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saphirered · 3 years ago

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Hey there! Can I please request a Percy x reader where Percy and the reader grew up together and she is a sorcerer of some kind and she helped Percy and Cassandra escape from the Briarwoods and they get separated but are reunited years later and the reader then starts travelling with Percy and Vox Machina. Also, can it based on the show because I haven't started watching the stream yet.

Went a little angsty with this one but we get a nice and wholesome end. Hope you enjoy it! 😘

Thankfully those closest to him outside of family are completely and utterly insignificant in the eyes of the Briarwoods. They didn’t hold the power, and those who did were easily disposed of or turned to their side. Sure there was a massacre, but those who submitted would at least live. Child of nobility resigned to nothing more than a servant. That too was a ploy. It takes guts to tell a boldfaced lie to the face of the people-no monsters who could make you beg for a swift death in so many ways. Guts or stupidity. Yet his friend still did and so Archie blended into the shadows, away from the dangers looming within the castle. The cook-dead. The child? Missing for a few days but turned up again. Yet that cook’s child; not Archie. No that would be you. You were resigned to the role of the help. Thank the gods you’re a fast learned and have uncanny survival instincts even though you sometimes are reckless.

Your fine silks and velvets had been exchanged for rags torn and stained. Instead of books you’d hold dirty dishes. Instead of ink staining your hands, they would be raw from the cleaning. Percy thought he’d cry when you entered that cell, head low, plate of food-if it could even be called that-in your hands. You’d kneel at his side, and if no one was near you’d hug him. You’d hold him and tell him everything would be alright. He came to realise that for those visits, for those times you’d come to comfort him when he needed it most you were risking it all. That alone made you braver than he could ever be. Then a fateful day came. Dinner was prepared for the devils in the castle. You’d had a personal hand in it. Not but waste would be fed to the prisoners. Potato skins, whatever meat left on the bones the good pieces were cut from, stale mouldy bread. You’d earned some trust, were given the key by the guard on duty because the proper meal you brought for them was much more appealing than escorting a child to a prison they couldn’t leave anyway and wait for a prisoner to eat.

From that moment on Percy realised you’d go to any lengths to make your promise to him come true; you’d get him out. He’d live a life beyond these walls. You’d poised the meals. It did little to the Briarwoods, obviously but it was plenty to knock a few people off their feet; including the guards in the dungeons. Instead of helping him through another terrible painful day of torture you’d open the door to his prison, to his sisters prison. You’d grab their hands and drag them through these haunted halls. It didn’t take too long before they caught on what happened and chase was given but you gave them enough of a window to escape, enough of a heads start to stand a chance against their torturers. All they had to do is make it to the river. They had to get past it. Lady Briarwood would not allow her darling husband to set foot near it and they’d be gone before anyone else could catch up. That was the plan. Until Ripley…

You fell first. The first shot, well aimed, meant to stop you from running. The second, that one was meant to hurt; the warning of the punishment you’d endure should you live long enough. You shouted for them to keep running. Shouted- no commanded through your pain for him to go. Ripley seemed to have little interest in you and next him and Cassandra had to dodge arrows. She too got hit. He still remembers the look in her eyes, as she fell, she begged him to save her and he ran. He wasn’t brave. He was selfish. He keeps telling himself she was beyond saving. Yet he knows the truth; he left her to die. He left you to die. Those are the moments that haunt his dreams even now. Years later he wakes from the nightmares. Wakes with the guilt and pain and regret and it haunts him.

He finds himself back in the pits of his rage. He finds himself wallowing in pain and driven by fury, commanded by another entity that promised him revenge. It hardly matters this comes at the cost of his soul. Souls are but worthless after all. His own misdeeds are worthy enough of damnation. He has nothing to lose. So he will end them. He will remember their names; remember the names of those they condemned to oblivion and will tear apart the villains of this story, even if that means he might become just like them. If his inventions cause the world to burn it will have been worth it for his vengeance. But then he remembers the people he’s grown to love, who see him for who he is, and even though they know not the full truth, he feels that spark of regret, quickly doused by the smoke demon within.

The brink of insurrection. They want a leader. Rebels scattered. He can’t be their leader. He’s driven by revenge. He was never meant to lead. His mind has no shortage of excuses why he can’t-won’t. Then he sees your eyes. Your eyes. You stare back at him. Is this a dream? Some twisted imagination? No. You’re here. You’re alive. It’s definitely you.

“Percival.” You breathe. You’d never expected to see him again. You’d hoped he’d ran far and never looked back yet here he stands. He’s grown quite a bit. Handsome too you suppose, but what were you to expect? Eyes still the same yet heavy with pain and haunted by past ghosts. You suspect you somewhat look the same. For a moment the somewhat stoic nature of the role you'd taken on the past years, falls away. You’re the first to move. You stand in front of him, toe to toe, study him as he does the same. He breathes your name, barely even audible, as you throw your arms around him. He returns your embrace albeit in disbelief.

“Is this real?” Percy whispers in your shoulder.

“I could ask you the same question.” You pull back, brushing your thumb over his cheek. The tightness in your throat grows. It’s been years. You’d hoped to never see him again, knowing where your fate lies. You hoped he’d found a new happy life for himself but here he is; haunted by the same demons you fight on the daily. You suppose you have the Briarwoods to thank for one thing; the powers you found. Even now you hear the ticking mechanics and the comforts of turning gears. It’s just a little louder in Percy’s presence even though no one but you hears it. Still, more pressing matters are at hand. Keeper Yennen tries to get the de Rolo heir to lead the rebellion but you know it’s not his place. Perhaps if he chose the path he’d one day make a good leader, but his current path leads elsewhere and he has no intentions to change. Though that doesn’t mean him and his merry band have no use for you and you for them. Archi still needs to be saved. You’d go in alone as was the plan, not wanting to risk a skirmish but with their aid, the odds look pretty good.

A planning sequence follows. Percy manages to shoot down the stupid plans of some of his companions but his eyes and mind drift to you occasionally. He applauds your patience and ability to take the others seriously despite their idiocies. Every once in a while your eyes will meet his and whatever brews in his heart and mind; the anger, willingness to let himself succumb in this plot for vengeance begins to come into question. Don’t get him wrong, he’ll do whatever it takes, but he might be just a little more inclined to intend to make it out alive, rather than walk into certain death. Perhaps that’s why he even entertains the prospects of working with the rebels to free Whitestone; not just because they’re an advantage to himself but to leave something behind, to give you a chance at life. Things move fast as he’s caught up in his own thoughts and before he knows it you’re off to save the real cook’s son Archi from the Briarwood’s lackeys.

Obviously things don’t go as planned entirely. Goodness of the heart leaves the others to decide and set free the other imprisoned rebels. He’d have left them. They complicate things and as proven; the leader is much more significant in this whole thing than a couple dozen of loose cannons looking for bloodshed and vengeance of their own against their wardens. It’s proven true as given by the fight that followed. The demon within sensed something. The demon within acted on it and so a name was crossed off. Percy got reckless- no the demon did. He simply lost control, became a victim to the whims of that dark power to fulfil the deal he made. The mask came on, and the name on that barrel disappeared. A life taken. He felt no regret, no remorse, only purpose, but when he turned that cursed weapon of his on his ally-his friend that made him feel a certain way, despite what he might have put forth.

Not much time can be spent to linger. Time to run. Time to fight. A move was made. Secrecy was off the table though Percy doubts it would have lasted much longer anyway. The Briarwoods knew they were coming. Let them see they were right. Let them see the threat. Smoke them out. But then a legion of undead raised, chased them and killed so many. Like rats trapped they had to scatter. You’d gone with him. You fought well, sure you were decently skilled with a sword; training you received as a child but it was your magic that stood out. You didn’t have that last he saw you. Chased and running, Vox Machina ends up being flanked but that doesn’t seem to be an issue to you. You stop. In your hand you spin a simple copper rod covered in some kind of script he can’t even begin to decipher and slam it in the ground. Save for the release of a wave of magical energy, nothing seems to happen. Nothing-until it does. The hoard of undead coming from behind through all streets and side alleys sent to chase you run against an invisible barrier.

You notice Percy has fallen to a halt as the others continue looking over their shoulder. Quick as you can you run, grabbing his hand as you dart past and drag him along with you. He says something but you don’t have the mind to listen; the ticking clockwork in your head too loud. Since you had fallen behind more undead have gotten between you and the rest of the group. Not a worrisome amount like the ones you’re keeping at bay for now, but enough to be a nuisance. Percys shoots, they drop like flies but not fast enough. So you do what any good magic user of your caliber would do and summon a bead of red energy in your palm, sling it at the undead and watch it explode in a blaze of glory, nothing but burning corpses left as you keep running.

Eventually you get a moment of respite. A moment to recover. Everyone catches their breath, This is going from bad to worse and the odds aren’t looking good. The rebels hide, a safe-house gives them some cover and a moment to rest though Percy doubts it’ll last long. There’s no way back, there’s only forward or death. Once again they try to urge him to lead, take up the mantle left by his family, kept by his people but he can’t- no won’t. They can’t make him. He sees you in a corner, looks at you while he responds. He expected some kind of disappointment, or even have you try to urge him to take his rightful spot but you don’t, you don’t say anything, nor is there judgement in your eyes. Instead he sees your weariness. Your exhaustion doesn’t come from your escape from the undead. It comes from the years you’ve been fighting to survive, fighting for freedom. You’ve given your all and you’re running out. The end is in sight, sure but the chances of success are abysmally low. You’ve proven yourself one of the leading parties, and it’s worn you down. You’ll be right at the front lines, first to the slaughter of this disaster. He can’t let that happen. He won’t condemn you to a death that can be avoided.

“A word, please?” Percy approaches you as you wrap an injury you sustained. Your attention turns to him and with a wordless nod you follow him into another room of the building. As mannered as you remember him, he holds the door for you, and steps in after, closing the door as he does. You wander around the room, picking up trinkets here and there, placing them back where they belonged. You wait. Percy reminds himself he’s the one that called you here.

“Leave Whitestone.” No use in dancing around the subject, is there?

“What?” You turn to look at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Leave Whitestone. Run while you still can. You showed you can keep these creatures at bay. You’re more than capable of getting out on your own before the streets run red with blood. Save yourself while you still have the opportunity to do so.” Disappointment. Like a spear to his chest you look at him the way he had never hoped to see, not from you.

“I’m not going to run, Percy. I can’t leave behind these people.” You counter, a hint of disdain in your voice despite you trying to simmer it.

“You’ve already given enough for this cause. I’m asking you to live.”

“Are you going to take my spot then? Are you going to lead the rebels in our fight for freedom while I go off galavanting through Exandria? For years I’ve stood with them, fought with them and held them as they took their last breath. I know my value to them, and I won’t just abandon them, like you’re asking me to. I’m here to make a change.”

“Is that why you saved me then? To take your place in this worthless war? Is it too much for me to ask you to save yourself and not be so self-sacrificial for once in your life?” Percy ridicules. Stupid sense of righteousness. It doesn’t matter if you’re dead in the end. Your memory won’t be but ashes upon the wind. You won’t die the hero you are. You won’t become a martyr. You’ll just be dead. Another soul lost in another futile battle. Another corpse for the ravens to feast upon.

“I saved you so you could have a chance at a life of your choosing. Not because I needed you to pick up arms to lead a rebellion. I’d hoped you of all people would give me that same luxury; to choose. This is my choice, Percival. My choice. I’ll pick up the sword especially if you won’t.” Words like venom poison him and his next response. Driven by anger, perhaps not at you directly, but are you deserving of it? No you are not. Still he lets it go because even if he loses all your respect and love for him; at least you’ll be alive if he can convince you to leave. Then again, you are more stubborn than he is.

“And you’ll die with it too! Can’t you see this only ends in ruin?” Percy all but shouts.

“Of course I do!” You return with the same gravity but then your look softens to something he hates much more than your own anger. It changes to what can only be as someone who’s come to terms with an inevitable end. Someone who’s made peace with it and has done so a long time ago. He hates it. He hates you’ve reached that point, even though he is very much in the same boat. Two sides of the same coin. He’s shown exactly how similar you’ve become despite your different paths here.

“I will lay down my life to give these people a chance. Not for my own survival, but for the people who would be next. But most of all I want blood. I will make the Briarwoods bleed for every soul they took, every life they ruined and even then it wouldn’t be enough but at least the world will be rid of them and those lost names will have been avenged. I refuse to run.” The silence that follows is killing. The tension even worse as you study Percy’s every expression. You watch that familiar pain spark to a flame, a hint of anger; not at you, though but at something within himself, then it turns to embers and all that is left is a sadness, acceptance, defeat. His head lowers as he takes in a deep long breath, holds it and breathes out. He nods. You wait.

“I suppose you’re right. Righteous I should say. Even on your own road to revenge you manage to consider the living. Not just the dead. You’ve always been the better person.”

“If only you knew my misdeeds of the past years.” You manage a dry laugh.

“And if only you knew mine but let’s not turn this into a pain game.” He retorts mimicking your laugh. “If I can’t convince you to run and save yourself, will you at least entertain the thought of staying with me to see this through?” He beats himself for suggesting it, knowing the monster that will come out to claim those on his list and wanting to keep you far away from it, but he’d also rather have you at his side, knowing wether you’ll be alright or not than have you at the front lines of a head-on attack heavily outnumbered. Both lead to potential death, he’s well aware but perhaps with this one he could assure some survival through his friends. And let’s be honest he’d rather have you to have his back than the bard.

“You want me to come with you?” You think out loud.

“I’d feel safer knowing I’d have you there to help me erase the Briarwoods existence for good and I certainly wouldn’t be opposed if you decided to stick around after, even if just to celebrate.” Percy admits. The pained undertone in his voice remains, but his statement couldn’t be more genuine. He speaks truth. you know that. The implication of going back to some semblance of normal is both exciting and frightening. So much has changed, and are you even remotely the same people? It doesn’t matter you suppose. You can relearn each other and let bloom something new from what was viciously torn away by the devils in the castle. But then you are reminded; Percy has a life to. He found friends, he built his life and yes it might be built on a desire of vengeance, everything he built doesn’t just fade once he’s completed his goal. Neither is yours but you know just like everyone else in your life, they have their own to rebuild. You’ve already lost everything. The life you had is nothing but ashes and that means you can determine where your future leads. But does that future lie with Percy?

“And your friends, they’d be fine with that? I don’t want to impose on your group.” Percy would call your sudden insecurity at the idea of joining his friends, cute if you did not once kicked his arse for calling you so. You’d fit in well with them, he knows that for sure. Though, it’s the thought of having you in his life again, getting to rebuild from the ashes you both share, together. You can do this together, and if anything he fears he might just be more likely to crumble without you in his life. Your sole presence keeps him on track.

“They’ve already grown to like you in our brief adventure. I’m sure that won’t change in the next one. They could use someone like you in their lives and I’m sure our resident cleric could do with another moral compass in the group. Besides, nothing screams forced bonding like a probable death mission, does it.” He manages that half smile of him. You purse your lips and for a second his heart sinks, thinking you’d say no. You don’t say anything. Instead, in a flash of movement you’ve thrown your arms around his middle, burying your head into his chest and hold on. Percy’s shoulders lower from that proper posture he’d been trained to always portray, and he finds himself at ease, gently wrap his arms around you and kiss your crown before leaning his chin atop it.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Your muffled laugh is enough of a reply for him. You’ll join into the chaos that is Vox Machina. You’re in for a wild ride, wether you know it or not but Percy will gladly take your hand and drag you through it. He’ll be there for you, no matter what, same as you’ve been there for him. Still a dark cloud lingers. A final battle, for now. There’ll be countless battles to come in your future but you may face them together. Whatever dares stand in your ways; you will face it together.

#critical role x reader #vox machina x reader #tlovm x reader #percy de rolo x reader #percy x reader #percival de rolo x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critical role imagine #percival x reader #percival de rolo #percy de rolo #legend of vox machina #vox machina #critical role x y/n #tlovm x you

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backjustforberena · 2 years ago

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I do struggle a little when I see people claim that Rhaenys is a hypocrite for her speech to Alicent. Although they are both women and both are under a patriarchal society their experiences are vastly different which gives an opening for Rhaenys to say what she does.

First of all, Rhaenys got to choose her spouse which was something Alicent wasn’t afforded. Alicent has been pretty much treated like a pawn by every man in her life, who always make decisions behind her back. That isn’t the case with Rhaenys and even decisions that are made that she doesn’t agree with it’s never behind her back?

I don’t see their trajectories to be similar at all for there to be claims of hypocrisy.

It’s definitely something that I struggle with, and, you know, I’m very open and if someone does see that quote as being hypocritical from Rhaenys then I’d love for them to explain that to me so I can try and see it from that perspective. I don’t think it would ever change my mind with my gut feeling of: it’s absolutely not, but I’m sort of endlessly fascinated by other viewpoints and how that conclusion has been come to by them... if that makes sense?

Criticisms that I’ve seen of Rhaenys, specifically, such as people believing Rhaenys was trying to take Rhaenyra down during that conversation in Episode 02, or people believing she doesn’t love all her grandkids, and the whole debate over Rhaenys not necessarily unequivocally giving her full support to Rhaenyra before Episode 10 and not kneeling at the coronation and all of that - all of those criticisms, I feel don’t hold up. And actually do the character a disservice in terms of complexity because it just distils everything down into being for or against Rhaenyra.

The emotions that come with Rhaenyra being heir and the events and emotions that Rhaenys goes through during the course of the series, then having to choose sides are sort of disregarded in that pursuit of blind loyalty? That’s how I feel seeing a lot of the things said.

But back to the quote. It did honestly surprise me to see opinions calling Rhaenys a hypocrite. I suppose I was shocked because I didn’t see it as Rhaenys trying to measure Alicent against herself as any sort of example of feminist agency. I don’t believe that Rhaenys was sort of... encapsulating the entirety of Alicent’s life, with that, and that she’s willingly inviting that contrast of: look at you, but look at me. As you say, there are many differences between the pair of them: Alicent didn’t choose her spouse, Alicent still has that paternal influence being exerted by Otto, she’s been kept out of certain choices and decisions. Even in terms of age, experiences, and their standing in the nobility and the trajectory of their class and standing in court... it’s all so different so that to invite comparison soley on the qualities of them living in the same time/place and both being women... I can’t do it. Not broadly, at least.

