#i am so relaxed. i love post-bath my muscles actually chill out for a bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

love-toxin · 2 years ago

Note

Are you writing for DMC now? If so, would you consider doing the smut alphabet for V? Your post about V just put me back into DMC’s chokehold omgg

OFC!!! i certainly am and i certainly will for my sweet emo husband <333

V - (a-z)

(cws: gn pronouns, switch!v, mild spit kink, roleplay, body worship/general worshipper complex, teasing, power switching, cockwarming, jealousy, a little somno)

A = Aftercare

Taking care of you after the act is very important to him. Sex in itself is sacred to him, he doesn't downplay the sentiment of you sharing your body with him (and such a beautiful one at that) so he spends quite a lot of time ensuring that you're warm, clean, comfortable, and safe above all else. The only problem is that he's usually completely wiped out after having made love, especially if it was a little rougher than usual or went a little longer, so he has to duck out of the way of your caring hands as you try to get him to sit down and just relax--he is absolutely fine, darling, he promises not to keel over so soon. He would love to have your hands on him in any other situation, but he's determined to provide for you in this area, so you'll just have to watch for once as he stumbles and braces himself especially hard on his cane as he moves to warm up a bath for you.

B = Bondage

Bondage isn't really all that for him, and for good reasons: he likes having your hands on him, and what if he ends up not being able to get you out when you're done? Or hurts you? He'll steer clear of it save for the really gentle stuff--he'd probably be okay with handcuffs, for example, because he could get you out of them fairly easily--although he'd probably be more okay with you tying him up if you end up liking that more. He's not afraid of you getting a little rough with him, after all.

C = Cum

As sensitive as his body can be, it actually takes him quite a long time to cum. It's a little annoying for him when he's alone, since he can't get off as easily and he's honestly not terribly sure how to do it properly--but that means he's usually a bit backed up, so the cum he does release is pretty thick and completely opaque with that pearlescent shade of cream. It's quite satisfying to see that splattered all over your face, or leaking out of you when he's finished and tapping out, and he likes that you think it's especially attractive and when you beg him to give you a nice, big load he's got saved up. His tattoos glow a little when he orgasms, too, which is pretty fascinating to watch. However, he's quick to get a little meek when Griffin comes out later blabbing V's ear off about "feeling more chilled out than usual", and he has to bite his tongue while you laugh, hoping his companions don't think about it too deeply before the chattiest one never lets him live the truth down.

E = Experience

D = Dirty Secret

It takes a while before he feels comfortable enough to introduce the idea, but he really wants to try having you cockwarm him while he reads from his poetry book aloud. Whether by sitting on his lap or having you on your knees while he's nestled deep in your throat, he wants to stroke your hair and praise you between lines as he reads through his favourite poems and feels you trying not to squirm, so you don't distract him. If you do, though, he'll just close his book and insist on you getting all that energy out of your system, and sit back while you ride him all on your own or choke him down to the base until either of you have finished--and then he can go right back to reading, either with his cum leaking out of you and down into his lap, or spilling down your throat for you to whimper and try to swallow without distracting him again.

Obviously he's got very little experience, at least consciously--he probably has a few inklings of muscle memory left over from you-know-who, so his instincts are probably a little better than you would expect. But V still likes to be shown what you enjoy, and he wants to learn from the source how to please you. So a little handholding in the beginning is necessary for him to grasp how his darling likes to be touched.

F = Favourite Position

He likes any position that has you on top of him, particularly when you're riding him and he can rest his hands on your waist to steady you. Not only does it leave little room for him to lose steam and end up disappointing you when he collapses, but he loves to worship you from below and gaze up at you like you're an angel that's descended on him straight from the heavens. That's where you belong, you know: above him, above the world, because you're the most precious thing to have ever graced it.

G = Gloat

You want him to be mean? He can be mean....if you piss him off for real. You hate how protective he is? How he doesn't want you killing demons, even if it's literally your job? How he's an idiot if he thinks you can't protect yourself without him? That's a one-way ticket to earning yourself a hand on your throat and a glower that could cut you when he's got you pinned to a wall. One moan trickling out your mouth immediately catches him on to your little game, and just when you thought you had him wrapped around your finger completely, he's dropping you to fall to your knees and bringing his cane around to stick it between them. He holds it firm and nestles it right up in that sweet spot--and all you have to do to improve his mood is make yourself cum. You can do that, can you not? Or maybe you'll save your dignity and just admit that maybe, just maybe, you can't do everything by yourself.

H = Hair

The hair he's got is sparse, but a more important detail about his hair is what he likes to do with it. He loves having his hair pulled, and he can't pinpoint exactly what's so attractive about it, but whatever it is it makes his back arch and his arms shake whenever you give those black locks a good tug. He likes when you play with it too, when you smooth it away from his face, tuck it behind his ear, wash it, run your fingers through it--no matter how much Griffin makes fun of him for it, V will lay his head in your lap and let you touch his hair even when there's people around. It's impossible to help how good it feels, and the smile and the earnest "You look so handsome, honey!" when he asks you how you feel about it when it turns white just fills his heart with so much warmth.

I = Intoxication

Oh, he doesn't drink, but he's more than happy to care for you when you're stumbling over yourself. It's a little difficult when you're unsteady on your feet but when he gets you into bed, it's exponentially easier to watch over you. And each time you make a reach for him, or tug at his pants with a lusty whisper in his ear, he sweetly thanks you for the compliment with a chuckle before gently laying you back down. He's only got so much energy to spare day to day, and he'd much rather use it when you're sober rather than when you won't remember much.

J = Jack off

As aforementioned, V is a little less experienced in the self-pleasure aspect. He hasn't had much time or much thought in his head to masturbate, so if and when he does, he's a little....unsure. Pair that with the fact that it takes him awhile to cum, and he's usually burnt out and frustrated rather than relieved when he finally gives up. It honestly makes him a little wary about being intimate with you before you try it for the first time together, because he's worried he'll make it into an absolute disaster that ends in neither of you getting off. Thankfully, he soon realizes that not only is that not the case, but that the journey is often times even more exhilarating than the destination.

K = Kiss

Kisses! What a wonderful thing. V absolutely cannot get enough of them--each one has him blushing, smiling, eager for more, and that only escalates in an intimate setting. He could lay you down and kiss every inch of your body for an eternity, to study your reactions every time he kisses a more intimate or sensitive spot is a complete dream to him. He memorizes the places you like to be kissed the most, and he totally demolishes you there with his mouth as he makes love to you. If he could, he would get a tattoo of your kiss marks all over his skin, just to feel like you've always left those pretty stains on him and that you're with him wherever he goes.

L = Lazy

Less so laziness, moreso not having the strength or the energy to get up and get moving--he has more of those days than the average man, and he has endless apologies for not being able to fend for himself as he should. He's really not used to how sweet you can be about it, how you offer to close the distance for him--how you touch him under his clothes as you perch in his lap, whispers racing shivers up his spine as his head tilts back and he submits himself to be at your mercy. On those days nothing feels better than being at your beck and call, and letting you dominate him however you wish.

M = Marking

Speaking of marking, he loves that shit. Marking him, marking you, doesn't matter--he's got some inner desire that's immediately sated when he sees you or himself donned in each other's marks. Whether it's lipstick stains, bruises, bites, hickies, or even cum, V loves it so much he practically craves it. He has no shame about walking around with your mark on him and if he sees you doing the same, or even just rubbing those spots that he knows he left bruises or bites in your skin, he gets all riled up and does a lot of shifting and throat clearing until he can slip away and get you into the closest area of privacy for a little alone time.

N = CNC

Much like bondage, it doesn't really strike him as being his thing. Honestly, he dislikes the idea of you not wanting him period....but that doesn't mean he's not willing to give it a try if you'd like him to, because he's pretty good at playing the part. And the one fantasy he kinda likes is one that plays on the whole "Demons and Hunters" idea, where one of you is the demon wreaking havoc and the other is the hunter sent to destroy them. Whether the demon is dominant or the hunter is and whoever you two end up playing, it's usually a pretty good time to get straddled or to hold you down as he whispers about "reforming your fiendish ways", all while you both fight for dominance so you can take whatever you want from the other. Plus, he gets to see that sweet face of yours twist up with emotion whether it's in victory or defeat, which is by far his favourite part.

O = Oral

He definitely does not have a preference because it blows his mind whether he's giving or receiving, but he also has no preference for what he's going down on, either. He's fascinated by what you look like down there, he's got that urge inside him to explore and to discover all those things about you that only he's permitted to see, so practically anything about you is cause for his intrigue. Whether you have hair or don't, what kind of reactions you show him when he kisses his way down your inner thighs, whether you buck into him or shyly squeeze your eyes shut....goodness, you're just so perfect in every way, he could have you on his tongue for hours and never get bored of watching you cum for him. Somehow, even when you're the one sucking him off, he can end up switching it so you're the one on your back and he's the one with his head between your legs.

P = Panties

Q = Quickie

Stealing your underwear? No, of course, he would never do that....he professes it so smugly, and yet he'll turn around and you'll spot a little blot of colour peeking out from his back pocket, knowing fully well that it's yours and he's saving it for later. V's not a rampant panty thief by any means, but he certainly steals a pair every so often either to tease you, or because he genuinely misses you. Or, sometimes, if you're mad at him or he's mad at you--holding those up to his mouth and smelling them a little instantly gives him a head rush, and stirs his groin as he thinks only of you. Sometimes it's the quickest way to get over those little arguments and squabbles.

Usually V doesn't engage in a quickie unless you're the one encouraging it. He likes to think he can keep his composure even under duress and he does, but if his sweet angel needs him so badly you're tugging on his arm and whimpering even when there's people within earshot, he's certainly not going to be the one to turn you away. It's hard to get him to speed things up like that since he likes going slow, but if you take control a little bit then you'll be happy to see that he's prepared to do whatever it takes to get you off, even if it means making a fool of himself and looking heavily disheveled when you rejoin your companions.

R = Risk

Honestly, he's not risking much during sex other than his bodily health and his exhaustion. You can pretty much do whatever you want without worry, because not only is he completely devoted to you and therefore has little to no chance of catching anything, but he can't exactly....produce anything, with him not really being completely human. So pregnancy isn't too much of an issue, and he hasn't ever really had space to think about it, so as long as you're still comfortable with it he's more than happy to do it unprotected as often as you want. Of course the only thing he could be risky with is his health, so if he's having a pretty good pain day and he's in the mood, he might ask if you want to try ruining him tonight--just doing it over and over and over until he literally can't move, and you can pretty much just use him for your pleasure in whatever way you wish. It's a rare pleasure, but a pleasure for him all the same when it's with you.

