. Your free hand scratched at his shoulder, a whine stuck in your throat, but he wasn’t stopping.

“You’re going to take me,” he ordered between clenched teeth, hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. It was a struggle, to take him, as he mercilessly pushed himself to the hilt. You pulsed around him, shuddering, desperate to adjust. You didn’t think you ever would.

“Chris, I...” The words were breathy, and really, all you wanted was for him to give you a second.

He groaned at your voice, his head momentarily falling to connect your foreheads. “You’re mine,” he groaned. “And you’ll take me like I want.”

You quivered around him at his voice, his choice of words, the way he was bottomed out completely. You were full. Bursting. Seams coming apart slowly. A low moan left your lips as he receded his hips and thrust back in, languidly and harshly.

“Like that,” he breathed, hand on your hip, the other migrating to your throat. “You’re so tight, huh?” His voice was almost condescending. “You can’t even take me. Look at you. Whining.” The end was almost a whisper as he thrust his hips against yours, sending you clutching onto him for dear life.

“Chris, it’s too big,” you whined, but it was a moan, because deep inside of you, the coil was knotting again.

The chuckle that left his lips was condescending. “I don’t care.”

Then he thrust his hips against you harshly, setting a languid, deep rhythm that was making louder and louder moans escape your lips. He might be mercilessly big and hard to adjust to, but he was taking you there.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed encouragingly when he saw - and felt - how you were growing used to him. “Wet and tight. You love it.”

The hand around your throat squeezed and you whined a low, “Yes.”

His rhythm became fiercer, thrusting harshly against you, and the coil in your belly began to shudder. Legs trembling, you latched onto him. He kept thrusting in you with force, the fabric of his trousers scratching the back of your thighs, moans mingling with his grunts. You were sure the hand on your hip would bruise, and the one around your throat would choke you to death.

You clenched around him, the coil in your belly tight and ready to burst. Chris kept rolling his hips to hit the spot in you. “Come on, baby, I feel you,” he breathed, thrusting into you with ease now. Your mouth opened into a small “O” and Chris’s thumb found home against your tongue. “That’s it, that’s it.”

The coil burst and you moaned loudly against his thumb, clenching hard around his cock. It was such a strange but amazing feeling; the mixture of pain and pleasure, and your orgasm hit you with such vivacity that stars danced behind your lids.

“Fuck, that’s tight.”

His thrusts kept meeting your hips as he railed into you, thumb pressing against your tongue to keep your mouth slightly open. Then his thumb slipped out of your lips, carrying your spit down your chin. Almost sloppily, like he was losing his grip, he fumbled with your shirt to lift it over your belly.

“You’re so tight, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, each thrust sending your body jolting on the bed.

You whined, the feeling of him inside of you still driving the aftermath of your orgasm across your skin.

He gave a few sloppy thrusts, holding you down onto the mattress, before he pulled out and spurt hot ropes of cum all over your exposed belly. He fisted himself, emptying on your flesh, groaning with each new wave.

Then he kissed you gently, taking you by surprise by how soft it was. How gentle. When he stopped, his fingers skimmed down your legs, to your cuffed hand, and broke you free. Then he kissed the raw and abused flesh of your wrist. Kissed your bent knees. Your thighs. Then he buckled himself back up, his chest glistening with sweat.

He was panting when he ran into the bathroom and came back with a hot towel to clean you up. He was smiling and searching your gaze when you winced as the hot towel brushed over your core.

“You’re so beautiful.” Those words, after such a different side of him being exposed, made you blush deep crimson.

“Who knew you were this dirty, Chris,” you panted, still laying on the bed. He chuckled and helped you into your panties.

“I just...” he trailed off, picking up your jeans. “When I see you, I get different.”

“Huh?” You were too weak to stand, so you let Chris dress you up.

“Ever since I met you, all I’ve wanted was to have you all to myself.” He gave you a wink when you lifted your hips off the bed, your jeans sliding back into place. “And well, you provided the opportunity today.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling as you sat up. Your knees were jelly and you were sure that if you tried to stand, you’d need a minute to find your bearings.

“You’re lucky I’ve wanted this for a while too,” you admitted.

He gave you a lazy, sleepy smirk as he held his hand out. “We’ve kept them waiting for a while,” he said. “We should go back. It’s my party afterall.”

You blushed a deep red and took his hand.

#chris evans #smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x yn #chris evans fanfiction #fic #fanfic #oneshot #imagine #dom!chris evans #sub!reader

567 notes · View notes

ccatskies · 4 years

Text

sciflash | chemistry class

rasa’s request

★━━━━━━━━

"Chemistry is the study of matter and energy and the interactions between them. This is also the definition for physics, by the way. Chemistry and physics are specializations of physical science."

There goes that voice. Flash resisted the urge to let a groan slip out and annoy the teacher who had just commenced the said class. He knew Chemistry, but today was awfully boring. No matter how much he despised a few subjects, it just wasn't his thing to barge in like a despicable roach and get on a teacher's nerves.

That would be his complimentary rascal of friend's field of expertise.

His eyes darted towards one of the tables in the third row, snorting as he suppressed a laugh. There's the adorable rascal.

Dash was, as usual, being a brat about things and getting her hand slapped from time to time by Shimmer, who had mentally declared that life was quite meaningless at this point, especially if you had to deal with Rainbow touching random potions for entertainment to bust everyone's asses six feet into the sky and out of the Chemistry Lab.

"Chemistry tends to focus on the properties of substances and the interactions between different types of matter, particularly reactions that involve electrons - ah, wait a second." Mr. Cranky interpolated, holding up a finger prior to walking off to the teacher who had been waiting for him at the door to deliver a message on the urgent change of routines.

Sentry suppressed a yawn, shyly glancing at his partner from the corner of his eye. In an instant, blood rushed up to his cheeks, coating it with adorable pink tints scattered across them like a pretty bunch of full bloomed roses. He brought his hands closer to his chest and leaned back on the chair, while the latter stood straight, fiddling with the bottle of a potion and going through her notes once again.

Sparkle's hair was in a messy bun, tied up with a rubber band while a big gold star laid on top of it. Few strands of her indigo hair gave her side profile astounding visuals for him just stare at. Her rosy cheeks had a special warmth, radiating a glow over her honey bronze skin. Her white laboratory coat only added onto her daunting look, as she maneuvered her finger tip through the pages of the Chemistry book.

She looked to the side once again, her alluring side profile snatching his view once again.

Fuck, he mused, one hand flying up to his face, as he cupped his right cheek to feel the warmth that generated from the abrupt blood rush.

Sure, it wasn't his first time looking at her, and definitely not the last.

More importantly, he wasn't sure how she did that to him like it was simply nothing, whereas it took him ages to have her blush in front of him. Of course, he knew she might've been hiding those blushes which burst out like balloons only when he took special measures but when it came down to him, she didn't need to even life a finger.

"Hey."

She was honestly so breathtaking - did no one tell her that?

"Huh, Flash?"

Breathtaking was an understatement too, he figured. She was just drop dead gorgeous, as if she was a beauty hailing from the heavens above - and Flash definitely didn't exaggerate that. He's seen Shimmer casually flirt with her, while Sparkle would laugh and playfully slap her shoulder.

Sunset's teeny tiny crush on the adorable bookworm justified the class Twi fell under. She's dated Timber, prior to ending the relationship on a good note. And all they had to say about his best friend was that she was so worth it.

"Flash!"

He broke out of the trance, blinking twice as he found his stinging eyes water, before squeezing them shut, a small drop traveling down his lashes, "h-huh. . .?"

"Your eyes!" Sparkle gasped, drawing herself closer to the teen boy, resting one of her warm hands on the surface of the table and the other on his left shoulder. She subconsciously brought herself to examine those pretty cornflowers, bearings her face towards his. Her breath fanned over the tip of his red nose, as she tilted her head, worry evident in her tone, "do they sting?"

"Wha-" he opened his eyes at the sound of her honey voice, a little taken aback as he registered the proximity, "ohh, fuuck."

She only made it worse for him, furrowing her brows at his words, as she dragged her lower lip under the edge of her teeth, "what? Does it sting too bad? You're tearing up, so - "

"N-not that!" He sputtered, biting his lip as soon as he stared up at her violet globes, "umm, I. . ."

"You what?"

"Your eyes." He immediately blurted, his cheeks betraying him once again, as he gazed into the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, astounded by the way they carried themselves. He swore that he could see the entire galaxy and at least a thousand constellations imprinted on those small captivating sultry orbs, reflecting back on his like the sun's rays.

She suppressed a giggle, breaking into a small smile, before she brought up her index up to his visage, cutely booping his nose, "my eyes? Ooh, are you flirting with me?"

His cheeks flushed into the shade of red - almost as red as the color of a scarlet Dahlia. Damn it, Century! Not now!

"Uh, no?"

Twilight snickered, not taking his response seriously, "is this the time to make jokes? I thought that's our thing only when classes are off."

"Wow," he scoffed, warm air purging through his nose, as he tilted his head to the side opposite to hers, "I'm mad that you don't take hints."

She raised a brow in amusement, letting a lighthearted laugh break through her system, "hint? What hint?"

"That I'm genuinely trying to compliment you for a reason."

She leaned back and flopped down onto the sit next to him, propping an elbow on the armrest as she cupped her cheek, "oh really?"

"You're pretty, am I not allowed to say that?" Flash rolled his eyes, groaning in exasperation, "fuck that, you're beautiful."

That had her blush. No matter how experienced she was at hiding those, she could not get do so for long.

Twilight smiled and bit her lip, vanquishing her urge to press him further but rather have him blurt out things (so that she could put them to use the next time she felt like embarrassing him). He had immediately caught onto the look on her face, growing a little shy at the indication.

"Why are you giving me that look?" Sentry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "am I not allowed to call my best friend pretty?"

"U-uh. . ." she laughed a little nervously, her thin silver glasses sliding down a little down the bridge of her nose, as she concealed her cheeks from his view with her hands over them, "noooo."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, curving into an attractive grin as he reached out his arm to pull down her hands from her face, leaning in closer to catch a sight of her turn to be red, "awww, did I finally get you?"

She caught both of his wrists as they neared her, looking down on her lap, as she felt the burning sensation course through her. The boy only smiled, his insanely attractive dimples glowing from the corners of his wide smile, as he trailed his bigger hands down, smoothly intertwining his fingers with that of the Teacher's Pet.

She looked up at him holding back a few giggles, as she snorted, her honey cheeks tinted pink like cotton candy, "are you playing with me, Flash Century?"

His smile instantly dropped as he scoffed in disbelief, "did you really just say that, Twinkle Sprinkle?"

"Twinkle Sprinkle?" Twi's jaw hung low, as she maintained her posture, still having her fingers locked with his tan ones. Her face was a mess right now, red with embarrassment as well as flattery, showcasing the cute freckles splattered across the area surrounding her nose. "Oof, you're gonna get it. That's the childish nickname you gave years back. I thought we settled that you won't use it anymore!"

"I - " he laughs silently, as she frees her hands from him, standing back up and maneuvering her hands through several potions, desperately wanting to free herself from the situation.

Flash stood right next to her, his seraphic smile as heartwarming as ever, as he whispered next to her ear, warm breath hitting her skin like a steam and making her freeze on the spot, "cute little Twinkle Sprinkle."

She turned to face him, but was rather met with his chest - curse her shortness. She blushed profusely once again, prior to staring up at him, as she scoffed, "you're certainly hitting on me."

He moistened his lower lip, the same warmth radiating from his presence, as one hand slipped down to her waist, "of course, you pretty little thing."

"You are pretty," she immediately snapped back nonchalantly, her face as straight forward and genuine as ever.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The boy bit his lip, the shyness slipping out again. It took him a while to get her flustered but how the hell did she do it within a second?