Just a quick thing, one point that comes out of calling Rhaenys a hypocrite is saying that she toils in service to Corlys and did as he said, in the previous episode, despite not agreeing, over the succession of Driftmark - that’s absolutely misses the point of Rhaenys in that moment. Totally and absolutely, for me. And I won’t go into that (but I would if you asked).

Overall, for me, the hook in that line is what proceeds it, what invites it, perhaps even more so than the line itself. That’s the context. And that is Alicent saying: “A true Queen counts the cost to her people.” That’s what makes Rhaenys almost scoff and say that line. That’s why we can do the contrast because we can contrast them both within the role of Queen. Queen Consort & the Queen That Never Was, and how they relate to the notion of a true Queen. True power. And made all the more important by this idea of the succession hanging between them.

Rhaenys, during the course of the scene, is trying to see what Alicent is made of, trying figure her out and then, ultimately, trying to unbalance her. It’s a comparison of power, yes. It’s a comparison of position, yes. And a comparison of ambition - Rhaenys once imagined herself on the Iron Throne. Alicent never has because she doesn’t see it as possible for herself. But Rhaenys has spent so much time never really paying attention to Alicent, and this is the scene where Rhaenys sees Alicent as a player, as someone who understands the order of things (albeit not to subvert them, but that’s by-the-by) as someone who sees what Rhaenys’s true wishes would be in order to make that offer. She sees Alicent is wise. Now she needed to figure out what Alicent is going to do with that awareness.

Alicent does toil. I think that that should be something basic we can agree on. Rhaenys, however much her circumstances have been shaped by men or however many opportunities have been denied her by men... I really, honestly, don’t think you could ever say she toiled in service. At any point.

Anyway, I’m going to stop there otherwise I’ll write a whole essay! Thank you for the ask!

#alicent hightower #rhaenys targaryen #house of the dragon

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years ago

Text

I Burn For You

***So THIS has been stuck in my head all day and I just- I love it. I love it so much. And it reminded me...So you guys all know how I hate/love Lucifer...it gave me those vibes. So........... Well I haven't written anything actually relevant to The Facade of the Suitor or anything else that I've been procrastinating, I have been able to push out this little short inspired by this beauty of a duet that is EVERYTHING to me. -B***

Summary: Since MC's arrival, Lucifer and them have never fully gotten along. There was always a large, unknown and undiscussed tension between them and they were fine to keep it that way. But when MC's security in the Devildom is threatened by both the angels and the nobility of the Devildom itself, everything changes. As a ruse to persuade the celestial realm, MC and Lucifer wed. After the ceremony, they finally talk about the unacknowledged feelings burning inside of both of them.

MC x Lucifer

The air hung heavy and thick like the gold bands that now decorated both of your fingers.

You and Lucifer stood on opposite sides of the room, your backs facing one another with nothing but silence between you.

You couldn't help but reminisce on how you got here, on your supposed 'honeymoon' married to none other but the prideful, arrogant, avatar of sin, Lucifer Morningstar himself.

Diavolo had burst into the House of Lamentation an entire month ago. He desperately explained how the angels had received word about you through the fond, innocent-intending, stories of Luke and we're demanding that you be 'released' from your 'imprisonment in the infernal Devildom and that they wished to cleanse you of the 'hellish corruption' the demons had 'forced upon you' through your pacts. Wanting to avoid yet another Celestial War, even on a small scale, the noble court had wanted to agree and simply hand you over to them, cut your pacts, and banish you from returning as an act of agreement and co-operation with the angels.

Obviously, this didn't sit well with you or any of the brothers.

You had all tried to come up with a number of plans, but they all promised retaliation from the angels.

Eventually, it was Lucifer himself who begrudgingly came up with the final plan. The angels wouldn't believe you if you simply told them that you liked it here and wanted to stay. They'd think you were charmed or manipulated. However, if the two of you worked together, and pretended to be in a relationship, convince the angels of your 'genuine' feelings and prove to them that you were in love, and finalize this by marrying Lucifer, it just might work.

First of all, love was something that had sparked war in the past, that both sides had learned from and had grown to deeply treasure and value. Secondly, Micheal, head Archangel of the Celestial Realm, trusted Lucifer the most of all the brothers. The two of you could take advantage of that use it to convince him that you were actually safer in the Devildom by Lucifer's side. And finally, if you were willingly bound by marriage, there was very little that the Celestial Realm could do to force you to leave.

The plan wasn't terrible, but there was one thing about it that caused you to clench your fists and grind your teeth: it was with Lucifer.

Lucifer who constantly teased you and pushed your buttons in a way that he knew would cause you to either give in to him or snap.

Lucifer who was cruel and sadistic and did nothing unless there was some personal gain or it was under the demand of his precious Diavolo.

Lucifer who never ever put anything before his own stupid pride.

Though you were normally a calm and positive person, there was just something about Lucifer that had always caused an inferno of anger and rebellion to burn within you. You felt this strong need to constantly prove him wrong and to defy him.

As a result, the two of you consistently butted heads, arguing about Lucifer's treatment of his brothers and your recklessness on an almost weekly basis.

The idea of being chained to this...this demon for the rest of your mortal life caused your stomach to twist tightly into knots. Though, if it ensured you'd be able to stay with the rest of your found family? You'd make the necessary sacrifice.

So the two of you did the whole show. You went on dates, smiled and laughed together as though you were the lead roles in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and played every card in the book to convince the angels that you were safe and happy under the kind watch of your lover.

Those weeks had started off painful, as you pushed back all feelings of disdain for the eldest brother to play the role of the perfect partner. But as time passed, you hadn't noticed that it had become easier and easier to stay by his side. The smiles you gave him were no longer forced, but sincere ones that brought joy. The lines between what was real and what was fake began to blur.

You sealed the deal with your wedding only a few hours ago.

The vows Lucifer had spoken...promising to watch and protect you even as your skin wrinkled and your hair grew grey. To hold your hand and aid you when you no longer had the strength. To shower you in love and devotion even in your final hours.

They had been spoken with such passion and raw emotion that you didn't dare think too deeply about. It had caused your breath to catch in your throat, and you had to remind yourself that this was all an act. Soon the curtain would close, and Lucifer would return to the cold-hearted monster that you knew.

Yet even now, hours after the ceremony had finished, you couldn't get that intense gaze, and the sparks that exploded under your fingertips as his hands gently squeezed yours, out of your head.

Lucifer sighed from the other side of the room and glanced over at you. "Are we just going to continue ignoring each other?"

You scoffed and turned your head further away; ignoring the loud pounding of your heart and instead focusing on the flickers of frustration licking up your gut. "What else are we supposed to do? There's no one else around. The act is over."

You whirled around at his sarcasm and could practically feel the wrath blazing behind your eyes. "Sorry, my Lord, if I'm not exactly giddy about the fact that I just signed myself to the likes of you just for the approval of some fluffy winged assholes!"

You could practically hear Lucifer roll his eyes as he walked over to the liquor cart and poured himself a drink. "Right. So you just plan to spend the entirety of the weekend that Micheal paid for us brooding in a corner? How mature of you."

Lucifer, the fucker, had the gull to act unphased and casually swirled his drink in his hand. "It could be much, much worse," he took a sip of the amber liquid before staring down in his glass. "It's not as though you didn't agree to this."

"Only because I didn't want to be kicked out of the Devildom and never allowed to see your brothers again!" You growled. Your anger only grew as you noticed him clench his fingers tighter around the glass. You groaned and ran a hand through your hair. "This was a stupid plan! You probably just invented this entire ruse as yet another way to get under my skin. Well congratulations, Lucifer. You win!"

You refused to look at him, as you turned your heated gaze out the window.

You didn't see the flash of hurt that washed over his expression, nor hear the way his breath caught in his throat. "Is being married to me truly that awful? Are you honestly telling me that you haven't enjoyed even a single second of this past month?"

You tensed and crossed your arms over your chest, as you continued to avoid looking at him. "What kind of question is that? You're a demon who cares about nothing but himself," you pursed your lips and mentally tried to deny just how wrong those words felt on your tongue.

"I wouldn't say that's true. Believe it or not, I do care for my brothers." There was a shaky breath, one so uncharacteristic for the confident Morningstar, before he continued. "And you. I did promise to love you until your final breath after all, and I do not break my promises."

There was silence once again. Though this quiet seemed to crackle with the anticipation for something, though neither of you quite knew what.

You closed your eyes, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in your heart at his words. "Those vows were only part of the act. They weren't real."

"Perhaps not for you," your eyes snapped open at the response. You looked back at the demon. Lucifer stood leaning against the wall, drink still in hand, as he stared intensely at the floor. "This may have all been an act for you, MC, but it stopped being a ruse for me mere hours after we began."

You felt yourself frown as you stared at him. Your traitor heart dared to grow warm with hope, only adding fuel to the growing frustration inside you. "You're lying. You're just trying to get me worked up again."

"Actually, I'm not," his eyes met yours and it felt as though time froze. His expression was so unguarded, so honest. For once, you looked into his eyes and you could see every emotion that he wore openly before you. You could see the hurt, the certainty, and most of all the same passionate love that shone so brightly in them throughout the ceremony. "From the moment I met you, you caused a fire to ignite in my heart. I was determined to control you and to make you be the human representative for Diavolo. But then, you acted against me, and that changed. I still wanted to make sure that you fulfilling your purpose in the exchange program, but I took on the challenge of finally having you respect and listen to me. You were stubborn and fierce, yet so beautifully driven and I admired that." your eyes widened at the admission. "It wasn't until I was forced to look at you in a romantic light for this scheme that I understood the true nature of these feelings. It wasn't that I wanted to control you, or break you, or shape you into what I needed. It was so much deeper, so much more dangerous than that. I wanted to have you fall in love for me, as I had fallen for you, and make you mine."

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you don't feel the same. I've accepted that. But I...I'm done with acting like this isn't real for me. I refuse to pretend that there's nothing there between us any longer."

He finally broke eye contact, looking back at his now empty glass as you practically gaped at him. Love. Lucifer...loved you? You gulped and took a step towards him, "Lucifer..."

The fire burning within you consumed you as your face heated up. "You...You love me? You actually love me?"

You flinched as he glared sharply at you. "Don't rub it in."

You didn't know what to make of that. You weren't sure what to make of any of this. Your feelings towards Lucifer had changed over the past month, but you had assumed that was simply part of the act. But if everything he had done and said as you two were pretending to be a couple was real, then what did that mean for you?

What did that mean for the way the sight of him caused your heart to skip? Or the way his rare smiles never failed to make you smile back? Or the unwavering sense of comfort and security that he provided?

What did that mean for the ruthless, scalding fire that he had always caused to rage inside you? You always assumed it was anger, but what if...

You gasped in realization. "I burn for you."

The demon tensed as he blinked in confusion. "You...I'm sorry, you what?"

You moved closer to him, each step more certain than the last, as you shakily spoke the words that rang through you. "I burn for you, Lucifer. I don't know entirely what it means myself, but ever since we met you've caused this irrational passion and drive to sear inside of me. I-I had always assumed it was hatred. You're so infuriating. Every word you speak does nothing but cause that fire to flare brighter within in. Every action leaves me filled with sparks of restless energy that won't be satiated until I combust at you," as you now stood nearly toe to toe with him, you grabbed his hand and placed it over your roaring heart. Hope flickered like a candle in the darkness of his black eyes. "I had thought that this couldn't be anything other than anger and hatred. I refused to believe even the possibility that it could be anything else. But this past month you...you were honest and almost kind and vulnerable. Your teasing didn't make me want to punch you, but rather made me laugh. You showed me a side of you that I didn't even know existed. I...I think-"

You were cut off by a finger on your lips. Lucifer looked down at you with a stern, cold expression. The action paired with that face would've caused you to become infuriated by his audacity and superiority complex in the past. But now you could see past it, and could see it for what it truly was: a carefully crafted barrier that hid his most vulnerable feelings and protected him. "If you do not mean the words you were about to say, if you are pitying me, I must demand that you stop here. Do not say those words unless you truly mean them," his deep voice was tinged with distrust and caution.

You held his gaze as you kissed the pad of the finger against your lips and whispered gently, "Lucifer, I think that I love you."

Suddenly your lips were captured in his as he pulled you close and ever so adoringly cupped your face. For the first time since meeting him, the flames inside you were extinguished by the cold touch of his hands on your face and the surprising gentleness of his affection.

His hand slid from your face and came to rest on your shoulder as his eyes widened. His gaze scanned your expression for any traces of falsehood or insincerity. You could hear the breath leave his lungs as he found none.

He softly kissed his temple, effectively hiding his face as it grew redder and whispered, "Of course, beloved."

Lucifer laughed as he pulled away, his thumb caressing your cheek, as he smiled. "To think it only took us getting married to realize it," you laughed as you felt happy tears prick the corners of your eyes. Lucifer sighed in content as rested his forehead against yours. "Remind me to send a thank you to, Micheal."

You hummed and nuzzled closer to him as you rested your head on his shoulder. "Forget Micheal. He's still an asshole as far as I'm concerned. Instead, focus on me. On us. I want to learn everything about you, about the real you," you smiled as he looked down at you with flushed cheeks. "My husband, Lucifer Morningstar."

You couldn't help but wonder how you had been so oblivious to your true feelings as a shiver ran down your spine and warmth spread throughout your chest simultaneously.

This honest and pure love between the two of you, was new, yet it felt so familiar, and it was abundantly clear to both of you that the depth of those feelings would only become clearer and clearer in time as the fires of your love only grew.

***Gasp. I actually finished something. Would you look at that. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this little fic! Thank you so much for your support during my hiatus and for being so understanding. I love you guys! Thanks again for reading!***

Taglist: @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @lovelymushi @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 2 years ago

Text

Confessions of an Imperial Concubine

Chapter Four: The Seventh Night

AO3 Author’s note/glossary/info one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

Leave me on the tracks to wait until the morning train arrives; don’t you dare look back. Walk away, catch up with the sunrise. ‘Cause this is torturous electricity between both of us. And this is dangerous, ‘cause I want you so much, but I hate your guts.- Daughter, Landfill

Sera wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t been hungry over the past week, and she hadn’t had the motivation to do more than sleep with occasional breaks for reading. As it turned out, there was a pretty substantial library not too far from her room, and she’d piled her arms high with books after her dinner with the Emperor.

He’d summoned her to dinner again the following evening, though she’d declined with the assumption that, based on his wording the night before, she wouldn’t be punished for her refusal. Even if she were, though, what did it matter?

On Beakkal, she had purpose. Her siblings needed her. Well, alright. Her older brother, Ronan, had two children of his own and most certainly didn’t need her to look after him, but her six younger siblings relied heavily upon her for their survival. Who was teaching Adair to read? Who was making sure little Sorcha ate more than just bread?

What purpose did Sera serve here? She wasn’t about to jump into bed with the man who’d caused more deaths than she could count, so what good could she be to him?

On this evening, she was sitting in a chair in her room with a book in her lap, the soft, sheer fabric—lace, it was called, so she had learned—of her nightgown bunched up around where she’d tucked her feet under her. It didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination— in fact, it left nothing whatsoever to the imagination, but that didn’t matter. No one bothered knocking on her door to disturb her anymore.

Except, she suddenly recalled at the swift raps on the other side of the painted wood, the nightly dinner messenger.

Every night, the messenger knocked on her door and told her she’d been summoned for dinner. Every night, she declined without opening the door, and the messenger left.

On this night, however—her seventh night—, there was no voice accompanying the knock. Instead, the door opened, and before Sera could voice her very strong objections, the Emperor stepped through, looking somewhat agitated as his eyes searched the room for her. Once his gaze found hers, however, he suddenly seemed… concerned?

No, of course not. Of course he wouldn’t be concerned. Never mind the fact that he barely knew her— she’d tried to kill him, which she assumed would prevent him from developing any concern for her well-being.

When he strode over to her with a sort of arrogance she’d long since come to associate with nobility, she was very grateful indeed that the room didn’t have enough light for him to see her properly, because he would’ve seen entirely too much of her for her liking, thank you very much.

The Emperor stopped in front of her, snatched her book from her hands—he didn’t even let her mark her spot, the absolute bastard—and said, “Get up. You need to eat. And bathe.”

Sera frowned. “What business of that is yours?” she demanded sharply. He was silent, though she could feel his gaze prickling her skin, so she spoke again. “I’m not hungry and I’ll bathe whenever I please. Anything else, your Imperial Majesty?”

She addressed him by his title, but with none of the reverence that usually came with it, so she wasn’t terribly surprised that this seemed to irritate him.

“Alright then.” His tone was suspiciously casual, and Sera might’ve been more concerned if she were able to muster up enough motivation to care about anything, which she neither could nor would. She most certainly should have been concerned, however, because it was at that moment that the Emperor apparently decided that the best course of action was to yank her out of the chair and throw her over his shoulder, which was precisely what he did.

“What are you—“

He wrapped an arm firmly around her legs, paying no mind to her frantic kicks or to the rough scratches she tried to dig into his back with her nails. He carried her through the room’s small archway into its attached washroom, and before she knew it, the sound of running water was echoing off the beautifully painted tiles. As the bathtub faucet ran, the Emperor kept Sera in his grasp and walked around the room, ignoring her objections and grabbing things to, from the way it sounded, toss into the bathtub.

He turned the water off, and Sera was still shouting at him to stop whatever the hell he thought he was doing and put her down immediately when she found herself being unceremoniously dropped into the full bathtub. She didn’t take the time to appreciate the sweet-smelling water or how deep the large, sunken tub was below the floor, instead staring up at the Emperor in furious shock.

