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travellingarmy · 4 years ago

Text

║Venti║ Stars (R)

Requested from Wattpad.

Female reader as requested.

Warning: •Those who does not know what R-rated means, it simply means that it is restricted to children under 17 (according to google).

•This will most likely be crap because I still don't know how to write NSFW oneshots.

Word count: 2.1k

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"Just - hic - one more, Master Diluc!" Filled with the nightlife atmosphere in Angel's Share, Venti decided to join as well for the sake of sharing the same joy every Mondstadtian holds.

"You do know that these aren't free.." Diluc grumbles, a look of irritation visible on his face. "And don't you think you've had enough? You've had 33 glasses now."

"Ah, I can never get enough of Master Diluc's amazing brew!" the small bard exclaims. Diluc's face remained unchanged by the complement and went to make another glass for him. "You better pay for these."

"Haha, oh, Master Diluc, aren't you the jokester." Venti giggles. "I'm not joking," Diluc plainly said. "Haha, oh well.. Anyway.." Sounds of chatter drown out the taller male's warning that night by a loud bard who was starting to become tipsier with each drink.

After a couple more drinks- actually, it totalled to 50- Venti was now showing signs of passing out with his head on the counter, aside from occasional giggles and hiccups. Diluc grumbles in complete disbelief. Now that the bard was drunk, there was no way he would listen to his words.

An irritated sigh left the tavern owner's lips, seeing as he could do nothing about it. "I'll make sure you pay for it tomorrow so just go home," Diluc said to the bard who luckily listened, walking drunkenly out the tavern. "Thanks, Master Diluc!"

The cold air of the night brushed past the skin of the male, giggling as it tickles him. Oh how much he loves the wind so much.

Tonight, Venti did not go home- if he even has one- and instead, walk straight out of the city's gate; heading towards Starsnatch Cliff where he knew someone was sitting there all in her lonesomeness.

"(Y/N)!" the bard cheery voice made its way to your ears, making you turn to look at him. He waves and drunkenly giggles. "Venti, what are you doing here?"

"Hehe, I thought that my goddess wouldn't be asleep at this time and was here~" he answers, sitting down beside you. One sniff of him and your face wrinkled as if you were smelling a garbage site. "Ew, you went to the tavern again!?"

"Ehe." He shrugs, eyes closing into crescents as he smiled. You shook your head and brought your knees close to your chest, hugging it. You did not want to further push about the boring topic as it was quite often he would try to get wine from Diluc so silence was the only thing you could do.

You look at the stars in awe, a small smile tugging the corner of your lips. "It's quite nice today-- even the weather," you stated randomly. Venti leans back, using his arms as support. He took a glance at your soft figure before averting it to the sky you were seeing. "Even if it was cold, I would control the wind to make it warm for you," he points out, a smile of his own visible on his face.

In the midst of another silence, Venti's drunken state had his eyes started to wander on you, eyes tracing your face down to every detail. Your eyes that were half-lidded, your nose that was ever so his favourite feature, your lips-- oh let us not get into detail as to how much he loves those lips. Soon, his eyes wandered down to your neck and the strands of hair resting on it to tease him.

It might just be him being drunk and deluded or the atmosphere, but something in him wanted to do more than just looking at you.

With that being said, his hands slowly encircled your waist and drew you closer to him so that he could rest his chin on your shoulders. To you, it was just him wanting to hold you; nothing too suspicious and you continued to dismiss him.

However, that innocent thought was no longer when you felt his hands rub your sides in a slow and lustful manner. "V, Venti..!" you stutter, eyes widening as you look at him from the corner of your eyes.

He hums, eyes closed. "What is it, (Y/N)?" his voice still holding the same cheeky persona as his smile just grew wider. "U, um..!!" Your words died out on your tongue, the sudden rise of heat too overwhelming for you.

His lips made their way to your earlobe. "What's wrong, (Y/N)? Are you unwell?" he asks, a smirk replacing his playful smile. You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes, unsure of what to do as you felt something in your stomach. It was like a fluttering feeling when you see your crush, but quite different.

"Do you.. Want me to help you, (Y/N)?" he breathlessly asks and went to nibble the sensitive part of your ears. A whimper that escaped your throat failed you which just urge the male further. His lips then slowly made their way to your neck and he was suddenly washed with the intoxication of your smell.

Not waiting for a reaction, he starts off by licking your neck and soon, sucking it hard enough to leave a mark. Once again, another whimper left you. You felt embarrassed by the sounds you had made, but the growing heat in the atmosphere was too much for you to fight.

One of his hands made its way down your body, rubbing your thighs as the other massages one of your breasts. Your chests start to expand wider with each breath you take.

Venti's hands soon returned to your chest and began to unbutton your shirt ever so skillfully. Once it was fully undone to the last button, he moves in front of you, pushing you down the grass and hovering on top of you.

His eyes were filled with lust and craved for you and your body. Hungrily, he smashes his lips onto yours and had a full heated session. He licked the bottom of your lips and you obliged, opening your mouth to allow his tongue to adventure inside, winning dominance.

He went back and suck the other side of your neck, also leaving a mark there as his hands unclip your bra, kneading your breast between his fingers.

At that point, heat, too, filled your body and made your mind hazy, letting out a moan. Soon, his lips trailed downwards and took the other breast in his mouth. He continued to do so and switched to give the same attention to the other.

His hand went lower, pulling your skirt down to your thighs. Teasingly, he rubs his fingers on your clothed cunt and you moaned yet again. "Hehe, you are so naughty, (Y/N)~ Already this wet for me?" he says, continuing to run through the article.

Soon, he had enough of the teasing and pulled down your last piece of clothing, leaving you fully exposed to the cool air of the night while he was still fully clothed.

"Tell me, (Y/N), what do you want me to do~?" he asks, pressing his cold fingers on your cunt, making you whimper. When you didn't say anything, he leaned closer to your ears and whispered, "If you don't tell me.." He moves his fingers teasingly. "I could just leave it here~"

"N, no..!" You shot your eyes wide open, revealing your desperation and lust. "Hm~? Then tell me, what is it that you want me to do?" He smiles and his eyes were overshadowed with a dark playfulness.

"P, please.. I, I want your fingers.. In me.." you say, a bit embarrassed at the dirty words that left your tongue. Venti chuckles, but answered to your wish, plunging one finger inside which made you moan. Urged on by the sound, he entered a second one. "Look at you~ So greedy for my touch."

You weren't listening to his words as he starts pumping his fingers, slow at first to make you just whimper. "What do you want me to do now, (Y/N)?" he asks once again. "Is this too slow for you?"

"Please.. G, go faster..!" Again, listened to your wish and started to pump faster, adding two more fingers in the mix. He returns to attack your breast and bit your nipples and his free hand went to massage the other.

The stimulation was too much for you, being touched everywhere soon made a knot inside of you that was waiting to be snapped at any moment. "V, Venti..!" That was all he needed to hear for him to stop, moving away from you.

You look at him, confused and upset, but that was soon answered as he stood up and pulled both his pants and undergarments down. "(Y/N), why don't you be a good girl and repent?" he beckons you to go on your knees.

You listened, getting on your knees and bringing your face closer to his cock that was dripping with precum. "Well? Don't tell me you don't wish to repent." You gulped and slowly bring your lips to the tip of his dick, licking the precum off of it.

You felt him shudder from above which urged you on. You opened your mouth and brought half of it inside your mouth, earning a groan from the male.

You then started to suck on his cock and another moan erupted from his vocal cords, putting a gentle hand on your head. You only sucked halfway of it and pumped the rest, not wanting to choke.

When it has gotten to a point that was much to his pleasure, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your head; pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You moaned on his cock, feeling it touch the back of your mouth and made you gag.

"Don't stop now, (Y/N). After all, you want to be forgiven right?" He tugs on your hair and you continued. Venti became a moaning mess, guiding your head as he does so. And soon, you felt his cock twitch inside you. You suck him faster, wanting to help him in his release.

Followed by a long moan, he fills your mouth with his juice, keeping your head locked on his dick so that you don't waste a single drop.

Once you gulped all of them down, he pulls away. "Aren't you a good girl~?" he coos. "You deserve a reward so why don't you get on your hands and knees for me, hm?"

You listened, wanting to get your own release as well. He got behind you and you felt excitement wash through you and the knot that was still there.

He put his hands on your breasts, giving it a little squeeze. "Are you sure about this, (Y/N)?" he whispers in your ear. "You can always tell me to stop, okay?" You nod.

With that, he moved his wet cock inside you. You whimpered at the overwhelming foreign heat that entered you. Venti was patient with you and waited for you to adjust to the feeling.

"P, please move.." you say breathlessly after a while. Venti listened and started to enter and leave your hole, building up his stimulation once more.

Moans, pants, and lust filled that night and at each thrust, he went faster and faster as you grip onto the grass, feeling your legs numbing. "Harder, Venti..!" you cried out, the knot close to breaking.

His grip on your waist was for sure going to leave marks on your skin, but that didn't matter to your right now.

He pulls out completely but quickly slams it back inside you. Your head jerks up and moaned loudly. The sight of the was stars blurring as you were being pounded into and drool went down the corner of your mouth.

Venti's thrust became sloppier and sloppier by the second. He buried his face on your shoulders and bit it hard enough that it drew blood, but you were too focused on the pleasure that you hadn't noticed.

"V, Venti, I--" At that moment, the knot snapped and you came on his dick. Venti thrusts a couple more times before he, too, came inside you, groaning as his second wave was finally released.

He fell on top of you, both your legs too weak to carry the weight of your bodies. He didn't take himself out just yet and listen to the two of you pant.

"Let's go home, hm?" he suggests between heavy breathing. You nod and watch as he pulls out, letting out a whimper at the sudden emptiness inside you.

He dresses himself up first and later helped you since you were unable to do it and carried you home. "I love you, (Y/N)." He kisses the side of your head, watching you slowly fall asleep.

---

2K notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Note

I have another prompt for you! Do with it ehat you want. It rested way too long in my "Ideas I never use" box:

"I don't even care about my own life, why would I care about yours? I am a fucking pheonix, my dear, death is just like an insect to me – It stings, but has no lasting effect"

(maybe it's fitted for a Fey!Jaskier? Or Ageless!Jaskier? Or a Villain?)

Ohhh I love that prompt! Thank you!! <3 (shame on me, i left out the word 'fucking' bc it didn't fit the vibe of the fic. Hope it's still ok)

I again have no idea what I'm doing, but where would be the fun in knowing what's going on in my own writing XD

word count: 4884

content warnings: brief mention of blood, brief mention of injury, temporary character death (for about two seconds), burning alive (kind of)

There was something in this forest that didn’t belong here.

Hasty steps disturbed the birds’ songs and heavy panting cut through the illusion of safety that lay over this land like a fog.

The girl running through the woods threw a glance over her shoulder, a haunted expression on her face. Her feet caught on a protruding root and with a cry that pierced the air like an arrow, she fell onto her hands and knees.

Her scream carried on, long after she had closed her lips again. The echo started out as a whisper, then it grew louder and louder, became a symphony of fear and desperation. The sound of one who was truly lost.

Then again, all who found this forest were lost in one way or another.

And though they might not realise it, no one was ever truly alone in these woods.

Inhuman blue eyes watched from the shadows of the underbrush as the girl curled in on herself, lying on the forest floor in a heap of helplessness.

With slow steps that fell onto the earth silently as a sigh, Dandelion took off their cloak of shadow and approached the lost girl in front of them. As they came closer, they lightly hummed a melody, a soft lullaby made of wishes and dreams.

Slowly, the girl’s shuddering breaths evened out and some of that tension that held her in a vice-like grip, eased out of her shoulders.

“Child,” Dandelion spoke softly, in a voice that was bird song and trees swaying in the wind.

The girl looked up. For a moment, she didn’t seem to comprehend what was kneeling before her. Then, within the blink of an eye, she scrambled backwards, terror etched onto her face.

“You don’t need to fear me,” Dandelion said softly, holding their hands up.

“Why should I believe you?” The girl’s hands wandered across the forest floor until the closed around a branch lying next to her. Though fear twisted her face, she held the branch in front of her like a sword.

Dandelion cocked their head to the side, a smile flickering over their face. This girl was brave. Most lost people were, but there was something about her…something other. Something elder.

“You can believe me, because I can’t lie.”

“You’re not human.” The girl’s gaze wandered over Dandelion. They could nearly feel how her eyes raked over his claws that were just a little too sharp to pass as human, over their blonde locks that nearly had the colour of the flower they had named themselves after; the name yet another fruitless attempt to become more than they were. They were so close to being human. Still, despite centuries searching, they hadn’t found the right them yet. Not in this life and not in any that had come before.

“I am not,” they admitted and the words tasted like ash on their tongue. Always ash. Always fire and ambers. And yet, nothing more than a small sting that would pass when the life engulfed them in another embrace. Another chance.

“Then what are you?”

Dandelion lowered themselves to the ground, until they were at eye level with the girl. Carefully, they reached out their hand, an offer, an invitation.

“I am a Home for the Lost. Another Chance.”

“I am not lost!” The girl sprang to her feet without warning, gripping the branch tighter. “I know where I’m going. I’m…I’m looking for someone.”

“And someone’s looking for you, I assume?”

The girl bit her lip while her eyes darted to the side again, scanning the trees as if whoever she was running from could jump out and attack her at any moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Dandelion repeated. “You can be lost here for as long as you need to be.”

“What if I don’t want to be lost?”

Dandelion gave her a smile that they knew couldn’t reach their eyes. “Then I can keep you safe until you’re found again.”

“But you’re not him. The one who’s supposed to protect me.” The girl’s breath hitched. “Are you? You’re not Geralt of Rivia.”

Dandelion drew in a deep breath, tasting the name on their tongue as they inhaled. Their eyes fluttered close as the power of the name surged through them.

“I’m not,” Dandelion agreed. It wasn’t a lie. And yet, they felt a part of Geralt of Rivia’s being taking root within him. His name was theirs. His winding path, his doubts, his destiny. His losses. “But he will come here. I promise you that.”

“How can you? Have you seen him in these woods? I didn’t know he was in Brokilon forest.”

“This isn’t Brokilon forest. It stopped being that when I found you. And it doesn’t matter where Geralt of Rivia is. Not yet.” A breeze ruffled through the trees, whispering its secrets to its master. “He will be here. All woods lead here, when you go deep enough. When you get lost enough.”

If there was one certainty that pulsed through the name like a heartbeat, it was that Geralt of Rivia was lost, more than anyone Dandelion knew of. Except, of course, for the one person that Dandelion didn’t have the power to guide back to their right path. The one person who was given chance after chance after chance for a new start and yet never found their way out of the maze they were trapped in.

“He will come.” Their promise tasted like lightning and the soothing melody of a bubbling river. “You will be his second chance. Until then, let me be yours. I will keep you safe.”

The girl hesitated a moment longer. Then, she dropped the branch and flung herself into Dandelion’s arms, desperate not to be lost again.

Dandelion’s held her tightly, rapped his shadowy cloak around her and whispered soothingly into her hair. The embrace was like the feeling of when the fire stopped. At least that was how Dandelion imagined it must feel, when there were no flames coursing through their veins.

But they couldn’t truly know. After all, everyone was in this forest was lost in one way or another.

‘The girl in the woods will be with you always’

Renfri’s words echoed in Geralt’s mind as he limped onwards through the trees, ignoring the worried calls of the man who had taken him with him on his cart.

Geralt couldn’t waste a single moment longer by staying with him and his wife. His child surprise was out there somewhere, waiting for him. And Geralt…Geralt didn’t know what to do. He had to find her, had to make sure she was safe.

Yet he had no way of knowing where she even was, or if she was still alive. It was a miracle Geralt himself wasn’t dead yet.

You can be lost here.

Geralt’s head snapped up, his eyes darting across the trees sharply.

“Who’s there?” He called out. A mistake he wouldn’t have done if his mind had been clear and not muddled by ghoul poison.

For a long moment, there was no reply. Ever so slowly, Geralt tore his eyes from the darkness that lurked behind the trees. That’s when a different echo reached him.

Not Geralt of Rivia.

This voice sounded younger. Child-like.

“Ciri.” The name was but a breath on his lips, but he knew it in his heart to be true. Somehow, this voice was Ciri’s.

His staggering steps got faster, until he nearly ran. Geralt didn’t care about how the movement tore at his wound, how twigs whipped into his face, how his breath became shallow as black spots danced before his eyes.

He was urged onwards by the unbending certainty that Ciri was near, that he would finally find her.

People linked by destiny would always find each other.

But there was something else as well. A wildfire in his chest, a strand of shadow tugging him onward.

Geralt of Rivia.

The echo of his name rang through the woods, through the air and the inside of his head. Two voices. Ciri’s – and another one. A voice that sent shivers down Geralt’s spine.

The repeat of his name turned into a melody. A lullaby. A siren’s call.

Every instinct in him screamed to turn back, to get himself to safety. But instincts had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

His instinct had told him that his mother would take care of him.

His instinct had told him that he was loved.

His instinct had told him that there was nothing he could lose by calling upon the law of surprise.

But, oh, how he had lost. His mother, the woman he had thought he had loved, the certainty that he could keep walking the path that had been his only guidance since Vesemir had taken him to Kaer Morhen.

Geralt had lost, again and again, until he had become lost himself.

His chest became tight and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the pressure building behind his eyes.

He was lost.

And yet he had no choice but to keep going. A haunting lullaby and his name on the wind forbid him from turning back.

He tried to orient himself on the rays of sun shining through the canopy of too-green leaves. Desperate to reach a path or a person that would make him not-lost again, Geralt ran until his breath turned into pants and his muscles protested. Witchers didn’t tire so easily. If need be, Geralt could fight for hours, stay up for days. Yet, no matter how much his body ached and protested, claiming it had been hours, days, weeks, the sun remained in his spot, never moving, as if no time was passing.

Geralt’s lungs were burning and the pain in his leg flared up with every step, until there were no more steps to take.

His knees gave out from under him and he collapsed, falling to his hands and knees onto the grass, the blades of which looked sharp as a sword but felt soft beneath his hands. Like a pillow to lay down on. Like an embrace. Like a home.

Witchers had no home. They only had the path, and yet, looking at this strange forest with its whispers and stagnant sun, Geralt had not even this.

“I am lost,” He called out, an act of pure desperation that never before had he allowed himself to admit to. His voice was raspy and scratched at his throat like shards of glass. As if he hadn’t uttered a single word for weeks.

Lost.

The haunting reply came in his own voice. A chill raced down Geralt’s spine and his fingers fisted into the grass, desperate to cling to something.

“I don’t know the way.”

Away.

An unshakable fear seized Geralt. He didn’t care how his voice broke, how his body was already broken.

“I need help.”

Witchers didn’t need help. They didn’t beg. And if they ever did, their pleas would go unheard.

Not so Geralt’s.

Something snapped to his right. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching for his silver sword. The medallion on his chest vibrated furiously.

He pushed himself to his feet, trembling with the effort, but unwilling to be on his knees like a condemned man waiting for his executioner.

The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves stopped for a moment, a quiet laugh that sounded like water tumbling over rocks replaced the sounds.

“I found you.”

Geralt stiffened. It was the same voice as the first whisper he had heard – the voice that had lured him here. Only this time, it wasn’t a whisper on the wind. It was very real and far too close for comfort.

Witchers didn’t receive help. Whatever had answered his call must have darker intentions.

“Show yourself!” Geralt demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

For a moment, everything went still. No more whispers, no lullaby, not even the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Then, the bushes to Geralt’s right parted and someone stepped through. No, not someone. Something.

The creature in front of him looked how someone who had only ever seen a human’s shadow might imagine a human to look like. The being walking towards him was taller than any human could be, towering over Geralt. Their limbs were too long.

When their lips parted for a smile, the rows of teeth in them were sharp as a wolf’s.

“What are you?” The question left Geralt before he could think better of it.

The being cocked their head to the side curiously, too-blue eyes wandering over Geralt’s body, as if they didn’t even notice the sword pointed at them.

“I’m the Second Chance,” the being said, their eyes flashing with something Geralt didn’t dare name. “Yours, if you want me to be.”

“Who else’s second chance are you?” The question didn’t make sense, but Geralt had no control over his tongue. There was something about this creature – person? – that urged him to say things he didn’t understand. It was as if deep down, he already knew the answer, as if a part of him had known this person for a long time.

The being didn’t reply, but they raised their hands to their side and brushed lovingly over something. The air flickered in front of Geralt’s eyes, making him nauseous and dizzy, yet when he tried to look closer, he could only see shadow behind the creature. Until they flicked a hand behind them and the shadows parted, revealing a smaller figure. A girl with blonde hair that stared at Geralt with big green eyes.

Geralt sucked in a sharp breath.

It was Ciri. The one who had been lost to him.

And she was standing behind a creature powerful enough to lure even a witcher in. A creature who now placed a clawed hand on Ciri’s shoulder – the shoulder of the girl Geralt was sworn to protect.

“Let her go.” The demand left Geralt’s lips like a beast’s snarl.

“Go?” The being’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I made a promise to keep her with me. I don’t let any lost soul go.”

Their eyes bore into Geralt’s, searching through his soul, laying bare everything he was.

A boy, lost and abandoned by his mother.

A man who had lost a fight with the woman he thought he had loved – losing the fight, losing her, losing what he had been so sure had been love.

A human, who had lost his humanity.

Geralt, who was nothing but lost.

And there in front of him stood a creature who kept lost souls. The being sucked in a deep breath, closing their eyes as if they could taste all of Geralt’s losses.

They would keep him. Him and Ciri, damned forever to wander this cursed forest in which time stood still and echoes whispered into his heart.

He couldn’t let that come to pass. Not for Ciri.

Geralt knew his life was lost as well, even as he swung his sword. It didn’t matter. He had to save Ciri, had to get her out of this creature’s grasp.

There was a cry when his blade pierced the being’s chest. Was it his own cry or Ciri’s? Was the whole forest screaming as its master fell to their knees? There was only one voice who didn’t join the cry of agony. One, who was deadly silent, as life drained from it.

Blue eyes shot open, staring at the blade buried in the being’s chest with curiosity that quickly turned into resignation. For but a heartbeat, fear flickered in the being’s expression.

Fire blazed in those blue eyes. Fire poured forth from the wound instead of blood. Fire came to life in the being’s hair, searing the dandelion-yellow strands and racing over their body until all that was left of them was dancing flames.

Geralt watched in horror, as the flesh turned to ash before his very eyes. No, not ash. Dandelion seeds.

The wind picked up, tearing at Geralt’s hair, pushing him away, making the dandelion seeds tumble through the air in a wild dance.

Leaves tore from the trees, yellow flower petals, bits and pieces of the forest. All was dancing through the air, forming shapes and breaking apart again. The grass that had been so soft a moment before, shot up, grew faster and higher than any plant could, forming the shape of legs, of a torso, of a head. And still the leaves whirled through the air, obscuring the sight to the body that formed right in front of Geralt’s eyes.

A pit opened in Geralt’s stomach and the realisation of what this meant crashed into him with the force of a cockatrice slamming into its prey.

The being wasn’t dead. But it was only a matter of time before Geralt was, dying at the hand of the creature he couldn’t kill.

Geralt’s sword slipped out of his limp grasp, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Geralt followed a moment after, his knees hitting the ground once more. This time, his executioner wouldn’t hesitate.

Geralt couldn’t protect his child surprise. Not in the years to come. But there was one thing he could do in this moment, one last act of desperation to save a life that he had always been meant to guard with his own.

“I make you a bargain!” Geralt’s voice got drowned in the howling of the wind, and yet, the ever-changing shape of the being turned towards him. Geralt’s throat went dry, his chest tightening. “My life for hers.” Through the whirlwind of leaves and blossoms, Geralt met Ciri’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and terrified. She was his to save. “Take my life and give the girl back hers. Let her go.”

Geralt bowed his head, awaiting judgement. For failing Ciri. For failing Vesemir and not being able to kill this creature. For failing himself. For losing, just when he had finally found the girl he had been looking for.

The wind didn’t falter, yet it changed course. The petals drew closer together, reaching towards Geralt like a hand.

A soft touch brushed his chin, tilting his head upwards, forcing him to look at the swirling shapes before him.

Though the being had no lips yet, their voice was clear and crushingly loud, coming from all around him. Every tree, every blade of grass, the very air spoke with the being’s voice. “Oh, but I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?”

