#miss you so much my darling peacock

[fuxking-witchy]

Hii love 🩷

Just wanted to say that although it might not mean anything coming from a stranger on the internet but I'm so, so proud of you 🫶

I'm so proud of you pulling through everything and proving others wrong. The hardest battles we have to fight are sometimes against our families and for ourselves.

I believe in you, little one. We all do 🩷

- 🦚 (your peacock)

🥺🥹 you have me tearing up. It means the world to me to hear that from you, my lovely peacock. I miss you so very much, and it means so much that you’re proud of me.

Thank you for always standing by my side and sending me reminders of love and comfort. I hope to send little messages more with you soon.

🥰🥺🫶🏻 hehe yay. Love being your little one. Sending you love, my precious peacock. You deserve everything good and kind too 💞💖💞

[missterious-figure]

Had a thought that's been floating around my head for the past few days. What if Wine and Feathers Y/N was a female harpy at the casino. The fucking competition between Sun, Moon and Eclipse would be hella aggressive

You had been trying to keep hidden from them all day. Staying in the foliage near the trail as much as possible. Who exactly were you hiding from? The three peacock harpies Sun, Moon and Eclipse, of course.

You were a newly imported peahen performer and you hadn't expected to get much attention from harpies and guests alike. You had thought no one would care about your arrival. You were so wrong. The three most prized peacock harpies took a liking to you very fast. They teased and flirted as much as they could with you. You also noticed how competitive they were, all vying to be the single focus of your attention. They don't straight out attack each other, but you wouldn't be surprised if that didn't last long.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard boots clopping down the red tiled path. You were cowering inside a rather large bush, quietly peeking from between the leaves. You couldn't see who it was yet, but you knew those boots belonged to one of the three celestial peacock brothers. Holding your breath, you listened. Please walk past. Please.

"Sweetheart? Please, come out!"

Crap. It was Sun. He was looking for you. He walked right next to your bush and paused to look around. You could now see his silver boots from under leaves of the bush. Your nerves were getting the best of you and you tried to back away farther into the foliage. Bad move. A twig crunched beneath your feet. Sun's gaze snapped to the plant you were hidden under. He lowered himself on to his knees and smiled when his eyes met yours.

"Darling! There you are! I was so worried!"

Before you could react, he pushed his way awkwardly into your hiding spot. Sun had to lay on his belly to get in. His tail was trailing out of the bush and he barely fit. You were surprised he wasn't whining about getting dirty. He looked so silly, but you weren't focused on that. You were now face to face with the golden harpy. Sun gently grabbed your arm and dragged you closer. He rotated you so your body was in the same direction as his. He tucked you under his arm and bonked his head on yours.

Without saying anything, he began to rub his cheek all over your face. He gave you a few kisses every now and again, mostly on your forehead, cheek, shoulder, and neck. Meanwhile, you were burning up so bad. Your feathers were all ruffled in a distinctly flustered way. After a lot of silent cuddling Sun finally whispered,

"Sweety, you look like a mess, with all your feathers so puffy. Let me help you preen."

You were about to protest, but Sun was already tenderly nibbling through your neck feathers. The more he groomed you, the more your feathers bristled. You knew he knew what he was doing, making you so embarrassed.

"My my, I may need to try a different approach!"

You didn't like the sound of that. Sun parted his mouth to slide his tongue out. He could see how visibly shocked you looked and chuckled to himself. He softly lapped at your feathers, slicking them down with a little bit of saliva. He was focusing deeply on each of your beautiful feathers, making sure not to miss even one. He was humming a little song in between each lick. The song was relaxing. You began to nod off. Maybe it was the rhythmic preening, the warmth the afternoon, or the humming, but eventually, you were lulled to sleep.

Once Sun was satisfied and sure you were asleep, he rested his head on your shoulder. He sighed contently and drifted of to sleep, too. Before he did, he gazed at your cute little face one more time. He was glad to have this moment with you. He knew it wouldn't be long before his brothers came to interrupt it. Oh, well. He smirked at imaging the faces of his brothers after he would tell them that he had groomed you. They'd be so FUCKING jealous. Sun finally fell asleep, cuddling you in his arms, under a bush near the path.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Aaah open requests! Yay! I loved the fic about the peacocks interrupting Baldwin and I NEED more light-hearted reader x KOH's Baldwin. Could you pretty please do reader "arguing" with Baldwin over something silly where he ends up teasing her into giving in to what he wants? Basically them behaving like two lovesick teenagers instead of king and queen. Thank you!

♤ All In Good Fun - King Baldwin x Reader ♤

♤ Crack Fic ♤

A/N: Hello Anon! I'm so glad you enjoyed that fic! I agree, I need to do more lighthearted stories and hopefully this one turned out how you wanted it to! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: I used the same scenario from the “Those Darn Birds” fic, just maybe like a week later from when it was set :)

The union of Baldwin’s cousin and her, now husband, had proceeded as planned.

The king did his best to not speak to his new cousin in law and avoided him at all costs to prevent an uncomfortable and insulting interaction.

Y/n stayed beside Baldwin all day, as the king and queen should, so other than a brief awkward congratulations to the newly married couple, there was no other issue.

Still though, Baldwin was not enjoying the event at all. For the entire day, all he could think about was retiring to the royal chambers and getting away from the chaos.

Finally, evening arrived and the guests went to their rooms to prepare for dinner. 

--------------------

“Oh thank the lord that is over!” Baldwin sighed as soon as the door was closed.

Y/n chuckled, “it's not over yet my love, we still have dinner”.

This earnt a heavy sigh from her husband as he removed his mask and veil, sitting his tired body down on the couch.

“Must I go darling? I am sure my presence will not be missed. I barely spoke all day?” he protested.

Y/n laughed again as she sat down at the vanity to fix her makeup.

“You're the king sweetheart! You're the single most important man in the kingdom! You must attend!”.

This earnt another tired groan from Baldwin, “you could just tell them I was too sick to attenddd?” he asked, raising his one good eyebrow.

“Are you suggesting we lie to our own friends and family about your wellbeing?” the queen gasped sarcastically, turning dramatically to look at him.

Baldwin grinned at her reaction.

“Maybe I am! As you say, I am the king after all. I can do what I please” he added in a sarcastically upper class voice, standing to approach his wife.

Y/n laughed again, turning back to the mirror as Baldwin wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head.

“Is that so? Well I guess you must stay then if you are soo tireddd” y/n teased.

“Well are you going to attend?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, I must attend. Besides, I need to tell the guests that you ‘were so exhausted’ and that you ‘couldn't possibly even stand up any longer’”. 

The king’s smile widened.

“Thank you my loveee” Baldwin said, kissing her head before going to get changed into a nightgown while y/n continued to ready herself for dinner.

She finished getting ready just as Baldwin was snuggling underneath the bed covers with a book in his hands.

Y/n smiled and rolled her eyes as he looked up at her with a cheesy grin.

“Well, you sure look comfortable” y/n teased again, standing from her seat.

“Yes I certainly am, but I would be much more comfortable with you in here thoughhh” he teased back.

The queen bent down to kiss her husband on the forehead.

“Well I shall be back in about an hour, would you like me to bring you some food your highness” she curtsied dramatically causing Baldwin to chuckle.

“Yes pleaseee, you look beautiful by the wayyy” he replied, the goofy grin on his face widening.

“You're lucky that you're sweet” y/n replied, turning to leave.

“I love you!” Baldwin called out.

“I love you too!” y/n called back, slipping out of the room with a small smile on her face.

[telekinetictrait]

"Choose a place where you won't do very much harm – yes, choose a place where you won't do very much harm, and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine." (A Room With A View – E.M. Forster, 1908)

tadaa!! we're in the brand new century! i really like the 1900s so i based the sim off myself again, sorry. i just really really like the 1900s.

at first, there wasn't a lot of change between the 1890s and the 1900s. the "S" shape was still the ideal body shape attained via corsets and fabric cuts, and the ideal hairstyles were still updos/pompadours. the gibson girl was still a style icon, with her puffy, loose sleeves and large hairdos. hats, of course, were still a staple in most women's wardrobes. many dresses of this period contained lace in some way, as a trim or as a key element. as the decade goes on, the ideal body shape gets a bit more "natural", turning to a more "tubular" silhouette.