S = Spit

Spitting on you he can certainly do, but spitting in you is objectively even more arousing to him. He loves that moment when he's getting ready to slide in, pushing your legs back or pulling your mouth open to lean over and spit directly inside--it's dirty and it's filthy and it makes him feel like you're his. When you moan in reply it makes him feel powerful, makes him feel wanted, and he just loses his mind when you turn right around and do the same thing to him; spit on his tongue or the tip of his cock before you start lapping at it. And when you're kissing, all sloppy and needy as you're taking his cock, and you both break away to find a trail of spit connecting your swollen lips? That's something that could make him cum so hard his whole world blurs out and he just has to cling to you and bury his face in your chest as he paints your insides white.

T = Toys

He pretends to be uninterested when you whip something like that out, perhaps even unimpressed. But if you like something, he truly can't ignore it, even though he will tease you about it until you give him a reason to shut that pretty mouth of his. "Why would I have need an artifact such as that, when I have the most delightful-hrk!" He certainly bites his tongue when you ease your new fleshlight down on the tip of his stiff cock, and very quickly help him realize there's a whole world of sensations he's never experienced--but he's going to, if you have anything to say about it. Even if he moans and whines about you fucking him with it and making him waste a cumshot inside that stupid toy, rather than inside the warm, welcoming, angelic walls of the love of his life.

U = Unfair

He's a little unfair sometimes, he's gotta balance out all that worship he's so prone to giving you, after all. He might tease you about being needy, or for staring at him when you think he's not looking, or he'll even get cocky enough to tease you when you're right on the edge and ask you to tell him just how much you want it while you're trembling on his cock. It's so cute when you whine and take it and relent into begging him for what you want, but he likes it just as much when it pisses you off and you manhandle him for it--pushing him up against a wall or pinning his wrists down while you're sat in his lap, and either groping him and mocking him for getting hard, or riding him so roughly he gasps and his hips ache while you throw his words back in his face.

V = Volume

Surprisingly, he's not terribly loud. One would think he'd have trouble controlling his volume, but he's naturally pretty soft-spoken and he's usually not too bad at keeping himself in check when he needs to. That means you might not always catch what he says, though, but you can assume it's usually something along the lines of "I love you, please keep going, you're such an angel, I'll give you everything forever, you feel like heaven on my skin," if not some poetry he's kept in mind when he read it and thought of you.

W = Wildcard

Despite having at least some respect for Dante, V is wildly jealous of him and despises any moment you spend around him, even if he's with you. You can only assume where that comes from, but either way you can use it for your benefit if your beloved pisses you off or if you just want attention from him that you're not getting. Let Dante flirt with you for a little bit, and V will be on top of you the second you're alone with an incredible kind of strength you seldom ever see. That's an occasion where you'll most likely be sneaking away with a limp and have to cover up the marks he leaves for days.

X = X-Ray

It's both adorable and shocking that V thinks he's not that big, especially since he's absolutely a shower over a grower. He's pretty long but not all slender, his cock has a curve upwards when it's stiff and the tip takes on that pretty, purplish hue when he's really needy--he's also got a few visible veins running up the length of it that are even more sensitive than he is, and although he makes it out to be not a big deal, he can't help the smugness that fills his head when he lowers you down on him that first time and sees the way you gasp and flinch as you try to adjust. If you make any comments about how you can feel him stretching you out, or that he's so deep you swear he's shaping you to fit his cock alone, it's a surefire way to have V melting like putty in your hands and giving you absolutely whatever you want.

Z = Zzz

Y = Yearning

When does V not desire you? The answer is never. You're the person who makes him feel loved, and he always feels so protected from the world whenever he's with you. Expressing that adoration he has for you can only be done in the same few ways before he has to intensify it--reading poetry and speaking sweet words to you only go so far, they don't express it completely, and when he feels he needs to show it more is when you have the sweetest, most intense sharing of souls and bodies that you may ever experience in this life.

Seeing you sleep next to him, completely at ease and comfortable in his presence, is a triumph that he never takes for granted. Never once has he thought he'd have such deep, pure love as the kind he has with you, so to see it shown in such a humble and vulnerable way makes him feel as though he has the whole world in his arms. So if you give him permission to entertain himself while you're in that most vulnerable state, V is beyond flattered--but when he does take you up on your offer, he almost always ensures he does so just before he knows you're going to wake up. It's such a privilege to make love to you at any time, but it's far more indulging to get to see those reactions of yours when you wake up to him kissing those precious spots between your legs. Or, even better, hovering over you with shaky breaths as he confesses his love, just before pressing himself inside to creampie you right as you're waking up.

#v dmc5 #v x reader #v dmc x reader #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #v devil may cry #spicy writing #smut alphabet #ellie writes #anons

698 notes · View notes

hi-hey-haechan · 5 years ago

Text

This isn’t showing up in the tags again. See, when I post at 3 AM, I don’t have this problem, but instead, it’s the middle of the afternoon.

102: “I know for a fact that you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

110: “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?”

“The stars are so beautiful tonight,” Ten sighed. He was sitting next to you on a log that faced into the fire. There were three other logs, making a square around the flames, and the rest of WayV were occupying them. The six other members were staring at Ten, perplexed by his sudden statement regarding something so serious and meaningful. You were slightly puzzled, as well. He looked straight at Yangyang. “You know what else is beautiful?”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. He, along with Ten, were savages, roasting everyone left and right, especially each other. “I don’t know, what?” You could catch the tint on his cheeks, as though he believed for a second that Ten was talking about him.

Ten stared at him with a faint, condescending smile. “Y/n.”

Xiaojun struggled to restrain Yangyang from tackling Ten. You hit Ten in the shoulder affectionately before burying your face in your hands, slightly embarrassed. “Sleeping is much less painful than this,” Sicheng said, sending everyone a hint.

It was around midnight, and everyone had been sitting around the campfire, talking for hours as the daylight slowly drained out of the sky, cut open by the branches of the giant trees surrounding you. They were dark shadows now, the only illumination coming from the campfire and the lanterns inside of the four tents, standing in a line. The flames were smaller than they once had been, and there were embers that sat around the actual fire, ablaze in brilliant hues of orange and red and blue. The embers glowed brightly, contrasting against the dark coals, sticks, and woodchips, looking as though you were in an airplane, flying above a busy city at night, illuminated by all its lights. It was beautiful.

Before long, Kun was putting the fire out, and everyone was heading back to their tents, flashlights leading the way.

Your tent provided no warmth, and the cool night air was chilling you to the bone. The lantern illuminated the entire tent, and the silhouettes of moths and mosquito hawks were visibly standing on the outside of your tent, attracted to the contrasting illumination from the pitch-dark woods. Ten removed his shirt, flinching against the cold as he looked for the hoodie he’d brought to sleep in. The lantern bathed his skin in gold, the muscles of his back flexing as he looked around for his sweatshirt. His shoulders were broad, and you knew the skin was soft to the touch, as well as warm. You wanted to reach out and receive some warmth from his body, but he’d flinch away from your ice-cold hands. He laid back against his pillow and kicked off his jeans, exposing his long legs. You were immersed in the sight of him, barely able to believe how gorgeous he was. He quickly changed into sweatpants, not enjoying the cold air against his bare skin. The show was nice while it lasted, and you quickly scolded yourself for having those thoughts at that time.

You then removed your shirt, inhaling sharply as the nighttime air chilled you to the bone. Luckily, Ten’s hoodie that you’d brought for sleeping was sitting on top of your bag, so you didn’t need to look around for it, meaning less time exposed to the cold.

You braced yourself before removing your jeans, flinching as the cold air attacked the bare skin. As you leaned over to look in your bag for your sweatpants, you felt a decently warm hand gently run up your bare thigh. Your head swiveled around to see Ten’s face. His eyes were fixated on your legs.

“Can I help you?” you inquired, sort of sarcastically.

“Wha-? Oh, sorry,” Ten murmured. “I just...I really like your legs”

“Well, my legs don’t like the cold,” you said, pulling on your sweatpants.

“I mean, if you let me have my way with you, more than just your legs would be warmed up in no time.”

When Ten was blunt like this, unyielding and refusing to shy away from what he wanted, you had to admit that it was hot. Plus, seeing him change definitely made you feel some type of way. “But we’re in a tent.”

“But I want you. Plus, it will warm us up.” His face was persistent in the lantern light, and his eyes were pleading.

You let your hormones decide your next answer. “Fine.”

He gave you a grin then, his beautiful smile that melted your heart and could convince you of literally anything. In a flash, his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Every nerve in your body turned to liquid fire, warmth becoming prominent in your body and fueling your desire.

Before long, you two were inside of Ten’s sleeping bag, with him on top of you. Both of you had removed your sweatpants and underwear, but you kept on your hoodies, needing as much warmth as you could get.

“Don’t be too rough,” you warned him. “We can’t let them hear us.”

Ten lined himself up at your entrance, lubricating his cock in your arousal. He didn’t hesitate a second longer to slam himself inside of you. “Why not?” he inquired as you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your scream. The initial move was harsh, bringing in a sharp pain as he literally was splitting you apart. Your walls clenched around him like crazy, attempting to get used to the sudden intrudance that was stretching you open. You wanted to cry out, both in the familiar pain and the slight pleasure that came with the hurt.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” you asked as you exhaled through clenched teeth.

“Probably,” he replied as he slid out slowly, teasing you, before slamming back in. His length delved into your wet walls, which were powerlessly clenching around him. “You’re so tight,” he groaned.

You cried out, not able to muffle your shout in his shoulder at the moment. You heard a raccoon scamper off from outside of the tent, and you could feel Ten’s laugher as his body shook with giggles. “Ten, please.”

“What? Please what?” He began to move again, thrusting his huge length in and out of you. You were conscious of every vein and ridge of his cock against your walls as he dragged through your dripping pussy.

“W-what if they hear us?”

“Then they’ll find out exactly how good I’m fucking you.” His lips connected to your neck, and you felt his hair tickled your jawline as he kissed your sensitive skin. His lips were hot against yours, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His breaths and the heat of his mouth was sending goosebumps and feelings of pleasure through your body. Ten’s tongue flicked outward, making you shudder, but you pulled yourself infinitely closer to him. When he brought some skin in between his lips, sucking lightly, you let out a mewl before inhaling sharply.