Despite the roaring volume, the voice was achingly soft, like sweet nothings whispered in Geralt’s ear. The petals brushed Geralt’s cheek like a lover’s caress.

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest, like a drum, growing faster each second, it’s rhythm dictated by the song that made this creature be.

“There must be something – how can a life be meaningless to you?” Geralt’s voice broke and his eyes flickered over to Ciri again. The child he hadn’t wanted. The life he had tried to push as far from his path as he could.

A sharp sound pierced the air, reverberating in Geralt’s bones. Only when it cut off abruptly, did Geralt recognise it. A laugh, devoid of life or joy.

“I am a phoenix, my dear.” The endearment cut into Geralt, broke him apart, made him wish that he could be more – that he could be found. “Death is just an insect to me – it stings, but has no lasting effect.”

“Liar.” The rasped out word cut through the symphony of sound.

Within the blink of an eye, everything around him stilled. The wind was still moving the petals and leaves. The being’s shape was still changing, and yet, there was no sound. Nothing, but Geralt’s own heartbeat and his blood rushing in his ears.

Then-

“What did you call me?”

It was only a single voice, within Geralt’s mind. A helpless desperation clung to it. A hunger.

“I called you a liar.”

“I cannot lie.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched and he forced himself to stare up at the swirling shape.

“Then you are a fool, if you truly believe your own words.” His hands trembled and he had to clench them into fists. Each word he spoke, dug his own grave deeper and yet, he couldn’t stop. It was as if there was something tying him to this creature, something telling him that he could know them, just as he was certain the creature knew him. “If death is like the sting of an insect to you, then it is more than just a passing irritation. Adults still remember when they had been stung by a bee as a child. Warriors flinch back from wasps, even knowing the stinging will pass. Gnat’s bites will itch for weeks.”

“Pretty words for a man who had first used his sword before attempting to speak. Yet the cut of your words hurts me as little as your sword did.” The caress of the petals left Geralt and he nearly found himself following their receding touch. “I do not care for my death, nor do I for my life.”

“Then why am I still alive? If life and death doesn’t matter to you, then why did you not just end mine?”

Unless…

I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?

They had never said they didn’t care about Geralt’s life. It had been a question – unable to either be a lie or a truth.

The only life they didn’t care about was their own.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, as minutes, days, an eternity passed and the being still hadn’t taken on a new shape, a vessel for their new life, no doubt was left in Geralt’s mind.

“Then let me give you something else,” Geralt whispered, his mind racing. In the stories, the creatures entrapping children in their realm and bargaining for their lives only ever wanted one thing. “If you let her go, I will give you my name.”

Something changed in the air. An almost palpable tension pressed down on Geralt, making it hard to notice anything around him but the dancing petals.

“Oh, my White Wolf.” The name the being spoke wasn’t Geralt’s name, and yet Geralt felt a tugging in his chest, a soothing caress, a gentle promise. It felt like his. And it felt like the being’s. “I already have your name.”

“Then what do you want? What…” Geralt trailed off, only now noticing the hint of something heavy in the being’s voice. It had Geralt’s name. Yet, Geralt had no way of referring to the creature. He didn’t know them. Perhaps no one did. “Then I give you permission to tell me your name. You may let me get to know you. You may ask to not be…to not be lost without anyone knowing who you are.”

Yearning. Hope. Helplessness.

How a being without a form could make their emotions so apparent, was beyond Geralt, but there was no denying it. The air felt lighter, the grass brighter and the silence was replaced by a soft humming, not unlike the lullaby Geralt had heard earlier. The forest was pulsating like a heart, was living off of the being’s longing to be found.

“I can’t give you my name,” the being said. “I can’t ask of you to hear it. I don’t want you to know it. I care not for my life, nor any life I’ve lived before.”

Something rose in Geralt’s chest. A fluttering, a certainty.

People linked by destiny would always find each other. This wasn’t destiny. It wasn’t any outside force pushing them together. It was two people being lost, finding each other.

Two creatures, inhuman in their own way, feared by those who didn’t understand with no one to care enough about who they were. Neither of them had had a choice in who they wanted to become. Neither of them had chosen to be lost as they were.

The witcher, who’s name had been replaced by a hated moniker. People didn’t know him as Geralt. He was the Butcher of Blaviken.

And this being before him - this Second Chance? Who had they been? Who could they have been if they had the chance to start a life that wasn’t dictated by what they were meant to be?

“I can be your second chance,” Geralt prayed that he could be what he promised, knowing in his heart that he could. “If you won’t take my name and won’t tell me yours… I can give you a name. A new life that will be more than an itch left by an insect. More than the fear of that short sting that will end it.”

The yellow petals were back on Geralt’s face, cupping his cheeks almost reverently. In that moment, Geralt wasn’t a condemned man on the execution block anymore. He was a man on his knees, asking another being to start a new life, to bind them together in a way that felt utterly right for a reason Geralt couldn’t understand.

There was a plea in the silent touch.

“Tell it to me then.” The voice was quieter than it had been before, yet it felt more urgent than the loudest cry.

Geralt lifted his hand, laying it carefully onto the petals touching his cheeks. Yellow petals. Not tough like a dandelion forcing its way through stone paths, set on coming back to life again and again. No, these petals were different. Softer. Fragile.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice laced with power he hadn’t known it could possess. Louder, he repeated, “Jaskier. I have found you. You are no longer lost.”

A tremble went through the forest. The wind stilled, but the petals didn’t fall to the ground. Instead, they finally settled on a shape.

The petals caressing Geralt’s cheeks were the first to turn, their touch becoming more solid, warmer, human.

Geralt pressed into the touch, holding the hand that formed in his. Dizziness swept over him as the form before him solidified. Green leaves turned brown as they did in autumn and turned into hair. Petals became red and gave shape to a mouth that was stretched into a radiant smile. Grass turned into fabric, dressing the person whose life was just beginning in an embroidered doublet. A tree bent down, its bark peeling off and turning into an instrument, that the person deftly caught in one hand, the other never straying from Geralt’s face.

Then, the human opened their eyes. Blue again but lacking the eerie otherness. And yet, they were brighter than before, so full of life and for once filled with anticipation of what this life would bring.

This life that Geralt had given them.

Before Geralt stood no longer a phoenix, a creature with no name. They were their own second chance. They were Jaskier.

Even as Ciri rushed from behind Jaskier and flung herself into Geralt’s arms, the witcher couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jaskier.

The new human looked at Ciri with a fond expression on their face, and yet there was a strain around their eyes.

When their gazes met, Jaskier’s lips tugged into a small smile.

“I guess I kept my promise then,” they said in a voice that held no power, but made Geralt’s heart skip a beat nonetheless. “I kept he safe until she was found.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “You intended to let her go? Then why –“

“I didn’t bargain her life,” Jaskier said softly. “She was free to go whenever she pleased. I – I wasn’t. You gave me my life and I give it back to you. If you want it.”

Without thinking, Geralt shook his head and tightened his arms around Ciri.

“I don’t want your life. It is yours.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier’s lips moved silently, forming the word ‘mine’, as if testing it out for the first time. A smile lit up their face, making their eyes brighter.

“If my life is mine, does that mean, I can choose where I want to go?”

Something twisted in Geralt’s chest at those words. “You are.” Had Jaskier only ever known this forest? If so… “Do you know any place besides this? Will you…if you leave on your own, will you get lost again?”

A gleam entered Jaskier’s eyes and they slung the strap of their lute around their neck, their fingers finding the strings of their new lute.

“I won’t,” they said, their face set in conviction. “Because if I get to choose where I am going, I will be following you, Geralt of Rivia, my White Wolf.”

Unlike before, there was no power to the way Jaskier spoke his name.

“White Wolf?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched and he plucked a couple of chords experimentally. “You have me a new name. If you don’t want my life, the least I can do is return the favour and give you a new one two. A name, people won’t curse. One that will no longer belong to a lost man.”

No longer a Butcher. No longer a mutant, bastard, monster!

Slowly, Geralt nodded. “A life for a life, then.”

“A life for a life.” Jaskier’s expression softened. “A name for a name.”

Two lost people finding each other, silently promising each other to do everything in their power to not let the other get lost again.

#thank you for the prompt!!#fae!jaskier #fey!jaskier #*gestures vaguely*!Jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #creature!jaskier #fic #my writing #witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #prompt #ciri #geraskier #kinda #i have no idea what this is but it was fun to write

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junicai · 4 years ago

Text

infinite.

| summary | When Aria's with her boys, it feels like the sky's the limit.

| word count | 2.3k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. June 2021, filming for Hello, Future music video

The grass in the empty stadium had been liberally covered in fake flower petals - the healthy green of regularly watered grass slowly becoming overshadowed by the light pink and yellow that settled lightly atop it.

The white corduroy overalls that Aria donned were splashed with colour in fake paint splotches to compliment the petals - yellows and greens and pinks mixed with blues and oranges in a jumble of streaks that were stark against the otherwise plain material. The Doc Martens that all eight of the members had been fitted for were all padded at the toe and the heel - lest the hard rubber break away skin and cause them to bleed during filming.

Aria crunched several petals underfoot in the heavy boots as she wandered over to the other boys who had been released from hair and makeup a handful of minutes before her.

The sun was just reaching it’s highest point in the sky, the heat bearing down onto her exposed midriff and almost entirely cancelling out the cool breeze that threatened to rise goosebumps on her stomach. The floaty, bell-sleeved crop top was, in Aria’s opinion, absolutely gorgeous. She had already planned out the best way to corner Heejin unnie - one of the stylists that had an especially soft spot for Aria and her pout, when used effectively.

Shaking her freshly dyed blue hair out of her eyes, Aria broke out into a light jog to catch up to Renjun, swinging an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Hi!” She smiled brightly.

Renjun wrinkled his nose at her playfully. “Hey. You done in makeup?”

Nodding, Aria replied, “Yeah. They wanted to touch up the colour in my hair and stick a couple more tattoos around.” She pointed to the new daisy sitting underneath her eye, and the Make Peace, Not War written in differing fonts along her left forearm.

He aah’d exaggeratedly, patting his own upside-down HELLO on his arm absent-mindedly, before frowning lightly. “Is your colour coming out already? I thought they only dyed it a couple days ago.” Lifting up a hand, Renjun brushed away the strands in Aria’s fringe that were falling into her eyes, cringing lightly when they came away covered in blue residue.

Aria pulled away from his fingers, shaking her fringe back into place. “They didn’t have any dye left, so it’s hair chalk.” She explained.

Renjun made another noise of understanding, looking at his smurf coloured fingertips thoughtfully. When his eyes flickered up to meet Aria’s, they had a mischievous glint in them, and she barely had the chance to turn on her heel and break out into a run before Renjun was giving chase hot on her heels.

“No!”

“Yes!”

Her boots were beginning to rub the skin around her ankle raw, still not broken in enough to stand the test of a sprint through a football field, but Renjun was behind her - holding up his hand threateningly - and that was enough to keep her powering through the burn.

“Stop it!” Aria panted, laughter beginning to soil her already failing lung capacity. Her pace was lagging, but much to her relief; so was Renjun’s. With a final burst of energy at seeing the ground she’d gained on him, Aria made her escape attempt-

Only to be captured by Jeno, strong arms wrapping around her waist and swinging her around in a circle to be plopped right back down in front of a now jogging Renjun, an evil smile on his face.

“Lee Jeno!” Aria protested, wriggling against the arms that had yet to release her. “Let me goo!”

He deigned not to respond, but Aria could see the matching glint in his eye, and she resigned herself to her fate. He shared a nod of understanding with Renjun who was advancing slowly now that his victim was immobile.

“Renjun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Renjun, I’m sorry.”

His smurf-hand raised threateningly again.

“I’ll do your dishes for a week.”

With a final step, Renjun was now within a half-arms distance from Aria.

“Jenooo-” Aria cut herself off with a squeak, as Renjun dragged his fingers over the bridge of her nose, leaving behind a trail of the blue hair chalk. Aria flailed in Jeno’s grip, but he held her fast, even going so far as to tug her down into his lap on the ground to hold her steady.

Now entirely stuck, Aria resorted to flailing her limbs as much as she could, which really wasn’t a lot when Jeno tucked her legs beneath his knees, trapping her with all four of his limbs as Renjun rubbed the rest of the hair chalk off of his fingertips and onto Aria’s nose and cheeks.

Revenge enacted, her attacker eventually settled back onto his heels, fingers now chalk free - having spread most of it over Aria’s face as a replacement for blush.

Aria let out a small sneeze when the loose dust tickled her nose, blinking harshly in surprise.

With her eyes closed, she couldn’t see the hand Renjun held to his heart, or the pout that Jeno’s lips formed at the cute sound. The two men peered up at each other, silently agreeing that: Yes, it was unfair that she looked so tiny and cute with blue blush. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair, and it was coming for Renjun and Jeno’s heart in the form of a very tiny girl with a blueberry nose.

With a pat on the arm from Renjun, Jeno released Aria from his grip who promptly turned around and rained a series of light smacks onto his chest, only stopping when her rings snagged in the necklace he wore. He made no effort to help her, asides from holding her up when he accidentally leaned back and nearly took her down with him.

“Traitor!” She declared once she had untangled the jewelry. For her own revenge, she ran a finger through her hair to collect the chalk and smudged the colour onto Jeno’s cheek in a bright smear.

The shocked look in his wide eyes was enough to have Renjun coughing out a laugh, the other two soon following. The patch of grass they had settled onto was far enough away from the filming location that there were no petals to hinder Aria’s plans of laying down onto her back, hands splayed over her stomach as she laughed along with the boys.

“Guys!” It was Mark’s call that drew their attention away from the coloured chalk - although Renjun did let out another snicker at the light blue cloud that Aria’s hair left on the grass where she had been laying - and together the trio made their way back over to the other five members.

When Jeno and Renjun got distracted in comparing the temporary tattoos they had both been decorated with, Aria slowed her pace enough to let the two wander ahead without her.

She slid her focus away from the duo and towards the group that had settled in between the flower-covered goalposts, some standing, some sitting.

The bright colours of this concept was a nice change, Aria thought. She loved doing sexier concepts - don’t get her wrong, she loved the empowerment that came with it, and the twitter reactions were always fun to scroll through - but she’d missed this kind of bubble pop. Songs that made something uncurl up in your chest, complemented and encouraged by all the bright colours and messages.

When Aria had read through the lyrics the first time, she’d never felt like she’d loved a song more without hearing it. They meant something, especially to her.

Hello, Future; and all that.

And the costuming was always so fun. Short skirts were never the most ideal things to dance in, and the heeled shoes were the bane of her existence (no matter how good she looked in them) so the sturdy boots and durable overalls was a welcome switch-out.

Her boys looked happy with it as well.

With Hot Sauce, there was an infinite amount pressure to get it right. It was the first full album that NCT Dream was going to release, and it was 8DREAM. They had Mark back. They were all adults at that point. There were expectations to meet. They couldn’t pass things off as being children anymore; they had millions of eyes watching them, and it was like having someone breathing down your neck.

The pressure just kept mounting and mounting until it loomed over them all like dark clouds that you could just know held heavy rain. It was like they were debuting all over again. Re-debuting as eight again. Aria doesn’t think she remembers a single thing from the set at all. The whole thing is just a blur in her memory.

Hello, Future, this time around, is different. The members had gathered in the living room around Donghyuck’s laptop when the Hot Sauce music video aired, watching as the views racked up and positive comment after positive comment poured in. They’d read through each and every one, Mark and Aria translating the English ones that the others couldn’t read.

If Aria cried, one arm wrapped tightly around Jaemin, with the other held Mark’s right hand in his lap, then no one commented on it. It could be, because they had tears of their own in their eyes - but no one can say for sure.

They ended up sleeping on the floor that night, laptop discarded on the couch that was stripped bare of pillows and throw blankets. Curled around each other - this time with her head on Renjun’s chest and her stomach monopolized by both Chenle and Jisung lying horizontal from each other, Aria felt the tension and the fear that had been teeming underneath her shoulders for the last two months abate.

The terror that if the album had flopped, then they’d be facing disbandment like so many kneitzens wanted.

Or worse: Dream would keep going, but they’d lose Mark again.

Even the thought made something horrible curl up in the pit of Aria’s stomach.

No.

Never again.

The odd sleeping arrangements were not something that were uncommon in the Dreamies dorm (Honestly, Aria can’t remember the last time she had slept alone in a room, let alone a bed. They had a system worked out for when someone genuinely needed time alone, but otherwise, most bedroom doors remained open all night.)

This time, Mark was forcibly settled into the middle, everyone clamoring that he’d missed out on nearly three years of them - and he wasn’t getting ride of them that easily again.

To his credit, Mark went without much argument, although that probably falls down due to the fact that god, he had missed them too.

Over the weeks of practicing together, re-working the choreography for the songs that had been released when Dream was seven members only, they found their rhythm again. The one that they had lost in 2019, the one that Mark had taken with him when he’d graduated from the group.

Finding it again felt easier than breathing.

Aria thought she’d never get to see her boys smile so brightly as they did together again, giving the colourful flowers lining the grass a run for their money.

From her position a ways away from the group, she watched as Chenle immediately launched himself at Jeno as soon as he was close enough, tackling the older boy onto the ground where they both landed with a thud, Chenle’s head whipping backwards with the force.

She watched as Jeno - ever careful - had tucked a hand behind Chenle’s head to catch him even before they started to fall, his hand taking all the impact as they came into contact with the ground.

Jisung was quick to clamber up, eager to pull Renjun over to Jaemin and show him what they had been doing. She watched as Jaemin held up a small crown made of the fake petals, held together loosely by the short strands of confetti that were scattered around the goalposts.

Mark was leaning his back against the post, head tilted down onto Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck was watching Jeno and Chenle wrestle with each other - cheering for one or the other, depending on who was winning at that exact moment.

Aria watched as Donghyuck slowly slipped into silence, tilting his head down to look at Mark’s peaceful expression as the eldest seemed to almost doze off on his shoulder.

And, she watched as Donghyuck lifted his eyes, flickering from each of the members. His eyebrows furrowed, scanning the group again before he craned his neck towards the rest of the field.

When his eyes locked onto Aria’s, he raised an eyebrow, but deigned to stay quiet - choosing against startling Mark with a yell. His expression was enough, though.

Donghyuck understood Aria on a certain level that she thought not a lot of people could. She had a unique bond with each member of Dream, but Donghyuck sometimes knew what was going on in her head before she even did.

Which is why, instead of teasing her for being an introvert, or running away; when Aria strolled up to join the group he just extended the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Mark’s waist, beckoning to her.

After being firmly tucked into his other side, Aria curled into his chest with a sigh, shivering lightly when the sun slid behind a cloud for a brief second and the air felt cooler than it had all day.

Feeling her shudder, Donghyuck tilted his head down to look at her the same way he’d looked at Mark a moment ago, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?”

Aria nodded. “M’okay.”

(Donghyuck didn’t realize that his lips were blue from the chalk until Jisung pointed it out, some thirty minutes later.)

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zet-sway · 3 years ago

Text

I wrote something angsty and spicy.

Rated: "E" for "Extremely Spicy" [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Vantablack" Pairing: Thane / FemShep (Unrequited?) Pairing: Garrus / Femshep (Mentioned) Summary: Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing.

THIS IS NOT HAPPY SHRIOS. Most of my recent work has been very soft and warm feeling - this is not that. But I want ya'll to know I have some soft happy shrios in the pipeline to make it up to you <3

Inspired by @shut-up-alexa's fic Weightless, I drew upon the moment where Thane takes a sip from a glass Shepard had just been drinking from - as was her intention. The fic itself says he tastes her lip print and sets the memory aside for when he is "alone with himself in the darkest part of the night." It was then I knew I had been visited by the smut fairy. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME WRITE FANFIC OF YOUR FANFIC :D

Sleep was difficult enough to claim, most nights.

Thane, ever a man of routine, kept to his nightly rituals like an acolyte. He began with prayer. Verses carved into his mind since his youth, silent and still as he bargained with the gods to mull the chaos of his memories, to forgive his misgivings. Meditation lasted as long as it needed to. Sleep was, after all, fruitless without a quiet mind.

Aboard the Normandy, however, nightly meditation felt like a fool’s pursuit. Shepard, returned from the waves of Kalahira’s ocean, demanded much of a man like him. In her hands, the carefully constructed fortress of his mind was like a house of cards. Reborn into the hands of the enemy, she raged, unable to trust the unfamiliar construct that was her body and searching with grief and heartache for a lover she couldn’t locate. She prodded him with questions, seared him with her gaze and her relentless upset.

Raw, heart-stricken, and reckless, her anger was justified - even if she flung it at him underhandedly. He forgave her always. To be her target was to bear her trust. He could see it clearly; she knew no other way to soothe the guilt and isolation that tore openly at both her body and her mind. In time, he was confident she would heal. Until then, Cerberus was no friend to her.

And thus tonight, like most nights, she haunted him.

At 0300, he decided on a compromise. Troubled sleep was better than none at all. After a calming herbal tea and having tended to his hygiene, he settled into his cot, nude as he so preferred to sleep. If he could sleep at all.

The minutes, and the memories, began to tick by.

"The most important aspect is intent," he’d said to her, watching her eyes follow him while he circled behind her. "A breath of hesitation will get you killed, or worse." Hands alighted on her shoulders - a companionable gesture before they both endeavored to threaten her life.

Shepard didn't flinch when he began the demonstration. Thane flattened himself against her back, one arm winding wide around her shoulders. Pressed into the curves of her body, his sweet torture began. She arched her neck - calm, trusting - offering her throat into the curl of his elbow as he tucked his arm under her chin and sealed his hand on her opposite shoulder. He steeled himself against his lust, breathing in unison with her, taking advantage of his proximity to inhale her scent as he demonstrated the headlock. Carmine hair brushed across his fingers where they were clamped on the nape of her neck, his breath washing over vulnerable, prickling skin.

Thane let the silence linger, writing the lush warmth of her body into his memory, caught in the lethal intimacy of his embrace.

"Weaken the spine by twisting," he murmured, his lips nearly brushing her ear, each word sending strands of hair ruffling on his breath. Thane closed his eyes, enflamed by her closeness, praying for mercy as she tilted back into him - a wordless exchange of scorching intent, however convinced she was to not act upon it.

His voice, barely a whisper, poured forth from intangible parts of him that hadn't known a lover's touch in over a decade.

"Apply pressure in the opposite direction."

Careful, controlled, he flexed the arm around her throat and wristed the palm at her neck. Painful to her, as he knew it would be, but not enough to truly hurt her. Nevertheless, she tensed in his arms, a kinetic shiver flowing from her body into his like the sinful call of a siren. Willing herself to trust a killer's restrained tactile intimacy, a hair-trigger away from dropping her where they stood.

"And snap."

Innate human vulnerability gave voice to her wanting. A single breath escaped her lips when she failed to contain it behind clenched teeth, her carotid artery pounding beneath smooth scales. Thane answered with his own hot rush of air against the back of her neck, a contorted gasp he hadn’t realized he was holding, torn from his throat almost against his will.

He allowed himself a blinding second more before releasing her, but not before stealing a brush of delicate skin across his lips as he pulled away. A parting gift to himself - one he paid for just hours later, when she laid her poisoned trap before him.

With the skin of her neck still irritated from their training, Shepard, mildly intoxicated herself and wrapped in a dark silk robe, presented him with a glass of her own venom. Tequila - amber and potent, an indulgence she knew full well he’d deny -- unless it was laced with his drug of choice. Her.

There upon the rim of the glass was the rosy imprint of her pigmented lips. A well of temptation, spiked with her essence. If this was a test, he'd failed spectacularly. Gods forgive him, he raised the glass to his lips under the pretense of drinking and lost himself to the faintest tastes of her mouth, entranced, savoring the traces of her beneath the mask she painted on every morning to reclaim what little of herself she believed was left. Shepard watched him with a carnivore's eyes, drawn over with night-black daggers as if to warn him. Like a rose garden, she was beautiful and wreathed in thorns. He knew better than to stray too close, but he would gladly take what meager offerings she presented - venomous or not.

This was his penance for opportunity’s kiss, stolen behind her back. A petty theft, to be sure. But even petty sins were still sins.

