#I've used this reference before but i think this turned out better than last time

[teethingpains]

For @valenfangs and @vampirefest day 2!

The prompts were blood kiss/lace and Obsession

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 5 | l.n

summary: oh damn, never seen that color blue…

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, some more filler (IM SORRY ITS FOR THE PLOT!!!!!), fluff (EEKK!!!!), subtle foreshadowing, unedited as fuck, and hints at a strained family relationship (trauma!!)

message from jordan: hi everyone! long time no see, huh? 😅 i'm so sorry for being mia and for not updating this series in so long, i decided to take a small break from almost all socials. but don't worry, we're back and better than ever <3 as always, thank you for being so patient with me. i hope this chapter is worth the wait!! see you soon, for real this time :) - p.s i hope you enjoy that taylor swift reference in the summary, cause, iykyk 🙂‍↕️

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

“hellloooo earth to oscar!”

it was no use. this was the third time he had unintentionally interrupted your conversation to respond to a text. all while doing so with a giddy smile, one you had never seen light up his face quite like this one did.

you had come over right after class, the two of you agreeing to hang out and catch up. it had been a while since it had just been the two of you hanging out, the inevitable busy schedules really hitting hard during your last semester. you missed your best friend.

missed meaning past tense. because although he was your best friend, right now, you wanted to snap his neck.

"oscar jack piastri!"

"oh- sorry," he mumbled the same apology for the third time this afternoon, "sorry, i was just texting someone. it's nothing, what were we talking about?"

you gave him a blank stare, "were you texting your secret girlfriend?"

you noticed the way his eyes widened a little upon mentioning the word ‘girlfriend’, "okay, one, she's not my girlfriend. and two, no. i was texting max."

and for the four years you've known oscar piastri, you could always tell when he was lying. and this time, he was lying right to your face.

you decided to play along with his game, letting him think he won this time. so you hummed, nodding your head, "okay, fine, if you say so."

"i'm sorry," he apologized again, locking his phone and placing it face down on the kitchen counter, "you have my full attention now, promise. what were you saying?"

"i was telling you about last week."

"right, with lando and the diner thing, right?" he asked and you hummed, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl in between the two of you, "wait a minute, how'd you go from hating his guts and it being unbearable to be within 5 feet of him to 'oh my god he took me to breakfast'?"

"you know that party lily practically dragged me to?" when he nodded you spoke again, "apparently i really suck at beer pong and he helped me back to the apartment and helped lily take care of me. it was really sweet, actually."

he smiled softly before letting out a quiet snort, "sorry, just never thought i'd hear you say the words 'lando' and 'sweet' in the same sentence."

"i'm serious!" you sighed, pouting ever so slightly.

"no, i know!" he laughed softly, "it's just... you're just now finding out what i've been trying to tell you for the longest time? that he's actually a really good dude?"

you bit down on your lower lip softly, "i didn't really give him a chance, huh?"

"not really, no," he chuckled softly, "but it's okay. he didn't exactly help out his own case either, in all honesty."

you nodded in agreement, the front door to the apartment creaking open. you both turned to see lando kicking off his shoes, placing his keys on the hook by the door.

he smiled at you and oscar, "hey,"

"hey," oscar smiled, answering for you as well as you took in his appearance. messy curls, tight black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, duffel bag on his shoulder and a soft glow on his skin, you could tell he had just gotten back from the gym.

arms. biceps. veins. god, you should probably speak before you embarrass yourself...

it was too late though, he had already seen the way your eyes traveled over his body. he decided to put the mental note in the back of his mind for now, instead checking the watch on his wrist.

"oh shit, i didn't mean to keep you waiting, y/n."

you tapped your phone screen, looking at the time. it was 4:35, just five minutes passed when you said you'd meet up. it really wasn't a big deal. you didn't even know it had gotten that late already.

"no, no, it's fine. didn't even notice, if i'm honest," you smiled and he sent you a smile back. oscar watched the two of you like a tennis match, cheekily grinning at the counter.

"i have some of those papers you had me work on the other day, they're in my room if you wanna..."

"oh- yeah! yeah, sure," you smiled, grabbing your things as oscar silently laughed at the way you acted around his roommate. how you were unintentionally tripping and stumbling over your own feet and your words, how lovestruck you became.

you followed lando to his room, placing your things down and taking a seat on the edge of his bed as he looked through his closet for a change of clothes, "i'm just gonna shower real quick, make yourself at home, though."

you smiled, nodding his way as he closed the door behind him. after all this time, you had never thought you'd see the other side of this door. his room was slightly messy, due to his busy schedule and his active lifestyle. posters of cars and, seemingly, his favorite video games hanging on the walls. the bookshelf that sat in the corner of the room was littered with different textbooks at the bottom and little die cast models of his favorite cars, along with a few formula one cars that you had recognized. the top shelf stood out the most to you, though.

a picture frame of him and who you had assumed to be his family. a family photo taken during christmas, all of them dressed in matching pajamas. a big happy family.

the photo, for whatever reason, brought tears to your eyes. a smile on your face as you sniffled quietly, putting the photo frame back down on it's designated shelf.

the door opened, causing you to turn around as he closed the door behind him, "sorry, i figured you'd prefer if i didn't smell like a guy's locker-room."

you laughed softly, wiping away the small tear that came from your eye, "god, yeah,"

"hey," he said, sitting down on the bed beside you, immediately disregarding the notebook he was grabbing beforehand, "what's wrong? you okay?"

you nodded, waving a hand dismissively, "yeah, yeah, i'm fine. i just- for whatever reason, when i looked at that picture of you and your family it just uhm..."

he patiently waited for you to finish your sentence, "it just brought back some feelings that i wish it hadn't, that's all."

"fuck, i'm so sorry," he said.

"no, no," you shook your head, "you don't have to apologize, if anything i should be the one who's apologizing."

"you don't have to apologize for having emotions."

you smiled softly, feeling another tear fall from the corner of your eye. this time, he gently brought his hand up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wiped it away.

the action made you breathless, as if the way he was looking into your eyes hadn't already. a mysterious color you couldn't quite put your finger on. it was a mix between blue, green and grey.

whatever it was, it was gorgeous and captivating at the same time.

you cleared your throat, the two of you moving away from the gap that had slowly been closing. your fingers untwisting themselves from his, you growing flushed at the fact that you had, at some point, interlocked your fingers with his unknowingly.

"sorry," you mumbled softly.

"'m sorry," he said at the same time. you both shared a soft and awkward chuckle before he grabbed his notebook from behind him.

"so, i had a few questions about chapter 15."

"go on," you said, studying his side profile as he explained the areas he was having trouble with. pretty tanned skin littered with freckles and moles, curls that perfectly kissed the skin on the back of his neck and his forehead.

the sentence lily had said to you last week repeating itself into your brain:

“...and it’s not like i don’t see the way he looks at you. he definitely is feeling something he doesn’t want to show just yet,”

oh, fuck.

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[literaryavenger]

New Year's Eve

Summary: A game of two truths and a lie reveals to the team a fact about the you that Bucky can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language 'cause why not. A lot of fluff. My poor attempts at being funny. Mutual pining, idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Happy New Year's Eve! Thanks for all the messages when I was sick, I'm finally feeling better and I'm negative for Covid! I really wanted to post something for New Year's Eve and this came from a fever dream I had when I was sick, lol. I hope it's any good and someone enjoys it! A particular thank you to @ordelixx for helping me with this story!💘I've only started posting here about a month and a half but I'm really enjoying it and feeling more and more comfortable in my writing. I hope I'm also getting better at it. Anyway, I have big plans for the New Year that I hope you'll enjoy! This year hasn't been great for me, but I'm planning on working harder than ever to make sure the next one is a year I can be proud of. I hope you guys have a nice last day of 2023 and an amazing start of 2024! Love you all.💘

Masterlist

“Ok, your turn, Kill Bill. Two truths and a lie, go.” Tony says, referring to the fact that you fight with swords, making you roll your eyes before you join in on the laughter.

“Ok, uhm...” you try not to look at anyone so you don’t give away the answer “I have a teddy bear that I sleep with, I have bungee jumped from the top of the tower and I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”

You look back up to the room and wait for their guesses.

It’s a Friday night and the people that remained in the Tower for the holidays decided to have a little game night.

Every year the same people stay around, having nowhere in particular to go, and spend Christmas together. 

Clint and Scott usually spend this time with their families, this year Thor decided to go to New Asgard with Bruce and Loki to visit Val and Korg, and Peter decided to spend it with aunt May and Happy.

You usually alternate between going to visit your family and staying in the tower each year, and this one was your turn to go to your first home.

You came back the day after Christmas, never being one to miss Tony’s New Year’s Eve party that’s gonna happen in two days now.

“Well, we know she has a teddy bear.” Wanda says.

“Do we know that?” Tony turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have one?”

“Yes, she does, we’ve seen it” Natasha answers for you while you glance at Bucky, praying he doesn’t put together that they’re talking about the teddy bear he gifted you for Valentine’s Day this year along with flowers. 

Natasha and Wanda were more happy than you when you told them, sustaining that he did it because he liked you until you pointed out that he gave flowers to them too, because he’s sweet and a gentleman and that’s just who he is.

They wouldn’t let up on the fact that neither of them got a teddy bear though, and you would have agreed with them but Bucky never really did anything else about it so you decided to let it go and not read too much into it.

You're brought back to the present by Tony.

“Ok, so she has one. Then it’s gotta be the New Year’s kiss, everyone has had one at least once in their life,” he was looking at your reaction very closely while talking, but you did your best to keep an easy smile and not give anything away.

“Even Captain Virgin over there had one last year.” he adds vaguely waving towards Steve’s general direction. 

You crack at the nickname and at the undignified sound Steve made while blushing and glancing at Nat that shared that kiss with him.

“Tony, there’s no way that she bungee jumped from the roof without us knowing, that’s gotta be the lie.” Sam interjects, also watching you closely for any signs of a reaction that you manage not to give.

“Alright, just take your guesses, people.” You say to the group.

“New Year’s Kiss.” Tony all but yelled, Natasha and Wanda agreeing with him.

“Bungee jump.” Sam says and Steve and Bucky agree, then they all seem to hold their breath as they wait for your answer.

It’s not a surprise that even these stupid little games cause a lot of competition amongst the team.

“Neither.”-you finally said and let out a laugh when they all groan in annoyance while taking their shots for guessing wrong.

“WAIT- you bungee jumped off the ROOF? When?!” Steve seems more concerned than anything.

“Well, you know a few months ago when we happened to all be on different missions at the same time?” They nod, not knowing where you're going with this “Clint and I came back first from ours, we were bored and there was no one around to stop us from doing anything stupid so…” you trail off, shrugging while laughing. 

Steve looks shocked, Sam is laughing his ass off while Tony immediately goes to look for the security footage.

They all cheered while watching you throw yourself off the roof, Clint's yells and laughter could be heard, and then Steve shakes his head while joining you in the laughter when you see Clint take his turn and scream like a little girl while you fall to the ground laughing on the video. 

Once you all composed yourselves, Tony pokes Wanda’s arm “I thought you said she had a teddy bear.” he's looking at her like she brought him on a treasure hunt and then betrayed him and left him for dead on a deserted island.

“She does! She got it from-” you interrupt her before she can finish the sentence, blushing a little and avoiding Bucky’s eyes.

“I do have a teddy bear, I just don’t sleep with it.” you say, shrugging.

“Oh, come on, that’s cheating!” Natasha whines.

“It’s really not, just because I do have one it doesn’t mean I didn’t tell a lie about it” you laugh at her pout.

“Wait a minute, so you’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?” Tony looks at you like you suddenly grew two heads.

“It’s not a big deal. Funny thing is, I have had boyfriends during New Year’s Eve, I just never happen to spend the day with them.” you say absentmindedly while thinking back at all the parties you’ve been to over the years to celebrate the new year.

“Really?” it's so quiet you almost missed it, your eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s that were already looking at you.

“Is that so hard to believe?” The room seems to go quiet as everybody looks at you two, but you're too focused on each other to notice.

“I didn’t- I mean…” his cheeks started to turn a little pink as he seemed to have trouble finishing his sentence “It’s just you’re very pretty, who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

You didn’t know what to say to that, you start blushing too while opening and closing your mouth a couple of times, looking like a damn fish.

You settle for a quiet ‘thank you’ with a smile that he shyly returns, neither of you noticing the glances passed by everyone else.

The whole team is convinced that there’s something between you and Bucky, but both of you always deny it and don’t seem to read too much into each other’s actions, always dismissing the glances and lingering touches as friendly affection even though you’re not really that close.

But really what else could it be?

The team lets the moment end and the game goes on, everyone keeps drinking and having fun until it gets really late and you all decide to call it a night.

Bucky goes to his bedroom and gets ready for sleep but he can’t seem to focus on anything else but you.

He really doesn’t understand how can anybody see your pretty self when you’ve just woken up, no makeup and your eyes full of sleep and not want to kiss you, let alone when you are all dolled up in a pretty golden dresses like you do every New Year’s. 

Every year it gets harder for him not to just grab you and kiss you, hell every day is pretty much torture to see you around the Compound and not get to be with you the way he wants to.

But he has to keep his hands to himself because there’s no way you could actually like him like that. 

He’s even tried to drop hints here and there like giving you the teddy bear for Valentine’s Day but, except for the cute shade of pink that your face turned, you still didn’t seem all that interested.

Still, that didn’t stop him from thinking what it would be like if you did like him and fantasize about being your first New Year’s kiss and maybe even your last first kiss.

At the same time you were in your own room getting ready for bed while your own thoughts kept going back to the moment you shared with Bucky in the living room. 

You didn’t know if you were more embarrassed because you actually told the team you’ve never had a kiss on New Year’s Eve or happy because Bucky called you pretty.

If it was anyone else you wouldn’t even think twice about it, but coming from him it just felt like you were being complimented for the first time ever. 

Everytime you thought about it you felt all warm and fuzzy inside, and at this point the moment was pretty much on loop in your mind.

The more you think about it the more you feel your face heat up, sleep not coming easily as you slip into Bucky filled dreams.

The next day everybody’s hanging out in the living room, most of them nursing a hangover from last night. You get ready for a last minute shopping trip to try and find a new dress for New Year’s Eve.

When you get to the living room you see Steve grinning at a disgruntled Tony, Wanda, Sam and Natasha who are obviously very hangover and nowhere near as amused as the blonde supersoldier. 

Bucky’s attention is on you as soon as you're in his field of vision and no one fails to notice it, except you of course, your own attention on Wanda and Natasha sprawled on the couch.

“Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come shopping with me,” you start watching from one to the other, as amused as Steve at everyone’s inability to contain themselves when drinking. “but I don’t think that’s happening.” 

“Bite me, YLN.” Is all Nat says.

Wanda, on the other hand, is a little gentler. “I can come with you, if you want.” she says sweetly.

“That’s okay, Wands.” you smile at her “just rest and drink lots of water.”

You turn around, saying bye to everyone and making your way out. As soon as the doors of the elevator close, everyone turns to Bucky that's not even pretending not to be staring anymore.

Not that anyone could ignore the longing look on Bucky’s face as he watches you walk away.

“Buck,” Steve starts talking, glancing at everyone before setting his gaze back on his best friend. “we need to talk.”

“Okay…” he slowly drags out, unsure if he even wants Steve to keep going.

“Well, we’ve been noticing some things lately…” He’s unsure of how to say this. “Between you and Y/N.”

Bucky’s cheeks start to turn a slight shade of pink, but he’s still not sure where Steve’s going with this so he says nothing.

“So we thought” he gestures around at everybody. “that maybe we should-”

“We know you like her, and we want to help you get with her.” Tony interrupts Steve, quickly getting to the point.

At Steve’s glare, Tony merely raises his hands in surrender saying, “Listen, Capsicle, I’m way too hungover to take the panoramic route. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yeah, Stark’s right.” Sam says, turning Bucky whose face is fully red now. “You have a weak ass game, man. Let us help you.”

They all look at the brunette supersoldier while waiting for his answer. He chews on his lip while looking at the expectant faces of his friends, before letting out a deep sigh.

“How would you even help me?” He says quietly, neither accepting nor denying their help just yet.

“Well, we know Y/N,” Wanda says.

“Yeah, we can tell you what turns her on.” Natasha smirked, before Wanda flicks her ear making her let out an ‘ow’ with a slight pout.

“What she means is,” she glares at Natasha “we can tell you what she likes, you know. Maybe help you get closer to her.”

Bucky shakes his head lightly “This is not a good idea. And it doesn’t even matter if she doesn’t like me.”

Wanda and Natasha seem to have a silent conversation, ending with Natasha raising her eyebrow at Wanda and Wanda just sighing with a soft ‘fine’.

“She does like you.” Wanda turns back to Bucky.

“She’s just convinced that you don’t like her like that.” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes.

Bucky still wasn’t completely convinced, but he agreed nonetheless. Maybe it was the glimmer of hope the girls gave him, but if there was even the slightest chance you could actually like him, he owed it to himself to try. 

So he let the team make a plan to get you guys together, hoping to god he wouldn’t come to regret it.

You come home a few hours later, super excited to have found the perfect dress for the party the next night.

Bucky thought you were just so cute, all smiles and giggles.

Wanda and Nat talked you into having the last girls night of the year, although it didn’t really take much convincing.

And so the plan begins.

You’re relaxing on your bed, Wanda lying next to you, your head on her lap, and Nat sprawled on the love seat near the window close to your bed.

You’re wearing bathrobes, sheet masks on your faces as you watch a cheesy romcom that you’re so embarrassingly into you don’t even notice the girls exchange a look and nod at each other.

Wanda clears her throat and then begins talking, as casually as she can. “So, how come you never told us you never had a New Year’s kiss?”

They had to approach the subject somehow, right?

“I don’t know,” you say absentmindedly and then shrug, your attention still on the Tv. “didn’t think it was important.” 

“Sure it isn’t.” Nat said, and her tone took your attention away from the movie for the first time since it started.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Tasha?” she simply shrugs, an innocent look in the face.

“It doesn’t mean anything” she says, her attention seemingly on the movie “I mean, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Why would it bother me?” you frown, you don't understand what's so weird about this.

“Well, some people might find it a little…” Wanda trails off.

“Sad?” Natasha ends for her.

“It’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone.” you're starting to get a little defensive.

“We know that, sweetie.” Wanda coos, stroking your hair while you look up at her.

“We really didn’t mean anything by it.” Natasha ends, giving you an apologetic look.

“Yeah, whatever.” is all you say, and you turn your eyes back to the tv, your attention nowhere near it.

Natasha and Wanda can basically hear the gears turn in your head and give each other one last glance. 

Part one of the plan is complete.

The next day goes through like usual, the team spending basically the whole morning together.

It’s a tradition, having the last breakfast of the year together, watching the last movie, having the last lunch and so on. Doing all the lasts together.

It’s silly, but it’s a tradition you've all come to be very fond of. 

The afternoon comes and you and the girls spend it getting ready for the party, last night’s conversation almost forgotten.

Almost.

As you got to the party the music was deafening before you even stepped out of the elevator and, once you did, you were immediately immersed in a sea of perfume and cologne and, like every other Stark party extravaganza, you didn’t know about 98% of the people there. 

You quickly find the team, as outgoing as most of them are, you usually spend most of the night together because it’s the last night of the year, last party and, again, it's your tradition.

You talk, you joke, you laugh but the more you drink the more you keep thinking about your conversation with the girls last night.

Was it really that sad that you’ve never started a new year with a kiss?

Midnight came sooner than you would’ve liked and your teammates decide to ask you a sobering question.

“So, who are you kissing?” Tony asks very casually.

You turn around confused, the team’s eyes all on you. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nobody told you?” Sam says, looking around him “We’re all kissing someone tonight.”

“I- You- What?” you glance towards Bucky so quickly he almost thought he imagined it.

“Well, Romanoff is kissing Rogers, I’m obviously kissing Pepper and Wanda is kissing Wilson.” Tony said, before specifying while pointing at the last two “As friends, obviously.”

“So, you’re all kissing someone?” You look at everyone except the one person you actually want to look at.

Something inside of you just believes that he would nod too and a beautiful woman that you could never compare to would appear at his side.

“Well,” Steve starts. “not all of us…”

He trails off and, following his gaze, you land on the very pair of blue eyes you were trying to avoid.

Suddenly everyone else scatters and it was just you and Bucky. You don't know what to say, but you feel like you can't look away from him now.

What the hell is happening to you?

You’re talking before you can even stop yourself “You know, we could also kiss. As friends.” you add, realizing what you just said, your eyes wide with your own surprise.

He’s about to say something, but you don’t give him a chance to get a sound out before you’re backtracking so fast you might actually fall out the window.

“You don’t have to. Obviously. It’s not like I’d make you.” you chuckled awkwardly, but you can’t stop yourself from rambling “Unless you wanted to. But why would you want to? It’s not like you’re missing anything. I’m not anything special.”

You can hear the countdown starting, but it sounds distant to your ears as your heart pounds faster. “I mean, I’m sure you’re a good kisser. Why wouldn’t you be? Not that you’re like a lady’s man.”

Bucky glances around him, the team giving him encouraging looks as they near zero and you just keep going “But like you were, you know. Not that it’s a bad thi-”

You're thankfully interrupted abruptly by Bucky’s lips on yours just as everyone yells ‘Happy New Year’ and gold and black confetti starts falling down on you.

You can't even begin to comprehend what's happening but your body does, kissing him back almost immediately.

It feels like forever and also too soon when he pulls away, you can't even hearing the chaos around you anymore.

All that exists is you and Bucky and his eyes and his arms around your waist and yours around his neck and his lips that you wanted to kiss again and kiss forever and never stop.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that” he says after a few seconds. Or maybe days. Weeks? Hours? It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the bright smile he gives you when you say “Me too.”

He kisses you again, but this time the spell is broken by the team’s whistles and cheers. 

When you pull away you’re both blushing a little, you glance around you and see all the smug faces of the idiots you love to death, Bucky’s attention never leaving you.

“And by the way,” Bucky says, gaining your attention once more. “you have more qualities than you think,” he then pointed at your chest “You have this.”

You looked down to where he was pointing before saying “I do have great tits, yes.”

When you looked back at him he was blushing even harder and looked like he was having a hard time maintaining eye contact, while you were more relaxed now that the kiss took away all the awkwardness, but trying hard not to laugh. 

“... I meant heart” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Either or.” you answered, shrugging and when you heard the snickers of the team around you, you couldn’t help but join them, followed by a still blushing Bucky.

Yep, this year is definitely gonna be an interesting one.

[ro-is-struggling]

The Princess and The Wolf || PART 3 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Geralt returns to see his princess once again. Only this time he is not alone and after a year without communication he does not know if he will still be welcome.

Warnings: slow burn, grumpy x sunshine (or more like grumpy x disney princess lol), miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, me trying to write domestic stuff, mentions of past trauma (for both Ciri and the protagonist/reader), Geralt Ciri and reader being a family, canon typical violence, my attempt at creating an original monster, some very long dialogues (sorry! I hallucinated half of the story and I couldn’t leave any part out apparently), FEM READER (the protagonist is referred to as woman/she-her/princess/sunshine)

Let me know if I missed anything! (I definitely did, I've been writing this part for so long there's probably a lot of stuff I forgot lol so just lmk)

English is not my first language

Word count: 21.800 (I'm not even sorry)

Notes: I’m sorry it took me so long to post this! I promise you I’ve been working on it since the moment I posted the last part but everytime I wrote a scene a new idea came to mind and I just had to add it so here we are. That moment with Ciri wasn’t in my original idea but I just had to include it cause that poor girl needs a hug! Besides, it was a nice way to explore a little bit more about the protagonist background 

I have a few ideas for the next part but please send me yours! (SEE THE END OF THE POST FOR MORE)

PART 1 || PART 2

Do you want to get notified when I post? JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE!

The cat was the first to sense his presence. Even before he knocked on the door or the sound of the horse's footsteps echoed through the hut, the cat was already meowing and pacing back and forth, going from the door to the window and back to the door. He always did that when he felt Geralt was near. He was possibly the only cat on the continent that didn't hiss and hide in the presence of a witcher, quite the opposite in fact. The feline knew he was good and trustworthy because she trusted him, so he ignored all his instincts and gave Geralt a chance. They became friends almost immediately —even though the witcher used to pretend otherwise. The cat loved Geralt as much as his owner, and had missed him almost more than she had.

More than a year had passed. A year without news of him, without a visit or a letter to let her know he was well. A year of uncertainty in which the mind of the poor princess had done nothing but think about what might have happened to him. On good days, she accepted with a broken heart that he was not going to visit her again after the disaster that turned out to be their travel together. It pained her to think that she had missed her chance with him. She felt alone and lost, but that was better than thinking that his absence was because something really bad had happened to him. Dark were the days when she woke up wrapped in sweat, with images of Geralt bloodied fixed in her mind. She had lost count of how many nightmares she had had about it, how many different monsters had been responsible for ending his life and taking away the man who made her happy and gave her purpose. So when that was the alternative, convincing herself that he had simply stopped loving her was more bearable to her poor tormented mind.

“It's not him, darling. He's not coming back here” she spoke to her cat, bending down to stroke his head. The feline meowed, as if to answer her, and jumped up onto the window sill. She let out a tired sigh and pulled back the curtains to open the latch to let the animal out.

It was then that she heard the murmurs and footsteps of a horse in the distance. The cat meowed once more and jumped out of the window, running into the darkness of the night. She followed him with her eyes, looking for him in the shadows to try to find out what it was that had him so agitated. In the distance, moving through the bushes and trees, she recognized the unique white hair of the man who had occupied almost all of her thoughts for the past year. She ran to the door, flinging it open and taking a few steps outside to ensure that her eyes were not deceiving her.

