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ginwalt · 4 years ago

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Training Room Tension (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: Reader is a cocky new recruit. Black Widow decides to put her in her place.

Warning: the briefest mention of suggestive content near the end.

It was a well known fact amongst your fellow SHIELD recruits that you were undefeated. You bested all of your fellow trainees in everything from combat to reconnaissance practice. Not only did you spend several hours in the training room after everyone had left for the day, you woke up earlier than everyone else as well. Determination and passion filled your every uppercut and kick as you dreamed of the day you would become a SHIELD agent.

Currently, you were in the middle of sparring with Adam Wesley, a sweet young man with a killer punch. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you twisted the mans arm behind his back and kicked him to the mat with your knee. He grunted and rolled onto his bare back, a grin painted on his clean shaven face. You straddled his stomach and pinned his hands to his sides with your feet. Your black sports bra was damp with sweat and locks of hair were sticking to your forehead.

Adam wheezed, "Okay okay I give. Get up please you're going to crush me."

You rolled your eyes with a smug grin, "You're a big guy Adam, crush is a bit much."

The man stood and wiped his face with a sweat towel. He plopped back down on the mat, "It still hurt. I thought you were going to break my wrist," he complained, chucking the towel into the hamper nearby.

"You're such a drama queen," you replied in between gulps of water.

"Says the one who has never been on the receiving end of one of your punches," he replied, sticking out his tongue mockingly.

You returned the gesture and laughed, "And I'm glad for it, I bet I could take out everyone in this gym with a single punch." You tossed your empty water bottle aside and flopped down next to him.

Adam huffed, "Y/N one day that attitude is going to get you killed."

You wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and kissed his cheek playfully, "One day maybe, but not today." He made a disgusted face and pushed you away before scrubbing at his cheek.

You opened your mouth to tease the man further when a new voice cut you off, "You could beat anyone in this gym, huh?" You looked up to find the Black Widow herself standing before you, arms crossed. "I wouldn't count on that, princess"

Leaning back on your hands you gave her a lopsided grin, "Oh really? Why shouldn't I count on the truth?" You struggled to maintain your confident façade as you stared up at the older woman. You had been infatuated with Natasha ever since you first saw her at SHIELD headquarters. The skilled assassin was nothing short of gorgeous and you often found yourself staring at her when the two of you were in the same room. However, careful training kept your face from blushing as she crouched so that the two of your were face to face.

"You should the audience for your boasting more carefully. It might get you in trouble one of these days," Natasha purred, her shoulder length hair brushing your cheek.

"Is today one of those days?" You shot back, leaning in closer so that your nose was practically touching hers. Despite all your previously mentioned careful training, your eyes found themselves trailing down to her lips. Your heart missed a few dozen beats as the woman let out a raspy chuckle, clearly aware of just how much of your confidence was faked.

"That all depends on whether you want to make good on your claims, princess," Natasha stood to her full height, her gaze never leaving yours.

Adam cleared his throat nervously and looked between the women before him, "Should I go?" he asked, moving to stand to his feet.

"I think that would best," you replied, hopping up from your own lounging position. The man glanced back at you and mouthed a quick 'good luck' before scampering off to the treadmills.

"So, is that a yes?" Natasha questioned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Absolutely."

The two of you circled one another, fists raised defensively. The excited tension in the air crackled between the two of you like Tesla coils as you took in the woman before you. Your heart was about ready to crack from its place in your rib cage. Why had you agreed to do this? Natasha Romanoff was literally nicknamed the Black Widow because of her notoriously lethal fighting style. Still, it was too late to back out now. If you did neither Adam nor the rest of the recruits would let you live it down. You had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Gritting your teeth, you lunged forward with a low aimed punch. Natasha jumped aside faster than you thought humanly possible and kicked your still outstretched arm away. You grunted and stumbled back as your arm flailed awkwardly back to your side. The two of you erupted in a flurry of kicks and jabs and punches. You did your best to stumble out of the way of her efficient blows, suddenly feeling like a defenseless rabbit stuck in a cage with a wolf. Natasha was making quick work of your attacks, deflecting and dodging as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

The assassin aimed a punch for your stomach, however, you leaped back and managed to land a sweeping kick under her feet. Natasha grunted and fell backwards onto the mat. You let your chest fill with pride for a millisecond before lunging on top of the older woman. Your hands gripped her wrists as your knee pressed against her toned stomach.

You grinned and leaned down until your could feel her breath on your face, "See, what did I tell you? The best," you muttered, your eyes locked onto your own piercing gaze.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her body remaining completely lax under your own. "Princess, a word of advice," the assassin hooked one of her legs into the crook of the knee that was pressed against her abdomen. She when kicked out, yanking your leg loose. You stumbled, your grip on her wrists loosening. She surged upward and flipped the two of you so that you were now pinned under her. "never declare a fight is over until it is actually over," she finished.

You stared up at her, your eyes wide and your chest heaving. Her thighs were now straddling your bare stomach and her hair was falling against your flushed face. "Bu-but..." you trailed off, face now beet red.

Natasha poked her lower lip out in fake sympathy, "Awww poor baby. Not used to losing, are you?" she murmured, tracing a light finger down your cheek and along your jawline. "If it's any consolation, you were better than I thought you would be. In a few years you might even be worth my time."

You struggled to reply as her finger trailed from your jaw down to your neck and onto your chest. She traced patterns along your sports bra as she gazed down at you. Your mouth continued to gape open like a suffocating fish. She smiled and kissed your cheek. "If you're always this cute when you lose I might have to kick your ass more often."

You frowned, "Who said I was done fighting?"

Natasha raised a brow and sat up. "Okay then, throw a punch," she replied mockingly.

You narrowed your eyes and glared up at her for a moment before letting out a huff, "Fine, I give up. You win," you grit out.

Her eyes widened in fake surprise as she cupped her ear and leaned in closer, "Oh, I'm sorry, can you speak up? I didn't quite get that."

You grumbled, "You win, okay? I'm sorry."

She grinned and stood from her place on your stomach. Part of you mourned the loss of the intimate contact. She reached out a hand to help you up, which you gratefully accepted.

Natasha leaned closer so that her lips were practically touching the shell of your ear, "You know if you weren't so adorable I might just leave you here to sulk. But, I quite like you and I would really enjoy it if you went with me to the locker room," Natasha muttered, her breath hot against your cheek. You shuddered and leaped forward to get to the locker room. The assassin let out an amused snort before following closer behind.

The moment the two of you entered the empty locker room, you turned to face the redhead. But, before you could even get a word out she was already shoving you up against a locker. You gasped as her lips collided with your own. The kiss was violent and desperate as you quickly leaned in to reciprocate. Natasha smiled and nipped at your lower lip, her hands gripping your wrists above your head. You gasped and allowed her tongue to slip into your mouth. Sometimes losing was worth it.

#black widow x reader #Natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu #avengers x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff

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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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war paint | 5 | hot water

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

You laid low over the next few weeks, avoiding Captain Bakugou to the best of your ability.

You didn’t make eye contact during your drills, shifting behind Kaminari and Sero’s shoulders when you could. You kept to your bunkroom when you weren’t on duty, and ate quickly in the mess halls, leaving as soon as you were finished lest he come dine with his battalion. You left the palace grounds only to post your wages to your family, and hurried back quickly in case Bakugou came looking and found you gone.

You also steered clear of Nishimura and his idiot friend Hasumi, taking alternate routes when you saw them on the training grounds and saying nothing about the animals and bugs you continued to find in your sheets.

Your only relief was your continued patrols, especially when you were assigned to Sero or Kaminari. Kaminari in particular was good at getting you out of your funk, tripping over himself to make you laugh and forcing you to socialize with all his palace favorites like Hagakure the laundress or on one notable occasion, Ochako Uraraka, companion to the princess-to-be and wife of the prince’s trusted valet, Izuku Midoriya.

His favorite stop, however, continued to be Mina’s workrooms and you found yourself getting quite comfortable with her, relaxing into her bright and cheery presence. She kept you well entertained with easy humor and palace gossip.

“I heard Captain Bakugou told the prince he’ll have the thief in chains before the wedding,” Mina said one evening as you and Kaminari finished up your rounds. “But it’s hard to know where he’ll strike next. There’s no discernable pattern in the rooms he targets or the things he seems to take.”

“Wow, never thought anyone would be able to stump that guy,” Kaminari said, kicking his feet up on Mina's worktable. Mina growled, shoving his muddy boots off the bright fabrics. Kaminari overbalanced and only just managed to stop himself from face planting, grabbing her chair tightly.

He shot Mina a dirty look but continued. “Bakugou’s basically like a bloodhound. I thought for sure he would have sniffed the thief out by now.”

Mina sighed. “I know! And it’s giving the servants ideas now, too. One of them stole Lady Yaoyorozu’s best gown right out of the laundry rooms last Sunday. The housekeeper’s had a right time of it trying to track down the culprit.”

You thought back to your own patrol on Sunday, but it hadn’t taken you anywhere down near the laundry rooms. Nishimura and Hasumi’d been on that route and you wondered if the theft had occurred right under their noses, the pair of fucking idiots.

“If I were the thief,” Kaminari said, “I would steal an entire tray of those little cinnamon buns cook Rikido makes.”

You laughed. You had yet to try one, but from the way the other soldiers waxed poetic about them, you didn’t doubt they were worth stealing.

“Ooh, I would pilfer those sweet cakes he does,” Mina said longingly. She looked as though she was thinking wistfully of a long lost lover.

You thought to yourself. If you were any kind of thief, you’d steal money, most likely, to send back to your family. Or maybe something of the captain’s to burn. You wondered if he cared enough for anything that you could get him to beg you for it back. You quite liked the image of him on his knees before you...

A chuckle from Kaminari brought you out of your fantasy.

“Maybe we should take up a life of crime,” he said.

Mina eyed him. “Think of how fast Bakugou would figure you out and say that again. He’s the smartest person in this entire castle.”

Kaminari winced. “On second thought, protecting and serving is my passion. I’ve never so much as looked at a stolen pastry. If someone approached me with one I’d report them straight to the captain.”

You’d heard from Mina exactly how the prince’s future bride had bribed her way into the mid winter ball, so you weren’t buying it.

“In other news,” Mina said, “The new servants' baths are finished. You lot might get to try them! I heard they’re only waiting on an inspection from the steward to open. Hagakure said she already snuck in for a dip in the ladies’ baths and just about melted.”

Your interest piqued. You hadn’t had more than a rushed scrub down in weeks, and if the baths weren’t open yet, your chances of being disturbed were few.

“Where are they?” you asked, trying not to look as interested as you felt.

Mina described their location and dropped the tantalizing fact that they’d been built over a natural hot spring just south of the castle. Mentally, you could feel yourself rubbing your hands together with glee. Maybe tonight you could soak away all the stress from the past few weeks.

Kaminari yawned in disinterest. “No wonder you’ve got such a girly face, L/N. You’re basically as bad as Mina.”

You scoffed. “There is nothing wrong with being clean.”

He raised a golden eyebrow. “You even sound like Mina.”

Mina patted your arm sympathetically. “Denki was born to repel women, L/N, don’t hold it against him. A woman likes a well groomed man. Keep it up and you’ll have your share of ladies hanging off you when you grow up.”

You stifled a laugh. You certainly hoped not.

Kaminari, however, looked absolutely incensed and he bit out a retort at Mina, storming out of her office and bodily dragging you with him. You suppressed a smile and followed him through the rest of your rounds, trying to look appropriately chastened when he told you off for not defending him.

You felt lighter than you had in ages, though, and you looked forward to an evening spent in the baths.

Late that evening, hours after everyone went to bed, you crept out of the barracks and followed a worn path to the south of the castle. The baths proved tricky to find in the dark, but soon enough you stumbled upon the entrance. In case Hagakure was around for another illicit dip, you stuck to the men’s side, not wanting to explain to the laundress why her friend the soldier suddenly had sprouted a pair of breasts.

You lit a match and followed its light into the steamy heat of a dark room. You pressed it to a set of sconces set into the wall which, when lit, revealed an open pool sunk into the floor of the room. The light wasn’t enough to see the bottom of the spring by, but you could see steam curling off the surface of the water and you shivered in delight.

You quickly undressed, leaving your clothes and your breast bindings in a neat pile by the side of the pool, and climbed into the dark water. The heat instantly loosened your shoulders, and you could feel what must have been months of tight knots unraveling within your muscles.

You let out a sigh and sank in up to the top of your head, letting the water sluice over your shoulders and hair. You grabbed for your soap and washed down thoroughly, luxuriating in a feeling of total cleanliness that you hadn’t felt in months.

Then you let yourself float, feeling near ecstasy in every single nerve where the warm water touched your skin. The gentle lap of the water against the side of the pool and the steam curling up around your face lulled you into a stupor.

Until the scrape of a boot at the entrance reached your ears. Cussing, you ducked back down in the water, swimming over to press your chest up against the side of the pool, your heart beating frantically like a frightened rabbit.

Your stomach dropped when light caught on a lock of unruly blonde hair, and Captain Bakugou slipped into view.

“Interesting place for me to find a soldier who’s supposed to be in their bunk,” he said, smirking. His eyes were bright in the torch light.

You wanted to rush out of the baths and leap into your clothes, but you could only hold still in fear as he stepped closer. He looked like he’d come from his own bed, only wearing a loose linen shirt over a pair of soft breeches, his usual uniform conspicuously absent. You tried to ignore the peek of a well defined pectoral through the low collar of his nightshirt.

“Captain,” you said quickly, “I, um...I couldn’t sleep.”

He moved to the edge of the pool, staring down at you. “And you think that means you can just defy my orders, pretty boy?”

You flushed. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

He looked you over, scarlet eyes running over your wet hair and shoulders. “You look awfully comfortable in there. Not gonna get out?”

Your heart shot into your throat. You couldn’t get out, not in front of him. Not if you didn’t want this whole charade to be ruined right here, right now. You didn’t know if Bakugou would knife a woman, but you didn’t want to take your chances and find out.

“I’m, um, embarrassed to, Captain,” you said by way of explanation. You stared at his boots, not daring to look up into his handsome face.

“Well aren’t you delicate, princess,” he quipped. His boots shifted and all of a sudden his face was in front of yours. You startled, shooting back from the rim of the pool, water sloshing loudly around you. You covered your chest protectively -- you didn’t know how well he could see in the low light of the torches but you didn’t want to test it.

A gleam of interest came into his eye and his gaze picked over you again. He looked disconcertingly curious, his head cocked to the side, like a wolf considering which part of the prey to tear into first.

To your horror, his hand moved to his shirt. Before you knew what he was doing, Bakugou grinned and pulled his nightshirt over his head. You had a glimpse of strong arms and a defined chest with a mouth watering set of abs before you panicked and whipped around, staring hard at the opposite wall.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice coming out high and squeaky.

“The fuck you think I’m doing, shrimp?” he asked. You heard the mortifying sound of his belt being undone and the scuff of his boots as he stepped out of them. “I’m testing something.”

“C-captain,” you said. “You’re not coming in here.”

You heard a low chuckle. “Don’t wanna share, princess?”

“Th-that’s not it!” you gasped, spine locking up as you heard his pants hit the ground. There was a slosh and water rushed over your back in a small wave. “Captain, this isn’t right.”

His rough voice was coming too near. “It’s a communal bath. We’re communally bathing. You some kind of pervert or something?”

You certainly felt like one if the way your eyes had tried to stay stuck to his chest was any indication. “And if I am?” you asked.

There was another low chuckle, this time right by your ear. “Awful shy for a pervert.”

You stood still, hardly daring to breathe. Your thoughts raced wildly from one topic to the next. What did he think he was doing? How were you going to get out of here without him figuring you out? If you pushed him, could you make it out of the baths before he caught you? If he caught you, what would he do?

A broad, hard chest pressed right against your back and your brain froze completely. You stopped breathing.

What was this? This was beyond teasing. What was the captain trying to accomplish?

“Still embarrassed?” he rumbled in your ear. A shiver went through you and your arms tightened around your chest, praying he couldn't see anything over your shoulder.

“This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me,” you blurted. You tried to will your mind to disconnect from the nerve endings in your back. He was so, so warm.

He snorted, and there was a moment of hesitation before he sloshed away from you again. You sighed in relief as the heat of his body left your back. “Not counting you getting your ass kicked in the mess hall.”

Irritation flashed through and you would have rounded on him if you could have turned around. “I wasn’t getting my ass kicked.”

There was a splashing sound from behind you. “Oh, were you only pretending to be losing spectacularly?”

You clenched a fist under the water. “Look, why are you here?”

There was a beat of silence.

“You ain’t the only one who can’t sleep,” Bakugou admitted roughly, surprising you. You chanced a look at him over your shoulder, only to whip back around, shame-faced. Yep, his abs were still there.

“W-why can’t you sleep?” you asked for something to say, voice a little shaky. You cleared your throat.

“Why can’t you?” he asked.

You frowned. “I asked you first.”

He let out a low chuckle. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

You could feel your cheeks heat, and you tamped down on an indignant so are you. A soldier didn’t talk to their commander that way, nor a peasant to a marquis.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me, princess,” Bakugou said. His voice sounded smug, like he knew what retort you were clamping down on.

You thought for a moment on what you could tell him. You couldn’t exactly admit to waking in the middle of the night to bathe without having your gender revealed. You could be vague, though, and still tell the truth.

“My family,” you said. “There were some things that, uh, led me to the kingsguard, and I was thinking about that.”

Bakugou seemed to accept that. “I was thinking about how I'll kill that thief nice and slow when I get my hands on him.”

You shivered despite the warm air of the bath house. The thought was unsurprising, but Bakugou being kept awake by it was. “You’re more bothered about this than I would have guessed.”

A loud, gusty sigh echoed from the other end of the spring. “They’re fucking with my territory. And they’re bothering the shit out of Shouto and his dumbfuck valet.”

“The prince?” you asked, surprised.

“He’s a...friend,” Bakugou admitted. You were somewhat shocked by the admission that Bakugou had anything like friends. You wondered what the prince was like, to be so unbothered by Bakugou’s rough manner. Or maybe Bakugou didn’t try his usual tack with a member of the royal family.

“I’ll kill anyone who fucks with him,” Bakugou growled quietly, “Or that green-headed little snot rag.”

You guessed he meant Midoriya, the valet. He sounded oddly protective for someone he called a name like snot rag. You wondered wildly if, despite the disturbing terms in which he spoke of them, he considered the prince and his valet something like family. It would explain why he was so bothered by the thief when he was normally so unflappable.

“I hope you find them,” you said, the sincerity in your voice surprising even you.

“Oh, I will,” he promised darkly. You shivered again.

A loud splashing from his end of the spring distracted you and you looked back over your shoulder, only get an eyeful of a very chiseled butt leaving the pool. You yelped, covering your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Another low chuckle reached your ears, along with the rustle of fabric. “Leaving. Didn’t you want that, princess?”

You took a breath. “Well--yes.”

There was more rustling. “I’ve had my fun with you,” he said, and you heard the scuff of his boots as he pulled them on again. “Don’t let me catch you out of your bunk again or I’m fucking discharging you.”