When you gave him the okay, Ten began to move his hips. You had to will your body to relax, to adapt to the pain that came along with his thick length filling you up like that.

The spots that had once hurt were now stinging less, and every spot he was pressed up against was feeling good. Upon this, you found it more and more difficult to contain your sounds of pleasure, moans and gasps and whines spilling from your lips as your bodies stirred with incandescent life.

Ten’s mouth was still against your neck, attempting to muffle his moans but failing. He wasn’t the best at keeping quiet when he was feeling good, and you loved this. The sounds he made could only be described as “pretty,” and they were hot, as well, causing your core to gush a bit with arousal.

His thrusts were neither fast, nor slow, but they were deep. The sound of skin hitting skin was fairly loud, and you knew that the others could hear. You knew that you two should stop, but no part of you wanted to. Your entire being just wanted Ten closer, closer than he already was. Your legs moved to wind around his waist, and your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

You could physically hear how wet you were, the squelching sound of him inside of you matching with the sound of his thighs and hips making contact with yours. He smirked against your skin, knowing all too well the inevitable effect he always managed to have on you.

“Admit it,” he whispered in your ear. He was breathless, and his voice was rough and hoarse. “You like the idea of the others hearing us. You like the fact that they know how good I can make you feel, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you whined. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, jaw hanging slack as Ten hit the spots inside of you that sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Then why are you trying to stay quiet? I know for a fact you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

Just then, his tip found the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, making you cry out, back arching up off the bed. He pulled back from your skin and gave you a cocky grin, knowing that he could force you to scream his name if you had to.

His hips sped up, pounding into you swiftly but deeply. He had the hips of a dancer, which could make you literally beg for more, as well as turn to putty at his expense as he skillfully rolled his hips into yours. Even with his face buried into your skin, the sounds he made couldn’t be contained. Breathless gasps and moans filled the tent from both of you, failing to stay quiet completely.

“Will you guys shut up? We’re trying to sleep, not listen to a pornography tape,” Yangyang called out from his tent.

You could hardly hear him. Ten filled your senses, and he was all you could hear and see and feel and adore with everything you had.

“Ten,” you gasped out, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips, “I’m gonna cum.” A loud, breathless whine left your lips, and your legs shook violently, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. Without another second to spare, the most intense wave of pleasure hit you, and your hands balled into the fabric of his hoodie as you thrashed under him, core violently clenching as you came on his member. You cried out his name, quite possibly the only word your mind could think of.

He continued to pound into you, chasing his own high, which hadn’t yet fallen upon him. The friction of your wet walls that were clenching around him so tightly, causing stars to shine in his vision, was bringing so much pleasure to him. Ten couldn’t contain his own moans when he came, a mix of swear words, moans, whines, and calling of your name as his hips stopped moving. His seed shot up inside of you, a sensation you craved more than you would ever admit.

Eventually, after milking out the last of his high, he collapsed on top of you, gasping.

“Are you still cold?” Ten asked cheekily. Your bodies were both sweating, hair clinging to your foreheads as you both breathed heavily. You let out a faint giggle, shaking your head. His lips then connected to yours sweetly, his mouth curled into a grin against yours.

Stomping from outside caused you to jump a bit. However, Ten recognized Sicheng’s voice as he said, “If you guys plan on going again, I suggest you go a few miles away. Maybe then we’ll be able to sleep in peace.”

#nct smut #wayv smut #ten smut #superm smut #nct ten #ten #wayv ten #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #nct imagines #wayv imagines #superm imagines

256 notes · View notes

cabin-fever-bang · 5 years ago

Text

Campfire Stories (Vol. 1)

Welcome to the Cabin! We proudly present the first edition of Campfire Stories: your one-stop shop for quality quarantine content.

We’re going to do these regularly, with in-depth reviews of everything that’s been submitted as a prompt fill and additional recommendations from the masterlists of writers who get involved.

If you’d like to be one of those writers, just follow us, comb through our prompts, and be sure to tag us when you post! It’s that easy. We welcome all fandoms and pairings.

This batch of reviews was cooked up by @thoughtslikeaminefield (MJ), @there-must-be-a-lock (Lou), @itmighthavebeenintentional (Val), @fangirlxwritesx67 (Viv), @cracksinthewalls (Bri), and @mskathywriteswords (Kathy), but we encourage you to pass along the random acts of writer-love and reblog with your own additions!

Pull up a seat, toast a marshmallow or two, and settle in for some excellent reading material.

Choices We Make - @becs-bunker - GIF prompt submitted by @dawnie1988

Pairing: Demon Dean x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, brief threat & violence, smut, language, dub con-ish, unprotected sex, orgasm denial

Words: 1374

Everyone loves a Demon!Dean fic, and this is a good one! Lots of action, lots of angst, and some really hot, awful Dean.

Honestly it all felt like some surreal nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You just wanted Dean back, your Dean.

These lines summarize both the Demon!Dean story arc and the narrator's frame of mind so well, pulling the reader right into the perspective of the story.

“I missed you, y’know?” Dean sighed, and the naive part of you wished he was telling the truth. That somehow, deep down, he still loved you.

This is heartbreaking because it's relatable, because the author does such a good job with the narrator's voice.

Dean licked his lips and there was a familiar hunger in his green eyes that made a whole different sensation rise in your body, and it wasn’t fear.

I'm not going to quote any more lines from the story because the author has written one hell of a twist, but trust me when I said, I gasped out loud reading it. The rest of this story is an absolute roller coaster, well worth the ride.

- Viv

Come For Me - @fangirlxwritesx67 - image prompts created and submitted by @idabbleincrazy

Pairing: Sam Winchester x female reader

Warnings: smut, canon level violence, fingering, first time together

Words: 3100

First, let’s talk about this aesthetic. It’s soft and beautiful, but stark and needy. I love the quotes and photos, the way they flow together. Fantastic visual prompt. "Sam Winchester?” He spoke in a theatrical, mocking tone. “Ooooh, I’m frightened." This line made me chuckle. I love the idea of what’s ahead of us. The bad guy is built up in a hilarious way. Sam is presented through the heart and mind of the narrator, you. But thinking of Sam suffused you with a warm confidence. Not for one moment did you doubt him. This confidence is contagious and warming. Meanwhile, the anxiety over the vampire lurking somewhere else, waiting to taste you… it builds in a beautiful and believable way. There’s a rush of emotions as Sam rescues you, and he’s patient and kind, even while making jokes and being the Sam you know and love. Things progress, and there’s a beautiful and sweet (okay, and hot!) sex scene, with a first time between Sam and you. All in all, a really solid piece, with some story, some tension, some sex, and a whole lot of sweetness.

- Kathy

A New Day - @becs-bunker - image prompt created and submitted by @there-must-be-a-lock

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings: fluff

I’ve not reviewed an image prompt before, so let’s just jump in. The first word that jumps to my mind is light, but I love how suffused and golden the whole image is. Softer, safer, intimate. There are little pinpoints of light, rays of light, shining light, and the whole thing makes me feel...well...light. Sunrise and candlelight, new day, new beginnings.

The images chosen for Sam, the angles and features we get, are such close, personal angles and shots, giving us this tender atmosphere and setting the tone for this story: personal. Everything you're about to read is intimate, personal, and private, in such a lovely, delicate way.

The curtains in that first shot are so filmy and ethereal, and the whole story feels like it’s set in a kind of golden-hazed forest. And, let’s face it, any sort of vacation for a Winchester is a kind of fairy tale.

I’ve managed to stay pretty much above the brow, so Imma have to dip down for a minute and just drool over Sam’s trapezius muscles. Oh. MY. GAWD.

Golden, glorious, graceful, and just a touch of gooey. Good, good, good.

So, right off the bat, let me tell you that this story is everything I’ve ever wanted for Sam, like everything the show and Chuck and the universe has ever denied him. He’s rested, he’s comforted, he’s bathed in glow (the sun, the reader’s love, all that jazz, you know?).

And then it goes and hits all my camping weaknesses. I was literally just telling someone how I’m missing my camp more than ever now. It’s been eight years since I’ve been, and this story brings back all those feelings of serenity and calm, voluntary isolation with people you more or less chose, because camp was and is my forever real home.

I know that seems a little rambly and off-topic, but the thing is, that’s what this story is for me. They aren’t at the bunker, their “home,” but they’re still home all the same, because (and, yes, you can shoot me for this) home is where your heart is, so this wonderful little cabin in the woods is home, whether they’ve been there together once or a hundred times because Sam.

And then that bit of sugar tossed in at the end...Oh, this story was good for my soul. “Warm mug of coffee on a chill morning, under a blanket” kind of good for my soul.

It’s one of those where I would love to have so much more of these two, of this warmth between them, but I also am perfectly content to know them just in this one perfect moment forever, before the day starts, when everything is still in the “it’s about to happen and it will be great” stages. The beginning of a great new day.

Thank you. I needed this story, now more than ever.

- Val

Crash - @myinconnelly1 - requested by @adoptdontshoppets for @idreamofplaid aesthetic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: smut, fluff

Words: 810

The first thing that draws my eye in the aesthetic is the linked fingers. I love pinky links (I’m sure there’s a less cutesy way to say it, but I like it; sue me). They’re sweet, and really personal. You’ve got super tough Dean Winchester who isn’t embarrassed or afraid of intimate, goofy gestures. In fact, I feel like that would one hundred percent be Dean in a relationship: Dean is a giant ball of goofy, intimate gestures.

I love the choices of relaxed, bearded Dean/Jensen paired with the casual, cool color palette immediately set me at ease. This isn’t going to be a terrifying, angsty ordeal. This is going to be calm, soothing, sensual.

And the roses, the sand, the surf, the candlelight, the pokey palm tree fronds...I can hear, smell, feel every bit of these images. The golden-pink wine...ugh. This whole experience is a trip to paradise.

I love how all five senses are emphasized and made equally important. It gives us so much more connection to the moment, makes it that much more intimate. The constant crashing of the waves in the background; the bittersweet chocolate; the cozy, homey image of the baking-wrecked kitchen followed by the much more erotic, candelit bedroom; and then the scent of the oil mixed with the warmth and strength of Dean’s touch.