Geralt was there, not looking a day older than the last time she had seen him. She noticed that he didn't look hurt or in bad shape, so she couldn't help but wonder what was the reason for him showing up at her house after such a long time of complete silence. Though her questions were pushed aside when his eyes made contact with hers. All the pain, fear and uncertainty she had accumulated for almost two years dissolved the moment she felt his warm gaze rest on her figure. Her heart began to beat faster than it had in a long time, her stomach, full of butterflies, was twisting and turning because of her nerves.

She realized then that she had no idea how to react to his presence. What was she supposed to say to him? Was she supposed to pretend that she hadn't had the worst year of her life? Was it worth scolding him for his absence when he had finally decided to come back? Happiness and anger began to fight inside her with every step the witcher took towards her. Memories of them being happy were followed by images of the nights she had cried herself to sleep because of him, creating a conflicting narrative that did nothing but confuse her.

“Geralt...” She called his name when he was close enough to hear her. “What are you doing here?” The question sounded more accusatory than she expected, but she didn't have time to take it back —or double down on her complaints— because he stepped aside, revealing the figure of a young girl. It took the woman a moment to focus her gaze on the child since she was almost entirely hidden behind Geralt's broad shoulders. She had long blonde hair and pale skin, though her nose and cheeks were reddened by the cold wind of the approaching winter. In her hands she carried her cat, who purred happily at the gentle caresses she gave him.

The confusion about her own feelings was soon replaced by confusion about the girl and her relationship with Geralt. Her eyes traveled back and forth a couple of times, trying to piece together the reasons behind her presence and the explanation as to why Geralt was traveling with the girl. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, so it was hard to imagine that he had decided to travel with her of his own accord. Not after the things he had said to her on their journey together. She thought then that perhaps it was someone he had saved along the way, a young princess he had to rescue from the clutches of a monster or a poor girl who had gotten lost.

Whoever it was, Geralt didn't feel the need to tell her. “We need a safe place to stay.” Was the only explanation he provided her. She didn't insist either, ultimately she didn't need a reason to let him into her home. She stepped aside without a second thought, making room for them to enter and making sure to lock the door behind her back.

“You know, for someone that claims to not have friends you sure do have a lot.” She laughed and Geralt gave her a rather unamused look. “Who's this beautiful young lady?”

The girl looked up at Geralt, wide eyes looking up at him for his approval. The witcher nodded his head, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. She only picked up on it because she knew Geralt so well and was already used to that kind of reaction, which told her that the girl knew him very well too. It was as if they communicated without speaking, just a quick glance was enough and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. It was impressive and she hadn't seen anything like it before, especially not with Geralt. It only increased her curiosity even more.

“I'm Cirilla.” The girl introduced herself with a shy smile, lowering the cat from her arms.

It took her a few seconds to understand why that name seemed familiar. When reality hit her, wide eyes flew to Geralt with an expression of confusion and surprise mixed together. He had once told her about the feast Jaskier had dragged him to and the way the event had ended. The last time they had talked about his child of surprise he seemed to want nothing to do with that matter. When she had presented her concerns to him he had told her that he had assured the child's family that he would not claim her. And honestly she had thought it was for the best. With the way Geralt approached life she couldn't imagine him raising a child.  That's why she didn't understand why he was now showing up at her house with her. What had made him change his mind?

She managed to compose herself quickly from her surprise, her eyes returning to Cirilla almost immediately so as not to make her feel uncomfortable. “That's a beautiful name, Cirilla!” She complimented her with a smile. “I'm sure you must be cold! I can run you a hot bath and then we can eat something. What do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Cirilla's eyes lit up at the mention of the bath, desperate to feel the hot water against her cold skin. Since she had met Geralt her situation had improved considerably, but the cold outdoors was still something she was having trouble getting used to.

After leaving Cirilla alone in the bathroom with everything she needed to clean herself and restore her tired muscles, the young woman returned to the table where Geralt was sitting, ready to answer the thousands of questions he knew were swirling around in her head. Some of them —especially the ones about Ciri— were easy to answer, but others... he did not even want to think about it.

“I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with her.” she said, dropping into the chair across from him. “What made you change your mind?”

Geralt hesitated before answering. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her that the last few months he had spent running away from her had been the most miserable of his life. That every day he spent away from her was agony. That he woke up hearing her laughter in the wind, missing the warmth of her body, longing to smell the perfume of her hair. He believed it was best for both of them if he stayed away. They could never be together and persisting in that fantasy would only hurt them. He thought he could do it, that he could forget her if he spent enough time away from her charms. He knew it wouldn't be easy and that it would hurt, but he was convinced that it would be the best for both of them in the long run.

However, months passed and the emptiness in his chest only grew heavier with each passing day. Geralt couldn't close his eyes without seeing her smile. He couldn't sleep without dreaming of having her by his side. He couldn't see a deer in the forest or a rabbit hopping around without thinking of her, of how happy he would be in her company, of the way she would take the animal in her hands and make him stop to play with it. His days were gray and dull, cold even under the hottest summer. Without her —without the promise of feeling her hands on his body or the hope of hearing her sweet voice call his name one more time—  life lost some of its luster.

He realized then that he could never forget her. She was the woman he loved, the only one who occupied his mind and heart, the only one who could make him seriously question his future as a witcher. She was his destiny, their paths had crossed for a reason that day in the forest. They were bound together by ties stronger than their own will, so there was no point in fighting against it. It was not worth running away from destiny if the only thing he gained was to deepen the emptiness that pressed on his chest. And she was his destiny, as well as Ciri was. He realized that if he wanted to stop feeling so miserable he had to stop fighting against what he could not change and face what destiny wanted from him.

But instead of admitting his feelings and being vulnerable in front of her, Geralt chose the easy answer: “Her kingdom was invaded. All her family was killed. I just couldn't leave her alone after that. She's in danger, she needs my protection.”

“So why bring her here?” She snapped back at him, sounding harsher than intended.

She wasn't upset with his presence, in fact she was glad to know that he still saw her home as a refuge where he was willing to bring Cirilla to make sure she was protected. All she wanted to know was why it had taken him so long to show up. Was he angry with her? Was their relationship broken beyond repair? Had he been preoccupied with his travels? Had he been avoiding her? Did he still love her? Those questions had been eating her up inside all these months. She thought she would never see Geralt again, so she had tried hard not to think about it. But he was there with her now and she needed those answers in order to ease her mind.

“I'm bringing her to Kaer Morhen with me, she'll be safe there. But she was getting tired and cold and since we were close I thought... We will leave in the morning if our stay causes any trouble for you.” Geralt assured her, trying not to cause a disturbance.

He should have figured that he couldn't just reappear in her life and wait for her to welcome him back with open arms. She had every right to throw him out if she wanted to, he had behaved like a complete bastard. But when he decided to seek refuge in her hut, Geralt wasn't thinking of him or her, but of Ciri. But now he understood that maybe he was asking too much of her. He was so used to using her home as a shelter that he didn't consider that the doors might be closed to him one day.

“I don't want you to leave. I want you to tell me why it took you so long to come back. I want you to tell me that there is a good reason for leaving me in the dark all this time, wondering what could have happened to you and if I was ever going to see your face again.”

“Sunshine, I...” Geralt tried to respond, but stopped in mid-sentence. He couldn't find the words to express how he felt, to explain to her how stupid he had been and how sorry he was for his mistake in a way that wouldn't make things worse. He didn't want to hurt her, even though he knew it was a little late for that.

She felt her heart squeeze at the mention of that nickname. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing his voice calling her by that name until that moment. It reminded her of the simpler, happier times they had shared, of long nights spent sleepless as they talked about life. It reminded her of how much she loved being called that by him and how her heart had skipped a beat the first time he had used it. She never knew what had prompted him to call her that in the first place —and she'd always been too embarrassed to ask—, but she was glad he had. It made her feel special, loved.

“Forget it.” she said as she noticed the internal conflict reflecting in Geralt's eyes. She didn't know what was making him so hesitant, but she began to think that maybe she didn't want to hear the answer to his question. Maybe it was better to live in ignorance after all. Maybe living on happy memories and moments that would never get back was better than living in harsh reality. All this time she had thought the uncertainty had been the worst, but seeing the doubt in the witcher's yellow eyes made her think that maybe the truth could be worse. She didn't know if she was ready to know that he didn't love her.

“Tell me about Cirilla. You said she is in danger, why?” She sought to change the subject, desperate to find a topic of conversation that would quell those thoughts.

“There's people after her, a black knight that has been following her since the fall of Cintra. She dreams about him every night.” Geralt explained, remembering the way the little girl tossed and turned in her sleep because of the nightmares.

“I can give her something to help with the nightmares so at least she can have one good night of sleep.”

“That's not all... she has magic.”

“Like her mother?” the woman asked curiously. She still remembered the details Geralt had told her about the feast that night where his and Cirilla's destiny had been linked. The magic that the young girl's mother had demonstrated was something she had never even heard of before in her life.

“I don't know what the extent of her power is, she doesn't talk much about it.”

“And you want me to do all the work for you, huh?” She guessed before Geralt could even hint at it. It was a long shot, but if anyone was going to be able to break through the barrier Ciri had created around her to protect herself, it was her. People always tended to open up to her, her sweet and charming nature sparked trust in even the most reclusive and distrustful person.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I just... she's scared, I understand that, but I can't protect her if she doesn't tell me the truth. I thought that perhaps you could get through to her better than I can. You have magic too, maybe she'll be more inclined to talk about it with someone that understands what she's going through.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She promised him, unable to refuse to help a frightened little girl who had lost everything.

The young woman couldn't help but notice the protective way in which Geralt spoke of Ciri. She wasn't sure how long they had known each other, but from the way he cared for her she would say quite a bit. The witcher's trust wasn't easy to gain —it had taken her a while even after saving his life—, but the girl seemed to have done it in record time. It was heartwarming to see the way they acted around each other. She always looked at him before answering some of the questions the young woman asked him during dinner, as if she needed Geralt's confirmation to reveal certain information about her. It was clear that they trusted each other, in a way reminiscent of a father and daughter. Which made Ciri's reluctance to open up to him even stranger.

It was strange to see Geralt in such a position. He always acted so tough, like a lone wolf who didn't need anyone's company. Seeing the way he cared for Ciri —how he urged her to take the sleeping potion she offered her, warning her how important it was for her to get a good night's sleep— was almost jarring. Even in her wildest fantasies she hadn't imagined Geralt being a father. Now that she saw it, though, she liked it. It suited him. She only wished he had given himself the chance to explore that side of him much sooner. She couldn't deny that it pained her to know that she had always been right, the two of them could have worked out if only he had let it happen.

After they had dined and chatted for a long time, she, like the good hostess she was, escorted Ciri to the extra room she had unoccupied, telling her that it would be her space for as long as she wished to stay there. “Any friend of Geralt is a friend of mine. You're welcome to stay for as long as you want.” She smiled sweetly, trying hard to show the girl that she could trust her. Ciri thanked her before she closed the door behind her, making sure she knew she appreciated her hospitality.

When she left the girl's room, she didn't find Geralt anywhere. She didn't worry too much about it, assuming he would be out with Roach or securing the perimeter of the property to make sure Ciri could get a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep. She let him do his thing, opting to tidy up the house and get ready for bed. She waited for him in bed, one last candle burning as she read a book. She assumed he would come to sleep with her as they had always done. Now that Ciri was occupying the only free room, the other alternative was to sleep on the floor. But time passed, the night grew dark and cold, and Geralt did not come. So she put on a cloak and went outside to look for him.

It didn't take her long to find him, she just circled the property and stumbled upon him in the makeshift stable she had at the side of her garden. He was sitting on a pile of hay, chatting with Roach while stroking the animal's fur. He had his back against the wooden wall and seemed to be settled there, as if he had no intention of moving. When she approached, he fell silent, so she couldn't hear what he was saying to the horse, although she had a good idea.

“What are you doing out here? It's freezing!” She said, crossing her arms under her cloak to keep her body warm. While it hadn't yet snowed for the first time, there was an icy dew in the air that looked a lot like it. And while she understood that Geralt had a higher tolerance for extreme weather thanks to his mutations, that didn't mean she liked the idea of him being cold in the stable when there was a warm bed waiting for him inside.

“It's not that cold.” he replied and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not believing for a moment that he truly didn't feel the cold. She had been outside for a couple of minutes and could already feel the cold starting to dig into her bones. “I was taking care of Roach.”

“She seems fine. Come inside before you freeze to death.”

“You know that won't happen.”

“Geralt, please.”

It was a gentle plea, with a hint of desperation. All she wanted was to have Geralt by her side during the night again. She wanted to lie down and find that she felt the same comfort she always had, that his presence made her feel as safe and comforted as she remembered. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrap around her at night and know that the doubts were only in her head and completely unfounded. She wanted to know that he still loved her and that it had all been a big misunderstanding. She was desperate to find a way to move on, to let go of all the pain that had haunted her. But she was terrified to talk about it, so all she had left was that. If Geralt didn't accept her offer then she knew all was lost.

“I don't want to impose...”

“You're not,” she interrupted him before he could blurt out any excuses. “I'm asking you to come inside with me.”

Geralt couldn't refuse that request. Even though things between them were weird, he still couldn't resist her charms. There was something in the way she looked at him, a glint of desperation growing in her eyes, that made it impossible for him to say no to her. It gave him hope. He thought she was angry with him, and she was, but inside her still burned the flame of love they had once shared. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he could still make things right.

He followed her back into the house, pulling off his wet cloak and muddy boots before entering the room. It looked exactly as he remembered it, not a single object out of place. It was as if time had not passed. The flowers on the window sill were still as colorful and full of life as in the spring, the books stacked in the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed did not seem to have changed their order. The air smelled of her, that intoxicating mixture of floral perfume and wet earth that he had come to miss so much.

However, the reality of the situation hit him as he laid his head on the pillow. There was no goodnight kiss or silly talk before bed. She simply laid down on his side of the bed and settled down with her back to him before blowing out the candle that lit the room. They were only inches apart, but Geralt had never felt so far away from her before. Even when he was miles away, purposely avoiding her, he still felt close to her. How could he not when images of her wouldn't leave his mind? He kept seeing her in his dreams, reliving their happy moments every time he closed his eyes, fantasizing about hearing her laughter and feeling the warmth of her body once more. But now that he had her by his side, he felt nothing but a cold emptiness pressing on his chest.

He wanted to reach out to touch her. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to wrap her in his arms and never let her go again, but he didn't know if he could —or if he should. He understood her hesitation, she had every right to be angry with him after the way he had reacted. He wanted to give her some space, some time so they could get their relationship back on track. He didn't want to pressure her, so he kept his hands to himself even though it hurt. He had to think of her first. He had no right to suddenly come back into her life after he had unilaterally decided to leave her, and demand the same treatment from her as before.

But what Geralt didn't know was that she wasn't avoiding him on purpose. She wanted to run into his arms, curl up on his chest and sleep wrapped in his warmth. But she didn't feel like she was the one who had to make the first move. Her feelings for him had never changed. She had been the one who had tried to make their relationship blossom. She had tried so hard to show him that they could have a future together. Geralt had been the one who had run away without explanation, so he should be the one to make the first move if he wanted to. She didn't want to pressure him, to make him feel like he had to do or say things he didn't want to just to protect her feelings. If he reached out to her, she needed to know that he was doing it because he really wanted to.

That was why his distance hurt her so much. Clearly there was something broken in their relationship and the most heartbreaking thing of it all was that she didn't know what to do to fix it —or even if she could.

The morning brought more pleasant weather conditions with it. The silent tension that haunted Geralt and the princess disappeared almost completely, mainly because they both sought to focus their attention on Ciri to avoid dealing with their own problems. Looking for an excuse that would give her the opportunity to spend more time with the girl, she asked Ciri to accompany her on a walk through the forest to replenish her collection of medicinal herbs. The winter was fast approaching and soon there would be nothing left but the plants she grew stored inside her house. Ciri agreed and Geralt joined them under the guise of hunting their lunch, although he had the decency to keep his distance so that they could get to know each other better.

It was a beautiful morning. Even though the autumn sun was not strong enough to counteract the cold breeze, there was no freezing mist that morning and that was already a reason to celebrate. Besides, Ciri was no longer wearing wet clothes and was well rested and fed, so she felt capable of accomplishing anything. The young woman guided her through the forest, telling her the details of the plants they needed to collect —their appearance, their medicinal uses, the potions and ointments she created. Ciri listened to her intently, fascinated and intrigued with the new information she was being presented with, wondering if she would be able to accomplish something like this someday.

“So you're a mage then?” Ciri asked, looking up at the woman walking beside her smelling a white flower.

“Not exactly.” she replied, earning a look of confusion from the girl. “I have an aptitude for magic, but I wasn't officially trained. I was taught by a healer everything I know, but magic is far more complex than what I know or the things I can do.” She hastened to explain as she knelt down in the dirt to pick up a couple of valerian leaves and put them in her basket.

“Is that how you met Geralt? Through your powers?”

“My abilities did play a part in the story of how we met, yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking.” The princess lost herself in her memories for a moment, images of that day flashing before her eyes. It felt so close and yet so far away at the same time. It was amazing to look back and see how far she had come both as a person, as well as their relationship. “He didn't tell you about us, huh?”

“He said you were an old friend, but didn't answer any of my questions. He's not particularly chatty.” Ciri said with a chuckle and she couldn't help but laugh too. If there was anyone who knew how difficult it could be to get a topic of conversation out of Geralt, it was her. She could almost imagine the girl's effusive curiosity running into the witcher's frustrating monosyllabic responses, just like it used to happen to her.

"Oh trust me, I know."

Geralt could hear them talking, but decided not to intervene. Instead he watched from a distance as they laughed together, feeling happy that they were getting along. Not that he thought it would be difficult, Ciri was a lovely girl and his sunshine was one of the sweetest and nicest people that existed on the continent. But still, it was nice to see them conversing so comfortably. It made him feel a strange warmth inside, a strange feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he liked it, he found it comforting.

“We met after I escaped my home.” The princess began to tell her story, thinking carefully about every word before she said it. It was a great opportunity to build trust with Ciri, to let her know that she could understand her better than anyone else since she had also been a child frightened by her own powers. “You see, a long time ago I was a princess, just like you, trapped in a kingdom that had forbidden magic long before I was even born. I had to learn everything I know in secret, hiding from my parents and my own kingdom. Ruling wasn't my calling, especially in those conditions, so one day I decided to run away.”

Ciri's interest was piqued, her eyes growing wide with curiosity as she listened intently to the story the young woman told her. She told her about the monster that prowled the forests of her kingdom and how she used it to fake her death so she could escape a future she didn't want in a kingdom that didn't appreciate her. She also told her that was the reason Geralt showed up at her town, having been hired to kill the monster and avenge the death of the princess. But instead of encountering a beast, he found the young woman hiding in the forest.

“He could have taken me back to the castle. My parents probably would have paid him more to return their presumed dead daughter and heir to the throne home, but he didn't... he listened to my pleas and had mercy on me. He saved my life... everything I am today, everything I have, I owe to him. Geralt gave me a second chance in life and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

The princess smiled, remembering the details of their first meeting. Geralt had truly saved her life. She had failed to properly prepare for her escape, acting hastily and recklessly after an argument with her father that ended with him yelling at her that she was a disgrace to his family for not wanting to marry a lord who didn't love or respect her and only saw her as a way to gain more power. No matter how well she knew those woods, she could not have gotten very far on her own. And if anyone else had found her, they would have returned her to her parents without a thought, condemning her to a life of misery.

But Geralt had not done so. He had taken pity on her, putting her well-being above gaining greater wealth even when he did not know her. He had given her the opportunity to discover herself in complete freedom, far from the demands and mandates of her parents. Everything she was, was made possible by him. That's why she was always willing to help him, no matter how angry or upset she was with him. She couldn't let go of the hand of the man who had taken hers and pulled her out of the dark pit that was her former life.

“He saved my life too.” Ciri said with a sad smile on her lips. “He's the only family I have left.”

“I'm sorry about that,” the young woman offered a smile, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder and giving it a supportive squeeze. “You shouldn't have to go through all that violence and pain, no child should. But you are in good hands with Geralt, he's going to take good care of you. Don't let the big, grumpy frown and the stories about witchers fool you, he is a big softie with a heart of gold.”

They shared a few chuckles and continued on their way, searching for the herbs they had yet to gather. The princess told Ciri about the Celandine plant and its medicinal properties —telling her to keep her eyes open in case she saw a four-petaled yellow flower—, and about the Eyebright plant and how it had cured an eye infection in a girl's eye in the village. She also shared with her some of the stories of her life, how she had practically grown up in the forest and the peace she felt when she was in contact with nature.

Ciri liked to hear those stories, especially when she told her about the difficulties she faced in understanding and learning to control her powers in the beginning. It made her feel less lonely to know that she wasn't the only one who had to go through something like that alone and without much guidance. It gave her hope for her future. Watching as she bent down to heal the broken wing of a bird on the side of the road, Ciri thought that if she had managed to understand and control her powers then there was still hope for her too. Maybe one day she would stop being afraid of her own abilities. Maybe she would come to understand what was wrong with her and the purpose of her powers.

“Why did they prohibit magic in your kingdom?” the girl asked curiously, marveling at the healing capabilities of the runaway princess' powers. It only took a touch of her hands and the utterance of some words she did not understand for the bird to recover, flying from her hands to get lost in the treetops. Ciri could not understand how something as wonderful as that could be seen as a bad thing. Her powers were nothing like hers, so it was hard for her to think that they would be viewed as displeasing to anyone.

“No one really talked about it, and I was always too afraid to ask. But from what I understand, magic ran in the royal family, but it had never brought the kingdom any luck, only chaos and destruction.” she explained returning her attention to Ciri now that the bird had disappeared from her vision. “Apparently it made people too unstable to rule. My great grandmother was the last one to have magic before me and she was the reason it was banned, but no one really talked about it so I don't know exactly why. For the most part everybody just pretended magic didn't exist, especially my parents. I think they knew that I inherited my great grandmother's abilities and they thought that maybe if they didn't mention it might go away. But the only thing they accomplished was to isolate me.”

She paused in her story and Ciri could notice in her eyes the pain those memories caused her. The joyful and sweet expression that graced her face was replaced by a sad and melancholic look. It was only for a second, but her face changed so much that she looked like a completely different person from the one who was standing next to her minutes before. Ciri wondered what kind of horrors she would have had to go through in her old home and if that expression was so different because it belonged to the princess she had left behind.

“When I started showing the first signs of chaos, I didn't know what was going on with me. I was terrified.” She cleared her throat and then her face lit up with its usual sweetness again. “If it wasn't for the new court physician I would have never learned the truth. She was a mage on the run, hiding in the last place she thought they were going to look for her. She noticed the signs immediately and took me under her wing, taught me everything I know... how to control my powers, how to use them in the art of healing, and more importantly, she taught me to not be afraid of them, to not let the fear of others influence me.”

She gave Ciri a small smile, hoping she understood the meaning behind her words. She wanted to be that positive figure in her life, to pass on to Ciri the knowledge and confidence that had been passed on to her in her training. It wasn't much compared to what other mages could teach her, but it was a start. She was willing to be the guide she so desperately needed, if Ciri would let her.

“Were they afraid of you because you were different?” The girl asked, looking at her with wide eyes full of curiosity. It was a question she was asking both the woman beside her and herself. The princess recognized that, so she stopped in her tracks and turned to look Ciri in the eye. It was important for her to hear and understand what she was about to tell her.

“Probably, yes.” she admitted with a sigh. Ciri lowered her gaze and she took a step forward, reaching out to grab her chin and make her look up. “But you have to understand that fear is one of the most common reactions people have to the unknown, to that which they don't understand. It's not personal, they just can't help it. One important thing I learned over time is that reaction is something you can't control, there is nothing you or I can say or do to stop those who don't understand magic from fearing it. But what we can control is our own fear. And it is important not to let the fear of others affect one's perception of oneself.”

“But what if they are right?” Ciri's voice was close to a whisper, almost as if she struggled to utter those words aloud. As if she was afraid to admit what her mind had been repeating to her since the fall of Cintra, fearing that saying it would make it real. “What if magic only brings death and destruction?”

It was clear to the princess that Ciri was referring to her own powers. She didn't need to know her too well —or even know the details of her powers— to understand, she could see it in the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It broke his heart to see the little girl in that state. She was just a child, it wasn't fair that she had such dark thoughts clouding her mind at that young age. Fate had been very cruel to her, taking away her family and home in a single act of terrible violence that she had had to witness without being able to do anything to prevent it. Not only that, but now she had to face her future and the development of her powers with no one to guide her. No child should have to go through something like that. All she wanted to do at that moment was to hug Ciri and tell her that there was nothing wrong with her, to assure her that everything would be alright and that her life would get better. But before she could even utter a word, a strange sound echoed throughout the forest, distracting her attention from the girl.

Her gaze instinctively searched for Geralt, who was already alert. His eyes searched the surroundings as his hand slowly approached the handle of the sword resting on his back. She felt Ciri's hand squeeze hers and returned her gaze to the girl. She was met with her expression of terror, which only got worse as the rumbling of what could only be described as a deafening shriek was heard.

“Geralt!” The woman called his name, hoping he would give some sort of explanation for what was happening.

Though he didn't need to say anything, because at that instant a figure came into view in the distance. It was a monster, but not one like anything she had ever seen or read about. It was large, with multiple legs and eyes, and a long tail that ended in a sharp point. It was like a strange, disgusting mix between a scorpion and a centipede, a large creature that towered tall above them. It stood still for a moment, keeping a relative distance, as if searching for something specific. The princess pushed Ciri behind her, instinctively seeking to protect her. The creature shrieked again and Geralt pulled out his sword.

“Run!” He commanded them before advancing towards the beast with his sword held high.

The princess hesitated for a second, feeling the need to reach out to him to help him, but Ciri tugged on her hand and reminded her that she needed hisprotection. They ran through the forest holding hands, helping each other keep their balance when they stumbled due to their nerves. She tried to keep Ciri safe, positioning herself a few steps behind her to protect her from a possible surprise attack with her own body. From time to time she looked behind, searching the horizon for the figure of Geralt or that monster to know in which direction to flee. But it was difficult to follow the fight when she was also worried about looking after Ciri. She needed some sort of vantage point that would allow her to observe the enemy so she could prepare for its attack.