You nodded, heart beating wildly. Had you really gotten away with this? “Yes, sir,” you answered dutifully.

Bakugou let out another derisive snort. “Get to bed,” he said imperiously, and then he was gone.

You turned to stare after him, listening to the tread of his boots grow further away. Finally, as the sounded faded, your knees gave out and you sank back under the water, feeling horribly relieved, and yet more confused than you had ever been before.

You'd escaped, but...what the hell had just happened?

#bakugou x reader #fanfic #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki

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starions · 4 years ago

Text

it burns like fire.

astarion x oc (anya)

2074 words

first meeting (oneshot)

Yavanna stared at the empty champagne glass gripped in her palm, eyeing the condensation still dripping down the glass and onto her hand. One glass, Olsin had told her she was only allowed one glass. More than one would upset her head or make her do something stupid, and Olsin didn’t want to spend his night taking care of her.

Let’s be honest though, Olsin wouldn’t take care of her, he’d have one of their servants do it instead. He was too busy to acknowledge her even now, as he stood back turned to her chatting with some other nobles Yavanna didn’t care to name. He’d barely spoken to her since they arrived, and people were beginning to look at the couple oddly.

She cursed at herself for finishing her glass quickly; it was a delicacy, she knew, but when was the last time she had the privilege to go to a ball? Not in the years she was married to Olsin, and she was only granted the opportunity a few times when she lived with her stepfather. Yavanna wasn’t stupid though; she knew the only reason she was here was because there was a rumor amongst the nobles in Baldur’s Gate. A rumor that she was dead and Olsin was trying to cover it up. Olsin disliked rumors about him just as much as he disliked Yavanna talking back. One way or another, he was taking control of the situation.

But Yavanna would make the most of herself. Tonight was her time to eat the sweetest cakes, dance until she’d have sores in the morning, and pretend she wasn’t shackled into a marriage she’d never wanted. She was here to have fun, but the anxiety heavy in her bones was hindering her night.

A servant stopped in front of her, gesturing to the empty glass in Yavanna’s hand. She hesitated for a moment, yet handed it off. There was no use in holding onto it, secretly wishing for the golden liquid to reappear in the glass. Yavanna watched the servant’s retreating form, a part of her wanting to grab their attention once again and ask for a second glass. That would mean breaking Olsin’s rules, and she didn't want to think of those consequences.

Yavanna pushed a lock of auburn hair behind her pointed ears and shifted in her heels; they were gold, to match her dress; to match her skin; to match her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she dressed so elegantly, and she equally couldn’t believe Olsin would let her wear something so exposing. The dress had a deep cut down her chest, with a high slit down the thigh to show her legs. It was as if Olsin wanted wandering eyes on her, she hadn’t the idea why.

She gazed longingly at the ballroom, envying the loving couples dancing on the marble floor. The weeping violins created a melancholic ache in Yavanna’s heart; she hadn’t danced in a long time, much less with a lover. Yavanna rubbed her arms as she scanned the room; no one seemed as awkward as her, as out of place. Her eyes stopped abruptly as she was met with a ruby red gaze from across the room. The elf with a head of silver curls stared her down as he tipped a wine glass to his mouth. Yavanna watched with wide eyes as a stream of wine dripped down the corner of his mouth. He gathered the wine with his thumb and sucked it off.

Her skin raised under her hands and her blood pulsed in her ears. Her instincts were telling her to look away, but his eyes were tantalizing. Though, for some reason, she was beginning to feel like a rabbit under the eye of a wolf. With his unbreakable leer and devilish smirk, Yavanna knew this man was dangerous.

The sudden change of the orchestra made Yavanna shift her focus back to the crowd. She let out a soft gasp— she knew this song. It was the same song her and her mother would dance to when they lived in the inn just outside the city. Yavanna bit her lip in excitement, watching as the crowd broke off into dance, switching partners every time they swirled to the music.

“Olsin,” Yavanna said before she could stop herself, “Olsin, can I dance?”

The raven haired elf turned at the sound of his name, brown-almost-black eyes narrowing down at his wife with a sneer that made Yavanna shiver. At the time of their betrothal, Yavanna thought he was the most beautiful man in Baldur’s Gate. Now she saw through his facade. “What?” Olsin said, poison dripping off his tongue.

“I-I wanted to know if I could dance.” The song would be over soon, and she didn’t want to miss out on her chance to have some excitement tonight.

“Why would I-” Olsin stopped abruptly, noticing the odd stares coming from his noble friends. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Of course wife, go dance.”

Before he could change his mind, Yavanna had grabbed the hand of a dancer on the floor and joined the crowd. She stumbled a bit on her feet in excitement, but regained her composure once she twirled on her heels with the rest of the crowd. She could barely hear the music over the sound of laughter and the jangle of her jewelry, but still, it didn’t bother her. The tempo was quick, nothing like the sad song from before, and Yavanna lost count of how many dance partners she switched from. If she had more than one glass of champagne, she’d surely be vomiting on the floor.

Yavanna’s hand was suddenly met with a cold embrace, and her eyes widened when she met the red eyes of the silver haired man from before. She thought he was handsome before, but he was beautiful up close. Eerily so. Just as their hands locked together, her song ended and a new one began. A romantic one, no doubt— a song of love.

The man smiled down at her as the music changed, his free hand resting delicately on her shoulder. “Care to share this song with me, darling?” He asked. Yavanna couldn’t get over how cold his hands were.

Yavanna craned her neck to the last place she saw Olsin, but couldn’t spot him. She was wary of sharing a dance with another man, but Olsin wouldn’t dance with her. She might not get this opportunity again. She turned her head again, this time to look into those ruby eyes, and nodded.

They glided to the sound of the harp, and Yavanna’s heart skipped a beat. She felt like she was walking on air, on top of the world. The stranger led this dance well. He’d done this before, probably with countless partners such as herself.

He leaned in closer, so their chests were nearly touching. “I didn’t get your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” she replied, stepping back a tad to distance herself from him. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks.

He let out a mock gasp and shook his head. “I’m wounded. Though, I suspect a pretty lady like you must have a pretty name.”

The blush spread to the pointed tips of her ears. “My name is Yavanna.” She didn’t know why she gave her name up so easily. One compliment and she was spilling all her secrets.

“Yavanna,” he stressed out the syllables in tune to the music. He smiled wide, and Yavanna swallowed dryly at the sight of his sharp canines. “I’ve been watching you, Yavanna.”

Yavanna’s mind flashed back to his lingering gaze minutes before, and her eyes shifted to their moving feet. “I noticed.”

“You seem so bored here,” Astarion said with a sigh. He paused to twirl her, and she could feel her braided updo loosen at the movement. “I have a few ideas on how we can... liven up this evening.”

Yavanna caught on quickly—the unbreakable gaze, the show he put on drinking his wine, and now his hand falling from her shoulder to her waist. She wasn’t naive. A part of her was begging to sneak out, to have some fun. The sensible part of her knew that actions had consequences. “I don’t think my husband would like that.”

The pale elf let out a laugh as he dipped her. “They seldom do, do they?”

The song ended, and Yavanna let out a sigh of relief. She let go of his hand, and pushed his hand off his waist. “I should go. My husband—”

Before she could finish her sentence, she was met with someone colliding with her back, and fell face first into the stranger’s black and gold top with an oof. She heard an apology from behind her, and the man’s cold hands fell again to her shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He asked, rubbing her shoulders gently.

“I’m fine,” Yavanna said. She pushed herself back, becoming increasingly aware of her compromised position. “My husband will kill me.” Her voice lacked any humor as she stepped backwards to distance herself from the elf. He raised his eyebrows curiously, but before he could open his mouth, Yavanna felt a tight grip on her arm.

“We’re leaving,” Olsin said. He’d pushed himself through the crowd, earning himself glares in his wake. “Now.”

“B-but, I didn’t get to dance—”

“You’ve danced enough.” Olsin’s eyes glared down the silver haired elf. He towered over him, even with the stranger’s heeled boots. “You touch my wife again, and you’ll regret it.”

His eyes flickered to Yavanna’s watering ones, and he gave Olsin a tight smile. “Of course, My Lord. It won’t happen again.”

Olsin let out a hmph as he turned on his heel, dragging Yavanna with him. Tears fell freely, out of embarrassment or fear she didn’t know. Onlookers watched as Olsin dragged her out of the ballroom, hands to their mouths as they whispered to each other. Yavanna glanced over her shoulder, meeting the gaze of ruby red eyes for the last time.

Anya couldn’t break her stare from the silver haired elf from across the fire. If Astarion recognized her from that night, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t want her to know, or maybe he couldn’t care less enough to remind her.

Anya remembered him though; almost immediately in fact. She’d never forget how those red eyes of his trailed up and down her body that night, how his posh accent rang in her ears, how cold his touch felt. After that night, she’d fantasize about running away with the handsome stranger from the ball, and how different her life would have been if she did.

It was odd seeing him again; he used to be just a figment of her imagination. Just a way to escape, she supposed.

Astarion finally glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow at the sun elf. “You’re staring at me again. What do you want?”

Anya paused, wondering if she should tell him they’ve met before. She decided to approach the topic vaguely. “Did you go to any balls back in Baldur’s Gate?”

He looked at her curiously, titling his head. “I’m a noble magistrate. Of course I go to balls. And wine tastings. And parties. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Anya hummed, leaving it at that. It seemed that he didn’t remember her, after all. She was actually relieved, strangely. Her past in Baldur’s Gate was something she’d like to forget, though her memories always seemed to come back to haunt her.

For all she cared, Yavanna of House Sionnodel was dead or missing or both. For the last decade, she’d simply been Anya. A year after that ball was when she finally ran from Baldur’s Gate, and although she could still feel the fear she had running through the forests outside the city, she could still remember the relief and happiness too. She’d like to keep it that way, and the less people who knew about her past, the better.

Anya gazed back at the fire, as the wood crackled and the flames danced. Some say a person could see their future if they stared hard enough into the belly of the fire, but all Anya could see was the elf with curls of silver through the flame.

The name Yavanna brought her nothing but pain and misery, but it strangely sounded sweet coming from his lips.

#astarion #astarion x oc #oc: anya #bg3 #otp: blood and soul #TUMBLR PLS LET THIS SHOW UP IN TAGS IM BEGINNING ON MY KNEES #*BEGGING wow #why does it keep doing this to meeee i just wanna share my writing #ANYWAY ... anya daydreaming abt astarion like he wasnt gonna drag her to cazadors to have her blood drained #she kinda dodged a bullet #hannah writes

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kat-tamin · 3 years ago

Text

bailemos (let’s dance)

Kat makes a plan. Rafael goes along with it. Sonny wonders what the fuck is happening.

Ship: Kat x Sonny x Rafael

Warnings: Threesome, Smut: Oral, Hands, Anal, Vaginal. The whole shebang.

Word Count: 4501

Normally during big cases like the Mickey Davis one, Sonny and Kat’s sex life would take a dip. Kat would have to take care of herself, a vibrator in one hand, phone in the other. But lately Sonny would come home from work and fuck her into the mattress, almost before she could properly greet him.

After meeting Barba, Kat thought she understood why. He was a frustrating man to deal with, the epitome of a snaky lawyer. It seemed like Sonny was getting out his stress by fucking her. That’s what she thought was happening, until Sonny admitted one night that he and Barba had history. Not just work history, but sexual history. Sonny said it basically ended as fast as it began, with Barba leaving New York soon after.

Kat wasn’t angry. They both had histories, some better left in the past, but she looked at Barba differently after that. She saw the brief glances he sent her boyfriend, packed with unsaid words. His frustrating lawyer talk now sounded like flirty banter to her ears. The reasoning behind their sex became clearer. Sonny wasn’t frustrated: he was turned on by Barba.

Kat expected to feel jealous, but her mind pictured the two men together. Her own movements got more passionate at the thought. She would go to court, her body having a Pavlovian response to Barba's presence, because Barba + Sonny = Kat cumming. She would watch the two men argue, her panties becoming wetter and wetter.

The Davis case was over, a hard one for everyone involved. For her own selfish reasons, Kat didn't want it to end. But then Sonny invited Rafael over to his and Kat’s new apartment for dinner. They both wanted to relax and catch up.

Sonny made homemade pasta with red sauce. Barba brought over a bottle of Tequila, straight from Mexico. After dinner, they moved to the living room, the two lawyers sitting on the sofa together. Kat curled up on the chair across from them taking in their conversation, her head swiveling between them, like she was watching a tennis match. She could debate with the best of them, but tonight she could barely hang on, their words like a roller coaster.

She sipped at her red wine, tuning out their words to look at their faces. The stress of the past few weeks had evaporated from her boyfriend, Sonny looking so happy to be in the company of his former mentor. Mentor slash ex, she reminded herself.

Barba seemed happy to be here too. He hadn’t excluded Kat from he and Sonny’s conversations, keen to get to know her too. It turned out they were both Bronx babies, and they talked extensively about the changes in the borough.

So he was nice, and, if Kat was honest, pretty damn sexy with that beard. It was too bad he had to shave it off for trial. Her mind wandered, wondering what his stubble would feel like between her thighs.

She shouldn’t be thinking this, she thought, tipping her head back to drain the rest of her wine. She was in a committed relationship with a great guy who treated her perfectly. She didn’t need anybody else.

Sonny said something, making Barba laugh. The older man’s hand dropped to Sonny’s knee, giving it a small squeeze. Sonny stopped laughing, his blue eyes growing wide. He looked at Kat, panicked. Barba quickly withdrew his hand, the tops of his cheeks turning pink.

Kat waited for the drop of jealousy to well up in her chest, but instead, a rush of arousal flooded her core.

It felt too warm in here. Her hand went to the buttons of her blouse, undoing the buttons until she had a nice deep V that showed off her cleavage. Both men eyed her, Barba's gaze going straight to her chest.

Kat stood up, reaching for the tequila and the shot glasses. “It’s a shame if we let this go to waste,” she said, pouring out three shots. She handed one to Barba along with a lime wedge, her fingers lingering too long to not be deliberate. Rafael’s brow raised. Kat just shot him a slight smirk, confirming his suspicions.

They all clinked glasses, throwing their heads back in unison. The alcohol burned all the way down Kat’s throat, heating up in her stomach. Her body felt like liquid, her courage soaring.

Barba sucked on his lime wedge, the obscene noise going straight to Kat's clit. His eyes never left her’s as he sucked every last drop from the fruit. He found her very attractive, with a tight, strong body apparent even under her clothes. Her bright brown eyes were arresting, pulling him in.

Kat leaned forward in her seat, putting her hand on Sonny’s knee. She massaged gently, rubbing up and down his thigh.“You didn’t even flinch, baby. Do you like that?”

Sonny lifted his brow, looking at her quizzically. “Yes…” He glanced at Barba, lifting his glass in a toast. “Very good bottle.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Rafael said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. He shifted in his seat, angling his body towards the man beside him. “Only the best for you, Sonny.”

The temperature of the room seemed to go up a couple of degrees, the tension thickening. Kat looked at Rafael, trying to communicate what she was thinking; what she wanted.

His mouth curved into a smirk, picking up on the vibes she was sending him. His hand went to the back of Sonny’s neck, tugging on the strands of his hair. Sonny shivered at his touch, once again looking at Kat, who was running a finger over her own lips. She was looking at him like a wolf looked at a rabbit. Sonny peered at Rafael, who had the same leer as his girlfriend.

“Okay, what’s...what’s going on?” Sonny tripped over his words, the drinks making his tongue thick in his mouth. They were acting weird. Not drunk, but just… weird.

“Do you wanna know a secret, Rafael?” Kat asked, tilting her head. Her brown eyes looked black with want, making Sonny even more confused.

“Tell me,” Rafael answered, his fingers still stroking patterns into Sonny’s skin. Sonny unconsciously leaned into his hand, seeking his touch.

“Sonny and I have been fucking non-stop since you got into town.” The words spilled out of Kat’s mouth before she could stop them. Not that she wanted to.

“Kat!” Sonny hissed, his eyes wide as saucers. What the fuck was she doing? He thought, his heart leaping into his throat.

“I think he was thinking about you,” Kat continued, as if Sonny hadn’t said anything. Her tone wasn’t accusatory or jealous, but an almost purr, ladened with arousal.

“Hmmm, is that true, cariño?” Rafael moved closer to Sonny, his mouth near his ear. His hot breath brought goosebumps to Sonny's skin. “Were you thinking of me?”

“I-” Sonny couldn’t speak, too baffled at what was going on. Rafael’s stubble scratched at his cheek, making his shudder. His girlfriend was watching them, her breathing slightly laboured.

She was turned on. Sonny’s mind spun, trying to make sense of it. She was turned on watching Rafael and Sonny together. She was biting down on her bottom lip, her nails digging into his thighs. What the fuck?

“Cariño, do you want this?” Rafael asked in a husky voice. He brushed his lips over the shell of Sonny’s ear. “Do you want me?”

Sonny hesitated, his gaze once more seeking Kat’s. She laid a hand on Sonny’s cheek, soft compared to Rafael’s scratchiness. “It’s okay, baby, tell the truth.”

It was like a dance, but Sonny didn’t know the steps. He looked from Rafael to Kat and back again, trying to get the rhythm. He paused, wondering if this was a good idea. But the beat was too intoxicating to step away.

He took a deep breath and joined their dance.

“Yes,” he answered in a rough voice. He looked between his current lover and his former one. “I want you. I want…” He swallowed, suddenly nervous about saying what he truly desired. “I want both of you.”

Kat let out a breath of surprise, sitting back in her seat. “Really?”

Sonny’s light brows drew together in a frown. “Of course I do.” She was his girlfriend, and no matter what she might say, he felt like being with just Rafael would be cheating.

Kat crossed her legs, trying to control the throb between her thighs. “I was just going to watch, but…” She looked at Rafael for reassurance, licking her lips nervously. “If that’s okay with you?”

Rafael let out a low chuckle, rolling his eyes. “You’re really asking if I’m okay having two of the sexiest members of the Special Victims Unit at the same time?” He got to his feet, offering his hands to Kat who took them without hesitation. “It would be my pleasure.”

Kat rose up with Rafael’s help, pausing to touch Sonny’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

It was no surprise that Rafael and Kat took the lead. They both loved to be in control, even more when they were in control of Sonny. He loved it even more, all his thoughts evaporating at their touch.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, Kat's lips were on Sonny's, frenzied and hungry. She undid the buttons of his shirt, so fast she almost ripped them off the fabric. Kat felt a mouth on her neck, strong hands on her hips. Rafael stood behind her, pressing into her. She could feel the slight bulge in his pants, a slight moan escaping her throat. Rafael kissed up and down her neck, stubble rubbing at her skin.

Once Sonny's shirt was on the floor, Kat turned to kiss Rafael, his tongue plunging into her open mouth. He tasted like lime and salt. His five o’clock shadow scratched at her skin, pain mixing with pleasure. She worked at the buttons on his shirt, a bit more carefully than she did with Sonny. His clothes looked a tad more expensive, and she knew she'd feel guilty if she wrecked the fabric.