He wasn’t looking at her face, but rather below it, and she wondered at that, glancing down at herself to see what he was so interested in that might bring out the small dusting of red that had spread across his infuriatingly high cheekbones. To her absolute horror, the white lace of her nightgown was now entirely transparent and the normally loose, billowing fabric was clinging wetly to her skin, her breasts right there for him to see.

Humiliated beyond all measure—the man she hated more than any other in the far corners of the Universe, both Known and otherwise, was staring at her body—, Sera covered her breasts with her arms. Unfortunately for her, her arms did not adequately cover her, as her bust had always been on the larger side. Thankfully, her lower body was completely hidden under the copious amount of soap bubbles that sat on top of the water. She lowered herself deeper into the water so that only her head was visible.

For reasons unknown, this seemed to amuse the Emperor, which she found both perplexing and infuriating.

“Alright,” he finally said once she’d obscured her body from his view, kneeling down and reaching out to her, “let’s get that nightgown off of you.”

“Excuse me?!” Sera demanded sharply, scrambling further away from him, pressing her back against the wall of the tub.

He shrugged. “Either you take it off or I do. Your choice.”

“No! Stop looking at me!” she demanded shrilly.

“I said I wouldn’t touch you until you wanted me to,” he reminded her. “I never said I wouldn’t look at you. I’m not a monk.” She gaped at him in horror, and he added, “And anyway, it’s only natural for me to look at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, don’t you think?”

Her face reddened at his disgustingly lecherous degeneracy. “No! Get out!”

This seemed to irritate him. Likely because he was a spoiled brat who hadn’t been told ‘no’ in a very, very long time. She was just starting to enjoy the fact that she’d annoyed him when he said, “If my memory serves, this contract between us binds you to me, not the other way around.”

She froze, knowing what he meant by that: I don’t take orders. I give them.

What was he going to do to her? Had she annoyed him so much he’d force her? The others had insisted he’d never done that and never would, true, but how many of them had made their hatred of him abundantly clear, refused all interaction with him, and demanded he leave their presence? Maybe he was now offended enough that he felt the need to prove he was better than her.

Sera was fairly certain she’d forced all the fear from her face and voice when she said, “Will you at least turn around, please?”

A slight quirk of his lips followed by a soft chuckle—more of an exhalation, really—, and he said, “I can respect your wishes.”

He turned around as she’d requested, though he chose to sit cross-legged on the floor by the tub.

“I wish you’d leave me alone,” she muttered as she reached into the water to find the lacy hem.

“What was that?” the Emperor asked. She could most definitely hear the grin in his voice, the smug prick.

“Nothing,” she grumbled in annoyance, the word holding more bite than it really ought to if she were to get him to do what she wanted. It was difficult for her to be manipulative when he was so damn infuriating. She kept losing her head around him and forgetting herself.

Sera didn’t take her eyes off of his form as she peeled her nightgown from her body and threw the dripping ball of fabric onto the floor. Before he could react and turn back around, she sank into the water again, gathering the bubbles up to cover her body. Some of them had popped with all of her movement, however, so while she managed to get them to cover a decent amount of her form, the tops of her breasts were still visible. If only the damn things wouldn’t float.

He turned back around and examined her face closely, a slight frown marring his offensively beautiful features. After a few seconds of her waiting for him to attack her and him staring back at her pensively, he said, “I’m going to arrange for you to visit Beakkal.”

Sera’s eyes widened in shock. “W— what?”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked slowly, her voice laced with suspicion.

He shrugged one slender shoulder. “You’re unhappy.” When she did nothing but stare at him in response, he went on. “I have no desire for you to be unhappy, Sera.”

Sera doubted very much that he actually gave a damn about her happiness, so she lifted her chin and said, “And what do you ask for in return?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and her stomach dropped at the sight.

“That you return after no more than two weeks.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

He shook his head. “I would like you to have dinner with me when I ask unless you are genuinely ill, in which case I’ll send a doctor to look in on you.” A pause. “I’d also like for you to take better care of yourself, and for you to spend time with me.”

“Spend time with you,” she parroted back.

He nodded. “I will request it of you on occasion.”

Sera narrowed her eyes at him again. What the hell was he trying to pull?

“I don’t have to do anything else?” she clarified.

He shook his head again, his hair falling in his eyes. “Not if you don’t want to.”

She considered this for several seconds. The benefits appeared to outweigh the drawbacks.

“Alright,” she finally agreed. Then, very reluctantly, she added, “Thank you.”

He smiled at her then, and although it was a rather small one, it occurred to her that his beauty was greatly amplified when he smiled. “If you ever want anything,” he told her softly, “all you have to do is ask.” She stared at him in shock that was only intensified when he said, “I’d give you anything you wanted, anything you asked me for.”

Before she could respond, the Emperor stood and walked out of the room, leaving her alone in her bath.

Upon hearing this news, the other women were shocked, to say the least. Contrary to the casual manner in which he had proposed it to Sera, it would seem that an Emperor letting his concubine return home, even just for a visit, was simply unheard of. As she prepared to leave, she tried not to think too hard about how he had been giving her special attention over the others. Or about the sincerity that had replaced the usual smugness in his smile when she thanked him.

Beakkal was already doing so much better than it had been when Sera saw it last. The incompetent officials had been replaced with better ones, the infrastructure was being worked on, the streets were being paved. Paved streets! Paved streets in her very own hometown!

Perhaps most noteworthy, however, or at least most noteworthy for Sera herself, was the fact that her family had been relocated to a large, fancy house in the upscale part of town. Moreover, they’d been given a great deal of money. They had servants, their own rooms, clothes made of fabric they hadn’t woven themselves, and all the food they could ever desire.

Sera was so glad to be home. There was now enough space for her father to do his woodwork, her mother to… do whatever it was she did when she wasn’t bothering Sera (and there were now more than enough places for Sera to run off to when she needed to escape), and for the five of her siblings still living at home to do whatever they wished.

She spent most of her time reading and being with her family. They wanted to know all about the new Atreides Emperor and the life she now had in his home. She was honest with her father and her sister, Maeve, who was closest to her in age by only being a year younger, but any of the others would be worried for her, and they were too young to hear about such things anyway. Instead, she just told them that she was living with the Emperor, who had become her friend and had made it so that their family could afford a new house and all the things that came with it.

The two weeks were flying by without Sera’s notice. One afternoon, she was sitting on the playroom floor with her one-year-old sister, Sorcha, in her lap as she read a children’s book to her and her nephew, Kye, who was Sorcha’s age, and her niece, Brianna, who was not quite three. Sera’s older brother, Ronan, was most relieved to have her home; he lived next door to their family—now in an estate instead of a tiny house with crumbling walls—and felt much better leaving his two children with her instead of their recently hired nanny.

Sorcha was leaning back against Sera, and Kye was nestled into her side while Brianna clutched her arm. She wasn’t sure if she’d missed them more or if it was the other way around.

She wasn’t paying attention to the door, so she was very surprised indeed when Brianna glanced up and exclaimed, “Wow, Auntie Sera! You were right!” Sera looked at the little girl and was about to ask what she meant when she pointed at the door and said, “He is the most beautiful man ever!”

Sera turned to face the door with wide, horrified eyes, only to see none other than the Emperor himself standing there, clearly trying very hard not to laugh.

“I— I never said that,” she stuttered out nervously, stunned.

Unfortunately for Sera, there was nothing Brianna disliked more than lies. “Yes you did!” Brianna insisted, frustration lacing her voice. “You said he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your entire life!”

This was very regrettable indeed because Sera had most definitely made that exact remark to her siblings earlier. In her defense, however, Brianna had asked point blank if the Emperor was handsome.

The man in question was still trying very hard not to smile, his lips twitching when he addressed Brianna. “I have to take your Auntie with me for a while, okay?”

Brianna stood, walked over to the Emperor, and stared up at him in an attempt to discern his intentions regarding her aunt.

“Okay,” she finally said decidedly, nodding slightly.

“You can come back in another few months,” he told Sera softly as they left the room, one of the servants coming to look after the children in her place. “Or they can come visit anytime you like.” She looked at him skeptically, outright raising her eyebrows at him when he added, “For as long as you like.”

Sera packed her belongings and said her goodbyes, ending every hug with a kiss on the cheek. She didn’t address her mother at all, only nodding at her once and walking out the door.

She and the Emperor were making their way towards his ship when he said, “You think I’m beautiful?”

Sera bristled, her face reddening, and she snapped, “Shut up,” while steadfastly refusing to look at him.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he told her cheerfully.

Her blush intensified enough that she likely invented a new shade of red. She walked faster, doing her damndest to ignore him.

Once back at the palace, she was settling back into her room and sorting through the various finger paintings she’d been given by her youngest family members, when the Emperor knocked and entered.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

She nodded, examining five-year-old Aisling’s strange idea of a flower.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly without looking up at him. “I don’t know why you did that for me, but…” A slow, deep breath. “I am grateful.”

Footsteps.

“I’m glad it made you happy,” came his voice from right behind her.

Sera stared at the flower—its stem and leaves were bright pink—and still didn’t look at him.

“Was there anything else you needed, Your Majesty?” she asked, finally lifting her gaze to his, only to find him smiling down softly at her.

“No, but…” he trailed off briefly. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

Sera frowned. Had she done something wrong? Was she going to be punished for using his proper title? She hadn’t even been using sarcasm that time!

“It’s… what you are,” she said slowly, confusion permeating her voice.

He was looking at her very strangely, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle. “Not to you.”

Ah, she thought in realization. There must be an official title concubines are supposed to call him.

“Very well,” she told him patiently. “What should I call you, then?”

“You’ll have to keep calling me that around the court,” he admitted, “but when it’s only the two of us, please just use my name.”

Sera stared up at him. Up, up, up. He really was a tall bastard, wasn’t he?

“Your name,” she parroted back at him incredulously.

“Yes.” Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “It’s Paul, in case you didn’t know.”

“I did know,” she told him, unsure of what else to say. It was such an odd request that she didn’t know how to react to it.

“You’ll use my name, then?” he persisted. “When we’re alone?

In an effort to shut him up, she quickly said, “Yes, yes, alright, Paul.”

He appeared not to notice her dismissive tone as he grinned at her.

“Much better.”

Oooooo development! What’re your thoughts?

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence

To be added, please ask 💗

#fem!oc #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #dune mini bang #dune #dune movie #dune 2021 #dune film #dune fanfiction #original character #original female character #ofc #paul atreides #paul atreides x original character #paul atreides x ofc #paul atreides x original female character #paul x oc #fem oc

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skyward-floored · 2 years ago

Note

I am Craving HW Zelink right now, I've already read the first Courses chap like twice, but there is nothing else. I am starving T-T

I am also starving. Where is the content of them. where is it :(

I tried so hard to write a short bit with Them for this ask but my brain wasn’t having it. So! I went digging through my piles of written-but-unpublished stuff, and found a rather old bit of hw zelink I wrote with courage of ages in mind, back when it was only a vague concept. I tidied it up a bit and here we are.

It’s not... canon necessarily..? But it’s at least something, so hopefully this satisfies you a bit Tel :D

Link closed his eyes, calming his racing heart.

They’d be fine. This place was hidden from nearly everyone except the castle gardener, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Plus he’d known Zelda since she was a baby, and tended to look the other way when it came to Link.

But it’d been more and more difficult to find places where he and Zelda could meet in private, several of their old spots no longer safe. Who was to say this one was still unknown?

A rustle from the bushes had him immediately on high-alert, but his worry faded the moment he saw who it was.

Princess Zelda, ruler of Hyrule, fearless military commander and chief, was currently shoving her way through a bush, leaves and little twigs getting stuck in her hair. Link he couldn’t help but smile as she came through the barrier, happy to see her and amused at the mess her hair was getting into.

But his smile faded at the look on her face, and he quickly stood and joined her side.

“Zelda what’s wrong?” he asked as he took her hand. He rarely saw her upset, it took a lot to rattle the princess, but at the moment her eyes were dim and her face pale, the usual light absent from her countenance.

She took a slow breath and didn’t look at him, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Link, they’ve given me until the end of the year to find a husband,” she said in detached voice that sounded like she’d rehearsed this beforehand.

Link felt his heart skip a beat, and he looked at her in horror.

“They can’t.”

“They have.”

Zelda still sounded scarily detached, but there was a carefully hidden tremble in her voice as well. Link tugged her arm until she was sitting on the bench he’d been sitting on before she arrived, and gently took both her hands in his despite the anger twisting in his gut.

“How can they?” he muttered, rubbing a thumb gently along her hand. “You’re the princess.”

“And they’re the council,” she said miserably. “And they’ve explicitly forbidden you from being an option. Your title may give you some status, but I think every council member of mine hates you, or at the very least dislikes.”

Link grumbled. “They started it.”

Zelda huffed out a laugh, and Link felt his heart flutter. At least he’d cheered her up a bit.

But her good mood didn’t last long. “Just because you aren’t part of the nobility shouldn’t mean a—“

“But it does,” he interrupted softly. “I don’t have a drop of noble blood in me and they hate me for it.” A pang went through his chest. “Not to mention the war...”

Zelda’s face turned soft. “Link, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell that to Hyrule,” he murmured, and she didn’t have a reply for him.

They sat in silence for a while, Link still steadily rubbing his thumb along her hand.

“So, who are the options?” Link asked eventually, half-dreading the answer.

Zelda screwed her face up.

“Well they’re open to other choices,” she muttered, “but as of now it’s between Prince Volantis of Calatia, or Duke Raltis from Labrynna.”

Link jolted upright and looked at her in disbelief.

“What? Those two are ancient! They couldn’t find anyone else?!”

Zelda shook her head, looking dismal. “Not at first anyways, they did say they’d consider other options. But you scared the rest off at that ball, remember?” she tried to tease, but her voice was suspiciously watery sounding.

Link carefully held his arms out then and she sank into them, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to stay calm. He carefully ran a hand through her hair, picking a few twigs and leaves out of the usually neat locks.

Zelda sighed shakily after a minute, and he squeezed her.

“I really don’t want to marry either of them Link,” she whispered, “I think I could stand it if I knew it was truly for the good of Hyrule, but they’re just doing this to keep us apart. It’s ridiculous and irresponsible, and above all childish!”

Zelda pressed her head against his shoulder, and he held onto her a little tighter, ignoring her ridiculously fancy dress.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, gently into her hair. “I promise you Zelda. No matter what it takes.”

Zelda breathed in shakily, and even though Link felt more helpless than he had since the war, he held her close and gently kissed her hair.

“I promise.”

#my whunotober tomorrow is suffering but that’s okay because Zelink #telemna hyelle my beloved #zelink #Hyrule warriors zelink #hyrule warriors #legend of zelda #writing from the floor #answers from the floor #courage of ages #sorrrta

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tadhgoftheforest · 3 years ago

Text

I’m still so absolutely gutted over Dorian’s decision.

Ever since finding out his brother is in the same city as him and has an insurmountable bounty on his head, Dorian has made a lot of decisions that seem to have hurt him. It almost appears to be the ‘frog in a boiling pot’ scenario. “If I just compromise how I feel about this a little bit, it’s fine and I’m still standing my ground, but I’m helping.” Except each time he sacrifices a little more of himself. The first sacrifice could arguably be the biggest, but the first one always hurts the most; he sacrifices his identity. The party doesn’t know that Dorian Storm isn’t his real name. Truthfully, they don’t know anything about him at that point. Orym and Fearne might know a little more about him and some of the family stories he’s told—albeit modified—because they’ve been travelling with him for a few months and have had plenty of downtime to just talk. But he sacrifices his potential standing and acceptance with this group by sharing his true name and identity and where he comes from.

Then he sacrifices a little more once he learns about the bounty. He gives away the Sending Stone in order to give his brother a chance to talk to him if things go wrong. He sacrifices the trust he’s built with the party just a little bit more. He doesn’t ask them nor does he immediately tell them. And when it does come up, you can tell that it’s a bit of a gut punch for him because Fearne calls the stone they have now “useless”.

Then even more. He keeps asking about safety for his brother. A way to get him out of town. A way to get him out of the debt. He’s very much trying to solve his brother’s problem for him without input from his brother. When those moments come up for him with the party where he brings up his brother, you can see that he no longer has a quest or a goal for himself. Chet needed help finding Gurge and they did that, and now he needs help finding the other wolves. Orym needed help finding the Anger and they did that, and now he needs help tracking down new leads about the attackers of the Loomis twins. He was willing to help Bertrand with clearing his name with Esteross. He’s not sure what Laudna’s goal is but he’s helping make her feel welcome and like she’s normal; he’s a man of nobility that’s always clean yet he gets within touching distance of Laudna frequently and helps her with what she needs. He’s doing the best he can with Imogen and trying to respect her boundaries with her thoughts. You can see he’s still a bit hesitant around Ashton, but he’s doing what he can to aid whatever’s going on there; he’s agreed to help clear Ashton’s debt, even before he knew that Ashton’s and his brother’s debts were to the same person. Even when he does learn that he isn’t immediately pushing for them to solve that problem first.

If you include Exandria Unlimited (EXU) as part of this, we saw that his desire to protect those that he chooses as his family eventually leads to an alignment change. He was willing to do what was necessary to help.

Move that to the day prior to the ball where they’re discussing the plans with Esteross. They say that they need someone to pretend to be nobility so that the entire party can get into the ball. Orym doesn’t immediately say anything, nor does Dorian. But those that have known him the shortest immediately offer him up because that’s who he actually is. And it’s offered that he could go under a fake name, but he decides no. And the moment he takes for himself to collect his thoughts while he digs through the trunk of masks is the moment he’s decided to sacrifice just a little bit more of himself. He’s doing it to help his friends, to help his brother.

The moment where he throws the flamboyant outfit he bought while with the EXU group and participated in the pageant and his homemade mask into the bottom of an old long forgotten and dusty wardrobe that will most likely never get looked in again is absolutely crushing. He’s sacrificed the safety of his chosen name. He’s sacrificed being in debt and owing favors to many people, not just the party, to help his brother even though he’s in the free and clear. He’s sacrificed the trust of his friends and the newer party members each time he’s made a decision about helping his brother. And now he’s sacrificed his identity.