True to her reputation, Shepard was a fast learner. She played his game, abided by his rules, allowed him to touch her under the guise of training. She wasn’t blind to her effect on him - no. She would use him to find her turian lover. And he would let her. Selfishly, begrudgingly - willingly. What she desired would be hers for however long she allowed him to remain in her orbit.

The temptation of her lingered in his mouth and still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be until he could taste it directly from her lips, sealing his arms around her, a serpent beckoning her to taste of her own forbidden desires.

“What does it taste like?” She’d asked, as he sampled her forbidden offering.

The moment played over in his mind as he savored what little he had of her. Wax and pigment woven through with the fire of her essence. The rubicund flavors of her mouth, lit from within by the burn of tequila. The leash of his desire held firm in her little human hands, ever reminding him that she was not his to hold.

Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing. Filched moments clutched around and within him, lust coiled like a snake in his gut, rearing its head between his legs. A call of arousal demanding to be answered - painfully, without another to share in his release.

He shifted on his cot, loosely draped in the delicate, tight-woven sheets that slipped over his scales as he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm behind his head in frustration. All the meditation and control in the galaxy would not be enough tonight. Like that sinful sip of tequila, his blood was on fire in a way he could not ignore.

Cool air met his scales as he pulled the sheets back, uncaring when his calves tangled within them. Alone and aroused, he would do as his body willed.

Memories welding together behind closed eyes, conjuring visions to answer his need. A slick tongue traced over his - a kiss. A common intimacy that he burned so brightly for, and had been denied to him for what felt like a lifetime. She might hesitate at the first touch, a breath of uncertainty when she met the split of his tongue, unknowing how much he ached to spoil her with that small perk of interspecies diversity. He drank of her mouth, absorbing her heat as he glided one palm over his length in teasing strokes.

As she so often was on the battlefield, the woman he imagined was demanding. Soft, unblemished hands pushed him back, fisting in his clothes as she, lost in her burdened reality, both pushed and pulled them together. Would she think of her lover? Of endless nights entangled in the long limbs of the famously obstinate Vakarian? In truth, Thane did not care. In his selfishness, it mattered not whose hands she thought of when he finally drew back the long elegant robe she so loved to taunt him with. Watching the fabric slip past her shoulders to reveal skin so bright it was nearly blinding in the dim light of his quarters. She was untarnished, even by the freckles that once dusted the high points of her features. The way she hated her body was something he understood all too well. A product of another's vision, a construct and tool to be used by others, with little regard for her dispositions. A weapon financed and fabricated by Cerberus. She obsessed over her body not out of vanity, but in rage. Such had begun their training.

He wanted fiercely to call upon any memory of her hands on him, but he had precious few. As yet, she hadn't managed to land a single blow on him in all of their sparrings. But little by little, she was getting stronger. Almost imperceptibly so. His grip tightened around his length at the thought - hovering over the phantom taste of her on his tongue, the beguiling wrap of her fingers around the neck of a glass bottle. She knew her strength, knew exactly what she was doing. The way she toyed with him, oh, it made his breath catch. Tempt me, touch me.

He wanted her to overpower him, to trail those supple human fingers over the hard planes of his body as she took her pleasure from him any wretched way she chose. Her soft hand coiling around his shaft, a thumb smoothing his own weeping seed over the head of his length. He gripped himself harder, scales beginning their familiar bite into his flesh.

It wasn't enough. No. He wanted more.

Alone, yet weighted down with the shame of indulgence, he paused and reached beneath his cot, searching the small compartment that contained his personal effects. From it, he produced a single leather glove, turning it over in consideration. He disliked wearing gloves, the material impeding finer sensations he preferred to feel through his bare hands when striking for another's life. But they were a tool like any other in his arsenal. Useful for eliminating evidence and now, apparently, for self-gratification.

He couldn't have her hands on him, but he could have this. Soft and worn from wear, the material slid over his palm and fingers and he reached back into the darkness for himself.

It was different. Not quite what he imagined of her hands, but different enough from the texture of his own scales. He squeezed, a quiet sigh drifting from his throat as he tested his grip, repositioning his fingers, letting the sparse fluid of his sheath accumulate in his palm. Touch me, he willed her. Take from me what you please.

In the long years after he'd failed as a husband and a father, the pull of guilt and desire was but an old companion to him. He bore his sin on strong shoulders, praying to his gods, to his wife, to Shepard, for patience and the gentle hand of forgiveness. But even he, merely a man, could succumb to the base desires of sentience. She was imperfect and wracked with loneliness just as he was.

In the maelstrom of his thoughts, her beautiful, terrible wrath and desire descended on him like a drug.

He found it to be true that Shepard did, as he had heard, “fight like a krogan in a bar fight." That tactic had carried her this far, but there was much more to learn. With each day spent in rigor and training, he showed her how to control her fury. It wouldn't be long before she would learn to recognize an opening when he gave it to her. Beneath the lust of his own touch, he could think of little else than to tempt her with feigned vulnerability, if only just to see how far she would go. To let her catch his feet with a sweep of her leg and knock him flat on his back, all for the opportunity to peel him out of his training leathers and shatter the last barriers between them.

Such a union would destroy their delicate alliance. But here in his thoughts, any perceived fragility was his alone to endure. His mind raced with the thought of her entrapping him on the sparring mat, giving himself over in sweet surrender just as he’d done with her lipstick-imprinted well of liquor. How eagerly he would be her captive, submitting his pounding heart and body to her exploitations until she arrived at the manifestation of his need, screaming for her touch, twitching beneath her hands.

He cared little for how she took him. In his heart of hearts, he wanted to worship her, to show her how even reborn into a frighteningly reconstructed body she was still everything he ever saw in her and more. He wanted to taste her lips, her flesh, to map the broad expanses of her with his hands and tongue, to see her skin darken with the distinct human blood-flush of wanting…

But she would never let him. That privilege was for her lover alone, the handsome turian with indigo clan markings the same color as Shepard's lacquered fingernails. Thane's place was beneath her, and even that very thought lit his nerves afire with wanting as he drew out his pleasure with his gloved hand, aching for her to make him dance in her palm as she did when he bested her in combat drills.

If he couldn't worship her, he would more than willingly submit to her control. How he wanted to be the one to satiate the desperate woman within her. To see the visceral spread of her thighs around him, luscious hips rolling like waves over him as she shook loose her robe, and with it, the shackles of her desolation. His eidetic memory pulled forth every gasp and cry she had unwittingly fed him as they trained together. Her sonorous human voice played over his nerves, singing into his blood with every pump of his hand, a soundtrack to the Shepard he'd constructed in his fantasy. Her wide-shut eyes, wanton in the throes of pleasure, drawing him into her depths to answer the sanguine howl in her blood. The feral woman he knew, unleashed and longing to fill the void of two missing years with just a single shred of affection as she held out for her chosen lover.

Even if she overlaid him with vivid imaginings of turian plates and talons, Thane trembled to be the vessel of her desperate need. How badly he wanted to give her this. Heart pounding, he painted her in his mind with too-smooth skin the color of sun-soaked Rakhana sands. Speckled with tiny beads of sweat that carved trails down the valley between her unbound breasts with every rise and fall of her body. Her hair stuck to her dampened, vulnerable throat, still wrapped in a delicate lace of scale-borne irritation from their training. Her eyes fell closed, darkened lashes sweeping across flushed cheeks as she reached between her legs to galvanize her pleasure.

He lost himself to the vision of her face as she used his body to reach her peak of ecstasy. She was wild, clawing back her humanity through animalistic impulse that shredded her reality for what few blissful seconds her biology would allow - and it finished him. Buried to the hilt inside her, he surrendered with every nerve in his body. He choked back a shout, neck pitched back, vicious sparks of need pouring through the conduit of his lust and claiming her in a torrent of screaming, feral possession. For a split second of eternity, he was lost, trembling before the avatar of his own carnal lust, wondering if he could ever be forgiven for wanting her so savagely.

And then it was over.

Minutes drifted by as he laid still, assuaged yet afflicted with the sin of indulgence. Gods forgive him, he wanted her. And perhaps even more forbidden than the pleasures of her body was the thought of holding her.

Indeed, the simple intimacies of loving someone seemed by far the most out of his reach. To stroke the sweat-slicked skin of her back, nudging his face into her damp hair as she laid atop him panting, satisfied, permeated with his essence and high on his venom. The rosy, burning flavor of her venomous gift lingered in his mouth. So close and yet nearly further away than she had ever been, pushing and pulling him in heartache.

Slowly, as he tidied himself, his phantom lover evaporated. Away she wisped, searching for the embrace of her wayward lover, wherever he might be.

His heart rate slowed as the seconds slipped by. 0400. Training in two hours.

#zet writes things #shrios #fshrios #thane krios #ITT: thane has a very angsty fap #don't hate me i promise im still writing soft shrios #lkfsdjflskfjsldfjsldfs

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akachaan · 4 years ago

Text

the golden-winged king [xiao]

genre: angst

warnings: death, blood

notes: pls im so proud of this writing BYE

The gentle chirps of birds graced Xiao’s ears. He recognized this as a melody of nature, the sunlight cascading a loving warmth onto his pale skin. Lush and rich grass blew in the breeze, one of the few somethings that Xiao actually appreciated from the Wind Archon. He chuckled breathlessly, a feeling of lighthearted mischief settling upon him. Xiao imagined how Venti would pout and scold him for his unbearably disrespect remarks, as he liked to call them. The grass entwined itself into his gloved hand like a silky ribbon. The light, fluffy clouds passed by, drifting away like dandelion seeds floating in the winds.

Xiao’s legs began to ache— the reason unknown —so he’d sat himself down, assuming he’d been basking in the beauty of the flower field for much too long. Ah, flowers. He’d almost forgotten just how intricately designed they were. Well, as a Guardian Yaksha, there’s only so much you can stop and admire. What were the names of these? The petals were pale blue from the bottom fading into a remarkable teal color, four pastel purple strands sprawling out from the top.

Glaze lilies, he recalled. These flowers only bloom once sung to, yes? He remembers this from a certain... human. He smiles fondly at the thought of them. “Xiao, Xiao!” A familiar and soft voice called. Speak of the devil.

Xiao turned to them, and his breath was caught in his throat. It’s like time slowed down, just for them. Just for him. He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, showing vulnerability he’d been hiding for a millennia. Your shining, soft locks framed your face, [c] eyes shining with love and purity. Xiao had seen skies like an ethereal dream, twinkling like sparklers trapped in the deep cerulean sky... But none of those galaxies and any to come would even compare to your radiant image. You were an angel sent from heaven, one to remind him what life can truly bring upon humanity; people like you.

You were like his little secret of sorts. Not a secret of the world. Anyone could meet or find [Name]. He knew anyone could come and sweep you away from him— though he doesn’t enjoy thinking of such ideas —he knew. It could happen. But, he also knew, and he trusted that you wouldn’t truly leave him, after all they’ve been through. He knew that you confined in him just as he did you, he felt like he was finally certain in his eternity of suffering and emptiness. Days that went by where he felt as if he were just existing. He was not living, he never was. Xiao was simply a guardian, assigned to protect Liyue until he drops dead from exhaustion. He was existing as The Guardian Yaksha, Conquerer of Demons.

But with you, he was not any of those. He was not just existing, watching over a nation til his last breath. Your presence alone made him feel warm. Him feeling was already an achievement in itself, after all these years as standing on the sidelines, secluded; no matter how close to Liyue he physically was, he felt so different and disconnected from his people. He’d only be remembered as tale to be told. The way that you made him feel. Not only have you made him feel, you’ve made him feel warm. A ‘warmth’ that he wishes to bask in for the rest of his existence. Warmth. Xiao knew this wasn’t the word to describe how he truly felt. By definition, yes, Xiao admits, albeit hesitantly. But he couldn’t help but feel it was so much deeper than that. You made him feel a warmth that burned his insides. The feeling had words caught in his throat, he often struggled to form a single coherent sentence when you eyes twinkled with a joy he can’t quite grasp. It made him stutter, the way you looked so blissed and euphoric in his company. He loved it. He loved how the butterflies in his stomach never seized, fluttering and flying with each second. His heart raced like a tiger running after its prey, running at miles per minute. He felt so human. So alive. So loved, and he’s finally experienced what it’s like to love. He never wanted it to end.

You laid yourself onto the luxuriant meadow of nature, the blades of green tickling at your cheek. The sun caressed your skin like a mother would her child, giving you an angelic-like glow. Your eyes had drew closed as you listened to what was around you. Distant animals chirping and buzzing filled your ears along with the synchronized breathing of you and the boy next to you. You smiled, your heart thumping against your chest as savored the peace of this moment.

Xiao turned his head to admire the gift the Archons had given him. He saw how amicable this whole ordeal was and how much you were enjoying it. It wasn’t everyday the two of you had the time to lay down and appreciate each other and what the Earth truly had to offer, though I’m sure that’s been made clear. The soft whisper of his name felt like a melody being sang to him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Another sweet murmur of his name was called. And another. And another. Xiao grew worried. With every purr of his name, he could hear desperation and panic in your tone. That alone had him sick to his stomach. He sat up, his eyes now greeted with an all-too-familiar setting.

The sky was dark with stormy clouds, rain thundering heavily onto the bloodstained ground. The air was no longer crisp and clean but instead reeked of the metallic scent of blood and sweat. He could almost taste the blood on his lips. Xiao looked at his hands, dirtied and course with dried ichor. What was once his peaceful escape of serendipity was now a horrid sight of what he used to be. The murderous machine of what he promised himself to cast away since The Archon War. Screams of retreat, pain, defeat and victory mixed in his head, which was now throbbing from the sudden change in scenery. Why was he here?

More importantly, where were you?

“Xiao... Thank god you’re alive.” Your broken voice chuckled, growing dryer in the passing seconds. His head snapped to you, who was laying on the floor, absolutely beaten up. His heart ached at the sight, and he reached to gently cup your face, as if one wrong move could completely shatter you. You gasped for air before continuing, “I knew you would survive. There’s,” You paused to cough harshly, your body crumbling as the cough was let out, “no way the Xiao I know would loose to anyone.” He pulled you closer to his lap, panic and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew there was nothing he could do. But he still tried. He still tried to grasp onto what little hope he had left; it was all happening too quickly.

“Hang on. I’ve got you, okay?” He choked out after the initial shock. The time you have left and the time he would be able to get you proper medical attention were so obviously not in his favor. He picked you up, carrying you on his back. And he just ran. His legs moved like he was going to die if he didn’t hurry. Quite frankly, he would most definitely die emotionally. Xiao couldn’t loose you. Not now, not ever. He wanted to live with you until your died of old age, peacefully where you could’ve smiled on your deathbed. He remembers how you used to get mad at him for carrying you like this. The way your cheeks heated up and you buried your face into his neck always got a goofy smile on his face. But now, you were clinging onto his back as best you could— though it was a loose grip, you used what energy you had left in you to let him know you were still there with him.

But soon, too soon, you wouldn’t be, and you both knew it. “Xiao,” you called weakly.

“I said hang on. I’ll get you medical help soon. Please, keep your eyes open. You still have time.”

“Xiao...”

“You can’t leave me like this. I swore to hold you and protect you and love you for the rest of my life. Out of the many promise I’ve broken I can’t... I can’t break this one.”

“Xiao, listen...” The utter amount of suffering in your voice tore him apart more than the searing pains in his limbs. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make it in time no matter how fast he ran. So he obliged to your request and set you in his lap once again. He stared at your face, covered in dirt and scars. Yet you still looked at beautiful as ever.

“Please. Don’t go. I won’t know what to do without you.”

“I’m always here with you even if...” You trailed off, both from the lack of oxygen you had and the discomfort of finishing your own sentence. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, as you saw Xiao in such a vulnerable and tormented state. “Xiao...”

He caressed your face like a mother would her child. The sting of his heart drowned any physical injuries he had. Nothing would hurt more than the thought of losing you. The grass scratched at your cheek, and you winced at the feeling. Xiao tucked a hair strand behind your ear. As he leaned down to press his forehead against yours.

“Xiao... You are and forever will be my Golden-Winged King.”

And that was when the tears spilled. Your body went cold and limp in his own very hands, your eyes that shone with love and purity where now dark and lifeless. The smile that lit up his world was gone; replaced with a face of sorrow eternally etched onto your features. Xiao wondered. Death was a pitiful punishment, yet somehow so enchanting. You still looked as heavenly as ever. It was only then the pain of truly losing you settled in. You were never going to grace his ears with your melodic voice. You were never going to grace his eyes with your smile. You were never going to grace his senses with your adoring hugs.

You were never to grace his life again.

The Golden-Winged King had a fall from grace, just as you did in his own very arms.

#genshin #Genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #genshin Xiao x reader #genshin impact Xiao x reader #xiao x reader #genshin imagine #genshin impact imagine #genshin X reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact Xiao imagine #genshin Xiao imagine

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mellowswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Meaning Found

pairing || Poe Dameron x Reader

summary || Sometimes it takes a crash and the fear that your best friend is dead to finally admit that you love his stupid ass.

word count || 3,466

warnings || language, allusions to sex, minor injuries, lots of teenage makeout sessions lmao

a/n || I rewatched the sequel trilogy and was reminded of my intense love of Poe Dameron, so this kind of just... happened. My first Poe fic, too, so I tried to nail his sarcastic, teasing personality but I don’t know how well I did. Let me know what you think!

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“Poe?” You called out, your hands cupped around your mouth in a vain attempt to amplify your voice through the trees. “Poe, where are you?!”

It had been hours since you crashed on this godforsaken planet, the smell of smoke and overheated metal rousing you from your unconscious state. The first thing you noticed after the awful smell was pain. Your calf was killing you, the pain radiating up through your entire leg from a long gash that thankfully wasn’t bleeding too badly. It just hurt like a bitch.

Panic lanced through you when you realized your hot-headed pilot was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t a single trace of him. No blood, no tattered clothes, no nothing. He was just gone. Fear thickened in your throat like glue, your lungs seizing under the weight of it. Still, you busied yourself with fixing what was left of the radio. Poe would be pissy if he came back and you hadn’t at the very least gotten a distress signal to the Resistance.

When he came back.

Poe would be back.

But then the radio was repaired and you managed to salvage some supplies from the wreckage of your precious ship - and Poe still wasn’t back. Enough was enough, you decided. Forget your fucked up leg, your pilot was out there somewhere, possibly in worse shape than you and in desperate need of help. So you found a branch that had been ripped from its tree when your ship met its untimely demise and tucked it under your arm in a makeshift crutch and got to hiking.

It was way more painful than you had expected. Each step had a sharp stab of fire-like pain bringing a wince to your face, but it seemed like the longer you walked, the more your body grew acquainted with the wound. It still hurt like hell, but the worry for Poe was far greater. The further you went, the more you really began regretting the choice to come on this mission. Your presence wasn't even entirely necessary - it was a damn supply drop for Maker’s sake. But when Leia herself asked you to have Poe’s back (and keep his pretty little ass out of trouble), you couldn’t very well say no.

Boy, was she going to get an earful if you got back.

When. When you got back.

“Poe, you shithead!” You screamed, your voice echoing off of the trees even through the rain. “I’m gonna leave your ass here, I swear! Where are you?!”

You barely heard it, the sound of his voice calling out your name. Hope lit in your chest, burning hotter than the pain that was now entirely forgotten as you took off through the trees, expertly dodging branches and raised roots as you went. His name fell from your lips over and over, hope falling away into relief when you realized his voice was growing closer.

The sight of Poe Dameron always took your breath away - not that you would ever admit that. It didn't matter when, it didn't matter the circumstance. He was too pretty for his own good, all sharp angles and dashing smiles. Even when you were at your grumpiest, usually as you sipped your coffee during morning briefings that always felt earlier than the last, his presence eased the heaviness that plagued your shoulders.

This time, it was infinitely more intense. Maybe it was the desperate way he crashed through the treeline. Maybe it was the huge grin that broke out across his face when he locked eyes with you. Maybe it was the way his arms immediately opened to embrace you and lift you from the ground, disbelieving laughter rumbling through his chest. Whatever it was, it had tears building in your eyes. For a moment, everything else was forgotten. The two of you weren’t stranded without a functional ship, you weren’t filled with fear and adrenaline, there wasn’t a painful gash in your leg. You were just in the arms of the one person who could make this whole shitshow a little bit better.

Out of nowhere, your relief gave way to fear. Sharp, debilitating, all-encompassing fear. You could have lost him. Poe could have died, or you could have died, and you wouldn’t have told him - fuck, he never would have known. Holy shit.

“Did you really have to call me a shithead, though?” Poe laughed as he put you down, his eyes sparkling with amusement. The gasp you let out when your feet touched the ground had that amusement disappearing, though. “Shit, what happened? How bad is it?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” You managed through the heaviness that clamped around your throat. Poe didn’t believe a single word that came out of your mouth, obvious by the way he sighed and shook his head. He ignored your protests and the way you slapped at his shoulders when he quite literally scooped you up. “Fuck, Poe, I said I’m fine -”

“You’re bleeding, you aren’t fine.” He gruffed out, readjusting his grip at your knees carefully. “Which way is the ship?”

The standoff only lasted a few moments, the both of you glaring at each other and waiting - Poe waiting for you to at least nod in a direction and you waiting for Poe’s dramatic ass to put you down. Of course, Poe won. When didn’t he? All it took was the jerk of your chin and Poe set off, grunting every now and then with the effort.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” You whispered a few moments later. That fear was still rolling in your stomach. No matter how hard you tried to swallow it down, it still threatened to choke you up.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know me. I’m tough as nails.” Poe laughed. He cleared his throat quietly when he saw the tears still gathered in your eyes. “Seriously, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

The endearing term made your heart flutter. Pet names fell from Poe’s lips like second nature, you were used to it. Blame the leftover adrenaline, but this time it hit differently, right in your chest. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed his sweat-dampened curls back from his forehead gently, careful not to accidentally tug with all the jostling as he carried you. Your lower lip trembled. “We could’ve died.”

“I know.” Poe’s eyes hardened. “I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Poe, it wasn’t your fault.” You chastised gently, your fingers automatically carding through his hair and gently untangling it. He leaned into your touch slightly and a small smile graced your lips. “You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“You told me to take the northern route, I should’ve listened -”

“Come on.” You sighed. Always so hard on himself, this one. “I literally argue with you about everything. That’s what we do, you dork. There’s no actual difference between the north route and the west route and we both know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Poe smiled softly down at you and your breath caught in your throat again. Damn it. The man really was gorgeous, even with the guilt that still lingered on his face.

“I wasn’t bitching at you or trying to say you got us into this, okay? I… I just realized that you… fuck, Poe.” Words failed you. Or rather, you failed your words. They were there. They had been there from the very beginning, but the overwhelming fear of losing his friendship choked the words from you time and time again.

You didn’t even realize you were back at the wreckage of your ship, too in your head to pay attention to the world around you. Poe set you down gently in the grass, apologizing quietly when you hissed in pain. Now that you weren’t adrenaline soaked and desperate to find him, your body was all too happy to let the pain flare back up.

“Let me get the bacta from the med kit,” Poe murmured, leaving your side for just a moment. He seemed just as anxious as you were, the idea of being apart making both your stomachs turn. Even just a few moments, even just a few feet of distance, it was too much. Poe kneeled at your side and easily tore the remainder of your pants from your calf, the comfortable material now only reaching just above your knee.

Cleaning the gash was no walk in the park, but the moment the bacta touched your inflamed, angry skin, you sighed. That shit was magic, no doubt about it. Nonetheless, Poe was still careful as he wrapped your calf, his every touch slow and gentle and the memory of the last time the two of you were like this bubbled to the forefront on your mind. The roles were reversed, of course, because it was almost always Poe making daringly stupid choices and ending up wounded, but you had been so scared of making the blaster wound to his shoulder worse that your hands shook.

There had been a gentle trust in his eyes when Poe reassured you that he was okay, that you would do just great. His normally confident voice became meek as he whispered that you were the only one he trusted to fix him up, so you better get to it. That was Poe. Always trying to cover up vulnerable moments with humor. But that sparkle of humor was nowhere to be found as he settled himself next to you. Hell, he could barely keep eye contact with you.

“What...what did you realize?” Poe whispered. Something in the way he was looking at you told you that he knew already, fear and hope and anticipation all plain on his face. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, something you had come to recognize as a nervous habit.