Sonny went behind Rafael, helping him out of his shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. Kat ran her fingers over his hairy chest, rubbing his soft stomach. His body was different from Sonny's, but it was just as sexy.

She ended their kiss with a soft nip at his lower lip, stepping away from Rafael. She intended to strip off her clothes slowly, give them a show, but the two men weren't even watching. They were drawn together like magnets, their bodies pressed close to each other. As she got rid of her top, Kat watched Sonny and Rafael kiss, almost manically. They kissed like they had to make up for lost time. Rafael gripped Sonny’s cheek, trying to bring his face as near as possible. Sonny sighed into his lips, feeling content. His hands roamed over Rafael’s body, remembering each dip and curve.

Kat wasted no time getting naked, cupping herself as she watched them kiss. Her body was positively burning with desire. She carefully reached for Sonny's belt, not wanting to disturb their makeout session. As soon as she tugged it off him, Sonny drew back from Rafael, breathing hard. He stepped out of his pants, stumbling in his haste. Rafael put out a hand to steady him, his own face flushed. "We have time, cariño. Don't worry."

Rafael turned his eyes to Kat, widening at her bare body. He had been so busy focusing on Sonny, he didn't notice her getting undressed. He swept his eyes up and down, taking in her part nipples and the dusk between her legs. His cock began to firm at the sight. "You're so beautiful, Katriona," he murmured. Her name sounded like honey in his mouth, making her even wetter.

"Thank you," she responded, moving towards him. "But I'm very interested to know what you're hiding under here." She touched the waistband of his trousers, trailing her fingers to touch his hardening cock.

Rafael's hips instinctively rutted against her hand, seeking friction. He undid his belt, shimmied off his trousers and briefs. Kat and Sonny gasped in unison as they finally saw Rafael's prize. His cock was shorter than Sonny's, but thicker with a delicious looking vein on the underside. Sonny wrapped his hand around the shaft, feeling like he was greeting an old friend.

Kat's mouth began to water, her cunt clenching at the sight. She sank to her knees in front of the two men, putting her face to face with their cocks. Sonny was already at full staff, precum leaking out of his slit. She started there, licking up his salty fluid, the taste familiar but exquisite. Her hand came up to hold his cock steady as she took him into his mouth. Sonny let out a loud groan, echoing in the small room. His girlfriend was one of the best cock suckers he ever had. She could swallow him whole without even flinching.

As she began to bob her head, Kat's other hand went to Rafael, squeezing the base of his cock with her strong fingers. He was so fat, she almost couldn't fit her whole hand around him. She let her hand go to his balls, heavy and full. She fondled him, still sucking Sonny off.

She felt Sonny’s hips get more and more erratic, a signal that he was close. She wrenched her head back, switching to engulf Rafael's cock. She took all of him in one swoop, making him shout. Her other hand jerked Sonny off, using her own spit as lube. Her mouth was hot and wet around Rafael's cock, her tongue swiping along his skin. Pleasure radiated down his spine, growing with thrust into her mouth.

Over the next few minutes, Kat pleasured them both, alternating between her mouth and her hand. Her mind went blissfully blank, only focusing on her instinctual need to please them. Wetness was leaking from her cunt, leaving a puddle between her legs. Her knees were burning from the cheap rug, but she paid it no attention.

She just needed their cum.

Rafael put his hand in her hair, yanking her away from his cock. She whined at the loss, her tongue going for Sonny's. Rafael stopped her with another tug of her hair. "What do you want, Katriona?"

"Your cum," she panted, not even thinking. "My face. My mouth." She looked up at Sonny, her eyes pleading. "Please cum for me."

Fuck. Sonny's hips stuttered, so close, her words spurning him on. "Open wide," he said through gritted teeth.

Kat leaned back on her heels, Rafael's hand still tugging on her hair. She put her hands on both their cocks, quickening her strokes. She opened her mouth into a large O, waiting like a baby bird for food from its mother.

Sonny came first, a stream of cum hitting her cheek. She reached her tongue out further, catching his release. Rafael came a moment after, shooting his cum right into her mouth.

Kat swallowed as much as she could, their seeds mixing together in her stomach. It was salty and delicious, coating her tongue. A few strands landed on her face and chest, painting her dark skin white.

Sonny thought she never looked more beautiful, cum spilling from her mouth. Her brown eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks a faint pink.

Rafael thought so too, cupping her chin to get a better look at her. "So beautiful," he murmured, swiping his thumb along her bottom lip. He brought it to his own mouth, tasting his and Sonny's mixture.

Kat got to her feet, unsteady from being on her knees for so long. She stumbled to the bed, laying down on her back. Her chest was heaving, making her tits jiggle.

"Now, this won't do," Rafael announced. He knelt on the bed beside her, looking at her body. Her thighs were sticky with her juices. He licked his lips. "We can't leave you like this, now can we?"

Sonny got on the bed, tucking himself behind Kat. She placed herself between his legs, his chest pressing into her back. Sonny tweaked a nipple, making her jerk in surprise. “You want Raf to eat you out, doll?”

Kat nodded enthusiastically, thrilled her fantasy was about to become a reality.

Rafael knelt between her legs, his hands ghosting over her shins. “What do you say?” the lawyer asked in a mocking tone.

Damn him and his fucking words. Kat was no sub in the bedroom but something about Rafael’s voice made her want to obey. “Please, Raf… Touch me.”

Rafael’s face broke into a wicked grin. “With pleasure.”

He dipped his head between her thighs, cleaning up the mess she had made on herself. Goosebumps erupted all over her body, made worse by Sonny touching her breasts. Her boyfriend played with her nipples, twisting and pinching softly.

She needed more. Her hips jerked to try and meet Rafael’s mouth. He just chuckled softly, looking up at her. “Impatient.” His gaze shifted to Sonny. “Hold her down, will you?”

Sonny obeyed, his strong hands moving to Kat’s hips, pinning her down. She whined, craning up to look at him. Sonny just grinned, enjoying the tortured look in her eyes.

Rafael finally moved his head to her core, his stubble scraping her sensitive thighs. She gasped at the sensation, another drop of wetness escaping her pussy. Rafael caught it with his tongue, licking into her entrance. She wanted to thrust against him, but Sonny stopped her again, his fingers surely leaving bruises.

Rafael moved to her clit, sucking the bud into his mouth. Kat threw her head back, almost knocking into Sonny’s chin. “Fuck, Raf… Just like that.”

His talented tongue circled and swiped along her clit, sending sparks up her spine. Pressure began to build in her core. She felt fingers at her entrance and eagerly spread her legs.

Rafael stopped his movements, ignoring Kat’s whine, to ask Sonny: “How many fingers can she take?”

Sonny thought back, biting his lip. His face curved into a smirk, nuzzling at Kat’s hair. “3 easily, especially when she’s this wet.” In honesty she could take more, but Sonny wanted her to be able to do a few rounds tonight.

Rafael shot them a decisive nod, going back down her body, flexing his fingers. Sonny was right: Kat swallowed all three fingers with ease. Kat shrieked at the intrusion, Sonny having a hard time keeping her still. Rafael’s fingers were bigger than Sonny’s, stretching her further than her boyfriend usually did.

Rafael thrust into her, angling his fingers to press into her front wall. His tongue didn’t stop, lapping at her clit. Kat screwed her eyes shut, her pleasure building and building.

Sonny could feel her shaking, so close to the edge. He put his lips near her ear, whispering: “Let go, doll.”

She did, with a long, loud scream. Wetness coated Rafael’s fingers as she came. He kept thrusting into her, letting her down easy until she stopped twitching. He withdrew, putting his fingers in his mouth to taste her sweet juices. The tangy liquid tasted like sweet nectar, straight from the Gods.

Sonny let her hips go, rubbing the red skin tenderly. She opened her eyes, looking glassy eyed. “How was that?” he asked her, pushing a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead.

“Amazing,” she answered lazily. She looked at Rafael and repeated her words: “Amazing. Fuck, you got a mouth on you.”

“So do you,” he replied, bringing her in for a kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, a bolt of pleasure running down her spine.

Kat sat up, rolling off Sonny’s body. She laid down on her stomach, exhaustion settling in her bones. “Okay, your turn. I need a minute.”

Sonny’s head turned to Rafael, his gaze expectant. His blue eyes swiped down his ex’s body to his half-hard cock. The sight made his own dick twitch. He got to his knees to give Rafael a kiss. Their tongues danced with each other, wet noises emerging from their mouths.

Sonny felt Rafael’s strong hands moving to his ass, kneading the pliant flesh. A thrill went through Sonny’s body. He knew what was coming next.

Rafael swiped a finger down Sonny’s crack. “I missed your ass, cariño.”

His words sent shivers through Sonny’s body. “I missed you in my ass,” he admitted, swiping his tongue along Rafael’s lower lips.

Rafael groaned at the admission, his grip tightening on Sonny’s hips. His cock hardened to it’s full state, precum leaking out of the tip. “Get on your knees.”

There was no room for discussion. Sonny got onto the bed on his hands and knees, his ass in the air, his face near Kat. She watched, her gaze sharp, taking in everything.

Rafael looked down at Sonny’s pink hole, virgin tight with disuse. It would take a bit to open him up, but Rafael was confident in his abilities.

“Do you have…” he trailed off as Kat rolled off the bed, rummaging in the bedside table. She emerged with a bottle of lube, almost empty from use.

“Sorry,” she said, handing it to him. She walked to stand beside Rafael, putting a hand on the base of Sonny’s spine to signal her whereabouts.

She followed Rafael’s movements as he drizzled a healthy amount of oil on his fingers and Sonny’s ass. She took the bottle from him when he was done, like a nurse in an operating room.

“Have you done this before?” Rafael paused to ask her, lube dripping onto Sonny’s cheek, making the other man flinch in surprise.

Kat nodded. “Not with a guy, though.”

Rafael’s brow shot up. “Really?”

Kat shrugged; shot him a coy smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, counsellor.”

The title went straight to Rafael’s cock. Normally he abhorred being called that in the bedroom, but he found himself liking it coming from her mouth. His mind spun, picturing himself fucking into her, Kat moaning the title into his ear.

Sonny’s ass wiggled impatiently, drawing Rafael back to the present. “Sorry, cariño.” He rubbed his finger around Sonny’s asshole, making the other man jerk back into his touch. He started slowly, pressing his ring finger into Sonny, working past the tight ring of muscle.

Kat’s breath caught in her chest as she saw Sonny swallow Rafael, the man’s finger disappearing into his ass. Rafael, very patiently, stretched Sonny until he could fit another finger.

Sonny moaned at the intrusion, pleasure radiating at his spine. Every thrust of Rafael’s fingers brought sparks behind his lids. It didn’t take long before he was meeting his movements, seeking more.

“Are you ready?” Rafael asked, rubbing Sonny’s left cheek.

“Fuck yes,” Sonny asked, his voice strangled. He was already panting.

Rafael smirked, withdrawing his fingers out of Sonny. Before he could adjust to the emptiness, Raf pressed the tip of his cock to his hole. He slid into Sonny, Kat watching as it went in, inch by slow inch.

Rafael bottomed out, his pubic bone pressing against the swell of Sonny’s ass. It was heavenly, feeling Sonny’s ass around his cock. He was so hot and tight. “Good boy, cariño.”

He began to thrust into Sonny, slow and steady, letting him get used to the stretch. Sonny’s walls clenched around his cock, drawing a loud groan from him. He moved his hips faster and faster, rocking into Sonny.

His cock dragged along Sonny’s prostate, lightning shooting through his body. With every thrust, Sonny moved closer to the edge. It had been so long since he came like this, he wasn’t sure how much he could take.

Kat’s hand went to her clit, her core dripping at the two men fucking. She circled the bud, desire building in her abdomen. Rafael’s gaze shot to her then to her hand. He moved his hands from Sonny’s hips to his waist, hoisting him up, to the blonde’s shock. Sonny yelped at the change in position, Rafael’s cock hitting at a different angle.

“Get under him,” Rafael said to Kat through gritted teeth.

Again, there was no room for arguing. Kat slid under Sonny’s body, spreading her legs. She grabbed his cock, red and angry looking, and guided it into her pussy. Rafael snapped his hips, pushing Sonny deep into Kat. The two lovers moaned in unison at the feeling.

Sonny thought he was going to pass out in pleasure. With a cock in his ass and his own in a pussy, he felt fireworks going off in his body. His eyes rolled back in his head at the push and pull. Every atom, every molecule, every cell of his body was screaming. He was going to die between the two people he adored most.

Rafael set the pace, fast and rough. He fucked Kat through Sonny, his eyes never leaving her face. Her mouth was open, small mewls spilling out. It wouldn’t be long for each of them to cum. Rafael bit his lip, trying to stave it off. He tried to think of something, anything to keep his body from giving in.

It was no surprise that Sonny came first, with an almost animalistic howl. He would have collapsed onto Kat if Rafael hadn’t caught him, holding him up as he spilled into his girlfriend.

Rafael was still fucking him, and it became too much for Sonny.

“Stop,” he gasped, trying to pull out of Kat. “I need…”

Rafael pulled himself out of Sonny’s ass, letting the younger man move out of their embrace. Sonny was barely out of the way before Rafael pushed into Kat in one swoop, Sonny’s cum making the transition easy.

Kat moaned at the switch. It felt deliciously dirty, two men right after the other. She met Rafael’s thrusts with her own, close to the edge. Her hands gripped the sheets, holding on for dear life. So close, so close…

Sonny saw the signs of her orgasm. He was exhausted, but he knew what to do. He put his mouth on Kat’s breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

His mouth mixed with Rafael’s thrusts made her pleasure peak, waves of ecstasy rolling through her. She screamed as it came, over and over again. The orgasm seemed never-ending.

The clutching of Kat’s walls sent Rafael over the edge as well, his cock spilling into her with a twitch. The pressure in his lower back ebbed, relief pouring into veins.

He stilled his movements, making sure Kat was done. When she shot him a shaky nod, he stepped away. Sonny and Rafael’s cum dripped out of her, making a mess on the sheets.

“Well,” Rafael said in between loud gulps of air. He looked between the couple, who were red faced and exhausted, curling into each other. “Maybe I should come to the city more often.”

#kat tamin #sonny carisi #rafael barba #svu #fanfic #smut #*#tamisi #barisi #barmin #?

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years ago

Text

let’s tessellate

“let’s tessellate”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Zahra Auberel (WOC original character).

Summary: The White Wolf returns to his den, and his woman. A “reunion” ensues.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Oral (f receiving), rough/possessive sex.

A/N: Please accept this humble PWP as an apology for vanishing from the Tumblrsphere. The world is still very much on fire, but I’ve missed y’all a bunch. I’m afraid I will no longer be providing a taglist - it’s stressful, and I honestly don’t want to. Best practice would be to make sure you get notifs when I post!

Thank you, dear hearts. Enjoy!

The lashing rain and wind has left the tavern utterly empty. One of those mindless summer storms, it cropped up almost without warning. The sky had darkened and gone deadly quiet as the air sat heavy; heavy, and so thick one could feel it settle on the skin. Zahra had let her people rush home when the last patron had scurried out the door – Lucja had just cleared the alley when the wind had picked up.

Thunder growls. Lightning splits the tumultuous sky asunder.

Zahra watches, smiling from the safety of the kitchens. She’s always loved storms like this – unbridled. Dangerous. She watches the crest of trees over the village rooftops; the canopy whips, bends. She counts the beats between the lightning and bellowing thunder. With a grin to herself, she pulls her light robe closer and takes the last walk around, locking the service door, then the heavy oaken door at the front of the tavern. The dying fire barely puts off enough light to see by, but she’s wandered this place in the dead of night for most of her life. Besides, each bolt of light from the storm makes it look like high noon.

One such bolt illuminates the main room when she turns towards the back door. The figure standing there is lit, clear as day – the barkeep shouts, and very nearly jumps out of her skin. “Gods dammit,” Zahra curses.

Pale, soft lips quirk up at one corner. Geralt is drenched to the bone, standing just inside the threshold and dripping on the flagstone. She glares at him as the lightning fades, giving his handsome face back to the shadows again.

“You are an asshole, Geralt,” she hisses. “I’m putting a fucking bell around your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try, love.”

His voice is a match to the deadly rumble that buzzes the thick window glass. It hums over her skin, doing very little to quell the startled tattoo of her heart. Nonetheless, she glowers, bare feet easing across the floor towards him. He lets her slip past him to lock the door.

“Oh, I’ll fucking-well do it,” she threatens, turning to face him. “Big, silver bell and gaudy, terrible silk ribbon.”

The Witcher lets out a low chuckle and though he almost hesitates, he lets her rests her hands on his waist. Zahra peers up at him in the near-dark and feels a thrill chase coolly down her spine. Geralt’s eyes are a deep, shining black and somewhat sunken in their sockets; bruise-colored veins creep down his cheeks. His skin is smooth and pale as fine parchment, while his frost-colored hair is plastered to his cheek with rain water. A silver-toned flash lights the room again and she can’t help the way her breath stalls. Gods.

He may not like it when she sees him like this, but he looks deadly and powerful and it arrows something base and wanton straight through her.

“Injured?” Zahra asks, breathier than she would like.

Black eyes stare. Geralt tilts his head, just so, but grunts once – a wordless ‘no’. He doesn’t shy away or dodge when she reaches for him, and her swift brown fingers carefully loosen the buckles and straps of his leathers. She keeps her eyes on his, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. The silence sits between them, heavy as the thick summer air and only broken by rain and thunder. Zahra feels sweat catch at her collarbone, her heartbeat drumming sharply behind her ribs. Each quick beat feathers heat through her- heat that settles low beneath her navel. It pulses there, a slick heaviness between her legs; she bites her lip and slides the last clasp open. The Witcher’s black eyes drop to her mouth.

“Your heart is pounding, little rabbit,” he rumbles, almost grinning when she drops her eyes. She hears the rustle of leather as he peels his gloves away. “What’s got you on edge?”

Zahra huffs out an embarrassed laugh. The tension breaks – cut by her movement and the growling thunder. The armor finds its place on the hooks by the back door. Geralt tracks her with the single-minded focus of his moniker. The wolf sizing up his prey. The heavy, knowing press of his gaze makes her shudder.

“Let’s get you into dry clothes, hm?” she murmurs.

She brushes past him as the room is lit by the storm. Powerful fingers close on the back of her neck and she gasps, stumbling when Geralt tugs and spins her to face him. He doesn’t kiss her, not exactly, but she feels the press of his mouth over hers. She can feel the damp of his clothes soak through her robe, pebbling her nipples against the plane of his chest. His lips are cool with rain, though his breath rushes hot over her lips and Zahra feels her knees go a bit weak. Geralt snarls, matching the tone and timbre of the thunder.

“I asked you a question, Zahra,” he growls. His nose traces a chilly line up the heated curve of her cheek; she exhales on a breathless moan. “I can feel your pulse. I can smell you…”

Geralt’s fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Lightning lets her see his pale, beautiful face, and the midnight dark of his eyes while he gives her hair a gentle, demanding tug. He fairly dwarfs her, lets his mouth tease over hers as he rumbles, “You like it, is that it? You like it when I come to you like this?”