1800s directory

cc links under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics

katarina : ivka's charlene hair (updated by blueplumbbob) / batsfromwesteros' late victorian daywear / chere-indolente's dans la serre bow accessory

keely : the-melancholy-maiden's gibson curl updo + hair flower / simsbrush's gibson girl dress

khyrstyna : gilded-ghosts' gilded gibson hair (updated by blueplumbbob) / gilded-ghosts' pomp and plume hat / dzifasims' holmes dress

kielo : lilis-palace's seasons of ladies hats spring hat / linzlu's miss peacock dress

kjersti : gilded-ghosts' gilded gibson hair (updated by blueplumbbob) / linzlu's miss peacock hat / gilded-ghosts' promenade dress

klytaimnestra : twentiethcenturysims' darling hair + evening gown / the-melancholy-maiden's gibson curl hair flower / simverses' mistress mysterious scarf

knox : buzzardly28's sophie hair / vanillapuffcc's daisy hat / javitrulovesims' summers in henford dress / timeless-simmin's parasol accessory

kora : the-melancholy-maiden's gibson curl updo / lilis-palace's seasons of ladies hats fall hat / linzlu's eloise dress (download here)

kveta : waxesnostalgic's mushroom hat / linzlu's marilla suit (download here)

kylise : the-melancholy-maiden's imogen bandeau / acanthus-sims' rose brooch / alainas-sims' waekey scallop top recolor / simsfromthepasts' edwardian skirt

thank you to @blueplumbbob @batsfromwesteros @chere-indolente @the-melancholy-maiden @simsbrush @gilded-ghosts @dzifasims @lilis-palace @linzlu @twentiethcenturysims @simverses @buzzardly28 @vanillapuffcc @javitrulovesims @timeless-simmin @waxesnostalgic @acanthus-sims @alainas-sims and @simsfromthepast !!!

[miraculousweb]

If Gabriel was, while not a good person, was a good father, partner and friend AU

The Wish Aftermath

Gabriel Agreste, the last will and testament/the last letter (or something):

"I leave my trusted friend, partner and confident , Nathalie, with whom I've asked too much already, my butterfly brooch. To my son, Adrian I leave his mother's peacock brooch, know that I am so proud of you. To my dearest wife, Emilie,I return to you the tome I've had within my possession, and I give you my sincerest apologies and regret for the mess I've no doubt left behind. I'm sorry that you have to find out this way, that I've done too many unspeakable things that I can't even begin to list them, I regret that I'll never get the chance to tell you in person or express how sorry I am for all of this. All I can offer you is perhaps hollow excuses and explanations. Duusu, though they owe me nothing, has agreed to pass on my follies and my failings, for you to judge and decide if or how you wish to remember me by.

I regret, so so many things, I am regret that I never got the chance to say goodbye to you my wife, my love, my heart and soul, then or now. I regret that I am not brave enough to face my precious child, my son, my light, before my final moments. I cannot even begin to ask for either of your forgiveness, for these transgressions against you and against those whose lives I've hurt, for the tarnished legacy I leave behind, and all the broken pieces I've left behind for you to pick up in my stead. As the end grows closer I am both terrified and relieved, I know I have no right to make any last requests of anyone but I beg of you, please don't blame Natalie, she did everything she could to mitigate my actions. Do not condemn her for my mistakes. I am sorrowful and guilty for all the pain and suffering I've caused and I alone take the full responsibility for it, she is not responsible for my wrongdoings.

I leave you with these final words, and though I know they are not enough, I know I must press forward still, and write them.

Emilie, I've missed you, with all my heart, mind and soul, and I love you, more than I could ever love myself, more than enough to trade my life for yours in a heartbeat. Please live your life, and take care of Adrien for me, won't you?

Adrien, my darling boy, my only son and child, in the darkest of times, you have been the brightest light that shines, never lose sight of that strength within. I never said it enough, I never told you, not in so many words, just how much I love you and how proud I am of you. Be there for your mother, but don't forget to take care of yourself too. I know I've always demanded too much of you, so consider this my blessing to make your own demands from life and live it to the fullest in whatever way is best for you. It's your turn to decide what life you want to live.

Nathalie, my oldest and dearest friend, thank you. Thank you for everything. I'm sorry for leaving you behind, for putting you through all this, and abandoning you to pick up the pieces in my stead. I wish you nothing but the best, and I want you to know that no matter what anyone says, you are family. I will forever be grateful to you. Goodbye old friend

I love each of you, may you be able to rest easy from here on out without me

Sincerely

Husband, Father, and Friend

Gabriel Agreste "

[rlainarin]

5, 10, 15, and 25 of the WotR asks :3 (even tho chances are I won't be able to read most of them lmao)

I cannot get on you too much to Play More WotR considering how invested I also am in Zethadin xD

gonna do Kam bc it's the boy the guy the darling

5: Do they have a family? If so, what kind? Do they miss them? Do they still have hope to see them again?

ahahaha Kam's an amnesiac

secret Kam backstory it doesn't know: it's the middle child of a noble family in Tianjing (a whole country of aasimar charged to defend Golarion). and he loves his siblings! very much! but the weight of expectations to DO SOMETHING with its life was too much and it ran away with a visiting Pathfinder, thinking oh, this is only for a little while. to see the world and show them how much they miss me.

he also has found family in the River Kingdoms and oh boy the SECOND Kam remembers they exist he's off to find them again.

con't in spoiler section

10: What would be the meal that give them a little ability bonus?

Pickled plums. Kam is to all forms of sour plum what fanon Alistair is to cheese.

15: Which companion do they hate/really don't like?

aside from Regill, who never got recruited because Kam hated his vibes so badly... it's a cop-out answer, but Camellia. she scares him. please stop flirting with me Like That.

25: How did they welcome the physical change that came with their mythic powers? Did they embrace it/reject it?

as far as Kam's concerned, it won the fucking jackpot. you're far enough in I don't think it's too spoilery to say yeah, Kam went Azata and got GORGEOUS BUTTERFLY WINGS about it. plus I added in that its eyes went from pale gold Creepy Sclera-less Aasimar to this gorgeous iridescent peacock color. it's great. Kam's happy.

5 spoiler: yeah also Areelu is Mom. Kam was a teenage amnesiac when Areelu found it and spent over a year in her lab going YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM! and slamming doors. they both thought it was very nice.

[lavenoon]

I've been perusing the masterlist, but I think it hasn't been asked (and if I missed it I apologize it's a bit late and I'm writing this right before I go to bed XD). So it's been stated how much of a peacock Sun actually is and that he likes showing off what he has and that sometimes includes Robin haha, so I was wondering how exactly he would go about doing that? I imagine he doesn't just wait for someone to start flirting with them so he can step in all smug with an attitude that basically yells "oh darling of mine, who is my partner and I'm dating and too bad for anyone who can't be with you but sorry not sorry". (though I believe he would XD) But like, as long as Robin is comfortable, what does he do to brag a bit about being with them?

Hasn't been asked before, you're all good!

And oh yeah, ideally, he shows them off so much that no one even thinks to flirt with them! While he loves flaunting what he has (Y/N and a relationship with them), having to do so out of necessity (someone thinking they can slide between them and him) really isn't all that fun.

What he does do is simply. Well, nothing with this man is ever simple he's just too much of a peacock

The simplest thing he does is just. obvious PDA. Keep an arm around them, hold their hand, a nuzzle or two - Same with the pet names. Not just using them in conversations with Y/N, but also announcing them as his partner. Ordering a drink for them? "- for my darling, please." In pleasant small talk with the friendly grandma at the grocery store? "Oh, my love also does that!" Regularly flusters Y/N with this step alone (and will stop when it gets too much - but if they opt for hiding against him to cope he's definitely not complaining)

Then there's also the opportunities at work, and even undercover - as long as they can still pose as a couple, he'll sing their praises (even as he withholds details, because he wants to brag, not put their identity in jeopardy). This is paired with of course the PDA and pet names. Fancy events where people can't just dip out of conversations are the perfect place to show off <3

Is a fan of outside dates for that reason too, not just because he's simply more social. He's just so happy he wants the whole world to know! Look at them, they're his, and he's theirs, and they chose him and he chose them and he's the luckiest guy in the world (sharing first place with Moon <3)

When it's just him he might still brag a little - at the slightest indication that partner talk is somehow appropriate, he'll just get that dreamy look and make everyone else think "Aight we get it you're lucky, way to make us single folks feel bad". He's just permanently stuck in the honeymoon phase as far as anyone else is concerned!

Of course also enjoys when Y/N makes their relationship clear themself - be it by telling someone flirting with them point blank they're already with him, or initiating the shows of affection, seeking him out, or even wearing something either matching his colors or celestial theme - he just wants everyone to know. How exactly they find out isn't so important, really <3

[ssuminshan-official]

Entering, Xuan Huangdi, emperor of peacock spirits!

Greetings Huangdi.

Greetings Huangdi.

Zixuan: *entering with his attendants, who had platters of various gifts*

Su she: greetings Xuan Huangdi.