You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself against the racing of your heart and the excitement that buzzed through your veins. It lit you up from the inside out, the very idea of finally, fucking finally, saying the words you had been itching to say for far too long. “I realized that we could’ve died before I told you how much I love you.”

Poe let out a shaky breath, those full lips parting and closing around words that couldn't seem to find their way into existence. A fleeting moment of panic wound its way through your chest at the idea that you had misread this whole thing, constricting your lungs in a vice-hold that threatened to choke the life out of you, but it was washed away by the sudden press of his lips against yours. On the many occasions you imagined what it would be like to kiss Poe Dameron, you envisioned it to be all teeth and gasping passion, but the reality was so much better than anything else your brain could have dreamed up.

Poe kissed you like you were the most precious thing he had ever had the privilege of holding in his hands. Your eyes fluttered closed the moment his lips brushed yours, a soft and reverent touch that pulled a wrecked sound from him. He leaned back, breaking the gentle embrace of your lips to study your face. There was a small crease between his eyebrows where he had them furrowed and you couldn't help but reach up to rub at the space with your thumb.

The smile that broke across his face was brighter than any sun in the galaxy and he pulled you to him. The second kiss was more confident, something you never thought Poe Dameron could be more of. The warmth of his tongue sliding along your bottom lip made a rough shudder slither down your spine and his hand at your cheek buried itself in your hair to tilt your head. The new angle let him press even closer to you and the quiet moan it drew from him had you practically giddy, excitement singing through your entire body. Somehow your hands found the collar of his shirt, your body moving instinctually as if it was commonplace, as if your body knew exactly how to move with his.

“I love you.” Poe whispered against your lips, pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. He kissed you again, a short one just shy of a peck. “I guess we’re both idiots, huh? Could’ve had you for so long if I had just said something.”

“You can have me now if you stop talking.” You teased and Poe grinned. It was a grin you had seen countless times, but this time it felt almost new. Like you were able to appreciate that pretty smile of his in a new light. “Kiss me again, flyboy.”

An almost wild groan rumbled through Poe’s chest and he did just that. Poe kissed and kissed and kissed you until you were both left with swollen lips and goofy grins. Neither of you could get enough, like you had been drowning and were finally up for air. There was nothing else that mattered. Not the slow establishment of peace and control that Leia had managed to bestow upon the galaxy. Not the sudden shifting of goals after the success of the Resistance. Not the sudden floundering for meaning.

Everything you were searching for, the meaning of it all post-war…

It was found in each other.

“Wait, did you radio anyone?” Poe asked suddenly, those pretty brown eyes blinking up at you inquisitively.

“What?” You were a bit dazed from the feeling of his tongue expertly taking you apart. It took your mind a second to remember how to process words. “Uh, yeah, Leia sent Rey out to get us.”

“How long ago?”

“...Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now.” You motioned between your chests, an eyebrow raised. Poe just stared at you expectantly and you sighed. He would wait there until the Falcon landed right next to you with his stubbornness. “Like three hours ago. Why?”

That devilish smirk reappeared like it never left. “Just wanted to know how much longer I get to have you like this.”

Heat creeped up your neck at the implication. “Maker, you are so annoying.”

Poe bit at his bottom lip and for a mere second you were distracted, wanting nothing more to be the one nibbling at him. But then he had to open his mouth again. “Yeah, and you love me. Says more about you than it does about me.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You demanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words were whispered against your lips as he leaned in, once again dragging you into a makeout session that could rival any other. Like teenagers, the two of you, all wandering hands and teasing nibbles.

It wasn’t long until the telltale sound of the Millennium Falcon approaching pulled you apart - a good thing, too, because both of you were writhing for more than could happen in a field in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it was growing darker and being stuck any longer without shelter when the creatures of the night would begin creeping out to prowl wasn’t the best of ideas. You weren’t surprised that the little orange and white droid was the first down the ramp when the ship had settled on its landing gear.

“Hey, buddy!” The excitement in Poe’s was unmistakable as he crouched down to greet BB-8, the impact of his droid crashing into him knocking him right onto his ass. A series of inquisitive beeps made Poe sigh almost exasperatedly. “No, she’s fine, I took care of her leg.”

BB-8 rolled over and bumped at your legs affectionately, completely ignoring Poe’s indignant, “I’m fine, too, by the way!”

Rey appeared a moment later when you were kneeling to pat the droid and look him over, ensuring he hadn’t been harmed since the last you saw him. It felt a bit strange to care so much for the little guy but he was practically a little kid to you. You had started calling him Poe’s son as a joke long ago when you first met, but you had come to realize just how right you were.

“What the hell happened to you two? Did you forget how to pilot, Poe?” Rey called out as she walked up and immediately a loud bout of bickering began. To an outsider, it would look like these two hated each other but you knew better. Your little friend group would do anything for each other, especially after all you had been through together. All that was missing was -

“Finn!” Poe smiled and embraced his friend in a tight hug before slapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming, too.”

“You think I would miss seeing you two stranded together? Nah,” Finn asked as he pulled you in for a hug as well, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “I figured the two of you would’ve ripped each other's heads off by now.”

“Ha, ha.” You intoned sarcastically. “It’s nice to know that you two have careers in comedy now that the war is over.”

The playful jabs continued as the five of you settled into the Falcon, Poe keeping a hand on you at practically all times. On your lower back, on your hip, settled on your thigh. It seemed like now that he had the ability to touch you like he always wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself. It wasn’t long until his little game became obvious - seeing how long it would take for either of your human companions to realize something was different.

It didn’t take long for it to escalate. A hand on your thigh quickly became tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, which became affectionately rubbing the tension from your neck. Within fifteen minutes of flying through hyperspace, you had to leave the cockpit with some bullshit excuse just to keep yourself from curling up in his lap right then and there. You busied yourself in repairing the wiring you had been working on the last time you were on the Falcon, a simple job that was practically finished already save for untangling and reconnecting the wires and replacing the panel that covered it. Of course it took no time at all for Poe to wander off and find you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Hey,” Poe murmured before kissing your neck gently, swiping your hair out of the way to give him even more access. The scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin made you shiver against him and you could tell Poe felt it by the way he smiled against your neck. “Love how responsive you are...you’re never getting rid of me now, sweetheart.”

The lighthearted remark on the tip of your tongue melted away at the feeling of his tongue tracing that sweet spot just under your ear. You couldn’t help but lean back into his chest, one of his hands leaving your hips to brace against the wall. A low hum fell from your lips when Poe bit at your shoulder teasingly and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair and hold him against you, your attempted repair completely forgotten in front of you.

Every touch had pleasure curling around your body, lighting up your every nerve with need and excitement. The man was a god, but if you told him that, it would pump up his ego to an insufferable level. Maybe you could handle it, the ridiculous amount of pride, if he would just touch you…

“Please,” You whispered, your eyes closing as your head fell back onto his shoulder, and you didn’t miss the hungry way he hummed against you. The arm that was wrapped around your waist shifted and his hand slid under your shirt, the shock of his warm skin against your stomach forced a gasp from you. His fingers dipped below your pants, just barely teasing at the hem of your underwear, and -

“I knew it!” Finn’s deep voice echoed harshly through the metal walls of the Falcon and you both jumped, damn near cracking heads in your surprise.

“No you did not!” Poe scoffed, letting you bury your face into his neck to hide your embarrassed face. Poe’s dismissal did nothing to curb Finn’s excited sprint back to the cockpit, screaming something about Rey owing him credits all the while. A short, huffed laugh fell from his lips as he pushed you back against the wall, facing him this time. “We can’t go back up there, they’ll be impossible.”

You set your chin against his chest with an agreeing hum. “We could just go to the bunks… carry on where we left off.”

Poe grinned at you. “Hell yes.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron

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laurore-stormwitch · 4 years ago

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Here is my written-during-an-emotional-crisis “short” take on how is Nikolai going to propose to Zoya. They like to play tough but I imagine them both being really soft with each other, so I always believed it would be a moment somehow like this. And yes I do love to project my emotional issues on zoyalai thank you both very much to them.

word count: 1969

tw: mild reference to blood/violence

our first lifetime

Nikolai tossed a rock in the lake, watching the water curl and smooth in circles. He was sitting with his back leaned on an old oak, his knees up and his head thrown lazily on the side towards the sunlight, glancing at Zoya every now and then. They didn’t get to have many moments like this anymore. Since the war ended three months ago, their life had been a whirlwind of changes, sleepless nights, meetings and parades throughout the country. Nikolai cherished these rare times they got to spend on their own, the simple pleasure of knowing they had each other after it was almost taken away from them. Considering his life spent searching for adventures and thrill, he thought he was beginning to understand the appeal of ordinary things now. Even though he would not call the gift of having Zoya by his side, spread on the grass with the wind in her hair, ordinary. Three months and he still didn’t get used to this one bit. He turned to her, taking in the sight of her relaxed, eyelids closed, the morning rays warming her skin and his heart. They’d been here an hour or so, the same thought turning inside Nikolai’s head over and over again, not for the first time in these months. He laced his fingers with her hand, stirring her out of her quiet. There was a certain nervousness curling in his chest as he wondered why he hadn’t spoken yet. He told himself it was because he was trying to set up a grand gesture, something to deserve her, but that was not it. He was just scared. Scared of letting this slip again, of being so close to have everything he had ever wanted. Even the idea of staying away from Zoya sent a searing ache through his body. A sudden urge burned his throat in response, as if the words were fighting to get out on their own will. Just tell her. Gather some boldness and tell her. He couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to know that they could have this for a long time, if there was a kind of peace awaiting for them. And maybe the perfect moment was this coddled secret quiet they shared, the way they felt safe with each other.

“Zoya?”

“Mh?” She murmured. Nikolai let the words roll out before thinking twice about it.

“I want to ask you something.”

Zoya opened her eyes to look at him, with that serene and soft look reserved only to their intimacy; she prompted herself up, turning to face him and leaning on his legs to focus her attention on him, their hands still bound together. As she lowered her head on his knee, the scar on her chest peaked through her loose shirt. Nikolai traced it slowly with his fingers, feeling the grip of anxiety stealing the air out of his lungs. Flashes of the battle stormed his mind as it happened so often after the war, throwing it into chaos. He saw Zoya lying on the field, the stench of the fight, the smell of ozone and rain scraping at his nose. His clothes drenched with her blood, the way he wanted to rip his skin off his hands to make the stains go away, bright red streams hiding his darkened fingers. The hollow quiet in her chest when her heart stopped moving, the well of pain ripping his insides apart as he felt her limbs go numb. Her first ragged breath that tore the silence apart, the light slowly coming back in her blue eyes, the impossible relief he felt as he kept calling for her with a cracked and desperate voice he didn’t recognize as his own. The possibility of losing her, wrenching, shattering everything in its wake, worse than death itself.

“Nikolai - ”

He grasped his name coming out of her lips, blinking until Zoya came into focus again.

“Nikolai, I’m here.”

Nikolai sighed, moving the hold he had on her hand to her wrist, brushing his thumb on her pulse point and letting the rhythmic pounding of her heart take him back to reality. It had become a habit, this small gesture. Whenever the world felt overwhelming, whenever the dread and the grief blossomed at the memory of what had happened, he needed to feel this sound to know that she was real at his side. It was the only act capable to calm him down, to drift him to sleep at night. He felt he was being unfair, sometimes: Zoya was the one who died in his arms, and he was the one still having nightmares about it. But the terror he knew in that moment had been unlike everything he had ever had to live through. She’s alive, he would say to himself, matching the words with every beat. Staying awake for hours gripping at her wrist, carefully watching her breathing. Still gripping it while she whispered in his ear and ran her hand through his hair, while they sealed their wounds one stitch at a time and kissed their scars. We’re fine. We’re together, Zoya would tell him, over and over, a lullaby. Waiting their tremors away like she did once in the confines of a carriage. You haven’t lost her. She came back. When he felt his breathing steadied, he tentatively curled his lips in a reassuring smile, Zoya patiently waiting for him. She waved the smile back, encouraging him to speak with a nod of her head. She’s alive. We’re fine. Ask her.

“You said you have something to ask.”

It occurred to him he could’ve probably planned this better, at least rehearsed a speech maybe. Yet, Zoya was the only truly not calculated and unpredicted event in his life, someone who came in and swept everything else away. It felt fitting to grasp at this spontaneous impulse, and he didn’t regret the impromptu decision. Nikolai didn’t want this to be a political matter. It was about what they had always been; the two of them holding each other together as they had done for the past three years, be it on an evening spent sorting through letters or in a peaceful morning on the shore of a lake.

“You’re going to have quite the number of lifetimes, right?”

Zoya furrowed her brow with an amused look, easing herself on him the way she was before when she noted he was back to being the calm and nonsensical Nikolai she had fell for.

“A bunch, probably.”

She conceded. He nodded and inhaled deeply, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ears, grazing her gorgeous face with his knuckles. Why was he so tense about this? It felt like jumping off into the unknown and coming back home at the same time.

“Would you like to spend your first one with me?”

Zoya stilled, not moving a single muscle as she looked at him like she was pondering how exactly insane he was being. Despite her incredible ability to stand frozen through a tide of emotions, his thumb felt her heart racing up. When his seriousness sank in, her eyes shone and she pursed her lips, barely containing a grin, feigning indifference. He heard her breath itch.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m kind of asking you to marry me, Zoya.” He huffed with a teasing expression, showing a confidence he didn’t really feel. This time she smiled, knocking him off his feet.

“Oh, yes, I figured. But I don’t see a ring.”

Zoya chuckled, getting him dizzy on that crystal-clear sound. Her cheek was still laying on his knee, her gaze studying him attentively. Nikolai tilted her chin delicately, locking their eyes together, leaning forward.

“I have no ring for now, I’m sorry. I know this is sudden, and it’s soon. I don’t want us to do this because we feel pressured too, or because it makes sense. I just – I want this. You. I want you. More than everything. I’ve never thought it was possible to have a love like this, and now that I do, I’m not letting you go. I want you by my side, for the rest of my pointless human life. If you’ll have me, and I do hope you will.”

The spark in her eyes flickered, a slight tremor of her lips betraying the turmoil stirring in her chest. She closed the inch that separated them to drew him in for a kiss, resting her forehead on his. Nikolai smirked against her mouth, taking her actions as a good omen, an unbelievable solace flooding his chest. A whisper came out of her when they broke apart.

“Took you long enough to ask.”

“Were you getting impatient?”

“You’re know to throw away proposals like handkerchiefs. I was beginning to feel left out.”

Nikolai felt a weight lifting off his chest as he chuckled too at her accurate remark. He could sense there was some truth hidden in Zoya’s words; it was still hard for her to believe that they conquered this, in the end. That there was someone who wanted to be her home. He brushed their lips together again, the touch soft as a feather.

“I promise you this is the only wedding I will actually go through with.”

“I’d make a stunning bride. Hard to walk away from.”

“Most definitely. Is that a yes?”

He registered the shadow sweeping behind her eyes. It was a challenging choice; he knew he was not just asking her to marry him, that it would not be as easy as it felt in this moment. He was asking her to wed a king, to take a country, to face politics and prejudice, to give herself to an otkazat’sya she would have to say goodbye to, someday. As many as the obstacles were, though, he could also see how this future was a promise of light. That every burden withered on the face of the life they could share, and he could only hope Zoya saw that too. Sure enough, she pushed through her doubts, her fortifications crumbling into dust; she cupped his cheek, releasing a long breath and throwing out her answer with an ever so slight shiver in her voice.

“I think I’d like to see you making my first lifetime insufferable.”

“You’re not going to give me the satisfaction of hearing yes, my dear Nikolai, of course I’ll marry your awesome self, right?”

“That was as close as a yes you’re going to get have until you get me a ring, my dear Nikolai.”

They both laughed wholeheartedly, flustered and jittery as two kids with a happiness too great to fathom on their shoulders. Nikolai pulled her on his chest, letting her settle herself in the crook of his neck. He buried his nose on her hair, circling his arms around her, beaming with joy and relief.

“I’ll do it better next time, I assure you. I’ll get you the most precious ring you can imagine, I’ll get down on my knees and everything.”

“You might just like proposals better than weddings. Don’t do the knee thing please, a ring is more than enough.”

She teased, breathing deeply in his scent, her heartbeat slowing down. They stayed silent for a while, tightened in their embrace. Nikolai held her like she was the lighthouse that guided him safely in his troubled ocean, hoping to keep her in his arms so that she wouldn’t notice his watery eyes. He had never felt so lucky in the entirety of his stupid life.

“I’m really glad you said yes, Zoya.”

“I’m really glad you asked. And Nikolai, it was perfect like this.”

Zoya sighed, planting a delicate kiss on his palm.

She’s alive. You haven’t lost her. You’re going to get to hold her forever.

#zoyalai #what else #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #mywriting #fan fiction #grishaverse #yes i did cry while writing this #please leigh do them justice i beg you #king of scars #post row maybe #rule of wolves #nikolai duology #so much fluff

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pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

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Beneath Each Other's Bones

My fic entry for @eskelbigbang <3

Please also check out @drachedraws two amazing pieces of art that they made for this fic!

Relationship Tags: Eskel/Geralt

Character Tags: Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, Lil' Bleater

Other Tags: smut, established relationship, oral and anal intercourse (m/m), some very soft smut. what can i say.

Summary: Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold.

The stones of Kaer Morhen sighed as the sun rose over the winter-frosted valley. The birds and harpies had long since traveled south for the cooler months, and the draconids had nestled themselves in the depths of the mountains around the aging keep. The castle itself was full of its Witchers, who were patiently waiting for the first snowfall to blanket their surroundings in layers of quiet white . With the last witcher having finally arrived a few evenings prior, the pack were all finally able to rest peacefully with the knowledge that all were safe.

The first thing that Geralt felt was cold. His nose, the tips of his ears. The rest of him was encompassed in warmth, but the chill rudely nipped him awake, undaunted by his furry woollen fortress. He squinted one eye open with a grimace, finding his bedroom washed in the cool sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was still early. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon. Lambert would still be snoozing away, cocooned in the safety of a warm and familiar bed, but Vesemir would likely already be down in the kitchen preparing for the day.

Geralt’s ears, barely poking out from under his blanket, picked up the steady thunks of wood being chopped, and he grunted as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. His chest was bare, pale, scarred skin reluctantly exposed to the early winter air as the witcher roused himself. Still sitting in his bed, he turned and scooted to the windowsill, peering at the courtyard below.

Ah, fuck. Geralt’s morning arousal became actively invested in the sight that met him. Eskel had a stack of freshly chopped logs at his side, with one propped up atop a large stone. Geralt could see his muscles strain against the thin linen of his shirt as he swung the sharp ax high over his head, its honed edge glinting with the emergence of the sun as it met its apex, only to fall again with breathtaking force. The log split in two, and Eskel gathered the halves off to the side, stacking them neatly with the others on a long piece of thick canvas with handles on either end.

The ax found a resting spot for a moment as Eskel wiped the sweat from his brow. Geralt set his chin in his hands and his elbows on the edge of the windowsill and held in a low groan. Eskel had reached for the neck of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, revealing the olive-toned flesh of his stomach and the dark curls of hair over his chest that drew a delicious line below the band of his trousers. It was clear he’d been the first to return to Kaer Morhen. A comfortable roll of belly fat protruded from the confines of his belt, proof he’d had plenty of time to rest and indulge over the past weeks. His skin shone with perspiration and his thighs flexed and pushed at the fabric when he lifted another heavy log onto the chopping stone. Hells, the haphazard seam of one of the trouser legs was coming loose as his thigh threatened to free itself.

Eskel breathed in and swung again, driving the ax all the way through the thick log in a single stroke. As the two halves hit the ground he turned, dropping the ax and facing the little patch of green that remained before the frost. Lil’ Bleater was happily bounding through the grass, pouncing off of crates and rubble like it was her sole duty in life. Eskel smiled wide as Geralt did the same from his perch. The sun glinted off of Eskel’s back, dancing over the drops of sweat that dripped into the hollows of his muscles. Geralt swallowed thickly, unable to look away when Eskel’s arms came up to sweep the hair out of his face. The muscles of his shoulders and down the line of his spine flexed and shifted beneath his olive skin as he moved his hands to his hips.

“Alright, Bleats,” Eskel laughed as she came bounding over to his feet. He leaned down and offered a few sweet pats to the top of her head, “Think we’ve given Geralt enough of a show?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a cheeky grin to where Geralt was watching from the window, jaw agape and gobsmacked. The goat bleated as Eskel turned back and waved, and Geralt truly couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face if he tried.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Geralt grumbled half-heartedly as he watched Eskel drape his tunic back over his head. He was picking up the straps to the carrier for the firewood when Geralt finally tore himself away from the window, willing himself calm.

It only took a moment of deep breathing and a lifetime’s worth of practice, but Geralt soon found himself presentable to pleasant company. He threw on his usual winter attire, soft trousers and an even softer loose-fitting tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, his lined boots, and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. He tied his hair back off his face and let the rest hang on his shoulders in long silver waves. Finally, Geralt grabbed his swords and scabbards before heading down the stairs to the small kitchen space.

As expected, Vesemir was there with a steaming mug, poring over a book that was almost certainly older than Geralt himself.. He grabbed an apple and plopped down on the bench next to Vesemir, the both of them wordlessly grunting a greeting at the other. Geralt ate in relative silence for a bit, only the latent thrumming of the older Witcher’s heart and the crackling of embers in the fire accompanying the crunch of apple between his teeth.

That is, until Eskel butted open the doors to the hall and dragged his firewood haul in with him. Lil’ Bleater was riding the pile of wood like a pirate would her ship, the stack being almost as high as Eskel’s shoulders. Speaking of Eskel’s shoulders, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the visible line of sweat that trailed its way down his back, darkening the linen of his shirt and making it stick in all the most tempting places. He felt his mouth water at the sight and the piece of apple still in his mouth felt thick and hard as he choked it down.

Eskel grunted as he got close enough to the fireplace to relinquish his load, letting the heavy pieces fall haphazardly as he dropped the canvas sheet. The apple slipped from Geralt’s hand and bounced on the table before falling to the floor. “Dammit,” he growled, pointedly ignoring the disappointed sigh that escaped Vesemir’s nostrils.

He picked the fruit up and dusted it off, slicing off another piece as Eskel approached the table. Eskel smelled...like he needed a bath. Salt and sweat clung to his skin and wood dusted the strands of his hair, but he still carried that deep, musky, earthy scent that shone with a hint of citrus. It was the scent that kept Geralt awake at night, kept him sane on the Path. It was everything.

Eskel reached over and plucked a handful of dried fruits and nuts, as well as the jar of honey. He dropped the fruits and nuts into a bowl and carefully swirled a generous portion of honey over top. His fingers shone with the golden, sticky sweetness as he grabbed a dried grape and popped it between his lips. The scar turned his mouth upwards at the edge and pulled oddly at his lip while he ate. Geralt remembered how long it took for Eskel to be comfortable eating in front of him again after he got that scar, and he treasures every moment that he gets to see.

“Geralt?” Vesemir peered over his mug at him.

Geralt hummed in response, already dreading the day’s assignment.

“Oh don’t give me that. I need you to go out and put salt on the training grounds before the dirt frosts, and freshen up the wards around it. I don’t need the goats going in and licking it all up again. After that, the day’s yours.”

“And me?” Eskel asked around his mouthful.

“You can be done, you’ve already chopped enough wood to last us a good few weeks. I’ll get Lambert to-”

“NO. Don’t go giving my assignments before I even get to the table, old fart,” Lambert called down the stairwell.

Vesemir blinked slowly and sighed once more. “I’ll get Lambert to do SOMETHING ELSE today, though if you want something to keep busy, I’m sure there are some books that need rebinding.”

Geralt watched Eskel nod and swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, alright. I may take some time later and see what I can do about those books. Lay them out for me?”

“Of course.”

Eskel smiled over at Geralt, his deep amber eyes meeting Geralt’s sunrise gold. Geralt’s moon and stars rested in those eyes, a whole universe tucked away in the depths of Eskel’s soul, bared just for him. They smiled at each other before Geralt tore himself away, draping his cloak over his shoulders and striding quietly towards the door.