He walks forward, forcing her back until she feels the blunted edge of a table against her backside. Zahra braces her hands on the smooth, cool wood.

“What is it?” he murmurs. She feels a tug – he looses the tie on her robe, parting the silken fabric with his free hand. “Hm? Why don’t you tell me why it gets you so hot?”

Calloused fingers twist around her nipple and Zahra gives a short gasp. “I don’t know,” she says with breathless mirth. “You look – oh gods – “

It’s hard to think – let alone speak – with his hand cupping her cunt. Her eyes drift close, lashes fluttering over her cheeks as Geralt slips a finger between her swollen lips, catching the slick on his fingertips before he draws delicate little circles over her clit. Zahra’s voice breaks on a whine.

“Geralt – “ she pleads. Deep brown eyes spring open, meeting lightning-lit black and she gasps out:

“You look dangerous.”

The thunder shakes the room as the Witcher’s mouth covers hers. It’s a biting kiss, greedy with teeth and tongue. He keeps the teasing pressure over her clit, rubbing with the tips of his fingers until her hips roll down to beg for friction. Zahra whimpers when he breaks away, only to utter a breathless curse as Geralt drags open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat. The shimmer silk fabric of her robe is yanked open – the fabric slips down her arms. His stubble scrapes harsh over her skin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts – over the softness of her belly where his teeth dig in.

She moans his name – it makes him smile into her skin. “Fuck, I missed that,” he growls.

Geralt kneels and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Hot, wet – firm against her aching cunt, he pushes the blade of his tongue through her folds and growls at the slippery-sweet wetness he finds. Zahra keens.

The thunder drowns out the sound.

The insistent press of his mouth, the steady flicker of his tongue – they light up under her skin, making her squirm and cry with each crest of sensation. With one hand pressed to the table behind her, she lets the other fist tight in Geralt’s rain-damp hair. The wet strands stick to her palm, tangle around her fingers as she tugs. “Gods – fuck,” she hisses through grit teeth.

Geralt knows her tells, by now. He knows when to flick the tip of his tongue over her clit, when to dip into the clenching heat of her cunt. Her voices goes rough, breathless and needy, in a way that makes his cock throb in the confines of his trousers. When he feels her begin to shake, he gauges the tell-tale tremor of her strong thighs and lifts one over his shoulder. Two fingers press in – Zahra’s hips rock, the sensitive walls of her cunt bearing down hard around the intrusion as she pants. The Witcher’s low moan hums against her clit, pulling a ragged whine up from her throat.

“Geralt,” she groans. “Darling - love – please please please – “

The flickering lightning gives her just enough to watch. Geralt’s plays at supplicant, single-minded in his devotion, though he still looks the part of a god to her, even on his knees. His handsome face tips up towards her, soft mouth slick with her cum – his black, black eyes are hungry when he meets her gaze. The Witcher licks a heavy stripe through her, closing his mouth briefly around her clit to make her jump and swear before he pulls away to stand. Fingers still buried deep, he takes a gentle grip on her throat with his thumb running soft circles over her pulse point.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles when she shakes. The thunder plays at harmony with his voice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Geralt curls his fingers, strokes at that spot deep inside of her until she gasps. “Fuck me,” she whispers. “Geralt, please – “

Zahra hears him snarl in time with the thunder before he spins her. The silk of her robe pulls tight; Geralt uses the fabric to pinion her arms. His breath is harsh against her naked shoulder. With the racket of the rain, she doesn’t quite hear the sound of buttons sliding free, but then she feels the hot press of flesh and the beautiful, aching stretch. The Witcher gives a low moan into her skin, somewhere between relief and ecstasy.

He pulls his fingers through her curls at tugs. The motion arches her back into an obscene curve, forcing his cock so deep that Zahra shouts. It feels like the storm has taken up residence under her skin – lightning hisses from nerve to nerve. Geralt spears her wide open, somehow quelling the desperate ache while adding to it exponentially.

“Okay?” he pants into her ear.

“Yes – fuck yes,” she laughs, breathless and trembling.

She can feel his smug grin against her neck. Geralt flexes his hips, drawing the length of his cock out and then pushing back in to the hilt, making them both hiss. His rhythm rises and falls with the wind – with the torrential rain – and she is swept away by the tempest. He fucks into her with hard, greedy strokes that push her hipbones into the blunt edge of the table until she knows there will be bruises. The hand in her hair stays taught, but the hand holding the robe slips, pressing palm-down on the table by her hip. Damp, lightning-spiked air drags through her lungs as she gasps, moaning and pleading as Geralt murmurs against her temple.

Depraved, and sweet – possessive; he tells her how much he’s missed her, missed her sweet little cunt – fuck – missed how good she feels. “So good, sweetheart,” he moans. “So good for me – fucking perfect.”

The desperate whine that trickles up from her throat only serves to stoke the fire in his belly. She’s starting to shake, and whimper, voice climbing in pitch and volume to pierce over the howling wind. Geralt tugs at her hair, forces her to crane her head and meet the solid black of his eyes. He feels the flutter of her muscles around his cock, a desperate pulsing that drags a pitched snarl out of him before he presses his mouth to her jaw.

“Come for me, Zahra,” he snarls. “Come on - give it to me, sweetheart - “

Lightning fires off, storm cloud to storm cloud. Thunder snarls.

Her ragged scream clashes with the raging storm.

Geralt fucks her through the blinding orgasm until she feels him press tight against her back, frozen in his own pleasure while he pulses inside of her. He whispers his homily into her skin, chanting her name, filling her deep. The rapid beat of Zahra’s heart echoes in his ears. He grips her close, winds his arms around her torso ‘til that rhythm begins to slow. Carefully, he withdrawals, trying not to smirk when he hears her sharp inhale. Geralt tucks himself back into his trousers before burying his face into the fall of Zahra’s hair.

“‘Dangerous’,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Fucking hell, Zee…”

She giggles, sweetly winded, then squirms until the Witcher lets her turn in his grasp. She’s a sight. Soft brown skin dewy with sweat and shameless in her nudity. The smile she gives him settles somewhere between sweet and utterly filthy – it spikes heat straight through him all over again. Her clever fingers wrap around the chain of his medallion.

“I told you, Geralt of Rivia – you don’t scare me.”

She kisses him slowly. Savors the soft give of his mouth and licks the taste of herself from his tongue. Geralt’s hands ghost over her sides, palms pressing into soft, warm flesh. His teeth catch over the sweet fullness of her lip and he grins when she shivers.

“I love you, woman,” he mumbles against her lips.

Zahra draws back with a soft, but wicked grin. “I love you, Witcher,” she purrs back. “Now… take me to bed, hm?”

Geralt growls. “Yes, ma’am.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x poc!reader #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #gerat x zahra #the witcher netflix #tutu scribbles

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bonniebird · 5 years ago

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Ivar x Reader

Requested by @chellestrash

There was a smile on your face as you walked through the main hall. It had been such a long time since Ivar had been in a good mood. So far his good mood had lasted two weeks. Hvitserk warned you that you should find out what Ivar is doing that was making him so happy.

However Ubbe agreed when you explain, you didn’t care as long as the gods found a way to help Ivar’s heart fill with happiness. Pausing, in your admiration of the fine fabric samples you’d find at the market, you heard soft moans, breath and filled with light giggles. You heard Ivar’s laugh follow after. The unmistakable moans. Slowly padding towards your bedroom, stepping as if a single creak could throw the main hall into chaos, you peaked in the doorway.

Ivar was naked, wrapped up with a girl in the furs on your bed. His brothers liked to womanise, they even shared, Ivar had told you. But Ivar had declared he would never want anyone but you. Yet there he was, whispering softly as he kissed across the girls neck and shoulders. If he glanced up even slightly he would see you. Even when you took a nervous step forward he didn’t notice. It felt like you’d intruded on something intimate and private. As if describing them was something that you shouldn’t be doing. When Ivar didn’t notice you, you slammed the things in your arms on the floor. With your heart beating furiously fast and anger starting to sear through you as you waited for him to look you in the eye before you turned on your heels and started to leave the main hall. He called after you. Any other time you would have halted immediately, turned back to the young king and saw what you could do to ease his unhappiness. Now you ignored it and kept your eyes on the door as you marched to it. There was a shout, a few bellowes and a series of clattering and smashing sounds. Judging by the fact that the girl he’d been with ran past you and out the door, clutching her clothes, he had threatened her.

He was shouting and snapping at people that rushed around, a few of his guards blocked your way out of the main hall and insisted that you go back to Ivar. When you refused they grabbed you by the arm and marched you back. Trying to pry yourself from their grip, you dug in your heels and winced as your shoes scraped across the wooden floor. It made your anger worse, that you could have your own army of shieldmaidens and you could wear a crown and be called queen. But never, in all your time with Ivar had he allowed your demands to be yours.

These men should be yours to order too. Yet they ignored their queen's demands to release you. Ivar had not given them permission to do your bidding. The way your shieldmaidens needed his permission to go to war. Ivar would demand you ask before you leave the main hall. You had to tell him where you’d been, where you were going. It wasn’t unusual that you found yourself defended or explaining why you’d done things that only Ivar deemed incorrect.

When you saw Ivar sat at the end of his bed, now dressed by Thrall who rushed away so as to avoid the fallout of Ivar’s wrath, it took all the strength you could muster not to roll your eyes. He was tearful like a child. His bottom lip trembled as he whimpered and held his hand out for you. Now and only now did the men release you. But you didn’t move. Ivar’s eyes widened for a moment as fury flared through him but it ebbed away. “Will you not come and comfort me?” He asked. His tone was the one he used when he was trying to be gentle, the soft cooing sound that lulled you into his grip, a grip he would use to snap your neck if he felt like it. It was the tone a wolf used to seduce a rabbit from its burrow. From the corner of your eye you saw his brothers arrive, rushing to see what was happening. They didn’t dare say a word, one wrong move and they would be sending you to the gods before they could sooth Ivar’s temper.

Ivar pushed himself up on his crutches and started to cross the room. You stepped back until one of Ivar’s bodyguards stopped you. You could see Hvitserk give Ubbe a nervous glance. Now Ivar was in front of you. He waited for you to do something, anything at all. Instead you glared up at him with the hardest stare you could muster.

“How can you be angry with me?” Ivar cooed softly, leaning his weight on one crutch as he reached up to stroke your cheek. “I needed to be comforted and cared for, you were just shopping for silly things, not here for me.”

“I am so sorry Ivar.” When the words left you they sounded almost sensire. Anyone other than Ivar could hear the venomous drip to them. He smiled, the way a child who had nagged down an adult to surrender to their whim would smile. With a quick move he grabbed your face, his grip hurt but you didn’t move, simply staring up at him still. He kissed you, frowning when you didn’t respond. He pulled away and frowned at you as if he could not understand why you would not melt into his kiss the way you usually did. Kissing you again you relanted enough to have him give up.

“There, now we are all happy, off you go.” He smiled and shooed you away from him. “Make sure she does not go far.” He added to his bodyguards.

*****************

The loud crash woke Hvitserk with a start. He jolted up so quickly that at least two of the girls he’d been with the night before, toppled out of his bed. See Ivar throwing his things about he groaned, wrapped a fur around his waist and marched over to his kitchen that was now in shambles.

“What do you want brother?” He sighed out.

“Where is (Y/N)?”

“Why would I know that? She is your wife.”

“She is not at the main hall, or the market, the guards do not know where she has gone, nore to the Thrall.” Ivar complained and Hvitserk scoffed.

“I do not see what that has to do with me brother. I have been busy.”

Several shouts from outside drew Ivar’s attention. Hvitserk hesitated, looking at his bed, before grabbing at his clothes and dressing. When he got outside, Ubbe was snapping at Ivar who was watching his men. A small, frightened thrall was on her knees, White-hair’s hand grabbed at his hair and she cried out as she tried to loosen the grip.

“Where is my wife?”

“The queen has gone.”

“What?” Ivar spat out, his gaze hardened and the gril whimpered.

“She left last night. Her warriors helped her escape, they have gone. I do not know where, I swear!” She gasped out. The way she blabbered over and over made it clear that she didn’t know anything more.

“Keep her locked up, she may know more.” Ivar snapped out and rushed to his chariot. Ubbe slapped Hvitserk’s arm and the brother’s rushed to two hourses that were idling in the shade of nearby trees. They rushed after Ivar who stopped his chariot, only when he reached the top of the cliff that overlooked Kattegat. Very small and in the distance there was the unmistakable sight of boats, your flag flying from them as they rowed away.

“She will not get away with this!” Ivar seethed. He stared after your boats. Ubbe shook his head at Ivar’s words and turned his horse away. Hvitserk hesitated. Under the growing anger on Ivar’s face was utterly devastating pain. Ivar was muttering to himself that he would have vengeance but to Hvitserk he looked like a man that had just been broken. A if it had just now occured to Ivar that he should have been kinder to you. Tried to be less cruel. Hvitserk turned his horse away, leaving Ivar to stare after your boats and rushed the horse to catch up with Ubbe.

“Do you think he will kill her?” Hvitserk asked quietly.

“She was a warrior before Ivar captured her, I doubt he could if he tried.”

“Where will she go?”

“Wherever Ivar thinks she is not going. Ivar thinks of her as some small, timid girl who must be watched at all cost lest she get lost or stolen. There is a reason Kattegat rejoiced that she became queen. (Y/N) is everything Ivar is and yet she has a heart that would bleed for her people. If he tries to have vengeance. It will be Ivar’s weakness.”

Hvitserk turned to look back at Ivar. He sat on his chariot, head in hands as he leant forward as if hoping to see your boats turn around, Hvitserk wasn’t so sure Ubbe was right. You had already broken Ivar by leaving.

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #bonniebird #vikings

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samstree · 4 years ago

Text

You are too well tangled in my soul (2/4)

Inspired by The Time-Traveler's Wife.

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Geralt is a time-traveler, and Jaskier falls in love in a slightly misplaced order.

Warnings: referenced child abuse and mentions of chronic pain

Read on AO3

Calling the Witcher ‘old friend’ at the tavern was probably a mistake. The Geralt walking in front of Jaskier looks exactly the same as he remembers: golden eyes and rugged jawline. And yet, this is the furthest Jaskier has ever felt from him ever since the first sunset at the lake.

There is no warmth to greet him, no knowing smile or softness, only indifference that bleeds into annoyance. The gut-punch is as loud a declaration as it gets. This Geralt is the youngest Jaskier has ever seen him, hardened with weary travels and open night skies, and yet seasoned enough to have settled into distrust and isolation.

As they trudge through Dol Blathanna, the notebook filled with their encounters sits in Jaskier’s pocket, every date recorded with the utmost carefulness, burning a hole onto his mind. How does he explain it? How does he explain that he’s been friends with the Witcher for eight years while he only glares at Jaskier with derision? No, that is too unfair.

Besides, even if he dumps it all out, Geralt is unlikely to just…transform into the person in Jaskier’s memory. This Witcher is not the ever-present friend of Jaskier’s childhood, not yet. He knows better than most that you can’t force people into becoming someone they are not.

Jaskier leaves the notebook at the bottom of his pack.

At the edge of the world, he witnesses the heartbreaks of an elf king. The second-hand stories he knows by heart now pale in comparison. A taste of the real world, of the real pain humans have been ignoring is all it takes for Jaskier to be sure of his path. He is a storyteller. Destiny has decided that when it brought the amber eyes into his life at the age of eleven, so he tells the story. He writes the song.

Jaskier starts following Geralt.

They settle into a routine: monsters, songs, and nothing more. There are no mythical powers that can bring his best friend to him anymore, only the newly acquainted Wolf Witcher who now tolerates him with glowers.

It shouldn’t sting when Jaskier sings their adventures at taverns and Geralt only grunts as feedback. It shouldn’t sting when his chatter is only answered with silence or an absent-minded hum. It shouldn’t sting when Geralt flinches upon hearing Jaskier refer to him as friend while begging to see the hunt himself.

“We are not friends, Jaskier.”

It shouldn’t because it is where their story begins, properly this time. And yet it does.

Seasons pass. Jaskier cannot stop searching for recognition in those amber eyes. Nothing comes up. Still, he searches.

Geralt notices.

Of course. As subtle as Jaskier would like to believe he is, his companion is too perceptive. We can tell by the heartbeat when someone is lying or hiding something. He learned this long ago by the lakeside, when Geralt indulged his curiosity by debunking all the Witcher myths. No, Julian. We cannot read minds.

His excitement that day reflected in the Witcher’s eyes that were amused by a child’s wonderment.

Can he tell what Jaskier is hiding now?

Jaskier stares long at his form on Roach when a throw-away comment from the Witcher brings him right back to the lake, all the words stuck at his throat.

“You’ve been quiet, bard.”

“What? Miss my lovely voice?”

“Glad for the silence.” Geralt drops it, but his gaze lingers for a moment.

At night, Jaskier helps the Witcher remove his armours, a newly formed habit as their travels settle into a familiar rhythm. His fingers untie the complicated knots. Geralt’s breaths brush by his ear.

A warm hand comes up to steady Jaskier by the elbow, the thumb drawing small circles on his chemise. It’s a comfort that he has received so many times before, a reassurance that he can trace by heart. And yet, Geralt is unaware.

Jaskier’s breath hitches in his chest, his heartbeat suddenly rabbiting.

“Alright?”

He cannot acknowledge the concern, scared that more will be revealed. Muttering something about being late, he fumbles away to his bedroll and burrows deep. As the churning in his mind subsides, Jaskier falls asleep hoping that it never comes up again.

It comes up again.

They sit by the glowing campfire, Geralt having just returned from a hunt in the forest. Despite the Witcher’s reluctance, Jaskier nudges him to spill the details and takes them down for new songs. The scratching of his quill fills Geralt’s contemplative pauses.

“This is all very good, Geralt. It’d make a great song. But what was the wyvern like? Come on, help me paint the picture.”

“It was…big, and green.”

Jaskier chuckles, his quill hovering mid-air. So many times before has Geralt only described a monster as ‘big’ or ‘fast’, even the older, more mature Witcher he met in his teenage years sometimes struggled with more adjectives. Being the curious child he was, Jaskier pestered incessantly for more during their short encounters. At night, he would lie in bed, playing out the scene in his head, clashes of magic and steel lulling him into sleep. Now, almost a decade later, he sits in the exact same spot in front of the Witcher, desperate to learn anything from a quest, just to be stunted by Geralt’s inability to form words.

“Some things never change.”

Jaskier smiles to himself and continues to fill in the blanks with more theatrical touches. A song does not become the greatest hit on the Continent just with plain facts and verbs. Chewing on the quill, he barely notices that Geralt’s posture has stiffened.

“Why do you say that?”

“What?” Still distracted with composing a melody for the words, Jaskier looks up at Geralt, whose expression now full of alert.

“What never changes?”

“Um…Just you?” Jaskier stammers, “Stingy on the details, as usual.”