“Is it gone?” the girl asked in fright as she tried to catch her breath. They had stopped momentarily when they saw that the monster was no longer at their heels. They couldn't hear it screeching either, so they thought maybe Geralt had taken care of it.

“I don't know.” she answered honestly, pushing Ciri against a tree to hide in case he came back. “I don't see Geralt anywhere.”

“Should we go back to look for him?”

“No, that's too dangerous... we need to get to higher ground.”

Before she could say another word, the beast made its presence known again. It came out of nowhere, screeching and moaning, no doubt hurt by the witcher. But in spite of that, it rushed towards the direction of the two princesses with the same voracious determination. Ciri screamed and grabbed the hand of the woman at her side to start running once more, but she stayed in place.

There was no sign of Geralt anywhere and given the amount of legs that beast had, it was clear that they couldn't outrun it. Ciri wouldn't be able to escape from there without someone to give her a head start.

“Run north, up the hill and hide there. Don't look back!” she ordered and the girl looked at her with confusion.

“What about you?”

“I'll come look for you, but I need to buy you some time to run.” She explained quickly, keeping her eyes on the beast that was getting closer and closer to them. “Go, Ciri! Now!”

The girl hesitated, finding the scene all too familiar. The number of times she had had to leave someone behind to save her life was more than she would like. It never ended well and she felt responsible for all the lives that had been sacrificed to get her there. She hoped Geralt's friend wouldn't join the list, she didn't know if she could tolerate one more death on her conscience.

As soon as Ciri started to run, she concentrated on attacking the monster that was chasing them. She moved out of the girl's way, seeking to draw the beast's attention to her to distract it. But to her surprise, it didn't seem to care. It continued on its way in the direction of Ciri as if she were not in that forest. And if it wasn't because she invoked the sign of Aard the beast probably wouldn't have bothered to attack her. It was clear that its target was Ciri, although she could not understand the reason.

She used what little knowledge she had of magic outside of healing to attack the monster. She relied on the Quen sign to protect herself when the beast came too close, just as Geralt had taught her. And she summoned Aard's power to throw the beast away from her, slamming it into every tree and rock she could find in hopes the impact would stun it and give her a chance to escape. She put up a good fight, but it was clear that she couldn't beat him with her limited skills.

Luckily, she didn't have to. Geralt appeared just in time to save her, crossing his sword with the beast's pointed tail before it could hurt her. They shared a simple, quick glance, but that was enough for them to communicate. Geralt's eyes assured her that he would take care of the beast and asked her to protect Ciri. She nodded to him, letting him know that the girl's safety was her priority before running after her.

It didn't take her long to find Ciri, she knew that forest like the back of her hand. She was hiding in the bushes, ready to attack anything that came near her. The girl almost hit her in the stomach with a log when she approached her hiding place, fearing it was an attacker coming to hurt her. She stopped just in time though, wide eyes looking at the woman in front of her with surprise. She hadn't expected to see her there —not after learning the fate of all those who had stayed behind to give her a chance to escape danger—, but she was glad she was all right. Ciri felt safer with her by her side.

“Where is Geralt?” asked Ciri worriedly, looking behind the woman's back for her protector's white mane.

“He's fine.” she assured her, approaching the edge of the hill to look down for movement that would indicate Geralt's whereabouts. But she saw nothing. Nor did she hear the shrieks of the beast pursuing them. All was quiet, almost too quiet. It gave her a bad feeling. “Come on, we have to keep moving.” She indicated to Ciri, taking her by the hand once more.

But before they could get more than a couple of steps away, the monster reached them, cornering them against some rocks and the ledge. It was so sudden, that the princess could do nothing more than create a protective energy field, enveloping her and Ciri's figure in a semi-transparent whitish bubble that kept the beast away from them. She pushed the girl behind her and told her to prepare to run when she gave the signal. Ciri protested, refusing to let her face the beast alone, but she assured her that she would be fine. The truth was that she didn't know, but she had no choice but to stand between the monster and the girl it so desperately sought to attack. She was going to fight to her last breath to protect it because it was the right thing to do —and because it was what Geralt expected of her.

However, her countdown only reached two before a sword pierced the beast's body. It let out a shriek of pain and tried to lunge at its attacker, but Geralt plunged his sword even deeper, giving it one last thrust before withdrawing it to let the creature bleed out. The beast collapsed to the ground, spreading a viscous dark green liquid oozing from its mortal wound onto the earth. It writhed a couple of times until it stopped moving, signaling that life had left its body.

The princess let out a sigh of relief, breaking the energy field now that it was safe for Ciri. The relief didn't last long, however, because Geralt collapsed next to the beast, dropping his sword with a loud clang. She and Ciri ran to him, calling his name with concern. He was still conscious when they knelt beside him, though he looked weak.

“Let me see.” she asked when she noticed Geralt squeezing his thigh with one hand. He moved it, allowing her to inspect the wound closely.

There was a tear in his pants and beneath it the skin of the witcher's thigh was swollen and reddened. There was a puncture wound that leaked drops of blood mixed with a thick black liquid. Making a closer inspection, she noticed the small black lines branching out, veins standing out on his skin as they slowly began the work of spreading the poison through his system.

“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath as she tore a piece of the skirt from her dress.

“What?” Ciri asked worriedly, watching as she tied the piece of cloth around Geralt's thigh, just above his wound, and tied a tight knot that caused the witcher to groan in pain. “What is it?”

“Poison.” she replied simply, picking up Geralt's sword from the ground and using it to cut the stinger from the tail of the monster lying lifelessly beside him. Then, she removed her cloak and used it to wrap the tail in it, making sure it was safe to carry without coming into contact with the poison the stinger held. If this was a new monster —or at least, one she didn't know about— she was sure that having the direct source of the poison would be of vital importance to save Geralt's life.

“We need to get him back home. Now.”

Luckily, Geralt was still lucid enough to walk. The slow beating of his heart and the tourniquet she had improvised with part of her dress helped keep the poison from spreading through his body quickly, but it still needed to be treated urgently. Ciri helped her carry him, each of them putting one of Geralt's arms around their shoulders and holding him tightly to help him move with more ease and speed. They were not far from the hut, but it was not easy to travel with Geralt in that state, so it took them longer than usual to get there.

Once home, the princess settled Geralt on the bed, just as she had done so many times in the past, before running to get her potions and ointments to treat the wound. Ciri sat beside him on the bed, looking at her protector with concern as he mumbled in pain. She noticed that the wound on his leg was getting worse with each passing second and for a moment she was afraid that something bad was going to happen to him. She couldn't lose him, not after going through so much to find him. Geralt was the only thing she had left, her only hope, she couldn't lose him.

“Ciri, could you help him drink this?” The woman asked, handing her a small glass vial with a yellowish green liquid inside. The girl was grateful to have been entrusted with a task, something she could do that would help her feel her presence was useful. “It will help his body battle the effects of the poison.”

Ciri took the bottle with one hand and Geralt's head with the other, lifting him slightly off the bed so he could drink the potion. While she brought the bottle to his lips, the princess tended to the wound on his leg. First she carefully washed it, using warm water and a clean cloth to remove the blood and drops of poison that remained on the skin. Then, she spread an ointment of her own creation on the wound while uttering an incantation in the ancient tongue.

She concentrated all her energy on him, repeating the incantation with increasing strength and conviction. She was treating it as she would any wound infected with poison, but the reality was that she didn't know if that would work. The creature that had attacked him was new to her, so she didn't know if its poison would respond to conventional treatments. So she devoted all her energy to him in the hope that it would be enough to save him. And while arranging some herbs on the wound before bandaging it, she prayed to the gods that her beloved would wake up.

Geralt heard her sweet voice in the distance, and felt the warmth of her fingers brushing the skin of his leg. He tried to let himself be carried away by the warm energy that she transmitted to him, to drown the pain he felt in the peace that her voice awakened in him. He tried to concentrate on her so as not to faint, clinging to the scent of her skin and the melody in her voice as if his life depended on it. But even his stubbornness and unwavering willpower were not enough to combat the effects of the poison. And though he fought against it, eventually his eyes closed and everything went black.

The last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the sweet voice of his sunshine telling him, “rest.”

Ciri did not move from Geralt's side. She insisted on taking care of him and controlling how his condition was progressing while the princess investigated the stinger she had extracted from the beast. She began by extracting some of the venom that was still inside it, being very careful not to let it come into contact with her skin while she transferred it to a glass vial. She did some tests with it, studying how it reacted when in contact with different herbs and medicinal plants, as well as some of the potions she had in her catalog. None of the results she got were what she expected, so she began to worry. Maybe this thing was different after all. Maybe she couldn't save him this time.

“I think something is wrong!” Ciri suddenly exclaimed, breaking her concentration. The princess didn't ask her any more follow-up questions, she simply followed her into the room and approached Geralt to examine him.

He was definitely not looking like he should. He had been resting for a few hours, yet his physical appearance had worsened. He looked paler than usual and his breathing was irregular. A thin layer of sweat adorned his skin, and when she reached up to touch his forehead she discovered that it was hot.

“This is wrong.” she muttered to herself, undoing the bandage so she could examine the progress of the wound on his leg.

“What's wrong? What's going on?” Ciri questioned the woman, desperate to hear her professional opinion.

Lifting the bandage, she discovered that the wound had only worsened. The skin was swollen and hot to the touch, and the black veins stood out even more against the pale skin, extending until they were lost under the tourniquet that was still tight around the witcher's leg. “He's getting worse...” she murmured, concern and confusion mingling in her voice. “He's not responding to the treatment.”

“There must be something we can do!” Ciri insisted and the woman looked at her, not knowing what to say. She didn't know of any other ways to treat a wound as such, at least not ways that weren't pure legends. She could always research and try some alternative method, but she wasn't sure she had enough time for that.

“Kaer... Morhen...” Geralt stammered weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Vesemir will know what to do.”

She just gave Ciri a look and the girl ran off to the stable to prepare the horses for the journey. She stayed behind with Geralt, grabbing a couple of her remedies and the beast's tail before carrying the witcher on her shoulder once more, dragging him with some difficulty to the door. When Roach saw the state his owner was in, she lay down on the ground to allow him to climb onto her back more easily. She gave the mare a few gentle pats and kind compliments before helping Ciri mount Brego, the horse she had personally raised after finding him badly injured and forgotten on a road. Once the girl was safe and settled, she mounted Roach behind Geralt, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place as she took the reins and they set off.

She didn't know the exact road to Kaer Morhen, only that it was south of where she lived. She had a few clues that gave her more details from the stories Geralt had told her about his life, but that was all. She had never asked him much about it, she knew that after being attacked the witchers kept to themselves and she didn't want to pressure him to reveal those details. She thought that maybe, if someday he felt comfortable enough with her to tell her about his home, he would. But now she was regretting not being more nosy.

Geralt was going in and out of consciousness, so while he could give directions from time to time, he was not the most reliable source. Ciri also didn't know the way since she had never been there before. However, Roach was a very smart horse who had traveled those roads many times in the past. So when they came to a crossroads, the mare advanced along the left-hand path with confidence. And before they knew it, they had reached Kaer Morhen.

“We need help!” she shouted and a middle-aged, white-haired man ran to meet her, startled by the commotion. His eyes fell on Geralt and she noticed the concern in them as he reached out a hand to touch the witcher's forehead.

“What happened?”

“He was attacked by a creature. He's been poisoned and I don't know how to stop it from spreading.”

“Get him inside!” At his command, a group of men grabbed Geralt and carried him inside. The young woman grabbed Ciri, holding the girl against her body so as not to lose her as she very timidly followed the others.

Both she and Ciri refused to leave Geralt, so Vesemir —the name given to them by the man who received them— had to work under the watchful eye of the two. He asked them about the attack and the young healer explained as best she could the details of the beast that had chased them. She didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified to discover that an experienced witcher like Vesemir didn't seem to know what kind of creature she was describing.

“This may help.” She said, pulling the beast's tail covered in an old cloth from her bag. “I tested the poison against every plant and healing element I know of and nothing seems to work.”

“That's not the only problem.” the man said, gesturing for her to come closer. “You see this inflammation here? It's full of the creature's venom.” Vesemir lightly pressed the lump on Geralt's skin and a couple of black drops escaped from the puncture wound. “The venom is lodging there for some reason, spreading slowly to maximize the damage. No treatment is going to work until we extract it.”

“How can I help?”

“Hold him still.”

Vesemir rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a leather bag containing a couple of syringes, needles and other useful artifacts for healing a witcher's wounds. He took the middle syringe, with a relatively long needle, disinfected it and then rested his gaze on the young woman in a silent way of telling her to get ready. She nodded slightly, tightening her grip on Geralt's leg to make sure he didn't move it. Vesemir then inserted the needle into the wound very carefully. It was important that he didn't accidentally burst the bubble of poison that had been created under the skin or it might end up spreading faster.

Geralt mumbled in pain and his body twisted as Vesemir began to extract the poison, but the young woman kept a firm grip on him. And when that wasn't enough to keep him still, she resorted to talking to him, just as she always did when he showed up injured on her doorstep. She murmured sweet words of encouragement and her soft voice seemed to be enough to bring peace to the witcher. His body stopped writhing and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

When Vesemir finished extracting the poison, the young woman watched in horror as the dark liquid almost filled the syringe. She wondered how that beast had been able to inject so much poison in such a short time and worried about Geralt's condition. How much poison had made it through his system? She liked to think not too much since he was still breathing, but the amount of viscous liquid trapped in the syringe worried her. Vesemir didn't seem particularly worried, but she wasn't sure she could read the expert witcher's emotions as easily as she could read Geralt's.

She watched him rummage through a cabinet full of elixirs until he came across a dark-colored one. He ripped off the cap with his teeth and poured some of the contents on the wound on Geralt's leg, who groaned in pain but did not open his eyes. Then he passed the bottle to her.

“Make him drink this.” Vesemir instructed him before disappearing out the door.

The young woman was assisted by Ciri in the task. The little girl helped her hold Geralt's head high enough so that he would not choke on the liquid while she parted his lips and placed the spout of the bottle between them. The witcher coughed a little as the liquid touched his throat, but it was only for a moment.

“It's alright, you're alright... everything is going to be fine.” She murmured words of encouragement as she emptied the elixir down his throat, though she wasn't entirely sure to whom she was directing such phrases, Geralt or herself.

When Vesemir returned, two other witchers accompanied him. At the man's request, they took Geralt and led him to his quarters to rest.

“Is he going to be alright?” a very worried Ciri asked as she watched the weak and fainting body of her only protector being carried away.

“Only time will tell. The next few hours are critical, if he makes it through the night I'm sure he'll make a full recovery.” Vesemir was honest, perhaps a little bit more than he should have been with a girl like Ciri. He was already busy analyzing the extracted poison and the tail of the beast that had attacked and almost ended the life of one of the best witchers left on the continent, so he didn't realize the impact of his words on her until he turned and met the expression of fear and worry on the girl's face.

“Geralt is strong, he's not going down without a fight. I've seen him pull through worse things.” He tried to reassure her. “You are invited to stay here, if you are friends of Geralt you are always welcome. Although I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you, I have to study this thing in case Geralt's condition gets worse.”

“I can stay with him.” The young woman offered. “Keep an eye on him and call you if anything feels off.”

“Sure, that will be of much help. Thank you. Just ask one of the boys to guide you to Geralt's chambers.”

The young healer was very interested in learning about the elixirs and other things Vesemir had in that room. Some things she could recognize, some she had an idea of what they were and some were completely new. She was a curious person, especially when it came to her area of expertise, so she had a million questions to ask Vesemir. She would have loved to stay and see what tests he conducted on the poison and what things he looked for in the animal's severed tail. But her priority now was Geralt. She needed to know that he was okay and she wouldn't rest until she saw him open his eyes again. So she took Ciri's hand and headed for the door, but not before thanking Vesemir for the hospitality.

At first Geralt thought he was dreaming. His eyelids felt heavy and he was disoriented. The world around him was a blur and he could hear a ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, and the harder he tried to recall any images of the last few hours, the more difficult it became. It was like trying to remember a dream, the blurred and confused images escaping from his mind as he struggled to capture them. Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos that was his mind at that moment, he found her. She was lying next to him, curled in on herself in the small space on the bed that he did not occupy. Her beautiful, delicate face was partially covered by her hair, but he didn't need to see it to know she was asleep. He found her before anything else, a beacon of clarity in the midst of the darkness clouding his mind. Only then, his mind decided to cooperate, recognizing images and patterns around him that helped make sense of where he was.

And yet, Geralt remained focused on her. If the dizziness didn't make him feel like in a dream, seeing her like that, so relaxed and peaceful next to him, definitely did. It was a scene that almost didn't seem real after a long year of distance and yearning. It was a sight he hadn't had in a year, her curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully next to the warmth of his body. There was no weird tension in the air or unspoken discomfort like that other night. She genuinely looked comfortable and calm next to him and Geralt couldn't help but smile.

But beyond that, her figure sleeping next to him was a beautiful sight he had never had the pleasure of having in his own home. Their encounters always occurred outside, in the maelstrom of the real world or in the calm of her hut in the forest, but never in his home. Geralt had awakened many mornings with the young woman in his arms, but none had been in his own bed, covered by his own blankets, hidden in the safety of his own room. He discovered then that he liked the feeling of sharing that space with her. It made everything he felt for her feel more real. It made his longing to stay by her side seem more feasible. She was there with him, caring for him and keeping him company, and the world seemed right again.

Geralt tried to sit up in order to better admire her beauty, but instantly regretted it when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He let out a low grunt, bringing his hand to the bandage wrapped around his thigh with a grimace of confusion. Then flashes of the last few hours overwhelmed his mind. He remembered fighting the monster that chased them in the forest. He remembered the sharp sting of its tail and the burn of its venom. He remembered Ciri's worried look and reaching Kaer Morhen. But most of all, he remembered the gentle touch of his healer on his fevered skin and the sweet sound of her voice lulling him to peace as she always did. Her voice echoed in his mind and the mere memory seemed to be enough to silence the ringing in his ears and ease the pain in his weak and tired body. That didn't surprise him, though. Geralt had long since ceased to be amazed by the effect she had on him. He had learned to accept it, just as he accepted the day turning to night or the winter turning to spring. She was his light, a warm sun on the first day of the equinox that lengthened the day and melted the ice to allow the fields to bloom. She was his sunshine and he realized now that he had spent the last year living in an eternal winter to which he never wished to return.

The movement of the bed beside him brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He leaned over just in time to see his princess open her eyes as she stretched slightly. He could admire the confusion in her expression for a few brief seconds as her sleep clouded mind struggled to figure out where she was. Then her eyes opened wide and her gaze fell upon him. He was glad to see a glint of joy in them at finding him awake and had to bite the inside of his lip to hold back the smile as he saw her jump up in bed.

“Geralt! Are you okay? How are you feeling?” She questioned him with a strange mixture of excitement and concern in her voice.

“As if I had died and was brought back.” He replied with his classic dry humor, though it wasn't that far from the truth. His injured leg still ached when he moved it and his muscles felt tired as if he had spent all night battling a striga.

“You're not that far off.” She shrugged, rising from the bed to pour him a glass of water. Geralt accepted it gladly, drinking the contents in a couple of long sips. Boy was he thirsty!

“How long was I out?”

“Considering you've been in and out of consciousness since the attack, I'd say almost two days.” Geralt was surprised by that answer. In his mind it had only been a couple of hours, but apparently he remembered less than he thought.

Then, Ciri's worried face presented itself in his mind. “Ciri!” He exclaimed, jerking upright. He regretted moving once more, though, when the pain forced him to let out a grunt.

“She's alright!” The young woman hastened to say as she helped Geralt sit up. She took the pillows and stacked them carefully against his back, giving him a softer surface to lean on. Then she helped him recline on them, taking advantage of the moment of proximity to run her hand over his forehead and check for fever. “She's sleeping in the room next door.” She explained as she arranged the blankets so he wouldn't be cold. She knew he had grown up there and was probably used to the cold temperatures, but boy was the witchers' lair cold! “That girl refused to leave your side! I had to fight her to get her to go to sleep. She wanted to be here when you woke up, but I didn't want her here in case...” she trailed off. In case he didn't wake up was what she was going to say, but she couldn't bring herself to utter those words. Although she didn't have to, Geralt knew it when he noticed the sudden sadness that flashed across her face. “Anyway, I had to promise her that she would be the first one I would look for when you woke up to get her to go to sleep. And even then she stayed for another hour here.”

Geralt laughed, that sounded like Ciri. “Thank you... for keeping her safe.”

A silence formed as she took it upon herself to check his vitals. His breathing seemed normal, the same with his pulse —well, normal for a witcher. He no longer had a fever and when she uncovered the wound on his leg she noticed that the skin around it was in better condition. There were no more black lines or reddened areas. It was still somewhat swollen, but the skin was no longer warm to the touch, which was a good sign. Geralt enjoyed feeling her hands on his body, traveling from his forehead to his cheeks and gently brushing the skin of his leg. He swore the warmth of her fingers was all he needed to make the pain in his body go away. He felt a little more alive with every caress, every accidental touch. The magic of her touch slowly melted the hard layer of ice that had formed around him after a long year of harsh winter, but this time Geralt didn't fight it. He wanted her to do it, he wanted her light to finally allow spring to come. He was done running away from her.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice as she changed the bandage on his leg. “I should have done more to help you... I just... I didn't know what to do.”

It took Geralt a few seconds to understand what she was saying, not because of the low volume of her voice, but because he found it incredible to hear the guilt in her words. “You saved me.” He pointed out as if it were obvious and she let out a snort.

“You almost died because of me!”

“I almost died because I was too slow and I got attacked by an unknown creature. I didn't expect you to know what to do, even I wouldn't have known what to do. But you brought me here in time and you keep Ciri safe, that's all that matters.”

The young woman smiled, not as big of a smile as Geralt had hoped, but enough to know that his words did have some sort of effect in easing the guilt that for some reason he didn't understand, she felt for what had happened. “That's nice of you to say.”

“It's the truth.”

“Whatever,” she said as she put away her leather case of ointments and healing potions. When she sat back down on the bed, Geralt noticed she had a nervous look on her face. “I would like to stay here with you and help you get back on your feet. I feel like I owe you that. It wouldn't be for too long, I mean, you had a great recovery so far and I'm sure you'll be alright, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you before I know for sure that you're okay... I know this place is... special, I guess, and that you don't let many outsiders in... and I wouldn't want to intrude, but I just couldn't leave without making sure you're okay.”

Geralt found her nervous rambling adorable. He would like to say that the feeling she felt was unfounded, but after how he had treated her he understood why she would be uncomfortable talking about such a thing. The last time she had made an effort to bring their worlds together he had rejected her. And not only that, but he had completely disappeared from her life for a year. He completely understood her nervousness and felt terrible knowing it was his fault.

“I want you to stay.”

Those simple five words were enough to arouse a sense of joy she had not felt in a long time. Those were the words she had waited all this time to hear, the confirmation that Geralt was willing to share some of his world with her after all. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel somewhat special. She knew that not many people had the privilege of walking through the gates of Kaer Morhen not having been raised there and she felt honored to be one of those few. A small smile tugged at her lips and Geralt knew then that his words had had the desired effect.

“Besides, I think your presence can be a good influence on Ciri. You can help me guide her on the right path and keep her safe.”

“I'll try my best, but I don't know as much about magic as other mages.”

“That's not the only thing you can teach her.” 

Geralt knew very well that she had not been professionally trained. She had never gone to Arethusa to have her talents molded and sharpened, but that wasn't important to him. Geralt valued her for more than her magical abilities, he always had. For him one of her best traits was her personality, her way of facing the world with courage and optimism. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he wasn't sure she knew it. Ciri needed someone like her, someone who could guide her through the dark shadow of tragedy and loss that clouded her path to reach the side of light. He could give her the tools to defend herself and face her fears, but she could teach Ciri to see the world from another perspective, a more positive and joyful one, something she desperately needed.

“I think it will do her good to have someone like you around.” Geralt smiled, his hand reaching for hers on the blanket. He felt the energy coursing through his body as they touched, her warmth melting the ice around his heart. The atmosphere in the room changed, suddenly more intimate and special. He wanted to tell her that her company was good for him too, but regretted it at the last moment. He didn't want to overwhelm her or sweet-talk her into forgiving him. If she decided to stay by his side, he wanted it to be her own decision.

The moment was cut short when the bedroom door opened, revealing a freshly awakened Ciri. The girl's eyes lit up with joy as they met the figure of a very lucid Geralt sitting up in bed. She uttered his name in an exclamation of surprise and crossed the room in a matter of seconds to throw herself into his arms.

“Careful!” the young woman warned her, “He's still hurt.”

“You were supposed to call me!” Ciri ignored her, choosing to scold her for not waking her up.

“I was just about to come get you.” She laughed, stepping aside so the girl could sit next to Geralt on the bed. “But since you're here, I'll go let Vesemir know Geralt's awake so he can come take a look at him.”

Contrary to popular belief, witchers were capable of feeling human emotions. That was something the young woman already knew, although living in Kaer Morhen surrounded by the last remaining witchers on the continent allowed her to appreciate the degree of emotions they felt. They were a strong brotherhood and cared deeply for each other, as evidenced by the tree of the fallen, as she called it. A place where the medallions of all the witchers who had perished hung, with more being added with each passing winter. But besides that, she learned that they were quite a fun group. Perhaps it was because they were in the safety of their home, resting after long months of hard work, but their attitudes were not at all what she expected. They kept telling jokes and playing tricks on each other, admittedly rather ordinary for her taste in some cases, but they didn't fail to make her laugh.