Eskel watched him haul the heavy bag of salt up onto his shoulder with a grunt. He shook his head with a smile and polished off the last of his breakfast. The stool scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table, ready to go fall into a warm bed somewhere. Eskel heard the door shut from Lambert’s room as his feet pounded down the stairs, so he made haste in avoiding that breakfast discussion.

***

Why’s Geralt back outside?

Eskel rounded the corner of the staircases, following the fresh scent of Geralt trailing out to the courtyard. It was far past noon by this point, and Geralt had already taken care of the training grounds. He had come back in right as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, climbing the spiral stairs in search of a snack.

Eskel shouldered open the heavy wooden doors and turned to the east, following the light footprints over the balding grass. He smiled to himself as he heard soft whispers coming from the stables, low and not meant for anothers’ ears. Well, another human’s ears.

He stopped just short of the doors, now close enough to make out the words being murmured.

“-n’t give me that look, I was just wanting to braid your mane.” Geralt’s honeyed tenor drifted over the heartbeats and huffed breaths behind the stall. “I know Eskel doesn’t normally do it, but it’ll help keep it from matting over the winter. I bet you’d hate for our big softie to have to cut off old chunks of your mane, wouldn’t you?”

Eskel heard Scorpion huff heavily from his nose and he chuckled, pulling on the cool steel handle and closing the door behind him. The whispers stopped as Geralt peered over the short wall between the stalls, his hair shimmering golden with the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace. He held a hardy brush in his right hand and had his other resting lightly on Scorpion’s flank, and his hair was tied up high and away from his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eskel rumbled, crossing to where he could see into Scorpion’s stall. He let his back hit the wall behind him and slid down, his bottom thumping audibly onto the ground.

“Just gonna sit there and watch me?” Geralt grumbled, resuming his brushing of Scorpion’s mane. The great warhorse stamped his foot impatiently, butting his head into Geralt’s chest.

Eskel quirked his brow and nodded, “Figured you wouldn’t mind after you ogled me this morning.”

The tips of Geralt’s ears flushed a pretty pink as he hummed noncommittally in his chest. Not denying it.

“Your man’s a smartass,” Geralt mumbled to Scorpion, and the horse fucking snickered, I shit you not.

“Ay,” Eskel laughed, watching a little smile threaten to pull at Geralt’s lips, “no need to turn my horse against me, I’ll need him come Spring.”

“Don’t wanna talk about Spring,” Geralt sighed, carefully running his fingers, long and delicate, so unlike Eskel’s, through the wispy strands of Scorpion’s mane.

“Me neither.” Eskel pulled up his knees and rested his elbows atop them, his eyes drifting down Geralt’s body. Gods, but he’s so gorgeous.

If you asked him, Eskel would say that he couldn’t pick a favorite part of his Geralt. Everything was his favorite, it was impossible to choose. But Eskel did have a favorite, and he very well kept it to himself, thank you very much.

That damned waist. The way that Geralt’s shoulders, broad and sharp, sloped in and down over his stomach and into a glorious handful for Eskel. Nothing about Geralt was dainty, not in the slightest, but Eskel loved that he could wrap his arm over the soft line of his waist in the dead of night, or grasp desperately onto it while lost in the throes of passion.

Eskel sat there quietly, listening to Geralt mumble to Scorpion while he busied his hands. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the idle sounds of the castle and nearby woods overtake his mind and senses. He could hear Lambert’s heavy footfalls from beneath the castle, down in the labs. A pack of wolves patrolled the treeline past the castle walls, jaws snapping as they called to each other under the low afternoon sun.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps grow close to him, stopping just where Eskel’s hips met the floor. Geralt’s fingers brushed gently through Eskel’s thick, dark hair and Eskel couldn��t hold back the quiet moan that spilled from his lips. Geralt chuckled and knelt at his side, running his hand down Eskel’s cheek and thumbing over the line of his brow.

“I know you went down to the springs and got clean earlier,” Geralt rumbled lowly, “but maybe you’d want to join me for a bit?”

Eskel smiled and opened his eyes, two golds meeting and melding into one. He nodded and Geralt leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Geralt reached and grabbed onto Eskel’s hand, pulling him to stand and brushing the stray bits of straw from his backside.

Eskel chuckled as he batted Geralt’s hand away, though not before he got a solid squeeze in edgewise. “Hey, if you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.”

Geralt shrugged as they walked through the doors to the castle and down the center spiral staircase that led to the hot springs, “I always want to touch your ass. Doesn’t really matter.”

Eskel shook his head and laughed heartily as he felt the air change. It felt thick, musty, warm with minerals and moss that grew in sharp brushstrokes up the walls. His lungs filled with the comfort of home, the air that was unique to this one spot of the castle, and only ever really meshed with his soul when Geralt was around to share in it.

He watched Geralt peel his shirt from his body, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dim caverns lit only by the stray candle or two sporadically placed in the cracks of the stones. Eskel reached out, his hand guided only by the raw urge to touch, to feel Geralt’s skin yield under his fingers, and he felt the warmth before he even made contact.

Geralt’s sigh tingled under his fingertips, vibrating through his bones with a summer long lost. Eskel stood flush to Geralt’s back, his hand resting over Geralt’s heart and his neck bent to rest his forehead at the nape of Geralt’s neck. He invaded Eskel’s every sense, every fiber of his being, just by existing in the same space. He smelled of sweat and horse and hay and happiness and home, and Eskel just wanted to...breathe him in. To take him into his lungs and never let him go. He felt Geralt’s fingers intertwine with his where they rested on Geralt’s chest, long and thin and pulling him up to Geralt’s lips. His lips were cool and chapped from the chill outside, but Eskel felt the warmth being pulled from his soul into the sweet press of Geralt’s lips.

“C’mon, let’s get into the baths,” Geralt mumbled, his lips still pressing into the pads of Eskel’s fingers. Eskel hummed noncommittally, honestly fine with just standing here, Geralt in his arms and close enough to finally feel. Geralt turned and stepped back, just out of Eskel’s reach with a grin as he reached for the ties on his trousers. “I’d like to get clean before I die of old age, so you best get naked.”

Eskel smirked and shucked his own shirt to the side, undoing the bright ties on his codpiece and letting the thick leather fall away. His trousers fell and were kicked away with his boots and the air embraced his skin with a welcoming grasp. He padded towards the pools, slipping into the water with a grateful sigh that one would expect from the sight of a long-lost friend.

He peeked over his shoulder and found Geralt standing where he was left, mouth slack-jawed and his hands hovering with his trousers half-undone. Geralt blinked and cleared his throat, adjusting himself through the leather of his trousers before untying them the rest of the way and letting them fall away. “I...it always surprises me just how much I can forget…”

Eskel crooked his head as Geralt stepped into the water beside him, rippling the waves over and up the stone sides. “What do you mean?”

“Just...you,” Geralt murmured, dipping under the water to soak his hair, “you are always so much more...real than I can ever keep in my mind. Whenever I think of you, it always pales in comparison to actually seeing you in front of me.”

Eskel felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, running his damp hands through his hair before lounging back into the edge of the pool. “I can never really get how you feel right. I know how good it makes me feel, but actually touching you? Or hearing your heart? My brain can’t replicate that. Not well enough, anyway.”

“Exactly. And it always is a bit of a shock. But a good one.” Geralt soaped up his hair quickly, batting away Eskel’s hands when he tried to help. “No, I want to get this part out of the way so we can relax. We can do that next time.”

Eskel thought back to a couple of winters prior, when Geralt had requested that he wash his hair for him. Albeit, with a bit of a caveat. Eskel spent an hour washing Geralt’s long, thick silver locks with his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s ass, the both of them gasping and clinging onto each other by the time his hair was rinsed. Eskel smiled at the memory as Geralt ducked back under the water, leaving his hair dripping wet and free of suds.

Geralt peered over at Eskel with a smirk playing at his lips as he reached his hand for Eskel’s thigh. He felt the muscle tense briefly under his fingers as he moved up slowly, his other hand sliding up and onto Eskel’s neck. Eskel sighed gently, a pull of air from deep in his lungs as Geralt played with the little curls of hair on the nape of his neck. Geralt’s hand moved over his hip, warm and soft and just a tad squishy beneath the water, and splayed over his stomach, tracing idle swirls through the hair that led down to his groin. Before he could get far, though, Eskel caught his errant hand with his own and brought them to his lips.

“We should eat first,” Eskel rumbled, his lips brushing the sensitive tips of Geralt’s fingers with every whispered word, “then I’d like to take you to bed properly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt traced down the scars on Eskel’s cheek and into his lip, watching the tiniest little shudder shoot over his nerves, “Lambert cooking tonight?”

Eskel nodded and ran his hands down Geralt’s spine and the swell of his backside. Not pushing or pulling with any direction, just feeling the skin that he so craved, even in his sleep. Geralt bent down, just barely pressing his forehead into Eskel’s and brushing their noses together. “You’ve kept me waiting all day,” Geralt sighed with a smile, “I suppose I could wait a bit longer. Not much though.”

Eskel chuckled and pecked Geralt on the cheek, “I promise. Once we’re both warm and comfortable and full, then I’ll take you upstairs and show you just how much I’ve needed you.”

“If you don’t let me go now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself,” Geralt growled and nipped at Eskel’s chin. Eskel laughed and playfully shoved him back, watching the crystalline water drip down the dark hairs over his chest and into the dip of his waist. He had been feeling the stirrings of arousal all day, but it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Eskel followed Geralt as he clambered out of the springs, his hands and feet striking roughly against the weathered stone beneath them. He smirked at the quite obvious state of arousal that Geralt was in, his skin flushed and his cock straining upwards from between his thighs.

Geralt could feel Eskel’s eyes on him as he strode towards their pile of clothes and drying sheets. He peeked over his shoulder at him, finding Eskel hauling himself out of the bath with his arms, the muscles dipping and pulling as he rose to his full height, soaked to the bone and sporting a very pretty erection of his own. Geralt’s mouth watered as he wrapped a sheet to hang low on his hips before gathering his worn clothes into a bundle in his arms.

Eskel followed suit, feeling the drafty air whistle through his legs and cool the drips of water that still wore their path down to the floor below. They traveled through the halls together, still shoulder to shoulder even though the walls were just a tad too close together to accommodate them both comfortably. They didn't mind though, drawing their warmth together and letting their souls mingle in the approaching evening.

As they climbed the spiral staircase that led back to the main level of the keep, Eskel could smell the dinner that Lambert had been working on, something with chicken and hearty vegetables, along with bread and fresh butter and citrus chutney. They continued on up the stairs until they reached the door to Eskel’s chambers. They did typically end up sharing the room over the winter, but Geralt still liked to have his own little private space for himself. Eskel knew how loud the world could feel, and he liked having his own space too sometimes.

He kissed Geralt sweetly on the shoulder as he moved to continue up the stairs to his own room, leaving a tingle of his lips to keep him company. Geralt shook his head with a light hearted huff and slowly climbed up the spiral, and Eskel waited until he heard the heavy thud of his thick wooden door to open his own. He threw his clothes onto the chair by the fireplace before flicking his fingers out and up in the sign for Igni, feeling the warmth from the fire bloom from his palm and onto the wood, bathing the room in a pale glow.

Eskel dressed quickly, throwing soft trousers over his underthings, followed by a knit shirt that stretched across his chest and held tight. He left his swords propped by the door next to his boots before padding back down the stairs into the dining area. The three fires roared beneath bubbling pots and sizzling pans, sending rich scents swirling softly around the room. Lambert stood over one, giving it one last stir before grabbing onto the handles. Eskel lowered himself onto the bench at the table just as Lambert set the steaming cauldron down onto the nearly-black wood.

Vesemir grabbed the other pan and brought it over, lifting the lid to reveal several chicken breasts that had been seared and seasoned to perfection. Lambert began to ladle some of the stew from his pot onto his plate and tore a chunk of bread for himself before tossing the loaf to Eskel. It was warm in his palm and he smiled, the bread soft and yielding as he tore off some for himself as well. Vesemir declined, so he set the rest of the loaf in Geralt’s spot and began to heap his own plate with Lambert’s delicious looking dinner.

Geralt joined soon after they began to eat, dressed comfortably with his silvery hair pulled up and away from his face. Geralt swung his long legs over the bench and sat down next to Eskel, humming as he picked up the bread.

“Yeah, pretty boy, saved that bit for ya. Dig in before it all gets cold.” Lambert chucked the ladle down in Geralt’s direction, sending stray bits of stew flying to the walls. Vesemir rolled his eyes as Geralt caught it without looking and gave it a spin, rotating it flamboyantly around his fingers before plopping it straight into the great pot.

The four of them ate in relative silence, only the gentle scraping of utensils or grunts of acknowledgement breaking the fragile quiet. Vesemir was the first to be finished with his meal, leaning back in his seat and breathing in deeply. “Delicious as always, Lambert. Thank you. I'm headed to the library, gonna try and go through some of the old tomes.”

Lambert nodded and the others hummed, no one willing to part with their plates quite yet. Eskel wiped his plate down with the remainder of his bread, sopping up the stew and downing it all in one satisfying mouthful. Geralt watched with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Alright lovebirds, I’m off. Try to keep it down, at least a little, huh?” Lambert winked as he stood and wandered off, likely back down to the alchemy labs for more of his...experiments. Eskel chuckled as Geralt lobbed an old apple at the back of Lambert’s head, more for effect than anything else. Lambert batted it away into a corner and Eskel sighed. He stood and retrieved it, knowing that it would be long forgotten if he didn’t. He set it back onto the table before stretching his arms up above his head and turning to the door that led to the staircases.

Eskel held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it through hooded lids. “Join me?”

Geralt smiled and lept to his feet, the last few bites of his dinner instantly forgotten. “Fuckin’ finally, you tease.”

Eskel laughed as the two of them bumbled up the stairs and into Eskel’s room. Geralt could feel the warmth emanating before they even swung open the door, his cheeks flushing and his arms shivering with the welcome change in temperature. Eskel shut the door behind him and led him to stand before the fireplace, his olive skin glowing in the flames.

Geralt sighed as he felt Eskel’s hands on his hips, his fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s shirt and just glancing to the skin of his stomach beneath. Eskel slid his hands up and pulled Geralt’s shirt with him, lifting it over his head and letting it land with a soft thud in the cushy armchair in the corner.

Next Eskel moved to Geralt’s trousers, sliding the ties open and letting them fall to the floor. He gave Geralt’s bum a little pat and nodded to the bed. “Go on, I’ll be just behind you.”

Geralt reached to push down his smalls but Eskel caught his hands and dropped them back by his side. “J-just wanna hold you for a bit...that okay?”

Geralt hummed, pressing his lips to the junction between Eskel’s neck and shoulder, “Of course, Wolf. Don’t take too long though, gonna get cold without you.”

Geralt smiled as he climbed onto the wide bed draped in thick furs and soft knit blankets. Eskel loved textures, and tried to surround their bed with as much comfort as he could find. His golden gaze found Eskel once more as he too stripped down to his smallclothes. Geralt leaned back onto the soft pillows as Eskel slid up next to him, resting his head on Geralt’s chest and breathing in deeply. Geralt wrapped his arm around the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders and held him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his side. Geralt could see out of the little window cut into the stone, revealing the sun setting in bright oranges and deep purples between the craggles of the Blue Mountains.

Eskel ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, tracing those same swirling patterns as before while he peppered kisses up and down the line of Geralt’s neck and over his collarbone. Geralt could always feel the little crook in Eskel’s lip from his scar as it traced over his skin, grounding him home in warm arms and soft eyes that held endless love and patience.

Geralt threaded his fingers into Eskel’s hair and gave a little scratch at the nape of his neck, chuckling a bit when he felt the full body shudder that Eskel granted him. Geralt felt the gasp of hot breath ghost over his collar when he tugged gently on the handful of hair that he had, and a possessive kind of growl erupted from behind his teeth. Geralt didn’t often let this part of himself show, this need to hang onto every thread of his partner, but with Eskel, it felt safe, known, instinctual.

Eskel pushed himself up and pressed his hand firmly in the center of Geralt’s chest, breathing with the steady thuds of the heart that rested just beneath his fingers. Eskel’s eyes were dark with lust and hunger and something so deep and innate that it escaped such a simple name. Eskel slid his hand up and wrapped it gently around the back of Geralt’s neck and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he climbed between Geralt’s legs.

Geralt lifted his leg and wrapped it around Eskel’s hip in an attempt to get him to maybe speed things up a bit. “Eskel,” Geralt hummed, “Gods, you’re killing me…”

Eskel smiled and ran his nose down the line of Geralt’s jaw and into the hollows of his neck. His lips traced along the tendons and veins and his teeth just barely glanced over his pulse point and Geralt felt his cock thicken and throb where Eskel pressed into him.

“Can I have you like this?” Eskel asked, his voice still muffled in Geralt’s neck, “Just wanna be able to look at you…”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, turning his head in search of Eskel’s mouth. He finally, finally, slid their lips together, breathing each other in and holding onto each and every piece that they could reach. Geralt wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist and stroked up and down the hard lines of his back, tracing the scars he knew better than his own.

“Lift-nng” Eskel tried to say, though Geralt nipped and tugged at his lower lip to keep him in place, “Lift your damn hips, you great oaf.”

Geralt chuckled and did as he was bid, letting Eskel run his fingers through the ties keeping his braies on and loosening them. They slid down his thighs and Eskel let him rest his bum back on the bed. Eskel shimmied himself backwards and fully pulled the smalls off of Geralt, sending them careening through the room to land somewhere in the shadows. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed and weeping on his stomach and Eskel took a deep breath in through his nose, grounding himself in the lust on the air and the taste of Geralt already on his tongue.

Eskel stood up and turned to face the fire as he undid his own smalls, pushing them down quickly and without any dramatics. But Geralt found himself drooling over him anyways, seeing the beautiful bronze skin revealed inch by glorious inch, the swells of his backside just begging for his teeth to sink into. Again. He then grabbed the little vial of oil that spent most of the year gathering dust on the mantle, but in the winter found a new home atop the little table next to their bed.

And oh fucking shit I’ve missed that so much, Geralt thought as Eskel turned back to him with his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. Eskel crawled onto the bed and prowled over top of him, his chest already heaving and pressing into Geralt’s. Eskel sat up on his knees and Geralt braced himself on his elbows, watching Eskel uncork the oil and slowly drip a generous amount of the cool liquid onto their cocks where they rested together. Eskel’s hand was warm when he reached down to rub the oil around, wrapping around them and tugging and pulling and-

“-Fuck, Eskel,” Geralt spat through grit teeth when Eskel just barely thumbed the slit of Geralt’s cockhead. “If you’re gonna do all that shit, I need you in me now.”

Eskel laughed breathily and kissed Geralt hard, all teeth and tongue and rushed whispers of affection. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you, Geralt. I’ve got you…”

Eskel poured some more oil between Geralt’s legs and Geralt felt it slowly trickle down to his entrance. Eskel’s fingers followed soon after, languidly rolling his balls around in his palm before trailing down between his cheeks. Geralt sighed as Eskel started pressing around his hole, not pushing in yet, just massaging and loosening the tight muscle.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel murmured, dragging his free hand down Geralt’s flank and across his stomach, “you’re so tense…”

“No one’s been back there since Spring, Esk…”

Eskel blinked up at him and Geralt could taste the new wave of arousal that poured off Eskel. “You’ve not had anyone? All year? Geralt, I...you-”

Geralt’s head hit the pillow and he sighed, trying desperately to put the words together in his head. “I-fuck, Eskel, I just want you. You’re...you’re the only one who I can...who I can be comfortable with.”

Eskel surged forward and captured Geralt’s lips between his own, tasting of salt and honey and fucking unending love. “Geralt. Fuck. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts, and then you just go and say that? You’re gonna put me in an early grave-”

Geralt’s world twisted and turned as Eskel’s hands gripped onto his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as they rolled and shifted on the bed, winding up with Geralt laying on his stomach and Eskel’s lips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck. Eskel dragged his mouth down, leaving hot wet kisses down Geralt’s spine and over the swell of his bottom.

Eskel’s breath ghosted over Geralt’s skin as he slid his finger back down to press against his entrance, finding only a gasp of resistance as he pushed in to his knuckle. He worked Geralt open slowly, kneading and licking and nipping the soft flesh of Geralt’s ass while he slid in another, and then one more finger. He relished the little noises that clawed their way out of Geralt’s chest unbidden, gasps and moans and keens that he felt more than heard.

Meanwhile Geralt was warring with his own mind, torn between wanting so desperately to grasp into Eskel’s hair and haul him back up to feel his lips cover his own, trailing down over his jaw and neck and chest, but also needing to feel more of him, deeper, harder-

Their words broke off between gasps for air and fisted sheets and Eskel quietly continued his task of working Geralt open on his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat when Eskel crooked his fingers inside of him, warm and slick and hitting up against that devastating bundle of nerves. But all too soon it was not so nice, his fingers sliding in and out and not being close to enough for Geralt. “M-shit, more, Eskel.”

Eskel hummed and bit down into the tender flesh of Geralt’s bum, feeling the fluttering of his walls play at his fingers. He looked down and watched his fingers slowly slide in and out, stretching him in preparation of what was to come. Eskel had his own wars inside of his head, his need to shower Geralt with soft touches so rarely afforded to his battle-worn skin clashing against the feeling tugging behind his belly to find the breaking point nestled so deep inside of Geralt’s body.

Geralt’s hips thrusted softly against the bed beneath them, chasing the release that had been teasing at them both all damn day. Eskel chuckled when a particularly hard thrust made him bonk his nose into the crease of Geralt’s asscheeks, and he shifted himself to sit up with a sweet pat to the swells of muscle.

“Roll back over, wanna look at you-”

Geralt sighed when he felt Eskel’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him oddly empty and aching and wanting. It took him a moment to find his bearings, but he flipped over soon enough to meet Eskel’s fiery eyes. Eskel hovered over him, his chest heaving with hot breaths and his medallion clinking against Geralt’s. Geralt ran his fingers through the soft dark hair over Eskel’s chest, pressing his fingers into the yielding flesh over his heart and giving it a squeeze. Eskel growled with a sinister grin and moved faster down his body than Geralt had anticipated.

Eskel leaned down and lapped his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock just as he slipped his fingers back into him. Geralt shook when Eskel wrapped his lips around the tip and sunk down, teasing and licking while his fingers hit that precious bundle of nerves nestled so deep inside of him. Eskel’s mouth moved with his hand, pushing in and out and up and down and humming against him and Geralt could feel the pearly arousal dripping onto Eskel’s tongue with every slick slide of his lips.

“Ah, ah, Esk-g...gonna-fuck...”

Eskel only hummed, low and hard from his chest, and Geralt arched up off the bed in pleasure when Eskel zeroed in on that spot within him, holding there and sucking and slurping every bit of spend that Geralt had to give. It just kept coming, shooting down Eskel’s throat and spilling out the sides of his lips messily. Eskel felt the haze of his own pleasure tease at the edges of his eyes as his hips thrust lazily against the bed, his free hand holding tight to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt sagged back onto the bed in a haze, tender and sensitive and already craving more. He pulled Eskel back up to him and ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth, gathering his own spend onto his finger. Geralt slipped his thumb between his lips and licked it clean as Eskel watched with great gasping breaths and eyes so dark there was only a little ring of gold shining in the night.

“Geralt, fuck, c-can I-” Eskel stuttered over his words, his hands running over Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest, his cock dripping down into the hair above Geralt’s own half-hard cock.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed and fit his hand up onto the nape of Eskel’s neck, his fingers pressing firm while Eskel shifted on the bed to line himself at Geralt’s entrance.

Eskel gasped into Geralt’s skin as he just barely pushed into the rim, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist to hold him as close as possible. Geralt’s fingers tightened in Eskel’s hair as he started to gently thrust inside of him, Eskel’s chest rumbling with a low purr as he smothered Geralt with his body.

“G-Geralt,” Eskel murmured, his hips already losing rhythm, “I’m, fuck you’re so-”

Geralt hummed and nodded, running his hands down Eskel’s shoulders and back up again around his neck. “Go on, Eskel. You’ve been on edge all day. Give it to me.”

Eskel’s voice went high and strained, tight mumbles escaping from between his teeth as he ground his hips deep against Geralt’s, spending inside of him. Eskel rubbed his face into the tender skin of Geralt’s neck as he finally, gloriously released into him, feeling the way that he fluttered and flexed around his cock. He saw great stars shooting behind his eyelids as his climax tore through him, unrelenting and all-encompassing.