I also love the level of comfort in the story. We have the cookies, a hard-core comfort staple. We have the warm, lazy beach setting. And the easiness these two have together: that’s the dream, my friend. I love how they have no trouble at all communicating what they want and need, how they are comfortable enough to be messy and cute and flirty and sexy, one right after the other.

And the description is so thorough, I have no trouble at all imagining myself there, in that wonderful, relaxing moment.

This story is relaxing, decadent, soothing, and fun all at once. I am a huge fan of the ending, as well. I was smiling through the whole story, but at the end, I literally laughed aloud. And now I think I’m going to have to excuse myself to go find some chocolate chip cookies. This story gave me a couple of cravings, and as Dean Winchester is in short supply in the real world, cookies are the one I can satisfy right now.

This story is, dare I say it, such a sweet escape.

- Val

No Sugar Added - @myinconnelly1 - requested by @fangirlxwritesx67 - “I’d like to see Steve Rogers from MARVEL sharing Depression-era coping tips. Maybe he vlogs how to make apple-less apple pie.”

No pairing

Warnings: Spoilers for Infinity Wars + Endgame, mention of mental health issues

Words: 446

This was my prompt for the Cabin, and I loved what this author did with the story! A little bit of fluffy cheer.

“Hello, I’m Steve Rogers. As many of you know, I’m also Captain America, and I was alive during another time of hard living conditions.”

Right now, a lot of things in the world seem scary and unsettling. It's one of those times when we turn for comfort to the lessons of the past, to the wisdom of generations, and to heroes. This author does a great job with Captain America, Steve Rogers. His cooking lesson is exactly the sort of inspiring, instructional video I would love to see.

“What is that smell?” Natasha asked as she looked behind her to see Steve walking into the office with the plate.

Because it was never about pie, apple or otherwise. It was always about comfort. Our favorite foods help with that, and so does Captain America, especially written this well.

There are some fun tidbits in this story, including a peek of history and an actual recipe!

- Viv

Communion - @thoughtslikeaminefield - requested by @mskathywriteswords “Fluffy dean or Jensen smoking weed plz, ty”

Pairing: Dean Winchester x unnamed female character

Warnings: marijuana use, high sex, het sex, fluffy smut

Words: 1002

How do I love this? Let me count the motherfucking ways.

First of all, the way this sucks you into the characters’ headspace is beautiful and subtle and masterfully done. It’s in the sentence structure and the flow of the words; there’s no need to describe their inner state, because it’s written into the movement of the sentences and the choice of words. She doesn’t have to say that they’re high, because you can fucking feel it in phrases like “It’s sending me off somewhere…” or “I shiver at the thoughts careening through my mind.”

Second, this is molten hot, but (as with the best smut) it’s not just some rote story of “then he was hard and we banged and it was great.” The sexy bits are unique; this isn’t the same smut you’ve read a thousand times before. It’s got its own personality and tone and voice that very much belong to this particular story.

Also? Filth with feelings! My favorite genre! It’s deeply emotional. I am all for smut that is both dirty and tender. This is like a masterclass on how to walk that line.

It’s such a simple premise that becomes so much more; this has things to say about Dean, about his personality, about this relationship. This takes a very specific moment and uses it as a framework for something big and meaningful. This, for example:

When Dean has to be big, he uses his whole self. His body takes up space and his mere presence -- he can make the darkest of demons shudder with his presence alone.

But Dean’s natural state is this -- nesting, nuzzling, curled up and warm.

Yuuuup.

Also:

His hands -- the same hands I’ve seen thrust a blade into the guts of angels and demons -- are tender, fingertips light but persistent as they slip under my tank top and splay over my belly.

It’s so intimate. This is why we read fanfic, right? To feel like we’re close to these characters that we love so much, to delve into the sides of them that we don’t get to see much in canon… this fic feels like something personal and private that we’ve been lucky enough to be let in on.

- Lou

Deeper Than Deep Conditioner - @fangirlxwritesx67 - requested by @awesomesusiebstuff “The two Sam’s (our Sam and AU Sam) maintaining their hair care routines while quarantined.”

It’s one of those days when I’m feeling too fragile for this world. What’s the best remedy to knock some sunlight into my dark mood? Today, it’s fic -- and one that makes me giggle is a bonus.

This little gem is filled with funny one-liners and side-eye moments to make you laugh out loud:

Dean dreamed of driving away, of bikini beauties on the beaches of Rio. Sam dreamed of scarves and what it would be like to have no bigger worries in the world than his hair.

The look Dean gave him would’ve curdled milk, if there was any, which there wasn’t, because Dean took his coffee black, like a man.

A touch of realism in this bizarro situation got a chuckle, too:

“Sorry, sweethearts,” alt!Dean said, “Flights are all cancelled. A virus or something.”

When Viv named the alternates Deano and Sami, I gave in and embraced the madness. I was delighted with Deano; that’s my own nickname for Dean in my head. But Sami, a most pretentious twist on Sammy? A master stroke. I was tickled.

I was fully on board with enjoying this romp through the bizarro world, but then I was taken by surprise. This little moment, a hint that Sam has been trying to make the best of their circumstances, touched me:

“Is this really how you live?” said Sami, with a dismissive glance at his paper napkin.

“Look,” Sam answered. “I’ve done my best. It’s taken a lot to get us this far.”

I was prepared for that to be the exception to the rule -- a moment of sincerity amongst a sea of lighthearted fun. And there was plenty of fun ahead of me. The jokes come at you hard and fast in this story! But I realized the mood was steadily changing, and suddenly, I was immersed in sincerity and maybe a little sadness:

...somewhere out there, was a universe where he pampered himself...

...maybe there was a place where he could enjoy something as simple as a deep condition...

...something Sam had wanted to watch but never had time for...

...for the first time in a long time, he caught himself laughing...

I thought maybe that was it. A few moments of Sam learning to appreciate what Sami (I was still laughing at that) had to offer, instead of simply mocking his manbun and scarf (I don’t think I could ever stop mocking that, but Sam’s a better person than I am).

But no. It didn’t end there, and I still wasn’t ready. Before I knew it, I was steeped in Sam’s melancholy, his yearning for a life kinder and gentler than what he’d been given. I was truly heartbroken for him in that moment.

I won’t spoil the rest, but by the time I got to the ending, I was grateful for the funny beginning that softened the landing. I expected a comedy, but what I got really was deeper than deep conditioner.

- Bri

Dear Mr. Fantasy - @itmighthavebeenintentional - image prompt submitted @thoughtslikeaminefield

Warnings: SEASON 15 SPOILERS, bit of angst.

Words: 2157

I found the image prompt in my Tumblr feed and immediately started plotting ideas that I cannot write bc I have too many fucking WIPs so imagine my excite when one of my all-time favorite fic writers (and one of my very best friends) filled the prompt as a surprise for me!

Val tells stories with a depth and humor like no one else I’ve ever read. Her natural wit and smarts shine through her fictional words as well, and I love seeing glimpses of her in her work.

In one universe, someone neglected Baby (couldn’t have been Dean, had to’ve been Sam) to the point where she pulls slightly to the left. Dean spends the morning after that dream with a muscle tick in his cheek and a suspicious, side-eyed glare for Sam that he never bothers to explain.

Dear Mr. Fantasy is bittersweet. It is soft and rich and full of color — all the senses are here. It’s a sledgehammer of realism wrapped in velvet. And it’s so very Dean.

At forty-eight years old (none of that years young bullshit, either; he’s old, and he’s goddamn earned it)

In the midst of reading canon Dean dreaming of and admiring and protecting his favorite of his AU-selves and that version’s life, we are treated to what it would be like if he was allowed a normal life. Our devoted, brave, warm, and loving hunter as a common mechanic would be just as brave and loyal, no?

“Pretty sure she’s settled on ya, so just make sure you’re worth it.”

So that’s what Dean did.

But our Dean — the Real Dean as Chuck says — can’t quite let his guard down even in his dreams of another world, even if that other world is safe as houses. He’s still aware of just how unreal this reality is.

Splashes of indigo and orange paint the horizon, framing her approach in a wash of colors blending into shadows that hold no danger.

Then, he lets himself mingle with that dream, if only for a few moments and it’s bliss.

Older Dean and worn-out, monster-plagued Dean sigh together, content down to their bones. This life is it for both of them. She is it. One Dean still can’t believe his amazing luck after all these years, and the other aches at the simple, total happiness he feels honored to witness.

I love you, she whispers, and he allows himself to believe for one moment that she’s talking directly to him.

I’m not going to spoil anything for you, but I will say that you need some tissues. I cried through 90% of this story, from joy and from heartache.

Because that’s what Valerie does, breaks your heart and makes you smile, and it is so fucking good.

- MJ

Synesthesia - @there-must-be-a-lock - request by @wendibird “SPN, Sastiel, due to all the Angelic Grace Sam has been exposed to over time, he starts resonating with Castiel’s. Especially if Cas’ emotions are running high.”

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Castiel

Warnings: none!

Words: 750

First, I love the song that enhanced this idea for Lou. It lends a tenderness and whimsy to the plot that isn’t inherent.

Second, Lou’s words are like poetry and watercolor doing a dance of their own making — GORGEOUS phrasing and rhythm.

Cas whirls around, and Sam is hypnotized by the bright blue in his eyes, wide and concerned in a way that makes Sam feel like he’s being lit up from the inside. There’s a floodlight in his chest.

And, y’all, I don’t even go here, but I swooned SO HARD.

It’s an effort to focus, but when he meets Cas’s eyes, Cas smiles. Sam sees a shower of sparks like the last fizzle of a firework.

Sam hears it as a flutter of spring green like a new leaf.

And Lou’s characterization is always spot on, right? But like Dean isn’t even in the scene, yet here we are.

Don’t let the words fool you; there’s a very angry rainbow happening in his head most of the time.

And did I mention the ARTWORK that is this woman’s WORDS?

There are stars under their feet, entire galaxies spinning out around them, dancing spirals of kaleidoscopic green and gold melting into whorls of brilliant blue.

Anyway, please go read. You’ll be flying high for hours afterward. xox

- MJ

Salvation - @dontshootmespence - image created and submitted by @idabbleincrazy

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader

Warnings: angst, torture, gore, smut

Words: 1,401

The aesthetics by this artist inspire stories just because they are so well done. This one was a good balance of handsome Sam and some nice suggestive pics along with the phrases that helped shape the action of the story.

This story feels like an episode of the show from earlier seasons, just the right balance of angst and monster fighting with tantalizing peeks of smut and feels. Excellent job!