They were respectful to her —she suspected Geralt had something to do with that—, but still made her feel welcome in their home. She found it interesting to be surrounded by the most intimidating and roughest looking men on the continent and feel as safe as she did in her own home. She was sure that if her first encounter with many of them had occurred outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, her opinion would be different. Just as when she first met Geralt, it was very likely that the imposing figure of the witchers would have intimidated her and it would have taken her a long time to discover that they were actually very nice people. Lambert and Coen were her favorites, their constant bickering always amused her greatly. Although sometimes she had to confront them to make them be nicer to poor Ciri. They were training her along with Geralt just as Vesemir had trained them and it was the woman's job to remind them that she was just a child.

Vesemir was very good to her as well. Not only had he not complained when Geralt announced that she would be staying with them, but he agreed to indulge her curiosity. He let her watch him work on the analysis of the tail of the monster that had attacked them, even asking for her assistance in some things. They did not reach any satisfactory conclusions, but it was interesting to participate in the process. She learned a lot about the witchers and their creation from Vesemir, as well as the elixirs that helped them on the battlefield. He was a very wise man, and she was honored that he trusted her with his knowledge.

However, her favorite thing was seeing Geralt so relaxed and free, laughing with his siblings and acting like a father to Ciri. It was a side of him she didn't know. Of course he laughed and had fun with her when they spent time together in her hut, but that was different. Their encounters were always filled with this... tension in the air, tainted with unspoken feelings and silent longings. It was a constant countdown, the black cloud of reality always near no matter how hard they both tried to ignore it. From the moment Geralt walked through the door of her home, she knew that the clock had started ticking and that the happiness that was invading her at that moment would come to an end sooner or later. But there was no such thing in Kaer Morhen. There was no rush and no time, so Geralt could relax and be himself. And thanks to that she had discovered a much more... playful and joyful side of him. And she loved it.

What she also loved was the nickname that others had for him. The first time someone had called him wolf, she thought she had heard wrong. They were eating at a table all together and the shouting made it hard to even hear Ciri sitting next to her. But the next time it happened there was no noise to block her hearing. She and Geralt were in the kitchen since this time it was his turn to prepare dinner. He had gone hunting in the morning and now he was in charge of skinning the animal for her to cook. She didn't pay much attention to the conversation Geralt had with Vesemir when he appeared in the kitchen, focused on cutting the vegetables for the stew without hurting her fingers. But her ears pricked up when she heard him utter that nickname.

Wolf

The word echoed in her mind for a while, drowning out whatever was going on around her as she cooked. It was a fitting nickname for Geralt now that she thought about it. Everything about him screamed wolf, both externally and internally. Beyond his imposing presence, great hunting skills and impressive agility, he often hid behind a cold and hostile appearance. When he entered a room he could evoke the same fear and respect in people who did not know him that a wild wolf evoked in a traveler who stumbled upon it unexpectedly on his journey. The witchers had a certain reputation among the common people, built on myths and lies long spread across the continent. And while they were not true, Geralt found them convenient. It was easier to travel the world when people feared him —at least, most of the time. But that cold attitude was a sham, a shield protecting who he really was. He liked to present himself as a lone wolf who didn't need anyone, but in reality he cared about people, especially those closest to him. And just like a wolf protecting his pack, Geralt was willing to do anything to care for those he loved the most. Sometimes she thought that was exactly why he decided to stay away from people. He cared too much and that could be terrifying, not only because of the state of vulnerability it left him in, but also because of the degree of atrocities he would be willing to commit to protect his own.

“Wolf, huh?” She muttered as Vesemir left. She discovered she liked the nickname even more as she uttered it aloud. It was sweet and it felt good to finally have something to fight back with when he called her sunshine. “I like it,” she smiled, ”It suits you.”

“How so?” Geralt arched an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag before taking a few steps towards her. The woman pushed aside the knife she held in her hands, looking up to stare at the witcher.

“Well, you're imposing and agile as one... you're incredibly observant and great at hunting... and you're willing to fight tooth and nail to protect your own.” She spoke thoughtfully, listing characteristics as they came to mind. Geralt admired her with a slight grimace of amusement, thinking how much he missed having those kinds of conversations with her. “You're like a big scary white wolf who acts all tough but that's all for show, lots of bark and little bite.”

Geralt let out a snort. “It is?” he inquired and she nodded, even though she knew it wasn't technically true. He was quite capable of actually following through on his threats when he made them, but it was much more fun for her to tease him about his soft side.

“Yes! I mean, it took me a couple of weeks to earn your trust and then you were rolling over and showing me your belly like a dog asking for pets.”

Geralt let out a sarcastic laugh, but the truth was he couldn't quite say anything to contradict her. He wished he could wipe the smug smile off her face, but she was right, he had taken a liking to her rather quickly. And worst of all, it had happened without him noticing until it was too late. He became accustomed to her company — to wake up to the sound of her voice and listen to the sweet melody of her laughter— to such an extent that when she was gone the world felt wrong. He could not pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her, one day she was a frightened girl asking for his help in the forest and the next she was the ray of sunshine that brightened his days. Just like that, without warning, she had made a place in his heart that she refused to give up no matter how hard he tried to push her away.

“But it's okay, I like that duality.” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You're my big, scary, but surprisingly gentle white wolf.”

The young woman smiled tenderly as she used her fingers to push a lock of hair away from Geralt's face. It was an unconscious thing, a movement engraved in the memory of her muscles after having done it so many times in their long nights of conversations. When she realized it, she felt the urge to move her hand away, embarrassed by her audacity. Their relationship was in a very gray area, things were not clear at all. She was no longer angry with him, but things between them had not yet returned to normal, so the intimate gesture seemed out of place.

Or at least that's what she thought until she saw the way Geralt leaned over her hand. It was probably an unconscious movement as well, but she used the moment to test the waters. She let her fingers trail along his temple, slowly making their way down to his cheek. She did not dare to look him in the eye, so she focused her gaze on the movement of her hand, admiring the marks and scars that adorned the witcher's skin. She noticed that there were a couple that were new and couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. What kind of adventures had he had while he was distanced from her? What monster could have caused those injuries? How had he healed them? Had it been him or maybe it was someone else's work? Had someone else taken her place in the time that had passed?

She didn't like where her thoughts were going, so she covered the marks with her fingers, cradling Geralt's cheek. Then she mustered up the courage and looked up, curious as to what might be going through his mind at that moment. She found the witcher's golden eyes were fixed on her, admiring her with longing and, dare she say it, love. There was a warmth in his gaze that drew her to him. It made her feel seen in a way she hadn't felt since the moment he left. He was the only one who could make her feel that way, so safe, so desired... so loved. And he was the only one she wanted to look at her that way.

She didn't realize how much closer she had gotten to Geralt until she felt his nose brush against hers. His warm breath mingled with hers as it escaped her half-open lips, caressing them with the promise of that long-awaited kiss that never came. She wanted to move, to close the little distance that separated them and finally discover what it would feel like to kiss him, but it was impossible for her to do so. She was trapped under Geralt's intense gaze. Like a moth to the flame, she was lost in the golden glow of his eyes, waiting expectantly for his next move.

But the kiss never came. Only this time it wasn't because she backed down or because he regretted it at the last second as had happened in the past. This time it was Ciri's interruption that broke the moment and forced them apart.

“Lambert sent me to help you because he says you're taking too long so- OH! Sorry, sorry!” The girl blushed upon finding them in such a compromising position. She instinctively backed away, ready to run out the same way she had come, but the woman stopped her.

“It’s fine, Ciri! Stay, please. I’m definitely going to need some help cooking enough food to satisfy those gluttons out there.”

“Come on, focus! I know you can do it.” The woman tried to encourage the girl, who was having trouble generating any kind of magical reaction from the moment they had started the lesson.

She didn't know much about magic outside of healing, so that was her starting point. From what Geralt had told her about Ciri, the girl had much more power than she did, so she figured that teaching her to channel her magic in one aspect gave her enough tools to begin to control other aspects of her powers. She began with easy lessons, remembering the things her mentor had taught her when they were just starting out. She had previously told her about the potions she made and the type of plants she needed for each as a way of easing her way into things. But several lessons ago she had moved on to more complicated things that involved more active use of her powers.

They were sitting in the common room, near the fire. It was a cold day, though that hadn't stopped Ciri from going out to train with her wooden sword. Geralt was the one who had to drag her inside to meet the healer for her magic lessons, and she didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. For that very reason she had given the girl a relatively simple exercise, the same one they had been practicing for two lessons. In a pot was a dried plant. Its stems were still green in some places, but much duller, and the leaves were withering more and more with each passing day. The goal they were working towards was to revive the plant, although she would settle for any kind of progress. The woman remembered that the same exercise had taken her quite some time, so she showed patience to Ciri. But on the other hand, the girl was supposed to have much more power than she did, so she was slightly concerned about the lack of response.

Ciri snorted. “I'm trying! It's not easy.” It was clear that she was frustrated but she had to keep pushing if she wanted to get any kind of reaction from her.

“Not hard enough!”

She was not referring to Ciri's efforts in her lessons, it was clear that she gave everything she could. The problem was that she always arrived tired, if she arrived at all. She wasn't giving her magical training the attention it deserved, preferring the sword and the training ground outside to mastering her natural abilities. She understood it to an extent, it was easier to train the body than the mind, but she needed to see how important it was to learn to manage her powers. Those were the ones that would be with her for the rest of her life, the ones that could save her in a situation of extreme danger, and she needed to know how to use them to her advantage.

“You're focusing too much on learning how to fight when this is just as important.”

“Maybe I am because at least that's where I'm making progress.”

“I know it's hard, Ciri, but you have a responsibility. Your powers are something extraordinary, but you owe it to yourself and everybody around you to learn how to control them.” Her voice was not accusatory or dismissive. On the contrary, she made an effort to sound soft and empathetic. She wanted to make the girl understand the importance of her lessons and knew she would not succeed by making her angry. Besides, she knew very well how frustrating it could be when things didn't go as expected, she had gone through that too when she was the one learning to handle her powers.

However, Ciri didn't take it as kindly as she had hoped. “What do you know about responsibility? You abandoned your own people! At least I'm trying to fight to avenge mine!” The girl raised her voice, jumping up from her seat and giving her mentor an angry look.

“Ciri!” Geralt, who was sitting in the corner of the room fixing his armor, wanted to intervene. However, the woman waved him to stand aside. She understood that it was misplaced anger and didn't need him to jump in for her.

“It’s fine. You are right, Ciri. I abandoned my own people because it wasn’t a safe place for me… or anyone like me, if I’m being honest. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make… Realizing that my own home wasn’t safe for me was heartbreaking, but strangely liberating.” The girl's gaze softened and she resumed her place beside her. “I was trapped in that place, surrounded with people that hated me for who I was, for things I couldn’t control. My own parents thought I was a disgrace… they hid me, silence me, broke my spirits in the hopes I wouldn’t become my great grandmother. And for the longest time I let that get into me. I let them define who I was. I hated myself and my powers because everyone else did… and the more I tried to ignore them, the more I tried to suppress them, the worse they got. I had to learn to let go, to stop focusing on the negative things because it was doing me no good.”

Ciri looked at her with glazed eyes, the anger in her expression slowly morphing into sadness. “How do you do it?” her voice was almost a whisper that broke the woman's heart. She could hear so much pain in those simple words that she couldn't help but reach out to entwine her hand with hers. Suddenly, the girl's inner struggle was evident on her face. She could feel the sadness and weariness that overwhelmed her. She had been through so much at such a young age, it wasn't fair. “I can't let it go.”

“You don't have to… you just have to take control of yourself and stop letting your fear and anger control you.”

“How can I do that when everyone I love is dead… when everywhere I go I bring blood and destruction?”

“You make a choice about who you want to be because you are the only one that has the power to do that, to define yourself.” The woman moved a little closer to Ciri, lightly tightening her grip on her hand in support. “You see, magic is extremely connected to our emotions, to our most instinctive reactions. If you see it as a bad thing, as a burden, a curse… if you see yourself as a monster, a murderer that can only create chaos and destruction, then you are letting your fear define who you are. You are limiting your abilities and the chance to explore your potential.”

“How are you so sure that I'm not… a monster?” 

A tear rolled down Ciri's cheek and the woman was quick to wipe it away with her thumb. She had to hold back her own tears, focusing on being a support for the girl at that moment. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't able to see herself in the frightened eyes of the young princess. She knew that fear very well, she had experienced it firsthand and that's why she wanted to help her overcome it. It was not fair that she was going through it, no one deserved to go through the horrors she had gone through at such a young age. Ciri was alone, homeless, without family, and forced to discover the terrifying foreign world at the same time she was discovering herself. It was an extremely vulnerable position to be in, but the witch would try her best to accompany her every step of the way. She didn't have to go through it all alone.

“Because nobody is born a monster.” The girl said with gentle simplicity, a sweet smile growing at the corner of her lips. “I grew up ashamed of who I was. My parents dreaded the day I was old enough to take over my kingdom. They couldn't wait to hand me over to the first nobleman who seemed competent enough, so that if one day I became unstable and dangerous because of my powers he could stop me from destroying everything they had worked so hard to build... No matter how hard I tried to make things right, they trusted a stranger more than their own daughter. Most of my childhood was clouded by this dark shadow of sadness and loneliness, until I realized that was exactly what they wanted. They wanted me to be afraid, to be alone and ashamed because then they could control me, mold me into whatever they wanted me to be. Choosing something else... choosing to be happy with who I am, choosing to help others and use my powers for good was a decision I had to make... it's a decision I make every morning when I wake up, and it's not an easy one. The easy thing is to be consumed and paralyzed by fear. Seeing the good in life and in yourself is a conscious decision that you have to make. It is one that only you can make, but I promise to be there for you when you need me. You don't have to be alone in this.”

Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms and she held her tight against her chest for as long as she needed. She buried one hand in the girl's blonde hair and gently rubbed her back with the other until she could no longer feel her sobs against her shoulder. Her eyes searched Geralt's with a worried expression. Ciri had so much bottled up inside her that suddenly the potential danger of her unexplored and uncontrolled magic ceased to worry her. However, when her eyes met the witcher's she found nothing but calm in them. He admired their embrace with a knowing smile and she knew then that he approved of the way she had handled the situation.

Seeing the way Ciri opened up to her, Geralt was glad he had asked for her help. Swallowing his pride had definitely been the right decision. The girl didn't just need protection. She needed guidance, support and an understanding that he, as much as he wanted to, could not give her. But his sweet sunshine could, she was always open to help whoever came to her door. Geralt knew from the start that he had to take Ciri with her, not just because of her knowledge of magic or her empathic abilities, but because she was the one he always turned to when he needed guidance or a reason to keep fighting. She had a way of brightening people up that was unique. He used to think it was part of her nature, her warm, positive personality that was finally able to shine through once she was out of the prison she used to call home. Although after hearing what she told Ciri, he realized that brightening others and making them feel at peace was an effort she made every day precisely because she knew the dangerously cold and dark depths to which the mind could descend when there was no such support.

“You can rest for now, my dear. It's fine, you have done enough for one day.” The sweet voice of his sunshine brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He watched as she patted Ciri's back as the little girl wiped away her tears.

“No, it’s okay. I want to try it one more time.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can continue the lesson tomorrow after you have a good rest.”

Ciri insisted so she stepped aside to let her proceed. The girl took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her emotions as her mentor had taught her. She raised her hands to the plant that withered with each day she failed and closed her eyes. She tried her best to quiet the voices that always echoed in her mind, the ones that scared her and held her back every time magic was mentioned. She erased the images of Cintra in flames, the figure of the dark knight chasing her and the horrors that followed her every time her powers were activated. She replaced those dark visions with her mentor's words of encouragement, repeating them over and over in her mind as a way of convincing herself that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.

Then she felt a warmth tickling her fingers and heard the gasp of the woman sitting next to her. She opened her eyes instinctively, concern already written in her expression as she looked around for answers —and to make sure she hadn't hurt anyone. The woman smiled at her and motioned with her head to look at the potted plant resting on the table. The plant itself hadn't changed much. It still looked dry and dull, but the stems were a brighter green and some of the leaves had turned from dark orange to an almost greenish yellow.

“You did it!”

“I did it!” Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms once again, only this time with a big look of happiness on her lips. When she pulled away, she took the pot in her hands to admire her work more closely. “Geralt, look! I did it! I finally did something!”

Geralt joined in the celebrations, giving Ciri a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement to let her know he was proud of her unbreakable spirit. She fit in so well with the rest of the witchers that he was starting to get a little scared. She was as stubborn and broken as most of them. But she was also as hard working and fierce as they were. He could see a lot of himself reflected in her, in fact. She had the same eagerness to go out and prove herself in the real world that both he and his brothers had when they were just starting their training. That same impatience that Vesemir had fought so hard to quell and that reality had finally destroyed. He had to keep an eye on that.

When the moment of euphoria was over, Geralt sent Ciri to rest. “You have done enough for one day” he told her and this time the girl disappeared up the stairs with a smile on her lips, happy to have proven herself.

“I was nice what you said to her.” Geralt spoke once he was sure Ciri could not hear them.

“I just told her what I wish someone would have told me when I was her age.”

“You never told me about it… what your parents did to you.”

“Well... it's a part of my life I don't like to remember often.” She shrugged, leaning her hips back against the table as she stared at a fixed point on the wall in front of her, lost in thought. Geralt admired her delicate profile, and with a heavy heart he wondered what kind of sad memories might be swirling through her mind at that moment. “Although, in a strange way, it made me who I am today, so I guess something good came out of all that shit in the end.” She also thought that thanks to her parents' mistreatment —and her consequent escape— her path had crossed Geralt's and she would always be grateful for that. However, she decided not to mention it.

“Just when I thought I couldn't love you anymore, I discover that your act of rebellion against the world that treated you horribly is to be the kindest, sweetest person on the continent.” Geralt let out a laugh, returning his attention to his half-repaired armor that had been left forgotten on the table. But she remained silent, frozen in place.

Geralt had not thought carefully before speaking —something that happened to him more often than he would like to admit when he was with her. He didn't even realize the implications of his words until it was too late. He just stated a fact, a simple fact that had been on his mind ever since he had overheard her talking to Ciri: finding out that after all the bad things she had been through she was still the sunshine she was, made him love her even more. Geralt had always known that she was a strong and extremely brave woman, but this was the first time he really knew the extent of that strength. He had seen honest men be consumed by resentment and hatred for far less, so the fact that she strove to be a source of light and positivity not only for herself but for everyone who crossed her path was a reason to admire her.

He was so entranced by her that he didn't notice what he said —what he inadvertently admitted— until a few seconds later, when he wondered at her sudden silence. When he looked up, he found her eyes fixed on him. Those beautiful eyes that normally brought him peace, now put his insides in knots. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Geralt was paralyzed. His mind was completely blank, not knowing what to do or say, as he waited for some sign from his sunshine.

“I-” She started to speak, but before she could say anything else the doors to the hall opened, ushering in a group of noisy witchers who had just come in from hunting for dinner.

After the moment was broken, neither she nor Geralt brought up the subject again. They both thought about it countless times, wondering in the nights before bed what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. However, they were too afraid to face the situation, so they let the tension linger in the air, increasing with the growing list of unanswered questions.

Another great thing she had discovered about living in Kaer Morhen was that there was a pack of wolves nearby. The first time she had seen them was one afternoon walking around the fortress with Geralt. He hadn't let her get close, of course, claiming it was too dangerous since they were wild animals. That hadn't stopped her at the time and luckily it had never resulted in any injuries, but one never knew when their luck might change.

“That's why you're here,” she had replied, ”you'll save me if they try to eat me.”

“I don't know, will I?” He had joked in his characteristic dry tone. “If you get hurt after my warnings it is entirely on you.”

She snorted and punched him in the arm, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course you will! You can't live without me.” She had said that as a joke, but it was much closer to reality than she probably imagined. He was willing to do anything to keep her safe because he truly couldn't live without her. He had tried for a year and had been miserable every second he was away from her.

After having to drag her away from the wolves that day, Geralt really shouldn't have been surprised to find her playing with them weeks later. He knew her and the effect she tended to have on animals, but even so, he found it impressive the way the wolves reacted to her touch. She was sitting on the cold ground covered by a thin layer of snow. Next to her rested an adult wolf who closed his eyes with pleasure every time she stroked his head. In her lap a puppy let her scratch its belly, stretching out on her with every movement of her fingers as if preparing to take a long nap. In the distance the rest of the pack watched the two brave –or foolish— enough to approach a human, making sure they were safe.

She was speaking to them, Geralt could see in the distance that she was moving her lips, and hear the whisper of her voice on the wind, but he could not make out what she was saying —though he could almost imagine it, he had been through a few similar situations with her in the past. He was lost in thought as he admired her playing with the wild animals like they were mere domesticated dogs. A smile formed on his lips as he thought that at least he wasn't the only one completely enraptured by her aura, the entire animal kingdom joined him in that sentiment. Even his own horse loved her more than him. But he understood Roach, she was someone special and he had been lucky to cross her path.

“I see why you like her.” Vesemir's voice startled him, when had he arrived there? “She is a lovely woman.”

“She is indeed.” Geralt agreed without looking away from his princess, who was now laughing in amusement at something the wolf cub in her lap had done.

“Are you sure you're doing the right thing?” The older witcher spoke again and Geralt's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. “Are you sure she is compatible with our way of living... with our life's mission? There's less of us every winter and something big is coming, I know it... I can lose you, wolf.”

Geralt was silent for a moment, contemplating Vesemir's words. The gods knew that he had asked himself that same question multiple times since he had met her. The answer always changed depending on his mood. Sometimes —especially when he spent a lot of time with her in her hut— he was sure that his future was at her side and that nothing could ever keep him away from her. Other times, when the pressures of reality forced him to abandon his fantasies, he recognized that their relationship was complicated at best and impossible at worst. But all that had changed after she was attacked by a Bruxa.

After failing to protect her that time he convinced himself that their relationship should end, not because it was incompatible with his life itself, but because he was too afraid of losing her. The images of that attack had not left his mind in the year he had spent away from her. It plagued his nightmares when he slept and his thoughts when he was awake. He was so horrified at the thought of losing her because he was unable to protect her from danger that he was willing to endure a life of misery just to make sure she was all right. In his experience, missing what could never be was better than mourning the loss of those who were gone and could never come back. So he endured the gray days and sleepless nights, finding comfort in knowing that his princess was safe and sound in her hut, far from the danger he represented.

Geralt had convinced himself that this was for the best because it was the simplest option, the clearest solution to his problem. Keep her safe by staying away from her and wait for the time to pass and help him forget about his feelings. But now he was not so sure. Maybe it was the thrill of being reunited with her after yearning to feel her touch for a year. Or maybe it was the optimism of his sunshine speaking through him, but Geralt was beginning to consider that maybe there was a future for them where neither of them had to suffer. It probably wouldn't be easy, but life's hardships hadn't stopped her before, so why should they stop him?

“We can make it work.” He finally said and for the first time since she had entered his life, Geralt felt a sense of certainty as he spoke those words.

Vesemir didn't answer him, although Geralt didn't give him much time to do so because seconds after those words left his mouth, he was walking towards her. When he approached her, the first thing she did was make excuses for what she was doing, expecting Geralt to scold her for not listening to his warnings. But he wasn't interested in that, he had far more important revelations to share with her.

“I know what you are going to say, it's dangerous and all that, but they came to me for help!” she hurried to say while petting the wolves to make sure Geralt's presence didn't disturb them. “This little one was hurt! I couldn't let him die, he's too adorable and fluffy! I saved his life and now they like me.”

“Do you remember what you told me when I arrived at your home with Ciri?” Geralt ignored her rambling. She looked up from the puppy gently nibbling her fingers to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure if the look of confusion on her face was due to his sudden question or because she didn't know the answer, so he continued speaking. “You wanted to know why it took me so long to come back... I've been thinking a lot about that, especially after hearing you talk to Ciri the other day.”

The woman rose on her feet from the cold ground, leaving the wolf pup next to his brother. “Geralt, what is this about?” she inquired, wide eyes watching him curiously and somewhat warily, like a deer startled by the presence of a noisy stranger.

“All my life, the one I remember at least, I’ve worked towards one goal and one goal alone… kill all monsters on the continent. It’s what I was trained to do and I never questioned it… I never wanted to do anything else, until I met you. What I feel for you…” 

Geralt paused, struggling to find the right words to describe the way his day brightened with her mere presence, how his mood improved if he saw her smile.

“I never felt anything like that before,” he let out a sigh, resigned to the fact that he could never explain in simple words what she made him feel without even realizing it. “That scared me. I was scared of what it could mean for the future, but more importantly, I was terrified of losing you. So I convinced myself that running away from you, from what I felt, was the right thing to do to protect you and keep you safe from all the shit I bring along... Now I know I was just protecting myself. You tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to listen.”

She took a step toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes that sparkled in the weak winter sun. “Geralt, what are you saying?” She needed to hear him say it. After so much time of feelings left unsaid, she needed to hear the words coming out of his mouth so there would be no more conflicts or misunderstandings. She needed to be sure of what he felt.

“I'm saying I'm sorry... I'm saying I love you and I want you at my side, If you still want me too.”

She replied in the most direct way she could without using words. With a quick step, she closed the distance that separated them and joined her lips to Geralt's. As much as she had longed for that kiss, it was a timid one. Her lips barely brushed his, their noses brushing against each other as they leaned in a soft, intimate caress. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth that flooded her body as she felt Geralt reciprocate her kiss immediately. Their lips moved slowly, savoring the moment. It didn't last long, but it was enough to take her breath away.

When they pulled apart, she looked up at Geralt through her eyelashes. She met the amber of his eyes shining in a way she had never seen before. His hand rested on her cheek, calloused fingers caressing the soft skin. It was nothing new, yet the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. There was a softness in his eyes that she did not recognize. He admired her as if she were a lost relic, something of priceless value that he couldn't believe he had in front of his eyes.