Geralt kept his hold firm on Eskel as he went limp in his arms, Eskel’s mind blanking and blind for a blissful moment. Geralt felt the pressure of Eskel everywhere, on top of him, around him, inside of him, leaking out of him. The only thing that could ever gather him enough strength to move was Eskel himself, and he didn’t really seem up to that quite yet.

Or, well, maybe he did. Eskel didn’t even soften a little bit in Geralt, his hips already rolling deep and slow inside Geralt. His bones sang out to Eskel in ecstasy, yearning for him, craving him.

Geralt’s cock rested hard once more on his stomach, steadily dripping his arousal into a little pool. Eskel’s hands tightened on his hips and pulled him into each and every thrust, slow and hard and deep and addicting. Eskel couldn’t keep his hands still as he dragged his cock inside of Geralt, only just barely shifting back and forth as he tried to stay buried in his tight, wet heat as much as possible.

“Ger-nnng,” Eskel gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he felt the pressure of Geralt around him clench and smother every last bit of him with every soft move of his cock. Geralt smirked and bore down farther, tightening his hold on Eskel’s arm and around his neck as he pulled him down so that their faces were held with only the space of a breath between them.

Geralt could feel the tight coil of release draw taut as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s chest and to his own cock. Eskel’s eyes followed him, branding his skin with the fire behind them, watching as Geralt took himself in hand. Geralt shuddered as his climax came closer and closer into view, only needing just a little more, a little something to push him over the edge-

“Fuck, Geralt, I...I can’t hang on much longer…” Eskel ground out, brushing his nose down over Geralt’s and pleading with his eyes.

“Let go, Eskel. I want it, please-”

And then he did. Eskel thrust hard and deep a handful more times as he hit his peak, his cock pressing against that devastating bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of Geralt each and every time. Oh, and then when his release finally overtook him once more? Gods, his cock flexed and spilled and hit Geralt like a punch in the gut over and over and over, until finally Geralt too climaxed with his cock in his hand. Long stripes of spend spilled and painted his chest while Geralt groaned from low in his stomach.

The two of them laid there for Gods know how long, just lingering in each other, the scent of their combined arousals making them feel almost drunk from the heady way it went straight through them. Eskel was the first to move, slipping from the tight embrace of Geralt’s body and flopping down onto the bed at his side. Geralt reached out and tangled their fingers together while their chests heaved in great gulps of air, their minds still addled and off-kilter.

Eskel swallowed thickly and focused his mind on the feeling of Geralt’s thumb running over the back of his knuckles, back and forth and back again… “Gods, Geralt,” he murmured, peering over at him, “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Geralt chuckled without opening his eyes, already feeling the threads of consciousness being steadily pulled from him. “You better not. I plan on getting fucked like that until I die.”

Eskel hummed and reached out blindly with his free hand, groping for the spare scrap of cloth that he kept by the bed. Once he found the soft fabric he gently swept it up over Geralt’s stomach and chest, feeling the vibrations of his hum beneath his fingers. Eskel reached back between Geralt’s thighs and cleaned there as well, knowing that although Geralt would never really say anything about it, he wouldn't enjoy being sticky in the morning.

Eskel tossed the rag away and shifted underneath the blanket, reaching out to pull Geralt into his chest. “C’mere, you. Wanna hold you.”

Geralt grunted and rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the hair on Eskel’s chest. Eskel wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and held him close, pressing his nose into the silver hair atop Geralt’s head. Woodsmoke, spice, pine. Home.

Geralt sighed into him and wrapped his own arm around Eskel, snuggling in and quickly letting sleep take him away. Eskel felt the shift, the way that Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his hips fell further into the bed, his mind finally quiet and his hands still. He pressed his lips softly to the crown of Geralt’s head and held it there for a heartbeat or two, pouring everything he could into those soft moments before he himself fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

#ebb #eskel big bang #eskel #geralt #gereskel #smut #so much smut #they make me so extra super gotdam happy

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melon-wing · 4 years ago

Text

A Confession of Love 3/3

[Fanfiction Masterlist] It took Grian a few days and he felt emotionally drained each time he was done. He felt like he was pouring all of his feelings and emotions into this and maybe it wasn‘t really healthy. Mumbo and Iskall would probably frown at him if they knew how much sleep he missed over getting everything done. Impulse had dropped by a few times, cheering Grian on, making him believe that this might really work out.

To say Grian was nervous would be an understatement. He had the coordinates already typed into his communicator in a private chat with Ren, but he kept pulling his finger from the send button.

“Oh come on! Just do it! You really need to know! Or should I press it for you?“ Grian turned to look at Impulse, who was still with him, just in case he needed some mental support. And Grian was kind of glad he was here. Especially when he realised that while turning around to Impulse he had accidentally hit the send button. Well, that gave him one less thing to worry about…

Wait! Fuck! He had sent it and Ren was going to come over and that meant he‘d know, which meant Grian was maybe minutes or hours away from being gently let down. Oh god, he wasn‘t ready. He really wasn‘t ready. Impulse started laughing at Grian’s panicked face and when Grian glared at him that laugh made room for a fond smile. “It’ll be alright, Grian. And I’ll be here with you all the way, okay? No matter what happens tonight, you still got me, don't forget that. I might not be as cuddly as Ren, but Zed always tells me I give one hell of a hug."

Grian looked at Impulse and just like that his heart seemed to calm down at least a bit and he felt like he could actually do this. So what if Ren wasn't feeling the same way? What if Ren only liked him as a friend. He liked his friendship with Ren. Staying friends wouldn't be the end of the world and he'd be finally able to move on from those feelings that had been getting him down lately. He'd be able to go back to his comfortable single life that he had never wanted to leave anyways.

"Yeah I guess it's alright. I'm just... nervous. This isn't some romance novel. Stupid grand romantic gestures never work in real life." Grian laughed joylessly and pushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face. "But that's alright. And I won't be here forever anyways. The season is coming to an end soon, I can tell. I don't have much longer with you guys."

"You know you could ask Xisuma to-"

"I know. I could. I won't. I've got friends waiting for me to return. I can't just stay here. And if he's saying no there's no reason for me to stay here anyways. Not that I don't like all of you guys... But yeah. I think I'm not ready to fully commit yet. And moving on will definitely be easier once I'm off world."

Impulse looked at him sadly and Grian avoided his gaze. Mumbo and Iskall had already tried to convince him to stay as well. Heck, even Taurtis - who he was supposed to return to after Hermitcraft was done - kept urging him on to stay, to find happiness.

"Can we not talk about this while I'm freaking out about getting my heart broken?"

Impulse sighed once more and put an arm over Grian's shoulder, pulling him into a half hug. "I'm sure it’ll work out. Don't worry too much. It doesn't help anyways."

Grian nodded and, taking a deep breath stepped back once more. "So you saw what I did, right? You think he'll get it?"

Impulse laughed again, shaking his head. "Grian. He will know. Dude. You practically turned your Infinity room into a love confession."

Grian blushed a little as his mind went to the small room below his base, thousands of blocks away. It had taken him forever, but armed with some black dye and a brush he'd poured out his love over the walls. The room had been turned into a corridor, and with the help of a few armour stands (Cleo had luckily agreed to teach him a few things about creating them) it now told their story and the way Grian had fallen. Or well... He'd put it more in terms of Red Riding Hood falling for the Wolf. He would have felt weird putting his own face onto those armour stands and his own name into the story.

But he was sure Ren would get it. Hell, there were lines out of their private conversations written over the wall. He would get it... wouldn't he?

A loud beep rang from his communicator and Grian almost dropped it in a hurry to get it out.

<Ren> I'm there now! I'm very excited for the surprise!

"Oh... Oh fuck. I don't know if I'm ready for this", Grian mumbled and then kept walking in circles around the campfire, Impulse's eyes following him. He couldn't handle this. Minutes passed and every noise made him jump as he anticipated the communicator going off.

The longer it went on, the more nervous Grian got. After ten minutes he had taken off his flower crown and started fidgeting around with it, leaves and pallets dropping to the ground. His hands were shaking, he needed to keep them busy. Ren sure as hell must have finished by now, right? He couldn't still be in the room. Why was it taking so long? Maybe he wasn't getting the message after all? No, if that was the case he would have messaged Grian by now. That left only two options. Either Ren was still down there and looking at Grian's work or he knew exactly what it was about and didn't know how to let Grian down gently. The last option was way more likely.

Another ten minutes seemed to pass by agonizingly slow and Grian knew he was a nervous mess. He couldn't handle this pressure. He just couldn't.

Finally, his communicator beeped. A message. He just knew it was from Ren without even having to look at the display. A second ago he had thought he wanted nothing more than to see a message, now he was frozen, unable to even look at the tiny screen. His heart was racing, he was sweating and he had the urge to vomit.

It took him a minute or two to calm down enough, but his fingers were still shaking when he opened up the communicator and then Ren‘s message.

<Ren> Grian? You there?

Grian was pretty sure by now he was going to vomit. Why had he thought again this might be a good idea? It wasn‘t. It had never been. Ren surely had gotten the message going from just those two sentences. And now? Was he really ready for this?

He just knew what was coming. Ren would let him down, trying to be gentle, but still crushing his heart in the progress. It had always been like this. Sam, Taurtis, Mumbo… It had always been the same. He had fallen hard and thought he might have a chance only to be disappointed once more. Only for them to tell him that he was such a nice guy and a good friend, but really, there was nothing there. No feelings.

Despite that, Grian replied. He still had Impulse to cry to later. He needed to get this done - rip it off like a bandaid.

<Grian> Yeah.

<Ren> You know I‘m a coward sometimes and a bit dumb…

Grian had to giggle a bit at that though he felt like sobbing even more, his heart racing.

<Ren> But I was really wondering if this thing you made for me… Is it based on real life?

Grian‘s hands were shaking so much he could barely type a reply. He settled on something short instead of some long winded explanation.

<Grian> Yes. Sorry.

Grian put the communicator down again, closing his eyes, taking a few deep and shaking breaths. He wanted to turn back time. He didn‘t want to be in this situation he had put himself in. It was frightening. It was all too much. Why had he done this to himself? He wasn‘t brave enough to face the disappointment. He wasn‘t ready to have his heart broken once more and watch Ren be happy with someone else. He couldn‘t bear it. Not again. Especially not with Ren.

There was no reply. No beeping noise. Nothing.

Grian knew what that meant. After all, there was only one logical explanation. Ren didn‘t return his feelings. He had put Ren into a corner, pressured him to reply to his feelings and now Ren opted to not say anything at all. Minutes passed without anything at all happening.

Grian gave a sigh, feeling his heart rate return to normal, a cold feeling spreading in his chest as he typed the next message.

<Grian> I like you. A lot. More than a friend should. But if you don‘t, that is totally fine and I‘m totally chill with that. No worries, really. No pressure.

His communicator stayed silent again for a long time. Grian kept staring at it, tears forming in his eyes and then slowly dropping down onto his hands. This had been so stupid. He didn‘t deserve to be loved by someone as bright and amazing as Ren. Ren could have anyone on the server, so why should he even settle for Grian. It had been dumb to think all those love declarations meant something special. They never did. He had been delusional, blinded by his love.

The communicator beeped and knowing that it would be something to let him down gently, Grian steeled himself to read the message.

<Ren> Goibve mee a mimute. Flyng rn.

Grian looked at the jumbled message for a few times, blinking in confusion. Ren was… flying? What was that supposed to even mean?

And just when it slowly dawned on Grian what it meant, there was already the sound of exploding rockets fired in a far quicker succession than absolutely necessary drawing closer. Nobody would waste resources like that unless it was an absolute emergency.

Grian raised his head and the moment he did something or rather someone collided with him at such a high speed they both fell to the floor. Luckily enough, the landing was rather soft with the grass below them. Warm arms wrapped around Grian, his face buried in someone neck and just taking a short breath he felt a familiar scent filling him.

Still, Grian felt hesitant about returning the hug until Ren drew back a little, arms staying around Grian, but now able to look at him. And his eyes were shining brighter than Grian had ever seen them.

“Ren, what- Why did you come?”

“Of course I’d come.” Ren let out a laugh and the way it made his eyes just sparkle more made Grian’s heart skip a beat. “After what you did - what you said.”

“Does that mean-” Grian started, but broke off, his throat suddenly feeling tight, his heart only racing faster as all the hope he’d constantly pushed down rose up all at once, overwhelming him. This was it. This was the moment of truth and he was more hopeful than he‘d ever been before. Surely Ren wouldn‘t have come over if he wanted to let Grian down, right?

“I’m feeling the same way. I love you. I want to be with you.”

Grian couldn’t help it. All his emotions came out all at once and with a small giggle a tear slipped down his face as well. He was just too happy.

“I love you too, Ren. So very much. I’ve loved you for so long. I just… I didn’t think this would happen. I don’t even know where to go from here. Can I-” Grian stopped, licking his lips and looking up at Ren. “Can I kiss you?” And when their lips met Grian was glad he had stopped hiding how he truly felt, glad that he hadn’t kept on pretending until it was too late. This was perfect. This was what he had always dreamed off and he wanted this moment to go on forever.

#🍉 stories #hermitshipping #hermitship #gren #Happy 6 month anniversary to my love! <3

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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Beneath the Heat of the Sun

A/N: There isn’t really a plot to this. Just some protective!Eskel and soooo much fluff. Here is my masterlist. Here is the link to go to if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists. And thank you to my baby @writingawaymylife thank you so so much for reading over this and helping me out with it!! I love you babe<3

Warnings: implied smut, name calling, use of the word whore in a not sexy/dirty talk way

Word Count: 2.8k

The soft breeze blowing by offered little comfort to the sun that beat down on your skin relentlessly. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight. Birds sung in the treetops, and once in a while, you’d see a rabbit or two run by.

The day had been quiet but busy. Eskel was up before dawn fixing and tidying up things around the house. He always did this before he left home for the Path. You were up shortly after him, having felt the bed move slightly as he got up.

You rested on your knees in the middle of your strawberry garden, pulling weeds and picking the ripened fruit from the vines. Every now and then, you’d have to shoo one of your animals away. All they want to do is eat the plants and destroy the strawberries.

You swiped the back of your hand over your forehead, wiping the thin layer of sweat from your skin. You were just in a white chemise tucked into a thin skirt but it felt like you were going to die from the heat.

Magnus, your one month old lamb, tried to sneak into the garden for the third time. He watched you carefully, taking slow steps. He was a sneaky little thing, but he wasn’t nearly as sneaky as he thought.

You spotted him and pointed your finger at him.

“Magnus, don’t you dare.”

He bleated loudly and jolted forward, snatching a mouthful of strawberries and greens. He dashed off, white tail flicking happily behind him.

“You are so rude, Magnus.” You shook your head.

The sound of a quiet chuckle came from across the garden. Eskel was down on one knee fixing a part of the fence that the chickens could get through. His side was to you, giving you the perfect view of his profile.

Sweat covered his sun kissed skin. His dark hair was mostly pulled back into a low ponytail but some unruly strands fell out around his face. His lips were parted just slightly, golden eyes focused on the wire fencing. The muscles in his arm flex as he bent the wire how he needed and that vein in his forearm was popping out.

“Are you laughing at me scolding our son?”

“I would never.” He shook his head, looking at you out of the corner of his eyes. He met your gaze, a little smile tugging at the corner of his scarred lips.

“You’re the reason he’s such a spoiled little thing.” You shook your head, mocking disapproval.

You had stumbled upon Magnus’s mother, who you named Nissa, a week before she had Magnus. She was pregnant and her owner was selling her at the market in town. You didn’t think about getting her at first. Your cozy cottage tucked into a hill in Toussaint was crowded enough with the chickens, goose, two horses, and foal that already called the property home. But then you thought of how Eskel had been different ever since Lil Bleater passed away three months earlier. You thought that perhaps this little lamb would lift his spirits.

And Magnus did just that. The witcher clung to him like his first born. The first few days of his life, Eskel never left Magnus’s side. Magnus was a sickly lamb but as soon as he was healthy and able to walk, he was getting himself into trouble. He had a personality similar to Lil Bleater, one that made Eskel smile whenever he thought of it.

You pushed yourself to your feet and padded over to the bucket of water you had retrieved from the creek just a few minutes earlier. Some of the chickens were drinking from the bucket. The cool water was refreshing, a stark contrast to the dry, hot air.

You waited patiently for them to finish before dipping a rag into the water. You glanced over to Eskel. His back was now to you.

You carried the sopping wet rag at your side, carefully watching him as you moved towards him. The grass beneath your feet was soft and effectively silenced your steps.

“I’m thinking that next year, I’ll have to put a second fence around my strawberries. The chickens love them.”

“I think Magnus likes to help them out too.” Eskel sighed. He was oblivious to what you were doing. He was too focused on the fence, on fixing it for you. “He’s the one who broke into the fence for the chickens.”

“Troublemaker.” You hummed softly.

Once you were behind the witcher, you rung the rag out. The water fell onto his shoulders and down his back. He flinched at the coldness and gasped.

“And you say Magnus gets his bad habits from me.” Eskel looked over his shoulder to you. “I’m trying to work here, doll.”

You offered him an innocent smile, kneeling down behind him. Your fingertips traced the lines of water over the divots in his back caused by his muscles and by scars.

“We should take a little break.” You thought out loud.

“What did you have in mind?” He turned his head straight to look down at the fence.

You kissed his shoulder blade, your lips ghosting over a jagged and thick scar. He looked over his shoulder once more, knowing you were up to something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. His brows drew together slightly. Your eyes met his but he couldn’t read you. The little smile on your lips showed you were passive and content. You leaned up to kiss his temple, swiping a few pieces of dark hair from his brow.

You stood up straight and hummed, moving away from him without offering an answer.

His gaze followed you, watching you move to the creek that rested just beyond your strawberries.

On the other side of the creek was a dirt road that led to town. The creek was wide but it was shallow. Most of the creek right in front of your house came up to your ankles but sometimes it got a little deeper.

Every now and then, the hem of your skirt would get snagged on the grass or a fallen limb but it never changed how elegantly you walked, how gracefully you appeared.

Curious, Eskel followed you.

Magnus bleated loudly and trotted across the yard to join you too. He always had to be included in everything the two of you did.

You looked over your shoulder to see if your witcher was following you. A smile crossed your lips when you saw that he wasn’t too far away.

You pulled your skirt up just a little and stepped into the edge of the creek. The water was cold and made you shiver, but it felt so nice after being in the heat all day long.

The rocks beneath your feet were flat and smooth.

A hand slipped around your waist as Eskel moved around you to stand in front of you. You let your skirt go, your hands coming up to his arms. Your fingertips brushed over the slopes of his broad shoulders until you could tangle your fingers in his hair.

“You mentioned yesterday that you’d have to leave soon.” You murmured quietly, eyes flickering down to a scar that crossed over his throat. It was thick and clean. Someone had tried-and nearly succeeded-in decapitating the witcher.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” He dipped his head down to kiss your clavicle. “Just want to enjoy this.”

You nodded, unwrapping your arms from his neck. Your fingers trailed up and down his bicep. He took your hand to stop you, bringing your fingers to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles. You turned your hand in his grip so you could cup his jaw. You smiled lightly at the feeling of his scruffy jaw scratching your palm. His facial hair had grown out more than what he usually allowed it to, and you admired it. It was a good look on him.

“I like this.” You complimented, your words hushed even though there was no one around to hear.

He grunted softly, rubbing his scarred cheek.

“Need to shave.”

“Then I shall mourn your scruff until it returns to me.” You leaned up to brush your lips across his jaw, enjoying the way his prickly scruff felt.

He smiled shyly, dipping his head down to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I do love the way it feels against my lips when I kiss you.”

Magnus bleated loudly to announce his arrival and jumped into the creek, splashing water on the both of you. Eskel lifted his head and sighed, looking down at the lamb.

“Well, that didn’t last long.”

Your arms released him so you could pet Magnus.

“He’s just so spoiled.” You knelt down in front of the lamb and rubbed his neck. “You spoil him.”

“Yeah. I can’t help it.” Eskel rubbed the back of his neck. “Love him too much.”

“I know you do.” You stood up and kissed his cheek, then looked at the creek.

You grinned a little as you knelt down close to the water. You scooped up a handful and threw it on to Eskel. It hit him in the lower stomach.

“Oh, now you’re in for it.” Eskel moved towards you quickly. You didn’t have time to get away. He swept you off of your feet, holding underneath your knees and your back.

You giggled, kicking your feet lightly.

“Eskel! Put me down!”

“If you say so.” He moved to a deeper part of the creek. It wasn’t very deep but it came up to his knees. He carefully placed you down in the cold water. You gasped and jolted, clinging to his shoulders.

“Eskel!” You squealed his name. “It’s freezing cold!”

“Oops.” He grinned.

You put your hand into the water and splashed him, catching him in the chest.

This sparked a fight between the two of you. He moved away from you, wanting to escape the splashing. You continued to splash him but once he was at the edge of the water, he casted aard down into the water just in front of you. This caused the water to practically blow up on you, soaking you from head to toe.

You fell into a fit of laughter while he grinned.

“Need some help up, doll?” He offered, moving towards you with his hand stretched out.

You placed your hand in his and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

His eyes flickered down very briefly to your chest. Your chemise was soaked through and had become completely see-through.

“I saw that.” You playfully swatted at his chest.

You could’ve sworn a soft pink rose to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized shyly, eyes falling from your face.

“I’m just messing with you, love.” You put your hand on his arm to stop him from walking away. “Just teasing you. It’s okay.”

You brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and kissed his jaw.

“Remember that I am yours.” You murmured, one hand coming up to rest on his stomach. Beneath scarred, tanned skin was firm muscle.

His breath caught in his throat for a second. It always did whenever you told him that, and his heart would beat a little faster.

He nodded his head and leaned down to kiss your lips briefly.

“Why don’t we go finish the garden and then we can settle down for the day?” You suggested.

He nodded once more, smiling when you stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him again.

Magnus bleated and used one of his front hooves to dig at your ankle.

“You better get your son before he dies from lack of attention.” You giggled, looking down at the lamb. He peered up at you, blinked, and bleated again.

“He’s your son too.” Eskel sighed. He scooped Magnus up in one arm. The lamb bleated loudly. “You get into too much trouble.”

Eskel left the creek first but stayed on the bank to wait for you.

You lifted your skirt up a little so you wouldn’t trip over the material as you carefully navigated the rocks beneath the water. You lost your bearings for a moment, your foot sliding on a slippery rock.

Eskel looked back when he heard you suck in a breath from your lips. You managed to balance yourself once more, eyes flickering up to look at Eskel.

“You okay, doll?”

You nodded, giving him a smile, and continued across the rocks.

“Would you look at that, boys?” A voice came from the dirt road to your right. There was a group of men, six of them, and they had stopped to watch you.

You brought your arm up to cover your chest. Being that your shirt was now see-through, you didn’t want any unwanted eyes looking where they shouldn’t.

“Why don’t you just take that top off, love?” One suggested. His friends bursted out into laughter.

Your skin crawled from them gazing at you like some piece of meat.

Eskel was stepping in front of you before you had time to say his name. He set Magnus down so he could have his hands free. The lamb trotted over to your horse, Ghost, who was resting beneath the shade of an oak tree.

“Come on, doll.” Eskel turned his back to the group of men, his arm slipping around you.

“Hey! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Why don’t you come over here and keep us company?”

“Forget about that mutant freak.”

You stopped in your tracks and tried to turn around to confront them but Eskel wouldn’t let you.

“Just keep walking, Y/N.” He said.

You gritted your teeth together. You hated that the nosey people in your village had found out about Eskel. You weren’t ashamed of your witcher, but you knew how they would treat him, how they would react knowing a witcher was living among them. They always spoke down on him and treated him like dirt. You couldn’t stand to see the way they were with, acting as if he was any less human than they were.

“Show us your tits, love!”

“Have some decency, would you?” Eskel finally snapped, looking back at the unsavory characters. This made the men tense up and their smirks disappear.

“What are you going to do about it, freak?”

“Eskel.” You said his name, fingers digging into his bicep when he turned as if to confront them. “Come on, my love.”

Eskel breathed out through his nose, lips pressed together in a tight line. Still, he refused to move.

“Eskel.” You said his name once more, this time a little more sternly.