That wardrobe moment, that’s him stepping back into the closet. He is once again Brontë, the diligent second son of a world renowned Genasi floating city where he is part of a ruling noble family, and who most definitely is not a bard nor a man that can show emotion nor a man that can participate in frivolities or hobbies or adventures. There are expectations of him, and there are rules and decorum to be followed. There is no room for wants, desires, or a personality or identity.

And that hurts me so, so much.

No, he doesn’t have to fully step back into that persona of Brontë, but his short conversation with Esteross shows that if he’s going to help with this, he’s going to have to become the man his parents know him to be and what he ran away from being. And saying it out loud is a small confession, especially since Esteross would know something similar of certain expectations that come with a title versus the freedom of being without; that confession is an apology. He’s worried that the party will think less of him; that potentially even more trust will be worn away cause maybe this is who he really is and Dorian is just a fake and not who he really is.

I’m very emotional over Dorian Storm.

#critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 spoilers #cr spoilers #cr campaign 3 spoilers #cr c3 spoilers #critical role c3 spoilers #campaign 3 spoilers #c3 spoilers #dorian storm

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bthump · 2 years ago

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Something I wonder about is how Griffith would feel if he actually did manage to accomplish his dream. Best case scenario where he managed to marry Charlotte, the king is dead, the Hawks are there and all nobility because of sticking with Griffith, what now?

Is there a chance Griffith could get bored with it all? Do you think that it’ll alleviate his guilt with how many died to get him there? Shit, Griffith stacked up a pile of corpses to make him king, he’ll probably still have to keep doing that to stay king.

My take on this is that Griffith would never be satisfied with what he's accomplished and he'd always be striving for more. As soon as he stops and says "I've achieved my dream," he essentially declares everyone's deaths on the road to it worth it, and I don't think he can do that. I think even human Griffith would've started building an empire if he'd married Charlotte and become king.

And yeah that's a great point too, as king the bodies won't stop piling up, he'll still have more and more and more to justify. So yeah I def think he'll remain trapped in that guilt loop.

And also I think he'd be lowkey disappointed with how little he can actually accomplish. His dream is, imo, not really to be king or even to have a kingdom, it's to create a utopian society. I don't think he even realizes that himself, necessarily, but I do think that once he's king and the rich and powerful still oppress the weak and he has to dodge assassination attempts every time he does something progressive and he still has to play diplomat with all the nobility etc etc, he wouldn't consciously realize it but the childish optimism in him would start to fade.

The caveat to all of this is: unless he's fucking Guts, because a relationship with Guts is the thing that has the potential to alleviate his guilt and make him content with himself, thematically. So if he's got that going for him then imo he'll eventually reach an equalibrium, one day he'll actually be happy and have some sense of inner worth, and he'll chill out a bit and be able to look at his kingdom and go, 'yeah this worked out okay I guess.'

#the same holds true if he's just bffs with guts but lbr here #ask #wechaoticblazebouquet #b #headcanons #canon divergence #character thoughts #character: griffith #thanks for the ask! lmk your thoughts too if you want

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cheekygreenty · 4 years ago

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His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

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unohanadaydreams · 2 years ago

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Do you have any ideas on how life is outside of soul society? Regular life for the spirits there :)

Not great.

Everything we see of the rukongai leads us to believe they have little resources and fewer avenues for advancement. Your options for a better life are 1. Join ghost military or 2. Involve yourself in a trade that is heavily patronized by the ghost military. Although, I guess they have the added choice of nobility too so at least it isn’t a total pipeline!

The politics and infrastructure of the soul society are not great and the Rukongai seems even worse.

A sole saving grace would be many people don’t have hunger so bad it kills them to not eat. But in flashbacks showing Rukia and Renji as well as Hitsugaya and Matsumoto we see food being sold is common.

Which says feeling hunger to the point it’s felt in the first place is also common.

So, you’ve got a bunch of people with varying degrees of awareness to their surroundings fighting over scraps in the presumably short amount of time they exist in this in between. And they’re quite literally thrown together and thrown swords and thrown scraps.

And you’ve got a prolific amount of violence perpetrated by a military that touts themselves as gods pressing down on a population, squeezing them for recruits, and incentivizing further violence by promising if you can hold a sword and exude a little spiritual pressure, you can escape and eat three times a day and maybe your inevitable death in the blood and guts and shit of your fellow shinigami will mean something more than whatever will take you in the rukongai.

The first arcs of Bleach really nail down how awful the rukongai is and how almost every single shinigami who made it out had the goal of changing things.

And it’s very hard to believe that awfulness isn’t on purpose, when we also see that food can be grown. And families can be made. And people still want to have good lives and be good people despite it all.

The outer rukongai are reliably churning out monsters for the military machine. Why would they ever want that to stop?

It makes me wonder how many people tried to make the Rukongai better and were stopped because it was treated as a threat? How many people went as far as they dared away from Soul Society and tried to make spots of respite? And how many of them were ruined for not relying on the epicenter of everything—for not relying on the shinigami?

There are threads from the first arcs that seem very purposefully dropped because addressing them would mean addressing why the shinigami were good villains when introduced. They were complex and normal and sympathetic but they were the villains of the story when we first met them.

And I’m sure they continue to be for the Rukongai.

It’s a large part of the reason characters like Aizen and Tousen are seen as good villains—because they had real reasons and their opposition to Soul Society had long teeth.

Like, the Soul Society doesn’t seem to view the rukongai as a place of people. It’s a numbers game to them. Mayuri can nuke entire districts and Kenpachi can make hills out of bodies and Aizen and get away with perfecting Arrancar with no one finding out (or more likely without acting), because they’re just things. They’re just souls. Until you put on the darks and get a zanpakuto, you’re either helping keep the balance or throwing it off and that’s that.

#it’s bleak mate #don’t get me wrong I appreciate the vast potential for fucked up backstories and angst and such #which is why this was probably longer than it should’ve been

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years ago

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Something I Can Feel

for @writinglizards who picked this when I asked for something with no smut 💖

also on ao3

Geralt usually doesn't like nobility; they're snobby and rude and want nothing to do with him unless Jaskier's at his side or there's a monster to kill. But, they do pay well. And occasionally there will be a job for Jaskier that comes along with a contract or they'll be granted a room to stay in while they're working. This time, there is both.

He can hear Jaskier, faintly, from their borrowed room, playing to an adoring audience down in the great hall. Geralt rarely stays to listen these days; there's something about his voice and the performance that gets under his skin and does something to him. And Geralt can't deal with that in front of dozens of guests who are already going to be ogling a Witcher all night. So he's holed up in their room, restless still from an unsuccessful attempt to catch the fleder that's been wreaking havoc. It's hard enough to settle when he's fighting off the lingering effects of his potions, harder still when all he can imagine is Jaskier downstairs, singing and prancing around winking at people. Winking at people who aren't him.

He only half-expects Jaskier to return to their room at all tonight, so he's not sure why he's bothering to stay awake at all, but there's always the slim chance.

His first thought is to read, but it's been a long time since he's carried books with him on the Path and the room has none to offer. He's about to sneak out and try to find the library, when he remembers seeing Jaskier reading something not too long ago. Surely, he wouldn't mind Geralt going through his pack to find something to entertain himself.

Geralt slides off the bed and crouches next to their packs, rifling through Jaskier's. He doesn't find a book, but tucked away at the bottom of the pack, he finds something else. It's hard, wrapped in blue and green silk, and he pulls it out to inspect it. Upon unwrapping it, he realizes it's a cock, larger than average and made of what appears to be wood, but when he runs his hand along it, it's completely smooth.

He should put it back. It's Jaskier's and it's obviously private and he should put it back.

But his curiosity gets the better of him. He's not oblivious to wooden cocks and other devices built solely for pleasuring yourself - or someone else - but he'd never considered Jaskier might use them. He's never in need of a partner, and when they're on the road, he's happy enough to jerk off once he thinks Geralt is asleep. He never is, but Jaskier doesn't know that and it's probably best that way.

He can't help but wonder when Jaskier does use it. Does he use it with a partner or on his own? Geralt's already keyed up from listening to the performance, so it shouldn't surprise him when an image of Jaskier, naked on his hands and knees, pops unbidden into his mind. His cock stirs at the thought and Geralt shuts his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch. He's already half-hard and he doesn't need to make it worse because what if Jaskier comes back and finds him with an erection and the wooden cock in his hand.

Surprisingly, that only serves to fan the arousal burning in his gut. What if Jaskier did find him like this? What would he say? What would he do?

A low rumble fills the room and Geralt belatedly realizes it's coming from him. Maybe he won't mind. Surely if Jaskier is so free with his partners, he won't mind if Geralt just… tries it out. He knows he shouldn't even think about it, but it will probably be a while before Jaskier's back. He won't even have to know.

Before he can change his mind, Geralt takes the toy and digs a bottle of oil out of his own pack and props himself up on the dresser. He doesn't want to soil the bed, so this will have to do.

It's a little awkward because there's a mirror on top and he's never been one for watching himself masturbate, but he's already horny enough that it doesn't matter as much as it normally would. He unlaces his trousers with one hand, slipping inside to give his cock a couple of strokes before pulling back. He doesn't want to get too worked up too quickly and he can still hear Jaskier's voice drifting up from the hall below.

Geralt lets the sound wash over him and he lets out a soft moan as his hips twitch forward, his cock pressing into the edge of the dresser. A little too urgently, he shoves his trousers past his hips and slicks the fingers of one hand. He reaches behind himself, propping himself up on one elbow as his fingers graze over his hole.

It's been so long since anyone's touched him like this that he's almost forgotten what it feels like. His hips jerk again, back this time toward his fingers and he groans as the force has his fingertips catching against his rim. But it's good and he wants more.

Gently, he presses the tip of one finger into himself, testing the stretch before pushing further and finally sinking the entire digit into himself. He squeezes around his finger and shifts, eager for more but he knows he'll have to be patient if he wants to fit the toy inside.

He works the first finger in and out, adding more oil when the drag becomes too much. Before long he's testing a second finger before pulling out and pushing in with both at once. It's not as tight as he expects and it takes less time this time before he's ready for a third.

He fucks himself on three fingers, panting softly where his chin drops against his chest. It feels good and for a moment Geralt is so preoccupied with it that he forgets the entire purpose of fingering himself. For a solid second, he considers coming like this, just fucking back into his hand before taking the toy, but he can't guarantee how long he had before Jaskier returns and he wants to come with the toy in him.

He picks the toy up and slicks the head, running his palm down the full length of it. He'd rather it was a real cock, but the idea of seeking someone out to fuck him is exhausting and by the time he found someone who wouldn't turn him down, he'd likely have lost all interest anyway.

He shakes the thought aside and reaches back behind him, pressing the toy between his cheeks. Faintly, he can still hear Jaskier down below and it sends a shiver through him. He knows he shouldn't think about Jaskier while he plays with himself, but it's hardly his fault when the only thing he can focus on is his voice. And Jaskier would probably like the idea of someone jerking off thinking about him. Immediately, he can imagine Jaskier complaining that he wasn't invited to join. And oh, that sparks something deep within him and he groans as the toy pushes past the ring of muscle.

He thinks about it, how Jaskier would keep one hand on his hip, sliding the other up his back to soothe him as he rocks into him. Fuck. He starts slow, but it doesn't take him long to get worked up, especially when he thinks about Jaskier right below him, still prancing around and putting on a show. And he had looked incredible in his new doublet and trousers.

The thought of Jaskier finding him slips back into his mind and Geralt groans and pushes the toy deeper, imagining Jaskier's face upon seeing him. The thought only turns him on more and as he shifts, readjusting his position, he feels a bump at the end of the toy. His fingers brush over it and when he presses down, the cock comes to live inside him, vibrating rapidly.

Geralt moans low and loud, dropping onto his elbow as pleasure zips through him.

"Fuck, Jaskier," he groans and even hearing Jaskier's name on his lips makes him ache. Again, he finds himself wondering - if Jaskier found him like this, would he stay?

Geralt wants him to. Wants him to walk in right now and see him like this, bent over the dresser with Jaskier's toy in his ass. He imagines Jaskier slipping up behind him, gently pulling Geralt's fingers away and pulling the toy out of him. He'd replace it with his own fingers, long and slim and incredibly dexterous. He's not above admitting that he's fantasized about those fingers before, that they're part of the reason he struggles to watch Jaskier perform. Because he can imagine, watching him mindlessly plucking at the strings, how easily Jaskier could bring a man to his knees with only his fingers.

He knows he could get off on Jaskier's fingers alone, but he wouldn't let himself. Or maybe Jaskier wouldn't let him, eager to get Geralt to come on his cock and Geralt would be more than happy to comply. Because he knows no one finds himself in bed with so many people unless they're very good in bed. Geralt hasn't put a lot of thought into Jaskier's cock but he knows he knows how to use it and he's seen it on occasion when they're bathing or undressing for the night.

He has thought a lot about what he'd like to do with Jaskier's cock. He's spent nights when Jaskier is asleep, aching to roll over and jerk him off himself. Or on the nights when Jaskier doesn't get off before bed, when he falls asleep reeking of lust and mumbling in his sleep, Geralt thinks about rolling Jaskier onto his back and sucking his cock down until Jaskier is whining and writhing beneath him.

But more than anything, he wants Jaskier inside him. He'd bend him over, fill him up, and fuck him so well, he knows. He wants it so badly and he lets his mind drift, imagining Jaskier fuking him as he works the toy in and out. Jaskier wouldn't hurry like this, though. Jaskier would make him take it slowly, make him feel every inch as he pushes into him. He'd be controlling, dominant.

Geralt lets out a quiet moan, bracing himself against the mirror and his reflection is wrecked; his cheeks are flushed and red and he can see the dark spots on his lip where he's been biting it. Jaskier would tell him he was beautiful like this, and he might even believe him.

He thrusts sharply, slamming up against his prostate and Geralt's eyes flutter shut, chin dropping against his chest as he fucks himself hard and fast. He could come like this without being touched, and he wants to; he'd come on Jaskier's cock because Jaskier wouldn't let him touch himself. Jaskier would keep his hands up against the mirror, tug his hair to keep his head up so he could watch himself fall apart, watch the way he breaks him into a million little pieces. And Geralt would. He'd watch and he'd struggle to keep his head up as he gets close, but Jaskier would ensure that he does, fingers wound tightly in his hair. Jaskier would fuck him hard, slamming in and grinding against his prostate until Geralt's shaking, coming untouched, barely able to breathe with the force of his orgasm - and just like that, he comes.

Geralt spills over the dresser and the mirror and when he shifts to avoid making a bigger mess, catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Fuck, he looks wrecked. He should hate the way he looks like this, but he finds himself intrigued because he knows Jaskier would be delighted to see him like this.

Carefully, he pulls the dildo out, still vibrating, and flicks the switch to turn it off. It stills in his grasp and he drops it onto the dresser, dropping to rest on his elbows. For a moment, he waits to catch his breath before tidying the room. He only barely gets dressed and gets the toy put away before the door creaks open and Jaskier waltzes into the room.

Jaskier seems oblivious to anything out of the norm and he's suspiciously quiet when Geralt asks why he's back so early. He doesn't think too much about it.

They go about their nightly routine, preparing for bed and settling in. They're sharing a bed, but that's not what keeps Geralt up all night.

He can't shut his mind off. Can't stop thinking of how Jaskier would fuck him if they got the chance, how he'd open him up with his fingers and sink into him and- he bites his lip to hold back a groan and shifts onto his side to keep his erection hidden. He can smell Jaskier and it's killing him. Jaskier isn't aroused himself, but just his own scent seems enough to drive Geralt mad tonight.

How he manages to make it through the morning, Geralt will never know. Jaskier wakes up early, shucks off his clothes claiming the bed is too hot and climbs back into bed, naked and tired. Geralt makes an excuse to get up and out of bed shortly after before he does something he's likely to regret.

Geralt heads out in the early afternoon and by evening, he's managed to catch and kill the fleder. He brings back the head to the Countess and collects his reward, but just as he's about to turn and leave, the Countess calls back to him.

"We'll have a feast tonight," she says, "in honour of the slaying of the beast!" Geralt nods in acknowledgement but says nothing. He knows this means they'll be staying an extra night.

When he returns to their shared room to bathe, his fears are confirmed. Evidently, Jaskier has already caught wind of the feast and has picked out some of Geralt's nicer clothes and tidied them up for him. He opens the door to find them laying out on the bed, and a bath waiting.

"Suppose you've heard then?" he asks and Jaskier beams.

"Delightful, isn't it?" he smiles, "It's been a long time since I've attended a banquet this fine without having to work the whole time." This, Geralt suspects, means he gets to flirt with all the nobles and see who he can take to bed with him. And Geralt is already tired.

"I'm not going," he says simply, "I'd like to take a bath and get to bed early." Jaskier scoffs and crosses the room, striding right up to Geralt and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

"You'll feel better about it when you've had a bath and something to drink," Jaskier says, tugging Geralt's shirt out of his trousers and up over his head.

It sends a shiver through him, but Geralt forces himself not to acknowledge it. He remains stoic even as Jaskier strips him out of his trousers and nudges him toward the bath. Geralt pulls his shorts off and climbs in.

The water is still hot and Jaskier presses his hands to his shoulders, guiding him down into the water. He runs his hands up Geralt's neck and just as he's leaning into the touch, Jaskier pulls away. Geralt barely holds onto a moan, but then a moment later Jaskier is scooping up water and dumping it over his head.

He fusses over him with soft-smelling soap and Geralt doesn't have the heart to tell him he won't be joining him at the feast. He's very much looking forward to another night alone and perhaps, he'll dig out Jaskier's toy again and-

"I was thinking," Jaskier hums, "I got your clothes out for you, but we bought those fine clothes for you a month or so back and I thought you might wear them."

"I'm not going." He can practically hear the way Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Of course not," he sighs, "only I feel it's only appropriate for the guest of honour to attend, hm?"

"Guest of-" he turns to look at him, scowling and Jaskier just grins with delight.