And in a way, that was true. Even though he had just bared his soul to her. Even though she had kissed him. Even though deep down, he always knew his feelings were reciprocated. Despite everything, Geralt still couldn't believe that a woman as wonderful as her would choose to love him. Of all the people on the continent, of all the places that existed, she loved him and wanted to be by his side. As happy as he was that she did, it didn't feel real. Geralt did not feel worthy of the love of such a good woman, but he was willing to work hard every day of his life so that she would not regret her decision.

Geralt was the one who initiated the second kiss, which was much more confident than the first. His hand remained on her cheek while the other found its place on her waist, holding her close against him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, like a summer morning breeze —just as he had imagined them. When he sucked on her lower lip, she let out the subtlest moan, her hands clinging to his shoulders for support. Geralt became addicted to it instantly, feeling a strange sense of pride at having elicited such a reaction from her. He repeated the action, taking a mental note of the way she reacted to every little movement of his lips. He was desperate to know more about her, to find out the other sounds she made and the various ways her body would respond to his touch, but he restrained himself from deepening the kiss any further. They would have time for that.

“That was...” She tried to speak when they broke apart, her mind clouded with euphoria struggling to find words to describe what that kiss made her feel.

“Late.” Geralt finished for her, resting his forehead on hers.

“I was going to say 'better than I imagined', but 'late' works too.” She let out a chuckle. “So, what now? How do we go on from here?” It was a genuine question she had. She had fantasized many times about this moment —the big confession, the first kiss, the way it would all feel—, but it never got any further. It felt so far away, so impossible, that she had never really spent time thinking beyond happily ever after.

“Well, we can start by getting you out of the cold.” Geralt smiled, finally pulling away from her to start his way back to the fortress. He took her hand and noticed how cold it felt against his own.  “Come on, we need to get you inside so you can warm up.”

She smiled playfully. “Only if you help me.”

I hope you guys liked it! Sorry for the long wait, but it wil probably happen again lol

I have a few ideas for the next part. Without spoiling too much, I think it's time Yen makes an appearance to explain some of the gaps it the timeline when Geralt was away... so, lots of jealousy and angst coming!

BUT I'm not 100% sure of how thing are going to play out, so if you guys have any ideas of things you would like to see in the story (for this next part or future ones!) please drop an ask/message/comment thank youuu ily

[krirebr]

More Than This 3

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~5.8k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, multiple references to vomit (but nothing graphic, I don't think), attempted sex that makes everyone sad - dubcon on both sides, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Alright friends, here we go! Now we're really in it.

A gigantic thank you, as always, to @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and talking it all through with me, especially the last section, which I've been anxious about since I originally conceived of it ages ago. You're the best, Chelsea!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You heard Ransom get up in the early hours of the morning and stumble into the bathroom to retch. You were glad he didn’t choke on his vomit, you guessed. You were still on the couch with the TV turned down low. You wondered if he’d come out and see what you were doing, but he just stumbled back to the bed when he was done. 

You didn’t hear him again for several more hours. In that time, you mostly watched TV, dozed a little, fucked around on your phone. Time passed slowly, but it still passed. Soon, the sun was coming up. You were moving across the country today. Your new life was starting whether you wanted it or not.

A few hours later you heard the beginnings of movement in the bedroom. You called down to room service and ordered two carafes of coffee, along with a few different breakfast options, ranging from light to extremely greasy. You didn’t know what his hangovers were like, what they required. But you knew that an especially moody Ransom wouldn’t do you any good. So, a peace offering of a sort. 

The food arrived before he’d shown his face. As you looked at the cart, you thought that while you were trying to start things as well as you could for your own good, it didn’t erase everything he’d done the day before, how he’d treated you. So you made no effort to be quiet as you laid out the food and got the coffee ready. You may have banged the metal covers together as noisily as you could. 

“What the fuck?” Ransom grumbled as he came stumbling out of the bedroom in just his boxer briefs. “Why is there noise?”

“Coffee,” you said, handing him the mug you’d filled. “I didn’t know how you take it.”

He took a sip and just grunted at you and then turned around and went back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

You busied yourself by getting your own coffee and munching on some toast. You still had no appetite but figured you should probably eat something. 

A few minutes later, he came back out with a now empty mug. He stopped and stared at you. “Am I still drunk or are you still wearing your wedding dress?”

You tried not to let your embarrassment show. “I couldn’t get it off by myself, so…” you trailed off and shrugged. 

He looked at you for another moment then nodded once. “Give me a minute,” he said, as he poured himself another cup. He drank it quickly, then briefly held his head in his hands. When he looked back up, he took a deep breath, then mumbled “OK.” He came up behind you and lightly touched your dress. “Is there a trick to it?” he asked as he ran a finger down the seam. 

“It’s a long line of hook-and-eyes, you know?”

He hummed and then started at the top. As he worked, he grumbled to himself, which made you feel a little better about not being able to get it off. You’d never stop being surprised by how gentle his hands were. It seemed to be in complete opposition to every other part of him. When he was about halfway down, his knuckles lightly grazed the bare skin of your back and a shudder ran through your whole body. “Sorry,” he said, softly. You just shook your head and didn’t say anything.

When he was done, he quickly took a step back. You held your dress to you, trying to preserve your modesty, even though you knew how silly that was. You just weren’t ready for him to see you, although you doubted that that mattered. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded again, then “You mind if I take the first shower?”

You shook your head and he disappeared into the ensuite. 

About an hour and a half later, you sat with him in the back of a town car, on your way to the private airfield where one of his family’s planes awaited you. Neither of you said anything. Ransom was staring at something on his phone, while you put all your energy into trying not to have a panic attack. You had no idea what was waiting for you in Boston. You weren’t ready for this. You couldn’t do it.

As the car pulled up to the hangar, you were beyond relieved to see Steve already waiting there, Lola’s travel crate at his feet. The moment the car was parked and turned off, you lept out, not waiting for anyone to open the door for you. You bent down in front of Lola’s crate first and carefully stuck your fingers through the door. “Hi, baby, I missed you.” She kissed your fingers and then whined to be let out. “Not yet, honey,” you said softly. “You have to wait til we’re on the plane.”

You stood up and faced Steve, who was looking you over carefully. “How are you doing?” he asked seriously.

You shrugged and sighed. “Freaking out a little, I guess, but it’ll be fine.”

“And if it isn’t, you’ll call me,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t care where you are or what time it is, you call me. Ok?” You nodded. He opened his mouth to say more, but then the call of your name came from over your shoulder.

You turned to see Ransom standing between you and the jet. Your heart dropped. No, not yet. You needed more time. You needed to be able to actually say goodbye. You couldn’t– “I’ll be on the plane,” he said, voice still scratchy and tired, sunglasses firmly on, despite the overcast day. “Take your time.” He turned around and began walking up the stairs. 

You just stared after him for a moment, surprised. When you turned back to Steve, his lips were curled in disgust. But then the expression quickly changed to something much sadder. “I should have done more,” he said, “gotten you out of here, sent you away or something. I can’t–”

“Steve.” you interrupted. “Please stop. It’s no use now.” You couldn’t listen to any more of this. It had always been inevitable; it’d always been what you were for. Imagining anything else was useless. 

Neither of you said anything for a moment, then he looked around and asked, “Are Dad and Lydia on their way?” 

You tried to keep any hurt out of your expression when you said, “No, something important came up for Joseph and you know Mom has a hard time going anywhere by herself.” You ignored the cracks you heard in your own voice.

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion and upset. “I would have picked her up,” he said. “Hell, I’ll go get her right now.” 

“I know,” you said sadly. “I told her that, but you know how she is.” You dropped your eyes, not able to look at the anger you knew you’d see on Steve’s face. You were angry too, you were, but mostly now you were just sad. And after thinking about it all night, you honestly weren’t sure how much anger she deserved. She’d been broken for a long time. It’d happened before you’d even known her, probably. It’d been unfair, maybe, to expect her to be strong for you now when she’d never been able to be that before.

Steve said your name and you looked up at him. “You don’t deserve this,” he said firmly. “I know I’ve said it before, but I really need you to understand it. None of this is what you deserve.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just nodded and muttered, “OK.” 

He sighed and shook his head, then pulled you into his arms. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much,” he said into your hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without having you just a few minutes away to annoy whenever I want.”

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you too,” you said. “So much. Even when you’re being so annoying.” The tears were starting now, you weren’t able to hold them back. You pulled back and briefly got a good enough look at Steve’s face to see that his eyes were wet, too, before he knelt in front of Lola’s crate.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I’m going to miss you too. You take good care of your mom for me.” 

You couldn’t help the little sob that came out of you at that. Fuck. Steve had been stuck to your side since you were six years old. Through absolutely everything. He’d been the one person you could count on for as long as you could remember. And now you were being dragged away from him. 

He stood up and pulled you into another hug. “You’re so strong,” he whispered right in your ear. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

When he pulled back, you knew it was time to go, but you didn’t know how to pull yourself away. This all felt so final.

“Let me know when you land,” he said. “And when you get to the house. And just–” he sighed. “Everything. I want to know everything, ok?”

You nodded and tried to brush the tears from your eyes. “Yeah, ok,” you said, knowing you’d send him the exact amount of information that would keep him from worrying too much. You picked up the dog crate. You locked eyes with him one last time. “I love you.”

His voice was thick when he responded, “I love you too. I’m going to sit right here until you’ve taken off, ok? I’ll be right here.”

“You’re a good brother,” you said, as you slowly took your first step backward, toward the jet. 

“Yes. I am,” he said with a smile that was half cocky and half absolutely heartbreaking. 

With one last deep breath and an “OK,” that was mostly to yourself, you forced yourself to turn around and make your way to the stairs up to the jet. Once you were halfway up, you looked over your shoulder. Steve was leaning against his car. He gave you an encouraging smile and a small wave. You nodded and took the last few steps to board the plane.

A flight attendant was standing right there to greet you. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Drysdale,” she said and you couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open in shock. Mrs. Drysdale. That’s who you were now. You tried to pull yourself together and let her show you into the main cabin. It was mostly open, with a few plush seats and tables scattered around. Ransom was already in one, fully reclined with a sleep mask pulled over his eyes. He made no indication that he was awake, so you asked the attendant for a mask for yourself and a glass of water. As she went to fulfill your request, you opened Lola’s little cage and picked her up when she came out. She was nervous, shaking with her little tail tucked between her legs. “It’ll be ok,” you said softly, the tears threatening to stream down again. You took a deep breath and settled the both of you into a seat as far from Ransom as you could get in the small private jet. You gave Lola gentle pets until she sat down on your lap. “We’ll just take a nap,” you said, “and it’ll be over before we know it.”

“What the fuck is that?”

You woke with a start and pulled off your sleep mask. “Huh?” You sat up to see Ransom and Lola locked in a staredown. 

“What is that?”

“I told you that I had a dog,” you said, confused. 

“That!” Ransom yelled, pointing at Lola, “is not a dog. That’s a long-haired rat!”

“Hey!” you yelled back, just as Lola started retching. “Oh, baby, no!” You knelt down next to her just as she puked right at Ransom’s feet.

“What the shit?!” he cried out, jumping back. 

“She’s stressed, ok? It’s not like I can explain to her what a plane is or where we’re going!” You grabbed what was left of your water and the napkin the flight attendant had brought with the glass and tried to clean it up. “Shit,” you mumbled to yourself.

“What are you doing?” He stood over you with his hands on his hips.

“I’m cleaning it up so you don’t freak out, ok? It’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to do that. The crew probably has a steam cleaner or something. My dad uses this plane. I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He walked to the front of the cabin and knocked on the divider. When the attendant came, Ransom quietly told her, “The dog got sick. I assume you have something to clean it up.” 

She nodded and quickly came out with a portable steam cleaner and made quick work of Lola’s mess. 

“Thank you,” you told her.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Drysdale,” she smiled and went back to the galley.

“Well, that’s a real mindfuck,” Ransom said as he flopped back into his seat. He glared down at Lola, “She gonna do that again?”

“I don’t know,” you said, gently picking her up and holding her close to try to comfort her.

He pulled his sleep mask down over his eyes. “Great, love being a rat-dog owner.”

“She isn’t your dog,” you said curtly. 

“Whatever. This hangover is still pounding against my skull. Wake me when we land.” 

When you landed in Boston, Ransom led you to where his vintage beamer was parked and you both squeezed into it. The slightly hysterical thought struck you that it wouldn’t be suitable at all once there was a baby to cart around. You pushed that thought away. No use getting ahead of yourself.

Ransom’s house was on the edge of the city, surrounded by more trees than you expected. From the outside, it was mostly glass. Very modern. It felt cold.

He parked the car and grabbed the few bags you both had with you. The rest of your things would be delivered the next day. He showed you inside without much pomp or circumstance, just walked in ahead of you, and left the door open.

The majority of the first floor seemed to be one large, open-plan room. It was sparsely decorated and the pieces that were there seemed to be lifted wholesale from the pages of an upscale furniture catalog. There was nothing of Ransom in this house. Not that you really knew him well enough to say, but you didn’t think there was any information to be gleaned from his living space either. It all felt very empty. It was not what you had expected.

You set Lola down on the hardwood floor and she immediately ran off to explore. You crossed your fingers that she wouldn’t get into anything, not able to forget Ransom’s threat that he’d make you get rid of her if she messed anything up. You glanced over at Ransom to gauge if he was upset that you’d let her roam on her own, but he wasn’t paying any attention, leafing through a pile of mail left on the kitchen island. 

He must have felt you watching him, because without looking up he said, “Bedroom’s upstairs. I’ll bring our things up later.”

You nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you. You grabbed your bag, not wanting to wait for him, and made your way up the staircase in the middle of the living room. Judging by how he’d treated you so far, you figured he planned to tuck you away in some guest room, out of his way except for when he needed you. It wasn’t unheard of in marriages like this, and you would honestly be grateful to have your own space. But as you looked through the rooms upstairs, you found a home gym, a study, and 2 storage rooms. There’d also been a bathroom and a few closets. The only room left had to be his, but you couldn’t imagine he’d want to share that with you. You very gingerly walked in and set your bag at the foot of the bed. You didn’t spend any more time there, afraid that you might be wrong.

When you went back downstairs, he was now rummaging through his fridge. “I put my bag in the bedroom upstairs,” you said to his back. 

He just grunted his assent, then came out with two glass containers in his hands. He plated them both and put one in the microwave. “I have a housekeeper that comes three times a week and usually prepares meals for the whole week. You can give her any food preferences you have.”

You nodded. “I enjoy cooking,” you said, your mother's advice to ‘keep him happy’ floating in your mind. “I can make dinner too, sometimes.”

He nodded and shrugged as he took the plate out of the microwave and placed it in front of you on the island. You took a seat on one of the stools. “If you want,” he said, “but I don’t expect it.” He put his own plate in the microwave.

“Do you have any other staff?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Not for the house, not right now.”

You understood the implication that the staff would grow as your family did. A nanny, a driver, a gardener maybe, if you moved to a house that required one.

It was the lack of a driver that made you nervous. You’d never gone without one at home. You also hadn’t seen a large garage on the property, so you guessed there weren’t any extra cars around. You felt stuck in this house already, shut in like he didn’t want you to leave.

When his food was heated, he sat beside you and you ate together in silence. The food was fine, you were sure, but you couldn’t taste it. Your mind was ahead of you, wondering what the rest of the night held. 

When you were done, Ransom loaded your dishes into the dishwasher and then said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat, so I’m just going straight to bed. Feel free to stay up if you want. I’m a heavy sleeper so you won’t wake me when you come in.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide your surprise. So he did intend for you to share his room. But apparently, just for sleeping. You were relieved. You were. The little voice in your head that wouldn’t stop whispering that he didn’t want you didn’t count. “I’m still three hours behind, so I might stay up a little longer.” Doing what, you had no idea. You didn’t have any of your things and you weren’t sure what was off-limits here yet. And you were exhausted, still hadn’t recovered from not sleeping the night before. But you just couldn’t deal with the awkwardness of going to bed at the same time as him.

“OK,” he said and then just stood there, looking surprisingly lost. After a couple of endless minutes, he just said, “Goodnight,” and finally went upstairs.

You grabbed your phone out of your handbag, unsurprised to see multiple messages from Steve, checking in on you. You sent him one back, assuring him that the flight had been fine, the drive to the house was fine, you were fine. You collected Lola from where she was curled up on a rug, quickly fed her and let her out, and then brought her and her crate upstairs. After a few minutes of internal debate, you decided to set her up in the gym, fairly certain that even in her crate, Ransom wouldn’t want her in his bedroom. It took a lot of coaxing to get her in. She was so used to sharing your bed. She whined when you closed the little grate and your heart broke. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “You’ll get used to it. It’ll be ok.”

You quietly went into the bedroom and Ransom was, indeed, already asleep, spread out on his stomach again, but luckily this time only taking up one side of the bed. He’d left the lamp on the opposite side on for you. You took your sleep clothes out of your bag and brought your toiletries into the ensuite, unpacking only what you’d need for the night. His things were all piled around one of the side-by-side sinks, but the other was clear for you. You went through your nightly routine quickly and then went back into the bedroom and very carefully climbed into bed. He didn’t stir. You turned off the lamp and settled at the edge of the bed. Your exhaustion took you quickly.

When you woke in the morning, Ransom was gone.

Your things were delivered a few hours after you woke. You started by trying to organize the boxes into the least obtrusive pile possible. You hoped that if they were tucked into a corner, he wouldn’t be too annoyed while you took your time going through them. You started with a few of the smaller boxes, unpacking the items into places you hoped they could go.

You took Lola for a walk around the neighborhood. It was sparsely populated, the houses spaced far apart. You didn’t run into any neighbors.

One of the walk-in closets in the bedroom had been cleared out for you, so you spent the afternoon unpacking all your clothes. By the time you were done, it was time for dinner. There was still no sign of Ransom.

You fed Lola and helped yourself to one of the meals in the fridge. You ate alone and after you cleaned up, you dug a book out of one of your boxes and settled on one of the not-very-comfortable couches with Lola to read. You didn’t know if she was allowed on the furniture – you were sure she wasn’t, actually – but Ransom wasn’t here to see it, so you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. 

As you were finishing the second chapter in your book, he walked through the front door. With how the house was set up, he had a clear view of you and Lola from the door. “Hi,” was all he said.

“Hi,” was all you could say back.

He just stood there for a moment and then took off his coat and shoes. “How was your day?” he asked, stiffly, as he came into the living room. 

“Fine,” you said. Then you realized he was actually attempting conversation and added, “My things came, so I got started unpacking.”

He nodded, “That’s good. Did you eat?”

“I did,” you said, hoping that was the right answer. “Can I get you some food?”

“No, I’m fine. I ate at the office.” Well, that answered where he’d been all day – his family’s publishing house.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go upstairs to unwind. Will you be heading up soon?” 

Oh. Right. It’d finally come. “Yeah,” you said, your mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll just get Lola settled and then join you.”

He looked down at your dog in your lap like he was noticing her for the first time. But he didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked upstairs.

You let Lola out the back door for just a couple minutes, then took her upstairs. It was even harder to get her into her crate this time, even after you buried treats in her blankets. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cooed, once you finally had her locked in. “I promise it won’t always be this hard and scary. It’ll be ok.”

Ransom was waiting for you in his room, sitting in an armchair by the window. “We should talk,” he said quietly.

“Ok.” You perched on the edge of the bed and did your best to look him in the eye, even as your heart was racing. 

He took a deep breath and leaned forward. “We don’t–” he started, then another breath. “There’s nothing that we have to do tonight. I mean, we can certainly get the first time out of the way, if that’s what you want to do. But it doesn’t have to be now. We have time.”

You wanted to be relieved, but it just felt like delaying the inevitable. “We don’t, actually,” you said shaking your head. “We don’t have that much time. Especially if it takes a while. If there’s going to be an issue getting pregnant, on either side, I think the sooner we know the better. I don’t want to be blindsided by it when we only have a month left.”

“Ok,” he nodded. “That makes sense. Yeah, we can get it over with.”

You were proud of yourself for the way you didn’t wince at his phrasing, but it was a near thing. But was it really fair to be upset or hurt by that when it was how you were feeling too? You wanted to stop delaying it. You were ready to just know how it was going to be, what he would want. So yeah, maybe ‘get it over with’ wasn’t such a bad way to put it. 

He stood up and sighed, looking like he was bracing himself. “I do need to know, have you done this before?”

You swallowed. The question wasn’t unexpected but you weren’t sure how to answer it and didn’t know which answer he was looking for. You decided to be honest and hoped it would be ok. “Yes, I’ve had sex,” you said, quietly.

He let out a long exhale in relief. “Ok,” he said, “ok, that’s good.” 

You stood up, unsure of what to do. You just wanted to be on the other side of it. You suddenly thought of what you’d just told Lola. It wouldn’t always be this hard and scary. You would get used to it. You just had to get through this first time. And then you’d know how he was. Resolved now, you started taking off your shirt.

“Wait,” he said, breathed really. “Just wait.”

Your shirt was already halfway off, stuck on your arms above your head, so you shucked it the rest of the way and threw it on the floor, but didn’t do anything else.

He came over and stood so he was in your space. He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb on your cheekbone. And very slowly, he ducked his head to bring his lips to yours. There was something about it. The intimacy. Even with what you knew you were about to do with him. You just– A kiss was too much. You turned away. You couldn’t do it.

Instead, your hands went to unbutton your pants. You undid it slowly then bent over with your back to him to push them down your legs, sticking your ass out as much as you could. That was better than a kiss, right? You could make him want you.

You kicked your pants off and stood back up, looking over your shoulder to see him watching you. But his face was unreadable. You weren’t ready for him to touch you, so you said, “I can get myself ready for you,” hoping it came off coy, but you were afraid he’d be able to hear how your voice shook. For the briefest moment, you almost thought you saw something travel across his face. Disappointment, maybe. But it was gone too fast for you to be able to tell, and you were trying so hard to look away, anyway.

You got on the bed, lying on your back, sliding your panties off as seductively as you could. You closed your eyes tight and slowly moved one hand down your abdomen while the other started to play with your breast, cupping it, tweaking your nipple. As your other hand slipped between your thighs, you brought up your go-to fantasy. Nothing fancy or outlandish. Just a man standing over you, touching you, telling you how much he loved you, how much he loved your body. How he was going to ruin you, completely take you apart. You tried to focus on that as your fingers slowly made their way between your folds, as they made their way to your clit. But this room kept pulling you back to reality. You could hear Ransom taking his clothes off. You tried to ignore it. You were starting to get wet, slowly but surely, so you carefully pushed one finger inside yourself, trying so hard to focus on the man, his voice. You heard a bottle of lube flick open. No, no, you weren’t here, as you added another finger. You could hear Ransom’s hand on his cock now as your thumb continued to rub your clit. You opened your eyes despite yourself. Ransom was kneeling on the edge of the bed, stroking himself to hardness. It was the first time you’d seen him fully naked. He really was so beautiful. You sort of hated him for it. 

You closed your eyes again. You could do this. You scissored your fingers slowly, opening yourself up, a little whine escaping your lips, when suddenly, you felt a hand wrap around your ankle. You wanted to scream in frustration. It was no use. Your hands dropped down to your sides. You were ready enough. It wouldn’t hurt, it was fine. You blinked your eyes open again to find Ransom staring at your face, searching for something. You couldn’t begin to guess what. “I’m ready,” you said. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice soft, but gritty.

“Yeah, I’m good. How do you want me?”

He seemed almost startled by your question. “Uh, however you’re most comfortable.”

You nodded and flipped over onto your stomach, pulling your knees up toward your elbows and putting your ass in the air. This would be easiest if you didn’t have to look at him. If you could imagine someone else. Someone who loved you. Someone who wanted to be here. 

You heard the bottle of lube again and then felt him settle between your legs. One hand was on your ass and you presumed he was using the other to line himself up. You pushed your face into the pillow underneath you. You tried to bring the fantasy back as he slowly eased inside of you. He was big, but not so big it hurt. You breathed through it as he worked his way in with short, slow thrusts. He was being so gentle with you. You weren’t sure if you liked it. The hand on your ass moved to your hip, while the other snaked around to your stomach, softly stroking you there, then moved down over your pelvis, and then finally between your thighs to search for your clit. He found it quickly. But no matter how hard you closed your eyes, his fingers made it impossible for you to pretend that it was anyone else with you, anyone else touching you. Without thinking, you pushed his hand away and replaced it with your own. 

He was making little grunts and gasps behind you that you tried to ignore. You rubbed furious circles over your clit and tried to focus only on the fullness you felt. But then, that fullness started to lessen. The grunts behind you turned into a “Shit.” and then a “Fuck!” and suddenly, that fullness completely disappeared. You let out a little cry as he quickly pulled out of you. You turned around to catch a glimpse of his softening cock before he disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. 

You lay on your back for just a moment, your mind trying to catch up, figure out what on earth had just happened. That voice that had been there this whole time, since that first meeting a month ago, came back with smug satisfaction. He doesn’t want you, it said, over and over. Your thighs were sticky, probably mostly from the lube. You didn’t think your wetness or his precome had been enough to make a mess out of you. You got up, desperate to not be naked anymore.  You grabbed a sleep shirt out of the closet you were using and slipped it on. You hugged yourself, standing in the middle of the room with no idea what to do. 

In the silence, with nothing else to focus on, you were suddenly aware of Lola crying across the hall. Fuck. Everything just kept getting worse.

Ransom came out of the bathroom and went straight to the bed. He stopped at the foot, seemingly surprised that you weren’t still in it. He looked up and found you on the other side of the room. 

“Is everything ok?” you asked quietly.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice sharp. You flinched and he sighed, then visibly tried to calm himself down. “It’s fine,” he said again, much softer this time. He held out a washcloth to you. “In case you need to clean yourself up.”

You took a few steps toward him so that you could grab it. “Thank you,” you said, as you quickly wiped between your legs, then went to finish cleaning up in the bathroom. 