Was this the Sparkle effect?

That made him feel magical and helpless? That made his heart beat like the thunderous sound of drums?

"You're staring again, Flash," Twi coughed, masking her flustered front, and replacing it with a terrible poker face.

"I again do that for hours actually." He removed his hand from her waist, dragging his lower lip under his teeth, as he shyly looked down on the table.

"Wow," She playfully punched his chest, letting out a laugh which rang through his ears like a serene and paradisiacal euphony, "you're. . . unbelievable, Sentry."

She pursed her lips into a thin line, prior to gazing at his features with a goofy grin, "unbelievably gorgeous, that is."

"Stop," he bit his lip, letting out a sigh in disbelief, "how can you just do that?"

"Do what?"

"Fluster me easily."

"I do that?"

"Yes."

She scrunched up her nose, smiling adorably, "well, then. Guess I found my new hobby!"

"What? No."

"Definitely."

"You're not - "

"You're the cutest."

"I - "

"Softest - "

"A little marshmallow. That's what I think of when I look at you. A sweet and cute little marshmallow." She snickered, "I can poke and kiss your squishy cheeks all day - "

"H-huh?" He had the cutest face on - with utter disbelief was etched on his features, while the pink blush never seemed to go away. If Flash could recall all of his shit talk with the tiny bookworm, he would swore that she never played the flirty card. It was either getting flustered or masking it.

Did he hear that right? From Twilight?

Twilight stepped back, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. She held back a boisterous laugh from breaking out and destroying her system as soon as she spotted her so-called friend's lips quiver, with the biggest flustered look on his face, screaming what just happened?

"Guess I won this time, Habibi."

━━━━━━━━━★

#sciflash #sci twi #flash sentry #drabble #writing #nivia writes #rasa take my love

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birlcholtz · 5 years

Note

78 for the prompt list? Whatever you're feeling for the ship

78. “You always find a way to surprise me.” from this prompt list!

here is nurseydex with a side of them managing their conflict way back in their frog year instead of having it explode in their junior year with dex constructing a studio apartment in the haus basement oops, this one managed to crack 3k words because once i wrote the first scene i had to keep going, so enjoy!! ao3

“You always find a way to surprise me,” Dex snaps. “What is this, pretend to sympathize with the gay kid and then make it all about you?”

Which is a dumb ass conclusion to get from Nursey trying to share feelings and empathize and shit. I told Dex I’m bi for this? “Chill, what the fuck? I was not making it about myself, I was trying to make it clear that I fucking understand how you feel.” And Nursey hates that his voice is starting to get a little louder, a little pitchier, but this is so like Dex, to take the first thing he thinks and run with it, and it’s kind of fucking upsetting because Nursey had just been letting himself think that maybe Dex and his fiery hair and his freckles and his smart mouth and his energy didn’t just fall into Nursey’s orbit in vain, that maybe this stupid crush he had on Dex (and the fiery hair and the freckles and the smart mouth and the energy) could go somewhere, and now, well, Dex has taken that bit of hope and stomped on it.

It’s something he’s very good at. Stomping on hope, that is. Nursey has watched Dex dismantle forwards’ goal-scoring ambitions like it’s as easy as breathing. He’s helped Dex do that, and Dex has helped him in return.

“That you understand how I feel? You have two moms, Nurse. You—” And then Dex blows all the air out of his lungs in one breath and half-turns away, enough that he’s not looking at Nursey, enough that Nursey can barely see his face. “It didn’t really help,” he adds, and Nursey is about to say ‘duh, thanks, Captain Obvious’ when Dex adds, slowly, “Um. But. You made an effort. Thank you? Sorry.”

“Uh?” Nursey manages. Both because of the quick 180 and because he’s never heard Dex sound so tentative in his life. He half-wonders if the Haus is going to fall down around them, because the Haus, like Dex’s general conviction in him being right, is an institution of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team. If one can fall, so can the other. “You’re welcome?” And it comes out just as tentative from him as it did from Dex. “Sorry it wasn’t helpful. I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty clear,” Dex says, but without bite. “I appreciate you wanting to help, though.”

Okay, this is just too weird. “Sorry, did you wake up today and decide to just be a different person? I mean, I feel like this is an improvement, but if you’re actually just possessed by some sort of weird demon I might have to put a stop to things.”

Dex scrunches his nose up like he can’t decide whether to be angry or amused and says, “Uh, no. Well, kind of. My mom told me to try taking out my anger on the other team, not my own defense partner. Ironic, right?”

Considering that Dex’s mom’s blissfully ignorant questions about girlfriends had sparked Dex’s whole frustration-driven coming out to Nursey that morning, yes. Nursey nods. “But I’m glad you, like, felt like you could come out to me. Even though we fight all the time and shit.”

“Not on the ice, anymore,” Dex points out. Which is true. The first time they’d really clicked on the ice was during a game, with Samwell two points behind and Chowder, in the net, only just having recovered from a minor freak-out after the second period. The other team hadn’t scored at all, Wicks had gotten one goal, Bitty had gotten one, and Jack had gotten two, and Nursey had felt incredibly awkward afterwards as he realized how well he and Dex worked together if they actually, you know, worked together.

Dex had probably realized that at the same time, because they’d managed to keep fighting during practice to a minimum.

Maybe it was only a matter of time until one of them figured out the same thing applied even when they didn’t have their skates on.

“Not on the ice,” Nursey agrees. “If we both try and fight the other team instead of each other, we probably stand a chance at not fighting at all.”

Three months later, Nursey discovers that was bullshit.

Sure, they’re doing better. They’re actually doing so much better that Coach Hall called them into his office to tell them he was proud of their progress, and once Nursey gave Dex a fist bump and pretended not to see Ransom and Holster silently losing their minds over it.

But they still fight. That’s just how things work with Nursey and Dex.

(He’s even getting used to hearing their names said together, as a pair, like RansomandHolster or OllieandWicks. Even if his and Dex’s friendship is much less… well, solid.)

“I can’t believe you actually like the top bunk,” Dex says, taking a bite out of his apple with more force than the situation calls for. “We’re the same height, how do you not hit your head every time you sit up?”

“I’m careful?” Nursey notices he’s not sure exactly when Chowder left the Haus kitchen. He definitely did, though, because all three of them came in together, but whatever, Chowder’s an adult, and Nursey has a debate to win. “Besides, if I have the bottom bunk I always wind up sitting in my bed doing homework and stuff—”

“Which is nice.”

“But then my brain associates being in bed with doing homework and not with sleeping and when I try to sleep I can’t because my brain is like oh, it’s time for… fucking Ovid or some shit.”

“And then you fall asleep because you skated suicides for half an hour and did planks on your breaks and had an entire hockey practice and then went to class for the whole day,” Dex says.

“No, then you stay awake for at least an hour because your brain is rehashing your entire seminar on Roman historians and then for good measure it goes through your entire life and shows you a greatest hits reel of your embarrassing moments, and then you can’t fall asleep because the people across the hall are having a party.” Nursey pauses. “I think I had a point in there somewhere but I got distracted talking about why falling asleep is hard.”

“Bunk beds,” Dex supplies.

“Right. So top bunks are ideal because then I can maintain the separation between work and sleep.”

“Like the separation of church and state.”

“Yes. Also no because that’s completely different.”

“But they are separations. You cannot deny that.”

Which is true. “I cannot.”

And Dex smiles a little at that and takes another bite out of his apple, and Nursey finds himself a little too absorbed in watching as Dex sticks the apple in his mouth and bites down to keep it there, then pulls out his laptop from his backpack and sets it on the kitchen table.

The apple looks dangerously close to falling out of Dex’s mouth, and Nursey stops himself from reaching out to take it before it lands on the floor.

It doesn’t, anyway. Dex gets his laptop open and then keeps eating his apple one-handed as he types something.

Becoming friends with Dex erased Nursey’s distant, unfortunate, aesthetic-driven crush on him, but it was quickly followed by something worse: a real crush. Because underneath the prickly exterior, when Dex is actually making an effort to get to know someone, he’s just… nice to be around. He worries about what other people think of him as much as Nursey does, even if he hides it in a different way. He cheerfully disagrees with Nursey on inane topics, and they get each other into long arguments with the same fervor— passion, Nursey’s brain supplies unsolicited— as the great Attic vs. Roaches debate, if not the same scale. Because it’s just Nursey and Dex, not the whole team.

He kind of likes it that way.

Coming back to campus for pre-season means a couple of things. It means Nursey has to get back on a regular schedule, after doing pretty much nothing besides sleeping, working out, and relaxing. It means he gets on campus before most people, so he can move in in relative peace. And it means he sees his friends. He sees Dex.

It’s been a long summer. Nursey isn’t really sure how he’ll feel when he gets back to campus. At this point, he’s not even really sure what he’s hoping for— the idea of feeling secure in a platonic friendship with Dex and not having to worry about any crush-related feelings is tempting, sure, but Nursey feels like if he gets back to campus and Dex is just another friend, he will have lost something.

Or maybe that’s just the romantic in him talking. Either way, whatever happens happens and Nursey is just going to have to deal.

That mindset lasts all the way until he’s walking to the Haus after unpacking in his dorm room and hears someone yell “Nursey!” from behind him.

He turns around, and there’s Dex, barreling towards him with a lot more freckles and sun-kissed red hair and a t-shirt that is a little more snug than is probably decent and a huge smile, and Nursey has barely registered all of this before Dex catches up and hugs him.

Excuse me?

Even after Dex had come out— and Nursey doesn’t even know how many people on the team he’s out to, it doesn’t seem like many— he still hasn’t been a touchy person. Especially not to Nursey, barring fingers pointed in faces and things like that. And funnily enough, they’d touched each other even less once they stopped fighting all the time. But now…

Now, here they are, and Nursey would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to be here.

So he hugs back, and tries to keep his voice calm as he says, “Dex! Hey, man, how are you?” and hopes Dex can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest like if it beats fast enough it’ll convince Dex’s heart to match.

Fuck.

The night before Ransom, Holster, and Lardo’s graduation finds Nursey and Dex sitting in the Reading Room and talking options.

They’ve never shared a room before. They’ve shared spaces, and sometimes they both crash in Chowder’s room at the Haus after a kegster, and once Nursey brought Dex leftover pie while he was cramming for a midterm and wound up hanging out in his room for a while. That’s about it.

“If we do a bunk bed, we’ll have a lot more floor space,” Dex says. “And then you can have the top bunk you’ve always dreamed of. Although I’m still not sure I believe you about not falling out.”

“Aw, William, you remembered? I’m touched.” And Nursey tries his best to make sure that comes out sounding funny and not sad or wistful or anything like that.

This is something he’s considered, and then immediately decided to ignore. It will be harder to hide his crush on Dex if they live together. It’s already hard now, after a full year of spending more and more time together. Nursey has never appreciated plaid flannel shirts the way he does now, after mentally cataloguing Dex’s entire collection (he has eight, but don’t let that fool you, he wears the same three over and over and breaks out the other ones for special occasions). Every day he gets a little more worried that Dex will catch him staring and Nursey won’t think of a witty remark in time.

And it’s not just Dex he’s worried about, because Holster has definitely started to give Nursey Looks when he catches Nursey staring at Dex. Someone has clearly caught on to what’s going on, and the only good thing about it is that Holster hasn’t tried to say anything about it to him.

Well. Holster’s graduating, and next year Nursey will have a whole new crop of teammates who will be blissfully in the dark. And isn’t that a terrifying thought.

“I don’t want them to leave,” he says, but he doesn’t explain why.