Xue yang: ayo peacock. How's it been. *shakes hand*

Zixuan: *laughing daintily* I'm fine.

Mo xuanyu: xuan gege!

Yao: Zish!

Zixuan: heyy! I missed you two! *hugs*

Yao: same.

Zixuan: now where's my nephew.

I brought gifts for him.

Rusong: Da shushu!

(Zixuan is Rusong's Da shushu and mo xuanyu is fav xiao shushu ♡)

Zixuan: *hugs him tightly* Song'er! Darling, you have grown so much!

Xue yang: this diva, Rusong is so lucky.

Su she: yea. To have two Huangdis as his relatives.

I'm happy that our Song'er is set for life

Mo xuanyu: he grew up so fast. *sniffles*

Xue yang: our gorgeous supermodel Jiggy grew up fast too.

Su she: I know right. Lol.

Mo xuanyu: him and A-ling are the gems of their generation. And we love them a lot. Whatever they ask, we'll give them.

Take it from me, as I'm their shushu.

Su she: aww.

Xue yang: so you're the one turning then into divas.

Mo xuanyu: it's a genetic trait.

Zixuan: I bought some expensive gifts for you A-Song.

Tell me which ones you like and which ones you dislike.

Rusong: thank you very much.

Yao: Zish, our adorable A-Song has this thing called Dianxia approval.

Zixuan: *laughing* awww that's so cute. Would Dianxia approve of these gifts.

Rusong: of course. I could never refuse my Da shushu.

Su she: we're all so happy here.

Xue yang: because the hooligan of Nie is tamed.

Su she: lol!

Mo xuanyu: I hope we stay happy like this.

Xue yang: yea. Even though our happiness comes with the price of encountering three divas.

Su she: never too much divas.

Xue yang: is Qin su a diva?

Su she: *blush*

No. Well maybe she is, just like Huangdi.

Xue yang: awwwww look at his blushing face.

Now that's enough. Let's see what a diva and a diva is going to tell a fellow diva.

Su she: *rolls eyes*

Mo xuanyu: stop teasing them.

Meanwhile....

Rusong: mmm, I don't like this colour.

Zixuan: don't worry, shushu has got this.

My nephew doesn't like that colour! Move it out! And maybe burn it.

Yes Huangdi.

Yao: *caressing Rusong's face* isn't our little Dianxia adorable.

Zixuan: Song'er, do you love your gifts?

Rusong: of course! I love everything, Da shushu. Thanks again.

Zixuan: sweet.

Xue yang: can I take a break from divas.

Su she: we can run but can't hide.

Hauisang: *running in* San ge! San ge!

*abruptly stopped when he saw Zixuan*

Zixuan: *glaring at him, as if he had interrupted something*

Huaisang: *gulps* Xuan Huangdi.

Yao: huaisang, why are you running?

Huaisang: I was coming to ask if you wanted any refreshments. Whew! I'm out of shape. Dage was right.

Zixuan: aww, I'm so pleased.

Yao: lovely huaisang, we do have a guest.

You can get it after you catch your breath.

Huaisang: yea yea.

Zixuan: I'm so glad you are behaving. Is he, team dimple.

Xue yang: yup.

Su she: for now.

Mo xuanyu: rest assured, Xuan gege.

Huaisang: how did you get them to answer you so nicely. They argue with  anyone who's not San ge.

Huaisang: they even argue with peaceful zewu Jun.

Zixuan: I used some gege magic, I guess.

Yao: yeaa!!

Su she: maybe because Xuan Huangdi isn't a scheming little power hungry, NSFW and paperfan collecting twink.

*breathes*

Yao: Shanshan, do your breathing exercises.

Su she: yea Huangdi. Didn't do it for a while.

Xue yang: we like what Jiggy likes. That's one of the team dimple mottos.

Huaisang: what's the first?

Xue yang: just, Jiggy is smokin hot. Protect him at all costs.

Zixuan: haha.

Zixuan: anyways I heard that he kidnapped our Song'er. Is that true?

Su she: yes.

Zixuan: he's mad! He should stay 12 meters away from Song'er.

Yao: definitely Zish, but he's rectifying his mistake.

Huaisang: yes, Zish. I am. *cries* let go of your grudge!!!

Zixuan: I'll have my eyes on you.

Oh Song'er.

Yao: poor baby.

Rusong: I'm fine, don't worry.

Xue yang to Huaisang: you just have to live with them, lol.

Hauisang: I thought that I was dramatic.

Huaisang: Huangdi and Huangdi, he wanted to destroy my dungeon.

Yao: it's called renovation.

Zixuan: maybe Song'er thought that it was ugly.

Rusong: *laughing mischievously*

Uncle Sang, at least your tea wasn't stale.

Huaisang: good.

Zixuan: oh good then. He can make tea. I thought that I was going to die today.

Huaisang: why?

Yao: Zish is allergic to things that doesn't taste good.

Mo xuanyu: that's a whole mood.

Yao: speaking of which. Are you going to get us refreshments?

Hauisang: right. I'll be right back!

~~~

~~~ an hour after taking refreshments.~

Yao and Zixuan: *sitting and fanning themselves*

Yao: guangshan sent a letter to us.

Zixuan: why?

Yao: I don't really know. He's so annoying. Lol.

Zixuan: let me see.

Yi: here you go, Xuan Huangdi. 

Yao: I haven't read it yet, as I was waiting for you to arrive.

And he agrivates my migraine.

Zixuan: lol, Yaoyao. *opens letter*

Yao: *sarcasm* oh look. His penmanship haven't improved. How lovely.

Zixuan: is that how someone would format a letter? Was he drunk.

Yao: is he ever sober?

Look at his spelling.

Zixuan: lol.

~~ letter~~

          ZiShuan and Guannao. I don't hav ani mony 4 u. So don't even tink of colecting rent.

U guys can do w/out mony for 4 monts right? You're 'emprors' right. Empror it out yourselves.

Well Zixun hasn't fully re covered and staff is bak so I don't have to clean.

                     ~ Jgs.

(*jgs actually has the money, but he wants to keep it to himself and not pay his dear landlords)

Yao: he always has some kind of problem, doesn't he!

Zixuan: Yaoyao, we'll deal with him.

Yao: I think we need a lawyer to intimidate him. What do you think?

Zixuan: brilliant idea.

But who.

Huaisang: *wiping a vase*

Yao: Huaisang.

Zixuan: yes.

Huaisang: me, your lawyer? Haha

Zixuan: I'm also surprised.

Yao: you only take up space in the palace. You should get a job.

Huaisang: I ran errands for you, San ge. That's a job.

An unpaid one, but.

Yao: you do get paid. But the money goes towards Qinghe, the unclean realm and Dage.

Huaisang: *sobs* what about meee.

Yao: you complain too much.

Huaisang: you!

Yao: are you gonna help us or not

Hauisang: I don't know anything, guys.

Zixuan: I know.

Huaisang: now how can I possibly be an imperial lawyer

Yao: well you're cunning. Scheming.

Zixuan: can take bribe.

Huaisang: I don't take bribe, Huangdi!

Yao: I'll buy you a new fan.

Huaisang: really?!

......oh. now I see it.

But that's not the point!

Why don't you let your team dimple do it!

Yao: I want to protect A-Yu from that guy. Xue yang will resort to violence, and Minshan is busy fixing an array for me.

Huaisang: what about Lan lips??

Yao: it's against the Lan rules.

Zixuan: don't oppose Huangdi, Huaisang.

Yao: I'll get you two expensive fans.

Huaisang: then I'll be your lawyer, San ge and Xuan Huangdi.

~

Lanling 📍

Yao: we're back!

Zixuan: did you miss us?!!

Huaisang: Jin guangshan.

Jgs: oh no. Is this another child of mine too?! Look child, I don't have any money to give you!

Zixuan: he's Huaisang, relax.

He's not your son.

Jgs: whew!

Huaisang: it would have been so cool if I was in the Jin sect. I would be able to buy millions of fans.

Jgs: now why are you three here!?

Yao: well. As we're kind landlords.

Zixuan: we want to help you pay the rent!

Yao: *twirling with Zixuan* aren't we amazing!

Jgs: you two are headaches.

Now how are you going to help me pay the rent.

Zixuan: oh poor poor you.

Yao: we're emperors. We can do anything.

Now all you have to do is be our personal attendant for a while.

Zixuan: and we'll pay you! 500 000 taels!

That will go towards rent.

Jgs: what about food!

Huaisang: I'm pretty sure that the emperors had provided food for you! Old, ungrateful man!

Jgs: who the heck are you to talk to me like that!

Huaisang: the lawyer and escort of the emperors.

Yao: yea! Huaisang is our lawyer.