There are no words that come close to explaining what she means to him. How she saves what soul he has left.

These flashback scenes are both hot and tender. The voice the author gives to Sam is spot on, achingly familiar.

"You're Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood."

It's easy to forget, sometimes, all the things that Sam has been and done, how fearsome of a hunter he is. This story reminds us with razor sharp precision.

When he meets her gaze, he finds the peace he's craved for so long.

The contrast between the flashbacks and the action is painfully good.

What’s more frightening, a man like Dean, practiced in his violence out of necessity? Or a man like him, on the verge of losing everything and nothing left to lose?

This is a well drawn distinction between the Winchester brothers, and such a good characterization of Sam!

"You're safe with me, Sam. You never have to hide from me."

Such a beautiful relationship between Sam and this woman! It's no wonder he's fighting so hard to save her.

This story has an imaginative plot, fast paced action, some sweet hotness, and such a good Sam!

- Viv

The Second Hand Unwinds - @mskathywriteswords - image prompt created and submitted by @there-must-be-a-lock

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: hurt, comfort, angst

I had a vibe in mind when I created this aesthetic but this went so far beyond anything I could’ve imagined. It absolutely nailed that nostalgic, wistful, antique-photo-album feel, and then it managed to knife me in the fucking gut in a few ways, none of which I saw coming.

The JOY in the first part of this is absolutely tangible. It’s so romantic and sweet in a very dreamy way that feels exactly like first love. I love the scattered, disjointed imagery around the flowers in the first part, like flashes of memories coming at you all at once, and then when it settles into the narrative it manages to hold onto that dreamy feeling while still moving neatly through the plot.

This moment was about us, and I wanted to live in it forever. You never gave me reason to cover my body, not that night or ever.

Goddamn right. Ugh, precious and beautiful. And then this:

After so much undiluted time together, I had no idea how to sleep alone. I felt raw waking up by myself, not being able to feel your stubble tickling my skin.

There’s something about that last line that just grabbed my heart and tugged it in a wonderful way. It’s ACCURATE, first of all; this is one of those super-specific feelings that is hard to describe concisely. I haven’t really thought about that feeling in a while, but that little sentence just cut through so many years and brought me right back in a deep and visceral way.

You took pride in doing all the things that were never done for you, you’d told me.

Ouch. It’s little touches like this that make this ring true to character even though it’s a very different Dean than we see in canon.

And then that ENDING.

How do you contain a bomb once it’s been set on fire with grief?

Fuck, dude. Everything about that ending was so painful. I love that she left it raw and messy and not like a simple “welcome back!” kinda moment.

This was just gorgeously done. Can not recommend it enough.

Fort - @there-must-be-a-lock - prompt by @mskathywriteswords “Fluffy dean or Jensen smoking weed plz, ty.”

Pairing: J2 x reader

Warnings: blowjobs and weed.

Words: ~2150

This piece of deliciousness opens with Jensen walking out of the bathroom with a towel on his hips; do I need to say more? I don’t, but I will. After some beautiful description of the blanket fort, we get treated to Jared in nothing but pajama pants. The descriptions in this piece are vivid and full. the way Jared’s hand looks between Jensen’s muscled shoulderblades, thumb stroking back and forth between patches of gold and red light, makes me want to capture the moment and hold onto it. I can see that image in my mind, picture the two of them together, and that’s what makes excellent writing for me. The warnings attached to this piece are fully applicable; the story is very cute and sweet, there’s weed, and there’s Jared and a wicked oral fixation, which in the case of this one-shot means dear Reader, that’s you, get to witness a searing blowjob from one J to another. The way these three interact makes my heart swell, and there’s something about watching the dynamic change between them that really hammers home just how functional they are together. Dive in to this universe, Everything. There are no regrets to be had, maybe only that you waited so long to get wet.

- Kathy

The Gazelle - @thoughtslikeaminefield - requested by Anonymous “I’d really love some more Dean x Benny fanfiction, AU, aligned with canon timeline, whatever. I think they deserved a chance and Benny got killed off before it could even be explored :(”

Pairing: AU Dean Winchester x AU Benny Lafitte x unnamed female character

Warnings: power exchange, mmf threesome implied, Denny apparent, nudity

Words: 1000

Let me start with a caveat: I’m in the bag for pretty much any Dean x Benny fic, pretty much any Dean x Benny x person #3 fic, and absolutely any MJ fic. So you could stop reading this review right now and just go read the fic, if you want; in fact, I sort of recommend it, because it’s better than anything I could have to say about it. But if you want to stick around, I promise to be a little more coherent than ZOMGGGG PERFECT HOT SEXY TIMES DENNY LOVE GORGEOUS MORE PLZ!

Before we even get to the words, we’ve got a gorgeous graphic. Black and white beautiful boys, staring you down with those “I’m gonna fuck you so good” eyes, paired with a sweetly sexy woman tinted with a soft pink; she looks carefree, open to have some fun, and you can imagine her telling them to bring it on. MJ’s graphics are always great, setting the perfect mood for her fics, and this is no exception.

And right from the jump:

Dean and me — we share a lot of things.

We share good music and good drink. Tonight, we’re sharing a good woman.

Oh, this is in Benny’s voice?! Okay okay okay, cool cool cool, I can handle this…

...Dean purrs like a jungle cat as he hovers behind her, hands in her hair, twisting and twirling the silky tresses…

...Dean sets the pace and is the anchor, always. He keeps everything stable and grounded…

And now I’ve realized that I’m going to be seeing Dean through Benny’s eyes -- and no, not cool, can’t handle this -- but I’m definitely not stopping.

I like to mix things up, though, and he lets me.

MJ is a brilliant writer with many talents, but I think her specialty, regardless of what characters she’s writing with, is brilliantly salacious smut that’s steeped in emotion. She can’t help it. Her fucks come with feels, every single time, and I hope it never changes.

This piece is certainly no exception. Dean and Benny are circling their prey, this unnamed woman, utilizing their individual strengths -- Dean’s encouraging, I’m demanding -- and the sexual tension is building with soft touches and lingering kisses. As the scene is progressing, Benny’s inner monologue is sprinkled with thoughts about Dean:

Times we don’t have a subject, Dean’s focus is on me. I don’t argue and I do not complain. Dean knows what to do with every inch of that long, lean body of his. He knows how to cage a person in, make them feel safe, wanted, fucking needed.

She’s handily building emotion and a personal backstory without an exposition dump, without taking focus away from the action for too long:

His hands move slowly, seemingly random, but I know how focused he is on her and the moment. Giving and seeking pleasure are vital things to Dean and he takes the acts to heart.

I’m immersed in the now of this scene but I also understand the depth of their feelings for one another, their history and dedication to each other, and how they work together to bring another partner into their orbit. MJ makes it look easy, when it’s anything but.

And then she gifts us with this perfection and I’ve melted into a puddle of emotionally aroused goo:

“You promise to love, honor, and cherish ‘til the morning light, Dean?”

That is a vow of devotion to a one-night stand. What?! How?! Does her brain come up with this?

From there, the scene continues, the action escalating, supported by a framework of realism and heart. Her Dean feels familiar and in character, even though we’ve never seen him in this particular situation. And Benny, we hardly knew ye, but she brings him to life alongside Dean and I buy their relationship completely. I buy all of this, and now I’m invested.

And then…

“Do it, then,” she says, challenging. “Wreck me.”

My breath catches, my heart starts to race -- yes, here we go! -- a few more sentences, one last connection between Dean and Benny, and then --

Oh, you are evil, MJ. You are so perfectly evil and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

- Bri

#random acts of love #cabin-fever-bang #cabin fever bang #fanfiction #fic rec #rec list #bear hugs #welcome to the cabin #campfire stories #writers supporting writers

50 notes · View notes

writingamileperhour · 5 years ago

Text

The Clover Ring

Hello Darlings! here is my first attempt at actually posting a fan fiction. Now i know not everything is gonna be accurate and there might be some mistakes, but forgive, as i have not played the game or read the books, only watched the show, and felt like writing this!

This is about how Geralt of Rivia meets a strange witch of the forest, named Maylin, and how both find themselves spinning fast and faster down the spiral of destiny, falling in love, as foolish as it is,

Geralt and the world are not mine in anyway.

Theres some smut and swearing and violence.

Enjoy!

Geralt grunted as his back hit the trunk of the tree, and narrowly dodged the claw that followed. He twirls his sword up and around, ridding the blasted creature of its gross, long head, and watched as it’s counterpart, a smaller version of it, but not its offspring howls in anger, and charges. Geralt got ready to stab it, but he wasn’t expecting the creature to jump at him, horns coming to thrust into with side of his chest, causing him to grunt out in pain.

He gets his sword in the blasted thing, but not after it does enough damage in his skin and muscle to make him believe he will bleed out. He lays in the dirt, feeling it soak with his blood, and stares up at the sky, the moon winking at him mockingly.

But then it is blocked out by a face. A woman’s face, an unbelievably beautiful one at that, even with the scratch on her cheek, and the look of someone who would scold him like he is a child playing with something he shouldn’t. Her eyes however were soft, even with her scowl, and the oddest color he would think for eyes, as they shimmered both pink and blue, swirled together around a cat like pupil.

Geralt is almost thankful for something so beautiful to be the last thing he sees as his world dives into black.

Geralt jerks awake in a lush bed, to the feeling of two small, but strong hands holding him down. His eyes wide and wild stare at the hands holding him to be laying. He grunts, as his eyes follow the arm, to see those striking eyes.

“Stop fighting me. I’m not done,” her voice is firm, yet soft. Her hair is tied back with a thick ribbon he can see poking out from behind her head.

Geralt relaxed back into the bed, and notices he isn’t wearing a shirt, and that the woman is straddling him. She sits back and lifts her hands from him and reaches to a small tray on the bed to grab a paintbrush from, and dips into a foul smelling black liquid and comes back to his chest and finishes painting symbols around the currently charred skin, as she had cauterize the wound.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, watching her.

“Healing an idiot,” she says as she focuses on her work, “Stop shifting.”

Geralt tries to keep still, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He is surprised to see the ceiling painted like the night sky, with the moon and everything. He studies the entire time as the woman paints on his chest. He then gasps as he feels a rush of unfamiliar energy, and a soft purple light comes from the woman’s hands.

Geralt grunts in surprise and watches as his skin knits together, the black liquid being absorbed by his skin, and leaving behind flawless skin like nothing happened.