Thankfully, Dex doesn’t ask. “I was just thinking that. But we’ll cope.” He says it so plainly, like it’s already a foregone conclusion. “Even if Bitty makes us get up at four AM for… what did he call them?”

“Soviet calisthenics.”

“Right. How could I forget?” And he smiles, and even though Nursey is pretending to look vaguely across the street in the direction of the LAX house, he sees it and he immediately wants to smile back.

So he does. What’s the harm?

“But anyway,” Dex says. “The room. I don’t think we can compete with Ollie and Wicks for interior design, Wicks showed me his Pinterest board and I’m pretty sure it was just to intimidate me? But it fucking worked, so. Let’s at least make our room a place we can both live in.”

“What was on the Pinterest board?” What aspects of interior design intimidate Dex, is what Nursey really wants to know, because he always wants to know everything there is to know about Dex. But he’ll settle for this clue instead.

“A chandelier and hand-knitted throw blankets. Also, shiplap.“

“I… only have a vague idea of what that is.”

“That’s okay, all you need to know is that it’s very popular on HGTV home makeovers.” Dex scoffs. “Waste of time and money if you ask me.”

And that’s so like Dex that Nursey can’t help but laugh and say, “I can’t believe I didn’t like you our first semester.” When Dex raises his eyebrows, he says, “Like, our opinions clashed and all of that, but you’re just so…” Passionate. There’s that fucking word again. Big nope. “Sure of yourself.” It had pissed Nursey off at the beginning, before he’d realized that most of Dex’s strongly held opinions were either correct or just… totally irrelevant to them being able to get along. Like the fucking bottom bunk thing. Dex is clearly wrong, he just hasn’t accepted it.

Dex’s voice sounds a little odd when he says, “That doesn’t sound like a ‘but’, that sounds like another reason you didn’t like me.”

“More like… fuck. No, that’s not the right word to use, sorry.” Nursey’s going to have to fucking say ‘passionate’, isn’t he. The universe is against him right now, but he doesn’t know what that weird tone is in Dex’s voice and he doesn’t want to turn and look at him to find out. “Not sure of yourself. You’re just… when you care about something, you really care about it, you know? I admire that. Being… passionate.” Fuck, he said it. Fuck fuck fuck.

Dex’s voice still sounds strange when he says, “I admire you too, you know.”

And that makes Nursey whip around faster than he has ever turned in his life.

Dex is sitting cross legged, wearing his preferred red flannel, looking right at Nursey, and his face is flushing a little but he repeats, “I admire you too. Because you’re really dedicated to, like, growing as a person and shit. You want to be your best self. It makes me want to do that too.”

“…Thanks.”

With that, Nursey resigns himself to the conversation being over, but he hasn’t turned back to stare vaguely in the LAX house’s general direction before Dex says, fingers twisting in the hem of his flannel, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Nursey says, and hopes he won’t regret it.

“Is something wrong?”

“Huh?”

Dex stops twisting up the hem of his flannel and laces his fingers together like he’s trying to keep them still. Which he is, Nursey realizes, because fiddling with clothing is one of Dex’s nervous tics. (He has several.) “You haven’t wanted to hang out as much lately. And you seem stressed about something but I don’t know what it would be since our finals are done and our season’s done and everything. You don’t have to tell me the details, but… is there something I can do?”

Well. Nursey regrets this already. But… no better time to say things you might regret than in the middle of the night before leaving for an entire summer, right? Worst case scenario, all he has to do is get through the graduation ceremony, then he’ll be back in New York and he can text Dex sometime in July and say he’s over him. Even if it’s not true.

“Uh, there’s nothing wrong, really, but…” If he’s going to do it, he needs to be all-in. “Sorry about avoiding you, I don’t think I even consciously realized I was doing it? But I just… I’ve been really stressed about getting through next year. Because I’ve had a huge crush on you for like a year and I don’t know what’s going to happen next year if we’re living together and don’t look at me like that, I’ve been coping fine, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just… Well, you asked,” Nursey finishes lamely, because he doesn’t know what to say to get that look of shock off Dex’s face. “Sorry.”

He waits for a moment before actually looking at Dex becomes too much, and he gets up to go inside. Coping with commencement and texting Dex he’s over him in July it is.

“Wait,” Dex says, urgency coloring his voice, and Nursey stops almost before he’s got the syllable out of his mouth.

And he turns around, and Dex is standing too, and he says, “There is something I can do.” And before Nursey can ask what, Dex continues, “I’ve been telling myself for months to just let it go away, but… I have had a crush on you for so long—” and then he stops abruptly, and Nursey doesn’t know what to think for a second, and then Dex says, “Sorry, I was going to call you Nursey but then I wasn’t sure if that was the right choice given the context so I just kind of froze?”

“Oh my god,” Nursey says, and that’s as far as he gets before he starts to laugh and also maybe tear up a little because he has been stressing about this ever since that dib flip. “We’re so dumb.”

“Complete idiots,” Dex agrees, and his voice sounds a little shaky, which just makes it match Nursey’s own. “Oh, God, I think I’m going to sit down.” And he sits back down, and Nursey joins him, only a lot closer than the careful two feet he had left between them earlier. “I am so glad I asked.”

“Speaking of asking things, what do we do now?”

“You mean about the room next year, or just in general?”

“Both, I guess.”

Dex contemplates it for a second. “I’m pretty sure we can handle sharing a room. Like, all we have to do is communicate with each other, right?”

“It’s been working pretty well everywhere else in our lives,” Nursey agrees.

“So that’s that for the room. And in general… I guess that just depends on what we want.”

Nursey considers that. “Well, what I want right now is to ask if I can kiss you, and I think the rest can wait until tomorrow.”

“That works for me,” Dex says, and he smiles when he pulls Nursey in for a kiss that feels like it validates every minute Nursey spent pining. He’d do it all again for another chance to throw his arms over Dex’s shoulders and pull him closer, and closer, and closer, until there’s no space between their bodies at all.

Nursey is pretty sure junior year is going to be great.

#nurseydex #my stuff #fic #omgcp #quarantime

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msfcatlover · 5 years

Photo

Hi @the-passenger-if, their name is Eris Newman. They’re, like, five-foot-nothing (on a good day.) They like earth-tones and pastels, and their fashion sense is If Anything Touches My Neck I Will Literally Die(TM). I love them very much.

Fun Facts:

(x) The first batch was just me trying to work out Eris’s aesthetic, though I went back and tweaked it once I finalized their design.... like, the glasses were a late addition, but they do need them like, 70% of the time; they are terribly nearsighted. Eris kinda hates them, because they think glasses make them look like a nerd. (Fact: Eris is absolutely, 100% a nerd.)

Those sneakers are the only shoes they will wear. Eris has had them since they were 14, the damn things have been falling apart for years, it is terrible for Eris’s spine because there is just no arch support, and they. Do. Not. Care. Those sneakers are being held together by Gorilla Glue, amateur stitchery, and probably a little bit of Eldritch Power. Do not question the shoes.

They always wear scale-patterned tights beneath their clothes. They’re pretty sure their true form had scales? Anyway, seeing the pattern over their skin is weirdly comforting. (This has also lead to a particularly odd tell; the same way some people fidget with hair or jewelry, when Eris is nervous they rub their hands on the tops of their thighs. Just a subconscious reminder that this one element of holding onto their true self, their goals, their power, is still there.)

The necklace is subtly pinned to the back-ish sides of their collar, not hanging from their neck. I’m serious, Eris really doesn’t like anything touching their neck. No, I don’t know why; I’m sure they’ll unveil it once we get to see more of the game.

Livvy totally braided their hair in that one picture. Eris gave up on getting it to cooperate years ago.

(x) I liked this doll maker, because it gave me a chance to explore what Eris might look like, if they too wound up with more power than their casket could handle. Also, I’ve been a sucker for arcane triangles ever since Oxenfree fucked me right up a few years back.

(Sidenote: if you get the chance, absolutely play Oxenfree. It is a trip, with good art, great characters and the fun kind of spooky.)

(And triangles! Can’t forget the triangles!)

(x) So, there’s a little part of me that wonders what it would look like if the cult went mainstream, and Newman had to dress all Ceremonial and Fancy as a symbol of their status. I know this is waaaaay too classy for anything they’d actually come up with, but I like it, and I think that’s the important thing.

The purple is obviously a symbol of their rank. The yellow belt/skirt thing is to show their connection to their underlings. The jewelry is a status symbol as well, though if you ask Roach, it’s totally helping to Channel The Power(TM) and is totally practical and an all-around fabulous idea.

The shoes are as close as I could get to the sneakers in that particular doll maker. Yes, Eris would wear their ratty old trainers with that fancy get-up; they hate every second of being the center of attention, and will grab any scrap of normalcy they can get.

(x) I have? This fascination with freckles that are not the color you would at all expect for someone’s skin tone? Anyway, Eris’s freckles are actually a light golden color mixed with the more normal darker brown, and as their power increases, the freckles get paler. To go back to the second doll, at the point where the casket started to fall apart, the freckles would actually luminesce .

(x) This one is probably the closest to what they actually look like. Nothing else to say, really, I just really like how it came out.

#the passenger (game)#tpg: mc #tpg: Beyond The Shell #tpg: the casket #tpg: (my MCs) Eris #my life #mine #oxenfree

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lieslidoo · 4 years

Text

Of lavender and bumblebees (Geralt of Rivia x Cottagecore!OFC x Jaskier) chapter 1: Meeting

The cold autumn breeze made Geralt of Rivia wish he could have made it to a nearby town before dark. The severe wound on his shoulder did nothing to put him at ease, neither did the clouds looming over the forest announcing a heavy rain that would make his night a living hell. Roach was tired and he was too if he was being honest. The best thing he could do, he reasoned, was to find shelter and set up camp before it was too late. The witcher was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud roar nearby. He quickly recognized it as a dragon, a rather young one too. Nothing to fear, as they were peaceful unless provoked, Or so he thought before he saw a pair or yellow eyes glinting through the trees, eyes belonging to a golden dragon getting ready to charge him into oblivion.

Beatrix jumped at the sound of thunder resonating through the forest. Although she loved the smell of water on autumn leaves, She also enjoyed a dry house. She ran around her cottage to close her blinds, sparing a thought for her horse since she was often afraid during thunderstorms. She decided to go check on the animal before putting Yoran to bed. After putting on her yellow wool cape she ran to her stables and was surprised to find the animal fast asleep. a small smile dawned on her crimson lips one that quickly faltered as she heard a loud groan coming from the woods, one she immediately recognized

- YORAN!! she screamed before darting towards the sound as fast as she could.

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- I’M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU! I’M JUST PASSING THROUGH. the witcher screamed as he dodged yet another one of the dragon’s attack. His only answer was more groaning from the creature. -fuck he muttered before being hauled to a nearby tree by the monster’s tail. His breath was stolen from his lungs as his back hit the trunk of a pine tree. He sat on the ground, his eyes struggling to focus, his shoulder burning in pain. His opponent approached him warily, still fuming with anger. His eyes closed, his last thought before losing consciousness going to roach, hoping the faithful mare would make it out of this forest without ending up as a dragon’s meal.

The witcher awoke to a searing pain in his shoulder.

-sorry, a voice above him whimpers, i was just checking your wounds.

-who are you? where’s the dragon

-shhhh, it’s fine. she added as she laced his shirt back up. he’s alright, and you’ll be too. he brought you to me.

-my horse?

-your mare is in the stable, safe and sound.

she stepped away from him a little and he felt the pain in his shoulder intensify

-can you walk? she asked

-what?

-i need to get you in a bath,so you don’t catch your death. besides, i like my house and i don’t want you to dirty it up.