"Well," he says, maneuvering Geralt back into a seated position, "you did kill the vampire, after all, I believe that earns you a place as the guest of honour. The Countess agrees with me, evidently."

Jaskier walks away and grabs a sheet, holding it out for Geralt to step out of the tub. He does so reluctantly, and while he's drying, he lets Jaskier comb and braid his hair. He doesn't have much choice but to attend if he's being treated as a guest of honour.

The clothes Jaskier picked out itch and fit surprisingly well, but are still tight in places he'd rather prefer they weren't. They head down to the feast together and while Geralt feels like a fool in his clothes, Jaskier looks delectable. He's dressed in burgundy and gold and when he smiles, Geralt can't imagine anyone turning him down - a large part of the reason he doesn't want to be here tonight.

But Jaskier sticks close by his side and even when he's drawn away to talk, Geralt continually catches him watching him, smiling as Geralt catches his eye. Jaskier is focused solely on him, not on the young lords and ladies fawning over him, and something about that makes his blood rush. He has to focus on how uncomfortable his clothes are to keep from reacting badly.

And after a little while, Jaskier returns to his seat. He's followed by a pretty young thing who smiles and leans over the table, putting herself on display, but Jaskier just thanks her for the compliments she delivers and turns her away gently. Geralt… doesn't understand.

But Jaskier laughs and smiles at the rest of his visitors, still never pushing further than friendliness and Geralt can't stop thinking about him. Watching his hands as he gestures, imagining them on his body, sliding down his chest to cup his cock.

Then another bard comes up and he tests Geralt's patience. He's a little shorter than Jaskier, significantly less beautiful and likely less talented. It's a bitter thought, but he can't feel too badly about it when the man plops himself down next to Jaskier and leans in.

He whispers the most filthy things into Jaskier's ear, detailing all the things he'd like to do if Jaskier will accompany him back to the inn. It's enough to quell his erection, but Geralt is feeling particularly smug because if Jaskier goes off, he'll have the entire room to himself, the entire bed with its heavy blankets and silk sheets. But Jaskier turns this one away, too.

"Picky tonight," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier just shrugs.

"I'd prefer to spend the evening with you," Geralt nearly chokes on his drink, but continues drinking. Jaskier pauses then hums thoughtfully. "I heard you, last night." He says.

"What are you talking about?" Geralt asks, but he can hear the waver in his voice.

"You know what I'm talking about, darling."He bumps his knee against Geralt's under the table. "Don't be shy."

"Jaskier-" he chokes.

"I'm not angry," Jaskier says softly, "you sounded so sexy I didn't want to interrupt, but I'd be happy to give you a full demonstration if you like? Could show you what it's really like. Gods know I've wanted to for years." He delivers the offer perfectly straight-faced, looking down at the mug in front of him and Geralt can't catch his breath. The only indication that Jaskier is talking to him comes with the brush of fingers along his thigh.

"I'd make you feel amazing," he breathes. "Gods, just to be able to touch you, Geralt- can I? Let me take you to bed." Geralt is sure there is more convincing to come and as much as he'd like to sit and listen to Jaskier's voice all night, detailing all the things he's like to do to him, he'd rather just go and experience them for himself.

"Yeah," he whispers, "yeah, okay. Please." Jaskier grins at him.

"You won't regret it, darling. Just wait here a moment, I'll be back for you." He runs a hand along the back of Geralt's shoulders as he rises out of his seat and slips out into the crowd.

Barely a moment later, something bumps against his knee and he subtly looks beneath the table to find JAskier grinning up at him, a finger to his lips in a silent command for him to stay quiet. Geralt's mouth goes dry and he couldn't find the words to speak if he wanted to.

Jaskier's hands slip around his ankles, running up the length of his boots until they hit the leather of his trousers. He squeezes above his knees, fingers digging into his legs through his trousers, slowly pushing further up his thighs. He's already aroused, Jaskier's confession and offer having seen to that quite nicely, but his cock stirs under the new attention. He doesn't move, doesn't let himself show any outward signs of being affected, but Jaskier's hands continue further, sliding up over his groin.

Geralt barely withholds a moan as delicate fingers trace the outline of his cock through his trousers and he shifts a little lower in his seat, pushing his hips forward. Jaskier hums encouragingly, quiet enough that no one else could hear him over the din, but Geralt is already attuned to him and right now all of his attention is focused on Jaskier.

Jaskier moves and then he's pressing between Geralt's thighs, kissing a line up his inner thigh and moving to mouth at the jut of his cock. It's all Geralt can do not to jerk up into the touch, but he doesn't want to get caught or rather, he doesn't want him to stop. So he keeps as still as he can as Jaskier keeps touching him, smoothing up his thighs as his mouth slips up to the head of his cock. And Geralt is swelling rapidly under the touch. Unless Jaskier intends to get him off right here, they'll be here for a while or risk an (unwanted) trip out of the hall with an erection.

But Jaskier seems to be heading toward the former as his hands slip up to Geralt's waistband, easily popping the buttons open until he can tug Geralt's trousers down enough to free his cock. Geralt breathes deeply, settling into a semi-meditative state to keep himself calm enough for Jaskier to continue. But his cock is fully hard now and Jaskier isn't slowing down. He wraps a hand around him, stroking him slowly and Geralt grips the arm of his chair, fighting against every urge to move, to push into the touch. Then Jaskier starts talking.

"Mmm, you're big," he mumbles, dragging his lips up the shaft. "Gorgeous." Jaskier jerks him slowly, really letting Geralt feel every press of his fingers and he very nearly whimpers when Jaskier's thumb pushes up over the head and presses against the slit.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it," Jaskier mumbles and Geralt struggles to focus on the words because they send vibrations through his cock that have him gasping. "Were you laid out on the bed? Sat in that chair in the corner of the room? Tell me, darling."

"Standing," Geralt gasps out, trying to avoid attracting the attention of his neighbours.

"Mmm, where?"

"Dresser," he mumbles and Jaskier groans against his cock.

"Fuck. Did you watch yourself? Probably not. A shame, darling, I bet you looked incredible. I'd loved to have been there, to watch you work yourself up to it- fuck." There's a spike of arousal and Geralt groans low in his throat, covering it with a mock cough.

Somewhere along the way, Geralt had come to the realization that Jaskier is turned on by him, that he wants him and this godsawful want is mutual, but he never expected him to act on it. And he certainly never expected it to be like this. Because wanting to fuck someone is one thing, but Jaskier is soft with him, gentle even as he wraps his mouth around him in a room full of dozens of people. And oh, just the thought of that makes his cock twitch and Jaskier groans around him.

Geralt shifts his eyes and holds back a moan, fingers tight where they're wrapped around the chair arm. Jaskier's mouth is hot around him, slick and glorious and Geralt wants to press into that heat. He wants Jaskier to touch him, wants to be able to touch Jaskier, but more than anything he wants to see him. He doesn't want to watch himself, but even the mental image of Jaskier's mouth around his cock has him aching and eager, he doesn't suspect he'd last long being allowed to watch.

And maybe Jaskier knows that. He's confident in everything he does, but in sex more so than elsewhere; maybe he knows Geralt wants to watch, knows the way it would affect him and that's why he slipped under the table to suck him off. He likes the idea that Jaskier knows what he likes, likes the idea that Jaskier pays enough attention to know Geralt wants him and to know how hard it makes him being surrounded by all these people who are oblivious to the bard under the table with a mouthful of cock.

Jaskier's tongue presses against the sensitive spot beneath the head of his cock and Geralt pitches forward, barely recovering by leaning on an elbow and pretending to focus on something across the room. At this rate, he's not going to last long even without being able to see Jaskier and the thought of coming with Jaskier's mouth around him isn't doing anything to calm him.

Jaskier bobs in his lap then abruptly, takes him all the way down and just stops with Geralt's cock nudging against the back of his throat. It's tight around the head and Geralt grits his teeth to keep from crying out or rocking forward. He shudders with the effort it takes to remains still, to keep from fucking into Jaskier's welcoming mouth and his fingernails dig into the wood of his chair.

Then Jaskier sucks hard around him and Geralt nearly loses it right there. Jaskier lets up a little, bobbing just faintly so Geralt's cock pushes into the tightness of his throat and Geralt's willpower is quickly crumbling. His hips give a little twitch and immediately Jaskier's hands are on him, holding him down. His teeth press down and it's meant as a warning but it sends a bolt of pleasure through him that nearly has Geralt whining again. Jaskier, evidently, realizes this and the next time he draws back, he lets his teeth drag along the length of Geralt's cock.

Geralt swallows hard and shuts his eyes as they roll back in his head and then Jaskier's fingers are slipping inside his trousers, pressing back against his hole, and he lets go.

It takes all his strength not to cry out as he comes, spilling over Jaskier's tongue, all his training and then some. Jaskier swallows it all down without hesitation, slipping off of his cock and suckling at the head until Geralt's legs are shaking under him. Then, with a final pass of his lips and tongue, Jaskier pulls off.

He kisses up the length of Geralt's cock and tucks him back into his trousers, buttoning them back up around him. Geralt's whole body slumps and he leans back in his chair to keep from lying on the table. He wants to stay here and bask in the loose feeling that floods through him, but he can already feel Jaskier clambering away.

A moment later, he's back behind him, apparently put together other than the bulge in his trousers that Geralt feels against his shoulder when he leans in.

"Ready to go?" Jaskier asks as though he's not just had Gerlt's cock down his throat. Geralt gives a weak nod and pushes his chair back, rising to his feet.

It's a good thing no one cares what a Witcher gets up to once he's done his job because as soon as they're out of the main hall, Jaskier is shoving him up against the wall, pressing a thigh between his legs. He kisses him and it's surprisingly soft despite the urgency of his body. Geralt loses himself in the taste of his mouth, the press of Jaskier's cock in his hip and he finds himself drawn away from the wall.

Jaskier keeps him close as they stumble toward the stairs and when they reach the landing, Geralt is amazed that neither of them has fallen over. But he doesn't want to get far from Jaskier's body or his mouth and Jaskier doesn't seem inclined to let him.

It takes them twice as long as it should to reach their room and it's a good thing no one else is out in the hall because Geralt is hard again by the time they get there and Jaskier has made an absolute mess of his clothes. His shirt is half-tucked and half-buttoned and his trousers are straining against the swell of his cock. Jaskier is nothing but pleased about it, stroking him through the leather and fumbling with the buttons and as soon as they reach the door he's shoving Geralt up against it, everything else forgotten.

Geralt reaches behind him, half-heartedly trying to open the door while Jaskier pushes his shirt up and bends to kiss his chest. His mouth is hot and perfect and when he licks a stripe from his naval up to his sternum, Geralt groans. He wants that tongue all over him, want Jaskier's lips and tongue and teeth and fuck if that doesn't rile him up even more. He finally gets the door open and stumbles backward with Jaskier pressing against him.

The door is unceremoniously kicked shut behind him and Jaskier's got his hands all over him, pushing and pulling and Gerlt goes limp in his grasp, submitting to whatever Jaskier wants of him. His ass hits the dresser and Jaskier looks up long enough to smirk at him before tugging Geralt's shirt over his head and bending to flick his tongue at a nipple.

Geralt groans and his hips push forward, seeking any sort of touch but finding nothing. Jaskier has shifted away, standing at his side, and he turns him so he's facing the mirror.

"I want you to watch the way I touch you," Jaskier purrs, "I want you to see how fucking sexy you are like this." He slips up behind him, pressing a hand to the center of his back and pushing until Geralt has to lean forward, hands braced on the solid wood top.

"Good boy," Jaskier hums, "keep your head up, I want you to watch."

He runs both hands up Geralt's back gentle and undemanding. He's taking his time, enjoying himself - the thought of which makes Geralt ache and he's desperate for it. Jaskier touches him for what feels like hours, just touching and nothing more. He runs his hands up his back and over his shoulders. Up his stomach and down his sides. He plays with his nipples and when Geralt keens from the pleasure, Jaskier straightens him back up, nipping at the back of his neck.

"Do you like that?" Jaskier asks, "Like when I play with your nipples?" Geralt groans and his eyes flutter shut but Jaskier is right there next to his ear, nipping at the lobe. "Fuck, Geralt you do, don't you? Think you could come just like that? You are very sensitive." He bites Geralt's ear to prove his point and Gerlt whines.

For Jaskier? absolutely he could. He’s sure Jaskier could get him off with just his voice if he wanted to.

"Fuck, yeah. Yeah, I could."

"Shit," Jaskier mutters, "can I try? That's so fucking hot, Geralt." Geralt gives a little huff of a laugh and then Jaskier's fingers slip up over his nipple again, his expression eager and questioning in the mirror.

"Yeah," Geralt huffs and Jaskier's mouth twists into a grin, fingertips pressing harder against Geralt's nipples.

Pleasure zips through him and Geralt finds it very difficult to keep still. Jaskier mouths at his neck while he touches him, rubbing and squeezing and pulling and Geralt's cock aches where it's still trapped in his trousers. He's already keyed up - the previous orgasm having faded - and now Jaskier's rolling his nipples between calloused fingers, whispering in his ear and encouraging him. At this rate, he'll come in his trousers before Jaskier has a chance to get him out of them.

"Look at me," Jaskier reminds him when his head droops. Geralt lifts his head, finding Jaskier's eyes in the mirror, so wide and dark he can barely catch a glimpse of the blue. "That's it beautiful. Tell me how it feels, love.

"So good," Geralt hums, hips twitching as Jaskier pressing his thumb hard against a nipple. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, cocking his head in the mirror. "Close?" he asks and Geralt just blinks at him for a second, momentarily overwhelmed as Jaskier returns his attention to his other nipple as well. "I asked you a question, darling."

"Yeah, 'm close." He feels foggy with it and it's right on the edge of too much, but the thought of coming just from Jaskier's touch is too much and he drives him forward. He drops his head back onto Jaskier's shoulder, nosing at his neck. "Can I kiss you," he whispers and Jaskier just hums.

"Of course, my love, I'm yours to do with as you will. So long as you behave."

Geralt doesn't wait for him to finish speaking before pressing his lips to Jaskier's neck. He tastes like salt and sweat and something fruity that Geralt passes off as perfume. It's everything he would have expected and it makes his head spin to know he can finally know for real.

He whimpers as Jaskier tugs on both nipples at once and he's so close. Jaskier reaches down, unbuttoning Geralt's trousers the rest of the way and pulling his cock out. He lets it rest against the dresser top and Geralt has to restrain himself from rutting against the edge of the wood and getting off that way. Because he's so close and his nipples tingle without Jaskier's fingers and he wants to cry because he's so close, so close-

Jaskier's palms slide back up his chest, barely grazing his nipples and Geralt lurches forward with a groan. His cock slips from the surface of the dresser and Jaskier reaches for it, gently squeezing as he sets it back in place. But then his hand is gone and Geralt is being tugged upright again.

"Come for me, love, and I'll play with your cock all night, but you have to come first."

"Touch me," Geralt gasps and Jaskier doesn't hesitate before getting his hands on him again. He smooths up Geralt's chest, intentionally avoiding his nipples and Geralt squirms to get his hands closer, to get Jaskier to fucking touch him.

Then he does and Geralt wants to simultaneously scream and cry and he doesn't realize he's whining, begging Jaskier to make him come until Jaskier leans in against his ear and whispers, "come for me, Geralt," and he does.

Jaskier only reaches down to touch his cock when he's panting, barely holding himself up as he shakes through his orgasm. Jaskier peels his sweaty shirt off his back and kisses his shoulder. His hands run up and down Geralt's sides, gently soothing as he mumbles against his skin.

"Gods, Geralt," he hums, "you're amazing. I didn't think I'd actually get you there, but fuck-" he cuts himself off, nosing into the hair above his ear. "But I'm not done with you yet. Don't think I've forgotten about what you got up to last night, hm?"

"Do you know what it's like to be jealous of a toy?" Jaskier asks. "I heard you in here and I knew exactly what you were doing and I wanted to watch. I wanted to get right up behind you and slip my fingers in beside the dildo. My dildo," he reminds him. "It's a wonder I didn't ruin my trousers listening to you. And you," he hums and he slips his hands down to rest on Geralt's hips, "you were so worked up fucking yourself on it that you didn't even realize I was there, did you?"

"No," Geralt mumbles, "wish I had."

"I'm here now," Jaskier says, "why don't you show me what you got up to last night, hm? Show me the way you like to be fucked."

Jaskier's hands slip down, catching on the hem of Geralt's trousers and pushing them down his thighs. And Geralt doesn't like being naked around people, doesn't like feeling vulnerable in an unusual place, but with Jaskier's hands and mouth on him, he feels good. Nothing else in the world matters right now but JAskier and the places he's touching him.

"Oh, you are beautiful, aren't you?" Jaskier whispers. His hand traces the shape of Geralt's torso and comes up his chest, pulling himself close against Geralt's back. He tugs Geralt's trousers all the way down, tapping each thigh in turn for Geralt to step out of them and then he kicks them away.

When Jaskier steps away, Geralt immediately misses the contact and he turns his head to look at him, watching the way Jaskier crosses the bedroom to dig through his pack. He returns with a bottle of oil and the dildo, setting them both on the dresser in front of Geralt.

"I want to watch you," Jaskier breathes, pressing up against his side, "show me how you did it last night."

Geralt looks at him in the mirror. His own expression looks confused and he doesn't understand why Jaskier would want to see him. He's about to ask when Jaskier smiles at him and swoops down to nuzzle against his neck.

"I see that look," he whispers, nipping roughly at Geralt's skin, "you're sexy. You're so fucking sexy, Geralt. It doesn't matter what you think about it, just the thought of you gets me hot and I want to want to watch you get off." He noses at him, kissing the skin under his jaw. "Can I?" he asks, "can I watch you, love?"

"Yes," Geralt groans. "Yes."

Already, Jaskier's got him worked up again. He wants to come again and he wants to hear Jaskier say those things to him, wants to hear him say he's beautiful and he's good because even if it's hard to believe, the words wash over him like silk. Like warm bath water on a cold night and he wants to believe them.