Then she slides off him, and stretches, “Sorry you don’t get a scar, but it’s the bets way I know to heal something that bad.”

Geralt touches the skin, then grunts again, “Hmm.”

The woman nods, “I’ll leave you to dress. I got your horse by the way. Pretty thing.” She waves and leaves the room without eyeing him like everyone else does.

Maylin walks from the room, leaving the Witcher to his dressing, and goes into the kitchen, looking over her tea collection after setting a kettle to boil on the stove. Deciding on a more normal mix, considering her company, she puts the tea leaves in a bag and in a mug before heading into the dinning room slash workspace and starts to get other herbs together.

That is about when the Witcher leaves his room and comes into the expanse of the house.

Geralt looks at the house he is in, and finds he walked into a very disorganizes library, as books and paper litter almost every surface. The woman, wearing a pair of sturdy brown pants and a green blouse whose sleeves are rolled up.

“I’m making tea. Would you like some?” she asks softly, looking up at him with those damn beautiful eyes.

Geralt nods and comes over to a chair that is holding his armour and swords. He checks to make sure everything is there and is relieved that it is. He then turns to her, and watches as he hands move among the bowls on the table, putting combinations in little bags and tying them off and putting them in a bag on a chair beside her.

“I am Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt says, taking a few steps to come closer to her, feeling as if he can be in her presence and not have to have his guard up, but he barely knows this strange magical woman, so he leaves most of it up.

“Maylin,” she offers, not looking up as she continues to work.

“Thank you. For healing me. How did you get me here?” Geralt asks as he reaches to touch a herb and is surprised when she lightly smacks his hand.

“Don’t touch. Some of this is not friendly to you,” Maylin says and shrugs, “Stronger than I look, and I have an intense knowledge of spells. But I must say it was weird to see a Witcher in my part of the forest.”

“I was hunting those monsters,” Geralt says, and doesn’t think it would be a smart idea to question her on the magic she used.

“Fair,” Maylin says, then winces softly as the kettle starts to scream, and she goes to it to take it off the heat and pour it into the mugs. She then grabs a small jar from a cupboard and puts a dollop of honey in one of the mugs, before bringing them over. She hands Geralt his, then heads out the door to sit on the porch, Geralt following behind.

Before them is a porch that leads down to a cobblestone pathway that leads to a garden locked up tight by a wrought iron fence. There is them a well, which Roach is tied to for the moment, but her saddle is resting on the fence of the porch, along with his bags.

Maylin sits on the stairs, and looks out at the trees, “Your free to go when you need to. But I am going to give you that bag of herbs, to use or give out.”

Geralt sits beside her and grunts, nodding. “Is that all you will have me do? You did save my life.”

Maylin shrugs, “I have nothing else for you to do Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt nods slowly and turns to look out at the forest before them. “I have no idea where we are.”

Maylin blinks, then groans softly, setting her cup down to lay back, “I always forget that. I’ll lead you out then.”

Geralt nods and turns to lean on the support post to look at her, studying her as she looks at him. “Your eyes are… different?”

Maylin looks at him for a long time, making Geralt worried he pissed her off by commenting on them, as he is well known to how that can be annoying, but is relieved when her face lights up with a smile and she chuckles softly.

“Thank you. One of the many reasons I stay away from people,” Maylin says and sits up, “I like your hair. I’m sorry I don’t have a bath for you, I usually just go to the waterfall.”

“Waterfall?” Geralt asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, like some god damn woodland fairy, I bathe under a freezing cold waterfall,” Maylin says, and finds herself happily opening up to someone, after so long of hiding herself away from the world. “What is it like being a Witcher?”

Geralt grunts softly, the ghost of a smile touching his lips at her, “Like getting the shit beat out of you every other day.”

Maylin snorts, and takes her cup to sip her tea, “fair. Telling by your scars, which I did not pry and peek at you, by the way, you have gotten beat up a lot.”

Geralt finds he is a bit relieved by her lack of peeking, and nods, “Yes.”

Maylin watches him, then suddenly sits up and leans forward, which makes him tense up, expecting a fight, as he usually does, but finds he relaxes a touch when she only touches his necklace, eyes fixed on it. “My father wore one of these.”

Geralt raises and eyebrow at that, “What was his name?”

“Terrold of Celia,” Maylin says softly, eyes becoming distant.

Geralt shakes his head, “I don’t know him.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Maylin says and lets the Necklace go, sitting back, “He hung himself when I was twelve.”

Geralt doesn’t show any outside emotion, but he is surprised he feels a prang of sympathy for her, “I’m sorry.”

Maylin shrugs, “Things happen.”

Geralt nods, and turns away to watch his horse, and lets the silence settle between them, finding that it feels almost natural.

Maylin finishes her tea, and gets him, sliding off her shoes to go walk in the grass barefooted, and to the edge of the clearing, and she whistles, loud and a little shrill, and the sound echoes around the woods. Geralt feels a chill down his spine, and watches with wide eyes as a beautiful black stallion comes charging in at Maylin, who simply steps to the side and lets the horse charge in.

“Twi, that is enough, come on,” She brings her hand up and the horse comes and nuzzles it, having halting in his tracks when she spoke his name.

Geralt puts his empty mug down, and comes over to her and the horse, who neighs at him as he approaches, “Twi?”

Maylin nods as she pats the horse’s neck, “My horse. Will need him as he head out tomorrow.”

Geralt nods, and heads to his own horse, to pat down.

After which, Twi roams the clearing freely, gazing, and Maylin goes about her day, with Geralt spending his time on the porch, finding he can’t help but watch as she moves around the area. She tends to the garden, getting a smear of dirt on her forehead, her hair still bound back, then cooking them up some eggs he doesn’t know where she got, before she starts packing a small bag with fresh clothes.

Maylin comes up to Geralt as he was standing by the door, and holds up a light green shirt to him, and she glares at it like it insulted her. “Why are you big?”

Geralt grunts softly, “What?”

“I don’t think I have a shirt big enough for you.” Maylin says and tosses the shirt back to the hallway that Geralt came form when eh walked from the bedroom, which he realizes as he looks at the hallway, that it was Maylin’s room.

Geralt turns his gaze back to her, and her retreating form as she goes back into the bedroom, and he feels a pull to follow, and so he does. He looks into the room, to the messy bed, the blood soaked blanket on the chair, a wood burning stove to keep the room warm, a window that is open, and a closet that Maylin is searching through.

“You do not need to dress me?” Geralt says in his rough voice.

Maylin shakes her head, “I need to bathe, and I figured you’d want to too.”

Geralt looks at her, “Bathe in a freezing waterfall?”

Maylin smirks softly, and Geralt feels his cold, emotionless heart beat a touch faster at the sight of mischievous look on her face, “There is a hot spring beside it too. Ah ha!” she grabs a shirt from a hanger and tosses it at him, the shirt a nice deep red. “I know color isn’t your thing, but this should fit.”

“Where did you get this?” He looks at the shirt.

“I get odd people coming by. That was Malcom’s, may he rest in hell,” Maylin gives as an explanation, and he nods a touch, wondering briefly if this Malcom’s person is a past lover, but he quickly shakes the thought from his mind.

Maylin then grabs two towels, and heads back out to the main room and packs the towels in the bag, and grabs a small jar, and a vial, then looks at him, “Ready?”

Geralt nods, and grabs his swords, throwing them over his shoulder, and following the still barefooted beauty from her home, and into the woods, his feet finding their own way before his brain can register it. The pull to this girl is driving him both into a confusion he doesn’t like, and a bit mad. He tries to figure it out on the way to the waterfall, stepping over logs on the way, as the trail is not noticeably clear, but the way Maylin moves through he forest leads him to believe it is by design.

She stops when she stands on a large black rock, the surface almost smoothed black, and she looks over a small, shallow pool of water, a waterfall crashing on an expanse of similar rocks. He notes a small opening tot eh side of the waterfall, lit up from within in a fashion he does not believe to be natural.

Geralt moves to step onto eh rock as well, but is stopped by her hand, gentle on his shoulder. He looks up at her confused.

“Don’t touch this rock,” She simply says, and gets off it, and walks around, with him to her side, keeping him well away.

“Why?”

“As strong as you are, the power that single rock holds will bring you to your knees,” Maylin says, and runs her fingers over it like it is a keeper of an intimate secret. She smiles softly at the rock.

“You touch it,” Geralt points out, and reaches his hand out, but she snatches it quickly, and pulls him away.

“Aye, and it almost killed me the first time I did,” Maylin sets her bag down, and releases his hand. Much to his disappointment. “It… It’s a sacrificial rock for those that followed something much richer than chaos. The blood it has drank is almost unimaginable, and I often wonder what would happen if I continued the practice.” Geralt looks at her with a touch of fear, and nods slowly, which makes her laugh, head thrown back as she does so. “I won’t sacrifice you, that would be a waste of a pretty good Witcher.”

He relaxes at the words, his eyes following the movement of her hands as they untie the ribbon holding her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders in its soft brown glory, the sun hitting the soft waves and making it seem like it is made of copper. He longs to reach out and touch the strands that he has no doubt are soft. He makes a surprised grunt when she starts to unbutton her shirt and takes it off revealing a band around her breasts, but nothing else. There’s a bandage on her side, that she gingerly removes to show a stab wound, scabbed over and healing.

“Your hurt,” Geralt comes to her, and moves to touch it, but her hand catches his once more.

“Don’t. It was a poisoned blade,” she says softly, and gently puts his hand back to his side.

But it doesn’t stay there as he tries again, to no avail, “Which is more of a reason for me to look at it Maylin.”

Maylin shakes her head, “Poison doesn’t hurt me. It’s fine. Healing, and its wont scar.”

Geralt frowns, “How can poison not hurt you?”

Maylin releases his hand, and takes a careful step away, “Juts doesn’t. could drink spider venom and it would have no affect on me.”

Geralt racks through his brain for any sort of creature with that ability, but come sup short, and looks at her with his brows furrowed.

Maylin’s skin tingles under his gaze, and she knows that look well. She swears softly under her breathe, and moves away from him, and starts to remove her pants, turning her back to him as she does so.

Over the skin of her back, is a delicate lacing of gold that Geralt did not notice before, as it goes down over her arms. He makes out eh shape of wings and finds it to be glorious. He raises a hand to touch the gold, wanting to know if its painted on, or stitched into her skin, but he has a sense that the ladder would be the truth, as how could someone alone paint something like this. His hand comes back to himself, and he works on removing his clothes. HE gets to his pants, and wonders if he should go further, and looks up at ask, only to find she is no longer before him.