The witcher chuckled and stood up as best he could. The girl helped him to his feet and he was struck at how good she smelled. lavender, chamomile and honey. He noticed her small stature and her long auburn hair, the freckles adorning her face. She looked like she embodied the beauty of the forest around her, he thought. She helped him walk towards her bathhouse and brought him to a chair. She moved to the bath and touched the bathwater. Seemingly satisfied with its temperature, she made her way to a cabinet and picked a handful of dried lavender.

-there, she said after dropping the herbs in the water. it should be warm enough.

The witcher gave her a hum of approval and waited for her to leave the room. when she didn’t he shot her a questioning look

- i need to see how hurt you are, besides, healing in water is much less painful

- i can take the pain

- well i can’t. do you want me to turn around?

-i don’t care either way.

He grunted, taking off his shirt. The girl turned around anyway and made herself busy. Once his clothes were off, he climbed in the bath and let out a soft moan at the feeling of warm water on his skin. His eyes remained glued to the woman kneeling gracefully beside him. she looked up at him with her bright green eyes, and he held her gaze. she shuffled slightly and he smirked when he felt her heartbeat pick up and saw her cheeks redden.

- let me see. she half whispered, referring to the wound on his shoulder.

He turned to face her and she directed her attention to the venom infected bite. - you’re not human. she added, seemingly to herself.

- neither are you.

She smiled a smile Geralt recognized as one hiding great pain, and he regretted his words. The girl stood up and retrieved a bucket from her kitchen. She came back to her previous position before tying her long hair away from her face.

- this might hurt a bit

-i can take it. his voice was soft, reassuring.

She smiled and placed her hands on his shoulder before closing her eyes and concentrating. Before he could properly register what was going on, Geralt felt a wave of slight pain followed by a tidal wave of relief washing over his body. He felt her presence inside him, the intimacy and power of her touch. Her breath on his chest, her hands on his wound, and he craved more, more contact, more intimacy. he would be willing to break every bone on his body if it meant she would heal him. But suddenly, he felt fear. fear that the moment was coming to an end, that she would leave his soul and leave his body, and he’d never feel her there again. She pulled away from him with every passing second, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

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Beatrix felt the pain geralt carried with him,his loneliness and his grief. She felt his wound appear on her shoulder and quickly pulled away from him, afraid she might stumble unto an injury she couldn’t repair. As soon as she pulled away, she hunched over the bucket next to her and vomited the venom into it. She took the cloth from the bath and washed her face before taking the venom out and pouring it into her fire. She let the man alone in his bath, letting him live his withdrawal on his own. She hoped it would be easier on him because of his resistance to magic but could not be sure of it, since she had never healed a witcher.

The girl moved to her pantry and decided to warm up a few honey mustard pasties for her impromptu guest. The house was silent as she walked to her bedroom and changed into clean clothes. After careful consideration she decided on her long white nightgown and her sleeveless emerald robe.The soft feeling of it reminded her of the night Jaskier offered her the garments. The way he had smiled at her fascination for the beautiful embroidery that decorated the delicate sleeve cuffs. The feeling of his caresses later that night in bed, his sultry voice whispering words of devotion and admiration into her ear, words she would come to find to be empty. But that night, that night they felt delightfully real.

Once her hair was braided and her face clean, she heard the witcher make his way to the living room and immediately went to him. He was only wearing the towel she had left for him, his clothes being dirty. His muscular body was on full display, the glistening of his skin only adding to his already godlike appearance. she felt herself blush and looked down.

-i warmed some pasties. you need to eat. i..um left your bag in my room,on the bed right over there. the girl pointed to it and he followed suit, joining her soon enough. He sat at the table in front of her and looked at the plate in front of him.

-it’s honey mustard chicken pasties. it’s all that i had but if you’re still hungry i could...

-it’s more than enough. he interrupted her, offering her a small smile. do you live alone here?

- i do

-it’s dangerous out here

- you seem to be worse off than me. she teased . The witcher smirked and looked back to her. with her hair tied back he could see her clean face properly. her delicate skin and chubby red cheeks. He wondered why such a pretty girl wasn’t married, especially in such a small town. He thought about her magic and wondered if she had been ostracized by her peers as well?

-what about you, what are you doing in this forest? her melodious voice snapped him away from his thoughts.

-i got lost

-i doubt that. she set a dainty cup in front of him and filled it with tea. a witcher rarely gets lost. what were you hunting?

-i wasn’t, i was traveling to Rinde. thought i could cut through here and make it to town by nightfall. i suppose i was wrong.

Beatrix observed him, bewitched by his long white hair and golden eyes.

-you’re staring. he denotes.

-am i? i apologize i haven’t had company in a long time

he grunted once more and she chuckled softly. He looked up at the sound and smirked. something seemed to intrigue him, and she would come to learn that it was her.

- how long has it been?

- a little over a year, i’m not sure.

-what about the dragon?

- he’s only 7.

- where in the world did you find a gold dragon?

- he was alone, in the forest. he was badly hurt, so i healed him.

-with your magic

-with my magic.

- did you train at aretuza?

-no

-well you had some sort of training, you don’t get that kind of control over magic without some sort of training.

- i did

the witcher didn’t know what to say. who was this girl? where did she come from? he looked at her as if she was a safe he was trying to pick the lock of.

-you’re staring she teased. He smiled.

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ladylilibet · 5 years

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Tainted Love|Chapter 4

I/II/III/IV/V Tainted Love – How can you tell a lady no? The White Wolf claimed he needed no one, but his collection of misfits started with Lady Helena of Oxenfurt… and ended with her, too.

Chapter IV: 𝕹𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊

Two seasons had flown by and landed the pair in the thralls of winter. Unbeknownst to Helena, a bounty sat on her head. She was being hunted by her father's men and her White Wolf wasn't alerted until she was all but cornered. Once captured, a deal was struck , a compromise was met . Her adventures were to be viewed as her studying abroad. Warranted freedom that was also an extension of her education. Her parents allowed this independence, yet still kept her on a short leash. She had to promise that she would send a letter home at each fort and would return in time for a summer wedding.

They never did pick up where they left off in the forest of Blaviken, often leaving her to wonder if it was a dream. They shared many baths, but other than stolen looks, nothing came of it. She stopped questioning her place as his ward once they stopped at a brothel a week ago.

The chill of the night made Helena tremble and shiver. She hugged her cloak closer and rested her head on Roach's shoulder with a sigh. She was kicked out of her room for non-payment -- the owner refused her broaches in place of coin. Geralt was able to finish his philandering but she couldn't even finish her meal.

"Don't judge me." Geralt told her he sauntered out of the brothel as he took note of her pouty lip. She responded with a half-hearted shrug. He turned to the brothel keep that was escorting him out, "I'll be back with payment in a few days. Anything happens to my horse..."

"You don't scare me," He snorted

Geralt glowered down at the shorter man who was now trembling. He demanded to know where Temeria is and the keep immediately pointed in the right direction.

Helena set forth, not sure of where she was going, but more than willing to keep a distance between her and Geralt. She had difficulty adjusting in the dark and could feel his eyes bore holes into her back as she stumbled every so often .

"Lena," He called out after watching her trip once more. She kept her pace and kept quiet. "Mind telling me what your problem is?"

She let out a sarcastic laugh, unable to bite her tongue, "Mind telling me what that was? To... tease me for months, only to bring me to a brothel and leave me to my own devices. A respected noblewoman surrounded by immodesty. I don't have experience with men, but what kind of mind games are you playing?"

Helena stopped to face him and questioned whether she was being daft given his emotionless expression . Ready to give up and forget it, she turned around, only to have him grab her wrist to stop her.

"I am still a man, Helena. Would you have preferred you to be the one to warm my bed?" Geralt provoked, voice gruff. She could feel the heat rise to her face and with her free hand, she slapped him across the face. A blow he expected but caused him to grimace nonetheless.

"I don't expect you to feel how I do --"

"Because I'm a Witcher?" An argument he always chose to default to whenever the pair bickered.

"No, you absolute dolt." Helena huffed and returned his glare. "forget it."

The pair continued to walk to Temeria in silence, but this time, side-by-side. They arrived within the mines and listened to the worker's demonstration.

"My son, rest his soul, told me in Nilfgaard the king diddled whores while his subjects starved. Then someone came: The Usurper.

And he rallied the people, and they took back what was theirs! I say we follow their lead!" The man's story was met with cheers from his comrades, but a chuckle from Geralt.

"You can't kill the Vukodlak so you decide to kill your king?" He asked in a condescending tone before pretending to think about it, "Great plan."

"Another fuckin' Witcher." He was met with distaste as some of the works spat at his feet, "Your kind already swindled us once."

"I take payment after the job is done and for a third of the price," The white-haired man corrected.

Helena nodded her head towards the workers, "An utmost apology from ours to yours."

The demonstrator seemed hesitant and looked to his fellow men for reassurance, "And if you can't kill it ?"

"Then I die." The Witcher responded matter-of-factly .

The march of armor caused the crowd to go tense; pick-axes were now held like weapons at the ready.

"Lower your weapons and return to your homes," A nobleman commanded, "Do so quickly and without further theatrics and you have my word that our king will not hear of this treason ."

"Foltest commits treason. He hides in his winter castle as we are eaten ." The demonstrator's argument met with more cheers.

"Mikal was a good boy." The nobleman told the man, feigning empathy as he clasped his hand on his shoulder. "Revenge will not ease your pain."

The mourning man removed his hand and spat at his feet. Forces were at the ready to clash but were called off with a waved of the hand.

"You know nothing of my pain." He left with his men following in suit.

Geralt sighed at their departure and looked to the nobleman, "Does Foltest have a plan?"

He ignored Geralt's question despite looking at him. "See this one to the borders. Temeria's had their fill of Witchers."

Knights escorted the pair with only the moon lighting their path. After walking for a short time, the four horsemen slumped off onto the cold ground as a fog surrounded the party.

As Helena opened her mouth to voice her concerns, her bones felt heavy. She struggled to breathe before she too fell in the snow. She could feel strong arms pick her up and cradle her. She strained to hear them speak, but their voices fell on her deaf ears. Feeling weak and unable to continue to fight the spell, she let herself be consumed by the darkness.

Helena awoke to the smell of incense that permeated the air. She blinked away the sleep in her eyes before sitting up to note her surroundings. Geralt's cloak tucked in around her and she drew the cloth closer to her frame. She attempted to call out for him, but her voice was hoarse and her mouth felt as if she swallowed sand. What little sound she could summon was enough to alert someone that she was awake. Footsteps made their way towards her.

"In my defense, I presumed you were also a sorceress. I didn't expect you to pass out." A melodic voice offered her. The speaker rounded the corner in tandem with Geralt, revealing herself. She was pretty and lithe, almost unnaturally so, with her honey skin dusted with freckles. She gave Helena a soft smile as she clasped her hands in front of her, "I'm Triss Merigold."

Helena strained to speak but was met with only a wheeze. She huffed as a blush crept up her cheeks, prompting Geralt to laugh. He strode towards her and patted her back before introducing her.

"she means to say she's Helena."

"I can fetch a maid to bring you some tea if you'd like," Triss offered. At Helena's quick nodding, she continued, "Though King Foltest didn't prepare for your arrivals, I'm sure I can get you two settled in the guest chambers . Would you like to room together or separate?"

"Separate." The pair spoke in unison, though Helena's response was more of a croak.

Triss nodded, her soft smile now contorted into a smirk, and left to have their rooms readied.

Helena would be lying to herself if she said she didn't mind having a bed all to herself. She could stretch out and didn't have to deal with Geralt's tossing and turning. And yet she still missed him sleeping next to her.

She sat up and stretched with a sigh. Was it unfair for her to still be annoyed with him? He owed her nothing. After all, they weren't a couple. She was betrothed to another man. And yet…

" I think I'm falling for him," Helena slumped back into the bed with a groan and ran her fingers through her hair.