“It’s not just today.” Geralt scowls and stands, pacing around camp irritated. “You talk as if… as if you know me a great deal, Jaskier. You look at me as if you see an old friend. You were familiar with me from the very first day. You didn’t run away in fear like so many others.”

Oh well, subtlety is not exactly Jaskier’s forte.

“You know me,” He tries to gloss it over. “the ever so friendly bard.”

Geralt considers him skeptically. Under the intense scrutiny, Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat. The Witcher finally relents.

“Whatever you see in me, bard,” Geralt lets out a resigned sigh, “it’s not there. So stop looking.”

It’s too late for that, Jaskier thinks. Or too early.

“I mean, why can’t I just tell you everything?”

Geralt walks beside Jaskier, his hair in a simple pony. A long scar runs down his left eye, barely missing it.

That one’s new.

It’s so jarring that Jaskier cannot stop staring at it from time to time. Added with the well-trimmed beard, framing his rugged face, Jaskier is almost looking at someone else. Witchers don’t age like the rest of them do, but the years are clearly showing on Geralt’s face, giving him more gravitas. The White Wolf, indeed.

He has a slight limp in one of his legs, also something new. The breastplate of his armour is worn and beat after what looks like decades of use.

A strange sight. Jaskier has only witnessed the man’s younger counterpart buy the same plate a week ago at a market in Cidaris, brand new and shiny. It was right before Jaskier decided to stay and perform at the local court and Geralt traveled on by himself.

The small garden behind the main hall is where he has found the older Witcher, who embraced Jaskier immediately without a beat. It is when Jaskier breathes in the familiar pine and leather that he realizes how much he’s missed his old friend, even though he’s been traveling with the same person for the past year.

Keeping the secret has taken a toll on Jaskier, as he only notices now that he is completely relaxed. He desperately wishes to unload it.

“You are going to know anyway. When you inevitably end up in Lettenhove, pimpled teenage me in front of you.”

“Jask,” The endearment comes out of the older Witcher so naturally, his voice deep and rich as wine. “You have seen me in my younger days. I was quite…let’s say, untrusting. I was determined to be alone. Telling me that destiny has bound me to a bard with no self-preservation instincts would only send me running away screaming.”

Jaskier teases, “Now that’s something I’d like to see. The mighty Witcher running and screaming because of a bard.”

“Hmm,” Geralt smiles in return, “There are things that we have to experience for ourselves. Just wait a bit longer. I’m unlikely to be pulled away when we are together. It’ll have to be when we part ways. As I said, it’s like a homing beacon.”

An anchor.

“And now, you are only here when Geralt is gone. I mean, you. The younger you.” Jaskier muses, “Destiny has a way of keeping you from running into yourself. Hah! Probably a good idea. Imagine the brooding doubled.”

Geralt stays oddly silent and guides them both to sit on one of the benches, his knee stiff and slow to bend. It slipped Jaskier’s notice that now there is a sheen of sweat on Geralt’s forehead, his brows furrowing in pain. He starts rubbing at the knee with a wince, breathing through the discomfort. His right elbow also creaks like an old ship, followed by a pained gasp.

With the fast healing, it must be a particularly bad injury for it to affect Geralt this much. Jaskier rubs his hands together to warm them up and places them on the Witcher’s elbow, slowly massaging it to ease out the tension. He’s quite unsure of his touches but judging from Geralt’s gradually relaxing posture, it is working nonetheless.

“What kind of beast hurt you like this? Can I warn you when the day comes?” Jaskier’s worry clenches in his chest. After a moment, Geralt places his larger hand on top of Jaskier’s, an unvoiced thanks. So Jaskier lets go.

They are sitting too closely together. Jaskier can see the tiny scars on Geralt’s face, thin lines that disappear into the thick beard. Leather and pine, the most reassuring scents in the world, overwhelm his senses and draw him closer.

“I wish we could take away all the hurt that will happen.” Geralt says with regret, “But no, Jask, I’d rather not. Some things need to happen for us both to be here today. Not to mentions many others.”

“I can just warn you about this one thing.”

Geralt’s gaze meets Jaskier’s, the long scar prominent. “Some things are too important to risk. I now have people who are dear to me. They – they’ve all come a long way. I wouldn’t change it for the world if it means they are safe. Even if I have to go through this.” He rubs at his knee again.

The wight behind the words settles in Jaskier’s chest.

The Geralt he has been traveling with is so determined on isolation and detachment, rejecting even simple friendship. He cares, in his own silent, brooding way. Jaskier sees it when he refuses payment from people who are struggling to make ends meet. He sees it when he buys Jaskier new boots when a pair has worn out. And He sees it when Roach’s coat is always kept pristine when the Witcher cannot afford new clothing for himself.

But the man in front of Jaskier speaks of people in his life with love and openness, all his rough edges softened and smoothed. Whatever happened in the years in between, Jaskier is eager to learn.

“You are a self-sacrificing idiot as usual.” He jokes.

The adoration in Jaskier’s heart unfurls into something more, something he does not dare to name. The same something, he realizes, is the gravity behind Geralt’s golden eyes that he’s been unable to name.

Jaskier is twenty-four when Geralt finds out.

He has just spent a winter at Oxenfurt after being offered a teaching post while Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen as usual. The job is exciting and the students cannot be more pleasant. Adding the occasional visits from Essi and Shani, Jaskier doesn’t have many complaints.

And if he lingers too long in the greenhouse, standing wishfully for something to happen, that’s no one else’s business.

Usually Jaskier waits until the ground begins to thaw before departing for Kaedwen, where he will continue to roam and perform in major cities and possibly run into Geralt. Their shared journeys are never planned and they never agreed upon any meeting places, but somehow the bard can always find the Witcher in the springtime, so that they may resume their on-and-off travels.

This spring, however, an unexpected cold spell hits Oxenfurt after buds have sprouted from bald branches. A blanket of snow covers the cobblestone streets overnight, driving students and staff alike indoors with sniffles and shudders.

Jaskier is intending to retreat into his bedroom with a cup of steaming ginger tea, when he hears of two professors talking about the famous White Wolf being stopped at the city gate. Perplexed, he puts on a heavy coat and walks across town, blowing at his frozen fingers to desperately warm them up.

Geralt never seeks him out when the season turns, despite Jaskier’s attempt at hinting at his wintering plans multiple times every fall. If the Witcher is here this early in the spring, he must have left the Blue Mountains when the howling wind of winter was still raging. Traveling across the continent in the cold cannot be easy even for the Witcher, especially when contracts are still scarce.

Jaskier’s boots crunch the snow beneath them, his vision filled with the clear, grey sky and snowflakes scatted in the air. Outside the city gate, a tall, cloaked figure is being told off by a guard. A chestnut mare waits loyally in the distance.

Geralt is right there, snowflakes peppering his dark cloak. His complexion is sour as ever.

Gods, Jaskier has missed him.

“Geralt! What brings you here?” Jaskier shouts to get his attention and jogs on the slippery road to embrace the Witcher. The hug is brief and impersonal, and when he steps back the misery is still present.

“Aren’t you happy to see your best friend? After all, you’re the one who traveled in this sodding weather just to see me.”

Jaskier expects a rebuttal of the claim ‘best friend’, but it never comes. The Witcher’s comprehension is mixed with travel-weary, souring him even further.

“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Jaskier.” Geralt gestures to the guard. “But this man won’t let me into the city.”

Jaskier turns to the guard and explains that the Witcher is an esteemed guest of the university, before they are both let in with Roach in tow.

The walk to Jaskier’s lodging is silent with a tension in the air. The Witcher looks tired, disheveled from the wind and cold. Jaskier will warm them both up with a fire and ginger tea then.

“So,” Jaskier tries to make conversation, “Before we discuss the thing of ‘great importance’, how was Kaer Morhen? You know, the mythical Witcher keep nobody knows anything about.”

“It was…fine.”

“Masterful conversationalist as ever.” Jaskier takes in the curt response and fills the silence with stories of his winter at the university. He chuckles at the funny bits himself when Geralt seems deep in thoughts the entire time.

Once they have put Roach in the university’s stable and entered Jaskier’s warm bedroom, the tension can be cut by a knife. An inexplicable nervousness bobbles up in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt puts down his pack by the door and begins to speak.

“Jaskier –”

“Before you say anything,” he interrupts, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. It seems that ginger tea might not be enough to get him through this conversation. “We should warm up a little. Can you believe the weather!”

He puts one glass on the table near Geralt and downs the other in one go.

“Jaskier,” Geralt reasserts himself, the golden eyes determined. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve met me before?”

Jaskier studies his glass as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. The Witcher continues.

“There was a lake, in the woods. You were young, and you…you greeted me by name. You knew me.” Geralt’s brows scrunch up in confusion. “You knew me before we met.”

“Um…yes?” Jaskier grimaces.

“Why haven’t you told me before? Damn it, Jaskier. You knew this whole time that I –”

“That you can magically time travel to my childhood?” Jaskier puts down his empty glass next to Geralt’s untouched one. “What was I supposed to say back then, Geralt? ‘Hello, you don’t know me but I know everything about you. And that includes your secret power because I’ve met you twenty times before –’”

“Twenty times?”

“Well I haven’t counted in a while so I could be off.”

Geralt sighs, palming his face. They both look away. The weighted silence in the room is only interrupted by the occasional crackling in the fireplace.

“Twenty times.” Geralt mutters to himself. “How – why?”

Jaskier tries, “You told me yourself. Your powers have this…pull. It’s like –”

“Gravity.”

“It pulls you to certain places or certain people.” Jaskier vaguely gestures around himself.

Realization dawns on Geralt’s face.

“That’s why you followed me. That’s why you weren’t scared of me, why you look at me…” He trails off. “Because destiny already forced me into your life.”

Geralt’s features morph into a stoic resignation, something Jaskier is too familiar with. It’s what Geralt looks like when someone chases him out of an inn or throws things at him, or when mothers yell at their children to get away from him.

No. Jaskier won’t allow it now.

“No,” His voice is desperate, “It was because you were my best friend. You are my best friend. You were there for me by the lake when no one else was. I followed you because you are kind and brave –”

“Because destiny already decided for you.”

“No –”

“Gods, Jaskier. You were so young. You shouldn’t be bound to me by something I cannot even control.”

Jaskier takes in a shuddering breath. “It’s too late for that.”

He doesn’t know how to convince Geralt, who looks so guilty through Jaskier’s blurred vision. He feels weak and hollow.

The conversation continues but Jaskier pays no attention. Geralt says something about traveling separately for a while and begins to leave. Golden eyes meet Jaskier one last time before the door clicks shut.

Running away while screaming indeed.

Sagging into a chair, Jaskier remembers the worn-out notebook sitting on the shelf, untouched.

Once again, Jaskier is left alone, his best friend disappearing right in front of his eyes.

Jaskier tries to find Geralt but always falls a step behind.

He travels and plays, pleasing tavern audiences so he may get a place to sleep. He asks about the white-haired Witcher everywhere he goes, hoping he can catch up with him just like so many other times. But the Witcher is gone whenever Jaskier sets foot into a town, as if sensing his presence.

“Isn’t that your Witcher? The one from your songs?”

Jaskier tries not to wince.

“He was here days ago, but I heard he left for Novigrad.” The innkeeper says in confusion, “Why aren’t you with him?”

Putting on a bright smile, Jaskier answers, “Even the most talented artist cannot stay with his muse at all times. Lest the creativity runs dry too soon.”

He sets out for Novigrad, but never reaches it.

Jaskier does not see the bandits coming, nor is he capable of fending off all five of them. The dagger he hides in his boot and the sword fighting lessons that tutors once forced upon him can only do so much against these fully armed men.

After stabbing one of them in the shoulder, causing the man to yell and cuss, Jaskier is knocked out from behind.

Jaskier wakes up flung across the back of a dark horse. The pain at the back of his head throbs with every step it takes, the moving ground makes bile rise in his throat. The men talk about ransom from the Count de Lettenhove for his only son.

Oh, dear.

There is no way to tell how they learned, since Jaskier is gagged and tied to a tree when they set camp. He doubts his kidnappers are willing to indulge his curiosity anyway. A growl comes from his stomach. The fire and roasted dinner warm in the distance but clearly these men are not the sharing type.

Frustrated, Jaskier dozes off as night falls, listening to their constant chatter about how to spend the ransom. Too bad for them, Jaskier thinks half-asleep, they are not getting any money. Father will probably thank them for stopping the family embarrassment from tarnishing the Pankratz name any further.

Jaskier wakes up again, to the sound of yelling and weapons clash.

Bodies are flung across the campsite; his captors scream in pain and scatter. The startles horses gallop away with some of them on top. A flash of black and silver moves with an elegance that can inspire songs after songs.

A hand comes to remove the gag in Jaskier’s mouth and continues to undo the ropes around his wrists. Concern sparks in the gold, the softness overlapping with Jaskier’s distant memories. He should greet an old friend, or it’ll seem rude –

“Julian,” Geralt says, “That’s a terrible name for you.”

Jaskier blinks. Now Geralt is reaching to untie the knot behind Jaskier, their breaths only inches away. No scar. These are the same eyes that left him in Oxenfurt months ago, with the click of a door.

Not an old friend, then.

“That’s why I changed it.” The rope burns on Jaskier’s wrists sting when he tries to flex them. He states the obvious, “I see my Witcher in shining armor has come back to save me, again.”

“It’s like you are looking for trouble, bard.”

“Not like it was my fault.” Well, only a little bit his fault.

“Hmm.”

“I was looking for you.”

“I know.”

Of course, he was avoiding Jaskier on purpose.

“Why did you have a change of heart then? Missed my charming personalities?” Jaskier intends a joke, but the old name reminds him. “Wait. You were at the lake again?”

Geralt hums as Jaskier gets up to rummage through what his kidnappers left. Thank the gods they thought his lute and bags might be worth something and didn’t chuck them in a ditch.

Neither the lute case nor the instrument inside received much damage, to Jaskier’s relief. He should check for his bags as well –

“You kept asking when I would be back.”

Jaskier pauses. “And you couldn’t answer.”

“You asked me not to leave. You cried.”

Yes, he desperately grasped for any semblance of certainty as a child, and when he couldn’t get it young Julian spiraled into a panic, begging the Witcher not to leave. He remembers trying to hold back the tears but it came out with snot and hiccups. The embarrassment is still fresh after a decade.

“Well, there’s no need to remind me.”

“No, I –” Geralt struggles with words, “You said you kept records for me. I don’t want to disappoint you again, if I go back there. When I go back.”

The leather-bound notebook is still sitting at the bottom of Jaskier’s bag. He can feel the shape of it through the fabric. It is what Geralt came back for, just so he can have an answer for that child, so he will not disappoint him next time.

“That’s sweet.”

“Jaskier. I would never choose to entangle your life with mine, a Witcher’s. It’s –” Geralt breathes, “You were so young.”

So he said, months ago. Jaskier digs into the bag and retrieves the notebook, walks up to Geralt, and presses it on his chest. Geralt catches it, his gaze never leaving Jaskier’s.

“I wrote down the dates after each of your visits. All you need should be in there.” Jaskier suddenly notices how tired and hungry he is, the headache flaring up once he’s upright. He sways as a clink of metal hits the ground and Geralt’s strong hand steadies him at the elbow. “Oh, thanks.”

Geralt only hums, but his amber eyes keep studying Jaskier.

“You said you didn’t want me bound to your life.” Jaskier tries again, “But Geralt, you were the best part of my childhood. You were the reason I could leave that wretched place. You were the only person who saw me when no one paid any attention. I – I cannot imagine my life if you weren’t in it, if you hadn’t shown up by that lake in Lettenhove. So please…don’t turn away from me.”

He’s begging again, just like ten years ago. He’s begging for the little boy waiting by the water. He’s begging for himself now. It doesn’t matter that it’s embarrassing because after a beat, Geralt nods.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay,” Geralt’s expression sags with softness. “I – You were so excited to see me. You asked about my hunts. And Jaskier, you were so unhappy in your own home, but my stories – There was a spark in your eyes when you listened to them.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. He looks into the sunlight gold boring into his with warmth.

“Does that mean you’ll stop running from me?”

“I would never want to snuff it out. That spark.” Geralt sounds apologetic, “I see now that you decided this life by yourself. Travelling and adventures. They suit you well, Jaskier. So yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Because there is a boy in Lettenhove, and he really, really looks forward to seeing you. In fact, he is counting the days right now, for your next return.”

Geralt chuckles, “That’s not how this works.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jaskier grins in return, patting the Witcher on the arm. Geralt looks at the notebook in his hand and says solemnly, “I won’t disappoint him again.”

The door of their shared inn room creaks open and it sounds like a bag of coin is dropped on the table.

“Ah. I see you collected payment for the Griffin.” Jaskier looks up from the music sheets spread out on the bed.

“I was at the lake with you.”

Jaskier feels a big grin spread across his face.

“You made me tell you about the hunt.” Geralt says.

“Yes, I remember. And I composed my very first Witcher song two days later. Well, only in my head and it lacked a bit polish, but you know, I was eleven.”

“Does that mean I’m spared now?”

“Yes, my dear. You may be spared of recounting your mighty battles for now. I still remember it quite vividly. Did you tell me you bit feathers off its wing and choked?”

“Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier chuckles and gets back to his composing. It might be time to revisit an old song yet.

“I was at the lake with you.”

“When?”

“Last month, when we were apart.”

“No, when for me?”

Geralt looks down at Jaskier, who is lying in the meadow of wildflowers next to the Witcher’s crossed legs, trying and failing to braid a flower crown of dandelions. The afternoon heat is relentless, drenching them both in sweat before they have to take a break.

Tall shrubs cast down a cool shade where they are sitting, shielding away the scorch. Roach is nibbling at some flowers in the distance, the same flowers that Jaskier cannot seem to bend into shape without crushing.

“You were…older.” Geralt says after considering, “You braided flowers into my hair.”

“Oh yeah. That day. Can I do it now?”

“You are not a child anymore.”

“No, but this is not working.” Jaskier throws away the dandelions that are now in pieces, pouting. He lies back on the grass, inhaling the fresh smell of grass and letting the breeze cool him down a little. Above him, Geralt looks refreshed after a short meditation.

“You were getting restless. In your own home, about your own future. You kept asking me if you were going to leave Lettenhove.”

“And you distracted me by letting me braid your hair. I totally forgot about pestering you for the rest of the day.”

“It worked.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier is almost impressed.

Geralt pauses for a moment. “You were so unhappy, Jaskier. You couldn’t see a future for yourself.”

“Well, that’s why I left. It’s all fine now. I’m living my best life with my favorite time traveler. Don’t worry, dear.” With his forearm placed on his eyes, Jaskier is completely relaxed.

“Should I have told you, just so you had an idea?”

Sometimes Jaskier still thinks about his childhood in Lettenhove, how miserable he was under all the expectations that he was never going to meet. No, he couldn’t see a future for himself as the Viscount, neither did his father, as the falling of canes and sticks proved. Sometimes Jaskier still wakes up from nightmares rehashing those beatings.

Would it have been better if his younger self had known what the future had in store?

“No,” He says, “Don’t tell me anything. What I went through put me here. It made me what I am. Telling me the future might change things, and I would never take that risk.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sounds apprehensive. “I’ll have to keep you in the dark.”