Jgs: I want a lawyer.

Zixun!!!!!

Zixun: *in the distance* I'm still recovering.

Jgs: dangit!

Huaisang: what do you guys give him to eat?

Yao: rice and beans, and bitter tea.

Zixuan: and a piece of rock sugar for dessert.

Jgs: *scoffs* you call that dessert.

Yao: can you be grateful?

Huaisang: guangshit, I advise you to take their help.

Xuan Huangdi can put you prison, and Yao Huangdi can attack you with guqin strings and hensheng.

Jgs: I'm not afraid of them!!!

Zixuan: fine then. Someone lock him up.

Yes Huangdi!!

Jgs: no no no no no. Zixuan darling, let's talk about this.

Yao: *reaching for hensheng, which was wrapped around his arm and hidden in his sleeves.*

Jgs: *sweating* Yao. Put away hensheng. 

Yao: you're no fun.

Jgs: fine, I'll be the attendant of you both.

Zixuan: marvelous.

Yao: excellent.

Jgs: ughh.

Yao: good doing business with you.

I'll shake your hand. Huaisang, shake his hand for me.

Huaisang: mn.

Huaisang: now sign the contract.

Jgs: what contract.

Huaisang: it states that you should do everything the emperors command without question.

Jgs: that's cr*p

Yao: well you will know how it felt when I had to obey yout stupid demands.

Huaisang: I'm not done reading the contract!

If you fail and upset them, then you won't get paid.

And calling them Huangdi or boss is included.

Jgs: why?

Huaisang: to learn some respect.

Huaisang: and.

Jgs: andd??!!!

Huaisang: you must not harm team dimple.

:readmore:

Because it's like harming the emperor. And you'll be penalized.

Jgs: I'm not signing anything!

Yao: don't let me forge your signature.

I have done it before.

Jgs: what? When?!!

Yao: To develop health care in Lanling, to approve of Chengmei being a Jin apprentice and many other things that benefit Lanling Jin today.

Jgs: your photographic memory is a curse to me!

Yao: thank you so much.

So should I sign, or ?

Jgs: give me the brush.

Yao: good old man.

Jgs: *signs* now get out.

Zixuan: certainly!

Yao:  tata. Work starts tomorrow.

Zixuan: we'll send the uniform for you later ok.

Jgs: what uniform?!!!

Yao: you'll see. Don't ruin the surprise.

Zixuan: it's protocol. You'll understand when you get it! Bye bye bye. We're late.

Huaisang: the emperors are late, guangshit.

Jgs: for what?

Huaisang: their manicure and then state affairs. Whatever emperors do, I don't know.

You won't understand.

@verycatbluebird

:readmore:

[sometimesanalice]

MARY!! 💚💚 You’re such a real one for this! Your commentary has me wheezing!!

More for you!

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all. -he feels so guilty i cannot. baby i get it but ITS NOT YOUR FAULT its not like you did it on purpose just go talk to her — that boy is having a whole existential CRISIS. He is full blown spiral! Bless him, it was an accident!

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” -his favourite girl omg i might DIE alexa youre killing me if he ever called me his favourite girl i would just crumble to nothingness tbh- I WOULD SIMPLY CEASE TO EXIST! And that cheeky smirk of him as he chews that stolen bite of watermelon? Dead. I’d be RIP in the sand just pulling it over me like leave me here I’m done.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started. “Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.- PLEASE he is SO done all he wants is for her to rub some sun screen into his skin and shes such a minx i cannot. i want the sunscreen i want the sunscreen hello hello idc if you might die if you touch him darling go slather sunscreen on those broad shoulders!!!!!! i want this! i need this!- he is so grumpy and I am so amused by it! He’s totally stewing like “you’re MY favorite girl” he was fully planning on flexing for her like a precious little peacock. And she is so cheeky with that little book wiggle!

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. i mean. we all know that big, solid, hard body. dont we. we allllllllllllllllllllllllllll know it. - just look for the man who wants the earth to swallow him whole

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?”-she has killed him omg. she has shot him in his tiny fragile heart and he is deceased. buddy omg i cant i know its an instinct i know its a reflex i know i know i know but PLEASE bradley cant handle this - not the “buddy”!! Miss Ma’am is so flustered and embarrassed by all the wrong kind of attention, she’s also out there fighting for her life. And you KNOW he just wanted to shrivel up into the sand when she hit him with that. Jealous precious boy.

And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire. respectfully shut the fuck up. he's SO into you shut uppppppppp i get this i totally get this you have every reason to cry miss girl!!! but i swear to god bradley would carry you over the fucking threshold of your bedroom in a bridal dress if he could i will SCREAM— omg this why where you had me wheezing! He’s like first step: hospital, second step: matrimony. This pancakes are a proposal for marriage in their own right!

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.—alexa oh my fucking god i NEED this kiss i NEED these two to kiss i will die!!! i will seriously die i need them to make out i need them to finally touch each other! theyve put it all out there, theyve finally found the situation and the courage to tell each other and to admit it and theyve done it with so much goddamn tension and i need RELIEF i need tension relief they need tension relief we all need tension relief!!!! alexa!!!!!!! i swear!!! this was perfection omg

Mary! Mary!!! I’m so thrilled you liked this one! Thank goodness they figured it out! There might be pancakes in the future! I’m not against revisiting them! We got to make sure they both come out of that hospital in one piece!

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[fleurspun]

Healer’s Duties

summary: Being Nikolai's healer isn't the easiest job in the world, and it only gets more complicated when he decides to kiss you.

note: If you see a Kaeya reference here just shh. Dunno if I like this, but hopefully you like this work more than I do. Lots of banter and self-indulgent wall-pinning.

word count: 4.4k

Nikolai Lantsov liked to get himself in trouble. It didn't matter if he was in court, or if he was stirring up disturbance in the waters of the True Sea. Nikolai liked to get himself in trouble, and all these years I was always there to save his head and patch him up for his next stupid ideas.

It was my job, after all. Nikolai comes to see me when he’s in need of dire fixing— when his body is sore and his limbs are covered in deep purple bruises, and when his charm doesn't come out to be as persuasive and as flowery as he’d like it to be. Pathetic would be an understatement to how I felt every single time my heart skips a beat when he stumbles into my room at the most ungodly hours of the night, mumbling about how much he needed to be under my care. He needed me because I was a healer, I was of benefit to his well-being. He didn't need me because I provided tranquility, and he certainly didn't need me because he felt something towards me.

“I take it as you didn't miss me?” 

I hear Nikolai’s unmistakable, feathery voice by the door, and I turn to see him leaning on my cedar door frame, tapping his foot like a ticking clock. He’s a mess, that’s what. Traces of dried blood on his broken nose, a few cuts and gashes on his pretty little face, a bruised lip, and knowing him, there’s most likely a wound or two behind his black poet’s blouse.

“You’re lovely company, Nikolai. How could anybody not miss you?” I cross my arms at him, nodding to the bed.

We fall into something of a routine: Nikolai makes his way into my room at a bell or two past midnight, I treat him while trying my best to keep myself calm from all the flirting and the occasional displays of affection, then, I drag him out the door to collect whatever bit of sanity I have left. I try not to think of his affection as something personal, after all, he did grow up a prince, and princes had to charm people into not assassinating them almost every day.

His gait is hardened when he makes a beeline for my bed, groaning when he sinks down on the soft mattress, “You tell me, darling. I’m not the one who didn't bother coming to see my arrival.” Nikolai continues, “Instead, I find out you’ve chosen poor, sweet Lev over me. Does treason run in the family?” 

A smile laced with spite is etched on my face, “The same way vanity runs in yours.” 

“Sardonic little thing, aren't you?” He narrows his eyes at me. Nikolai leans back on his hands, adjusting the way he sits whilst trailing his eyes after me like a hawk. I feel hot at the way I’m placed under scrutiny over such a small task of gathering bandages and disinfectants.

I school any hint of discomfiture on my face into something a little less readable, “People say it’s my best quality.”

I kick the stool between his legs, settling on it before taking a closer look at his face. Nikolai didn't appreciate messy work, so I take my sweet time making sure nothing leaves a scar, “You are a waste of a pretty face with all these gashes.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. You get into trouble, you bleed, and you whine about it while I try my best to keep you the vainest, most reckless peacock of all of Ravka.” My voice lowers as I pour all my focus on healing a stubborn cut on his jaw.

I hear a hum of agreement, and in an instant, I look back up at him, alarmed. Nikolai was a man of reason, and he certainly loved reasoning with me whenever I tell him how rash of a man I think he is.

Instead, Nikolai tips forward with a lazy smile, almost closing the very small gap between us. 