She mentally wrestled with this conclusion. As she did, her bedroom door flew open, causing her to shriek and clutch the duvet to her, hiding her dressing gown.

Geralt stood at the entrance, a small grin played on his lips. Speak of the devil.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" She huffed with a scowl, which caused him to smile more.

"Glad you have your voice back. Pack your things."

"Why?"

"I... may have accused Foltest of fucking his sister."

Helena rubbed her temples, "So we're leaving?"

"No, of course not. We have a curse to break."

The duo stood outside the abandoned castle that housed the Striga. Geralt had given her the full run-down. Princess Adda, Foltest's sister, was presumably cursed during her pregnancy. She and the child died during birth and the stillborn grew into a Striga. A beast with an insatiable appetite that was powerful to kill a Witcher once before.

The wind blew causing the old castle walls to groan. The men on guard shuddered and flinched at every small noise. Their knuckles were white as they held their weapons at the ready.

"You were told to leave Temeria," Triss said as she approached them.

Geralt replied in a flat tone as he gestured around him, "But come on. These views."

"Are you going to kill her?"

"I don't want the miner's coin."

"Or mine, apparently ." Triss accused, eyeing them both. "What is this girl to you? Why do you care?"

"You first. I saw how Foltest and his boy spoke to you. Why help those who won't listen?"

The other woman sighed. Accepting that she wouldn't win this argument, "And how do you plan on getting past the guards?"

Helena picked up a large rock amongst the rubble and tossed it overhand behind the guards. At the sudden commotion, they abandoned post with their tails between their legs. She looked to the others with a smug smile.

The group wandered into the castle and Geralt tried each locked door. Helena regarded the skeletal remains that littered the floor.

"Temeria reeks of secrets. I could sense them," Triss spoke, " Just like I could these bodies before we entered. I imagine you sense them, too."

Though she was speaking to Geralt, he didn't reply, causing Helena to respond to him.

"A big, spooky castle has dead bodies in it? How revolutionary."

Triss rolled her eyes and stopped to view a painting, "Foltest and Adda. Whatever happened to them?"

Helena shook her head, unsure. The sorceress looked to Geralt, hoping to get a response from him, but got nothing.

"Not answering questions is a pillar of his brooding charm," Helena answered.

"I'm pretty sure Foltest is the father," Geralt kept walking as he ignored the women. They followed him in silence until they reached the master bedroom.

"Do you think he cursed her?" Triss questioned. When she only received a quirked brow from Geralt and a blank stare from Helena, she clarified. "Foltest."

" Maybe ."

Geralt sniffed the air around the bed as Triss played with a music box. The eerie tune made Helena more on edge as it added to the ominous presence. The music stopped, the noise of tinkering followed, then Triss called out.

"Guys. Letters from Queen Sancia, Foltest and Adda's mother.

'My dearest Adda, you must leave your room one day soon, my child. You must maintain your strength. Despite the crimes you have committed against the crown, you remain my only one, my little girl. Understand that you and Foltest may not see one another again so that your sin cannot be repeated'..." Triss trailed off and stopped reading the letter.

"Looks like you were right, Geralt." Helena quipped with a crinkled nose and a shudder.

Unsure of the next step, Triss suggested they take the letter to the king's courtier, Ostrit.

"A Queen Mother cursing her own children for their affair," With a click of his tongue, Ostrit tossed the parchment onto his desk . "This could destroy the throne."

They asked questions such as whether the Queen Mother had any ties to dark sorcery. These letters now making her a prime suspect. None of these questions seemed to strike a chord with Ostrit, but one.

"What was your relationship with Adda?" Helena asked.

The older man faltered but attempted to act indifferent, "Well, I like to think that she saw me as a confidant. A protector, even. She could be naive."

"Did she ever mention her relationship with Foltest?"

" Certainly not like this," He replied, gesturing to the letter.

Triss furrowed her brow, "She was ashamed .

"Or she was frightened ." Ostrit offered, "What if the relationship was not... consensual?"

Helena crossed her arms with a frown, "You think he raped his own sister and then cursed the child to cover it up?"

"Kings have done more for less."

"True," Geralt nodded as he stepped towards the courtier. "But there is one small wrinkle, though. Your scent was on her sheets. Old ones... and new ones."

"Geralt, what would he be doing in a dead girl's bed?"

"I could smell what he was doing." His tone was dark and the realization hit her, causing her to cringe.

Ostrit began to tremble and cried out, "Foltest had no right! He seduced Adda. He abused his position. He was always nagging her for attention. But he didn't love her. I did!"

"You cursed the woman you loved?" Triss spat as her hands formed fists.

"I cursed Foltest, not her."

"Countless are dead because of your jealousy."

"Countless are dead because of Foltest! He spoiled Adda with his seed. He refuses to kill this striga. He lies to his people. And yet you wag a finger in my face."

"Cool motive, still murder." Helena jeered, "If you wanted him to suffer, you could have just exposed the affair."

"And hurt Adda? Never. Her memory will not be sullied while I'm alive to protect it."

"Your actions led to her death regardless. You weren't protecting her."

Geralt cut off Helena and looked down his nose at Ostrit, "Tell us how to lift the curse."

"No," He stated with a defiant glint in his eyes, "Foltest will watch as Temeria turns against him. Just as he turned Adda against me."

Geralt hummed and punched the man, knocking him out cold.

Helena checked each tip of her arrow was sharp enough as the full moon neared. Once she satisfied, she put the last bow in her quiver and tightened her straps. Geralt readied his own things and once he saw she was prepared , he stood with a sigh.

"Look, Lena..." He began as he scratched the back of his neck.

She raised a brow. Was he about to apologize? Make any sudden declarations?

"You're going to sit this one out," He continued, "It's too risky. It's not the same as fighting a ghoul."

"Do you not think I'm ready?"

"Lena, please don't start. Triss will look after you. I'll see you when the sun rises." He squeezed her shoulder as a goodbye before taking off.

Helena looked to Triss with a scowl who threw her arms up in mock surrender.

"I'm not the one who told him he should make you stay."

"He keeps treating me like a child. He makes me practice combat every day, and for what?"

"Are you going to follow him?"

She paused, having not considered that as an option, then nodded. She grabbed the last of her things before leaving the sorceress behind.

"Okay, but if Geralt asks, I put up more of a fight!" Triss called after her.

She sat holed up as she listened to the terrible screams of the Striga. Her vantage point wasn't the greatest. Though she could see that this was the ugliest beast she had yet to encounter. As she watched the fight take place, she cheered Geralt on. But once the Striga broke free of the chain Geralt bound her in --

"Fuck," Geralt and Helena uttered in unison.

The creature tackled and pinned the Witcher to the ground as he struggled under her weight. With a piercing screech, the Striga had overtaken him and her spit pooled on his face. He attempted to grab his sword, only to have it knocked away and out of reach.

Helena drew her bow back and paused. With a deep breath, she released and the broad sharp pierced its shoulder. The beast reared with an unpleasant cry. Though it was now distracted from Geralt, the beast's attention was now on Helena. Before she could position another bow, the Witcher used the symbol Aard. Thrusting both him and the Striga through the stone floor and onto the lower level with a heavy thud.

Helena scrambled from her hiding spot and raced to the second floor. She was trembling as she attempted to use her bow to steady herself. She looked at the Striga who lay motionless then to Geralt as he inspected a broken vial.

"Is it dead?" She asked, nudging the creature with her foot.

The White Wolf threw the broken glass and scowled at her with bared teeth, "You disobeyed me."

The young girl clutched her bow tighter and avoided his gaze. She mumbled about how it was Triss's idea for her to come. He towered over her, face stern but eyes soft, as he clasped her hand.

"You have to trust me as I trust you. If we are to be a team, I need you to follow my instinct."

He gave her wrist a soft squeeze and let go, walking off to the crypt's entrance and placing a protection ward.

"I'm here now," Helena called after him, voice shaky. "So what do we do?"

"Keep the Striga out of her crypt 'til dawn."

"Simple enough." With a final look at the beast, she took her station at Geralt's side as he tested the ward.

Moments later when she went to check on the Striga, she noticed it had gone. Before she could even voice her concerns, the beast tackled her. Its weight enough to bring them both hard on the ground. Helena cried out for Geralt as claws dug into her shoulders. She pressed her bow against the creature's neck, pushing it off. The wood splintered and broke under the force.

Geralt grabbed the Striga. In retaliation, the Striga tossed him into a stone pillar, treating him as if he was a ragdoll. With a final blow to the Witcher, the beast retreated to the crypt only to be blown back by the protection charm. Furious, the Striga ran to assault Geralt once more. He was ready this time and punched it back with a pair of brass knuckles.

Sunlight infiltrated the castle -- they finally made it to dawn. Geralt picked Helena up and carried her as they ran to the tomb. He threw them back into the coffin. He clutched her to his chest as he closed the lid and sealed it with a protection charm. Helena buried her nose into his tunic as a feeble attempt to hide from the scent of death and decay. He stroked her back as they lay waiting. Once they heard the rooster crow for the third time, Geralt opened the coffin and helped them both out.

The Striga was now transformed into a human but lay bloody and shivering. Geralt approached her. The small movement was enough to spook her and she attacked him. She bit deep into his jugular.

As he bled out and succumbed to darkness, she inched away. Terrified eyes locked with Helena's. Helena wanted to scream, cry, anything, but she knew it would further frighten the girl.

Helena held her hands up to show she no longer had her weapon. Her face was soft and she cooed to the girl as if she was speaking to a stray dog on the street.

"Hi there, Princess. I'm not going to hurt you." Helena slowly took off her cloak and tossed it at her feet. She mimed shivering and pretended to wrap an invisible cloak around herself. "Brrr, cold."

Apprehensively, she stood and put on the cloak as she followed Helena's lead.

Helena stepped towards her, causing the other girl to flinch at each step. "Outside." She pointed and rubbed her belly, "Find food."

Together they walked out of the castle -- Helena kept her distance as the other struggled to walk. At the end of the bridge, Foltest and his men waited. The princess eyed them suspiciously and looked to Helena who gave a reassuring smile and a nod.

With no time to help reunite the estranged daughter and father, Helena went back to tend to Geralt. She thanked Melitele that he was still breathing. She knew that she didn't have the strength to drag him out alone, so she would need to nurse his wounds where he lay.

She grabbed her satchel and rummaged for her things. With a rag, she held pressure to the bite and her free hand brushed his stray hair out of his face. Once assured that the bleeding had stopped, she grabbed her bottle of vodka. She poured it onto the wound to clean it. The burning was enough to wake him; his golden eyes shot open and he clenched his jaw.

Ignoring him, Helena dressed the wound tight and secure. Satisfied with her work, she hummed and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I'll put some salve on it later. It looks like it'll lead to a nasty scar."

"Add it to my collection." Geralt tried to sit up but was met with a small hand to his chest, pushing him back. He sighed and strained to look around.

"She's with Foltest," Helena answered. "You were magnificent, Geralt. You could have killed her and yet..." She shook her head and exhaled, "Look, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Before she could ramble, Helena was cut off with a deep kiss. She stiffened and didn't return it and instead broke away. Geralt seemed pained by the rejection which she quickly shook off.

"You're just... covered in a lot of blood."

"Oh," He blinked. "That I am."

"We can try again later." She assured with a laugh. She rose and walked over to where her weapon lay. The bow was completely splintered and Helena grimaced, casting it aside.

"Time you learned how to wield a sword. Lucky for you, I know a good master."

#witcher fanfiction #witcher oc #geraltxoc #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #taintedlove|

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malxplrs · 7 years

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Haunters

Summary: You work in a haunted house with the twins and jealousy ensues.