Sitting up, Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s knee, the one that’s going to retain an injury that doesn’t heal well, the one that’s going to creak and spasm on a rainy day. Geralt from the future is willing to endure the hurt just to make sure everything goes right, young Julian will have to as well.

“I wish there’s another way. Believe me, I do. But…it’s too much at risk.” He squeezes, hoping it’s reassuring. “I know you don’t like this, Geralt. But time is too tricky, you can’t tell me anything about my future. That’s the rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“It might be the first rule anyone’s had about time travels.”

“Right,” Jaskier smiles tightly, “The very first one.”

They go back to cooling off in a companionable silence before moving on again. Geralt rides on Roach’s back while Jaskier strums his lute on the ground, playing a song in Elder absent-mindedly.

For what it is worth, Jaskier’s past is already too well tangled with this beautiful Witcher in front of him. There is no changing his fate now.

A comforting weight unfurls in his heart whenever Geralt is near, regardless of which version of him it is. It unfurls even further with each step they take together over the years. In the blazing afternoon sun, it blooms into something else.

Oh.

He loves him.

He loves him with all he is, was, and ever will be.

No matter. Their days ahead will be just as entwined as the past.

Jaskier strums his lute again, the song turns into something bawdy. The amber looks back at him with mirth and a mirrored smile.

#geraskier #oxenfurt #not oxford #the witcher #time travel #geralt x jaskier #the time traveler's wife au #my fic #jaskier #geralt #hurt jaskier #hurt geralt #chronic pain #jaskier whump

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faofinn · 3 years ago

Text

BTHB - Anger Born of Worry

When Fao left on tour, he seemed to take most of Harrison’s sense and stability with him. The younger wolf began causing issues almost immediately, quickly squaring up to Sheila and Fred. Even Steve couldn’t control him, or his wolf.

After a particularly vicious moon, leaving both Harrison and Fred bruised and sore, things took a turn for the worse. He’d started on Finn, rounding on him over breakfast. They’d scrapped over nothing, Finn ending up landing on the floor rather roughly. He’d yelped immediately, scrambling away as he tried to protect himself. Still, Harrison didn’t stop.

The Daniels were furious, struggling to believe Harrison would do that to Finn, the kid he’d always adored. He was kicked out, the rest of the pack watching him as he collected his belongings. It was clear he wasn’t welcome.

Theo took him in, let him crash on his sofa while Steve patched Finn up - while he’d done what he could at the clinic, but it was clear he needed their hospital. Harrison, being bigger and more prepared, hadn’t fared too badly; a few cuts and scrapes that would heal soon enough.

While Theo’s offer was kind, Harrison couldn’t stay. He wasn’t sure if it was couldn’t or wouldn’t, but either way, he had to go. He left notes, an apology to Finn and then the Daniels, a few notes he’d saved up included to pay for the broken plates and chairs; another to Steve, for taking the chance on him and him screwing it all up, like he always did; one for Theo, a quick explanation and a (polite) request to not throw his stuff out, not that he deserved it; and finally, one for Fao. He wasn’t sure if it was a plead for him to come home safely, or an apology for everything he’d ever done. A love letter of sorts, things he’d never say out loud, but since he wasn’t coming back, that didn’t matter. Fao might as well know.

He waited until Theo had gone to bed, the older man offering to stay up and chat, sensing something was off. He’d declined, lied until he was left alone. Despite the other wolf trying to wait up, he’d drifted off, giving Harrison his opportunity.

He’d taken food from his cupboards - old stuff, nearly out of date, things he’d heard Theo complain about. It wasn’t like Harrison to just take charity, so he left some money too, under his letter of apology. With nothing left to do, he shouldered his backpack, shoved his rolled duvet under his arm and slipped out into the night.

When Theo woke and found Harison gone, he called everyone he knew, panic clear in his words. Nobody had seen or heard from him. And then, he found the letters.

The pack was out searching as soon as Theo raised the alarm - Harrison was still part of the pack, even after his actions. Everyone was distraught, worried about him - it wasn’t the first time he’d ran off, but everything felt wrong. His letters held too much finality, too much goodbye.

When Fao came back from his tour, it was to the family and the pack in chaos. Harrison missing was worrying, and the letter Fao read made his stomach twist. He was exhausted, just come back from war, but he threw himself into searching. Of course, after he'd spent some time with Finn. Something about what Harrison had said in his letter sent Fao searching further afield than he usually would. He spent days scouring the woods as wolf, sleeping under bushes despite the cold and wind. He clung to every hint of a scent, desperate to find him.

Haarrison kept his distance, travelled North. He’d never been far from London, only ever travelling to the south coast on the ‘family’ holidays he’d had. There was nothing for him in the north, but that was part of the (pull) of it. He wasted most of his money on hotels, trying his best to find somewhere to stay out of the cold and rain. There wasn’t much he could do; he couldn’t work, had to be careful where he left his leg when he shifted too. He did his best to hide his scent, to keep the pack from finding him, not that they’d be looking for him anyway.

The food was gone quickly too, despite his attempt to ration and hunt when he could. The idea of fish had quickly grown stale, rabbit and pigeon following suit.

He didn’t dare to beg, though would often find some safety in sleeping in doorways in city centres, his duvet wrapped tight around him. He was caught out a few times too, woken up to someone trying to rob him and beat him up. Bloody lip and bruised eyes left him more suspicious, made him sit awake at night. His black eyes grew into dark bags under his eyes, his tiredness past exhaustion.

With the days slightly warmer, more crowds flocked to the streets. His usual sleeping places disturbed by foot traffic and prying eyes. As much as he tried to sleep during the day, every instinct in him begged him to keep moving, to try and evade any search efforts that might still be going on. After all, he’d caused so much trouble within the pack, they’d surely still be out for blood.

It took Fao a long while to even get close to finding him. But his letter kept him going, scanning over each word to try and find any hint of where he was. It took him much further North than he expected. He lost the scent, and had pretty much given up as he headed into the town, very much human, in search of a hotel room to stay in and get cleaned up. But then he caught a scent again, and whilst he couldn’t be sure, it certainly seemed like him.

And there, curled up in a shop doorway, was Harrison. He was curled under a filthy duvet, and he smelled sick, but it was him.

Fao stopped dead.

“Harrison? Tomcat?”

He didn’t move at first. There was no way Fao had found him, not this far away. He sniffed quietly. Well, shit. Not one to give up, he pulled the duvet further over his head, trying to hide.

“Harrison?”

“No.”

“It’s only me.”

He sat up slowly, breathing deeply as he tried to check if it really was just Fao. The others wouldn't be too far away. “Fao.”

“Hey, stranger.”

“What do you want?” He got stiffly to his feet, backed in the corner.

“Wanted to find you. Came back from tour and you’d gone.”

“Yeah.”

“I've missed you, Tomcat.”

“So what have you come to do?”

“Came to find you. Your letter… Well, I…”

“I said what I said.”

“I was scared I'd lose you.”

“I’m not coming back.” He frowned. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“I'm not gonna kill you, don't be daft.” Fao said. “But I swear I've been wolf for like a week, I was gonna get a hotel room, grab a shower and some food? Wanna come?”

“So you can tell the others where I am so they can get me? Yeah, sure.”

“They don't know I'm here, and I'm not going to tell them. I won't tell them I've found you, if you'd rather not. But nobody wants to kill you.”

“Of course they do.”

“They don't, Hars. They're all really worried about you.”

He shook his head with a bark of a laugh. "Don't be daft."

“They are. Sheila's a wreck.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t.”

“They’re not my pack any more.”

“They’re always going to be your pack, Hars.”

He scoffed. "They kicked me out. I deserved it."

“They told you to leave the house. That doesn't mean you're gone from the pack.”

“As good as.”

“Not at all.”

“I’ve said what I said, Fao. I’m not going back.” He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, let’s at least grab a shower, some hot food and sleep in a real bed tonight.”

He shook his head, though his heart desperately wanted to. “No, I’m not...I’ve got to go now.”

“No commitment. Have some food, a soft place to sleep. And then if you still want to walk away… I can’t stop you.”

“So you can kill me in my sleep.” He laughed drily or dryly whatever. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?”

“I trust that pack will come before I do.”

“They’re not coming. I can’t even tell them, my phone is dead.”

“You can charge it.”

“Why would I tell them? I’m just here for you.”

“Because you all want me dead.”

“We don’t.”

He couldn;t allow himself the hope. “No.”

“I swear, tomcat. Swear on my life.”

Fao wouldn’t lie to him. “No, mate. It’s okay.”

“Come on, let’s get you warm and fed, eh?” Fao said, offering him a hand.

He flinched away; his back hit against stone and he groaned. “I’ve said no.”

Fao frowned, and stepped back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, I know.” He wrapped an arm around his stomach, protecting himself. “I know.”

Fao dropped his gaze, wolf body language taking over by default. “I’m just here to help you.”

“Honest?”

“Honest. I wouldn't lie.”

He hesitated, almost giving in. “I’ve not got any money.”

“Let me worry about the money.”

“I’m not taking charity.”

“Do I look like a charity? You're family, shut up and let me take care of you, tomcat.”

"I'm not family." He spat.

“You are to me.” Fao said, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't snap at me.” His tone betrayed where he'd been for the past few months, a hangover from his tour.

"I'll do what I want."

Fao raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say a word.

Harrison's lip curled. "What are you going to do?"

“Dunno. Figured I'd just wait for you to stop being an ass.

"I'm packing my shit and going." He all but snarled, starting to roll his duvet up.

“Okay. You want a hand?”

"Does it look like I want a hand?"

“Well, you seem to be making this a big thing. Bit dramatic if you ask me, all I did was offer you some food and a warm bed.”

"You only offered so you'd have the chance to hurt me."

“No I didn't. I don't want to hurt you.”

"You have to."

“No I don't.”

"An eye for an eye."

“Nobody cares about any of that crap.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I'm not lying.”

"I'll pay you back." He softened.

“If you want to.”

“I will.”

“Come on then. Food, a shower and sleep in a real bed.””

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“No, come on. We'll get you a good bed.”

He could fight it later. “Okay.”

Slowly, Fao offered Harrison his hand again. “Come on, then.”

Harrison shouldered his pack, then reached for Fao's hand. "Thank you."

“I've missed you.”

"Don't be daft."

“I really have!”

He didn't say anything. He still wasn't sure where he stood. There was no sign of ill intentions with Fao, but he couldn't be too careful.

Fao sighed, but didn't push it. Harrison was going to take time to trust him again. But he lead him to the hotel he'd planned on staying in, and managed to reserve a double room. They'd both have somewhere proper to sleep, hot water, and food that night and the next morning.

Harrison hesitated again. “Can I grab a shower?”

“Of course. You got some clean clothes?”

“Clean enough.”

“Grab some of mine, they're clean. And we can buy some more for you.”

“It’s fine. I can wash them in the sink.”

“No, Hars. We’ll get you some nice clothes.”

“I’ve got clothes.”

“Clean clothes.”

"They will be once I've washed them."

“Alright.”

“I told you,” he said gruffly. “I’m not taking charity.”

“I know. But there's a difference between pity and help.”

“And I don’t think you know the difference.”

“Of course I do.”

"Then stop pitying me."

“I'm not pitying you. I'm just trying to help.”

He scuffed his feet. "Feels a lot like pity."

“But Tomcat, you think anyone who's trying to help is pitying you.”

“Because it’s the same thing.”

“It's not.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How far is the hotel?”

“Not far.”

“I’ve had enough walking.”

“It's not too far. But I can carry some of your stuff?”

He jerked away. "It's mine."

“I'm not gonna take it. Thought it might just make the walk easier if you didn't have so much to carry.”

“I always have to carry it. Otherwise someone would nick it.”

“I'm not gonna nick it.”

"You might." He shrugged his backpack on again. "It's fine."

“Okay.” It hurt that Harrison didn't trust him any more, but he didn't know what else to do or say.

Harrison could sense the pain from Fao and he sighed. "It's filthy anyway, I'm better off carrying it."

“Whatever you're comfortable with.”

"Not fair on you."

“Not like I'm not fit.”

He huffed. "Yeah, that's true."

“So I'm happy to carry if you need it.”

"It's okay."

“Let’s get going, then.”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Fao led the way to the hotel, trying to keep a slow pace so Harrison didn't have to rush.

Harrison hesitated outside, turning to Fao. “They’ll kick me out again.”

“No they won't. They've been paid enough.”

“Still, they’ve seen the state of me.”

“You look fine, just a bit scuffed up.”

“I look homeless.”

“Well, Hars, I hate to break it to you, but you have been living on the streets.” Fao attempted to joke. “Come on, take my hoodie.” He pulled it over his head.

“You think I don’t know?” Harrison snapped at Fao.

“Sorry, sorry. Stupid joke. Come on, just take the hoodie, it’ll be alright. You’re clearly with me, so it’s fine.”

“And what about my shit?”

“I’ll carry it.”

“They won’t let you in.”

“Give it here, I’ll shove it in my bag?”

“Let me carry the bag though?”

“Sure, so long as you don’t break it.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Good.” Fao shrugged his bag off and rolled Harrison’s duvet and other crap up to shove it inside. “That’s alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He swung it onto his back. “Thanks.”

“Let's go, then.”

“Right.” He nodded. “After you.”

Fao led the way inside, glancing back at Harrison to make sure he was still following.

"I'm not going to run off. Don't give me that look."

“But you thought about it.”

“No.” He lied.

Fao raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. They got inside, and spoke to the person at the desk. He shot them some slightly odd looks, but Fao spoke in a way that dared him to give them shit, and nothing was said. They were given keys, and directions to the room. They headed up, and Fao unlocked the door to let Harrison inside. “Here we go. Much better.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Do you wanna grab a shower?”

“Yes please.”

“Go on, then.”

He glanced at Fao before heading into the bathroom, backpack still on. “Won’t be long.”

“Harrison. My pack, please?”

“It’s got my stuff in.”

“Take your stuff out?”

“Fine.”

“Thanks.”

He shoved his pack towards Fao. “I’m getting a shower now.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Enjoy it.”

He headed back into the bathroom, dumping his stuff on the floor before stripping. He ran the water hot, used as much shampoo and bodywash as he could, and just stood under the stream. It was a stark difference from his previous attempts at a shower, a hurried wash in the mcdonalds toilets. After washing his hair and body, he slumped down, sliding until he was sat on the shower floor. His head in his hands, he let himself cry, all his emotions coming to a head.

Fao gave Harrison plenty of time in the shower. He deserved his privacy, and it was no doubt the first shower he'd had in far too long. He sorted through the other wolf's stuff, only to neatly fold it for now. He'd go through and wash it later for him. Even the duvet could be washed, he was sure. Of course he wanted to bring Harrison home, but if he chose to keep living this way, the best he could do was make him more comfortable.

Harrison eventually emerged from the bathroom, hair still dripping and a mess on his head. He was in slightly cleaner clothes, his others having also had a wash. When he saw Fao, his lip curled.

"I told you not to touch my stuff."

“I just folded them for you.” Fao said, guarded. “That way you can pick out what wants washing and if anything needs fixing. It didn't seem right, just leaving it in a pile on the floor. It's all there, you can check it for yourself."

"It's not yours to touch."

“Look, sorry. I was only trying to help.”

"I didn't ask for your help!" He shot back, his wavering voice betraying him. "I didn't ask for any of it."

“Look, I don't know what the fuck happened back home, I don't care, but I'm your pack and I'm your family and we help eachother out when we end up in the shit! I'm not long back from fucking Afghanistan, and yet here I am with you, because I'm not just going to walk past and leave you to suffer. So get your head out of your ass and just let me help, for fuck's sake. It's not pity, it's not charity, it's me helping a friend. And I'm sorry I touched your stuff, I am. But I was only trying to make your life easier!”

Harrison didn’t say anything, visibly shrinking back on himself, his lip trembling. He turned away, grabbing his clothes and stuffing them haphazardly into his bag.

Fao softened, and stepped back. He'd gone too far, he knew he had, but Harrison was just so frustrating. It didn't help just how worried he was about him.

“Look, Tomcat, I'm sorry…”

He shook his head, his wet clothes shoved on top. "Don't."

“Don't go. I'll leave you be, the room is yours. Don't have to see my stupid face. But take it, sleep in a real bed, eat real food. For your own health.”

"It's fine." He tried to slink past Fao. "I'm fine."

“No, Hars, you're not fine.”

"I am."

“You're so far from fine it hurts. I read your letter, I really thought I was never going to see you again. I thought I'd lost you. Please, don't go…”

He stopped, finally looking at Fao. "You weren't meant to find me."

“And yet I did.” Fao said, stepping closer. “Come on, don't throw it all in now.”

"I can't." He shook his head, clenched his jaw to try and stop the tears that threatened again. "It's already over."

Fao couldn't help himself, he pulled Harrison in for a hug, crushing him against his chest. “Oh, Tomcat, nothing is ever over.”

#Harrison #Fao Blackwood #whump #bthb card #whump prompt #Harrison is sad #anger born of worry #what immortal au #he's been homeless a While #bc he's a dick #harrison is having a bad day #tomcat and wolfie

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kylorengarbagedump · 5 years ago

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Little Bird: Chapter 30

Read on AO3. Part 29 here. Part 31 here.

Summary: Survival, but at what cost?

Words: 3400

Warnings: emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: It's technically Friday right?

I've been done this chapter for days and I've just been sitting on it out of pure anxiety. HAHA. But I did edit it and post it so here you go. Hope you enjoy. It's a bit of a break in some ways, not a break in others. Let me know what you think--I'm ever-molding, ever-receptive!

I love y'all! Stay safe with COVID. <3

You did not remember arriving home, exiting the Audi, stepping out into the searing sun. You did not remember the car ride: a murky journey spent in silence next to your Commander, a sentient shade. You did not remember being led from the balcony down the steps, through the halls, stares sticking to you like sap, stringing syrupy sinews to your skin. You did not remember the moment you stood, or the moment you breathed, or the moment you finally moved. Most mercifully, you did not remember the body--a gruesome, heavy pendulum--as it rocked in the cotton air breeze.

What you did remember was a sharp growl of breath as Johana flung open the front door, eyes rimmed red and burning with the fuel of exhaustion.

“Glad you could make it home, Commander.” She aimed the sword of her stare at you, but it pierced you like rubber. “You must have had a wonderful evening together. Won’t both of you come in?”

You followed him like a zombie, gaze trained on the ground, watching from outside your body as you climbed the steps, crossed the foyer, swept past the kitchen. Tile blurred to wood blurred to a soft Persian pattern. All you could stand to focus on was the wall, the rhythm of your breath, the thump of your still-beating heart.

Unlike hers.

It was only after Johana snapped her fingers in front of your face that you were aware that you’d taken a seat in the parlour room. You’d landed on a dark leather Chesterfield sofa (what was the preoccupation with Chesterfield, in this house?), your Commander and Johana standing at odds beyond the ebony coffee table at your knees. Her arms were crossed. He regarded her like one might regard a swarm of ants on the kitchen table.