The proximity makes concentration difficult, even more so when Nikolai decides to plant a hand on the side of my stool, caging me in with his body. The fluorescents aren't helping me in the slightest when it illuminates how defined and prince-ly Nikolai’s features are under the sharp light of my room, and while I’d never openly admit this, the way he’s all gashes and cuts just adds onto how… attractive he looks.

Good saints. Ew. What is he doing to me?

I can hear my erratic heartbeat ring into my ear when his half-lidded, hazel eyes run their course over me, momentarily stopping on my lips before it returns to hold my gaze. 

My heart hammers at my chest, and I could only pray the heartrenders next door can’t hear me.

Nikolai nods slowly, running his tongue across his teeth, “So, you do think I have a pretty face. And to believe the people say my appeal is all fake.”

The smile on his face afterward reeks of court-trained charm and flattery, and it pisses me off to the point that I want to press a kiss on his mouth to shut him up completely. Nevertheless, I pay no attention to how close his lips are to mine, instead biting back at this old trick of his— one he’d abuse to see me the tiniest flustered.

“Oh, you are pretty.” I move away slightly, raking my eyes over him, his sunlight hair, his partially opened shirt, and the multiple rings adorned on his calloused hands, “Just not when you’re talking. And you talk…” He licks at his lips ever so subtly in amusement when I jab a finger on his chest, “A lot.”

A glimpse at his dilated pupils before his head falls on my shoulder is enough for me to know I’ve caught him off guard, and it satisfies me to know that for once, I’ve been the one to render him completely flustered.

I can feel his laugh on my neck, and it burns the exposed part of my skin, “You wound me, malyshka.”

He stays there for a few seconds, before silently groaning when he adjusts himself. If he weren’t so close to my ear, I probably wouldn’t have heard him, “Nikolai? What is it?”

Of course, he does this: looking at me as if I made up the fact that he groaned in my ear, “What’s what?”

I know he isn’t going to tell me even if I asked. He’s stubborn and stupid, and while he has a flair for the dramatic, Nikolai rarely wants anybody to worry about him.

I scan my eyes over him, and my eyes fall on a bloodied bandage wrapped around his abdomen, peeking out his shirt, “Take your shirt off.”

“Oh?” Nikolai’s eyes widened, almost comically. He’s taken aback, and it doesn't seem like he’s bothering to hide it at all, “Well, close the door, sweetheart. I’m not that filthy.”

Huh? 

…

Oh.

Like a badge of embarrassment, heat starts to rise in me, prompting a shameful blush to creep up my ears. I gasp, “I didn't mean it that way!” My eyes start to dart around the room to avoid his face, “I can see the bandage on your stomach, and I don't want you bleeding all over my bed.”

“Look at me.” Nikolai has an edge to his voice, and I respond, flicking my eyes back to him, “If you don't want me bleeding on your bed, you’re gonna have to take off my shirt yourself.” 

“You’ve got hands, don’t you?”

“And I’ve got a wound on my stomach that squeezes out blood when I move.” 

We stare at each other for a good few moments before I reluctantly reach for him. I can feel his eyes on me as I unsteadily work on unbuttoning his shirt, perusing the tiniest of my movements, and I silently pray to the saints that I don't start to look like a brighter shade of Corporalki red.

The tension is rather thick and I try to ignore the bubbling feeling of how horrible this would look if anybody ever saw us in this… rather misleading position. What would the people think if they saw the prince's darling healer hovering over the prince himself, unbuttoning his shirt while he sat there, looking as if he’s enjoying the view?

Maybe I should've listened to Nikolai and closed the door, regardless of what was happening inside.

“You’ve got shaky hands, my darling.” He whimpers when the shirt slips off, the cold air biting at his wound, “You like what you see?”

I roll my eyes, “I’ve seen better.”

Liar. I, in fact, have not seen better. 

I would’ve said more, but my voice, like the traitor it was, falters to nothing when I glance at Nikolai’s body. He was well-built with broad shoulders and arms that’ve been obviously put through rigorous work, and saints, is he a sight for sore eyes. My poor mother would be clutching her pearls if she knew what was going on in my mind.

When it hits me how long I’ve been staring, I shake my head, directing my attention back to his wound.

Nikolai takes notice of my eyes on him. He flashes me a puckish grin, teasing dripping from his voice, “Now, see here, malyshka. This is where we’re gonna have a problem.” He says, “You tell me you don't like what you see, but then stare at me like I’m a marble sculptor’s magnum opus.”

Out of spite, annoyance, and any other feeling similar to vexation, I poke at his wound, resulting in him slapping my hand away. It’s unclear to me whether I wanted to hurt him for talking too much, or if I just hated him for acknowledging the things he does to me.

“Do not flatter yourself, you little pompous prince.” I run a piece of cloth over the blood on his toned stomach, “You are a marble sculptor’s failure at best.”

“Would it kill you to admit how attractive you think I am?”

“If I thought you were attractive, then probably,” I mutter, starting to work on his wound. 

“You said I was a waste of a pretty fa— OW!”

Sudden jolts of flinching, groaning, and drawn-out gritting of his teeth are the only things to come out of Nikolai’s mouth for every minute I spend on him. I imagine he isn't the most pleased with the blood and the gut-wrenching pain he’s experiencing right now.

He falls silent when I’ve finished sealing the wound, but this was Nikolai Lantsov; he wasn't one to stay silent for too long.

“I don’t like Lev very much.”

I stand to pick up the bandage from my bedside table, “You don’t like a lot of people, Nikolai.”

With a heavy huff of breath, he starts, “He’s unprofessional. Lev’s been taking up too much of your time and it’s unfair. Chatter is, he’s being intentionally careless so that he can get you doting over him long enough to ask you out on a date.”

Lev, huh. I have noticed him frequenting the clinic more often than usual these days. 

I suppose there isn’t any harm in seeing where it goes with him in the chance the chatter was true. It would be one date with one guy who wasn't even half bad. He trained with Zoya and me back in Os Alta until Nikolai took me away to be his healer. He wasn’t bad-looking and probably more competent than most men in Ravka. 

Saints know how long I’ve gone without a little romance in my life, and Nikolai certainly wasn’t going to fill that void anytime soon.

I lean on the table, “You call it unprofessional, I call it romantic.”

“What?” Nikolai’s mouth dramatically gapes open, “Romantic is when my uncle Sergei buys my aunt Ludmilla multiple dachas in Udova for their anniversary, not when somebody breaks three of their bones every single day for attention.”

“Oh?” I settle back in, crossing my arms, “Pray tell, who was the hard-headed pirate who broke his arm so that he’d have a reason to force me into talking to him?”

He scrunches his nose, “You know how I feel about that word.”

“Hard-headed?”

“Pirate.” 

Nikolai reaches out to grab at my wrist, luring me back into my seat, “You’re my healer, malyshka, not his. I can't see why he thinks he can hog you every single day.”

“I am everybody’s healer, Nikolai.” I corrected him, “If you want me all for yourself, then I suggest giving me a raise.”

He raises his eyebrow at me, “Name your price.”

“One of your aunt Ludmilla’s dachas in Udova.”

Nikolai laughs, “I’ll give you all of their dachas if it means you’d attend to me and to me only.” He continues, “I’d march up to the Darkling with nothing but dear Baghra’s cane if that meant having you all for myself.”

“Don’t be stupid, Nikolai—” I try to clear my head, sensing whether he was fooling around or not. “At least bring a rifle with you."

After I bandage the wound, he lets me do the work of slipping back on his shirt, staring me down with half-lidded eyes while I fumble with his buttons, “We have so many heartrenders and healers, malyshka, surely they can handle Lev, and everybody else, for that matter.”

I can’t help but sense that Nikolai’s becoming jealous of Lev, but that would be straight delusional and rather pathetic, so I shove it aside. Although, I’ll admit, the idea of a possessive and jealous Nikolai gave me some sort of thrill, and I imagine the longer I think about it, the redder my cheeks get.

Nikolai clears his throat to grab my attention when he realizes I’m deep in thought. I shake myself sober, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him to my bedroom door.

I can’t afford to think about jealousy and romance with him; not here and certainly not now. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll check up on your wound.”

—

The morning bustle of the Spinning Wheel keeps everybody on their toes. I find myself running on my usual morning cup of adrenaline and tea when these idiot grishas and otkazat’syas come in continuously into my clinic, with requests varying from a fresh roll of bandage to mending back a bone into its proper position.

It isn't until eleven in the evening when I get to rest, hoping to meet with Nikolai then fall into my not-soft-but-soft-enough bed mattress, but before I could get any farther, Lev walks into the clinic. He presents burns on his arms, from what I can only assume are the results of Inferni flames. 