A/N: This is a pretty shitty first part I’m not even going to lie .I haven’t had as much motivation from being sick so please forgive its shittiness. I’ll make it up to you with better chapters soon, cross my heart, that is if you want this continued.So please let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions, my messages and asks are always open. Just don’t judge this one part on the rest of my writings haha. Love you all, you’re beautiful, thanks for reading! xoxo

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None??!? Well, Cussing and Blood. It’s a haunted house.

The smell of sawdust filled my nostrils as I entered the old warehouse on Lynn Drive. I could hear the power tools working at cutting the last of the plywood needed to finish stabilizing the wall in the psych ward. I continued around the outside of the trail to the make-up room where I set my things on the countertop. Spinning one of the make-up chairs as I passed by, I stood inside the doorway to the costume room and poked my head inside.

“Gray? Are you in here?” I called out.

There was some commotion from the closet before Grayson emerged with costumes slung over his shoulder. He was wearing black basketball shorts that hung low on his hips and some old worn out sneakers. “Hey, y/n. You ready to clean this place up for opening night tomorrow?” He smiled.

“What do you think?” I laughed, motioning at my outfit. His hazel eyes swept over my body. He started at my old converse, and slowly lifted his gaze up my long, tan legs. He glanced over my paint riddled jean shorts and my old Motley Crue crop top. Grayson let his eyes linger on the bit of my exposed stomach embellished with a naval ring, before looking over my make-up free face, and messy bun.

“Absolutely not, you’re dressed way too fancy for this. I thought we agreed on old, worn clothes.” He laughed, giving me a playful wink before throwing the costumes on the floor. “You look like you’re going out for tea with the Queen.”

I snorted. “Yeah, if the Queen was completely blind and there was no one around to see me or take pictures.”

Grayson smiled before disappearing back into the closet. “So,” I started, plopping down on the old green couch. “Who all is here? And what do you guys need help with?”

Grayson threw more costumes out onto the floor before turning back to grab more. “Well, I’m on costume duty. I’m supposed to make sure all costumes are counted for and placed neatly on hangers for our new check out system. I think Ethan is helping Nick with the plywood, and Jocelyn is picking up trash. And for who all is here, I know for sure that Ethan, Nick, Jocelyn, Finley, and Brayden are. But I don’t know much. I haven’t been here long.” He finished throwing all the costumes out of the closet. I glanced at the huge pile as he sighed. “I guess you could help me, or find Jocelyn.”

“I think I’ll take a look around first. I’ll check back in soon though.”

Grayson nodded his head as he began sorting through the costumes. I walked back out into the warehouse and opened one of the trail doors. The junkyard room was dimly lit and smelled heavily of fresh paint. Careful not to touch anything, I walked the trail to the next few scenes before arriving in the roach hallway. I pushed the hidden door that let out to the middle of the two trails and took in the sight. Ethan was standing beside a sawhorse with his back to me and Nick was measuring a piece of plywood on the ground. Finley was sitting in the middle of the room with a bucket of fake blood next to her. She had her hands inside one of our dead body props, pulling out the removable intestines. I stepped through the doorway and let the door slam behind me.

All of them jumped and turned to face me.

“Jesus, you gave me a heart attack!” Finley exclaimed. She placed her blood soaked hand on her shirt over the place of her heart.

“That’ll be twenty dollars.” I said sticking my hand out.

Ethan beamed at me. “That joke never gets old! I’m glad you made it, y/n.” Finley rolled her eyes as Ethan made his way over to me. He was also wearing nothing but basketball shorts and worn sneakers. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off the ground.

“Gross! Put me down, Dolan!” I shrieked. Ethan laughed as he hugged me tighter. “Seriously, you’re covered in sweat!”

“That’s called hard work.” He laughed.

“Don’t listen to him y/n. He dumped a bottle of water on himself about ten minutes ago. He hasn’t been here long enough to sweat.” Nick said, placing another piece of plywood on the sawhorse. Ethan set me back on my feet.

“Way to make me look like a man, Nick.” Ethan said, making his way back to the saw. He flipped the switch and began sawing through the parts Nick had marked for him. Sawdust flew everywhere as he continued to cut. Finley hunched over her blood bucket to protect it from the wood shavings.

Once Ethan was done cutting the plywood, he switched the saw off and set it down. Nick unplugged it and instructed Ethan to place it back in its respective bag. They both began picking up the pieces of plywood they needed for the wall and started towards the trail. Ethan waited for Nick to lead the way, and as he passed by me he very obviously checked me out. My cheeks went red and I turned my face away, but not before catching a wink he threw my way.

“Y/l/n, can I get some help?” Finley asked.

“What’s up?” I walked over to her and sat beside her, crossing my legs.

“Do you mind?” She motioned towards her cigarette pack lying beside her. I picked the pack up and pulled a single cigarette out and reached over to place it between her lips. I grabbed her lighter and ignited it. She leaned her head over to place the cigarette over the flame. “Thanks doll.” She smiled with the cigarette between her teeth. “I didn’t want to get blood all over the whole pack.”

Finley was one of my favorite people who worked the haunt. She didn’t take anyone’s bullshit and always made sure recognition was given to those that deserved it. She was very beautiful with long, blonde hair that she currently had French braided into pigtails, and bright blue eyes. Her skin was tan and she had a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. Finley was married to Nick and they were both usually in charge of making sure everything was running smoothly. She exhaled smoke and turned to look at me.

“So, Ethan huh?”

Instantly my face was bright red. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me, spill it.” Finley watched me while she dipped the intestines into her blood bucket.

“There’s nothing to spill.”

“You’re a damn liar. I saw the look he just gave you. I thought we were friends?” Finley fake pouted.

“I am your friend. And there’s nothing to spill. Ethan and I are friends, just like I’m friends with you and Grayson.”

Finley pulled the blood soaked intestines from the bucket and slapped them on the prop. She turned to me again, her blue eyes searching my face. Finally, she shrugged and began placing the guts inside the prop.

“Whatever you say, Turtle.”

I smiled at the nickname. Finley loved everything that had to do with turtles. Her grandfather had taught her everything he knew about them and always referred to them as majestic and wise. She grew up with a grand love for them as she did for her grandfather as well. After I had met Finley, and we became very close, she began to refer to me as Turtle. I never once took it as an insult. If anything it always made me feel closer to her.

“I don’t have much for everyone to do. Pretty much everything is done. You can help me with bloodying up some props, or help Grayson sort costumes.” Finley said, glancing over my shoulder. Ethan had returned to grab extra screws and nails for the plywood. He glanced over at us and smiled. I was grateful she changed the subject.

I smiled back at Ethan, then turned to face Finley. “I can help Gray out and once were finished, if you still need me, I can help with the rest of the props.” I suggested.

“Sounds great.” She ripped more guts from another prop out, tossing them in the bucket. “Ask him to make a list of costumes that need to be replaced, so I can send Jocelyn to pick them up once she’s done running trash.”

“Yes ma’am.” I stood from my place on the ground and began the walk back to the costume room.

Grayson had barely made a dent in the pile of costumes when I returned.

“Please tell me you’re here to help me.” He pouted.

“Nope, grabbing my things and heading out, just wanted to say bye.” I smirked.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” He groaned. “There’s no way I’m going to finish this by tonight.”

I laughed. “I’m just kidding. I’m here to help.”

I sat beside him and he nudged my shoulder with his. “You’re an asshole.”

Smiling, we both began sorting through all the costumes, throwing away the old tattered ones, and hanging up the ones that could be re-used. I kept up with the lists of the ones that would need a replacement, since no one could ever read Grayson’s sloppy boy writing. Even though his handwriting was shit, Grayson was still one of my favorite people. I had known him and Ethan since toddler age. Our moms were best friends throughout high school and college and continued their friendship through us kids. We all had a bond that no one could break.

Opening the door to the warehouse the next day, I could hear the chatter from all the actors that had already arrived. I made my way around them and headed for the make-up room. A few actors I recognized from the year before and a few new faces stood out. I smiled and greeted most of them as I passed by.

The make-up room was full of people, most in costume already. I searched the crowd for some familiar faces before spotting the twins and making my way to them. They were standing by the whiteboard that had the entire list of actors name on it, with the role they would be playing for the night, written beside it. I walked up behind them and searched the list.

“Looks like I’ll be taking over the hospital scene again this year.” Both boys turned and smiled at me.

“You’re not the only one in the hospital this year.” Grayson replied. I looked up at the list again and found their names close to mine.

“I stand corrected. Looks like Ethan is leading lady.” Grayson laughed and Ethan rolled his eyes. Beside my name ‘padded cell patient’ was written. Ethan’s name had ‘head nurse’ and Grayson’s had ‘distraction/victim’.

“I’m just happy to not be a clown again this year.” Ethan said.

“I’m pretty excited to see y/n in action. Last year we were both stuck in the clown maze and didn’t get a chance to see you perform. You must be extremely creepy to continuously win actor of the night every night.” Grayson said.

“I’m just good at what I do.” I shrugged.

“Whatever. I’ll be taking that title from you. So don’t expect hearing your name tonight at the meeting.” Ethan smiled.

A few hours later and we were all in place in our respective scenes. There were only a few minutes left till the haunt opened and we were going through our last minute run through. I squeezed into the “boo hole” which was actually just an actor pocket, to watch Ethan in action. He was the first person you would see upon entering the hospital scene. From this actor pocket, you could actually watch anyone from any scene within the hospital; it also allowed you to enter multiple rooms without interacting with the patrons.

I stepped up to the door to Ethan’s room and watched through the peephole. He was standing behind the desk holding a clipboard. The door to his room opened as Finley and Nick walked in. Ethan burst into action welcoming them to the room. He threw his clipboard across the room and ran right up to Finley and got in her face. He said something inaudible and Finley looked uncomfortable as Nick laughed. They continued through his room, as Ethan stayed in character giving them a hundred and ten percent. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the next room, Ethan made his way to the door I was looking through. I moved out of his way as he opened the door.

“Were you watching me?” He smirked.

“I have to check out the competition don’t I?” I answered him, watching through the bars of the next room as Grayson spewed blood from his mouth and dropped to the floor convulsing. As they were focused on him, another actor was able to sneak up on them and jump scare them. Finley took off down the hall, making her way to my room.

“Now watch how a real professional does things.” I laughed as Ethan crossed his arms. I squeezed through the opening in the wall and back into my room. In the top corner above the exit door to my scene was a strobe light. I stood underneath it as I let my eyes adjust to the flashing. The entrance door opened and Nick entered before Finley. I watched them as they wearily walked in, looking around the room for me.

“You better be in here Turtle.” Finley yelled out. I turned away from them and dropped back into a back bend. Quickly, I crawled across the floor backwards before stopping at her feet. I popped back up and whispered in Finley’s ear disturbing things I had picked up from little kids in horror movies. As she began to shy away from me, I stood up straight and threw my head back and screamed a blood curdling scream. Both Nick and Finley made their way to the exit as quickly as they could, but before they reached the door, I took off running full speed and slammed my entire body into the wall beside them.

“You’re so fucking creepy.” Nick commented as they walked out. “Keep it up.”

I picked myself up off the floor and turned to see Grayson and Ethan watching me. Grayson slow clapped as Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“I see.” Was all he said before returning to his scene.

“Good job.” Grayson hugged me. “No wonder you won every night. Let’s just hope Ethan doesn’t murder someone to top your act.” He laughed.

Before I could respond, the animatronic in the grave yard went off signaling a group of patrons were coming. Grayson ran back to his place and I returned to the door of Ethan’s room. I always liked watching the groups coming through so that I could get a good feel of who was already terrified. It made it easier to find your target. The door opened and another actor walked in.