"Okay love, show me."

Jaskier backs off and Geralt feels a little awkward with all that space between them. But he can feel Jaskier's eyes on him as he reaches for the oil, calmed by the feeling instead of wound up by it. He tips oil over his fingers, reaching back behind himself, and as he presses between his cheeks, he watches Jaskier in the mirror.

Jaskier is undressing behind him, watching him carefully as he shrugs out of his doublet and unbuttons his shirt. He tugs the latter over his head, revealing a thick thatch of dark hair and Geralt groans at the sight. There's something wonderfully masculine about Jaskier's chest and it stirs something in him, makes Geralt hard and eager and he wants to please him.

He presses against his hole, still slightly swollen and loose from the night before. His body gives way easily and he pushes deeper into himself, moaning softly at the stretch. He shuts his eyes, focusing on the stretch and he rocks back onto his finger under Jaskier's gaze. He hums softly, thrusting shallowly and when he looks up again, Jaskier's got his trousers undone and he's leaning against the bed, cock slipping between his fingers.

Geralt groans and his own cock twitches. He's swelling again now, delighted by the sight of Jaskier watching him, by the swirling scent of arousal that fills the room as Geralt presses a second finger in. It feels good, but it's not enough and soon he's working himself up to three. Behind him, Jaskier groans, and shifts, pushing himself off the bed and dropping his trousers to the floor.

When he settles again, he's got his legs spread wide, prick in his hand and Geralt groans at the sight of him. He keeps his eyes on Jaskier as he pushes a third finger into himself and he groans softly, ducking his head momentarily and missing the look of hunger on Jaskier's face. Then Jaskier is moving again.

He slips up next to Geralt pressing his cock against his hip and sliding a hand down over his ass. He squeezes firmly, watching Geralt's reaction in the mirror. Geralt hums, pressing deeper into himself and pressing against his prostate. It's a bad angle, but he wants to feel it, wants something deep inside him and Jaskier doesn't make him wait. He takes the toy from the dresser, slicks it up and presses it teasingly between Geralt's cheeks.

It bumps against Geralt's hands and he wants it so badly he can feel it. He withdraws and whines as Jaskier immediately slips the toy lower, letting it catch on his rim but never pushing in. Geralt shifts his hips encouragingly, but Jaskier is enjoying himself and is not about to let Geralt have his way before he's good and ready for it. He teases, rubbing it against him and then pulling away when Geralt pushes back.

"Do you want it?" he asks and Geralt whines a yes into his arms.

He's doubled over now, leaning on his elbows while his cock hands heavy and needy between his legs. He's leaking already, creating a small pool of precome on the floor between his feet and it shouldn't turn him on as much as it does to be denied, but there's something about Jaskier's promise of more but not yet that has him aching. He gets to come on Jaskier's time and that's a thrill he never expected.

When the toy does finally breach him, Geralt is breathless and he practically cries out with the pleasure of it, only barely catching himself. But Jaskier doesn't linger for long before pulling the toy away and Geralt's hips follow the motion back.

"Please," he whispers. Jaskier chuckles softly and slips up to him, fitting up against his side and pressing his cock into Geralt's thigh.

"This needy already?" he asks, "darling, you've come twice already tonight, do you really think you deserve it again so soon?"

"Yes," Geralt bites because he's hard and horny and Jaskier is being intentionally cruel now.

"Oh, my love," Jaskier whispers. With that, he pushes the toy in, slowing as it presses deep into him and then holding it there, fully inside him and pushing against his prostate.

Geralt is only vaguely aware of the way he whimpers as Jaskier rocks the toy into him. He's too overwhelmed with the sudden burst of pleasure and finding the easiest way to keep Jaskier from taking it away again. But he doesn't. He holds the toy deep, occasionally rocking it further into him and wiggling it.

"Fuck you're beautiful when you're like this," Jaskier whispers, the fingers of his free hand trailing down Geralt's spine. "You're always beautiful, but this is…. gods Geralt, you're incredible."

He slips his fingers down, slipping through the precome drippings from his cock and slips his fingers, dragging them up the length of his cock. Geralt shudders, unable to move without losing pressure from the dildo, but his cock throbs and aches for more, twitching against Jaskier's fingers.

"I'd like to watch you now," Jaskier hums, "I'd like to see what I missed last night." He reaches for Geralt's hand, rubbing his thumb over his fingers before lifting it from the dresser. Geralt shifts with the motion, letting Jaskier place his hand behind him.

He flexes his fingers against his own skin and Jaskier nudges him lower.

"Take it, love, I know you want it."

Geralt reaches around for the base of the dildo and Jaskier's hands leave him altogether. He misses the pressure of them against his skin, but the toy slips a little and as he presses it in again, he finds he doesn't mind so much. And he can feel Jaskier's eyes on him, watching every motion of his wrist and arousal burns through him.

And just because Jaskier's not touching him anymore doesn't mean he leaves. In fact, he presses closer, pressing himself against Geralt's side and planting his hands on the dresser.

"You look so good, darling. Feels good too, doesn't it?"

"Mmhm," Geralt breathes. He's breathless already, trying to keep a steady pace even though he wants to slam the toy into himself, fuck quick and hard and come with Jaskier's eyes on him. The thought nearly makes him forget himself and for a moment, his pace quickens.

Jaskier wraps a gentle hand around his wrist, slowing him, evening out the thrust of the toy.

"Not so fast, darling. We have all night, no need to rush. Why don't you tell me what you thought about last night, hm?"

"You," Geralt hums, "thought about you."

"How?" Jaskier asks and for the first time, he sees almost breathless.

"Thought about what you'd do if you found me like that, how you'd fuck me."

"And how's that?" Geralt can feel the way Jaskier's cock twitches against his hip and he groans deep and low, dropping his chin against his chest.

"Hard," he rumbles, "you'd make me watch. Make me see the way you fuck me. And you-" he stalls and Jaskier's hand comes up, fingers slipping lightly over his throat.

"Tell me, my sweet. I can't give it to you if you don't tell me." And oh, that's… he never expected that.

"You called me beautiful." Geralt whispers, "told me I was perfect."

"Shit," Jaskier breathes and his cock jumps before he presses it into Geralt's thigh, "you are my darling. You're so beautiful, so perfect for me."

Geralt can hear now, the way Jaskier's breath comes a little raspier and the way his breathing is harsher and he knows he's getting worked up over it. So he goes into detail, tells Jaskier every little way he touched him in the fantasy, every way and everywhere he kissed him and he's so preoccupied trying to get Jaskier off he almost doesn't notice his own orgasm approaching until it's too late to stop it.

He comes with a shout, pitching forward against the dresser and before he's even finished, Jaskier's hands are on his hips and pulling the toy out and then he's slipping into him, hard and thick and so fucking good.

Gerlt drops to his elbows, letting Jaskier fuck him hard. His fingers dig into his skin and he drapes himself over Geralt's back, nipping at his neck and mumbling in his ear. His voice is rough and glorious and Geralt's cock is already twitching again where it slips through his spend on the dresser.

Jaskier comes remarkably quickly, fingers digging into Geralt's skin and his nose pressed into his neck. He hooks his chin over Geralt's shoulder, slumping a little as he pants against his ear. He reaches around, running his hands up Geralt's chest and when he slips down again, he wraps his fingers around his cock, still soft but swelling eagerly under the touch.

"You really want it, huh?" he mumbles. "Fuck, Geralt I knew there had to be some sort of stamina thing with those mutations, but this is insane." He gives a firm stroke right up to the tip of his cock, pushing his thumb through the come still lingering there.

"Do you want to keep going? Does it get sore?

"A little," Geralt rasps, "but not for long." Jaskier takes the information as it is and continues stroking him with one hand, working him up to full hardness in barely a minute.

"Darling, you're incredible. I can hardly believe I'm the one who gets to see you this way. How many times can you come, love?"

"Dunno. Never tried. As many times as you make me, I s'pose."

"Oh." Jaskier breathes, "in that case." His hand pulls from Geralt's cock and he turns him around so they're facing each other, pushing Geralt's thighs apart to stand between them.

With what seems like very little effort, Jaskier wraps his hands around the backs of Geralt's thighs and lifts him off the floor. He sits him on the dresser and tips him back, pressing his cock against his hole. He's not fully hard yet, but the press is tempting and Geralt rocks his hips a little, grinding back against him. Jaskier presses a hand to his chest, pushing him back so he's leaning against the mirror and he takes his cock in his hand.

Geralt wants to get his mouth on him. He could get him hard so quickly with his mouth if he was allowed. Jaskier's cockhead slips between his fingers, red and slick, and Geralt groans at the sight of it and licks his lips.

As soon as he's stiff again, Jaskier presses into his hole, stretching him open again and rocking in at a steady pace. He pulls Geralt's hips down tight against his own and he fucks him hard. Geralt's head drops back and Jaskier leans over him to suck at his neck. There will be marks in the morning and Geralt is already eager for them for a reminder of Jaskier's mouth on his skin.

Jaskier pushes in and stays so deep Geralt feels like he's choking on it. He reaches for his own cock, intending to jerk himself off, but he gets caught up in the motion and ends up with his hand just loosely wrapped around himself, useless except for when he's jostled enough to brush against his palm.

And Jaskier is very good, hitting his prostate with every thrust until Geralt is nearly delirious with it. His head rolls back and he's vaguely aware that he's speaking, but he doesn't know what he's saying. He can only hope it's not a confession or a marriage proposal, but either is likely with the way Jaskier fucks him.

Jaskier gets him close again, leans in close and kisses his neck and shoulders and down his chest and then, just when Geralt is right there, he pulls out and drops to his knees. He gets his mouth around him and lifts Geralt's legs over his knees, wrapping his arms around his thighs and pressing in close. He doesn't stop until Geralt's cock is bumping the back of his throat and then he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard as he draws back to the head.

Geralt is helpless against him and he's coming again before Jaskier can even get him all the way in his mouth again. His hips twitch and Jaskier takes him all the way down, squeezing around his thighs as Geralt whimpers at the oversensitivity.

He slumps back against the mirror, his skin slipping against the smooth surface. It's cool and it feels good but then Jaskier's hands are on him, smoothing up his thighs and pressing his fingertips into his skin and Geralt just shuts his eyes and shifts into the touch.

"Gods, Geralt I really don't know how I wound up lucky enough to have you." Evidently, he's on his feet again because he leans in between Geralt's legs and kisses him. It's soft but there's an eagerness under the surface and Geralt can't help but press for more.

"Still want more?" Jaskier asks and Geralt whines at him. Words are hard and his body feels heavy, but when Jaskier's cock slides against his own, arousal swirls in his gut again, no less demanding than before. "Okay," he hums, "come with me."

Before Geralt can protest getting up, Jaskier's got his hands under his thighs, sliding him from the dresser and heaving him up into his arms. Geralt is hesitant for a moment but Jaskier doesn't falter, doesn't even seem to be bothered by the extra weight and Geralt makes a mental note to ask about that later. For now, he buries his face in Jaskier's neck, kissing him softly and nuzzling against his skin as he's carried to the bed.

He's laid out on silk sheets and he basks in the coolness of them, in the softness against his skin. Jaskier is above him, kneeling between his legs, but Geralt still has his eyes shut. It's not until he hears the slick sound of skin on skin that they flash open.

Jaskier's got his cock in his hand, working over himself quickly as he leans over Geralt. He's watching him with hungry, lidded eyes and if Geralt's cock hadn't already gotten on board again, it would now. Even so, it twitches against his hip and Jaskier huffs a faint laugh through his panting. Slipping the hand from his cock, he reaches down, curling around the base of Geralt's cock and running up to the head. Geralt whines and Jaskier hums.

"Do you want to come again?" Geralt nods and Jaskier grins. "Ask me for it. Convince me." Geralt arches off the bed, chasing Jaskier's hand as it lifts from his cock.

"Please," he whines, "please Jaskier, I need it."

"You need it?"

"Yes."

"How badly, love? How badly do you need to come?"

"So badly. Fuck, it hurts Jask- please, touch me."

"Okay," he grins, but instead of touching him, Jaskier slips further, pressing two fingers against his hole and slipping easily inside. He forgets his own pleasure in favour of fucking Geralt with his fingers, quickly moving from two up to three. And Geralt melts into the sheets, sweat-slick and so hot he feels like he could burn alive, and yet somehow, unbearably good.

Jaskier brings him right up to the edge and lets him linger, twitching on his fingers, before pulling out altogether. He reaches down to touch himself, but Jaskier bumps his hand away. It's cruel, Geralt thinks, to leave him like this, but then Jaskier's crawling up over him, bending low to whisper in his ear.

"You can come again if you come on my cock," he breathes and Geralt nearly comes from that alone. "Think you can?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck. Good boy." Jaskier eases himself up, lifting Geralt's legs to rest over his own and he presses close.

He ruts against him teasingly, letting his cock drag against Geralt's before abruptly drawing away and pressing into him. He doesn't hesitate and a Geralt shudders, arching off the bed. Jaskier snaps his hips, holding Geralt's to keep him from jostling too much and picks up a brutal pace.

He fucks into him quick and hard and Geralt is so far beyond exhausted. His body is heavy, kept awake only by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him and a desperate ache of something more that he knows belongs solely to Jaskier. He reaches up to him, cupping his face then dropping his hands to his chest. His fingers push through thick chest hair and Jaskier hums as he shifts to get closer.

"Mmm," he whispers, "touch me, darling, love your hands."

Geralt does as he's asked, running his hands down Jaskier's stomach - firmer than it appears most of the time - and back up his sides. He runs his hands down his arms and holds his shoulders, presses his fingers into the back of his neck and runs his fingers through his hair.

Without the barrier of consciousness, he mumbles soft words of praise, telling Jaskier how beautiful he looks and how he does so much for him. He's barely aware of what he's saying, just cognizant enough to keep from telling him how he feels, but he wants to. And when Jaskier dips to kiss him, still rutting into his desperately, Geralt thinks he might accept it. They've come this far, after all.

"So good for me," Jaskier breathes, "so fucking perfect Geralt, gods I wish you could see yourself the way I do. So kind, so perfect-" he begins rambling and Geralt can smell the spike in his arousal. He's close, but he's holding back. He wants Geralt to come first.

He pushes back onto Jaskier's cock, wrapping his arms around his neck to pull him down to him and Jaskier closes the little remaining distance between them. He settles against Geralt's chest, switching up the angle of his thrusts and bumps against his prostate immediately. Geralt jerks under him, hips rocking up unintentionally and rutting against Jaskier's hip.

He's so close, too - a miracle after how many times Jaskier has already gotten him off tonight - but this feels different, Jaskier fucking him like this, face-to-face. It's softer, intimate in a way Geralt isn't used to, even with Jaskier, and the implications get under his skin and stay there, heating his skin and pushing him forward.

Jaskier pushes himself deep and rocks shallowly, keeping himself pressed up against Geralt's prostate and it's overwhelming. Geralt digs his fingers into the back of Jaskier's neck, barely resisting the urge to reach down and jerk himself to completion. But he's so close and Jaskier wants him to come on his cock and Geralt wants whatever Jaskier wants.

"Please," he whispers and he's not even sure what he's asking for, but Jaskier kisses him then, hot and filthy, barely a kiss at all, and Geralt lets go.

He comes with a cry, barely muffled by Jaskier's mouth and then Jaskier is shifting on top of him, sitting up without breaking the kiss and pulling out. He's still hard and Geralt is about to tell him off for denying himself but then he's climbing up over him.

Jaskier straddles his hips, hovering barely an inch above Geralt's cock and takes himself in hand. He jerks himself quickly and Geralt reaches up, rubbing Jaskier's thighs as he groans and bites his lip. And Geralt can't keep his eyes off of him. He thinks he might understand why Jaskier thinks he's beautiful like this because seeing Jaskier with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth is a little overwhelming.

"Fuck, Geralt-" Jaskier groans and then he's pitching forward, one hand braced on Geralt's pec while the other furiously strips his cock. He mumbles as he gets close and he shuts his eyes, a breathy fuck on his lips before he's coming, splattering against Geralt's chest.

Geralt leans his head back and shuts his eyes, mindlessly running his hands over Jaskier's thighs until Jaskier shifts to lie on top of him. Geralt's about to comment that it's disgusting, but then Jaskier's lips brush his own, so softly and he can't think to interrupt him.

He's expecting it to be brief, just a quick kiss and then Jaskier will roll over and… well, he doesn't know what he expected to come next, but Jaskier doesn't stop and he doesn't move away. Instead, he deepens the kiss, reaching up to tangle one hand in Geralt's hair and twining their fingers together with the other. Even when he pulls away, Jaskier kisses his jaw and his neck, nosing just under his ear.

Jaskier has just moved down to his collarbone when there's a knock on the door. Geralt pulls back instinctively, but Jaskier presses a reassuring hand to his chest.

"I called for a bath and fresh sheets earlier, love, don't worry. They've got good timing, hm?"

"Mm," Geralt hums.

"Wait here, love, I'll be right back." He slips off the bed, pulling the drapes shut around the bed and Geralt is too tired to focus on what he's doing.

Instead, he lets his mind wander, which proves to be a mistake because he feels uncertain now that Jaskier's hands aren't on him and he can't help but wonder if he imagined Jaskier's enthusiasm to some extent. He lies still and thinks back, trying to sort through his thoughts and before long, Jaskier returns, dressed in a short silk robe. It suits him.

He climbs up onto the bed on his knees, reaching out for Geralt and pulling him upright. He coaxes him into the bath and it's not until he's sitting in the hot water, back to Jaskier's chest, that Jaskier seems to notice something is wrong. He doesn't ask about it, but wraps his arms around him and washes him with a soft-smelling soap. It reminds him of Jaskier and Geralt shuts his eyes, dropping his head back against Jaskier's shoulder.

Geralt isn't even surprised when his cock stirs under Jaskier's attention, and without hesitation, Jaskier slips a hand around him, jerking him off in a matter of minutes. When Geralt comes again, he slumps against him and Jaskier hums.