When you came back out, he was back in bed, on his back, just staring at the ceiling. “What’s that noise?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you hurried to answer. “It’s Lola, but she’s ok. She just isn’t used to sleeping alone. She’ll get used to it, eventually.” Your heart broke as you spoke, but you knew it couldn’t be avoided. 

“Where does she usually sleep?” he asked.

It took you a minute to answer, you were so surprised by the question. “Uh, with me,” you said.

“Then go get her,” he said, without looking at you. He hadn’t looked at you since you’d come out of the bathroom.

“Really?” you whispered.

“Yeah, if it stops her crying.”

You didn’t wait to be told again. You hurried across the hall and opened her crate, scooping her up into your arms. “I’m so sorry,” you cooed. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s going to be ok now.”

When you got back to the room, Ransom had turned off his light and turned over onto his side, facing the wall. You placed Lola on the bed and crawled in after her. As you turned off your own lamp, you whispered, “Thank you,” not sure if he was awake to hear it.

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[changisworld]

Hii, I've got a request in mind, thinking about Hannie but ain't not sure if it fits Seungmin too (that "honey can you bring my towel" scene he acted at that tv show lives rent free in my mind), so it's a first time thing + shy reader + he puts her hand on his hard on (Idk I feel like they give such a sneaky vibe, in a moment you're laughing with him and the next you're underneath him). Steamy make out, dry humping, handjob, whatever you feel more fitting, just pls don't let poor bb with them blue balls 👀

Little note: can I be 🍦 anon? ❤

MY BABY 🍦im so sorry its taken almost 3 months to write this:( better late than never though! i hope it was semi worth the wait<3

i had no idea what you were referring to so i had to go on tiktok n find it n i THINK i know what youre talking about!

Word count;2,760

18+, MDNI SMUT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here.

SMUT WARNINGS: PIV, whiny hannie, handjob, fingering(f rec), spit, creampie, dry humping, teasing, hannie & y/n are both subby?, slightly nervous hannie, tit play, slight mommy kink

You're currently sitting on your new boyfriend, Han jisungs bed while he showers in his small bathroom connecting to his bedroom & you're just scrolling through tiktok as he belts out whatever song that's playing from his phone without a care in the world.

You've been dating Jisung for around 3 months but you both have agreed that you can both see it going long term, much to both of your happiness!

You've warmed up to Jisung a whole bunch, being a whole lot more shy before meeting him & he was just as much as a nervous person as you are, but you've both brought out the best in one another. But, because you're both a bit more reserved, you've been a bit too scared to make the first move. You've kissed countless times & he has slipped a finger in once or twice, but nothing else past that, him not wanting to push any more boundaries.

You're just watching some of those true crime tiktoks, sprawled out on top of the messy, unmade bedsheets, not realising the shower had turned off until you hearing Jisung kissing his own teeth & groaning.

"Y/nnie? Can you go into my closet n gimme a towel, I've forgotten mine!" Han yells through the door, dragging out the last syllable & you just hum in response before dragging yourself to where he stores his clothes, towels & blankets & grabbing the first one you see.

"Open the door then Sungie!" you cheer, fingers fidgeting with the material. Jisung slowly opens the door & pokes his head out, not wanting to show anything non PG, he pinches the towel out of your hand but doesn't bother to fully close the door over again as he tries to tie it around his waist before awkwardly chuckling.

"Y/nnie, uh, I usually just.. air dry? after showering & I genuinely have no idea how to tie it like how girls do! If you... don't mind could you tie it for me? Or you can just bring me some sweatpants n I can change in here!" He splurges out, almost being able to hear his heartbeat through the door separating you both.

"You'll just stay damp in there since the steam is hitting me in the face, yeah I can.. I can tie it for you." you reply, trying to sound confident. You give him the time to hold the towel around him & you slowly push open the door, the smell of the shampoo & body wash he used still strong in the air.

You give him a smile & a small giggle, which he gladly mirrors & you take the top part of the towel & tightening it before tucking it in, making it stay put without the need to hold it with his hands anymore.

As you do this though, you realise the towel is a bit of an odd size, it being a bit small despite it being wrapped around his tiny waist, showing off his growing bulge through the tight DIY now skirt he is wearing & you can't help but blush.

"Oi! Don't look! I said I don't use towels I didn't realise they're a horrible size!" as he covers the growing tent under the towel, his chubby cheeks going red as his big eyes look at you & you just laugh but your eyes can't stop trailing down to his now fidgeting hands.

"You're so dramatic Sungie, It's hot in a way, you're so unaware it's funny." You giggle, your fingers pinching his cheeks & he blushes even more before his hands move from where they were perched to swat your fingers away, but as he does so, his towel of course begins to slip & you both realise at the same time, your hands & his hands racing to stop it from falling.

Your hands reach the towel first & you grab it & his hands cup over yours & you both realise instantly, you're cupping over his now even more hardening cock, his own hands keeping you there.

You both look up at your hands at the same time then back up at each other, both of your eyes wide open. He quickly removes his hands from yours, but to both of your surprise, you don't move your hands away.

"Y/nnie, you gonna move your hands or what?" he questions, his voice full of shock. You snap back into reality when he says this & your hands whip away from him, holding them up to your chest.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know you wouldn't lik-" you rush out. "hey hey hey! I didn't not like it, I liked it as much as any other guy would! I just didn't think you would be so bold or ballsy I guess?!" he cuts you off, using one hand to hold the towel around his waist as he is waving the other hand around, trying to get his point across.

You blush at what he says & you pause for a moment, but when you can't really think of a verbal response, you give a physical one instead, & you move your hand to lightly cup him again which makes his hips twitch as he looks at you, his jaw slightly open.

You move your hand slightly, getting a bit of a better feel & he instantly gets harder under your touch & he stutters & you just giggle again at him, looking at his features, watching for the reaction he's giving.

"Is this alright, Sungie?" you ask as you take the extra mini step & lean in to his neck & give it a quick peck before looking into his eyes, smiling at his pretty face. "Y-yeah, can we not do this in the bathroom though? ruins the mood, unless you wanna get back in the shower with me?" he jokes, trying to sound confident despite him absolutely freaking out inside.

You nod your head & take his hand & you both walk back into the bedroom & you straddle him once the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, him flopping down. "Can I.. remove this? We don't need to though, Hannie." you murmur out, cupping his cheeks.

"Mhmm, please, please please." he pleads before he pushes on the back of your head & he kisses you, his tongue not taking long to begin poking into your own. At the same time, you raise your hips just enough so you can paw the towel away, now leaving him bare beneath you, which makes you think your heart is going to come out of your mouth.

You slowly grind over his cock with your covered core in a slow motion as you deepen the kiss, Jisung letting out a small groan at the contact & his hips buck up when you allow a shaky hand to wrap around his already somehow leaky cock & you begin jerking it at a good pace, his lips involuntarily breaking away from yours for a second, drool completely coating his lips & chin by this point.

"This okay f'you?" you tease, his reactions already giving away the fact that it's more than okay, he just lets out another small whine before moving his head up enough to kiss you again, his hips bucking up into your hand & his precum coating parts of your hand, his tip completely shiny.

You grind down on his upper thighs as you jerk him off, your own little pants swapping between your lips as you get a bit, but no way near enough friction for you to fully get off on.

Hans breathing begins to speed up & become slightly erratic & he moves his fingers from the back of your hair & he rests them on your hips, helping you grind, but not long after, he is fiddling with the waistband & you take the hint, you break your lips from his & take the few seconds to wiggle off your pants, leaving you in your plain cotton panties & Jisungs shirt you stole.

Hi big boba eyes, completely blown out, stare up at you in awe & he sits up, his face level with your covered tits. "Can I take this off too, y/nnie?" he asks & the second you give the okay, he gets rid of it before you have the time to blink, letting out a strained grunt at the fact you aren't wearing a bra.

Once you're left in just your underwear, Jisung flips you over so he is between your legs, leaning over you & he basically has his eyes glued to your now pebbled nipples & he has to bite his lip to avoid drooling all over them & you giggle at his reaction, your cheeks going red with a mix of nerves, slight embarrassment from his eyes burning into you & also love.

Jisung makes his way down slightly so he is level with your chest & he simply admires your tits as his left hand now rests on your inner thigh, thumb caressing it.

"Can I touch you, jagi? We don't need to go any further." he asks for reassurance. "Hannie, stop asking, I'm dying for it, please." you respond, your hips jerking up to convince him. He blushes more than he already is & he lets his fingers trail onto your covered core as he runs his finger up & down your slit, making you bite your lip, trying to not moan too loudly.

"Don't silence yourself jagi, don't be nervous, it's just me." he says in a sweet tone as his fingers move your underwear to the side, happy with himself with the wet spot he caused on the fabric.

His fingers begin spreading your wetness on your slit, making sure to prolong an extra few seconds of attention on your clit before he enters one finger into your dripping hole, a small squelch noise being made from it & your back slightly arching off the bed, Jisung not being able to hold back the smirk now spreading across his lips as he lets his lips latch onto your nipple.

"O-oh shit! Sungie, right there." you whimper, your fingers weaving into his hair as you spread your legs a bit more & wiggling your hips, trying to get his finger impossibly deeper.

He decides to add a second finger as he finds your G-spot & your breath hitches in your throat & your eyes scrunch shut, pulling his hair, him moaning into your tit along with you.

You feel your orgasm beginning to build up as you can both feel yourself clenching around his now two fingers. "Sungie, lie down, wanna cum with you." you whimper, trying your hardest to concentrate enough to speak an actual sentence.

Jisung unlatches himself from your tit & pulls his now soaked fingers out of your cunt, much to his displeasure. He crawls his way to the top of the bed & rests his head on the pillows & you are quick to follow behind him, straddling him again before leaning down to kiss him.

"Can I put it inside? Wanna feel you." He pleads, glossy eyes looking up at you as his hands are resting on your waist. "What's the magic word?" you decide to tease, your fingers reaching down to fondle his balls, making his eyebrows furrow & another bead of precum dripping down his cock.

"Pleaseee, mommy please, please let me." he begs, not being able to stop his ears going bright red as his fingers move their way to your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands as his hips keep buck up into you.

You are caught slightly by surprise by the 'mommy' part of the sentence, but you also know it's exactly something he & now also you're into.

You decide to not let him wait any longer as you're also itching for him to fill you up, your wetness leaving a small slick patch of where you were straddling as you raise your hips & Jisung grabs his pretty dick & runs it over your folds, making you jolt, before aligning himself up with your hole & you begin to slide him inside.

You sink down until you can't anymore & you both hiss at the feeling, him already resting against your spongey spot & the warmth of you wrapped around him making his mind spill.

You raise your hips slightly & then sink back down, setting a slow but pleasurable pace as small moans begin escaping your lips, jisungs eyes completely stuck to you, simply admiring you.

Drool escapes his lips & dribbles down the side of his cheek, his tongue poking out his jaw dropped mouth ever so often as you both share moans.

"Yo-you're so tight jagi, mind is n-oh m, fuck." Jisung babbles, his hands helping your thrusts by moving your ass up & down as his hips jerk up to also meet you in the middle, making you squeal.

You place your hands on his shoulders as you begin to quicken your pace, trying your best to ignore the stinging pain in your thighs as you do so.

Jisung sits himself up against the headboard, making sure to not slip out of you as he settle you both in the similar but different position. You begin grinding on his cock & slowly bouncing as Jisung reaches to begin suckling on your nipple again as his fingers begin to fondle your other tit, making you moan.

"Y-you're filling me so well, Sungie" you whimper as your motions find the best spot where his cock can reach & picking up your speed.

Jisung lets out a loud 'uumph' as his tip hits into your soft spot, making your belly go hot inside, but he can feel your speed slowing. Jisung unlatches from your now spit covered nipple & blows some cold air on it before he repositions you both, helping you lay on your stomach & you lift your hips so your ass is in the air for him, which makes him groan.

"Sungie, put it back in, wanna make you cum." you implore, wiggling your ass in front of him to convince him, which works as he swallows a choked moan before lining himself back up with your sopping cunt & sliding back in.

You both let out a moan in unison as Jisung begins to pick up his pace, trying his best to not throw his head back from the new position & angle, looking down at the way your ass ripples every time his hips hit against it & he can feel his orgasm building up instantly.

You both keep babbling, mostly to yourselves, his pace just right so you can't stop clenching, your knuckles turning white from gripping the bedsheets, your cheek pressed against the bed.

"S-sung- I'm gonna c-cum." you yelp, eyes rolling to the back of your head, Jisungs cock got a white ring against the base of his cock, being able to quite literally hear the wetness coming from between your legs.

"S-me too, clenching t-too much, w-wher-" "Inside, inside Hannie." you are quick to cut him off, rushing the words out just in time before your orgasm bubbles over, your legs getting weak & if it wasn't for Jisung holding onto your hips. As soon as your cunt begins to spasm around him, his own release hits him & his cum paints the inside of your walls white, basically squealing as the pleasure washes over him, his bottom lip all puffy from how much he has been biting it.

He pulls out & slowly helps you lay down fully on your stomach before he lets himself flop down too, straddling your ass & his face level with yours.

You both stay like this, him turning his head slightly to kiss your earlobe, his fingers moving the hair out of your face.

"You wanna get back in the shower then?" you murmur, getting your breath back, chuckling.

"I wouldn't mind that, we are sticking to each other, but I wouldn't mind staying like this." he hums back, smiling to mostly himself as he shuts his eyes, inhaling the smell of your skin, your perfume still a bit faint on your skin after all this time.

"n a mommy kink, Sungie? Who woulda thought." you tease, giggling. "Hey! if you liked it then who cares, its hot." he replies, him trying to hide the slight fluster in his voice.

->Anon list is open!

->Taglist is open!

[keepswingin]

pairing: chan x reader, minho x reader

genre: dark romance, angst, hurt/comfort, modern au, strangers to lovers

w/c: 4.8k

summary: chan is kind. minho is soft. both of them make you burn from the inside out with every touch. you think you might just burn alive.

warnings: self-destructive behavior, references to alcoholism, mentions of blood, implied cheating (kinda not really?), references to past abusive relationship, implied sexual content, mature scenes, suicide attempt

a/n: i don't really know what else to say besides that i've watched far too many skz edits in far too short of a timeframe. shout out to the discord for helping me scream through this, and to roo for writing the ending for me. anyway. hopefully everyone enjoys the fic!

x

It's fucked up, really, the way in which you float between the webs you've woven with lies and liquor. 

Chan listens to you as though you're a siren calling out to him at sea. You tease him, mold him, and yet he still follows, clings to every word like it could be the last he'll ever hear. He lowers to the carpet as you stare down at him, and you've never felt more in power - 

Minho is soft where you are not, grafted sand against an endless tide. He's careful to bring you back to shore when the waves carry you too far away,  grounding you with a firm grip as he pins your wrists to the headboard. He teases you more than he should, his shirt brushing against your bare chest before pulling away and leaving you breathless. You've never felt more alive, waiting to be told your next move - 

It's fucked up, really, how they've both fallen for you, and you can't decide if any of this is worth it. 

If you can see yourself with either of them long term, linked fingers and silver rings. It's easier to leave it at barely friends, barely anything more than another body in your bed, barely acknowledging them as human beings instead of just silly playthings to use when you have nothing better to do.

It's fucked up, really, just how fucked up you are when it comes to baring your heart on a tattered sleeve. 

x

Chan had cracked a joke the first time you met him, the corner of his lips lifting when he had heard the sound of your laughter. You think it became a mission of his, to hear the sound of your voice, the pitch of your laughter, to get a smile out of you even when you felt as though all you could do was sit and cry. He was kind, and soft, and everything you had never had before. 

It was easy to get lost, when it came to Chan. You enjoyed that feeling, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. The way he always found a way to touch you even when you were sure he had enough. His hand slipping to your knee and giving a small squeeze. A finger lifting to brush a lonesome curl out of your eyes. An arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer.

Fit, easy on the eyes, easier still to drag him into bed.

It was an easy choice to make, as soon as you realized he wasn't going anywhere. 

x

Minho was quiet when you first met him, hidden away in the corner of a booth. Your friends had dragged you out of the cold comfort of your home, promising fun, and instead left you to fend for yourself at the bar. He caught your eye as you attempted to ignore yet another overly intoxicated frat boy, swirling your straw in your half empty cup, your stomach tossing in a way you were all too familiar with. 

There was an unwelcome grip of your arm then, cold fingers curling around your wrist, and you turned your head, ready to spit something you wouldn't want your mother to hear to someone who should've stayed at their shitty college, but Minho was already ahead of you, pulling the boy away from you and sending him stumbling with a glare that silenced any further resistance. 

When Minho had turned back to look at you, gaze softening, you forgot about everything else. 

Minho was hard lines hiding behind a lithe body, a sharp mouth behind soft words. He picked silence more than anything else, sat with you when you didn't want to be around anyone else, understood you better than you would ever like to admit. His shoulder pressed against yours like second nature, his hands slipping around your waist. His fingers brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. 

Minho was complicated, but you weren't one to stray away from a challenge. 

It was nice to have someone to challenge you, and nicer still when you won, the bed dipping under your back. 

It was easy to accept him, once you realized you had him.

x

He drops you on the bed and climbs on top of you before you can recover, lips already chasing your own. Your breath hitches and your back arches, and he slows only when you make another sound that worries him, eyebrows pulling.

You feel like he can see right through you, the longer he looks at you. You're quick to divert him, one of your hands slipping to the hem of his shirt. Chan's fingers follow yours, pressing against your palm. You lean up and catch his lips, stealing his next breath, and it's the best thing you've ever tasted. 

x

His lips burn against your skin, a raging fire you'll never mind as his hands slip down the curves of your sides, dipping lower. He pinches your bottom lip between his teeth, and you follow blindly, chasing that high like it'll save you from yourself. 

The carpet is soft under your feet. Your heart is hammering with everything you've kept locked inside. 

Minho pulls back, forehead pressed against your own. He smiles, a soft secret, and you feel a need to take that from him next, kissing him again and again.

x

It's routine now. 

A slide of the phone screen, a vague voicemail left in a filling mailbox. Text messages sent between breakdowns and cloud nines, the bitter taste of alcohol sliding down a sore throat. You don't remember everything, can barely differentiate between one or the other, your living room, Chan's crappy bed and Minho's equally crappy couch. You're not quite sure if any of this is healthy, or if you're simply burying yourself deep in a hole you hope no one will ever find you in. 

You hope they don't notice, hope they don't pull back the curtain and see all the skeletons you've hidden. 

You know it's a lost hope, when you know they care far more than they should; and that's the worst part, isn't it? How much they care, how much they keep themselves in the moment, how much they don't slip where you already have. Chan holds you like you're barely held together, chipped china stashed away in a cabinet. Minho touches you like you're a fire in need of kindling in the middle of a harsh winter, one breath from going out. 

It's too much. 

(It's not enough.) 

x

Minho presses against you, breath tickling your ear. He holds you close, kisses you like something he can't get enough of. It grounds you, reminds you of where you are and where you probably shouldn't be. You're pathetically sober, and you don't know how to feel about it, when the room is warm and your body is burning up against his. 

He shifts and presses a kiss to your shoulder, following the curve of your bone, trailing down, down, down - 

A gasp escapes you, and you can feel his smirk. 

This is different, you think, as he pushes you until your back hits the headboard, rattling the very frame. As he begins to unravel you from the inside out, and lay you bare in a way that you've never been before. This is different from the way anyone else has held you, different in the way he pins you down. 

It's something you need, something that Chan doesn't give you. Something that keeps you here, enthralled, a willing participant in a series of flings that has spiraled out of control. You don't miss being in control here, when Minho holds you tight enough to hurt and bites down hard on your skin. 

You're safe here, in a way you've never been. You think that's maybe why you keep coming back. 

x

Chan pulls off his shirt before you even have to tell him to, a quick learner. He follows after you like you're the only thing he's ever truly seen, and his eyes are alight as you reach for him, fingers slipping around his wrist. His lips are soft against your chapped ones, and he kisses the same as he acts, careful not to push against any of the walls that stand between you. It's exciting almost, the way he hesitates, the way you can feel how he wants more but holds himself back, waiting for your permission.

He was always eager, and you were the one to teach him patience. 

You pull back as soon as he starts to lose himself, locking eyes. 

He watches you for a long moment, and then allows himself to be pushed, your hand slipping from around his shoulder down to the center of his chest. The back of his knees tumble against the side of the bed before the rest of him follows, and it's the way he looks up at you, the way he trusts you, the way your heart thumps painfully against the rest of your ribcage with an emotion you know all too well, that pushes you forward, desperate to forget. Desperate to be in control of something, of someone, because your life has been anything but. 

Chan lets you command him like you're the very religion he follows, and it's something you've never experienced with Minho. It's something that you haven't found anywhere else, something that anchors you to the ground below and the sky above. 

You climb on top of Chan and dig your nails into his skin. His eyes follow you, his mouth opens, a beautiful sound nearly splits from his throat, and you swallow it whole. 

x

It's a dangerous game you're playing.

You know it is, even before your friends tell you, whispering amongst each other because your best friend never holds the secrets she's meant to keep. You wonder if it's disgust that paints their faces when they realize just what you're doing, fucking two different guys at your leisure just because you're lonely and far too fucked up to get proper help. A therapist would probably tell you you're no less than an alcoholic too, liquor lining your kitchen cabinets and empty bottles stacked upon your desk. 

You've stopped letting them over your place. Not after Chan had taken a look around and had started cleaning without a word, offering suggestions for dinner as he did so, like it was something normal, something that he would do a million times over just for your sake. Not after Minho had tugged a full bottle from your clumsy hands and kissed you instead, hoping you wouldn't see him tucking it away under the coffee table. 

You know they know what you're doing - the distance you're putting between them, the line you're attempting to draw in the sand with no less than a prayer. It's the way Chan reaches for you, curls around you like he never wants to let go. It's the way Minho holds you, like he wouldn't mind doing so for the rest of time. 

It's a dangerous game you're playing. 

You wonder when you'll run out of lives to ruin. 

x

You know Chan knows something from the moment he lets you into his apartment, the room beyond bathed in a soft yellow glow. He gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he shuffles out of the way, and you feel an itch under your skin as you make your way in and toss your sweater onto the nearest cushion. 

You turn around to meet him, one hand reaching out, and Chan catches it, fingers intertwining with yours. He looks unsure as he carefully lowers your hand, mouth twisted, hair messy and sweatshirt sloppily pulled over his clothes, like he had hurried to throw something on, had hurried to protect himself in layers against something, or someone. 

Your stomach twists. Your heart beats faster. Something inside of you wonders if this is a trap, specifically crafted to keep you locked inside. Chan sighs and gently leads you over to the couch, pulling you down beside him, careful to leave space between your bodies. The action makes you feel worse. He had always pulled you closer, and now here he was, trying his best to keep you at a distance. 

He finally lets go of your hand. Stares at the vacuumed carpet like it holds all the answers he's seeking. 

"Y/N," he starts, careful, quiet, raw. Far too vulnerable for any other conversation, besides one that would lead to the demise of this, of everything you were sure was never going to last. "Do you love me?" 

Your heart stops beating for a moment, and you think that this is it. You're going to have to answer, and you're going to lose someone who's kept you from the teetering edge, just like you lost everyone else.

He exhales and it's a ragged sound, wrought with emotions you've watched him hide. "I can't keep doing this," he whispers, hands twisting together from where he holds them in his lap. "If what we have isn't real, then I..." he pauses, and the silence of the room around you nearly deafens you, "I can't keep doing this with you." He lifts his head, and meets your eyes, braver than you are, braver than most. "I love you, Y/N. I love you, and if that isn't enough for you, then I think we both need to stop doing whatever it is that we're doing." 

A million words press at your throat. You find that they're all stuck together, and you can't find any to speak. Chan watches you like he's waiting for you to say something, anything, and when you don't, he deflates, shoulders hunching as he curls his body further away from you. 

A soft, defeated laugh escapes him as he looks down at his hands. 

"I saw you the other week, Y/N, hanging off someone I didn't know like he meant...the world to you." He shakes his head and stands, and you think you see a tear slip from the corner of his eye. "I thought what we had meant more." Caring, he was always caring, caring to a fault, caring to the end. Caring now, as he turns away so that you can't see any more tears fall. "Go," he says softly, so that it doesn't hurt as much as it should. "This isn't healthy for either of us. Not like this. So you should go." 

When you don't move, he sighs, shoulders stiff. He doesn't turn back around. "Please," he whispers. "Go." 

You lift yourself up on shaking legs and turn towards the door. 

You hear the lock slide across after you walk out, and for some reason, that hurts more than anything else. 

x

You don't know what to do with yourself. You don't know where to go. 

There's a small, terrified part of you that wants to text Minho before you lose that too, but then you figure that if Chan finally figured it out, Minho probably knew for a while and chose not to say anything. If you really think about it, deep down, the last time you had seen him, he had looked at you like he was really seeing you for the first time. His gaze had lingered a moment too long, and he was quick to leave you on the bed, breathing heavily and hopeless, door to the bathroom clicking softly behind him. Maybe Minho knew the truth before you knew yourself. 

It was easier to keep your hands clean, if you wiped away all the dirt before it could find a place under your fingernails. 

The cold of the evening air bites at you, and a shiver slips down your spine. Home feels too far, and any other place that used to be safe was far from being so anymore. 

The sky is darkened already, clouds covering the few stars left. The sidewalk you follow is jagged with runaway roots, and your chest hurts. Your body aches to be held, to be hurt, to feel something, and your stomach swirls with a sickness you don't have a cure to. You push yourself along out of instinct more than anything else, and think back to where it all had gone wrong. 

It was wrong from the moment you found the both of them, one after another. It was wrong as soon as you decided you could be selfish and want both. It was wrong when you would kiss one and hold another down until they stopped breathing, and then started all over again. It was wrong that you would allow one to do what they wanted with you and bruise your skin, while the other held you until you fell asleep. 

It was wrong to want so much, when you deserved none of it. 