“False alarm, sorry E. I accidentally set off Coffin Dave.” The kid said. I opened the door to Ethan’s room as the kid returned to the graveyard.

“Get used to that.” I told Ethan, sitting on his desk.

“False alarms?”

“Yeah, they happen a lot in graveyard, it’s usually where they put the newer kids, and most of them don’t know where the censors for their animatronics are. The sure fire way of knowing if there’s a group is hearing their victim scream.”

“Makes sense.” Ethan replied. He looked over at me and ran his hand through his hair. Neither of us said a word as we listened to Coffin Dave go off again.

The door to his room opened and Ethan turned back. Suddenly, he exploded into character and caught me off guard. I hadn’t heard the graveyard victim scream, and my back was to the door. Patrons had entered the room and I was stuck here until they left. Trying to think of what to do, improvisation being a main skill, I began mumbling things to myself about dismantling a body. I tangled my hands in my hair and rocked back and forth before laughing maniacally.

Suddenly, Ethan was in my face. “I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN YOUR CELL!” Ethan screamed at me. I went to get up but Ethan’s hand closed around my throat. Panicked, I grabbed his fore arm and tried to pull him off. His grip loosened and he pulled me off the desk and towards him. “Just go with it.” He whispered before pushing me up against the wall. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO PATIENTS WHO DON’T LISTEN?!” He brought his face close to mine. I could feel my whole body beginning to tingle. I had never seen Ethan like this, and I kind of like it.

“ANSWER ME!” His breath fanned across my face as he yelled.

“The Doctor will see me now.” I giggled as he ‘threw’ me to the hidden door. The patrons left his room and I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you but it’s the first thing I thought of and-“

“Hey you have to do what you have to do, no biggie.” I said rushing back to my room yelling for Brayden.

Brayden met me in my room just before the patrons entered. I filled him in briefly on what happened in Ethan’s room and he instructed me to sit on the ground and grab his fore arm and put all my weight on it like I was trying to pull him down. “Trust me” he whispered. He was our new doctor this year.

I did as I was told and the door to my room opened. Brayden grabbed a fistful of my hair and began to drag me across the room. Thankfully, my grip on his fore arm made it more so that he was dragging me by hand than hair. I began to scream loudly and writhe as much as I could.

Brayden grunted and fought with me to make it seem more authentic. He threw me into the corner and started up a hand held power tool. Careful not to actually touch me with it, though it wouldn’t have done anything anyways being a prop, he pretended to drill into my head as I screamed then slouched over playing dead. Brayden turned to the group.

“WHO’S NEXT!” He yelled running towards them. They all shrieked and began running to the exit.

For the next couple of hours, we all continued to do our own routines and get our scares. I made up an imaginary friend to play with in my room, and it was completely creeping people out. Since it was a pretty slow night, as most opening nights are, we all took turns debuting in other actors scenes. My favorite being Ethan’s, in hopes of catching the same feeling from earlier.

Grayson, Ethan and I were all sat at Ethan’s desk telling jokes and laughing about the best scares of our night so far. I had my legs stretched over Grayson’s lap and his hand was resting on my thigh, absentmindedly his thumb stroked small circles over my scrub pants. Ethan had made a face at the whole display, one he didn’t think I would notice. It consisted mostly of jealousy, and a little of longing.

I was pretty confused by the look all night, considering we were all close friends. Why would he be jealous, I sat like that with Gray all the time. Sometimes I even sat that way with Ethan, as he would usually do the same routine with his thumb. As I was lost in thought, Finley busted into the room at a quick pace.

“LAST GROUP EVERYONE, GIVE IT YOUR ALL!” She yelled making her way through the trail. Grayson gently moved my legs off of him as he stood.

“I need to grab some more blood for my last spew of the night.”

“Ew.”

“Shut up, you think it’s cool.” He smiled.

“I don’t know where you got that idea, but I definitely don’t think that. Although, it is amusing that it’s stained your teeth a pretty pink.” Grayson blushed under his make-up.

“It comes off when I brush my teeth.” He tried shrugging nonchalantly.

“Boo. I think it’s hilarious.” I teased.

“You’re the worst.” He smirked, leaving the room.

“The best of the worst!” I called after him.

Ethan watched me. His brows were furrowed together like he was deep in thought.

“You okay E?”

“Yeah,” silence. And then, “so are you and Grayson going to get married already or what?”

I choked on my spit. “Excuse me?”

“You two are always flirting. It’s obvious you like each other. Why not say the ‘I Do’s’ and make out already?” He scoffed.

My eyes were wide. “We’re not flirting Ethan, we’re just friends, like me and you.”

“Seemed a little more ‘friendly’ than usual tonight, all hugged up on my desk and everything.”

“Where is this coming from? Are you sure you’re okay? Are you hydrated? Cause it’s pretty hot in here and I don’t know if that’s what’s causing this mood swing but I’m not going to sit her and let you mock me like that. Especially not Grayson when he’s not here to defend himself.” Coffin Dave went off in the graveyard.

Ethan glanced towards the door. “I’m fine. Completely fine. You two on the other hand.”

“Us two what? Go ahead, say what you really want too.” My blood was boiling at this temper tantrum that he was throwing. He had to be dehydrated or hallucinating if he thought Gray and I were flirting.

Ethan nervously glanced back at the door again, expecting it to open any second. I couldn’t care any less, now angry that I had to deal with this. All night he had been fine, normal Ethan, funny Ethan. All that disappeared twenty minutes ago when I sat with Gray on the desk.

“Let’s hear it Ethan. Tell me what you really think.” I said again, we both heard the graveyard victim scream.

Ethan turned and faced me. Visibly he took a deep breath. “I’m just jealous, okay. I’m jealous how he can sit with you like that and not care.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about? I sit with you like that too!”

“But it’s different.” Another glance at the door.

“Enlighten me, how?”

“It just is.”

“Ethan!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” He shouted as the door opened. My jaw dropped.

#Ethan Dolan #Grayson Dolan #Ethan and Grayson Dolan #Ethan and Grayson #Ethan Dolan Smut #Grayson Dolan Smut #Ethan Dolan Imagine #grayson dolan imagine #Ethan Grant Dolan #Grayson Bailey Dolan #Dolan Twins #Dolan Twins Fandom #First Chapter #Grayson and Ethan Fic #Grayson Fic #Ethan Fic

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aekellogg · 7 years

Text

Dual

The air is so cold it feels like it’s going to take my nose right off my face and shatter my skin like the surface of a frozen puddle. I’m taking photos of charred-black rafters, burnt linoleum floor, book pages scattered in the snow and crumbling darkly like a scene from Fahrenheit 451. There’s something almost artistic about it that I want to capture, but my phone, at half charge when I began, dies before I get through the front room. Technology is no better at handling the cold than is my California-freckled nose. An orange cat darts across one of the few roof supports left. This used to be a perfectly serviceable home.

My mother is clinging to this plot of land with the tenacity of a winter frost: it's passed through the hands of my evil witch of a great grandmother and my hurricane of a great aunt, and someday it or the profits from it will go to me and my four siblings. Our other plot of land holds a very lovely house whose temporary renters seem to grow worryingly more attached by the week. Down the street is an elementary school where my middle three siblings spent seven months, a bit beyond it is the evening school for high school dropouts which was the only place that would accept me at 18, and around the corner is the kindergarten where my baby brother was finally convinced to speak fluently. My mother wants us to have a foothold here. She wants us to have a place to live, a place to educate ourselves, a place to build a business.

I have trouble expressing to my mother exactly why I don't want to uproot my entire life and settle in Russia. Usually I spread my hands and say some variation of "isn't it obvious?" Her responses reflect the same flabbergasted tone back at me -- “why wouldn’t you?” -- as she lists all the benefits of not staying in the capitalist dystopia that is the United States. I stutter and respond, “I just can’t live in a place that’s so antagonistic to me,” which is always the wrong thing to say to an immigrant who’s done exactly that.

The seven months that made up my last stay in Russia were in 2014, the year of the Winter Olympics that so many athletes boycotted to protest recent anti “gay propaganda” laws. The way my mother explained it to me, my siblings and I were in danger of saying something too liberal and being hated at school. The way my father explained it, “propaganda” could mean anything that sent the message “gay people exist.” For those seven months, I attended evening classes for the students who were too troublesome to keep in high school -- druggies, delinquents, and one too-cool-for-this-town girl who seemed to have decided to be my friend. Most of them were too old for their grade, but at 18, I was one or two years older than any of them. On my first day there, I was bombarded with questions: most laughably, “Do you have smoking in America?” -- most charmingly, “Do palms really just grow there? On the streets?” -- and most dauntingly, “Are there lots of gays in America?” My cool-girl friend clarified the last question with the follow-up, “You know, pederasts?” I didn’t know how to respond. I was 18, they were 17; if I answered “yes,” I would be an adult spreading gay propaganda to minors. They asked me the question a few times, never once suspecting that I was one of the gays myself. I didn’t know how I could tell anyone, even my cool-girl friend, even the boy who told me in English that he’d “once been like that” but was “all natural now,” that I had tentatively applied the label bisexual to myself in the backseat of a van speeding through palm trees to LAX only weeks before.

(I literally wouldn’t know how to tell them. I typed bisexual into Google Translate later that day, and it gave me dvupol’nyy, a literal translation meaning “two gendered,” which is less than accurate.)

The thing is, I don't know what level of responsibility I have. I feel like my inability to speak up makes me a bad social activist. But I also feel like if I did speak up, I would be trying to change a culture that I'm barely a part of and thus have no right to change. What right have I to tell Russians how to be Russian? My two red pasporta don't mean a thing once I open my mouth and let out the awkward accent. I passed the ninth grade standardized writing exam because my teachers corrected my scantron after hours. Who’s going to correct my grammar as I try to conjugate the Russian transliteration of the word bisexual?

We watched the Olympic opening ceremony live that year, and my mother stood behind my chair with a sour look on her face. “It’s like makeup on a corpse,” she said. “It’s all a fake cover for the turmoil going on in this country.” Seven months later, I saw makeup on a corpse for the first time in real life. I kissed my grandfather’s forehead and told him I loved him in broken Russian, silently raging against my hurricane of a great-aunt for shouting him into the grave. I wore heels to the funeral, shoes that I had packed but been too shy to wear even once. My only black dress ended mid-thigh and that morning I noticed, with a quiet sense of guilt, that my legs looked really good.

My coming out story is far less brutal than it could have been. Last summer, my mother wakes up and is running around the house by 4am, and she sees me and my friend who slept over sharing the pull-out couch bed. I can't account the thoughts that ran through her head -- I've always shared beds at sleepovers -- but her suspicions were right I suppose. "I'm not mad," she told me later, "I just wish you were dating a boy, because I want grandchildren." The joke's on her -- my longtime gal pal-turned-partner is a (trans nonbinary) boy after all -- but we are unavoidably and visibly a queer couple.

When this week is over, my mother and I will head home to greet Christmas with the rest of the family. But I won't be home until a few days later, when I'm back in LA in the roach-filled apartment with the roommates who forbid whispering after 9pm and call me and my partner "very good friends." We’ll do propagandic gay things like hold hands and tell each other how much we love and value each other as human beings. We’ll dress up cute to go places together, and somewhere in the back of my mind I’ll remember snippets I’ve read about queer fashion being an act of resistance.

It feels like a massive leap to compare the people who struggled on the front lines of social movements to me admiring how my own boobs look in a crop top or how shapely my legs are in a funeral dress. No one would call Narcissus a world-changer.