“Well?” She looked between you. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Of course, you had nothing to say. So you said nothing. Kylo Ren also said nothing, but his silence was far more unreasonable.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “You can at least bother to explain why you left me alone in the house without so much as a word.”

“I wasn’t aware I owed you my agenda.”

She blinked. “Oh, please,” she replied, “as if I care about your agenda, at this point. What if something had happened while you were gone? To the house?”

Kylo sniffed. “The Knights were present.”

“They’re your men, not Gilead’s. They can’t prevent me from being questioned by the Eyes.” Johana scowled. “They can’t prevent the Council from ordering this house to be torn apart.”

You stared at your hand, at the sprig of cuticle poking from your thumb--you pinched it, tugged it, pain shooting up your wrist. Real, restorative breath would not come to you. Neither would any coherent thought.

“You believe the Council would arrive at my home unannounced. In the middle of the night.”

She blinked, as if he’d asked if she believed the world was round. “After your display with your little slut last night?” she asked, gesturing to you. “I certainly wouldn’t be surprised.”

“She is my advisor.”

Johana snorted. “An advisor to what?” she asked. “Your cock?”

Kylo’s lip curled, and he stepped toward her, shoulders rolling. “Careful.”

She snarled, not budging an inch. “You think that the others don’t see how you look at her?” she said. “You think that they believe your intentions are innocent?” A disgusted, tired laugh escaped her. “Where did you go all night?”

Silence. Kylo was a wolf, thirsty for her rabbit blood. But she wasn’t backing down.

“You never answer my questions,” she said. “Not even after I… I’ve lied for you, taken responsibility for your thoughtlessness, thrown you parties to help with your ridiculously poor public image--”

His fists furled. “None of which I requested.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Her voice was rising. “I did it for you! I did it for Gilead, I--I… I did it for our future!” she said. “One day, we’re going to have a child together, and I want that child to know the Gilead that I know!”

The tear at your thumb split past the nail bed. A child. Your child. Just hours ago you would’ve been sickly elated to be pregnant. Now you wanted to rip your uterus out, barren with bare hands. Gilead was no place to create new life. And Kylo Ren certainly wasn’t the man to create new life with. What had you been thinking? Blood beaded, slipped in a fat drop down your knuckle. It was a relief.

“The Gilead you know is imperfect.” His hands were still balled. “You’re clinging to the past.”

“I’m clinging to what God would’ve wanted!”

“You’re clinging to what Moden Canady wanted.”

Johana’s face tightened, and she sneered, pointing an accusatory finger at her husband. “At least Moden would’ve thanked me!” she said. “Moden would’ve never had an affair with--with some whore, someone disgusting enough to be made a Handmaid to begin with!”

“Johana.”

Flush heat bloomed red at her neck, in her cheeks. “Moden loved me,” she seethed, “he would never have left me alone, he would never have--”

“Enough.”

“--forgotten his purpose as a husband, which is to protect me, to care for me--”

“Enough.”

“--and he never would’ve humiliated me by having some whore wear my old clothes in front of everybody I know!”

A pause. Kylo glimpsed you for only a second--saw your bleeding thumb--but did not respond.

Johana trembled, veins bulging in her neck, and she advanced on him. “Where’s my dress?” When he didn’t respond, she screeched, whirling on you. “Where is my dress!”

You were a statue, a worthy target of her ire, as she lunged and charged you, hand shooting for your hair. Kylo growled, snatched her wrist, and she wailed, jerking back, teeth bared in primal rage. He met her with dispassionate irritation as she twisted, yanked, shrieked in his grip, the rabbit now caged by the wolf.

“Let me go, Kylo!”

She flailed, tried to pry him off, whined as she failed to budge even a single finger. Wrath collapsed into resignation, and she groaned, desperation swelling and dying in her chest, recognizing the futility of it all. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath, smoothed her hair with her free hand and straightened.

“Commander,” she said. “Please, let me go.”

He did, and she whipped her arm back, rubbing her wrist.

“Your dress has been returned to your closet,” he replied. “Where it belongs.”

It almost sounded as if he’d apologized, though that couldn’t be right. It wasn’t for her benefit, anyway, if he had--but you were still too numb to notice.

Johana blinked, then recovered, crossing her arms. “If you think that fixes anything, Sir, it doesn’t,” she said. “Really, just keep the dress wherever you want it. Throw it out, for all I care. I’m sleeping in the guest room down the hall tonight.” She leered at you. “Enjoy.” Then she turned on her heel and left.

The word enjoy made it seem as if you could imagine nothing better than spending another night with the man who had murdered your only confidant in front of you. Ofarmitage’s betrayal was forgivable--after all, it was your trust in your own Commander that had gotten her killed. The fact was, her only mistake had been that she hadn’t been sleeping with Kylo Ren. You two had been one in the same. Equally enslaved, equally naive, equally expendable. Had Hux gotten his way, you’d be the one with the broken neck.

In a way, you envied her.

Alone in the room with your Commander, you continued to sit, unable--unwilling--to make eye contact with him, studying instead the dry red river that had now trickled to your palm. The air was still, emptied even of awkwardness. There was nothing between you, right now, that you wanted to feel. Behind you, beyond the large bay window, mourning doves cooed their soft, sage song.

He shifted, his gaze razor wire, slicing your skin at the thought of being around him a second longer. Glaring at the floor, you stood, marching toward the exit. Kylo reached for your arm, and you dodged him like he was a poltergeist.

“Don’t touch me!” you spat, shrugging your shoulder as if to banish his curse.

You stalked through the halls and up the stairs, head pounding with your audacity. He didn’t try to follow you, and you were glad. A storm ravaged your mind--what was the point of this, or the point of anything?

Enslaved in the home of malevolence manifested, tainted. Terrorized. Everything and anything turned to sand in your mouth, pouring and pouring down your throat until you choked and sputtered and wept into a soundless void. There would be no reprieve from this, in this future or any other future, not as long as you remained you, stupid and gullible and more craven than shadows in sun.

No saints in Gilead indeed--and next to Kylo Ren, you were the worst of them; he’d held you in his blood-soaked hands and stained you with his sins. You were worse than unforgivable.

You were unsalvageable.

When you made it to your room, you slammed the door, ripped your wings and bonnet from your hair, and threw yourself on the bed, smothering your face with your pillow.

There was no screaming, no tears--you held the pillow to your nose and mouth, sucking in nothingness, willing whatever black wraith that controlled your fate to guide you out of this hell and the next. You had no hope for heaven, you decided, if it existed--you’d been to bed with a barbarian, sought solace in his arms, spoiled your soul under his spell. You deserved nothing but utter damnation.

Another deep breath of nothing, and another, lack of oxygen burning behind your eyes, your lungs starved--just a little longer, and you’d pass out. Yet despite your self-loathing, the base of your brain kicked in, hijacking your intent, and you rolled over gasping, staring at the ceiling as static sizzled in your sight.

As you heaved, seconds tumbled into minutes, the desire for self-destruction crumbling with it. A soft sigh escaped. Killing yourself would do nothing but award Gilead another body. If anything, you would live out of spite, denying it the satisfaction of your surrender.

In fact, you’d do more than live out of spite. You’d do what you promised. You’d get the blade with Snoke’s blood and you’d turn it over to the Resistance the second you had a chance.

The resolution brought a calm to your chest. The rest of the day whittled away as you did nothing but lie in bed, apart from eating your quick lunch and dinner in silence. Neither Johana nor your Commander made an appearance throughout your day and into the night, allowing you some time to process. Staring into your ceiling, you picked at your thumb again, peeling the scab.

It was difficult to put into words what you felt for Kylo Ren, but you knew that whatever it was, it had been unlike anything you’d ever experienced, before Gilead or after. The sexual chemistry was one thing, of course, but there was something greater than that, something almost irrevocable. It was the vestiges of compassion in his eyes, the throttled tenderness in his hands, the buried loneliness, his persistent phantom--the phantom that knew you, too.

More shredding of skin, a rush of release shot through your veins. That was the fact that most attracted and disturbed you, the fact that bound you together, the fact that tore you apart--the fact that in the depths of Gilead’s despair, you’d found each other, seen the other with needle-sharp clarity, both born into an unspoken but magnetic understanding.

You’d peered into the pits of his pain, he’d held you, helpless and fractured. He’d been your savior, your asylum, your normality; you’d grounded him and challenged and incited him. And despite this ethereal intimacy that wove between you--

Kylo Ren had deceived you and bound you to insanity, eliminated all avenues of escape--except through him. He was a beast unleashed, devouring his prey and his protectors alike in a gambit to possess it all. He was agony and rage, seeking a home. Kylo Ren was a man so long tormented by demons that he had finally become one.

And you truly, unconditionally hated him.

You stared at your ravaged thumb through the darkness, your blood black in the moonlight. Crickets hummed in harmony outside. In the hall, footsteps creaked the floorboards. Long, strong strides. Your heart seized, face hot. Your door opened.

Kylo Ren--your mirror, your spectre, your Commander--stepped through and closed it behind him. Under the glow of stars, his beauty was a black hole, celestial and sinister, hauling you toward complete annihilation.

“I haven’t seen you,” he said. “All day.”

“I haven’t wanted you to see me.”

“You’re angry.” He stepped forward, inspecting your face. “Your life was endangered. You know that.”

Sighing, you refused to meet his eyes, focusing on your gnarled cuticle. “You made me watch her die.”

“It was important that they see where you stand.”

You balked. “What? Where I stand?”

“Your importance,” he said. “To Gilead. To me.” He paused. “And that attempts to disrupt that will not be tolerated.”

“But I’m disrupting Gilead,” you said. “You’re okay with tolerating that?” Sitting up, you shook your head. “You know from the party last night that I’m still working with the Resistance. Shouldn’t I be killed?” You pried more dry skin from your thumb--pain daggered up your wrist. “Don’t you want to hang--”

“Stop.”

You frowned. “Answer my question, or don’t tell me what to do,” you replied. “I’m not different than Ofarmitage. I fucked you. I even--” The word stuck in your throat, a rock. “I even cared about you.” You sighed. “She wanted more with her Commander. She did what she had to do to get it.” Your nails were caked with blood. “Just like I did.”

Kylo stepped toward your bed. “Whether or not she is different is unimportant,” he said. “She is not you. She threatened you--threatened me.” He paused. “It won’t happen again.”

Hot indignation coursed through you. “What, so she’s just… a sacrifice?”

He came closer. “She was an example.”

“She was a person!” you snapped. “ She had--she had a life!” Your body shook with anger. “You killed her! And now no one will know. No one will know who she was.” Despair coiled your chest. “I didn’t even know her name.”

Kylo Ren was silent. His gaze wandered the room, lingering on the vacant window, your red cheeks, and settled on the floor, lids falling in a slow blink. He ground his teeth in thought, following the lines of the floorboards, tracking their notches. The knot in his throat bobbed, and he blinked again. A tiny exhale escaped his nose. Slowly, his focus returned to you.

“It’s… unfortunate,” he said. “But if protecting your life means that others die in your place, then so be it.”

You shook your head, folding your arms over your chest. “You don’t get to kill just because it pleases you.”

“Pleases me?” His eyes widened, a nameless turmoil bubbling to life within them. “Little bird,” he hissed, “I have no choice.”

“You keep saying that,” you replied, “but you’re wrong. You’ve had choices this entire time. I’m the one without a choice! I’m the one stuck here, under you!”

He edged closer, tone like a knife. “There is no choice regarding your safety.”

“But people aren’t expendable!”

Kylo Ren pounced, cornering you, fist slamming the wall. “There was nothing to me but Gilead!” His voice was living death. “Now there is you.” His chin trembled, teeth bared. “And I will keep you alive at the expense of existence itself.”

You stared at him--looming over you, agonized anguish behind his gaze--remembering the man you’d seen the night before, the man whose eyes found you when you’d woken in the morning, the man who’d said your name. Then there was the masked monster pulling the lever, the machine who’d massacred his leader’s mansion, the Commander who’d deserted his duty. Kylo Ren was all of these men--and all of them had done all of it for you.

Swallowing, you dug into your cuticle, popping another twig of flesh free and tearing at it. “You disgust me.” You weren’t sure if you were speaking to him or yourself.

A long, slow breath left him, his chest deflating.

“The worst part of this is that I understand why you did it.”

He eased back, looking between you and your mangled thumb. “You do.”

“Yeah.”

You’d kept the Resistance at arm’s length, paying less than lip service, avoiding their inquiries, denying them information that could liberate not just you, but thousands. Even after he’d killed Poe. Your loyalty likely came at the expense of other lives you didn’t know. At the time, it felt like you didn’t have a choice. Who else was dying, now, because of your reluctance? You supposed if you hated him, you hated yourself, too.

“I guess I’m still just… you.”

You drove your nail into your leision, seeking more thin skin, blood smudging your fingers. Having done that, you flayed another layer, twitching as capillaries were rended raw. Kylo sat at the foot of your mattress, watching you work.

“You’re hurting yourself.”

You shrugged. “I could do worse.”

He caught your hand, pulling you from your self-mutilation, and examined it, rotating your wrist. Holding you in his gaze, he brought your bloody thumb to his mouth and pressed his lips to it, a salve of devotion--and then guided it inside, sealing it between his teeth. Your breath stalled, pulse paralyzed as he sucked, tongue sliding up and around the tender wound, cleaning the crimson new and old. Shivers scampered over you, and he purred in soft satisfaction, laving your sensitive pad, dragging his teeth over the knuckle before pulling it free.

“My bed is open to you.” He kissed your thumb again, his affection like anesthesia. “Come lie with me.”

“Lie with you.” The words withered in your throat. No, you didn’t hate yourself--you didn’t even hate him. But this game of hopeless passion had become too deadly, too personal. You were done playing. “I don’t want to.”

He blinked. “You don’t.”

Frowning, you met his eyes, and found a terrified tempest howling behind them. Your hands quaked; you remembered the wisp of him on your lips, dew drops of worship in your ear, the wholeness you’d felt in his embrace. It thrashed in your chest, luminous and blooming into your blood. And you would sooner dessicate your veins than admit it was there at all.

“No.” You tore your hand from him, cradling it to your chest. “I don’t.”

He didn’t move. His eye twitched. “Come.”

“No.” Staring at the wall, you steeled your jaw. “Just… go away. Leave me alone.”

Kylo Ren swallowed, fear a fog in his gaze. With rash-red lips, he murmured your name.

Heat rushed your spine. You shook your head. “Don’t call me that anymore.”

Silence. He shifted on the bed. “Please.”

You speared him with a glare. “Get out of my room, Commander.”

Kylo looked to your hand, still clutched to your heart, and to your face, searching for something in the quiet of the night. Then he stood, staring out into the yard, fingers tensing. After a moment without a word, he turned, opened the door, and disappeared into the hall.

You collapsed into bed, gaze chained to the ceiling. Without him, ache filtered back through your body, your thumb now throbbing in pain. Hot shame streaked through you. Eyes closed, you pressed it to your mouth, futilely trying to taste his lips.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #I just love being sad...

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aenwoedbeannaa · 5 years ago

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A Curse Meant to Be Broken | Part 5

Summary: Geralt and his companion spend some time alone at Kaer Morhen, but reality interrupts.

Warning: Smut, mentions of assault/abuse (very vague)

A/N: Ok, I know this took forever, but here we are. I had so much fun getting back into this story. I have to admit, I think it’s my favorite. Thanks for reading, yada yada--kofi here, masterlist here, taglist here. Enjoy!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

En’ca Minne

Geralt’s lips against yours, warmth radiating from his strong, firm body. His scent, comforting and alluring. Your brain bad short-circuited; those are the only things you can focus on. The kiss is soft and gentle but full of need all at once—a mess of contradictions, like the Witcher with the stone face but the heart of gold, like the girl who’d been naught more than a slave only a month ago, timid and terrified but able to battle a noonwraith and come out of it alive.

It is all lips and tongues and teeth as the two of you seemingly attempt to drink each other in, as if you can somehow fuse yourselves into one. The pad of his thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away the tears of rage that had started to cool and dry there.

Your hand clutched wildly at the open collar of his shirt, wanting to feel his bare skin—to feel the slow, steady heartbeat. One of his tangled in your hair, holding you with pressure that was firm but not forceful.

Neither of you had the capacity to think about anything else—certainly not about Lambert and Eskel in the next room, who had let worry blind them enough that they didn’t wait and listen; didn’t use those Witcher senses as they should have. Then again, neither you nor Geralt, with Witcher’s hearing of his own, registered the hurried steps coming from the room over. Neither of you heard them calling your names as they rushed down the hallway.

“Geralt, what’s going—“ Eskel stopped, holding up his hand towards Lambert, who’d been slower to follow, though he made it to the open doorway, anyway.

“Oh,” Lambert said quite loudly, stopped in the middle of the doorway.

The two of you, who hadn’t even managed it to get up off the floor, zapped apart as if lighting had struck, both breathing heavy.

Your face burns with embarrassment—from what you’d overheard, it didn’t seem like they liked you very much, and now this. You’d very much like to disappear into the wall. But neither says anything for a moment, until the older looking one simply shoots Geralt a knowing look and says, “Sorry, Wolf.”

He pulls the door shut behind himself and the younger one, leaving you and Geralt alone. Face still burning, you pull your knees up against your chest, burying your head. “Gods, I- I’m sorry.”

Geralt, on the other hand, just laughs, once again closing the distance between the two of you. “Sorry for what?” You can hear his smile as he scoots closer to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You can’t quite manage to lift your head to look at him, so you speak into your knees, “Causing a scene.”

Geralt chuckles, fingers brushing through your hair, “A kiss isn’t quite a scene, Y/N.”

You sigh heavily, finally lifting your head from the cocoon you’d made yourself. Your face is still burning hot, flushed with embarrassment, but also with excitement. Despite the embarrassment, you would very much like for things to continue. You feel an unfamiliar flutter in your belly—a tingle in your whole body that you’d never felt before. When Stephic had thrown you at men, you’d never felt like this. You’d never felt anything. You’d blocked it all out, pretended like it wasn’t happening at all.

But with Geralt… You look at him and you just want to touch every inch of him, for him to touch every inch of you. The two of you lock eyes, and that feeling increases tenfold.

“You are beautiful when you blush,” the Witcher purrs, moving to stand up and wrapping his arms around you—still careful not to touch the fading marks across your back—and pulls you up with him. Of course, his words only make your heart rate faster; make your cheeks feel even hotter. Though, it seems he likes that reaction, because he hooks the fingers of one hand under your chin, tilting your head up so he can look straight into your eyes.

For a moment, he simply holds your gaze. His eyes are soft, warm, comforting—he looked at you the way you’d always dreamed a man would look at you, in a way that you thought was just a fantasy. Something that would never happen—not for someone like you.

Then, he leans in closer, leaving only the slightest bit of space between your lips and his. You lips tremble slightly, tears threatening to slip from your eyes. They aren’t sad tears, of course. Despite the poison making its way through your veins this very moment, nothing matters except the Witcher before you. You expect him to crash his lips to yours, but he does something quite different. He offers you a small smile before placing a kiss to each side of your face, just where the tears have escaped from your eyes despite the desperate attempts to hide them.