The wind blows again, whispers against your skin. You wonder if you'll make it somewhere. 

x

The bar is ugly and noisy and exactly where you belong. 

You ignore the first man that picks you out of the crowd, staggering and stupid. You flirt with the second until your mind is hazy once again, pushing him away and finding your way to another bottle. The world around you blurs as you move, and this is everything you wanted, for your mind to float along with the rest of you, but it's not enough, and liquor alone is never enough. 

You push your way to the bathroom, and for some reason, hesitate at the door, fingers slipping from the handle. Your breaths are shallow, and your phone is silent because everyone has left you. But was it their fault? When you were the one playing with them like they weren't just as real as you? 

Something unfurls in your chest, and you nearly break in two as a horrible sob escapes you, ripping from deep within you. 

Fingers curl around your shoulder, a soft voice barely reaching you. You think of Chan, you think of Minho, and you think of what could have been. You shove them back, back, back away from you, away from the monster inside of you that's condemned everything and decide to disappear once and for all. 

x

It makes sense, doesn't it? 

You can't hurt anyone else if you remove yourself from the picture, if the picture never included you at all. You can cut yourself out of their lives, and just be a memory they will be sure to forget as time goes on. 

Chan's sentimental; he'll think of you during the quiet dinners where someone else doesn't fill the silence, and he'll remember you in the traces of other people's laughter, always searching for that same sound. But he'll move on, and there will be people there to support him. He was only ever alone when it came to you, and you're thankful for that in a way, because at least there would be someone there with him, sure to fill the room with sound. 

Minho worries you more. You've only ever heard him speak to his parents, to his family's cats like they were people right beside him. Every choice he makes is calculated, exact, something he wants. You knew he wanted you as soon as his eyes met yours, and yet he was patient, and waited for the moment when you made the first move. The boundaries were firm, and he didn't have much to hide once you broke them down and left nothing in your wake. 

You wondered sometimes if you were one of the only constants in his life, and you can't help but hope that it's not true, that he won't hold your picture close after you're gone. 

x

Your home is stale and alien when you walk in, darkness shrouding you like you deserve to live within it. 

You've avoided the truth long enough, avoided coming back for as long as you could stay elsewhere. But you lost Chan, and you lost Minho, and your few friends had stopped picking up your calls. They all knew what you were now, the true you that you've been desperately trying to hide. 

The floor creaks beneath your feet as you flick on the lamp by the door and then slowly make your way over to the kitchen, eyes flickering across the various items strewn across the counters. Old takeout boxes, dirty cutlery. Dishes stacked in the sink with nowhere else to go. The blinds above the counter are barely hanging on, dust sticking to the corners. Some knifes sit scattered in front of their knife block. You don't know the last time you've eaten. The remnants of alcohol burn at your belly. 

Ever so gently you reach forward and pick up what you need before retreating back to the living room, stopping just in front of the couch. You can't remember the last time someone sat next to you here. You can't remember your home ever having anything other than silence. 

Chan had brought honesty. Minho had brought certainty. 

And you never returned home. 

x

But you're home now, and there's something heavy in your hand even though it should be light. 

You don't know how long it's been that you've been here, the night dragging on around you. Moths flicker around the light that clings to the shingles next to your front door. You watch them and wonder if they ever think about how fast they can fade into nothing, crumbling to dust between someone's fingers. You blink and think about how fast you had done the same to someone who had loved you.

He was from before. Before Chan. Before Minho. 

He was your entire life and then some, someone you believed to be your soulmate. Someone who you had thought truly loved you, no matter what he did to you. Everything he ever did was out of love, he would say, over and over again, roses sitting on the front step, candles lit down the hallway, designer clothes tucked in neat little gift boxes. You needed to listen to him, he would say, smiling down at you like his words didn't twist around inside of you; like his grip didn't bruise and his words didn't scream.  

He loved you. You thought you loved him. 

He loved you and you realized you were never going to love him. 

Not a normal love, anyway. Not a love that wasn't twisted by all the things he had done. 

Laughter bubbles from within you then, as you finally think back to the one thing you had been trying to forget all this time. It had taken so long, but he finally had the same bruises, the same screams. The same pain. 

It was the only thing you could do. To save yourself, you had reasoned, until there was nothing else to reason. Until the liquor had burned you from the inside out, and you started to self destruct. 

You're almost ready to explode, you suppose. 

x

The knife is cold against your throat. 

You should be trembling, you should be sick. You should be scared, and yet you're strangely calm and somehow ready for this. Have you always been ready for this and just never realized? Were you too afraid to ever realize? Or maybe you were just trying to find other ways to keep yourself from confronting the truth, hiding your lies between different places, different people, different beds. 

You don't know if you should close your eyes or keep them open. Did it matter? Did it matter when whoever came across your body would simply check for a pulse and then move onto the next? None of it matters in the end you decide as you move to press the blade harder against your skin - 

Tires on pavement, screeching as they rumble to a stop, the sound echoing through your silent apartment. Red and blue lights flashing against the flaking paint of the wall, illuminating your front door. Screaming sirens that make you flinch, eyes sliding to the door.

There's two loud bangs and the clear sound of voices, the cusp of an officer's cap peering through as they lower their fist. Flashlights shine inwards when there's no response, before they land on you and then there's a canopy of noise, of shouting and curses. You watch as different officers flicker in and out of the door's window, and brace yourself, knowing that your time is up. It's now or never. This should be the easiest decision of your life, and yet, for a moment, you hesitate. 

You hesitate and think of those you've condemned. 

You think about the blood on your hands, the sharp curve of Minho's jaw, the way your fingers glided across Chan's shoulders. The smile that would curl at your lips when your phone pinged with a new message, the way your heart would stitch itself back together whenever they reached out to you of their own accord, wanting to be with you, needing you, unafraid to show just how much they missed you. 

A tear slips down your cheek. God, maybe you're just pathetic and indecisive and looking for an excuse, a reason why you've done all of this. Enough with the pretend fantasies and trying to find yourself a pretty picture to hide in - 

"Y/N!" 

The sound of your name startles you, knife pinching against skin. Lights are still flashing, illuminating the room, but there's a new face at the door, an urgency behind the way he pulls at the door, rattling the very hinges. Something wild and worried and stricken in the curves of his face, in the way he shouts for you, again and again. His voice cracks, his volume wavers. You watch the way his eyes flicker between your face and the knife, and it makes you feel something you aren't sure how to name. 

It was just like him, really. To want to save you in the end the same way he had saved you in the beginning. 

The door rattles again, and you watch as he's shoved from the way, the police eager to get this over with. They were probably just as sick as you were with waiting, and would rather have a name to the crime than a cold body to a morgue. But you'd rather take control of your own life, just this once. 

Minho pushes his way back to the door, desperate, fighting to the very end. Another push from the police, the sharp sound of snapping wood. Maybe Minho knew in the end, just how fucked up you really were. Maybe he knew, and maybe he wanted to stay anyway. 

It was nice, to think someone cared about you, that they wouldn't give up on you even if you would never deserve it. Even if you were a curse on him, whether you lived or died; he wasn't meant to know what you had done. He wasn't meant to be here to cry while you made it even. 

Your grip on the knife weakens, but it won't let go. Even in death, there was no easy way out; there is Minho at the door, and there are the lights of your destiny coming to get you, and here in your hand is the blade that would cut him just as deeply as it would cut you, because even when you ran away from yourself, you still couldn't help but hurt everyone you touched. 

Even when you did, you still made them bleed.

The lights flash, the voices shout. The knife bites at your throat, cold and sharp and unreasonable in its judgement. Your eyes close. Your breath floats out into the still air of the room. 

Somewhere in that space, his ghost leans down to whisper in your ear, all the secrets of death and life and what he would have done to you if only you'd not killed him first. The truth of it burns at your nose and chokes itself in your throat, swallowing down into your stomach like a stone you cannot dislodge. Beneath you, your feet falter, depositing you on the old sofa he would only let you use if it was to pin you to it. 

In the lights and the sound and the rasp of Minho's cries, you don't notice the slip of the knife from your hand. Only the stain of blood in the carpet, and the memory of bruises on your skin, and the truth that finally sobs its way out of your mouth with the tears that track down your cheeks, washing away the wall of lies that you had built up to hold them in.

When hands find you, arms dragging you in close and lips pressed hard to your forehead, you don't kick and scream, or reach for the knife, or yearn for a drink to wash away the memories.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt and scratch at his skin, searching selfishly for something to hold onto. Words press against your throat and you struggle to let them out even as you feel his body hitch with something close to a sob. 

"Stay with me,” you say.

"Okay," Minho breathes, lips pressing softly against the skin you nearly cut away. "Okay." 

[yuri-is-online]

Congrats on 300! You more than deserve it. If it’s alright, could you write Jealousy pt. 2 for Idia and Vil? Thanks <3

9. Jealousy pt. 2- someone from a rival school asks for your number

Thank you very much friend (╥﹏╥) Of course I can, I hope you like it!

notes: notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, mild RSA slander, reference to the events of chapter 5 (Vil). If you saw this post for the .3 seconds I posted it before it was done baking I am so sorry. Check out the rest of the event requests on my masterlist here.

Idia

"Thank you so much for showing me around." The RSA boy has been strangely polite to you and Idia ever since you intervened in their... "conversation." Not that he has been exactly paying attention to the very tall very blue boy who has been hovering around you looking for a good moment to cut in. "The NRC layout is just so different to what I'm used to." he laughs awkwardly and you involuntarily look at Idia.

"Hope it stays that way." He mutters and you try to avoid making any noise of agreement in hopes it doesn't provoke any more arguing between them. The RSA kid pretends not to notice, but the smile that spreads across his face suggests he thinks Idia's grumbling makes him look better somehow. You know his attempt at moving closer to you when you take out your phone certainty doesn't.

"Um, I'd like a chance to thank you properly, but I don't think we'll get a chance to see each other again during the fair..."

"Yeah I'm going to be pretty busy." You state, really hoping he gets the point.

[yuu] run

[idia] ???

[idia] and just leave u with sir scam a lot? nah

"Could I have your number then?" He asks, completely unaware that there are two introverts begging for the release of death in front of him.

"Nah sorry I don't have a phone." You can't find the meme you want to send Idia so you settle on a string of hearts while he tries to avoid laughing in the other guys extremely confused face.

[idia] cute

Vil

Vil has never once wished to be anyone other than exactly who he was. Why would he? The amount of work he had put in to commanding the attention he did would be pointless if he wanted to throw it all away and be somebody else. He should be secure in his position... he is secure in his position... that's why he finds this entire situation so... annoying.

"Yuu! I'm surprised you decided to participate in the VDC, you said you weren't going to." Neige had turned his attention to you as soon as he was done speaking to Rook, who looks just as flabbergasted as you do that the idol was speaking to you.

"I'm sorry but I don't think we've met?" You are clearly confused, and Vil wants to think entirely too concerned with his condition to spare the other boy a single thought. But still, like a worm working it's way to the core of an apple, Neige moves happily over to you trying to rot what little Vil can still claim as entirely his.

"I wasn't dressed as nicely last time sorry," he is clearly genuinely disappointed "we met when you came with the NRC Headmage to talk about the VDC, remember?" You blink, looking between Neige and Grim in increasing confusion. "I forgot to tell you my name, I've been thinking about it a lot... I really wanted to ask for your number so I could talk to you again."

"I don't really remember sorry, did you change your hair or something?" This is getting increasingly awkward for everyone but Neige who weathers it all with a smile as Vil tries to push down the implications of how pleased this development makes him feel.

Serves you right brat, Vil knows that Yuu will never forget meeting him.

[sourkannas]

Loosely inspired by villainess manhwas I've read.

Sukuna x reader kinda (not a lot in here if any at all), reader refered to as 'Madam', existence and use of concubines, can be considered isekai but not for reader, pregnancy, reader is a little mean

Being Sukuna's wife barely gave you any perks, he didn't love you more, he didn't care more, you were just a means to an end. He still had concubines, still ate people and barely went to you out of his own volition.

These acts didn't mind you, with the bar being in hell for him, this was a plus. You didn't have to do chores, which was really the only plus of this marriage besides your own servants, serving you mostly and Sukuna if he asked for them.

The concubines and your relationship is fine, now at least, you've come to realize that most of them were women who had no other choice, this was a better arrangment than living on the streets. The women were convinced you were going to throw them out and were pleasently surprised when weeks passed and you didn't.

It wasn't uncommon for Sukuna to lay with the concubines, the fact didn't bother you. If anything, it pleased you. Any heir would be demanded by your family and your worst enemy wouldn't deserve this.

But this time was different, the words that Uraume had told you rang in your mind like an incessent buzzing.

"A—a concubine is with child?" You asked again, Uraume had a pinch of annoyance in their face at your repeated question. "From, lord Sukuna?" You ask, Uraume nodded.

"Who else would it be?" Uraume answered your question with on of their own, but you didn't mind the sass. "Yes, it's Lord Sukuna's, fornicating with other men is a death penalty." They say, for the nth time, studying your laxed position. "Any problems?" They're eyes narrow, like a silent promise.

You scoff in amusement, waving your hand. "Of course not, I'm just surprised." You giggle, eating your breakfast happily. "Send my regards to the mother." You chime, cu55⁵tting up your food.

Uraume raised a brow. "The to be mother wants to see you, now." They say blandly, like this is just another order. You sigh and finish your food, wiping your mouth.

"Why? I don't have a gift if that's what she wants." You mumbled, wracking your head for any gift ideas.

Uraume rolled their eyes. "She just wants to see you." They say and before you bother them with more questions, they leave and come back with the woman, black hair, blue eyes, a simple robe covering her body. Uraume leaves soon after, leaving just you and the woman.

You guesture to the seat opposite of you. "Don't stay standing, sit sit." You hum, the woman quickly sits opposite of you, she seemed, squirmish, like a rat, or a bug. "Congratulations, I hear your with child Mrs....?" You give her a look.

The woman perks up. "Oh uhm, Kira, my name is Kira." She said quickly, still stiff before her face hardens. "I—I need a favor." She said, gripping her lap.

Your eyes widen slightly, asking for a favor on the first meeting, though you can't say you hated the bold.

"Oh my," You hum, stirring your tea. "That's a little ill-mannered, can't you ask how I am first?" You joke, chuckling softly, but Kira doesn't seem very amused, frowning instead.

"I'm sorry madam, but I..." She takes a pause, looking away before turning to you with a determined look. "I need to become Lord Sukuna's wife!" She yelled, standing up, shocking the maids standing near the wall and even yourself.

You blink once, then twice, then a third time but your lackluster reaction didn't stop Kira.

"I'm sure you love him—" You don't, you love the privledges you got by being his wife. "—but I'm having Lord Sukuna's heir! I should be his wife!" She said eagerly, slamming her hands on the table, looking you dead in your eyes. Your mouth open and closes like a fish out of water.

"I know your jealous—" You'd like to think your above jealousy. "—And maybe you want him!" You can't remember the last time you wanted a man in any capacity besides amusement or plain bullying. "But, Lord Sukuna is mine!" She yelled, there's a small thud outside, a servant no doubt falling over at the noises coming from your room. Not to mention your maids weren't very welcoming.

"Is—is she serious?"

"Maybe madam is pranking us...?"

"Oh, she has been into those light novels lately, maybe it's that?"

Your face tightens, to think your growing like of light novels is being used against you. You snap back into reality as Kira began to poke you.

"Watch the finger," You say, sighing as you rubbed your forehead. "You...you do know Lord Sukuna can take on multiple wives, yes?" Kira nods, her hair bouncing in waves. "Then, then why do I have to leave?" You ask, tilting your head in annoyance.

Kira, for all her faults (which your thinking might be endless) looked as determined as can be, staring straight at you.

"It isn't common for the woman having the heir to be the second wife!" She said sternly, while you could name 8 people that had wives that went up to the twelfth be the ones to give them children, you stay quiet.

"Even if that is, what makes you think I'll leave?" You ask, sipping your tea again, Kira looks shocked and her hands shook.

"Shouldn't..." Her voice trailed off as she began to shake in anger. "Shouldn't you want to help me?! I'm giving your husband a child!" She yelled, panting from using her lungs so much.

Your lips form a thin line. "Even if I wanted to divorce Lord Sukuna, I can't." You say plainly, standing up and brushing off your robes of any dust. "If he wanted me gone, he'll just kill me." You say, like this was common knowledge, (it was, but you didn't think Kira was all that knowledgeable) but Kira only grit her teeth.

"Then, I'll have to be the second wife?" She asked breathlessly, to which you nod, for some reason, looking at her gave you a odd feeling in your throat. "But, but..." She collaspes to her knees, all the mood swings were making it hard to take everything in, so you didn't.

"Don't worry Kira," You coo, a hand under her chin to force her to look at you. A grin spreads across her face and Kira hates the sight. "I know how to share~" You chime, eyes half lidded in amusement before you stand up. "You've said your piece, now leave." You hum, walking back towards the bed.

Kira doesn't know when she was standing up and standing in front of the door, two of your maids flanking her. She never felt so unwelcome, the othet concubines were guarded yes, but she never felt so alone.

"Oh, Kira?" You call out and she stiffens, her heart beat thumping loudly, she can only imagine what type of horrid grin you have. "I probably said it already," You say, voice soft and relaxed, your steps drawing nearer until your chin was resting on her shoulder. "Congrats on the pregnacy." You chirped and Kira all but ran out of the room.

You tilt your head and gasp. "Oh my! She must've been tired." You say, shaking your head as you turn to your maids. "I think I should take a bath." The maids break from their confused shock and nodded.

"Yes madam!" They say in unison, helping you into the bathroom.

Sitting in the warm tub of water, you frown, thinking about the interacting between you and Kira. You had been sent, like Sukuna, every letter from families or women themselves asking to be Sukuna. Most times, Sukuna would let you take the reigns, something about you having good judgement. But you never got a letter from Kira or about a Kira. Maybe, maybe you overlooked something?

[sgiandubh]

@outlanderskin :"For those who have doubts: just research a little about Caitríona's dating history. See how she treated Dave and James and how she talked about them in interviews. See how she wrote about the Irish boyfriend she had in Paris in that article. Compare all of this to the impersonal way she treats or talks about Tony. Bingo🙃"

Good point 👌

Dear Good Point Anon,

You know, it's really serendipitous, as I have just finished a weeklong deep dive in very, very old press articles on (or at least mentioning) S and C, who clearly had a life before OL, thinking it would be nice to put some of my archive work skills to good service.

I think @outlanderskin was referring to C's New York Times article I reviewed and analyzed last summer, but I just found way better: a very long report in the Irish Independent's Sunday issue of July 11, 2004, focused on the next generation of Irish supermodels. Of which there could be only one, at that time: C, who dominates Roxanne Parker's 'Through Thick and Thin".

I am sorry, there is no link available to my knowledge, so we'll have to work with these very poor xerox scans:

I took the liberty of generously using my dreaded highlighter and, for the people who need to translate this post with Google, I am now taking my time to type what I find damn interesting in this almost twenty-year old article:

'If Ireland ever has a hope of having its own supermodel, then Caitriona Balfe is it. Sitting in the Pink Pony Café on Ludlow Street in New York, Caitriona swirls a wad of bread into her carrot and coriander soup while informing me that her musician boyfriend just brought her a breakfast-in-bed of cream eclairs and coffee a little over an hour ago. But that doesn't stop Caitriona from finishing her lunch and chasing it with a large cocoa-dusted cappuccino. Ebony-tressed and ivory-skinned, Caitriona clip-clops down the cobbled street after we leave the cafe, heading towards her apartment in Chinatown with Dave Mailone (sic!), the boyfriend, in tow.'

This reads, in 2024, like an interview with a more benevolent C clone from a totally different planet, indeed. A young, carefree, in love and hysterically funny C, who apparently had no problem heavily dishing out happy tidbits of her private life to her home country's press. A C also very much reminiscing anyone with a brain of the 2013-2018 bantering C, as this quote shows:

Again, you'll have to indulge me retyping it, Anon (tedious, I know - but helpful). She is remembering her real breakthrough, in November 2002, at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, in New York:

That was the most I've ever been paid for a show. I've got 18,000 euros for one day's work! They made me get a spray tan before the show, and I was still the whitest and the least well-endowed girl in the entire show! So what did she have to wear on the big day? `Not a whole lot! I think I described my outfit on the day as something Wilma Flintstone would wear on her honeymoon night. There wasn't a whole lot to it and it had bits of fur hanging off it.'

And, for good measure, we even have a (admittedly, awful) picture with the season's fiancé, with whom things did not end well:

I know, it looks like a Pravda pic, circa 1957 and I am honestly sorry. But it's still very clear. And, which is more important, very eloquent.

Anon and reader, you draw your own conclusions on this. I know where I stand. The only guy C has similar pics taken with and released in the press or on social media is the peasant some love to bash every single day in here. Their problem, not mine.

Yes, of course Mordor will yell and hiss. Of course they will throw rotten tomatoes at the blunt knife and scream THIS IS OLD. But hey, do you have any better than this poor (but oh, so endearingly authentic) picture or than any given S&C pic before the fucking EFH and IFH, when she gradually started to turn into today's Reclusive, Restrained and Rarefied Greta Garbo wannabe?

Oh, and please: don't give me the 'he's shy' or the paperwork crap again. Her public persona has drastically changed, and not for the better. It's plain to see and there are reasons for this.

Who's to blame? This question is so wrong, in so many ways.

The question should be 'what's to blame?'

I'll stop here, Anon and I hope it was somewhat useful. Thank you for dropping by.

[theamberfist]

Leave it All on the Dance Floor! Part 2 | Alastor x Overlord! Reader

Platonic! Alastor + Best Friend! Reader who's also an overlord.

Description: After having his coat ripped, Alastor enlists the help of his best friend and tailor.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of cannibalism) (Part 2/5 of Leave it All on the Dance Floor!)

Words: 2508

Part 1

"That new fabric order you wanted just got in, boss!" Joan chirped as she entered your work room; a clipboard in hand. Hearing that made you smile and you looked up from where you'd been drawing out concepts for some new clothes.

"Wonderful!" You exclaimed, "I know you know where to store it for now. I'll get to work on adding that to the new line later." Joan nodded as she crossed the item off her well-organized list. "And how are the newbies doing down there?" You asked, referring to the recently-hired demons currently being trained to work the boutique while you focused on designing. 

You'd hoped they wouldn't end up causing much trouble when you took them in; needing the extra employees, but Joan's expression immediately made you lower your hopes. 

"They're...Working on it." She replied finally, "But don't worry; I've been dealing with all the customer complaints the way you told me to. We'll get those sinners up to par soon enough, and then you'll be back to having the most well-run boutique in hell!" 

At that, you sighed. You were just glad to have Joan to deal with them so you wouldn't have to; after all, you'd been very busy lately. 

"Are you still designing the new line?" the feline asked with a hint of concern in her voice. You'd been working on it for the last week almost nonstop, and you knew she was probably a little worried about you. Still, she knew better than to comment about it openly. 

"Yes," you replied, setting the drawings on your desk now, "But I should have some solid concepts soon." Joan was still frowning but you ignored her worry as you leaned back in your chair and stretched. You'd been at this all day so you had to admit; it might be a good time to take a short break. 

"I'm sure these new designs will be even more lovely than your last ones," you assistant finally spoke as she took another step forward, "But...Uh, there's one other item that could use your attention right now." At that, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh? What is it?" You asked. Based on her nervous expression, you weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer. 

She drew in a breath before glancing back down at her clipboard. "We have a client here who requires repairs on some of their clothes." 

"I thought I said I wasn't going to be taking any clients this week?" You replied now, crossing your arms, "Can't one of the apprentices handle it?" 

"The client has insisted only your expertise will do," Joan told you, "And frankly, I don't think it's quite my place to refuse." She had a look of fear on her face at that that piqued your interest even more. Who could this client be to have scared even your own assistant so badly? You had a few ideas, and if they turned out to be true, then you almost wanted to smile in delight.

"Alright," you pretended to sigh now, knowing what was up, "Send them in and I'll handle it." Joan nodded quickly before heading over to the door of your workshop, which she opened to reveal a very familiar sinner standing on the other side with a huge smile on his face. 

"Why, thank you, my dear!" Alastor told Joan as he took a step into the room. She nodded quickly before leaving and closing the door behind her. Meanwhile, you grinned and stood from your desk. 

"Al, what brings you back here already?" You asked, though you couldn't have been more glad to see your best friend back in the Swing Sector visiting you, "Miss me already?" The Radio Demon's smile widened at that and he came over to pull you into a hug. 

"Lovely to see you too, my friend!" He exclaimed as you chuckled. "I'm afraid I've come to request your assistance mending some of my clothing, if it's not too much trouble!" You let go of your friend now, raising an eyebrow at his words. 

"Of course it's no trouble, but...Surely it's not these clothes you need repaired, right...?" You asked, a dark shadow beginning to form across your face, "After all, I just made this suit for you a couple of weeks ago." Your tone was calm but extremely threatening and despite being the Radio Demon himself, Alastor had to fight the urge to step back. When it came to the clothes you created, you could always be a little...murderous. He almost didn't want to continue with the look in your eye, but nevertheless, he did so.

"Unfortunately, it is," he replied carefully and with a solemn nod of his head. When he saw your expression darken even further though, he quickly continued. "But I assure you, dear, I did everything in my power to avoid letting any harm come to these clothes! This is the result of an...Unfortunate turn of events." 

"Who did it?" You asked in a tone so unlike you that it would have made anyone living in your sector shake with fear. 

"Alas, I do not remember his name; the forgettable sort." Alastor replied, glad to have shifted the blame off of himself now, "But I assure you, I plan to make him pay for his transgressions." His own expression became scarier now as his eyes began to shift into radio dials and glow red; even more so than normal.

"Give Joan a description of this demon on the way out," you ordered, "I'd also like to have a go at anyone who thinks they can damage my designs and get away with it." Alastor nodded at that, even if only to calm your rising anger. 