I let Lev ramble and ramble on while I did what I could to turn the stubborn burned patches of skin back to normal, occasionally offering a laugh or two. It takes me a long time to finish due to the fatigue from today’s work and the thoughts of Nikolai waiting for me clouding my head, but when I finally do, Lev catches my wrist in his hand.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, haven’t we? I was wondering if you were avail-”

No.

“Lev, you should be going now. It’s getting late and you still have an early day tomorrow.” I smile, already halfway through the door, “Have a good night.”

… Oh, saints. What is wrong with me? 

I check my pocket watch, rushing through the hallways to get to my room in an effort to get there faster. It’s a quarter to one in the morning, and if Nikolai was still awake and waiting, he’d never let me hear the end of this.

I peek through the crevice of my red cedar wood door, and by a stroke of bad luck, Nikolai was still awake and waiting, and probably impatiently, too, judging by the bouncing knee and the constant knuckle cracking, “Nikolai,” I call softly, “Hi.”

“You’re late.”

“And you’re in my room. You don’t get to complain.”

Nikolai beckons me over with a grin, crooking his finger in a come hither motion, “Come here. I’ve missed you.”

His drowsy voice pulls me in, and without a second thought, I walk over to him. Once I’ve settled on the stool between his legs, I poke at his forehead, “Lying little pirate.”

We’re blanketed by comfortable silence when Nikolai starts to let me unbutton his shirt, humming a low tune of a sea shanty while I continue on unwrapping the bandage around his stomach. When it drops, it reveals a rather healed wound for something that was oozing blood just yesterday. I splay my fingers over the scar, healing whatever was left.

I break the silence, “Lev asked me out today.”

“Oh?” The humming comes to a stop, “Well, what did you say?”

“I, uh,” I stumble on my words, “I didn’t let him finish asking.”

It takes a few seconds of stillness before Nikolai responds, a knowing smile etched from ear to ear, “I knew you wouldn’t.” He leans forward when I button his shirt up, dropping his elbows down to his lap, “Obviously, you haven't the faintest interest in Lev. In fact, it’s obvious you like somebody else entirely.”

I scoff, ignoring the proximity, “How are you so sure?”

“I pay attention, malyshka— to you, specifically. That’s how.” 

Before I could respond, a booming sound of a door getting barged in followed by a shout of my name echoed throughout the room. Nikolai and I turn our heads to see Lev panting and struggling to find his words. When his breathing eases down, he says something along the lines of ‘I really, really like you. Please go out with me.’

I’m stunned, and words stick to my throat when I try to croak out an answer, leaving my mouth gaping open. I wasn't expecting such a bold proclamation from Lev, and certainly, I wasn’t expecting that while there was somebody else in the room.

Nikolai flicks his eyes back at me after staring at Lev with a furious crease in between his eyebrows. He scoffs, “Well, it seems like Levochka is here to finish what he started.” He doesn't miss a second when he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me in just enough to whisper against my lips, 

“Too bad I’m not letting him.”

Then, he kisses me.

He kisses me full of fervor and with an arm pulling me in closer until I’m practically straddling his lap. Nikolai’s thumb runs over the length of my waist to ease the tension in my body, and his lips smile into the kiss while giving a side-eye at the door, as if in satisfaction of showing Lev something he’d never get to experience as long as Nikolai was around.

I know Lev’s gone when he directs his eyes back at me, leaning further back on his other arm when he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue on my bottom lip. I return it almost immediately with my hand tangled in his hair and the more I show signs of interest, the cockier his smile gets in return. 

When I pull away for air, his breathing is heavier and his lips are red and swollen. Nikolai licks at his lips, grinning, “Seems like Lev got his answer, didn’t he?”

That’s when the realization hits me. Was that all there is to it?

“Lev?”

That was all there is to it, I suppose.

He needed some sort of childish revenge on Lev after he took up my time at the clinic, causing me to run late. I knew Nikolai didn't like waiting, but he could've at least done something else to spare me the shame of thinking that the kiss was genuine.

My heart drops, and an ugly wave of emotion stirs inside of my stomach. Heaving a heavy breath, I say, “Nikolai. Out.”

—

The next few days are rough. Avoiding Nikolai in the very same place he was running wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but somehow, I managed to slip away every time I saw him walking towards me or whenever he tried to talk to me. On multiple occasions, a letter or two of his find their way into my desk, asking me to tell him what he did wrong, and that he’d make amends for it however I see fit. 

I never found a reason to write back, mostly because we lived two hallways away from each other.

However, it was only a matter of time until I had to talk to him, and it was during the after-hours of a bustling Saturday night.

I hear my name from across the hall, with Tamar, who honestly looks like a blur of drab-olive-colored shapes from the distance, waving at me, “Come quick! Nikolai broke his arm.”

My ears perk up at his name, and without a second thought, my legs start moving towards his room, unclear if I’m abandoning all the grudges I might've held against him this week. With a soft creak on the big cedar door, I step inside of his chambers, pushing past the doors with a slight struggle. When I fully step inside, the doors behind me heavily snap close, eliciting a small shriek from me.

Nikolai is pacing around his bed, and when he hears me, he comes to a stop, “You’ve been avoiding me, have you?”

I say with a certain edge to my voice, reminding myself I was here to only mend his arm and nothing else, “Give me your arm.”

It takes a little bit of reluctance, but he walks towards me in a gait that can only be described as both intimidating and attractive, with eyes half-lidded and sharp, the occasional blond strand of hair falling over his eyebrow. 

I feel around his arm, and sure enough, his bones aren't broken. I furrow my eyebrows, skeptical of whether this was just a ruse, yet I continue feeling around the arm.

My suspicions are confirmed— his arm was never broken, “Nikolai-”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

I bite my tongue, dropping my gaze somewhere else. At the corner of my eye, Nikolai clicks his tongue, getting impatient with my silence, but he decides to try once more, “Why are you avoiding me?

“Figure it out.”

He works his jaw in exasperation of the only answer I’ve given him since I’ve entered his chambers. Then, he hisses in a low voice, “Screw this.”

I feel the wind get knocked out of me as I’m pinned back against the door. His hand is planted on the hard surface of the cedarwood, and his other hand is gripping the hand I had on his arm.

The slight impact of my back hitting the door sobers me up, and suddenly all of my senses are too aware for my liking. My poor heart was hammering inside my chest at the way his hand is caging mine, the way he still smells of snow and the perfume I gave him on his birthday, and the way that his gaze just refuses to leave mine.

“What did I do wrong, malyshka?” Slowly, the grip on my hand loosens, the same way his voice lowers down into something of a whisper. Nikolai brings it to his lips, kissing the space between my wrist and my palm, still looking at me, “When I told you in the letters that I’d make amends however you see fit, it wasn't a try at humor—but to do that you’d have to tell me what it is I need to fix.”

He mutters against my wrist, softly. Nikolai talks of it like it would hurt him, “Is this about the kiss?”

I’m reminded of the kiss, and the ugly emotion I’ve felt days ago comes crashing back, settling into a boiling puddle on my stomach, “And if it is? What would you do, then?” I yank back my hand, “You kissed me for petty revenge, Nikolai. How do you think that would make me feel?”

I plow on, “To think that I kissed you back!” I say, “For saint’s sake, Nikolai, I kissed you back! And for what? For it to be some pathetic, childish revenge!”

Nikolai lets me calm down, peering down at me with half-closed eyes and a wicked grin showing just how level-headed he is about my rambling. I want to hit that grin off his face with a shovel.

“You’ve been avoiding me because you thought the kiss was revenge?” He calmly says, as if what he did wasn't a big stab wound to my pride and sanity.

I scoff in disbelief, “Was it not?”

Nikolai tips forward and I back into the door further until I can feel every single ridge of the surface. My heartbeat skips a beat or two when his grin widens, and my breathing hitches when he opens his mouth to talk.

“Malyshka, do you really think so low of me?” He breathes out of clear exasperation, never letting his gaze leave mine. “I could kiss you a million times—Saints help me, I want to kiss you a million times, and I would if you’d let me— because I was jealous of Lev for spending time with you, and because I’ve been insufferably trying to get your attention for years, but never because of revenge.”

I huff, “Is that so? Well-” 

Huh. Did he just say he’s been trying to get my attention? That he was jealous of Lev? 

For the love of all saints, did Nikolai actually like me?

He waits patiently for the words to sink into my head, running his tongue over his bottom teeth while he revels at the sight of my cheeks slowly starting to flush red, “And here I thought I’ve gotten you so used to me that you were just going to skip over the part where I said I wanted to kiss you.”

“Hear that, sweetheart?” Nikolai sneers, eyes chasing mine as I try to avoid his gaze, “I said I wanted to kiss you.”