"Gods," he whispers, "I'm spent, but you'd keep me going all night, darling."

Geralt steps out of the tub on wobbly legs and Jaskier is there immediately, wrapping his arms around him and pulling a sheet around them both. He kisses him as he dries him off, soft little pecks that tickle more than anything, but Geralt loves them.

As soon as they're both dried, Jaskier leads him back to a freshly made bed - the maids must have snuck in while they were in the bath - and guides him onto it, following after. They're both exhausted and Geralt sinks into the warmth of the bed, but he can't get comfortable. He curls in on himself, even as Jaskier presses up behind him. The shift puts them further apart and Jaskier closes that gap again, leaning up.

"What's wrong, love?"

Geralt sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to say, but to have a taste of Jaskier like this and lose him-

"Earlier you said- did you mean it?" Jaskier's scent levels, the harsh worry fading into relief.

"Yes, of course, I meant it. I thought you knew."

"I knew you wanted me," Geralt mumbles, "I didn't think you'd-"

"Love you?"

"Mm."

"I do, Geralt. I love you so much. And last night when I saw you, when I heard you? That was the first time I thought you might feel the same."

"I do," Geralt says.

"I certainly hope so because I won't be able to move for a week after this. You'll be stuck in this bed with me until the Countess has us hauled off."

"I can think of worse ways to spend a week." Jaskier laughs softly and nuzzles against Geralt's back.

"I promise you, my love, as soon as we have the coin I'm taking you to the nicest place I can find and keeping you in for a week."

"Mm," Geralt hums, turning to face him. He reaches up, pulling Jaskier's face gently toward his own and he kisses him softly. "I'll hold you to that."

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #rex writes #spicy #dom/sub undertones #this is basically all smut #oop!

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kingsleytealeef · 4 years ago

Note

uhm, for your prompts: geraskier, with jaskier hiding geralt (and maybe ciri) from nilfgaard in plain sight, like. without magic, he manages to make the soldiers go away with empty hands? thank you!

sorry this took longer than expected! i haven’t been feeling very well recently so it got left alone for a while. hope you like it though!

warning/s: none

(ao3)

“You there!”

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier mutters sharply recognising the no nonsense tone of a solider and feeling the dread settle in his gut like a block of ice.

Geralt’s fingers twitch at his side, his swords are sadly tucked away under Roach’s blanket just under Ciri’s leg for safekeeping as she sits astride the saddle.

They’d been reluctantly placed there - at Jaskier’s suggestion - so they could move through town unhindered by locals looking for a Witcher’s aid or at least so the trio could draw a little less attention than they normally would. Something they might have gotten away with if Geralt hadn’t been sour about hiding his swords so much he’d childishly left down his hood. Revealing his rather distinctive and famous white hair for all the land to see.

And now there are soldiers.

So the idea of going incognito had clearly failed in it’s execution and now Geralt is without his weapons in easy reach as the squelch of many heavy boots marching through the mud approach them from behind.

Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye as Geralt’s hand releases the reins for Roach’s bridle and skims along her flank to the hidden pommel slowly. Jaskier shakes his head in warning and thankfully the Witcher listens, stilling his hand.

The last thing they need is more attention and Geralt beheading the local guardsmen would be like sending up a flare for Nilfgaard.

Jaskier chews on his lip, racking his brain for a way out of their predicament. He see’s Geralt’s hand move again, not for the swords this time but to rest on Ciri’s shaking knee in comfort. The princess huddles under her cloak, shrinking away from the danger approaching them and Jaskier’s heart aches for her. The lingering trauma of being hunted has left a stain on the once happy princess that Jaskier and Geralt have tried their best to erase. But situations like these always undo that hard work in moments.

Jaskier sighs at the loss of progress shrinking deeper into the folds of her cloak and decides on a course of action, one that might just avoid darkening that stain on Ciri’s heart.

“Oi! You deaf?” Another voice yells and Jaskier straightens his spine and prepares to dazzle his audience into submission.

He spins round dramatically, plastering a wide happy grin across his face. It’s not his most eye-catching outfit but he should be able to draw attention away from the Witcher and his child surprise well enough. Presentation is key for misdirection after all.

Jaskier glances over the small patrol quickly, filing away the small details that he can use to his advantage. Just like any other ballroom or tavern he’s stepped foot in. Reading the room is how you own it and Jaskier wouldn’t be a famous bard if he couldn’t quickly and effectively discern the lay of the land. A loud tavern full of boisterous laughter needs dance music and bawdy songs, a noble wedding with dignified guests needs jaunty jigs with easy beats to dance to and when enough wine has been drunk, a few romantic epics to get everyone in the mood. The stage is a little different but the details are the same.

He silently curses as he recognises the dark armour and golden sun stretching across it and prays to whatever deity likes Geralt in one piece in the vain hope that things will go smoothly. But for now, it's up to him and every skill he’s honed at every banquet and party he’s ever been to, to get them through this peacefully.

“Fine gentlemen, what can I aid such noble soldiers with today?” he greets loudly as he skips forward putting himself between the approaching soldiers and Geralt. A few of the men flinch at his volume. Jaskier notes the overly red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the slight sway in their stance. Too much patrolling the tavern rather than the streets and very recently too.

He has to play this right. Be loud and obnoxious and they’ll want to get rid of him quickly to ease their aching heads. Too much though and he runs the risk of raising questions. It’ll be a fine line to tread, a thin tightrope between freedom and a noose but it’s something he’s managed before and for far lesser stakes.

“Your friend, where does he hail from?” The Captain asks shrewdly, eyeing Geralt’s exposed white hair with narrowed eyes. Jaskier rocks on his heels full of nervous energy.

“My cousin you mean? Well he and his daughter come from Lettenhove of course! As do I,” Jaskier bows deeply, throwing as much theatricality into his performance as possible, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. A pleasure to meet you, good sir!”

He doesn’t often drag out his nobility but the situation calls for it. Perhaps enough for the men to back off, in fear of upsetting nobility.

“And your...cousin’s white hair? A familial trait?” The captain asks skeptically. His title isn’t enough to brush away their questions but there is a touch more hesitancy than before so Jaskier counts it in his favour. He still grimaces a little and racks his brain for a plausible lie to help them escape the situation with as little screaming and entrails as possible. Tiny streams in deep forests are not ideal for removing Nilfgaardian guts from a Witcher’s hair after all and after this fiasco getting Geralt to agree to enter any form of civilisation will be a nightmare.

So Jaskier does what he does best.

He tells a story.

He lets his face drop into a more serious expression and sidles up closer, a little too close for comfort, for a not so much conspiratorial whisper, “No, no, my good sir. Not at all. You see, it's such a terrible thing. Truly terrible. A curse.”

At least two of the men take an involuntary step back as though such a thing could be catching. Good, Jaskier thinks snidely, superstitious morons swallow a lie father easier than a wise man.

“Twas laid upon him by a spiteful sorceress. He’s quite sensitive over the whole thing as I’m sure you can imagine,” Jaskier placed a hand over his heart as he hammed up the performance a degree or two, “My poor dear sweet cousin spurned the witches advances you see, his heart already belonged to another. Fiona’s mother, she hailed from Nilfgaard, such a sweet woman. Not that it mattered to the spiteful witch! The sorceress was quite enraged by it all and so cursed my poor cousin to bear the likeness of the ugliest creature she knew, a Witcher.”

Jaskier winces internally and sends a silent apology to Geralt and hopes the man won’t take too much offence but there’s no other option for them.

“How unfortunate,” one of the men comments in a heartfelt manner and Jaskier dabs at his dry eye in agreement.

“Yes it is and such happenstance that we should be looking for a Witcher,” the Captain says, unconvinced. But Jaskier has the rest of his audience on tenterhooks and a crowd can sway a single mind.

He scoff’s loudly and slams his hands onto his hips.

“Nothing but trouble I say, for we’ve been stopped by every knight and good soldier from here to the Pontar! It’s made our journey to Oxenfurt doubly long and I’m due to begin teaching next week! The delay!” Jaskier wails dramatically and the men collectively wince at his volume and shrillness, “Thankfully with my tenured position the faculty will be most forgiving of my lateness! But truly it has been nothing but trouble!”

“Hmm,” the Captain wavers and Jaskier pushes his advantage, leaning in a touch too far again.

“I shall tell you good sir the best way to tell a Witcher from my unfortunate cousin is the swords, for Witcher’s carry two on their backs and my dear sweet cousin can only swing a pitchfork!”

“Viscount’s right Captain, no swords,” one of the men speaks up and they all turn to look at Geralt’s back, covered in a muddy cape but bereft of the notable twin swords.

“He could have thrown them,” the Captain suggests but quietly, not fully believing his own words and Jaskier tries not to let his relief show.

“Thrown them?! Why my dear Captain, that would be a waste of fine silver and steel! Who in their right mind would throw away a silver sword! Pah! A fool, that’s who!”

The Captain ruminates for a few moments and then nods, “Right you are, carry on m’lord.”

Jaskier’s knees feel a little weak as the men shuffle round and begin their march back up the street they came. He waves them off jauntily despite the nausea swirling in his gut.

“Many blessings to you and safe journey my good men!”

As soon as the men are out of sight Jaskier stumbles as the relief falls on him like a ton of bricks. Geralt grips his bicep, pulling him back up as he stares down the street after the patrol.

“Gone?” Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

“Thank Melitele,” Jaskier exhales and drops his head against Geralt’s shoulder heavily.

“Ugliest creatures?” Geralt asks and Jaskier groans.

“Darling I apologise wholeheartedly for such a lie but how else was I to excuse your appearance?”

Geralt snorts, thankfully with more amusement than anger, “Good thinking.”

“Thank you love but might I suggest putting several fields between us and them before more questions are asked?” Jaskier points out and Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, squeezing him close for a moment before letting him stand on his own steadying legs.

Geralt takes Roach’s reins once more as Jaskier falls into step next to him, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the near empty street behind them and hopes they can put enough road between the patrol and them before nightfall to breathe a little easier.

“Are you really a viscount Jaskier?” Ciri questions quietly, hunched over under her heavy cape atop Roach. Jaskier startles at the sudden question but settles into a sardonic smile.

“Unfortunately so my darling, though the title does have its uses here and there.”

Ciri thankfully doesn’t press the issue as she flicks her gaze over her shoulder worridily. More concerned with the soldiers than his checkered past.

“I didn’t think they’d leave so easily,” she mumbles and Jaskier reaches over to pat her leg softly.

“Fear not my dear, they were easy to fool and won’t be following us anytime soon.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ciri asks, her tone skeptical and a little sharp. A princess on the run yes, but still a princess and one growing from a child into a woman and not shy about demanding she be treated as such. Jaskier chuckles.

“Simple. I saw all I needed to, to lead them astray. I’ll teach you how to read men like open books soon enough darling,” Jaskier winks and Ciri worried at her bottom lip for a few quiet moments.

“Teach me now?”

Jaskier shares a glance with Geralt, raising an eyebrow up in question and Geralt simply nods his permission. Well if his Witcher is okay with it then who is he to argue giving the young exiled princess another knife in her growing arsenal.

“Very well, what did you notice about them?”

She ponders for a moment, “There weren’t that many?” Ciri offers hesitantly. Jaskier beams encouragingly.

“Well spotted! A small patrol left in an unremarkable town. Tells us quite a bit. These fools aren’t high on the pecking order. They aren’t given more responsibility or better yet aren’t trusted with more,” Jaskier explains and Ciri leans forward in rapt attention. “What else could you see?”

“They hesitated,” Geralt says and Jaskier turns his attention on the Witcher’s soft smile.

“Very good my love,” Jaskier pecks Geralt’s cheek in reward, earning a giggle from Ciri.

“That matters?” she asks.

“Indeed, a lack of confidence speaks to their inexperience or perhaps they’ve acted hastily in the past and been reprimanded making them hesitant to act similarly again,” Jaskier explains, falling into his old teaching habits easily.

“What else did you see,” Ciri questions curiously and Jaskier hums thoughtfully.

“Dented armour that hasn’t yet been fixed, means coin is tight or flowing elsewhere. Mud caked into clothes and bulging chest plates. These men have become lazy and spend more nights in a tavern than marching around town. Ruddy cheeks and bloodshot eyes tell me they enjoy their drink, a bit too much most likely. Given the hour it was either a heavy night of drinking with a spectacular hangover or they’ve just come from the tavern. Whichever it is, their minds and body long for beds not battle and that my fair girl is where you can take advantage,” Jaskier lists and Ciri looks suitably impressed with his observations.

“Enough to confuse them?”

“Perhaps enough to lose them in a winding tale with dramatic flair,” Jaskier shrugs, remembering many a glazed drunken gaze and how he used it to his advantage in the past.

“The loudness helped too,” Geralt offers slyly and Ciri laughs as Jaskier pretends to take offence though he preens at the small but fond smile on his Witcher’s face and the ease settling around Ciri’s shoulders once more.

“Nothing makes a drunken soldier recoil quicker than a loud bright bard,” Jaskier winks.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #jask writes #nessie

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inkedtae · 4 years ago

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fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series...

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠ @moonmintrails (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs.

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without.

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder.

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe.

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side.

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it.

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you.

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?”

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!”

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions.

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you.

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food.

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros.

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony.

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t.

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer.

“I think I do,” she smiles.

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him.

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long.

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings.

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you.

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind.

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you.

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you.

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history.

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting.

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you.

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment.

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?”

Kyon smiles and nods.

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl.

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well.

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug.

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath.

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity.

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument.

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?”

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.”

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation.

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.”

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her.

“Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you.

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them.

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance.

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre.

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same.

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks.

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there?

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes.

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies.

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply.

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.”

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky.

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek.

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset.

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore.

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now.

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray.

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees.

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter.

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain.

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in.

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow.

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head.

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.”

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him.

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh.

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird.

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end.

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his-

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable.

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you.

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap.

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.”

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together.

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week.

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered.

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters.

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud.

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans.

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.”

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now.

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says.

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my… The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it.

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.”

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind.

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks.

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs.

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud.

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no.

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.”

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable.

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him.

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks.

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him.

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline.

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.”

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him.

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?”

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought.

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes.

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in.

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place.

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.”

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you.

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence.

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.”

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck.

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself.

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.”

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow.

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks.

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit.

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl.

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him.

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans.

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good.

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him.

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground.

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs.

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans.

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build.

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again.

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock.

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion.

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break.

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him.

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs.

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to.

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube.

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for.

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings.

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts.

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly.

“Mhm,” you mewl.

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine.

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it.

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you.

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure.

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head.

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again.

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?”

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name.

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating.

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it.

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses?

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered.

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess.

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done.

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him.

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on.

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs.

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive.

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him.

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you.

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask.

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!”

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock.

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it.

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only.

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts.

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you.

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal.

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach.

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him.

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well.

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case.

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin.

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count.

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.”

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like.

He pauses, body freezing beneath you.

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder.

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you.

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout.

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours.

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze.

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain.

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his.

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second.

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too.

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him.

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well.

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods.

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head.

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles.

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.”

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.”

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body.

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to.

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply.

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask?

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from.

“(Y/N)!”

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain.

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden.

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer.

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next.

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering.

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear.

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like.

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now.

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile.

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook.

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.”

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing.

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice.

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply.

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him.

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him.

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.”

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles.

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way.

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.”

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry.

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply.

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling.

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#networkbangtan #btsguild #btswritingcafe #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanhq #goldenclosetnet #btsgoldnet #magicshopnet #jungkook smut #greek god au #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fluff #bts smut

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translationandbetrayals · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝟏

This is the second and last part of my Geto Suguru analysis, where I approach him using the enneagram system to explain his character.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 ?

The Enneagram of Personality is a model of the human psyche, a personality theory which states that your behaviors and approach to life are born from something called ‘core fear’ and ‘core desire’.

Although the origins of the Enneagram system are unclear, the most known contemporary theories were taught by the Bolivian psycho-spiritual teacher Oscar Ichazo and the Chilean psychiatrist Claudio Naranjo.

This typology presents us with nine personality types, which are represented by the points of a geometric figure called an enneagram; it shows lines of growth and stress for each type, meaning that an enneatype will appear like another ennatype in his healthier state (E9 takes the positive traits of an E3) and in situations of crisis (E9 takes the negative traits of an E6).

Most people believe Geto is an enneagram type 1, the reformer or perfectionist.

𝐄𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝟏𝐰𝟐 𝐬𝐨/𝐬𝐩

Types One have as a basic fear being corrupt, imbalanced or being bad while their basic desire is being good and having integrity. It is part of the instinctual center, known for being motivated by ‘gut’ issues.

Ones are ethical and have a strong sense of right and wrong (which aligns well with Geto’s MBTI). Between their negative traits are the tendency of being overly critical and perfectionistic, typically struggling with resentment and impatience. Geto has strong sense of duty associated with his mission of protecting non-sorcerers. Type ones like him, strive to make a better world with the little influence they have, aspect of Geto’s personality that shows with the nobility he accepts his position as ‘the strong’ that must protect ‘the weak’.

After the damage his sense of justice received, by realizing how corrupted is the organization he is a part of and how wicked are the people he thought needed his protection, he felt lost and without purpose. The ego fixation of a type One is resentment, clearly manifesting it towards non-sorcerers because of their awful actions. This has direct correlation with the instinctual variants of Geto: social and self-preservation; this type of One wants to be a perfect example for the people around them, so they can have ‘know-it-all’ appearance. Their social instinct is satisfied when people follow their rules and hold up to their standards of justice. This type is community minded, and tend to give their advice on how to do something the right way; when healthy, this comes from a place of genuine interest and desire to help, like when he expresses to Gojo that he should be more careful with the way he talks (this can also be related to him being a 1w2, they are known for being interested in sharing values and wanting to help other people to do what is right).