Silently, he turned and started to guide you towards your home.

The group of men shouted a few more lewd remarks at you, but you ignored them.

“Take Magnus into the house.” Eskel spoke softly to you.

“What are you going to do?” You drew your brows together.

“Finish the fence. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

“Eskel, please don’t provoke them. They aren’t worth it.”

“I know.” He dipped his head down to kiss your lips. “I just want to make sure the chickens don’t get into your garden while we are inside.”

“Magnus!” You called the lamb’s name, patting your thigh. He came trotting over to you, bleating and kicking his back legs. You picked him up as Eskel moved away from the house.

You closed the door behind yourself, placing the lamb down on his feet. Then you went to the window that overlooked your garden. From there, you could watch your witcher finish up the fence that bordered the garden.

The men were still on the road. Their mouths moved but you couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Eskel ignored them, but you could see how tense he was, how rigid with frustration he was.

When he finished with the fence and started to move towards the house, you left the window to find dry clothes for you both.

Eskel found you rummaging through your wardrobe.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, Y/N. That they said those things to you.”

“What they did isn’t something you should apologize for, Eskel.” You glanced over to him, giving him a little smile.

“But I just hate that they-they looked at you like some toy. Just something to use to-,”

“Hey.” You cut him off softly, finding a thin dress, and stood up. “It’s fine. It’s over. It’s done with. No need to linger on it.”

He nodded, fingers still curled into tight fists at his sides.

You tossed the clean chemise on to the edge of your bed and then moved to him. Your hands started on his shoulders, trailing down his arms to rest on the backs of his hands.

“I love you.” You whispered, eyes twinkling as you gazed up at him.

A little smile tugged at the scarred corner of his lips.

“I love you too.” He leaned down to kiss you but you stopped him.

“Not until we are out of these soaking wet clothes.”

“Then let me help you.” His smile turned into a grin as his hands found the hem of your chemise.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @she-wolfoftheinquisition @titaniafire @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#eskel x reader #eskel fluff #eskel x reader fluff #protective!eskel #the witcher eskel #the witcher #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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voids-colourful-creations · 4 years ago

Text

Ships Passing in the Night and Sailing Together Until Morning - Interlude I

In the Grass

Summary: Satoshi takes a break. Goh asks a question. Pikachu enjoys a well deserved nap.

[Read on Ao3!]

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Goh sat cross legged on the grass, the edge of his left sneaker pressing against his leg. He had been sitting for long enough that the pattern of the sole had been imprinted onto his skin. The cuffs of his pants had been rolled up as the sun beating down through the intricate glass dome grew stronger, and all black clothing began to feel less and less practical.

The breeze that day carried throughout Sakuragi Park, a concept that confused Goh, considering it was a fairly closed environment, what with the glass dome and all. However, the gentle wind was soothing enough that he was willing to let it go, for the time being.

The leaves on the trees shook enthusiastically as the wind blew through, as if encouraging it to continue. The slightly shaking shadows fell just short of where Goh lay, within reach but not quite where he sat.

This was how he liked it.

The grass was lush and vibrant green, either due to the nearby river or the high numbers of grass pokemon inside. Perhaps both.

It was soft, Goh thought, when laid upon like this. The individual strands were wiry and sharp, depending on what angle they were held at, but together they formed a soft bed. The sun had yet to warm them, leaving it pleasantly cool to lie upon.

The sun rose further into the sky, and the heat seemed to increase tenfold. Although, perhaps the sun wasn’t entirely to blame, and some fault should be placed on the smoke spreading across the landscape.

Electricity crackled, scorch marks being left upon grass not too far from where Goh was sitting.

It was a bit strange, Goh noticed, that despite the vibrant yellow sparks colliding against the air, the grass, and the seemingly fiery blue orbs that were their initial target, his attention was caught by only one thing.

Captivating was a word Goh found himself using to describe Satoshi with growing frequency. He knew he wasn’t the first, he knew he wouldn’t be the last, but there was something about him that drew people in. He had heard people talking about it before, his flare in battle being a common thing mentioned, but for Goh it was more the opposite.

Before Satoshi, Goh had been... less than interested in battling. More than anything, he couldn’t understand the point, resulting in him finding himself bored every time he tried to follow a match.

Sure, competition was fun, and exploring what pokemon could do was always interesting. But the spectacle, the awards, the prestige of what was, on a surface level, just shouting some instructions, couldn’t make sense in Goh’s mind.

Satoshi had changed that. Satoshi had changed a lot of things. How Goh felt about battling, how Goh wanted to achieve his dream, how fast his heart beat in his chest. Lots of things. And for the most part, Goh was thankful for that.

However even with Satoshi in the middle of it, his smile making the whole affair so much more beautiful in Goh’s eyes, there were so many parts that just didn’t make sense.

But Satoshi loved to battle, and so despite the initial confusion, Goh didn’t really mind watching him train.

Something in the back of his mind told him he would’ve minded, had it not been Satoshi, which he dismissed.

Blue and yellow lights clashed, never quite mixing into the appropriate green. The grass was sent rustling from the resulting gusts.

Riolu moved too quickly for Goh’s eyes to track, becoming not more than a blur of blue and black, occasionally letting out a yell or grunt of effort. The same could be said for Pikachu, darting back and forth in what Goh guessed to be an effort to confuse Riolu on his exact location. It was working to moderate success, a few of Riolu’s attacks landing, but more not.

Riolu readied another attack, aiming directly towards Pikachu. The glow of it shined in Pikachu’s eyes, changing their colour from brown to unnatural blue for a moment.

“Dodge it, Pikachu!”

Satoshi's voice called out, strong and rough and passionate. The words wedged themselves firmly in Goh’s mind.

Maybe it was the way that Satoshi yelled them that got them caught, the emotion and heat of the moment. It could also be the boy himself who yelled them. Goh shook his head at these ideas.

To dodge, as a command, was confusing on its own, no need to make it deeper than it was, right?

Besides, he could figure that out right now, the battle having winded to a close.

Taking a deep breath, Goh stretched his arms above his head, bringing them down in a fluid motion to grab one leg. Reaching out forward, Goh unfolded his legs to sit out in front of him. With his left foot planted back, Goh pushed himself to standing, and ran down the gentle slope to meet Satoshi.

“Good job, buddy!” Satoshi praised, “You did great out there.”

He bent down and stroked the fur between Pikachu’s ears with the practice of someone who had done this so many times it was as natural as breathing. Pikachu softly squeaked out something in response, contented.

“You too, Riolu!”

Satoshi called across the field, to which Riolu howled happily in return.

Satisfied, he returned his attention to running his fingers against Pikachu’s fur.

“You’ve been working hard! Good job, Satoshi,” Goh called, waving a bit as he walked over.

Satoshi’s eyes sparkled a bit as turned to face Goh, scooping Pikachu up in his arms as he straightened so he could continue to pet him as he spoke.

“Nah nah, Pikachu and Riolu are the ones doing all the work.” Satoshi deflected with a smile, Pikachu cooing at the compliment. ”I’m just giving them directions and all.”

Goh frowned ever so slightly.

“Well, that’s clearly not true. If you were cjust giving them directions, there wouldn’t be any need for trainers in battles at all, you could just send out the pokemon to fight on their own. Besides, weren’t you the one who told me that pokemon and trainers work as a team? There’s no need to downplay your achievements, you should be proud of yourself.”

He bit his lip as he finished speaking, having rambled on much more than he had meant to. It just didn’t seem fair, Satoshi not recognizing his accomplishments.

Satoshi’s face was blank as he stared for a moment, though it quickly shifted to a smile again.

“You’re right! Both that I said that, and that we’re a team. Thanks.”

Goh shook his head.

“It’s nothing, I’m just repeating what you already knew.”

Satoshi’s smile shifted to a smirk.

“Okay now who’s downplaying?”

Goh rolled his eyes, but he was happy to see Satoshi smiling.

“Come take a break for a bit, Satoshi.” Goh said, phrased like a statement but voiced like a request.

Satoshi looked hesitant, looking back and forth between Pikachu in his arms and Riolu across the field.

“Please?” Goh added, which seemed to be enough for Satoshi.

“Alright! Riolu! We’re taking a break, okay?” Satoshi called again, receiving a nod from Riolu in reply as it ran off, presumably to chat with the other park pokemon. Or maybe fight them.

Satoshi turned back towards Goh, nodding at him as he began to head up the hill, grass skimming his ankles as he went.

Goh followed closely behind, feeling a bit awkward not quite making pace but not wanting to speed up that last little bit for fear of looking clingy.

Satoshi sighed contently just before he flopped backwards onto the grass in the shade of the tree.

“Ack! It’s cold!” Satoshi cried out, spreading his arms out onto the lawn, and beginning to laugh.

Goh smiled, leaning back to sit across from Satoshi. Satoshi’s eyes fluttered closed, Goh’s remained open.

Tiny pieces of sunlight filtered down through the gaps in the leaves, shuddering slightly as the leaves shifted in the wind, illuminating Satoshi’s face in fragments.

“It’s nice actually! The cold grass, I mean. I didn’t think it’d be that cold!”

Goh laughed, a soft laugh that slipped through his fingers as he covered his mouth with his hands.

“It’s been in the shade, of course it’s going to be cooler than the grass you nearly set on fire.”

Eyes still closed, a grin stretched across Satoshi’s face.

“You’re right, you’re right.”

Pikachu tucked his feet beneath himself, curling up on Satoshi’s chest with a contented squeak. Lightly, as not to disturb the pokemon, Satoshi let his hands glide across the tips of the grass.

Goh watched with odd fascination as the blades bent under Satoshi’s finger tips, rustling softly.

“When you’re lying on it, it feels all soft, but the tips are kinda pointy” Satoshi remarked idly. “You should try it, Goh!”

Goh blinked for a moment, then shrugged.

He placed a hand down, dragging it back and forth.

And Satoshi was right, the grass was cold in a comforting, relieving way. But something about looking at Satoshi made Goh feel warm, warm, warm, and while he couldn’t quite understand it, it was growing in familiarity.

“Pointy, huh?” Goh remarked, poking a grass blade. It did have a tip to it, though he wasn’t sure if he would call it ‘pointy’.

Satoshi nodded.

“Yeah. Not sharp, it’s not thick enough for that, but ya know…! Pointy!”

Satoshi kept one hand on the ground, the other raising to wave in a nondescript motion in some attempt to convey what he meant.

Goh raised an eyebrow.

“There’s sharp grass?”

Satoshi nodded.

“Yeah! Or, hold on I might be mixing up the word. Actually, I’ll just show you!”

His eyes snapped open, Pikachu hopping off his trainer to curl up into the grass.

Satoshi practically leapt to standing, taking long, quick strides towards the base of the tree. Next to the trunk, the grass grew longer, in thicker strands that appeared to tangle in with one another. A couple other plants weaved themselves into the mix, and Goh couldn't name a single one.

“Here’s the type of grass! It has some special name, I think, but I can’t remember it. Here!”

Satoshi leaned over, pulling a handful of grass together and tearing it out, pushing the blades out with his thumb to fan them out. He bowed teasingly as he presented them to Goh, as if offering a gift to a king.

“Behold!”

Goh laughed again, picking up one of the blades between his forefinger and his thumb.

“Feel it, really feel it!" Satoshi said, "What’s it like?”

Goh ran his finger against the stalk.

“Hmm… This side is smooth… but this one isn’t! It’s… sticky? No, not sticky, it’s catching on my fingers because it's coarse- this is what you meant by sharp! That makes a lot of sense.”

Satoshi glowed.

“Exactly!”

Satisfied, he plopped himself down on the grass again, careful not to accidentally squish Pikachu. Goh followed suit, sitting closer to Satoshi this time. Their crossed legs mirrored one another, the freshly picked pile of grass being placed between them, knees not quite touching.

“Now,” Satoshi said, a mischievous look sparking in his eye, “Check this out!”

He placed one of the pieces of grass between the pointer fingers on both hands, pulling it taut with his thumbs, and wrapping his fingers together.

“Satoshi?”

Satoshi screwed his eyes shut, brought his cupped hands up to his lips— “Satoshi, what are you-" —and blew.

The resulting sound was that of a loud, squeaking honk, resonating throughout the park, startling more than a few pokemon. Pikachu jumped up, cheeks sparking slightly. Goh practically leapt a foot in the air, heart soaring even further.

(@atlix2)

“W-ww-what was that!?”

Satoshi grinned sheepishly.

“Grass blowing trick! I guess it works better outside… I think most of the park heard me…”

“I think Kalos heard you! Give a guy a warning next time…”

Satoshi laughed a bit, “Sorry, sorry!” But Goh could tell he meant it.

Pikachu crawled over to place his head in Satoshi’s lap, letting out a disgruntled "Pikapi pi-Ka-chu.”

Satoshi laughed, stroking Pikachu behind the ears.

“Did I startle you, buddy? Aw, I’m sorry.”

Pikachu nodded, but he didn’t seem all too upset. He rubbed his head against his trainer’s leg, and Satoshi smiled a bit softer.

“Tired, huh?”

“Pikaaa.”

“You did great out there. Strong attacks, excellent dodging.”

The sound of Satoshi’s battle commands filled Goh’s ears for a moment.

“Uh… speaking of dodging.”

Satoshi tilted his head to the side.

“What about it?”

Goh reached for one of the blades of grass, pressing his thumbnail into the side of it to tear it in two.

“I was just sort of wondering… why?”

Satoshi blinked.

“What?”

Goh went on, “Like, why is it a command, and why do you use it so much?”

The strand tore to two pieces, then three, then four.

“Sometimes it makes sense, but other times I don’t get it. Why do you tell your pokemon to dodge even if they’re obviously already seeing the attack and are gonna dodge anyway? Pikachu’s good at dodging like you said, he’s gonna get out of the way on his own. So... why call it out?”

As Goh spoke he feared stronger and stronger that his words were coming out wrong, the question sounding much more like an accusation than he had intended.

To Goh’s surprise, Satoshi merely smiled.

“Oh, I can explain that! It would be kind of confusing if you didn’t battle, I think.”

The knot in Goh’s chest seemed to loosen. Satoshi’s expression softened, focused in on Pikachu, not meeting Goh’s eye.

“Trainers have debated stuff like this before, but I think, at least for me, that it’s about trust. I want my partners to trust me, and to know that I’m guiding them through the whole battle, no matter what.”

Goh let the words seep into his mind, processing them slowly.

“So you’d call out for them, even if they didn’t need it?” He asked tentatively.

“Even if they don’t need it,” Satoshi replied, “It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for you, you know? That they care enough to try their hardest to make sure you won’t be hurt.”

Goh short circuited momentarily. Did he know? He wasn’t sure. No, no he wasn’t going to think about this. He was chatting with his friend about battle strategies. This was not the time to worry about something silly like this.

Though a tiny seed of doubt was planted in the depths of Goh’s mind. A fear that Satoshi was wrong. That no one was looking out for him, nor would anyone anytime soon.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. These were the foolish thoughts of a silly child. He could stand on his own just fine. What did it matter if there was anyone else? He didn’t need anyone else.

Tongue feeling out of place in his mouth, Goh spoke again.

“Won’t that just hurt them in the long run? Wouldn’t they get used to having someone calling out attacks? Then they wouldn’t be able to fight on their own.”

Satoshi’s expression shifted for a moment, and Goh’s breath caught in his throat. This was feeling eerily similar to an argument they had already had. One he wasn’t keen on repeating. One he still thought about, still cursed himself for jumping to conclusions, for being so paranoid that he had almost sabotaged everything before it had even begun.

Maybe because Goh’s fear showed on his face, or maybe because Satoshi remembered the same as Goh, or maybe just because Satoshi was a kind person, he smiled instead. A different sort of a smile, a knowing smile, with a touch of sadness to it.

“Silly Goh. The whole point is that they don’t have to fight on their own. We’re a team.”

And Goh’s heart ached badly, painfully. Of course. Of course Satoshi wouldn’t see it that way, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind.

“I mean, a few of my pokemon have gone off to fight on their own, but they were the type to be pretty independent anyway. And even if they weren’t, I still think it’s important they know we’re a team. I’ll fight alongside them, as long as they'll have me.”

Goh nodded, voice not wanting to work for the time beginning.

Satoshi scratched Pikachu under the chin, a contented smile in his eyes.

“Me and my team against the world, right buddy!?”

Pikachu chirped happily in response.

And desperately, so desperately, Goh wanted to respond, “Us against the world, right?” To cry out “We’re a team too,” to whisper “I’ve got your back, I’ll watch out for you,” and other foolish things until Satoshi responded with equally foolish words in return.

However self doubt had long since taken root in Goh’s mind, and his traitorous lips refused to utter the words, for such strong fear of being misunderstood.

Cowardice, such cowardice.

Instead he replied, “Do your best. I’ll cheer for you.”

Somehow, despite himself, he hoped that Satoshi understood what he meant regardless.

“Haha, thanks,” Satoshi said, reaching up as he stretched, taking care not to disturb Pikachu. He yawned, which then turned into a laugh.

“You’re in no rush to get back to training, are you buddy?”

Pikachu, having closed his eyes and made himself comfortable, replied with a sleepy ‘Pikaaaa. Pi-kachu, Pichu.”

Satoshi smiled, eyes shutting slowly as though they were becoming too heavy to keep open.

“That’s what I thought. We can just rest for a little while longer then.”

Stretching out his arms with great effort, Satoshi flopped over to one side, Pikachu crawling out of the way to prevent himself from being tossed out of Satoshi’s lap.

Satoshi stretched out his legs, leaving one just slightly bent as Pikachu made himself comfortable. He turned around in small circles a few times, trying to pat down the grass into the right shape, then curled up against Satoshi’s side. One of Satoshi’s arms, though slightly bent at the elbow, stretched out across the grass, palm facing towards the sky. He let the other lay over Pikachu in a loose but protective hold.

“Just gonna… take a break… in this nice… soft grass…” Satoshi murmured.

Things were still for a moment, or as still as they could be. Goh stared at the piece of grass he had shredded in his hands.

“Hey, Satoshi. Do you think-“ But the words died in Goh’s mouth as he looked up to see what he had suspected. Satoshi had fallen asleep in the shade.

Before he could help it, a soft smile drifted onto Goh’s face, the sight of Satoshi sleeping there so contently somehow relaxing him.

Nothing for it, he supposed, but to follow suit.

Stretching himself out, though not so gracefully as Satoshi had, he presumed, Goh laid against the earth, Satoshi by his side.

His ankles were crossed, one hand under his head, the other by his side. He stared up the tree, wind blowing and shifting the leaves into new untraceable shapes. Something about the disarray was comforting.

His free hand stretched out to reach at the leaves above his head, trying to grasp to no avail. Goh let his hand drop gently, finding it landed in Satoshi’s palm.

He left it there.

The smell of grass, earthy but distinctly sweet in an odd way, drifted along the breeze.

When Satoshi woke up, the grass surely would have left marks on his skin, but he in kind would leave his mark on the grass, a soft shadow of where he had laid.

Goh wondered if he too would leave a mark. On the grass, on the earth, on the boy across from him.

Goh allowed himself to shut his eyes, willing himself to think of the grass, the wind, anything at all so long as for once it could be simple.

Lying there, Goh did not sleep, but he did dream.

[End]

(the art in this chapter was done by a friend, not me! it's wonderful, and you can support them right here: (@atlix2))

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crystalirises · 4 years ago

Text

In The Wreckage of Exile (Safe and Sound Part I)

What was casted away... shall be found.

(An alternative take in which, Eret and Fundy find Tommy during exile, thus changing history.)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31232840/chapters/77199998

"You really need to chart a map, son. You can't keep losing an entire country." Eret ran a hand through their disheveled hair, nearly knocking the flower crown that Fundy had given them off of their head as they peered around at the forest they had both gotten lost in. Fundy scouted ahead, sunlight casting his ginger hair with an angelic and warm glow, his fox ears twitching every so often. "We've been walking for miles now, Fundy. I'm quite sure this isn't the way to Drywaters."

In truth, Eret was quite sure that they’d gone the complete opposite way.

Fundy casted a look over his shoulder, traces of exhaustion clear on his face as he finally leaned against a tree. Eret slowly walked up to him, dark shades glancing down at the fox hybrid as they took a momentary break. Fundy's golden-flecked brown eyes traced the area they were in, coming to the horrible conclusion that yes, he had gotten them lost again. "Sorry, ren. I'm not the best when it comes to direction."

They took a deep breath, their heart aching with pain for their companion, their friend, their son. Eret didn’t mind the long trek towards the wilderness, having been the one to suggest they go to Drywaters to take Fundy’s mind away from his troubles. A walk was sufficient enough for that.

"It's alright, Fundy. You're just tired is all." Eret placed a hand on Fundy's head, caressing his hair before settling next to him. They weren't in a hurry, it would do both of them some good to rest. "Tell me when you're ready."

They watched Fundy run a hand through his hair, ginger and white strands blending in together, but he didn’t get too far before his fingers touched Eret’s hand. Fundy smiled, holding onto Eret for a moment before his eyes turned back towards the ground. There was a guilty look in Fundy’s gaze, his mouth curled into a grimace while his free hand reached down to pick at the end of his shirt. Eret tsked at the small holes at the bottom of Fundy’s clothing. It was inevitable with Fundy’s nails being so sharp, but if it helped Fundy calm down then Eret would not stop him.

"I should've made a map, ren. Now, we're lost."

They shook their head, patting Fundy on the head and scratching him behind the ears. The fox hybrid sighed, leaning into the touch with a small smile on his face. Eret smiled along with him. They’d rather not Fundy be upset, that was the opposite of their goal after all. They continued to pet Fundy until his tail was wagging, the fluffy fur of orange and white thumping against the tree’s bark. They gave Fundy one last pat, happy to see Fundy’s contented and joyful smile.

"We'll find our way to Drywaters. Think of this as an adventure. We never know what secrets lurk within the wilderness." Eret surveyed the thick foliage of the forest, not a single sign of civilization for miles. They only hoped a mob wouldn't appear out of nowhere. As they looked around, they noticed a thin line of smoke emerging from the treetops a distance away. It was a small wisp of smoke, barely visible in the brightness of day that colored the forest with its golden hue. Eret wondered who could possibly be living in the middle of nowhere, slightly worried that a familiar pinkette would appear to threaten them for being on his territory. Eret shook their head, knowing that Techno wouldn't do anything to harm them if Eret just explained that they were lost. Techno wasn't cruel enough to simply strike them for existing… unless they were orphans. "Fundy, I see smoke over there. We should try to move towards it, if we're lucky we might find the ever elusive Dream's house."

Fundy scoffed beside them, rolling his eyes until Eret could only see the whites. Without really meaning to, they reached up towards their sunglasses, adjusting them for a moment despite them having not moved at all. Fundy peered up at the wispy smoke, raising an eyebrow at it. A bittersweet smile flashed across the fox hybrid’s face, but it quickly disappeared.

"I have a slight suspicion that he doesn't even sleep, much less have a house of his own." Fundy rolled his eyes again, pushing off the tree as they both slowly made their way towards the smoke. Fundy chewed on the inside of his cheek, picking at the sleeve of his shirt as they drew closer towards what he could only hope was not a painful death trap. There weren't many people who wandered this far into the desert, fearful of what horrifying and bloodthirsty monsters lurked in places where no man dared to travel. Fundy knew firsthand how terrible the outside world could be outside the confines of the Essempy. His father was a man who travelled the world, and Fundy used to have the same urge for adventure… until he had wandered into a dark forest filled with beasts that should never see the light of day. He shook his head, tearing the memories from his mind as he followed after Eret. As they neared, he took notice of the trees, slight indentations of axe markings digging into their barks. Some marks looked fresh and horribly made, as if whoever left them was too weak to hold the axe properly. Someone was actually living here. Eret paused too, their gaze meeting Fundy's. "Uhm… You know we could always turn around—"

"I'm sure we'll be fine, Fundy."

They both stumbled into a clearing, a beachfront that overlooked a never-ending ocean. Eret took notice of the shabby white tents that had been set up, the shelters covered in grime and dirt. Nature truly was a cruel mistress, how anyone could live here was beyond Eret’s understanding. A small dirt path led up towards a poorly made cabin, if one could even call it a cabin that is. The wood was splintering and rotting at the sides, threatening to collapse on whoever dared tried to stay in it. It was a pitiful sight, clearly made with limited resources… or the person was too weak to finish it… or the person had held no desire to actually finish its construction.