I decide I’ve had enough of his taunts, and think to myself that for once, let me be the tease.

“Yeah?” My lips curl up into a grin, almost mocking his, “Kiss me then.”

Nikolai blinks but quickly regains posture, schooling the uncharacteristic blush into his usual, charming facade. He traces a finger on my jaw, pressing a chaste kiss on the edge of my lip, 

“I can’t deny you anything, now can I, malyshka?”

extra note: Thank you for all the likes & reblogs on Sick & Stubborn and The Art of Pretension <3

[flowercrown-bard]

I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ‘Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

--

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

--

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

[fuxking-witchy]

Hi! Sorry for being mia for so long lmao. I've been busy 😔

Ohh you like to write? Same here!!

Maybe one day we can work on writing a piece (smut or no smut) together? Share ideas?

-🦚

My darling peacock!!! I just wanna cover you in kisses! I’ve missed you so much! 😚😚😚🥰

You’re human, my sweet. You’re allowed to be busy and not send asks if you don’t have the time. Know that you’re always welcome and wanted here 🥰🫂

I’d love to collaborate with you on a writing piece!!! That would be so super duper fun!!! Sometimes I like to write little fluffy pieces, sometimes I like to write the smuttiest, filthiest porn words I can!!! Hehe 🤭

I hope you’re doing alright, my lovely peacock. Remember that you can get all the kisses and cuddles you need anytime you’d like! 🥰😚💞

[randomrosewrites]

At the break of dawn

Pairing: Diluc x GN reader Summary: Diluc returns late - very late - from his vigilante duties one day, exhausted and worn out. At the break of dawn, he crawls back into your loving embrace. Words: ~1K Warnings/ tags: Fluff, comfort, Diluc getting affection he deserves TM, kaeya makes an appearance.

A/n: *shakes bags of treats* diluc simps come get your food. (It's been a while since I wrote anything, apologies for the roughness of this. Just a little idea that's been worming its way into my mind.)

You’re awoken by the dim, blue light, filtering in through the curtains. Morning has arrived, but the sun has not yet risen, the window wet with condensation.

You can immediately tell that no one’s in the bed from the lack of warmth, but for good measure, you crane your neck - wincing at the ache you feel; you slept on it funny - to confirm. Feeling along the bed, you’re only met with cold, undisturbed sheets.

He’s late. Very late coming home.

You stretch out on the plush bed like a cat, working out your aching muscles. Swinging your legs over the side, you slide off the bed, wrapping a nightgown around your body. The manor is quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood or the faint tick of the grandfather clock. You tip-toe out of your bedroom and down the hall with careful steps, not wanting to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. No signs of the person you’re searching for - he really didn’t come home last night. How unusual.

On the first floor, you poke your head into the kitchen, nearly scaring the staff half to death. A few maids and cooks who’ve - by the looks of their half-done-up uniforms - have just arrived. They all rush to fix their uniforms, not wanting to be caught in an unprofessional state.

“M-master…” one of them murmurs your name. “We were just about to get started on your morning breakfast. It will be ready shortly.”

“No rush,” you reassure them. “It’s still early, take your time.”

With a chorus of “thank you’s”, you leave them to get to work, treading over to the living room.

It’s tidy, as is everything in the manor. Adeline - the head maid - personally sees to that. Yet you can tell there’s a struggle between her and her employer. The desk by the window is cluttered with papers, accounts, bills, receipts, and all the like in an organized mess, stacked several inches high. Your partner always liked overseeing everything himself, even if it usually ended with him exhausted beyond measure. The papers on his desk are unorganized, left behind after he went out for his nightly duties and never returned to put them away.

You adjust a paperweight on the stacks so they don’t scatter before leaving the desk to curl up on the couch by the fireplace. Pulling a blanket over you, you open a book and begin reading.

The maids come from the kitchen ten minutes later, wheeling in a cart of delicacies and tea. They spoil you at the winery, heavily. Your partner’s wealth ensures you have anything you’d ever need and more. (Though rich or not, you know he would always spoil you.)

“Anything within my power that I can grant you will be granted,” he’d told you, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckle. “You’re precious to me.”

In response, you’d hold him how equally precious he was to you.

Just as your morning tea is being poured, the front door opens with a bang, startling the maid so much she nearly drops the pot.

A tall, hooded figure stands in the doorway, adorned in black clothing. Red-rimmed gloves lift to tug his cloak from his face, and you can’t help the way your stomach flutters nor the way you break out into a smile.

“Good morning, Diluc.”

Diluc Ragnvindr shuffles into the manor, handing off his cloak to the maid and rubbing his shoes against the entrance rug. “ Good morning.”

He looks and sounds exhausted. His shoulders sag as he rests his claymore against the wall before sluggish shuffling over to you on the couch. His eyes are half-lidded, weighed down by fatigue. His hair is a mess as well, it snags on the tassels of his coat as he tries to remove it, earning a mumbled curse from him.

“Busy night?” you inquire, taking the coat from him and laying it over the arm of the couch.

“Very,” he sighs, exasperation seeping into his voice. He kicks his boots off and collapses onto the couch, undoing the ruby crystal at his tie.

You raise a hand to cover his. “Allow me.”

Diluc complies, letting your careful fingers undo his tie. You place the item on the coffee table and scoot over, patting the spot beside you.

“Lay down, darling.”

Diluc is drawn to you like a magnet, body seeking to press up against yours. You pull him into your arms and lay down on the couch together. He sighs deeply as he buries his face into your chest, pressing his ear right over your heart. His arms loop around your torso and his legs intertwine with yours. Snug. Warm.

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the elastic holding his crimson locks back until it unravels. Diluc’s hair pools around you, silky, long, and with a hint of smoke.

“Thank you…” he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. You don’t miss the affection soaking his words.

You press a kiss atop his head, petting down his hair. “You’re welcome.”

He’s asleep almost instantly in your arms. His breathing steadies and the tension leaves his body as he sinks into you. Your hand remains at his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Diluc’s very warm, and with his body heat, the blanket, and the fire in the hearth, you feel your eyes begin to close, too.

You’re almost asleep yourself when there’s a sharp knock at the front door. It swings open before a maid can get to it and a familiar head of blue hair pops in.

“Good morni- oh Arcons.”

You put a finger to your lips as Kaeya carefully shuts the door behind him, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and joy plastered on his face.

“Quiet, you’ll wake him.”

“Is he sleeping? Oh my god, look at him.”

“Kaeya,” you repeat, fighting off a laugh. “Hush. Let him sleep.”

Kaeya creeps closer, craning his neck like a peacock to get a better view of Diluc. “I wish I had one of those kamera things. I’m never gonna let him live this down. He looks like a little lamb when he sleeps.”

“What do you need, Kaeya?”

He waves a small stack of papers in his hands. “For sleeping beauty, from Jean,” he places the stack of papers on the coffee table with a wink. “Enjoy your morning, I’ve leave both of you to it.”

He leaves as quickly as he comes, slipping out through the front door with a flourish of his cape.

“A nuisance, as always…” grumbles a sleepy voice, making you jump.

“Did we wake you? Sorry.”

“Not you…” Diluc mumbles, shifting in your arm. “Kaeya’s always...loud…”

You can hear the adorable pout in his voice.You rub his back soothingly. “He’s gone now get some rest,” and because you can’t help it, you add, “Sleeping beauty.”

The noise Diluc makes is enough to make you laugh, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in apology.

[bumbleklee]

piercing

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | discord server

prompt: your boyfriend kaeya is a tattoo artist and piercer and never misses an opportunity to give you a new piercing. this time, he helps you through some of the aftermath pain. 

pairing: kaeya x female!reader

warnings: NSFW! fingering, brief cunninglingus, clitoral piercing (minors dni) 

Having a boyfriend that was a tattoo artist was more than a blessing. You got free tattoos of whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, and as many piercings as you could dream of. The hours were lax, too, meaning you could see Kaeya virtually all the time.

When Kaeya texted you to come over to his work after hours, you were excited. Usually he lets you take unused designs or random things he scribbled up during the day and you would be a fool to let them go to waste.

“Good evening to you,” You purred, greeting your boyfriend at the front desk. He was distracted on his phone and jumped at your voice before grinning up at you. He was on his feet before you could say anything else, wrapping his tattooed arms around you and kissing you hello. “What am I getting today? I want to fill that spot by my ankle if we can.”

He hummed in response and took your hand in his, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. “I was thinking about a piercing. I learned how to do a new one.”