"Now," you said, taking a deep breath in order to pull yourself from your murderous rage, "Show me the damage." You turned back to grab a tape measure and some sewing pins as Alastor held up the end of his coat, which had been clearly been ripped. Of course, it always gave that appearance, but in this case, the tears weren't how you'd designed them, and therefore, gave a rattier appearance.

You felt your anger nearly flare up again at the sight but calmed yourself as you nodded and then got to work measuring and pinning wherever necessary. 

"Good thing I always keep your fabric on-hand," you spoke while holding one of the sewing pins between your teeth, "Otherwise, you'd have had to wait a few weeks for it to get in, and we certainly couldn't have you walking around like this for so long." The Radio Demon nodded, assuming the pose you always had him hold as he let you work.

You'd been his personal tailer ever since the two of you became friends shortly after your own arrival in hell. Before them, he'd had some random sinner off the street make all of his clothes, and as you'd told him the night you ran into each other at that party, it had showed. Luckily, he now had a best friend who was always willing to ensure he was well-dressed; making him a top priority whenever he came in. 

For a few minutes, you pinned the fabric in silence as he took in the sights of your workroom. It hadn't changed much in the years since he'd last visited; a realization that was somehow heartwarming. 

It was as messy as ever; with various designs lining the walls, fabric strewn about, and several trunks of other sewing supplies pushed up against the tall windows. Your desk was even worse with pins and needles all over it that had been entangled in string, and Alastor knew if he were to ever bring someone like Nifty here, she would have had a field day. 

Also resting on your desk, though, were several framed photos. There was one picturing you and Rosie, probably taken sometime after the Radio Demon's disappearance, along with several photos of your various owned souls that had been taken at the parties you hosted. Alastor's smile widened, though, when he noticed several old photos of you and him rested among the rest. Even after all this time, they were well-taken-care-of and free from dust or dirt. The sight was very sweet.

"Did I overhear that you were working on a new line?" He finally asked, breaking the silence as you threaded some red string through a needle like it was nothing. 

"Of course," you told him with a grin before kneeling to hand-sew the new fabric of his coat to the ripped area. "I have to stay up to date, don't I? And plus, runway season is coming up." 

"Well, then I hope to be in attendance at many of your upcoming fashion shows." Alastor told you and you nodded as you started stitching. 

"You'll be the first one invited, of course," you said with a playful eye roll, "Who better than my best friend to witness as I crush Velvette; fashionably?" This made the other overlord's smile widen even more.

"I have no doubt in your creative mind," he replied, "In fact, I daresay her own designs are nowhere near your level, so where's the competition in the first place?" He gave a loud laugh at that and you shook your head with a smile.

"Thanks, Alastor," You said as took out another sewing pin; not needing it anymore, "But it turns out there might actually be some competition this season. The Overlord Gala is being held a month earlier due to the next extermination being moved up- will you be attending, by the way?" You glance dup at your deer-like friend, who immediately nodded.

"But of course! I wouldn't miss such an entertaining event for the world," he replied, placing a hand where his heart should have been, "And I suppose I'll have to be requesting your services for my clothing then, as well." You nodded, turning back to your work. 

"Well, anyway," you continued, "The gala is supposed to be competitive as far as fashion this year, and I intend to have the best designs by a landslide. But that all starts with the line I'll be releasing shortly beforehand, so it has to be perfect." 

"Of course," Alastor nodded knowingly, "Do let me know if there is anything I can do to assist! Any endeavor that involves putting those arrogant V's in their place is worth supporting. Though, I hardly think you'll require my help schooling Velvette on the runway." You chuckled at that, finally finishing sewing Alastor's coat and tying it off.

"Thanks, Al." You told him now as you stood and brushed yourself off, "I always appreciate your support. And...Your coat is done!" You stepped away now, letting him inspect your work as you began putting away the rest of your materials. The Radio Demon took a second to look it over before his smile widened (somehow), seeming satisfied.

"Perfect as usual, my dear!" He told you as he gave a brief spin for emphasis. "Thank you kindly!" 

"Anytime." You replied once you'd put everything away, "Oh, and by the way, are you planning to attend that meeting next week? The one Carmilla sent information about?" A part of you was a little nervous he hadn't been invited for a second, considering the other overlord had never been particularly fond of Alastor, but then his eyes shone with recognition. 

"Yes, indeed!" He told you as the two of you started heading out of your workshop now, "Am I correct to assume you'll be there as well?" You nodded and his smile brightened, "Splendid! Then I shall see you at the meeting!" 

"Sounds good," you replied, "But before then, make sure you let Rosie know you're back! If you show up to the meeting with no warning she might bite you." You shivered, remembering the last time Alastor had done something to make the kind cannibal overlord angry. You hadn't had bandages on-hand at the time and had had to use whatever fabric you could find just to wrap his wound. 

"Of course, of course!" Alastor waved a hand dismissively, which told you he most likely would not be telling Rosie in advance. He always had liked to keep everyone guessing, hadn't he? "Now, I would love to stay longer, but I must be on my way, darling!" He headed over to the counter of your boutique, where one of your newer recruits immediately shrunk away in fear. "And I'd better let you get back to work if you're to show everyone up at the gala!" 

You grinned and made your way over to the register, but instead of punching in any amount, you simply leaned your elbows onto it with a smile. "Al, you know I wouldn't make you pay for a simple repair like this," you told him, "if anything, the one paying will be whichever demon ripped your coat in the first place." You were still smiling but your voice got significantly more sinister and your eyes darkened as you spoke the last sentence. The rest of the shop's employees cowered but Alastor just laughed. 

"A true gentleman pays his friend for their services, dear." He reminded you but as he spoke, his gaze shifted to the street outside, where a TV in the store across the street happened to be running Vox's broadcast. His smile didn't drop but you could instantly see the shift in his eyes from joy to annoyance at the sight. 

And you could understand why. It seemed Vox had caught wind of the fact that the Radio Demon was back, because he was going on and on about Alastor's return and what it meant for the future of hell. You supposed that obsession of his still hadn't died out. 

"On second thought, it seems I'll have to be on my way." Alastor practically spat before turning back to you with a joyful expression again, "But do let me know when you're next free, and I'll be sure to treat you to lunch as thanks for your kindness this fine day." You gave him a look so he added, "with vegetarian options, of course." Your grin widened.

Even though you were best friends with both Rosie and Alastor, two of hell's most well-known cannibal demons, you had no interest in partaking in said acts yourself and he could respect that. 

"Alright." You said finally as Alastor adjusted his bow tie once more and then turned towards the door. "Nice to see you again!" 

"Bye now, dear!" He called back, "Oh, and if you've got the time, consider tuning in to my next broadcast! It's sure to be quite...Entertaining." With that, he was out the door and you shook your head, still smiling. He was no doubt going to clap back at Vox by going on-air for the first time in years, and of course, you weren't about to miss that for anything. 

"Joan!" You called, heading back up the stairs to your workshop now, "Would you bring the radio up? I have a feeling this afternoon's work is going to get much more entertaining!"

……….

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Advice, influences and Misc.

Apologies for taking so long on some of these, admittedly I'm much more likely to entirely forget about asks that are about me and my interests 💃 Thank you for all the questions regardless! And thank you specially to everyone who just drops nice messages into my inbox out of kindness.

I'm brazillian and a native portuguese speaker!

I'll probably return to twitter eventually, but a) I hate that place and b) It didn't make much sense to me to turn it into a BG3 account out of the blue. I am considering making an Instagram or a new twitter just to have more places where people can follow in case they don't care for tumblr, but it's just been a very busy year so far and so that's kind of low on the list of priorities. If I ever do that I'll be sure to announce it here. Have a nice day yourself!

Sorry to hear that! I've gotten a few messages before about this issue, and the problem is that since I am myself not from the US, my options are also limited :( a lot of patreon alternatives don't work for me because they either don't go through paypal, take insane currency conversion fees, or just straight up block me from signing up.

Speak for yourself, I just assume everyone I speak to online has committed some sort of atrocious crime until proven otherwise. Except for me - of course. I have never done anything bad in my life.

I still have a lot to learn! But I will basically use whatever works for me at the moment, as well as make a sincere effort to learn about musculature and anatomy so I can understand those components and how they move, instead of only knowing what they look like when still - that's how you get better at drawing from memory. Volume mostly comes from coloring and understanding light, which is it's own beast but can very much be learned from similar reference materials and observing it IRL!

My favorite places to get reference are medical diagrams, weird pictures I take of myself, 3D software (often Virt-a-mate) and questionably phrased image google searches.

My favorite artists are Jason Shawn Alexander and Sean Murphy, but I'm not sure how much of it reflects in my art nowadays! I generally seek to pick up techniques from artists rather than to emulate style.

Honestly I love that you guys generally do the thing he would hate the most: take him very non-seriously LOL

I've been in a real Chelsea Wolfe and Amyl And The Sniffers kick lately! But usually you'll also find me listening to stuff like Boy Harsher, Swans, FWF, JK Flesh Lingua Ignota, Nick Cave, David Bowie, and so on. Music for the weird gays, basically.

I went insane and wrote a 23-chapter-long-and-still-ongoing fic in like four months. But also - I'm not that good, I'm just shamelessly pretentious LOL

Hm. That's a good question, but I'm not really sure. Sincerely not trying to be a edgier-than-thou here (in fact, this has made me a little self conscious at one time or another) but a lot of art that I don't mean to be horror-y in nature at all has been associated with the genre. So perhaps I don't know what I'm doing either, LOL.

I think just leaning on making things look slightly "wrong" or "ugly" on purpose is the way, but I also find that if you just seek to depict people as they are instead of idealized versions of themselves, you will arrive at that either way.

Thank you for reading! Honestly, I'm guilty of having not read much at all since I was in my late teens, and the style I'm employing for ANE is very different from the things I would call "influential" for me, or even that I used to enjoy reading at all before. I read a lot of Chuck Palahniuk as a youth (and, no slight to people who do like him still, but nowadays I'm not sure why I ever did. His stories don't speak to me at all anymore) as well a lot of weird experimental lit that I didn't even care to remember the name of. My last book stint from one or two years ago was composed solely of historical and medical literature, and last year I got really into Cormac Mcarthy thanks to the internet.

So, all in all, I'm absolutely all over the place LOL if you put a gun to my head and told me to list my favorite books, I'd say The Indifferent Stars Above and Blood Meridian.

(Consider the reading portion of the question to have been answered above) I really really liked Beau is Afraid and think it's a really great "horror" movie. Sue me.

[argisthebulwark]

Nothing Left For Me, I Am Pleading

summary: The fallout after you learn he's cheated on you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Cicero warnings: angsty hurt/no comfort. cheating in an established relationship. swearing. reference to sexual acts, nothing explicit. masterlist

Vilkas' fingers are uncharacteristically chilly when they grab your arm. Your stomach churns at the contact - mere hours had passed since they'd touched someone else. "Don't go." You see every muscle in his body tense - does he anticipate you lashing out at him? Your anger is far too cold for that, a detached hatred that drowns out any love you've felt for him. "Give me one good reason to stay." You sniff, glaring up at the man you've loved so deeply that it hurt. Your heart is shredding in your chest but you refuse to show him. After last night, he does not deserve to see you hurt. You will grant him no opportunity to comfort you. "I thought of you the whole time." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You seethe, wrenching your arm from his grasp. "How kind of you to remember me while fucking some stranger at the tavern." "Please." His voice is caught in his throat when he steps closer, hand still reaching uselessly toward you. "I - we just lost Kodlak. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and I felt so fucking lost. I didn't know what to do with myself." His nose wrinkles and you know he's fighting back tears. Strangely, you feel no urge to comfort him - all you want is to escape this damned room. "I was there." You curse your voice for wobbling. "Farkas was there. Our friends were right there - we were all there grieving Kodlak. Together." "I know." He mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath. "I should have talked to you - I don't know why I did that. Nothing makes sense." "You should talk to someone, maybe your brother." You press your lips into a tight line, clamping down the sob tearing at your throat. "I hope you can figure things out, Vilkas." You do hope that he can figure things out. Grief is messy but when you turn away from him, there's a sense of finality to it. You clench your fists to stop their shaking and before you can take that first step away from Vilkas, his voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Can we try again someday?" His voice is so defeated, as if he already knows your answer. Why did he bother asking? "I know that Kodlak meant a lot to you." You squeeze your eyes shut against those damned tears. "But I can never forgive this." "I understand." Vilkas sniffs and you're glad you turned away. The sight of him crying could break you. "I'll always love you, though." You can't think of a response that doesn't break your heart.

"It meant nothing, Mal Dov." You smack away Miraak's hand - you know he wants to caress your face, to calm your nerves as he has so many times before. You can hardly think past her fucking voice ringing through your head. "After that, my hopes of being named High Priestess don't seem so far-fetched. Our lord truly is blessed, isn't he? Well, I suppose you know that better than anyone." She'd bumped into you like it was a silly little mistake, dragon mask pulled aside to display the messy state of her lipstick. The thought of what she'd done for Miraak - the thought of him with anyone else, it makes you sick. "Nothing?" You spit the word back at him. You hate that look on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes. He has the audacity to make you feel like the hurtful one. "In my time, it was quite common to maintain a concubine -" "Oh, fuck you!" Angry tears spill down your cheeks, that hot ball of rage fueled with every word that passes his lips. "You would burn Tamriel if another man dared to kiss me, yet you expect me to be alright with some priestess getting on her knees for you?" "My beloved, please allow me to explain." Miraak reaches for you once more, an offer that feels so loaded. You know that if you take his hand he will whisper sweet apologies in your ear and promises that he will spend the rest of his unnatural life with you. He will tell you that a passing moment with a priestess means nothing compared to an eternity at your side. "No." You reject, gulping past the knot in your throat. Drying your tears you turn, hands shaking when they clench at your sides. "No explanation will undo your actions."

Sunlight bursts over the horizon, bright and cheerful. Farkas' snores echo across the hall as your weary eyes wander toward the window to watch. Your throat is raw from swallowing those ugly sobs and your cheeks are stained with war paint and tears. Clutching your knees to your chest you wait, stuffed into the same chair you've been seated in for hours. When the doors creak open your heart leaps into your throat. You've practiced the speech over and over, memorizing the words and praying that you won't stumble but it's all gone when you see her. The woman is half dressed when she scurries through Jorrvaskr, offering you a kind smile when she spots you. "Sorry if we kept you up." Her voice holds no malice - you're certain that she's interpreted you as a disgruntled housemate. "Can you point me toward the exit?" Your voice ceases to function, merely pointing her toward the front doors. Uncertain of how much time passes you remain there, knees tucked to your chest scrambling for the words you'd planned out so carefully. "Gods, it's bright." Farkas' rich voice causes a fresh wave of tears. Through blurry vision you watch him emerge from the living quarters, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. "My love - what day is it? I thought you weren't back until Middas?" "The assignment was easy." You gulp, hating the way he kneels right in front of you. His thumb traces through the mess of war paint on your face and you suck in a deep breath. "Everyone acted so strange when I returned. I thought perhaps it was because I was a bit early - they were all fairly drunk." "We drank far too much last." Farkas moans, still scrubbing at your cheek. "I can hardly remember anything past dinner." "When Aela tried to stop me from going to bed I knew something was wrong." "My beloved -" "I saw you." You sob, shoving at his bare chest when he attempts to hold you. Your heart is cracking deep in your chest, fat tears spilling down your cheeks but you can't let him piece you back together. "I heard you, Farkas -" "It was a drunken mistake. Please," rough hands cup your face but you're shaking your head. You can't see him through the tears but you know he's crying too. "Please don't leave me." "I can't stop seeing it." You hiccup, curling deeper into the chair. "I can't even look at you."

"I would have raised him better than that." Karliah's hand pats your shoulder. "The Brynjolf I knew would never do that." "He did." Your voice sounds scratchy and far away. Whether it's from rage or the alcohol you aren't certain. You're lying flat on the bar, Vekel's infinite patience saving you from the floor as the world tilts and dips around you. "I have some friends in the Brotherhood." Delvin pipes up from somewhere far away. You aren't sure if you're laughing or sobbing at his comment, noises and tears slipping out of you. "Want me to kill 'im?" "I could kill him for you." Vex offers and you bury your head in your arms. You feel sick - you'd hoped that too many drinks would rid that image from your brain but it persists. His lips on her skin, her fingers in his hair, the sound of her sighing his name. "There you are." His voice still sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face in your arms, mind still stuck on the way his hand wrapped around someone else's waist. "I've been lookin' for you -" "To what?" Vex snaps. "Looking to do some more damage?" "Love, gimme a chance." "Get away from me." "C'mon, I know it was fucked up but we were together for years. I told her I'm with you, that we had to stop before things went too far -" "I said get away from me." You whirl toward him, the world spinning and your stomach flipping dangerously with the motion. Warm hands are there to steady you, Brynjolf's familiar scent filling your nostrils as your bleary eyes struggle to focus on him. "Talk to me, love. Just for a bit, yeah?" "We are done." You stare up at him, hating the way his eyes still make your heart flutter. "I'm taking some time off -" "Don't say that. Think of the Guild - we need you, I need you." "You should've thought of the fucking Guild!" You sob, hands smacking against his chest. "You should've thought about me! You don't get to do this, you don't get to make this my fault." "I know sweetheart, trust me I know it's my fault." "You should probably leave for now, Bryn." Karliah taps his shoulder when you devolve into a mess of sobs. His hands slip from your face and gods help you, after everything you hate to feel it. "Give it time." "I'll be here, love. Whenever you're ready I'll be here waitin' for you."

"I'm sorry." Cicero snivels, falling into your lap. "Cicero's so sorry, Listener - please don't leave me, don't leave your awful Keeper." The indecision is paralyzing; so badly you want to comfort him, to comb through the mess of his hair and wipe at his face until he's calmed down but you cannot. You can't stop thinking about the dreamy look on his face after someone else's lips touched his. "Please, Listener." He gasps, fingers screwed up in the front of your armor. You can't bring yourself to rebuff him but do not have the capacity to soothe him. "Please, Cicero is so sorry - they were helping with Mother's rituals and so kind to me, so sweet helping with prayers and honeyed words." He hiccups, a sob breaking up his explanations. You want nothing more than to forgive him, to wipe at his tears and tell your beloved that everything will be alright, but find those words too difficult. "Was I not enough?" Your voice breaks, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The flood of emotions is too much all at once when Cicero buries his face in your shoulder. God it hurts - you've known hurt but nothing like this, betrayal that cuts down to the bone. "You're everything!" He howls, both your bodies shaking with the weight of his sobs. "Terrible, awful Keeper - I don't deserve that title, the Listener deserves someone much better." "Calm down." You urge, unable to resist rubbing a hand down his back. The sensation of his body curling into yours is so familiar but there is no warmth, no love in the way he clings to you - only guilt. His voice is torn as he mumbles your title over and over, apologies mingled in as he professes his guilt. "Love you, Listener. Love you, love you, love you..." he trails off, wet kisses placed along your throat. "Silly Cicero made a horrible mistake but oh, how I love you." "You know I love you." You choke on the words, shocked at how hard it is to say. You do love Cicero, you always will. "But my beloved -" "Don't, Listener - please, your Keeper begs you." He sniffles, breaths finally evening out. "Don't leave poor Cicero. Anything, I'll do anything, just don't leave." "I don't think we can get past this." His arms tighten around your middle, tears streaming down your face as the raw pain pounds through your body with each beat of your wretched heart. "You know I love you, my Cicero, but I don't think there is any mending this." You sit there, clutching Cicero to your chest and crying until your lungs threaten to give out. You are both painfully aware that as soon as you let each other go that is the end. When he slides from your lap he will no longer be your Cicero, you will simply be two Brotherhood members who cannot look each other in the eyes. So you hold him, allowing him to cry into your armor and shedding endless tears over the love you've both lost.

[the-ghost-of-jason-todd]

Hello MotA and other WWII fandoms (based on real people or not)! I have a fun piece of history for you that you may or may not be aware of.

I just finished my last day working at a pretty cool place. It's a branch of the public library in Albuquerque, New Mexico, U.S.A. What does this have to do with WWII? Let me tell you!

I just so happened to work at the Ernie Pyle branch, named so because it was the only house that the WWII war correspondent Ernie Pyle and his wife Jerry ever owned. Ernie Pyle, if you have never heard of him:

went overseas with the soldiers to document the second world war

pioneered human-interest style journalism for war reporting, specifically focusing on the lives of the soldiers and conditions on the front lines

wrote MANY MANY articles about the soldiers and their daily lives

won some awards, including a Pulitzer Prize

and was killed in action in Japan in 1945, at the age of 44

Here he is, looking a lot more serious than a lot of the pictures of him in his home, as well as a shot of him, his wife, and their dog, named Cheetah:

And, if you've never seen it, the house-turned-library looks like this:

The Indiana University has a few of his articles free to read, so check those out if you want to get an idea of the kind of journalism I'm talking about here: https://erniepyle.iu.edu/wartime-columns/index.html

For the MotA fans specifically, one cool fact about Ernie Pyle is that he had not one, but TWO separate B-29 "superfortresses" named after him. One was just called the Ernie Pyle, while the other was called Ernie Pyle's Milk Wagon (in reference to a quote of his calling the bombings of Japan "milk runs"). The library has a picture of the Ernie Pyle up on top of one of the windows:

And here it is in flight:

So, why a library? Why not, say, a museum? Well, there IS a museum--in his hometown of Dana, Indiana. After his death in 1945, and before his wife's passing that same year, Jerry Pyle (said wife) decided to give their house to the City of Albuquerque in order to honor his memory. There was a lot of back and forth, but one thing stood out above all else: Ernie was a private guy, and this was his home. According to an interview he once gave, he'd said that he built a house because he "needed a place to store his books"--and so what better way to commemorate his work than to fill his house with books?

The house was built in 1940, and as a library it has been in near-continuous use since 1948. It's now a national historic landmark, as well, and celebrates National Ernie Pyle Day every year. It is the second oldest library of the Albuquerque Bernalillo County Library System--the oldest being our Special Collections library--which makes it the very first satellite of the ABQ library system. The ABQ library system now boasts 19 locations. The Ernie Pyle branch is, still, the smallest.

It also has an Ernie Pyle G.I.Joe action figure on display, which is clearly the most important thing to note here:

I don't know how Ernie would feel about the fact that people come from all over the country to visit his home, but at just over 1000 square feet, it's the coziest library I've ever been in. I think it's really neat how history ties us together, and it seems pretty profound to me that Ernie Pyle was so dedicated to immortalizing the men who risked life and limb to fight a war that spanned the entire globe.

Not to mention the fact that I got to put up a lot of staff picks and displays, which was hella fun. Here I am with Moby Dyke and Chainsaw Man (top) and some pictures of one of my favorite silly displays (bottom):

(when is the best time to come out of the closet? ...when the coast is queer!)

I also got to make our holiday card this year! So, to all you WWII nerds, fandom or otherwise...

[decepti-thots]

while i'm talking about Whirl, one thing i've been meaning to talk about for ages just in a 'i am aware some people may not actually know this, and it hardly gets mentioned in fandom' is that Whirl in Interiors talking about briefly trying to change his name when he was a flight instructor at the flight academy is a reference to a passage in Bullets, which is in retrospect very obviously him:

Jetstream had taught him to recognize his inherent worthlessness. In front of the other cadets he'd always been supportive, but in private he would berate him for showing off and for getting ideas above his station. “You think you're something special?” he used to say. “You think you’re better than the rest, better than me, just because you can turn a few tricks? On a good day - on your best day - I’d say you were unremarkable.” Rotorstorm’s only response to Jetstream’s verbal abuse was to make jokes. If you can make light of the situation, he'd think, it can’t be as bad as it seems. Over time, Jetstream’s verbal abuse... evolved. On one occasion, Rotorstorm was pushed against a wall. On another, he was punched to the floor. Before long, he was on the receiving end of sustained and entirely unprovoked beatings. The worst day of Rotorstorm’s life - worse than the day war was declared; worse than the day of the Simanzi Massacre - was the day the IAA installed a Cryogenic Regeneration Chamber. He couldn't remember what he’d done to deserve that night's battering, but as he lay on the floor of the aircraft hangar, his torso freshly pummeled, his spinal strut bent at a right angle and his face reduced to a shallow bowl of oil and splinters, he saw something he would never forget: Jetstream was standing over him, fists clenched and head cocked, coolly appraising his options. And the look of exhilaration on his face as he wondered where to place the next punch had been terrifying. Rotorstorm had passed out before Jetstream had finished shoveling him into the CR Chamber, and had woken up the next day without a single scratch on his body. Jetstream had left overnight; he moved to a training facility in another province and later changed his name. Since then, Rotorstorm had seen him only once: he'd been sitting in the front row when Rotorstorm had been awarded the Novic Medal for Outstanding Valor, and he’d been clapping and cheering more loudly than anyone else.

and this is a really fascinating thing to consider for me because if you just describe the whole thing briefly in the abstract, it's gonna likely sound like one of two things:

whirl tried to turn over a new leaf with a new name, and it worked for a time but ultimately he couldn't and went back to his old life

whirl tried to turn over a new leaf with a new name, but he couldn't and was just as much of an aggro wildcard as ever so gave up

but this is... kind of not either of those, including the last one? whirl IS acting like the violent, bitter, unpredictable asshole we come to meet in MTMTE and know he was during the war, to an extent, but he's also clearly succesfully keeping up something of a facade of really inhabiting that 'not Whirl, nope, i'm a Normal Flight Instructor' in public. it's only to rotorstorm he's not, seemingly. (and even then, the way rotorstorm describes him here is... really cold and deliberate in a way that feels kind of different to what we see later.)

obviously it's. i mean it's SO deeply unpleasant, very effectively communicated in terms of how awful and traumatising that kind of thing is btw a+ but also Jesus Fucking Christ, but it also suggests to me a very specific experience Whirl is having in this period of his life that isn't quite either of those obvious choices. pokes at it. god. what the fuck is going through your head you terrible helicopter you.