Maylin’s full naked form walks up into the fall of the waterfall, one of the softer rushes, and squeals softly at the cold before she closes her eyes and tilts her head into eh water, letting it work out the dirt from her skin, and the blood. She slides her hands over her breasts, and down over her stomach, and she squats down to finish the line her hands follow to her feet, a ritual she does when alone, and finds no reason not to before the Witcher. She also sees no reason to hide her nude form, as she has never been ashamed of her appearance.

Geralt was entranced by her hands and how they moved over her ample breasts he tried not to look at, and he found his eyes landing on her plump back side when she squatted, thoroughly surprised she did. He figures it is alright for him to be nude as well, and takes his pants off, and comes to water, holding a handout, his feet already a bit numb from the cold, but he snatches his hand away from the freezing spray with a gasp.

Maylin turns to look at him, her eyes never once looking over him like his did with her, and she chuckles softly. “Take the plunge Geralt. It feels good,”

Geralt grunts in disagreement, but he takes the plunge regardless and has a full body shiver that amuses his companion, her laugh ringing in his ears. He reaches his hand up to take the tie form his hair, and let it fall like hers, and finds, once the first rush of cold hits and passes, that it indeed does feel good.

“See?” Maylin calls over the water.

Geralt nods, and turns to look at her, and she has her eyes on his face still. “what was that… thing you did?”

Maylin frowns a tad, then she clues in and smiles, “I’ll show you.”

She holds out her hands, and Geralt follows suit, eyebrows raised, a small amused smile on his lips, and follows as she does it again, her eyes closed, and she seems to breath a bit better when she squats and finished the run of her body.

Geralt feels a sense of ease after he gets to his feet, and nods, “I see.”

Maylin stands after and goes tot eh bag, and grabs the jar and vial to bring over, “It is not always about seeing, but about feeling.”

Geralt grunts in response, and lets her tale his hand, turning it palm up as she pours half of the vial in it, then half in her own before tossing the vial back, and Geralt frowns, having expecting it to shatter, but is surprised when it simply bounces off the stones.

“Warded glass. It is unbreakable,” Maylin informs his confused expression, and starts to lather the soap into her hair, and Geralt shrugs a shoulder, and does the same, stepping back from the water to save the warmth he has left. He follows her once more into the water to rinse the soap form his hair, then lets her put the other soap in his hand, which smells of vanilla pine and somehow, the scent of when it rains. She washes herself, then rinses off, and steps out of the water, combing her fingers through her hair, and waits for him to finish.

Geralt does and she smiles at him and gathers her clothes and things to stuff into a log, “You should hide your swords in here too.”

Geralt nods and comes to do so, “thugs steal your clothes?”

“No, but they have disappeared before. If it were thugs, I would be wearing their ears,” Her voice is joking, but Geralt feels there’s some truth to it. “Come on.” She leads him into the cave, still naked as a wee babber, where there’s curved steps into a pool of water, and a torch on the wall that is burning.

Geralt looks around the cave and feels the heat from the water warming his cold skin, and watches as Maylin steps slowly into the water, her hand on the wall to keep her steady. She then goes to the other side, by the torch, and sits on a stone slab that seems almost placed.

“Did you do this?” He asks as he descends the stairs and sighs softly at the warmth, and quickly sinks into the water to his shoulders.

“I did,” Maylin says as she starts to braid her wet hair in tiny braids.

Geralt comes to sit with her on the slab, and their thighs touch, and he is surprised she doesn’t move away from him and relinquishes the touch. He turns to watch her hands twine the little braids together at the back of her head with practice skill, till she has an intricate braiding of hair, almost like a crown, keeping it all from her face, but it is still down over her shoulders.

“You are skillful,” Geralt says, having felt he need to break the silence.

Maylin nods and she flourishes her hand a touch, and a length of ribbon materializes into it, a blue one, and she uses it to tie her masterpiece so it doesn’t come loose, “My mother taught me, then Dina, and then Zella too, though I don’t know how she knew, she never wears braids.”

Geralt hms, at that, “Who are those people?”

Maylin smiles softly at the interest, and for a moment almost doesn’t answer, but she turns her eyes to his, and something of the light makes her tongue come loose, “Dina was a midwife I apprenticed for, and Zella… is my best friend. She’s the person I’m closest with.” She feels the sting of tears and looks away from him and at the wall, “I miss her.” Her voice is a broken whisper and Geralt gently touches her shoulder.

“Is she dead?” he asks softly, scared to offend her, but wanting to comfort her in some way.

Maylin laughs humorlessly, and shakes her head, “No. She is most likely torturing some poor man who has been foolish enough to believe she loves them.”

Geralt was not expecting that, and grunts softly, “hm. Well.”

Maylin shrugs, and looks back at him, “Can I braid your hair?”

Geralt is taken aback by the question but can not think of a reason to say no, and he finds he doesn’t want to, and nods. Maylin smiles at that and moves to be up on the ledge behind him to have better access and starts to gently comb her fingers through his silver hair. Geralt closes his eyes and lets himself focus on the feeling of his hair being braided, finding it to be one of the most enjoyable things he has ever experienced.

“Do you know any songs?” Maylin asks softly as she works, never tugging on his hair.

Geralt grunts in dismay, the whole avenue of songs destroyed to him thanks to a very annoying bard, “Regrettably so.”

Maylin chuckles softly, “Fair. I did hear that ‘toss a coin’ song in a tavern. It has a catchy melody, but the person singing it doesn’t hold the emotion the song should have.”

Geralt hms, wanting her to continue.

“well… A Witcher’s job, far as I know, is not easy. Tossing a coin doesn’t solve the problem, and perhaps the valley of plenty is not a plenty of coin for a Witcher to take, but more a valley of monsters, and for each one, a person should toss you more than a coin, cuz money doesn’t stop the monsters,” Maylin explains, “I think the song should be song in a much more solemn to, and with a piano maybe.”

Geralt nods and gets a soft flick to his ear for moving, which eh can’t help but grumble at, “I think I would like that more than what Jaskier has done.”

Maylin chuckles, then shakes her head softly, “Color?”

“Color?” Geralt asks, and opens his eyes, “For what?”

“For the ribbon. What color?” Maylin asks, getting ready to finish.

Geralt searches for a color, but finds only two come to his tongue, and knows he could not deal with he torment if he picked the other, so he says, “Blue.”

Maylin flourishes her hand gently, and a blue ribbon appears, and with a soft blush that she is glad Geralt cannot see, she shows him it, as it is the same color as her eyes, “Like this?”

Geralt nods, “exactly like that,” He whispers the words. He’d get another when the part ways, so he can tie that one to his necklace, as he knows that this encounter with Maylin will not last much longer, and he would favour a reminder of the woman that made him feel, and his heart twitch.

Maylin ties the ribbon in his hair, then comes back to sit with him in the water, “Where are you off to anyways?”

“to the nearest town,” Geralt says, and looks at her, to find those two tones eyes glancing back at him, but this time, they drift for a brief second to his lips, then back to his eyes.

“I will accompany you. I could use a few things from the market most likely,” Maylin says.

Geralt leans a touch into her, his hand coming up and carefully coming to stroke her cheek, and he marvels as she sighs softly at the touch and turns her head into his hand, “What will you be getting?”

Maylin smiles against his skin and finds the callouses on his hands her new favorite part of him, other than his eyes, which are odd like hers, which is why she saved him in the first place. “A blanket for sure.”

Geralt turns her face to him, and leans in a touch more, and his heart beats a touch faster as she leans in as well, her hand coming to touch his shoulder softly, “Why?”

Maylin shrugs a touch, and with a soft sigh she takes the plunge, and crosses the distance between them, letting her lips merge with his, and finds herself falling. Hard.

Geralt’s hand pulls her closer to him, and in the back of his mind, and in his heart, he feels like he has come home.

Without words, Maylin pulls away, and pushes him tenderly up and out of the water, coming to straddle him like she did earlier that day, but this time for the reason one shoulder straddle another person. He arms wrap around his neck, hands twining up into the loose hair, and his hands come to hold her back and ass, squeezing softly, much to her delight.

Geralt’s mind empties, and he finds he’s living for the first time in a long time, and gasps into her lips when he feels a sneaky hand touching his cock, stroking it to full hardness, but from the display of Maylin, it was already half hard anyways. He holds her tight, so she doesn’t fall with one arm, his other coming to her heat to rub gently over her folds, making her moan into his mouth.

He guides his kisses from her mouth to her neck and listens to her moans as he pleasures her with her hand, rubbing at her clit, and making her arch into him. Her hand moves over his sex as well, making him bite down on her skin to stop the sounds, making her moan just a touch louder.

Maylin wants to bring him into her, but she doesn’t wish risking injury, and decides they have time for more later. She takes his hair in her other hand, and pulls his head back from her skin, and he grunts in pain, and his eyes snap open to look into hers, which glow softly, much to his surprise.

“D-Don’t,” Maylin says softly and comes to kiss him, closing her eyes to hide the glow, and he finds he can’t argue with her when she kisses him like that.

He slowly slides a finger into her, finding her tight, and warm, and she moans for him, biting his lower lip softly, making him moan, but he again tries to stop it, but she only bites harder, and he realizes as she moves her finger over his slit, causing him moan more, that she wants to hear him as much as he wants to hear her.

Her lips release his, and he kisses her throat, letting his moans come out, as she massages his cock in the same intensity, he massages her insides.

He opens his eyes to see that the wound on her side is healing, and any soreness in himself is gone, but he feels that if he asks, he will destroy this, so he accepts it with a kiss from her lips and adds a second finger.

It takes neither long to bring the other to completion, Maylin’s and Geralt’s moan mixing together as they hit their climaxes together, a swirl of magic coming from her wound as it heals completely, leaving nothing behind but Geralt’s memory of it.

Maylin rests her head in the crook of his neck and feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the hot spring, or the heat between her legs as she kisses his skin softly.

They stay that way until Maylin gets her sense back, and slides back into the water to clean their juices from herself, and pulls Geralt in as well, to do the same. Then. Hand in hand, leads him out of the small cave, to dawn their clothes once more, and walk back, hands staying together as much as they could, a lifeline between them.