“Oh, really?” You wondered what it could be, as you already had two nose piercings, a multitude of ear piercings and even your nipples pierced. Maybe it was that cool dimple one. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” Kaeya’s hair was pulled messily into a bun at the nape of his neck, which showed off the detailed peacock that ran from the back of his neck down his spine. Your boyfriend walked with confidence and conviction and you could only imagine what he had up his sleeve. He led you down the familiar hallway of the tattoo parlor until you reached his personal studio. You helped yourself to the door handle and hopped onto the chair.

“Is it going to hurt bad?” You asked, kicking your legs into the air.

Kaeya paused for a moment, “More than usual, I think.” He began opening cabinets and pulling out sterile tools. “I mean, how bad can a clit piercing be?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull and you swore Kaeya was smirking at you. Getting your nipples pierced was traumatic enough, how were you supposed to stay conscious throughout a clitorial piercing? You leaned forward, “I don’t think I can handle that.”

Your boyfriend simply ignored your distaste and sat down in his rolling stool. He wheeled over to your chair, pulling over an adjacent rolling table, and laid down his tools. “Beidou has one,” Kaeya said flatly, “She said it makes sex feel so much better for both partners.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks. Even though you had been with Kaeya for years and intimacy was nothing new, the fact your boyfriend wanted to enhance your sexual life made you feel a certain kind of way. But you trusted Kaeya, and his boss Beidou, and something about getting such a suggestive piercing was exciting. And if you really hated it, you could always take it out.

“Okay, I’ll get it.”

Kaeya beams at you, leaning off his chair to kiss you again. “You know the drill,” He says as he pulls back, his hands grazing your hips before he sits back down on his stool and kicks off the floor, spinning around. You nod hazily, mind clouded with nerves and adrenaline, and untie the fabric belt around your shorts, pushing both items down past your feet. You hesitated for a short moment before hooking your underwear around your forefingers before pulling those down, too.

He grabs your clothes and folds them like the darling he is, placing them on the counter behind him and rolling back over to you. His hands begin to creep on your body again, his fingertips gentle against your smooth skin. Each touch sends sparks down your spine.

Out of comfortable habit, your legs spread on their own and Kaeya glances at your womanhood hungrily. His hands are still roaming your thighs, rubbing soothing circles into your flesh and whispering reassurance. He reaches under the table and you hear metallic clanging before two foot rests lock in place beside the side of the chair.

“Can you put your feet on those for me?” Kaeya asks and you obliged, “Thanks, baby.” You feel even more exposed and shiver when the air condition puffs on your vagina. “All set?”

You nod, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Kaeya laughs slyly and rolls directly between your propped up legs. His fingers grazed your folds and your breath hitched. Kaeya glanced at you through thick eyelashes before spinning around again. He slips on disposable gloves and tears open the sterile packaging of the needle and tools.

“Don’t move, okay? I’m going to make this as quick as possible.”

You want to close your eyes and drift off to another world to distract yourself but the thought about being pierced keeps you alert. Your hands were sweating and you felt the guiding tool grazing over your clit. You hear Kaeya counting as you stare at the ceiling and without warning, the needle presses through your skin. You let out a gasp, the wind getting knocked out of you, and Kaeya works fast. He pulls the jewelry through the hole and tosses the used needle and tool back onto the rolling table. Your eyes water and a fat tear rolls down your cheek, your hands clenching up.

“It’s gorgeous,” Kaeya says playfully, “Matches you perfectly.”

You nod, too in shock to move or talk. A lingering soreness is spreading through your lower body and you’re afraid to move, scared that it’ll hurt like hell. When you don’t verbally respond, Kaeya stands to hover over you. His hands graze your cheeks, wiping away tears and rubbing your jaw. He has a sympathetic expression on his face, very different from the sadistic one before. “Want me to help you feel better?”

You stifle back a laugh. He really wanted to have sex right now? You couldn’t even fathom any sensation near your pussy right now, the thought making you cringe, “Real funny.”

“I’m serious,” Kaeya pouted, leaning closer to your face. His hand trailed down, caressing your jawline and traveling towards your chest. “It’ll make the ache go away, I swear.”

“Kaeya, I can’t even move right now,” You deadpanned.

He only smirked at this, “Let me do all the work, then.”

Another shiver was sent down your spine and you opened to retaliate but nothing came out. Kaeya waits for you to say something, do something, and you eventually nod. He takes this as his green light and rolls back to his stool. His arms hook your legs and he gently pulls you forward. He softly pushes your legs apart and begins kissing your inner thighs. It’s romantic and eases your nervousness a little.

He presses a quick kiss to your freshly pierced clit and you tense up. It didn’t feel great but it didn’t feel bad either. Kaeya takes note of this and decides to stay clear of it. When you were healed, he would experiment.

Kaeya lowers his face to your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds. “You’re doing so good,” He praises, pressing his fingers into your plush thighs. Eventually, his hands move closer to your sex and his fingers begin exploring the area. Little moans fall out of your lips and Kaeya slips two fingers into you. He knows you can handle it.

Your boyfriend moves his fingers slowly and shallowly at first. He only allows his second knuckle to rest inside before fastening his pace. It’s a smooth movement, in and out, and you start to arch your back.

“I want you to fuck me,” You whisper out, hips bucking into Kaeya’s fingers.

“Tonight,” He promises, “Let me treasure you like this.”

He pushes his fingers all the way in and you gasp. He curls them swiftly and you groan out loudly, the pads of his fingers brushing against your special spot. Kaeya grins and pushes hard against that spot. Your moans turn into pleading babbles and praises, the knot in your stomach tightening and tightening. By now, you can’t even feel the new piercing.

“Please, please,” You beg, eyes rolling back into your head. Kaeya pounds his fingers inside of you and you reach for air, toes curling. Your own hand comes down to grasp at Kaeya’s wrist but he’s too strong. Within minutes, you climax hard. You clench down on Kaeya’s fingers so hard he can’t pull them out right away, your juices soaking his skin.

Kaeya kisses your thighs again through your high. He eventually pulls his fingers out and lets you catch your breath. “How do you feel? Still in pain?”

“Never felt better.”

[jaskierswolf]

Hi wolfie dear!!! Jaskier has a thing or two to tell Valdo... so maybe 34. hug to prevent a fight, either Valdo hugging Jaskier or someone else hugging Jaskier to keep him away from Valdo, maybe, pretty please? <3

Writen for @thewitcherbog rarepair week!

Pairing: Valskier (background Geraskier too) Rating: T

_ Valdo was going down. The bastard was peacocking around the tavern, badmouthing Jaskier and Geralt as if he would actually die if he stopped talking. Jaskier was used to Valdo being a shit to him, but Geralt deserved better. The witcher did so much for humanity, and the last thing he needed was get fucked up by Jaskier’s on and off boyfriend.

Currently off… hence the badmouthing. Jaskier rolled his eyes, knowing one spectacular blow job would have Valdo back on his side and it would be them against the world again. It was… complicated… but gods, the bastard was just addictive and Jaskier had never been able to give him up.

“Of course, Julian has no real talent and skill of his own,” Valdo preened, circling a rich red wine in his glass, dark chocolate brown eyes meeting his; challenging. “He just fucks that monster of his and steals all his stories.”

Jealous then.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Jaskier’s chair fell back with a crash and he pointed at Valdo, eyes narrowing at his rival. “You leave Geralt out of this, you bastard.”

“Aww, look at you, defending the beast,” Valdo sneered, and yet he was still so fucking handsome. Truly it wasn’t fair how pretty he could be.

“I’m defending my- my friend!” Jaskier snarled, his fingers flexing by his side, itching to grab the dagger that was concealed in his breeches. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Marx.”

The glass shattered in Valdo’s hand, red liquid pouring all over his fine silver doublet, but the troubadour didn’t even seem to notice. Perhaps Jaskier had gone a little too far with that one. Valdo had always been self-conscious about being well-liked, constantly convincing himself that no one truly cared and that his friends would turn on him, but he should not have called Geralt a monster. He knew Jaskier was sensitive about that.

“I have friends.”

Jaskier scoffed. “You have fans, hardly the same thing.”

“Well at least I have fans, unlike you.”

That was it. Jaskier saw red and lunged, a feral scream tearing from his lungs. He hopped over the table and chairs until he could get his hands around the little weasel’s neck. What he wasn’t expecting was for Valdo to pull him into a hug the second he got close enough....

The rage melted from him and he sank into his oldest friend’s arms.

“I missed you,” Valdo whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

The silence in the room was palpable but Jaskier didn’t care. He knew their relationship was a mystery to everyone on the outside, even their closest friends, but it was them. He chuckled and gripped the back of Valdo’s doublet tightly.

“I missed you too, darling.”

-

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6

[dhwty-writes]

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir. 

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life. 

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt. 

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height. 

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.