They inspected the pitiful structure, noticing the lack of roof for shelter and the various holes that littered its sides. From their angle, they could just about see the numerous amounts of chests that decorated the back wall of the structure. They looked back towards Fundy, noticing the way Fundy was sniffing at the air, like he was picking up on a muted smell. Eret didn’t know what it was, but there was a familiarity in the air. A scent of past regrets and the destruction of hope…

"There's a nether portal over there, we could probably use it to head back home." Fundy walked into the clearing, seeing the familiar hue of purple against the color of dark green grass and soft yellow sand. He slowly made his way over to it, his eyes shifting towards the destroyed nether portal just below the one he was currently standing next to. Maybe he should take the obsidian… "Ren, I'm going to mine the obsidian for a sec, okay? At least we can get home with this… Gods, know where we even are by this fucking point. I want nothing more than to go home and sleep."

Eret didn't get the chance to respond before Fundy began to mine the second nether portal. They smiled, putting in a reminder in their head to make tea once they both got home. Fundy would insist on hot chocolate but Eret knew very well that Fundy was allergic. They shook their head at the thought, turning instead to look around the strange area. "I'll be right back, Fundy!"

"Don't die! Or else I'm stealing your stuff!"

"Don't burn the forest while I'm not looking, Fundy! I mean it, son!" Eret heard the indignant and insulted scoff, saw the glint of mischief in the fox hybrid's eyes before they finally headed closer towards the shack. Fundy wouldn’t dare. Even if he did, Eret knew that they had a bucket of water within their inventory. As they walked through the dirt pathway, they looked at the unlit tiki torches that they supposed lit up the path during the nighttime. It felt lonely. A lit path at night, with perhaps only one person traversing it. Eret shivered at the thought of such solace and silence. In the far distance, they saw what appeared to be a roughly put-together Christmas tree decorated with bits of broken glass and fraying pieces of dyed wool. It looked like a mess.

Yet it felt painful to look at. They glanced at the poorly placed pieces of wool on the lanky tree, Eret could only hope that it didn’t decide to collapse the moment Eret looked away. Someone had placed the wools on the tree’s rotting branches, pieces of string barely holding them up while others had already collapsed to the ground. The pieces of glass glinted underneath the sunlight, casting the ground with shimmers of golden light. At night, Eret thought, it probably decorated the ground with the silver glow of the moon and stars. They weren’t colored glass, but shards that looked like they came from smashed bottles. Eret turned away from the sight. Their heart was beginning to ache for the poor soul who had tried to feel some semblance of Christmas joy.

They stopped at the shack's small entrance, barely big enough for anyone to truly fit through. Eret glanced inside, finally seeing those rows of chests within the small cabin. They turned away, heading over towards one of the tents.

Eret paused midway.

Their eyes widened for a moment, their feet carrying them towards a particular spot on the ground. Eret blinked, mouth hanging open for a second. Someone was here. Someone was here and they needed help. Eret stood by the edge, eyes casted low. They couldn’t really believe what they were seeing. A hand reached up to clutch at their chest, fingers shaking despite themselves. Eret forced themself to keep calm, breathing in through their nose. They felt nausea bubble up from within, but they forced their sickness down. It wasn’t that the sight was anything new, but it certainly was not one that they thought they’d ever see again. Not in this lifetime, at least.

There was a pit in the ground, scorch marks tainting the sides as though a fire had been set in the middle of the hole. Eret peered down, seeing small chunks of metal sticking out from the burnt earth. They crouched beside it, fingers touching the sides. The ground still felt warm, a residue of gunpowder in the air as Eret slowly backed away from what they now saw as a crater. What had happened here? They couldn't see blood anywhere, but someone has just recently been here. The smell of ash was too strong, the earth too hot for it to not be recent. Eret didn’t understand it. Why would anyone throw explosives down a hole in the ground? Something felt wrong here.

"Boo!" Eret nearly fell in as Fundy suddenly appeared behind them, cackling as Eret tried to keep their balance. They gave Fundy a look, one that just made the fox hybrid grin as he finally took a glance at what Eret was inspecting. Fundy tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. "I know I burn forests down when I get upset, but this is a bit excessive. Dangerous too since it looks like someone dug a hole and just, ya know, plonked an explosive inside. They must have had a lot of shitty stuff if they really wanted to get rid of it all… wait… is that… are those armor pieces?"

"It seems so. Though why anyone would waste such precious resources out here in the wilderness is quite confusing." Eret looked over at the tent nearby, wondering if this area's tenant was inside. Fundy looked over, a questioning look in his eyes as though he were thinking the same thing. It wouldn't hurt to check. After all, the person living there might be injured from the explosion. They needed to check. "I'll go ahead. Stay behind me, Fundy. We have no idea or clue if the person who lives here is friendly or… not. It would be best if we did not take our chances."

"Thanks for volunteering for death first." Fundy mumbled beneath his breath, following after Eret as they slowly edged their way towards the tent. He held out his hand, his trusty axe materializing in his hold. "This is such a shitty situation, why can’t we just leave and forget this place…? But if you insist on imminent death, then okay… but… be careful, ren. I mean it."

"When have I never been careful?"

They reached the entrance to the tent, stopping as they heard shuffling from within. Eret heard labored breathing from inside, a stuttering inhale of breath as whoever it was began to move away from them and into the back of the tent. Eret pursed their lips together, worried that the stranger might run off into the woods. They wouldn't want to chase some poor soul out into the wilderness to be at the mercy of the mobs. Eret tried to peek through the small slit in the middle of the tent, seeing nothing but a moving shadow. They could see the faint outline of blonde hair at the corner, though that didn't give Eret enough information. "Hello? Is anyone here? We apologize for stumbling into your home, but we noticed the smoke from the forest and came to investigate. Are you alright? We saw the crater and wanted to see if anyone was injured."

"Eret?" They froze, a familiar voice reaching their eyes. Neither they nor Fundy hesitated before quickly entering the small tent. Fundy bit back a gasp as dull blue eyes stared at them from the corner, disbelief dancing in Tommy's gaze as he glanced at the two of them. Tears sprung from the boy's eyes as his breath stuttered into gasping sobs. Eret stood still, surprise still filtering through their veins. Tommy was here, and he looked like a mess. Even with only a sliver of light, Eret could see the tattered clothes that Tommy wore, his hair disheveled and long from what must've been months of isolation. He looked thin… too thin. Eret felt a pang in their heart. How could they have left Tommy like this? "No. No. Please. Why can't the visions just go away. Just go away. This isn't true. This isn't true. Go the fuck away you fucking bastards. Dream, if this is some sick joke of yours, just fuck off… please… I fucked up, I know! Please, leave me alone…”

"Tommy… it's us, man. Eret and Fundy!" Fundy took the first step, his boot crunching against the grass which caused Tommy to curl deeper into himself. Fundy paused before slowly crouching down until he was at the same height as Tommy. Fundy's hand hovered a bit closer as he bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't want Tommy to go into a panic the moment he tried to touch him. "Tommy, it's us! Look, I'm going to tap you on the arm, okay?"

Eret watched as Fundy moved a bit closer, tapping Tommy with one finger. Tommy stilled, confusion flitting through those his dead blue eyes as realization finally dawned upon him. "You're real… you're… you're actually here."

"We're here, Tommy. It's okay. You're safe."

Tommy's gaze suddenly turned to Eret, and for once Eret didn't see a single trace of malice in them. Tommy had never quite forgiven them for what they had done during the first war, regarding as a traitor for the rest of Eret's days. It had stung, but Eret knew that they deserved it. Guilt gnawed at their chest as they wondered if it was their fault that Tommy was in such a state. If it was their fault that it had come to this. Tommy would be happy in L'Manburg if Eret hadn't given in to the temptation of power. Tommy would be okay, Wilbur would be alive, Tubbo wouldn't have been forced into the presidency… Fundy… Fundy wouldn't have been an orphan. So many things gone wrong, and all with the press of a button. Fundy caught their eyes, a warning in them as though Fundy could hear the despicable thoughts that races through Eret's head. A weak voice brought them back to the present, "Eret… I—"

Fundy quickly caught Tommy before he could drop to the ground, the teen collapsing in utter exhaustion. He glanced at over Eret who had raced to Tommy's side, looking over for any injury that could have caused the sudden faint. Fundy sighed as Eret moved away, slight relief on their faces. Tommy must have collapsed from exhaustion. That was probably it. Fundy held onto his uncle's unconscious form, frightened by how he could feel the bones beneath his hands as he tried to hold Tommy in a comfortable position. What had Dream done to him? Fundy felt a searing anger bubble in his veins, but he didn't know who was to blame. Was it Dream for lying to them about Tommy's condition? Or was it Fundy for not stepping in to stop his uncle's exile?

"It wasn't your fault either, Fundy. We made our mistakes but we are not to blame for Tommy's condition." Eret spoke before Fundy's thoughts could go deeper. Fundy bit his bottom lip, but didn't argue, knowing that Eret could tell when he was upset. Fundy shifted his hold, one arm supporting Tommy's back and another supporting the back of his knees. Tommy's head rested against his shoulder, and Fundy wished Dream was nearby so he could take one of the man's lives, for even in sleep Tommy looked absolutely miserable. It wasn't fair. Tommy shouldn't have been left alone like this. Dream shouldn't have dared to do this. Fundy had no doubt that the crater outside was Dream's doing… Tommy wouldn't do such a thing, destroy armor for the sake of it. Fundy let out a growl, ears pressed against the top of his head as he slowly stood up. Eret followed after him, their mouth set into a thin line as they both left the tent. "We can't leave Tommy here. I don't… we shouldn't leave him here. We need to go before Dream decides to come back."

"We could take Tommy to Drywaters, I never told Dream about it. He shouldn't be able to find us there." At least, that's what Fundy hoped. He never saw the purpose of telling his ex-fiance where he planned to live. Why should he? He didn't want Dream knocking at his door one day to apologize for a relationship he probably was never invested in. Tommy would be safe at Drywaters. He and Eret could help Tommy recover there and once things have settled down, they could tell Tubbo and Phil about Tommy's whereabouts. Fundy looked over at Eret who nodded, a smile forming on their face as they began to head towards the nether portal. They could only hope they didn't bump into a familiar masked man during their trek through the nether. Fundy shivered as he realized they'd have to cross New L'Manburg to get to Drywaters. If anyone caught them… well, they were completely and utterly fucked . It was time to be sneaky. He slowed down, trying to match Eret's pace as he realized he has accidentally been walking too fast. "Do you think… Do you think Dream would try to look for Tommy?"

"Dream has a goal in mind. I have a suspicion that he needs Tommy under his complete command for it. That man is a bastard , one could never tell what his true motivations are." Eret shook their head, remembering those piercing green eyes that glared at them when they had tried to protest. "We can only hope he doesn't find us."

"If he does… I'll fucking kill him." Fundy held Tommy closer, still sick at the thought of Tommy being left alone with no one but that tyrant's company. They both finally reach the portal, the harsh sounds of the nether reaching their ears as they both take one final look at Tommy's base. Tommy lived here… for months. Poor kid, not a soul to speak to other than that despicable Dream. "I'm not letting him near, Tommy. Over my dead fucking body."

"No. It'll be over mine." Fundy tossed Eret a look, raising a brow at Eret's statement. It held truth, an undeniable one. Eret didn't know much about Dream, but a part of them knew the man had attachments. They'd seen the way Dream would pause at an empty castle hallway when he thought no one was looking. How he'd bring out a diamond ring from the inside of his sweater pocket, pressing a soft kiss on it before quickly placing it back into the safety of clothes. Eret didn't quite know what had caused the sudden break-up a few days before the scheduled wedding, but they knew Dream cared. If Dream were to ever find them, Eret would be the only to lose a life. It was alright. They had two lives to spare, and they'd gladly toss them all away -even their final life - if it meant giving Fundy and Tommy a chance to escape. Fundy could protect Tommy from then on after, but as long as Eret breathed, they wouldn't let Dream near their son and Tommy. Eret wrapped an arm around Fundy, holding him closer as they brought a sword. "No. If Dream comes for us, I want you to run. Don't look back. You have to promise me you won't look back. Tommy needs one of us to stay alive for him, and I am not letting Dream kill you. Now, do you promise to run if he comes to attack us?"

"I'm not promising that, ren. I'm not leaving you with Dream of all people. I'm staying by your side. I'm not losing another parent figure." Fundy rolled his eyes, inhaling as he tried to shake away the tears. He knew Tommy needed them both, needed someone who could actually serve as a parent instead of a confused nephew who didn't know what to do. Tommy needed Eret. "I can't lose you, ren. And Tommy can't lose you too. We both need you."

"I know, son, but Dream is a stubborn man." Eret gripped Fundy a bit closer, wishing that Fundy would just promise them that. Fundy held his ground, a smug grin on his face. "I suppose, you of all people should know that. Son, you know what could happen if we come across him. You know. He’s dangerous when it comes to his goals. Can you please just promise me that—"

"No. Insert heart here."

Eret laughed at Fundy's antics. Fine. If Fundy wouldn't promise them that then Eret would just have to fight hard enough to keep them all alive. Dream wouldn't know what hit him. At least, Eret could hope that they’d have the element of surprise over the man. Still, it was a long trek home and the nether is not a place one wishes to be trapped in while being hunted. Before they could get home, they needed to survive the nether first… and perhaps even Dream.

"Are you ready?"

"Let's go home."

Eret glanced down at Tommy, giving him a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, Tommy. We’re getting you out of here.”

“And Dream can suck it!”

Eret sighed, chuckling.

Eret could only hope and pray that Dream wouldn’t find them.

They stepped into the portal, leaving behind the traces of bad memories and misery.

Goodbye Logstedshire, you won't be missed.

#eret #its fundy #tommyinnit #mcyt #Tommy Exile Alternate Universe Outcome #fundy

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regulusfate · 4 years ago

Text

we almost fell (six feet underground)

Plot : they learn to cope with life

James and Lily , had they survived

It was still dark when her eyes flew open , back half lifting from the soft springs of the mattress and the thick sheets spread along the bed became too suffocating. It was still dark outside , barely the break of morning to peek through , and frozen in silence.

Her eyelids were stiff with sleep , for that seemed to be all they had done in the last days , their relief dwindling from the moment of euphoria where she clutched him in the white walls of the hospital, his beating heart pressed to her ear , the steady rise and fall of his chest, Lily had only had a single other moment in her life where she felt more relieved than then. When her son was in her arms too, the innocence of his face with soft puckered lips that made little sound but moved as if to tell her all the secrets of the world and it was all she could do not crush him , crush him in the hold of her arms and never left go.

Silence , something that had been precious mere days before, that had joined the ever strand of coping mechanisms when stuck , so inevitably stuck , hiding and not fighting, hiding. They were confined to their home in godric's hollow and there were days where the walls stifled the air thick with a cotton thread that strung their hope in a mess of lines until they couldn't quite find the end. But the silence they were afforded had come with peace, for they could rest with their bodies side by side and enjoy the tender moments by the fire, where they said nothing at all but they needed to be held , they needed that silence to know they were safe.

The birds were not yet up to sing their song , left to the eerie chimes of the witching hour and an empty space beside her where the bed was loosing warmth, and a streak of light dancing along the wall from the door that was ajar. It strained at her eyes as he brain fought to catch up, limbs stiff with the ache of the prolonged stunner , for they had been frozen in place for minutes she could not count , but that was worth it. All of this was worth it, to know her family were alive.

This was a new silence now , one that frosted the grass with dew before the rain had chance to fall and shivered against patches of skin left open to the vulnerable cold , so different. Because she was awake, and no sound stirred, and her heart lurched to her throat with an incessant beating, she could not hear.

She could not hear them.

They were quiet , they were quiet and a small part of her brain reminded her that it was the early hours of the morning and they were meant to be quiet , to be asleep. And yet her husband was not beside her, his forever cold feet pressing into her legs, the tickle of the stubble growing on his face to brush against the back of her neck, he was not there.

It was irrational panic , but then not really, as she swung herself from the warmth of the covers and fumbled with her slippers. A cruel thought chewing at the back of her mind as her hands found the soft silk of her dressing gown, that in the dark and silence of what she would find - nothing at all.

The hall was lit with light and that soothed the stirring of frazzled fire, combing a tired hand through her the knots of her hair , her feet searching. A twinge of pain ran down her neck , reduced from the pulsing that plagued the back of her head , a thin scar hidden behind the thick curtain of red.

Her fingers found the door handle , her breath catching and maybe she hated herself a little for hesitating. There were still cracks in the wall, the handle loose in its hold and she pushed it open but her feet would not move.

Lily was looking for her child , but instead found her eyes swimming to the spot where she had been stood , a lump rising in her throat alongside an ugly thought; would she have the strength to do it again? She would, she could, but a pinch of doubt and a thousand scenarios and what if she had stood aside.

A hand fluttered up to her lips, pressing them tight to withhold the exhausted cry trapped in her throat , and then the wispy figures that plagued her dreams were lost from sight and no patch of carpet would blindside her from what she had to see , what she needed to know.

And her fingers found the cot , fixed - she didn't know when , she didn't know who, maybe she didn't want to know ? - the polished wood crafted beneath her fingers. James had put it together himself, whilst Sirius and Remus argued over the instructions, because her husband demanded to do it the 'proper' way and Peter .. Peter.

She'd never seen him more motivated to help before , a gentle thought had her wondering if she'd been looking hard enough , but between the four of them , little Harry's nursery ' I recommend his name to be Sirius Junior !' , ' Poor child ' had the baby blue walls painted and his furniture standing with weeks to spare.

She couldn't bring herself to hate the room , even after everything else. She couldn't, not when her little boy was the beacon of light that rolled out something warm across the the floor, something that outweighed everything that happened, even if she struggled to take the first step.

He was there , half curled beneath baby sized blanket with a hand clutching absently at the stuffed lion and a soft blush of red to his cheeks.

Lily felt herself smile tenderly , though her eyes suspiciously bright and wet as her hand moved down to stroke the soft silk of his hair , and find the rise of his chest to dampen any cause of worry , she knew how lucky they had been.

"Mumma loves you Harry ," she whispered , the echo of her same words on that night , but this time her baby would wake up in the morning and she would be around to see the wash of his big jewel eyes and the soft scrunch of his nose.

"So so much."

Now she was sure he child was there , breathing , safe. Though they could never be sure and would never be sure as their trust seemed shattered at their feet and they did not have the strength to pick it up again. But as long as she lived, she would do everything in her power to make sure no man , no women , no monster harmed her child.

A stir from downstairs , and she flinched unconsciously, her wand left on her bedside table with a hundred thoughts that followed in quick succession and maybe she moved to place herself between the door and her boy.

But Lily didn't , even as she cursed herself for leaving it behind, leaving them with misfortune to another's hand and what could have protected them from the shadow that crept up the stairs. There wasn't one, and she tried to remember that the only shadow now was her own.

Another noise , a stumbling of shuffling feet and the sound of paper ruffled and she lingered for a moment longer to capture every piece of Harry in her mind, before moving away to the landing.

She left the door ajar. Not sure to what extent that would do anything, should a Death Eater attempt to take revenge for their masters death, but still it have some small comfort, forcing herself not to cuddle him to her chest at every possible chance.

The stairs creaked in all the right places, the familiar spots she knew to step like clockwork, expect the last one. As the floor of the hall drew nearer, a dent still left in its wood, and she worked past the catch of breath in her throat.

Nobody looked at it. Not Sirius , not Remus , not her.

Nobody expect for James could stand to glance at it , to touch it even , a stark reminder and a ghostly echo left in her mind , forever ingrained in her nightmares the sound of his body falling limp like a rag doll against the floor.

A heavy thump , and his footsteps , a heavy thump , and Harry had cried a little harder , a heavy thump , and it wasn't meant to be like that.

He was there, as she stepped over the bottom step and the floorboards croaked their groan through the air , the soft light of the dining room peered her way , a single lamp switched on and his figure slumped in a chair , his figure very much alive.

Lily released a breath she didn't know she was holding , and started towards him. Their small home hadn't seemed so small; not a month ago when Harry was flying his broom , not a year ago when he was gurgling from her arms for the first time , not before then when their bodies were crammed to the sofa and swinging bottles of butterbeer.

Not when Marlene and Dorcas were alive to hold him too.

Not when Dumbledore spoke of the prophecy and there was no more butterbeer, no more friends , no more freedom.

But not the walls loomed in a way they had not before , with the shadows and creaks , their home haunted by memories.

"James."

He looked up slowly from where his gaze rested on the article in his hands , as if peeling then away from the most important document ever to exist and in a way , for him , she knew it was.

Lily didn't need to see the heading printed in thick black ink to know what it said. It's what they all said.

POTTERS ALIVE BY SOME MIRACLE , FAMILY BETRAYED BY PETER PETTIGREW !

They hadn't believed it , James hadn't believed it , not at first , not until he confessed in the confines of Dumbledore's office and she wondered if they'd ever learn why.

"Sorry," he murmured, voice thick with sleep but so gratingly awake , and face lined with bags of stress pitched beneath his eyes. "Sorry I .. I couldn't sleep."

"I know." She replied softly , her hands finding their way to his shoulders , fingers pressing into the old t-shirt he'd thrown on to feel the heat beneath his skin.

"I don't get it." He sighed tiredly , a hand scrubbed down his face , staring with an almost unreadable expression at the paper in the lamp light.

Almost , almost unreadable. But she could see it, the pain that clung to the flicker of his eyelashes and the sadness in the bob of his Adam's apple. Hazel flecks left bloodshot, by a sleepless night or by tears, she would guess both.

Lily waited silently, rubbing gently at his shoulders, reassuring herself more than him that he were indeed there, indeed alive.

"He wasn't tortured, he wasn't hurt, he wasn't anything except sorry-"

His throat cut off and his lips pressed in a firm line, and Lily let out a soft exhale, pressing a kiss to his head, dark hair smooth against her face.

"That has to count for something though, that he was at the very least, sorry."

She whispered, not sure why she was even attempting to defend him, the man who almost got them killed, almost got their baby killed.

James shook his head slowly.

"It's more than that though," he croaked, a hand pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, his mind working in overdrive. She could almost hear the heavy clogs turning in his brain, jammed at one end , so confused.

"There has to be more to it than just being scared - hell I was scared, I was terrified !"

His voice was rising , breaking the quaint sounds beginning to emerge from the outside world and the gentle quiet of the house.

"James," Lily murmured, her eyes prickling as he half rose out of his seat, wide eyes finding hers, glazed with something so irreversibly haunted. The same look she saw in the mirror.

"I was so fucking terrified , you were so terrified , why does being scared make it okay ?? I had to face Voldemort head on-!"

His voice cracked and fell , dripping off with only sadness following in its wake. The climbing sensation of hysteria dissipated and he slumped forwards breathing heavily, pressing his face into his hands once more.

"I just," he took a shaking breath as she slid down beside him , the hard chair cold beneath her legs.

"I just keep thinking about it."

And Lily knew where he was going as his hazel eyes turned to her glistening, what he would say, his train of thought no different from her own.

"About what might've happened if-"

"If the curse hadn't of rebounded." Lily finished softly for him , her hand shaking as it pressed against his cheek, gently guiding his face back towards her as he twisted away with the drip of a tear.

"James look at me," and he did, without question or cause, and maybe for all of this she loved him a little bit more.

"I know, I do it too. And if I can't hear him at night I .."

"Panic." He muttered, and his own hand enclosed her other that lay on the table as their heads drew closer together.

"But we are here, we are alive and Voldemort didn't get us." She repeated the words she had said to herself everyday since the event , only now gentle and firm in the air did she start to believe herself.

"Voldermort didn't get us"

James breathed to himself , eyes finding the paper once more as another tear escaped from his eye. Their heads pressed together, her forehead against the side of his and his hand travelling up to stroke her hair, the deep red he had adored and would always adore.

"Everything else can wait," he whispered into the silence.

And it would, they had days to be remember how to live. For now , they just had to love.

#fanfic #jily fanfiction #james potter #james potter fanfiction #lily evans #lily evans potter #lily evans fanfiction #jily lives #jily fic #jily love #harrypotter #hp marauders #hp fandom #harry potter fanfiction #james and lily #marauders era angst #marauders era one shot #hp fic

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