Today, the snow crunches softly under the combat boots I bought at a yard sale and stuck a dozen safety pins through. Hair frizzes around my face in dyed-green strands under a beanie that sits lopsided thanks to my undercut. I have found a thousand small ways to present a queer image, to be in control of the ugly that the world will see in me no matter what. My phone is dead, but I keep looking at these charred pages in the snow like an artist, a tourist, the disconnected outsider that I am. I still navigate the language in a series of surreal Google Translate errors (though thankfully, we’ve both gotten better: bisexual now translates to biseksual, the proper word). Behind me, the house that my great-aunt set on fire threatens to crash down. When I fly home, I’ll pass through the airport flashing the bright red passport that lays out my name in familiar Cyrillic letters, but once back in LA I’ll sink into the comfort of a 65° winter chill.

I think that all I can do, for now, is try to understand myself through palm trees and shoes.

#prose #article #queer #outwrite

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fictionaryhsam-blog · 7 years

Photo

Ward 003, Ward 004

A Short Story by Patricia Fuentes

Word of the Piece: psychopathic

psychopathic - suffering from or constituting a chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behavior.

Example: The psychopathic patients escaped the asylum.

Genre: Thriller

TRIGGER WARNING: THE SHORT STORY CONTAINS BLOOD, VIOLENCE, AND PROFANITY. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Warning: A psychopathic patient from Ward 003 has escaped, the facility is to be put under total lockdown until the patient has been caught. The patient is of fair complexion with light freckles on both cheeks and ebony hair with wavy locks; her eye color is brown and is of 5”5 composure. All camera personnel have been alerted regarding the breach. Notify the nearest security unit in case of sighting.

Hearing the warning being broadcasted throughout the building, she looked at a slightly faded picture of a family. The pregnant mother and the father both happily holding their baby boy up and smiling at the camera while their other children, a boy and a girl, hurled teddy bears at each other.

“They should die,” she said as she faced the mirror, cut her hair, and dyed it blonde. She grabbed the chestnut-colored contact lenses and wore them.

Walking out the door was easy. However, convincing the guards near the exit to let her pass was rather difficult if it were not for the help of a fake ID and some acting.

She walked out of the facility and rode a taxi downtown. Her reflection in the rearview mirror resembled a doll yet something was amiss.

Blood. Blood smeared across her ivory skin and dangerously short silver tunic. Whose blood will it be?

“Mom! Mom! Read me the story! Please?,” little Timmy called from his bedroom. His mother smiled as she walked in with Timmy’s Mister Buckwheat’s Storybook that was filled with Spongebob stickers. “Here now, here now, make sure Mister Buckwheat is also listening,” she said with a wink. Timmy nodded and hugged his stuffed toy tightly.

“Happy Family by Archa,” his mother started to read.

❝In the forest lived a family of birds with a father, a mother, and a baby bird. The baby is loved by both parents very much. They were living very happily. However, as the days went by, the father and the mother bird started fighting over simple reasons. The fighting kept on going for days, months even. The baby bird was so sad by seeing her parents fighting, she begged them to stop and just be happy, but they didn’t listen to her. It made her very sad. The baby bird always consoled her mother whenever the argument was over and for her sake, the mother always pretended to be convinced and supposedly returns to normal but as years passed by, the mother could no longer stay and cooperate with the father bird so she decided to leave him, but thinking of the baby, she stays.

One day, the father bird went out in search of prey so the mother bird took the opportunity and flew away with her baby. When the father returned, he could not find his family. He felt so bad and realized his mistake. He told himself, “If only I listened to my baby, this could not have happened”.

He searched for them here and there and after looking for months, he found them in a deep forest, living in a small nest. He went near the mother bird and apologized. He also apologized to the baby bird for the turn of events. By the time, the mother bird also was feeling guilty and sad for leaving the father bird alone, so she also said sorry in return. Thereafter, without blaming each other and fighting they lived with their baby bird happily.

The End.❞

Little Timmy yawned as his mother lovingly tucked him to bed and turned off his night light. She kissed his forehead and said, “Live your life happily and never blame others for your mistakes, ‘kay? I love you, Tim.” “I love you too, Mom,” he replied.

“Little guy asleep?,” Timmy’s father, Reygant Robertson, asked his wife as she joined him in the living room. Mrs. Robertson or what her husband calls her, Leigh, nodded and grabbed the remote to watch her all-time favorite TV Show.

The front door then opened to reveal Debbie, their eldest, the most stubborn but rather dashing, talented, and brilliant daughter. “I’m home!,” she said. “And where have you been, young lady?,” Leigh asked with a voice as smooth as silk. “A party,” Reygant answered and sniffed, “She reeks of alcohol.” All Debbie could do was gaze at her shoes and apologize but her mother knew better and accompanied her to her room where she was tucked into bed like Timmy, like a child being protected by her mom from the monsters in the dark.

But of course, who would forget about the university’s basketball jock, Laverne? The rudely handsome and self-centered prodigy. He’s that typical guy every girl wants to get but his only aim was to never let a relationship last for a month. For him, relationships are boring and only brings happiness for a short period of time. “Where’s Deb?,” he asked his parents. “She’s already sleeping. Why?,” Leigh replied. “That girl better know she got 10 bucks in for me,” he said before going back to his room and shutting his door with a thud.

The Robertsons was the ideal family in their neighborhood, especially because they were the only ones residing at 1818 Roguski Road. They have their eldest daughter, Debbie, a very dashing, talented, and brilliant college student, their son, Laverne, a jock with a rather rough but a family person, their little boy, Timmy, a sweet, thoughtful, kind-hearted, and brilliant little kid, and their baby boy, Jam.

“Those kids. How can we leave for work if they behave like that?,” Reygant sighed. They were supposed to go on a 3-day business trip the next day but are currently thinking twice about going. However, in the morning, there was an urgent call from their office and it was mandatory for them to go on the trip so they did. They left Debbie in charge of the household and drove to the airport.

“Are they gone?,” Laverne peeked from his bedroom door. Debbie nodded and let her brother make calls for a night party. She headed to the kitchen and prepared breakfast for all of them and afterwards, made sure that Timmy and Jam have already taken a bath and have eaten properly. She went in to take bath too and was greeted by an anonymous phone call afterwards.

“Hello? Robertson residence, who’s this?,” she put the phone on loudspeaker for Laverne to hear.

“I’m Melanie Torrin. Your mother called me and asked me to stay over and be your nanny.”

Debbie held a hand to the phone so the caller wouldn’t hear her ask Laverne if he ever recalled their mom saying that there would be a nanny. Laverne shrugged and told her to just tell the woman to come so they could prepare for the night party while someone was looking after Timmy and Jam.

It was exactly 2:59 pm when Melanie knocked on the door and started her nanny duties. Everything was well except for one thing. Melanie always sang songs that depicted torture, poisoning, and death. It made Debbie uncomfortable but she disregarded it nonetheless. Together with her brother, they called classmates and schoolmates for “a party that you’ll never forget” while the nanny made snacks and entertained the two young ones.

The party was supposed to be the night of the next day but Melanie had a plan up her sleeves. She went to Debbie’s room and handed the girl a makeup kit that she bought online. Debbie was of course, delighted and went to put the makeup on but as soon as it made contact with her skin, she screamed in pain. Her eyes welled with tears as her skin, from having itchy red spots, turned into a quickly spreading blistering rash, the makeup was irremovable. She looked to Melanie who was blocking the doorway with a maniac smile on her face. “Remember Alice? You stole her man, you put roaches in her locker, you told her to just die, you were the reason why she overdosed herself. And yet you continued on being Little Miss Perfect. You didn’t even apologize. Oh wait, you did! You apologized to yourself for getting so stressed over an imbecile. You self-centered, makeup savvy, party addict, boyfriend-snatcher, bitch,” Melanie whispered in her ear. Debbie scratched and scratched until she bled. It was such a wonderful feat wherein the rash had already spread from her face to her upper torso and then her lower. It was as if Debbie was already in the process of decay. And just before she took her last breath, her eyes landed on the makeup kit’s cover with the lettering “POISON IVY”.

“Pill diet, pill diet, if they give you a new pill then you will buy it. If they say to kill yourself, then you will try it. All the makeup in the world, won't make you less insecure. You got weights in your pockets, when you go to the doctor's. Your favorite candy's cotton, that's why all your teeth are rotten. Silly girl with silly boys,” Melanie sang as Debbie tried to scream her last scream. She locked the door before leaving the latter to rot to death.

“What happened? Debs was screaming!,” Laverne rushed towards his sister’s room but Melanie stopped him. “Oh it was nothing. I gave her a makeup kit and she screamed out of excitement. Even told me to let you know, she wouldn’t eat dinner and would sleep the night off for the party you’re planning,” she said. “Oh okay then,” he shrugged and went to play video games.

Soon after dinner, Melanie went to give Laverne some milk and cookies. He ate them happily but coughed up blood afterwards. “Laverne Robertson, basketball jockey, playboy. You broke too many girls’ hearts and yet you act like you don’t know anything. You switch from one relationship to another. Quite astounding, actually, to think that you’re the Mister Dean’s Lister and yet you behave like you’re uneducated,” he locked eyes with Melanie who was smiling angelically as she sang, “Do you like my cookies? They're made just for you. A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.” She locked the door as well and went to tuck little Timmy to bed.

“Read me the story, nanny,” he said. Melanie obliged and even let little Timmy hold the book. The story was about to finish when Timmy yelped, “Nanny! A paper cut!” His index finger was bleeding and his eye welled with tears. “Spoiled little brat,” Melanie went to get a band aid and helped Timmy stop the bleeding but as soon as she got back, he was having a seizure. Melanie then, as evil as she is, sang him a lullaby, “Can't take it anymore, need to put you to bed. Sing you a lullaby where you die at the end.”

Last but not the least was Jam, the baby, who was crying. “Hungry, little cutie pie?,” she said then sang, “I can’t stand your whining. Where’s your binky now?,” before giving her some milk. Jam sucked and drank the milk wholeheartedly while Melanie sang, “Hush, little baby, drink your spoiled milk. I'm really crazy, need my prescription filled.”

And on that night, the Robertsons’ children died in ways a mother, a nanny, should have done to care for them.

The night of the party, a news report aired through the whole city.

“News Report: The bodies of Debbie, Laverne, Timothy, and Jam Robertson were found at 1818 Roguski Road, all died poison-administered deaths. A note was found on the doorstep by teenagers who were saying that they were going to a party they would never forget but instead, found a note saying: 1, 2, Melatonin is coming for you 3, 4, Baby, won't you lock the door? 5, 6, I'm done with this 7, 8, It's getting late, So close your eyes, sleep for days. Next time you're alone, think twice when you grab the phone. Our deepest condolences to the mother and father of these kids and may we all be careful and vigilant of our surroundings.”

Warning: A psychopathic patient from Ward 004 has also escaped, the facility is again to be put under total lockdown until the Patient 004 as well as 003 has been caught. Patient 003 is of fair complexion with light freckles on both cheeks and ebony hair with wavy locks; her eye color is brown and is of 5”5 composure. Patient 004 is also of light skin tone with dimples on the left cheek; a redhead with blue eyes. He stands 6”8. All camera personnel have been alerted regarding the breach. Notify the nearest security unit in case of sighting.

Hearing the warning being broadcasted throughout the city, he looked at the security picture of a girl who had short blonde hair and chestnut eyes.

“She should die,” he said as he faced the mirror and wore a beanie to hide his red hair. Walking through town was easy. However, avoiding security cameras and units made it difficult to move from one alley to another.

He rode a taxi to 1818 Roguski Road and watched the blonde girl walk out the door and place a note on the doorstep. He sniffed the air and followed the girl. He wanted something.

Her blood.

Her blood smeared across his skin.

Whose blood was it again?

#ward #asylum #fiction #fictionary #shortstory #story #melatonin #poison #thriller #blood #profanity #death

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