But when Maylin steps into eh clearing, her body tenses, and the hairs on Geralt’s neck raise as he feels her magic, smelling as the soap did, but more like rain than other smells, explodes in the clearing.

He looks at her in alarm, his hand automatically flying to pull his steel sword out, and he follows her gaze to a man standing on the steps of the porch.

The man wears a fancy suit, one that Geralt finds to be extremely weird, with the buttons coming down, and the two pieces that flow behind him like tails. His blonde hair is combed back, and he closes a circular thing in his hand, that’s attached to a chain, and puts in it what Geralt guesses it a pocket on the inside of the jacket and turns to them.

“I see you made a friend May,” the man says, and steps down.

“Suck an egg Damian,” Maylin says, and her stance relaxes as she tightens her hold on Geralt and walks into the clearing some more, moving them so Geralt is closer to the house, and she is closer to the man.

Geralt frowns softly, and goes to move between them, and can not for the life of him figure out why she won’t let him, until the man speaks again.

“Mighty protective eh? Shame really. You’ll outlive him like you did with all the others,” Damian says, and stops a few feet away.

“I have my hopes,” Maylin says softly, “What are you here for Damian?”

“Just letting you know that there’s been some problems, and your… special talents are needed,” Damian says, glancing at Geralt with a dangerous glint in his eye before turning back to you.

Maylin snorts, “Find Zella. She’d happily rip a spine out too ya know.”

“I don’t know where she is, otherwise, I would have,” Damian says, annoyance sliding into his voice.

Maylin frowns, “She isn’t hard to find.”

“Is that why you still live here alone?”

“No. I am recovering.”

“From what? To tell us,” Damian gestures to himself then Geralt, who is staring intently at Maylin now, concerned for her.

Maylin hesitates, but she doesn’t look away from Damian, “Leave.”

“No.”

Maylin’s eyes narrow, “You are picking a fight you can’t win.”

“But you wouldn’t kill me Maylin,” Damian says and takes another step forward, but is stopped by a sword aimed at his chest, and he raises his hands.

“Maybe when I used the other name, but now you are an annoyance that can be replaced,” Maylin says, and stands up straight and tall.

“You wound me,” Damian says, and sighs, “give my regards to Di--”

Maylin charges, blind rage flooding her as she comes at him, her hand bursting through the other side of his chest before he got the words out, and he spits blood up and laughs when she pulls her hand free and watches him fall to the ground.

“I knew you didn’t have a heart,” Maylin says, and turns to go inside, as Geralt watches the body turn to dust, and disappear int eh breeze.

Geralt quickly moves to follow Maylin inside, and gently touches her shoulder, “Maylin?”

Maylin shakes head to toe, and tears brim on her lashes, and without a word she collapses into his chest, and starts to sob. Geralt lets his sword clamour to the floor, to wrap her up in his arms, and stroke her hair, putting the pieces together himself.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #witcher geralt #geralt fanfic #fanfic

43 notes · View notes

root--is--alive · 8 years ago

Text

Poi fic

fandom: Person of Interest

words: 1458

warnings: could perhaps be triggering for people with eating disorders (no explicit mentioning, though)

relationships: Shaw/Root

characters: Shaw, Root, Bear

Summary: Post season 5 episode 13, Root is alive. Shaw visits her. She takes a bath at Root's. Shaw thinks about her past while Root is supporting her (this sounds so lame, omg).

It is quiet in this street, a fake calmness that only snow can create. The fresh snow scrunches under Shaw's boots. Her and Bear's footprints are the only imprints in the soft layer, and only their breaths disturb the falling flakes. Shaw walks fast. Still, she feels cold. It is a cold coming from the inside. It annoys her. Shaw huffs to dispel the feeling. Bear looks at her. He whines softly. "Yeah", Shaw replies. Bear whines again. "I guess you want to say hello, buddy" Shaw hasn't intended to stop by at Root's. However, it certainly will be warm inside and Shaw could use a drink, as well. "Hier", she tells Bear, and they march into the direction of Root's place. Meanwhile, it has begun to snow even more. Flakes melt on Shaw's face, her nose is runny. She snuffles.

"Zit", Shaw says while she fumbles for the keys. Bear pounds his tail against the ground. As soon as she has opened the door, he runs ahead along the corridor. For a second, Shaw considers to ring the doorbell. However, The Machine probably has told Root that she and Bear would be coming. Shaw simply unlocks the door. Warmth meets the cold of the hallway. "Staan!", Shaw commands Bears while she removes her hood. She graps the towel on the coat-tree to clean Bear's paws. After she is finished he bounces off. "Braaf, Bear, good boy!", Root welcomes him. She kneels down to hug him. Shaw takes off her boots and coat. "I just heard you'd swing by", Root greets her while still petting Bear. A smile lits up her face, even though covered by Bear's excited movements. "Bear wanted to see you", Shaw tells her. She walks towards the kitchen to get some water. "Oh, he loves my hugs. And, apparently, to dry his wet fur on my clothes", Root informs her. Meanwhile, Shaw is chugging a glass of water. "Yeah, you'll reek like wet dog smell", Shaw tells her and puts the glass on the counter. "So, are you here to wash Bear in my tub?" "Do you think Lionel will come over and bring Bear's coat?", Shaw asks her. "Don't think so, he's sleeping" Shaw fetches Bear's towel for a second time. "Hier!", she calls him. He barks and bolts towars her. Root follws him. She sits down next to Shaw and they rub Bear's fur dry. "Have you been outside during the last days? Your skin looks like it could use some sunlight", Shaw notices. "My skin could use your hands on it" Shaw rolls her eyes. She’s not in the mood for this, so it amuses her just a bit. "My hands can't transmit vitamin D", she informs Root. "I've left the new numbers to Harper, Logan and Joey, in exchange to help Logan with his new project. I felt like programming and he felt like inhaling some frozen drops of water" "I hope you didn't forget to get up and stretch every few hours. Have you eaten?" "The Machine reminded me" "I'd kick her ass if she hadn't" Root grins at her in amusement. She probaly knows that Shaw asked The Machine to remind Root of basic human needs when Root is buried in brain work. Bear nudges Shaw's leg. "Yeah, you smell terrible, buddy" Bear whines. "And you, too", Shaw informs Root, who is currently cuddling Bear. "Good boy, Bear" He licks her face. "Thanks to John, Bear knows what that means", Shaw adds. “Yeah, like father, like son" "So, I guess I need to change", Root announces and stands up. "Do you need anything?", she asks Shaw. "A glass of whiskey. Do you mind if I use your tub?" "Not at all", Root smiles. "I'll lock the bathroom", Shaw replies. She gets up, pats Bear one last time and goes to the bathroom. She doesn't bathe often, it takes too long and wastes water. But after she returned to the States, she has found easing in taking a bath, and her own flat only offers a shower. Shaw draws a bath and undresses. Her trousers are wet from the snow and she tosses them across the heating. She ties up her hair, then she sits down in the tub. The warm water washes around her toes. Shaw hugs her knees to keep her body heat.

She hears Root's footsteps and Bear's eager action, then her knocking at the door. Root puts the glass of whiskey on the floor next to the tub while Bear paces around it. She has put on a shirt in her favorite color, purple. The water has reached Shaw's legs now. "I could light a candle", Root tells her. Shaw throws an irritated look at her. At least she didn’t ask her if she wanted to have a candle lit. "You could hand me the whiskey", she replies. "Candles don't hurt you" Root passes her the glass. "They burn my oxygen" "Well, Bear and I will leave the oxygen for you, then" Root's voice is playful but soft, and it surprises Shaw again and again how easy it is to communicate without getting bored when it comes to Root. Shaw leans back against the wall of the tub and takes a sip. "Maybe next time I'll let a few candles and you burn some of my oxygen", she responds. Root smiles. "Volg, Bear!" Shaw gazes after Root and Bear. After the door is shut she chugs the whiskey down and lowers her whole body into the water.

The heat has soaked through her skin now, it relaxes her muscles. Still, there is a chill in her bones. Shaw shakes her head to get rid of the feeling. She immerses her head into the water. Shaw opens her eyes to see the bubbles of air emerge to the surface as she slowly exhales. It reminds her of her childhood, when her father taught her how to swim when she was a little kid. Everyone else had been able to hold their breaths way longer than Shaw. The bubbles escaping from her used to seem to be the reason for what set her apart from all the other kids, and angrily she always tried to catch the bubbles. But when she trained to hold her breath longer and longer, almost drowned in the sea, she learned that the issue was not the air she breathed, nor the capacity of her lungs, but herself as a whole human being. And her being has never truly gotten along with everyone else, she usually has to adapt her behavior, and it often annoys or bores her. She only actually enjoys Root’s company, from time to time.

Shaw sits up. She inhales. The only sound is the water dripping from her face and hair into the tub. She breathes calmy, quietly. Her gaze gets caught by the candles on the rim of the tub. They breathe oxygen, as well, burn it, just like her body does. Harold used to talk about chemistry with her, apparently she was the only one who knew enough about it, so Harold could nerd out with her. At least after they fought off Vigilance during that terrible High School Reunion. Shaw turns the tap on again. Steam escapes from the water. She leans back, draws her knees to her chest to not burn her feet. Shaw simply sits there, feels the heat approaching, but she doesn't move to turn off the water, simply focusses on the warmth.

Root knocks at the door. Finally, Shaw turns off the tap. "Yeah?", she mutters. Root just enters. "Sorry, I need to go to the toilette", she says. Shaw glances at her. "Quite hot in here", Root informs her. "Yeah, that's me" "I didn't think it'd be anything else" Root flushes the toilette and washes her hands. The mirror above the sink is completely fogged. "Can you open the window?", Shaw asks. "Am I using too much of your oxygen, huh?" "Yeah, you take my breath away, Root" Shaw rolls her eyes. The cold air makes her get goose bumps, and she hears Root huff from shivering. After a few seconds, Root shuts the window. "Are you good?", she asks her. Shaw tips her head back while thinking about the question. "Mhm", she finally answers. Root sits down next to Shaw, on the bathroom floor. She puts the whiskey glass aside. "I just felt cold, but I'm toasty now", Shaw tells her. She looks at Root. Root just smiles and puts her arms on the bathtub rim. She places her head on her arms. Shaw reclines. She can still feel some coldness inside of her, like snowflakes swirling through her head, but she can fight the cold by moving, and Root has moved her a lot.

“Don’t stare at me like I’m a fish in a tank”, Shaw tells her.

2 notes · View notes