But the scenario changes when the actions or opinions of someone try to resist the perception of morality of a type One; this is seen especially when he gets offended by Gojo’s recklessness and disinterest in helping others, something he believes is the right thing to do and the reason he is there. In a more extremist side, this characteristic is also shown when he states his resolution of killing all non-sorcerers, even when he knew he would have to go against everyone in Jujutsu High.

It is mentioned that Ones strive after ‘higher values’, even at the cost of a great sacrifice. This is shown before the Star Vessel incident, when he was ready to consume curses despite its horrible flavor; and after the death of Riko, this is what motivates him to change completely his point of view; he decides non-sorcerers must die because he cannot stand the thought of seeing his teammates die for ungrateful ‘monkeys’.

It is also stated that the anger of this specific type is colder and more controlled, which would explain his cool façade when he talked to the civilians who were torturing the twins he rescued, right before killing the whole town in cold blood.

Ones are an instinctual type, but they rely heavily on restricting themselves, which makes them develop problems with repressing their emotions. During the conversation between Yuki and Geto, he states his struggle with feeling torn between what he wants to do and what he knows is right. He feels disappointed in himself because cannot properly eradicate these thoughts and that (in a type one mentality) means he is effectively bad and corrupted; here Yuki provides some sort of comfort by telling him that what would make him that way would be acting upon that thought.

They feel as the must justify their actions to everyone, but especially to themselves, so they spend a lot of time thinking in the consequences of their own actions, this is interesting if we remember that even if the beginning of Geto’s downfall was the death of Riko, the actual breaking point was a year later.

An important note is that a type One in lines of stress would appear like an unhealthy type Four, which would make the person overly worried about being irrelevant or insignificant. These problems start to become present in Geto’s life after the Star Vessel event, when he sees how the higher ups make him go to more dangerous missions alone, he felt as if they were disregarding him; Gojo said they were both the strongest, but now, he was the strongest alone.

𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

Enneagram of Personality

Type One

Enneagram Type One, The Assessor

Jujutsu Kaisen Wiki

Geto Suguru PDB

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐁. 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐮𝐞𝐳𝐚 𝐏. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

#Manga #essay #submission

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yuyupowers · 4 years ago

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aristocrat!yunho

aristocrat!yunho x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

trigger warning(s): description of an anxiety attack, brief description of death, memory loss. let me know if there’s anything else!

author’s note: i swear this wasn’t supposed to be this long sdkjflds

none of the pictures are mine!

for reference, i’m using british peerage (hierarchy). there are five ranks: baron, viscount, earl (count), marquess, and duke - the highest being duke, and the lowest, baron.

eldest son of a duke

okay, so

among nobility, the jeon family are well respect but considered to be a bit,,,eccentric

they adhere to all the social expectations expected amongst nobles, but their attitude towards non-nobility is what sets them apart

though most noble families are polite when interacting with non-nobility, they generally try to keep their distance; avoid their company, if possible

not the jeong’s

it wasn’t unusual to see duchess jeong knitting in her tea room with maids, merchant’s wives, or whoever else wanted to come

to see gunho running around with his friends, a pack of street urchins, low, and middle class children

to see yunho in the market helping one of the many older couples haul their cart into place

his family had managed to find the delicate balance of being “normal” enough not to suffer social ostracization, yet “odd” enough for people to dismiss their “peculiar actions” as “typical jeong behaviour”

now, onto the loml yunho

perfect gentleman pt. 2

extremely charming and a great conversationalist

no matter how awkward or shy the other party may be, yunho has this way to draw them out of their shell

(just ask mingi)

excels physical and hands-on activities (i.e. hunting, horseback riding, swordsmanship, etc,,,)

average in terms of book smarts

so while wasn’t about to lead the next technological revolution, he wasn’t “stupid” either

rather, i’d argue that yunho’s brilliant in non-traditional ways

his quick wit and ability to think on his feet is part of his charm

but his greatest strengths are his observational skills and emotional intelligence

able to discern people’s emotional state easily and quickly

he’s someone who’s kind, bright, and genuinely cares about other people’s problems (sometimes a little too much)

a natural leader - people tend to flock towards him

between him and mingi (who despite not acting like it, is extremely book smart), they’ve got all bases covered

(+ yunho’s willingness in using unconventional methods to gather information)

that’s actually how he met you

or rather, “found” seems more appropriate

see, he has an excellent rapport with the street children

being six foot one and offering shoulder rides does wonders

and because he wants to stay updated on what problems the people around him are dealing with, he gets the children to “report” to him if they find or hear anything unusual

(the children are more than eager to play spy, especially when there’s candy involved)

one day while taking a stroll, one of his kids ran up to him totally out of breath

he wheezed something about a “mysterious lady” before grabbing yunho’s hand and dragging leading him to an alley quite far away

to say he was surprised was an understatement

most of the time, his kids brought amusing but mostly useless information to him

(even if he is more than content listening about the cute squirrel they fed earlier that day)

usually they didn’t lead him to an unconscious woman lying in the middle of an empty alley

(yes, that’s you)

hurrying to your side, he drops down and checks to see if you’re alive

other than being unconscious and getting some dirt in your hair and on your clothes, you seemed to be okay

gingerly scooping you into his arms, he tells the little boy to fetch the doctor and bring him to the jeong manor

fast forward a couple hours and you’re roused from your unconscious state by the sharp smell of ammonia mixed with lavender

blearily, you rub your eyes and blink once, twice, before your vision finally clears

then panic

you don’t recognize where you are or the two faces that hover by your bedside

sensing your anxiety, yunho smiles warmly speaks in a soothing tone

“hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re in a safe place. my name’s yunho and this is dr. adley. i found you unconscious in an alley.”

and though you’re very confused and still mildly unnerved, you can tell this yunho guy is genuine

“,,,okay.”

so you settle into the (extremely comfortable) four poster bed and let the doctor examine you

except now it’s time for panic pt.2, but ten times worse because why the hell can’t you remember anything?!

you can’t even remember your own g*d damned name !!

to make things worse, there doesn’t seem to be a reason why you can’t remember anything

no bumps or injuries anywhere on your body

and chances of a robbery gone wrong, a kidnapping, or a failed assassination attempt were very unlikely since you were dressed in commoner’s clothes

disquieted by your alarm and the doctor’s confusion, yunho slips out of the room and returns after several minutes

the doctor, offering apologies to both you and yunho, says he has no idea what’s wrong or what could’ve happened to you

all he can suggest is to rest and hope that your memories eventually come back to you

your burry your face into your hands, a whirlwind of frustration, confusion, and fear brewing in you

apparently nobody, including yourself:

knows who you are,

where you came from,

why you were unconscious,

and why you lost your memories

to top it off, you have no money

…

just when you were about to idk,,,scream and/or punch something-

you feel two large hands engulfing yours, lowering them from your face

taking a seat on the edge of bed, yunho offers a faint smile as he idly traces lines from your wrists to your fingertips

a surprisingly soothing gesture

“,,,i know you’re overwhelmed right now, but please don’t feel as if you have to do this on your own. i talked to my mum and dad; you can stay here until either someone finds you or your memories return. in the meantime, we’ll help you out as much as we can, yeah?”

and though you’re in no position to argue, your first instinct is to decline because though you’re amnesiatic, you still have common sense

what kind of family, wealthy or not (actually, especially wealthy), lets a complete stranger stay in their house?

do these people have no sense of danger?

but yunho is as stubborn as he is kind, and this was how you ended up staying with the jeong’s

(you insist on working to earn your stay, much to yunho’s dismay. in his head, unless it helped in recovering their memories or, unfortunately, was necessary for survival, who would make an amnesiac work?)

the first couple of days were awkward

duke and duchess jeong had briefed everyone in the manor about your situation, but when making casual conversation, lapses in memory and uncomfortable silences were inevitable

“oh, i adore this purple! hey, what’s your favourite colour?”

“,,,i uh,,, don’t know.”

“,,,i’m so sorry-”

but awkward has never a problem for yunho, and you quickly grew fond of the gentle giant

“since we don’t know your name, can i call you little sun? since i found you on a sunny day and you’re little-”

“yunho, not everyone can be six feet tall”

“six one, actually”

“,,,”

true to his word, he does his best to help you recover your memories

roped mingi into helping

when you finished your tasks for the day, he’d bring you to all sorts of places, trying all sorts of things

on a hunting trip with yungi, you discovered that: a) you’re proficient in horseback riding, b) you have astounding aim, and c) you’re surprisingly agile

yunho, who’s always been penchant towards athleticism, was delighted to have someone to compete with

mingi just grumbled. sure he was clumsy, but how did someone with no memory beat him?

while helping the gardener, you found out that you have a rather extensive knowledge of flora

yunho jokingly (kinda) suggested that maybe you were a huntress

mingi bombarded you with questions and quizzes about plants

find out what kind of plant you are by decorating your dream room

hoping that you’d run into someone or somewhere familiar, yunho would take on walks all over the city

during your walks, you learned that you preferred nighttime (while he preferred the day), that you found solace in being alone (while he preferred company), that you liked sweet things (while he preferred chips)

a month,

two,

six months passed liked this

you made progress, but you couldn’t stop the bitterness from bubbling in your chest; negativity spreading through your veins like toxin

sure, you consider your favourite colour to be a precious memory in its own right

but who cares about what your favourite colour is when you can’t remember your own name?

you were vexed by the fact that, at this point, you know more about yunho than yourself

even if learning about him made your heart flutter

just a little

and the nightmares

the nightmares

they drove you crazy

you never remembered what you’d dream of, but every night, without fail, you’d wake with tear stained cheeks and sweat soaked clothes

tonight was particularly bad

normally, when you woke, you’d force yourself to take several deep, calming breaths until your breathing evened, grab a glass of water, then crawl back to bed

today, you couldn’t breathe

no matter what or how hard you tried, your heart wouldn’t stop pummeling against your ribcage;

your blood wouldn’t stop rushing between your ears, creating a cacophony no one else could hear;

wave after wave of nausea would slam into your gut

your vision’s blurring

oh god

you’re gonna pass out

you’re gonna pass out and forget the memories you worked so hard to remember and all the memories you made and you’re gonna forget yunho and mingi and-

suddenly, much like the first day, two large hands engulf your own, idly tracing lines from your wrist to your fingertips

“little sun, it’s me, yunho. your yunho. focus on my hands and voice, yeah? i’m right here.”

he continues to murmur sweet nothings until finally, finally, your heart settles back in your chest, your breathing levels, and your vision clears enough to see yunho

your yunho

and in this state, one look at his kind eyes is enough for the tears you’ve been holding in all this time to spill over

because though you cry in your sleep, you never let yourself cry when you’re awake

too focused on chores, too focused on remembering, too focused on trying to get some semblance of control over this uncontrollable situation

without a word, he pulls you into his chest and runs his fingers through your sweaty hair, offering the sound of his heartbeat to anchor you back to this four poster bed when you were ready

but g*d, does it break his heart to see you cry

he expected to hear you wail, to take the brunt of your fists as you pound his chest

but he hears nothing

instead, he feels your tears soak his shirt, feels how you tremble in his arms

and that is so much worse.

it takes long minute for you to stop crying, and another for you to feel composed enough to detach yourself from yunho’s (now soggy) chest

you’re sure you look awful

puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks, and a runny nose

(and you feel embarrassed that yunho witnessed your breakdown)

but he thumbs away the remaining tears from your cheeks and murmurs that he’ll be right back, returning with tissues and a glass of water

and a new shirt

he hands you the glass of water, tosses your used tissues in the garbage, and climbs underneath your (technically his) covers, patting the space beside him

when you too find refuge in the warm blankets, he pulls you back into his chest

his arm acts as your pillow as he kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair

“wanna talk about it?”

it takes you several moments, but you eventually tell him about the negativity seeping into every inch of skin

the nightmares you never recall keeping you up at night

the irrational feeling of stupidity because you can’t remember who you are

yunho silently, attentively listens to you as you spill your heart

and if he hadn’t pulled you so close, you might’ve seen the weariness in his usually carefree features

the conflict and hollowness brewing in his normally inviting eyes

but by the time you finished talking and pulled back, the expression was gone and the familiar smile you adored so much was back in place

“tomorrow, let’s go to the place where i found you.”

a faint smile bloomed on your lips because though this wasn’t the first time you visited, it was a reminder that you weren’t alone

that no matter how the chances dwindled, yunho would remind you that it was never zero

it was hope that got you through the night

the two of you have never done anything that could be considered anything but platonic

much to mingi’s irritation

but just for tonight, yunho decides to be a little greedy

he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids, you wrists, your palms, your knuckles, your fingers

anywhere he can reach,

except for your lips

you’re emotionally exhausted and vulnerable; he’d feel like a dick if he forced a decision - especially an emotionally fraught one - onto you right now

he threads your fingers together, murmuring soft promises: you’ll remember who you were, you’ll be okay, you’ll find your way again

and you finally let the exhaustion, the steady rhythm of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and the warmth and comfort that is yunho lull you to sleep

the next morning is a cold one

gusts of wind bite into your skin as you curl in on yourself, trying to preserve any remaining shred of body heat

noticing this, yunho tucks you under his arm with a sheepish smile and flushed cheeks that were definitely red because of the cold and not because he was flustered

cute

a peaceful silence falls between you two as he leads you to the alley

and since it was early, the only sounds that accompanied you was the quiet patter of your footsteps and the chirps of birds reluctant to travel south

feeling like it simultaneously took too long and not long enough, the two of you arrive

an odd smile settles on yunho’s lips

,,,was that bitterness?

“,,,here we are.”

interrupting your train of thought, he takes your hand and leads you to where he found you

g*d

you could feel it

somewhere in the back of your mind, something almost tangible was shoving its way forward

you’re so close, just a little more and-

suddenly, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran down your spine

before you could understand what you were feeling, yunho shoved you behind him and parried the dagger aimed for his chest

a gruff looking man only a little shorter than he stood before him

his clothes tattered and dirty, skin littered with scars, hair and beard scraggly and matted, he looked like one of the many men that inhabited the slums

but those men were sagging skin and bones, never knowing where or if they would get a next meal

this man was muscular

and judging by the familiarity of his actions, this clearly wasn’t his first assassination

the two men, unable to disengage, snarl as they continue to press into each other

much to your surprise, when you were about to jump into the fray, the assassin screams at you

“YOU ‘UCKING WHORE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! KILL HIM!”

big mistake

because not only is yunho clever and athletic, he’s one lucky bastard

in the brief second the assassin’s attention was diverted, yunho ducks

his weight and moment carries him forward, and he stumbles,,,right onto yunho’s blade.

yanking both his blood soaked short sword and body away from the assassin, the man crumples to the ground

but until life is drained from his eyes, he bores holes into your head, message clear: kill him

a deafening silence weighs down upon you when the man stops breathing

even the wind stills

yunho stands there, a far away look in his eyes as he grips the short sword

blood is splattered all over his hands, across his cheek

it trickles from the hilt, down the blade, and eventually drips onto the ground beneath him

snow begins to drift from the gray skies, landing on his hair, his cheeks, his eyelashes, his coat

as if trying to comfort him

as if trying to wash the blood away

and you?

you couldn’t move.

not when the floodgates had opened and a torrent of memories threatened to pull you under

you knew who you were

you were yn, born to a peasant mother who died at birth and a father that abandoned you soon after

a ghost of a person, and unknown assassin raised by an unnamed noble who resented the jeong’s for their wealth, their nobility, and their favour with the royal family despite their peculiar attitude

nothing but a tool

a tool told that if successful, he’d grant you wealth and freedom

but that if you failed, he’d kill you himself

…

the assassin wasn’t after yunho, he was after you

a warning to finish the job, or else

…

you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking

and yunho,

your gentle giant, yunho

envelops your hands in his, idly tracing lines from your wrist to your fingertips

there’s no comfort this time.

not when he drew lines of blood across the back of your hand, not when you searched and couldn’t read anything expect for this sad smile on his ordinarily open features

“,,,do you remember?”

“,,,”

“,,,you knew.”

he did.

his suspicions appeared early on, spurred by your unusually good marksmanship, agility, and uncanny knowledge of plants

specifically poisonous ones

he turned to this “unconventional” ways of gathering information

starting off with his kids,

then some trusted tclose contacts

but when nothing - and he meant a questionable amount of nothing - turned up, he left the legal sphere and delved in the underground; the black markets

yunho has people who owe him favours - people who’s debts he’s paid off, who’s fights he’s fought on their behalf

it took a few months, but eventually he got the information he wanted

marquess yoo who openly showed his distaste for the jeong family “released his pet into the wild”

but the jeong’s were not stupid, and they were loved

when yunho’s father confided to some close acquaintances about the predicament they were facing, they took matters into their own hands

they never meant to hurt you

only to capture you and talk you out of killing, bribing you with money, protection - threats, if necessary - if you testified against marquess yoo

but somewhere along the way, things got messy

it ended with an unconscious girl lying in the middle of an abandoned alley; three grown men running away because oh dear lord, she’s dead; and a child leading yunho straight to you

letting go of your hands, yunho goes to kneel beside the man he just killed

closing his eyes, he mutters a prayer for the (not so) poor soul who unknowingly got himself tangled in this mess, and grabs the dagger

it feels like someone doused you in ice as yunho walks back to you

horror morphs on your face as he gently - why was he always so gentle? - wraps your fingers around the hilt and places the blade against his neck

the smile that you love so much but currently hate rests on his lips as he cups the side of your face with his free hand

his thumb idly brushes against your cheek, eyes twinkling with adoration as he drinks in every last detail of your face as if,,,

as if,,,

he’s ready to die

“no one knows we left this morning and no one knows we’re here; not even mingi. if you kill me, you’ll have enough time to collect some of your reward and run away.”

by now your hands were shaking so much that if yunho didn’t have his hand wrapped around yours, you would’ve dropped the blade

but as the snow floats down and lands in your hair, in his eye lashes, in the fog of your shared breaths, in the space between you,

here to witness a great tragedy

you both knew,

that one of you has to die.

#ateez yunho #yunho #jeong yunho #ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez headcanons #aristocrat!ateez

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