He kisses each one, lips soft and gentle, before pulling back slightly, his look turning more serious, but remaining warm as ever. “You are allowed to cry, you know,” he says, “You’ve been through so much… So much I wish I could have protected you from.”

At that, something snaps within you and tears start to flow, no chance of blinking them back. But you shake your head, laughing slightly. “Oh, Witcher,” you say, “I’m not crying because I am upset. I’m crying because… I… I never thought that I would have… this.”

Geralt moves his hands to cup each side of your face, the pad of each thumb brushing away tears. He leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head and you smile, leaning into him, leaning into his touch. This time, when he tilts your head up to look at him, your eyes meet his for a moment before they shift to his full lips. He smiles that little smirk of a smile you’ve come to love so much and leans in, bringing his lips gently to yours.

He holds you like you are delicate, something that might break if he squeezes too tight, and his lips move against yours in much the same manner. When he parts your lips with his tongue, he does it softly, first tracing your lower lip with the tip of his tongue, making you sigh and melt into him and taking advantage of your parted lips to gently explore your mouth.

Your hands rest on his chest, one directly over his heart. You press your palm against him, letting your fingers gently explore, enjoying the slow, steady beat of his heart. You smile into the kiss and Geralt pulls away for just a moment, looking down at you for a moment, “What is it?”

“Your heart,” you say with a sweep of her thumb, “It beats so slowly. Steadily.”

When Geralt reaches out a hand and places it over your heart, you gasp softly. The warmth of his hand over your heart has your heart beating wildly. “And yours is beating fast as a rabbit’s.”

You can’t quite suppress the giggle as Geralt leans over to kiss you quickly, “Do I make you so nervous?”

Your blush gives you away, so Geralt doesn’t wait long enough for you to answer before he brings his lips to your neck. You head seems to tilt back of its own accord as a soft moan escapes your lips. At the sound, Geralt hums appreciatively as his lips and tongue move over you neck, coaxing more of the sounds from your lips.

Your hands tangle in his hair is as his arms wrap around you, lifting you up into the air and carrying you over to the large bed you’d not yet had a chance to lay in. You get the impression that if your back were not still injured, he would toss you down onto the soft bed. Instead, he gently bends at the waist, placing you on the bed.

You blink up at him, enjoying the view, enjoying his gentle weight on you as he rests most of it on his forearms. Your breathing is heavy, contrasting with his even, measured breaths. But you could see from the fire in his amber eyes that he was feeling everything you were—his Witcher senses were just better at hiding it.

One of his hands moving to unlace your top hand you breathing even harder as he pressed his lips to yours once more. Now, I it feels like you cannot breathe at all, but you don’t care. You don’t need air, you just need him.

When he manages to unlace the soft material of your nightdress, his lips trail back down, first your jaw, then your neck and lower, to your collarbone, and then to the bare skin of your chest as he pushes the material out of his way. You let out a heavy sigh that turns into a moan as his lips and tongue trace your skin, moving ever closer to your nipple. When he gently pulls it into his mouth, flicking the hardened nub, you barely even register the moan that escapes your lips. Your brain is focused only on Geralt, and on his mouth.

He laughs, a low rumbling sound, and flicks his eyes up to meet yours, “You make the loveliest sounds when my mouth is on you.” His voice is low and husky in a way you’d never heard it before.

“It’s just, I—” you gasp out as he turns his attention to your other breast, letting his finger trace soft circles around the one he’d just lavished with attention, “It’s never felt good, never felt like this.”

For a moment, his eyes seem to lose focus, clouded with anger—at Stephic, at men he didn’t know, had never met—at anyone who’d hurt you. Your chest tightens, another wave of emotion crashing over you. He cared for you. He wasn’t just here to take what he wanted and leave. The only thing he wanted from you was you.

Everything else was nothing.

The cloud seemed to dissipate, his eyes flicking up to yours once more, clear as ever. You gave him a ghost of a smile, and he responded in that husky voice, “I promise you that with me, it will always feel like this.”

Your hands have nothing to do but tangle in his silver hair as his mouth returns to your chest, kissing and teasing until you were writhing beneath him, attempting to move your hips up to meet his, desperate for any contact. Thankfully, he took the message and pulled back slightly so that he could slip one hand up under your nightdress, calloused fingers moving up from your ankle to your calf, then the soft skin of your thigh. You gasped as he let his fingers gently brush up against your underthings, which were absolutely soaked.

You didn’t have time to be embarrassed, couldn’t be embarrassed thanks to the low growl that came from somewhere deep in his chest. He teased you a bit more, letting his fingers trace from your entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at your center. Despite the fact that his fingers were still separated from you by the scrap of thin material, you mewled, urging him on; needing to feel more of him.

As if he were reading your mind, he hooks his fingers in the soaked material and pulls them off, tossing them somewhere on the floor behind him. “Gods,” he breathed, letting a finger circle your most sensitive spot so gently it was maddening, “Look at you, en’ca minne,” he adds another finger, moving them back and forth across the sensitive nub, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your brain is clouded with pleasure and trying to decipher what he just said is nearly impossible given that fact and your limited knowledge of the language the Elder Speech. Whatever it means, he says it with so much care that you don’t really care what it means one way or the other.

He traces his fingers slowly to your entrance, circling around it several times, but not pushing in despite your protesting.

“Geralt,” you breathe, “Please—”

But then there is a sound on the other side of the door, several loud knocks in quick succession.

Your heart jumps up into your throat as Geralt withdraws his hand, turning to stand, irritation written all over his face.

“Dammit, Lambert, Eskel, can’t you leave it alone for a—”

“Geralt, that is no way to talk to your elder.”

Geralt’s mouth snaps shut as he glances at the door, and then at you. You’ve already started lacking up your night dress again, though you still have no idea where your underwear went—which is entirely mortifying. Thankfully, he waits for you to grab another pair from your still open dresser that you’d only half unpacked your things into and pull them on with shaky hands.

Once you’ve managed to dress yourself and somewhat fix your mussed hair, Geralt finally goes to the door and opens it. Vizimir looks at Geralt apologetically, “Sorry to intrude.” He says it so nonchalantly that you get the impression that his probably happened dozens of time times. You do remember Geralt telling you that Vizimir was very old, and that he’d been in charge of Kaer Morhen for a very long time. You suppose his nonchalance eases your embarrassment somewhat—but only somewhat.

You knit your fingers together anxiously, looking between the two men. You know that mind reading is not something Witchers can do, but you can’t help but feel as if the two are exchanging information silently while you just shift nervously from one foot to the other, completely in the dark.

“You must have come up here for something important,” you let the words slip from your mouth. Truly, since being away from your old home, you’d become more and more able to speak up for yourself—to voice your concerns without the fear of being punished for it. You like to think that your mother would be happy to see the return of her loud, opinionated daughter, who had been missing for so long.

“I did,” Visimir says, taking a few steps into the room. Once he makes it past Geralt, you see a vial of something in his hand. It is full of a strange liquid you’ve never seen before—it was a bright yellow color, like the color of Geralt’s eyes in the sun. Your eyes narrow, focusing on the bottle. You cannot guess what it is, exactly, but you can guess why he’s brought it up here.

Geralt’s eyes have also focused on the vial, recognition blooming on his face in the form of a sharp grimace. “Visimir…” he trails off as Visimir gives him a sharp look, though his eyes look unbelievably sad.

You back up slowly, unthinkingly, until the backs of your legs hit the bed and you sit down with a heavy sigh. Of course, since you’d arrived here, you knew what was going to happen. You know what choice you’ve made, and you don’t plan on changing your mind—but it still makes your heart hammer in your chest.

“Visimir,” Geralt tries again, “We’ve only just arrived. Can she not have one night of peace?” There is an edge to the silver haired Witcher’s voice that you have rarely heard. It was fear lacing his words.

“I wish that I could,” Visimir says gently, taking a few more steps into the room, toward you. “But, Geralt, you know the mutations will only work if she’s taken the proper mutigens. Without the mutigens—”

“It would be suicide,” you cut off the old man. Even you, with your limited knowledge, know that. Trying to mutate someone’s DNA is risky, nearly impossible.

“Yes,” Visimir confirms.

“But certainly, it can wait until tomorrow—”

“No, Geralt.” It is you who cuts off the Witcher this time. You draw in a shaky breath, “I can… I can feel the venom,” you admit. There was an ache in your back, which thankfully was dull at the moment, but you know that it will only get worse.

Visimir nods, eyes locking on yours, “We are going to have to begin as soon as possible, before the damage becomes irreparable.”

Geralt sighs, running a hand through his loose hair and pacing toward the bed, “Fuck.”

You hold out your hand, reaching for the vial, which Visimir hands you. Despite his words, he handed it over slightly reluctantly, clearly not relishing the idea of you drinking it. But you’ve already made up your mind, and immediately uncork the small bottle.

“Wait, Y/N,” Geralt holds out a hand as if to take it from you, “Before you drink it, you have to know what—”

“Please, Geralt, do not tell me about the fucking side effects.” You don’t want to hear about them, you don’t want to know what is about to happen. You just know that you need to survive this; you need to be with Geralt. You need your life to continue.

So you put the bottle to your lips and tilt your head back, swallowing the mixture in one go, gagging slightly on the taste.

For a moment, you feel nothing aside from an alcohol burn down your throat, but then you feel something else—a blooming pain radiating from your chest. You gasp, pressing your hands to your chest, as if you could somehow tear yourself open and get the mixture out, dropping the vial in the process.

“You’ll keep watch, I’m sure?” Visimir asks Geralt, who nods gravely as he rushes to your side, sitting down next to you on the bed.

You watch Visimir leave, first stopping in the doorway to tell Geralt that he’d be in the lab if he was needed. And then, he is gone.

You are gulping for air, even though each breath burns like fire. The only comfort is Geralt beside you, pulling you against him and easing you into bed. You look up at him with wide eyes, shaking your head vehemently, “Geralt… I won’t be able to fucking sleep!” The words come out choppily, through gasps of air.

Geralt’s face screws into a more serious, grave expression than you’d ever seen, and he looks down at you. “Y/N,” he mutters, “I would never normally use it on you, but… you know about axii?”

You nod, vaguely remembering the Witcher sign that could control minds. Honestly, you don’t care what he does so long as you can sleep—so that you can escape this pain. “Just… make it stop,” you plead.

“I will, en’ca minne,” he whispers, one hand stroking your hair and the other gripping your hand tightly.

He removes his hand from your forehead, tracing a sign above you and whispering under his breath, “Sleep, my love.”

And suddenly, despite the pain, you feel every part of your body relax, your breaths becoming more even as your eyes slip shut.

Oh yes, you think, I’m very tired. So, so tired.

You fall asleep clutching Geralt’s hand, and he stays awake all night. He knows you are strong, and you will fight, but he will not let you go through this alone. He will not let anything happen to you.

Taglist: @earthtokace @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @they-call-me-thewildrose @mystriee @hi-there-x @queenie-b- @pantrashtic @ivvitm1109 @hecatemacbeth7 @whatiswrongwithpeople @ayamenimthiriel @evyiione @comicbeginning @curlyhairedandconfused @jellicorn05 @superconfusedandreadytorumble @keithseabrook27 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @sinnamon-bunn @sallyp-53 @superconfusedandreadytorumble

#story: a curse meant to be broken #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia #imagine #fanfiction #the witcher #fic #geralt smut #smut

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zuffer-weird-girl · 5 years ago

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Arrangements (part 4)

PHEW never thought I would actually be run out of ideas for this series I created right on the start of this blog neither that I was going to be filled with requests 😂 but finally is here the fourth part about it.

If you're not familiar, pls take a sneak peak on the masterlist that the three first part are all there, it won't hurt you promise 👀

Anyway. Enjoy it! (Or not, if that's the case I'm sorry)

You tighten the know made of sheets, certifications were never too much. Especially on this situation you got involved with.

Your dad was a wise man. Even though daring to contradict a contract with the boss of the Shie Hassaikai, he insisted for you to start preparing your escapade. His quirk on action as well while you prepared for in the middle of the night to jump from that balcony and escape that arrangement marriage.

You sweared on your life that this was madness, that you tried to deny your father's offer for his own safety, but he insisted. He refused to let his kid drown on a life with the mafia like he did... out of pure desperation.

You jumped when you heard talking from the other side and immediately covered your made up rope as you turned your front to the door. Widening your eyes a bit in fear when you catch those monotonous, cold, unforgiving golden eyes on you.

He didn't say a word, merely closing the door behind him. Never taking his glance out of you. He averted his eyes a bit only to carres a desk with that gloved hand of his, he soon bringed the said palm as he rubbed his index finger with his thumb, face the same as always ever since you met him.

"Dirty." He muttered in what only could be called disgust. A frow forming on his forehead as he inspected the room "Good for nothing subordinates I see." He mumbled nonchantly to himself as you gulped down the air stuck on your throat.

His amber eyes suddenly looked back at you, irritation present on this time as he spoke like you were some kind of mischievous child.

"I see that or you are throwing a tantrum about not eating for whatever reason, or you simply still haven't customized around the place." He sighed with annoyance as he arche done eyebrow "Which one is it?"

You furrowed your eyebrows at his arrogance and curled your hands into fits, but still got your compusture together.

"Well, as some forced thing, clearly I wouldn't be on the most comfortable side of here." You spoke with a tad bit of fear, lowering your gaze down at noticing that he didn't even blinked while looking at you.

"Such childish thing." He scoffed and looked at the window of your room "In your place many would be considered lucky, be grateful for such a place on the Shie Hassaikai. But instead you are taking more time to simply get used to it?" He asked in sarcasm as you cringed.

"Grateful for it? Your men had dragged my father out of this place only because he didn't wanted to accept the deal!" You almost exclaimed and got even more furious at sieng how he didn't showed one bit of emotion on that face of his.

"For the subbordinates to take him out like that he must have done something. Nothing in here is done without a good reason for it."

"Yeah sure, the reason was because my father was a decent man that simply didn't took Arrangement marriage as a option?!"

"He had a debt with the headmaster." His gaze darkned as he took steps closer "And this was the price. Wanting or not you're an example of purity on this sick word, and a great partner to be. So this is both of us fate, so deal with it." He hissed the last words as you scoffed.

"Fate is not something to put up with." You glared back at him "Is something that us, human creatures, choose to make. And marriage should be done with people you love and have feelings for it, I don't even know you!"

"Trying to make me laugh? Humans in general are disgusting creatures that cant even see besides their own selves on the mirror, selfish and sick as always. And about that... word, what are you? Ten? This is not some make up story, this is real life." He got closer to your face and you could feel the warmth breath of his passing through his mask and hitting your face slightly "Love does not exist. What exist is desires, nothing more nothing less."

"Then you really had a bad as hell childhood man..." you muttered but immediately regreted at seing his calm eyes turning into wide and feral ones.

"You've got some disrespect there then." He growled as he towered over you like a wolf cornering a rabbit... ready to kill at any moment "Listen well. You are now my property. And there is nothing you can do to change that, or you accept in the good or in the bad way."

You scoffed at that but hitted the wall behind you, your nerves getting the best of you as the man returned to hsi cold, yet ready to attack at any moment, attitude.

"As if I'm ever going to listen a spoiled man that thinks that only because a deal was settled he gets what he wants. I dont know you, and neither you did little to earn my respect or my trust." Your eyes changed daggers with his glare.

"So in the bad way then..." he muttered lifting up his hand as he snuck one or two fingers under his gloves as you only furrowed your eyebrows in both confusion and curiosity.

Even before he xould finish, shouts were heard and both of you jolted your heads at that. But then... one of the many man's voices got your attention, making your heart almost jump out of your throat, your knees grow weak, mind goes numb as you could only mutter one word.

"Dad.." you whispered and somehow Chisaki managed to catch it before you stormed out of the room as he looked at you... curiously.

First person who dares to speak to him like that and quirkless no less? An interesting yet irritading little thing you were aparently.

You screamed at the scene in the front yard, your dad being pinned down by a much larger and muscular man as he grabbed your father by the hair and slammed his head right on one of the many path of stones.

"STOP! PLEASE STOP!" you screamed and went to grab on the man's arm to at least try to prevent him from hurting your father no less.

"What is the meaning of this..?" The head master voice echoes as the man whose was beating your father answered.

"This man tried to get in boss. A thief or something."

"NO HE ISN'T!" You cried out loud while hitting his arms repeatedly "LET GO! UNHAND HIM!"

"No Rikiya." The elder sighed "This is one of my old debtors. What brings him here at this hours is what it doubts me."

You sobbed and the man, aparently the name was Rikiya, had enough of you bugging on his arm. Scoffing and throwing you away.

You prepared for a fall right on the dirty ground... not colliding with a chest and arms to prevent your fall and possible bruises.

The man himself, the one who just and argued with you, was there. Monotonous and stoic expression present as always as his face was iluminated by the moon and starts on the sky. He wasn't looking at you, yet was with his arms on you preventing you from failing.

The action didn't last long since he immediately pushed you away after some time, as he arched one eyebrow at the bloody nose and forehead man standing on his knees right in front of him.

"My commurate, care to explain to me what you're doing at such a hour in here?"

Your father didn't muttered a words as your heartbeat was in yours ears. Especoally when you saw two more man appearing out of no where.

The elder sighed while Chisaki lifted his hand to catch the headmaster attention, the old man sighing again before nodding apprehensively. Chisaki seemed pleased at that, snapping his fingers as some sort of call to one of the man, he merely pointed at your father after that as the guy nodded, walking close to your father before asking.

"What brings you here?" He asked while you stared at your father, his lips quivering as if he was holding himself back...

"I came in here to get my daughter back. I wont accept her to fall in the same fate of having to depend or even worse even live on some yakusa place." Your father and yours eyes opened up in horror as you felt a dark aurea coming from Chisaki from besides you.

"Now this is my option and my decision Chisaki. You've doen enough." He scoffed at that, averting his eyes away in anger as your own fixed on the headmaster.

"My old friend..." the old man frowned before sighing and returning to his old composture "You know the rules, betray and have one finger or member out."

No... god no...

"Yes sir." Your father mumbled as the man, Kurono came from behind you with a fucking katana. You could tell it was sharp by only looking at it.

No..!

Your father was released from Rikiya's grip and didn't even moved when Kurono got closer, lifting his sword just a bit as your father shakily offered his wrist.

"NO!" You shouted and the old man looked at you.

"Those are the rules young lady. Your father knows better then this."

"PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO HIM!" Yoi sobbed and fell on your knees "I BEG YOU! ALL OF YOU! FOR GOD'S SAKE JUST HAVE MERCY!"

For some unknown reason Chisaki felt his chest tighten at the hysterical way you cried, making him even change looks between Kurono and your sobbing figurine on the floor.

"Please s-sir! H-he Is my only f-family! Dont hurt him!" You cried even more and even almost howled as the headmaster frowned.

"Why, isn't your mother..?"

"She is in a coma!" You exclaimed with tears rolling down your face as you spoke, making Kai's eyes go wide open "For about ten years! Please I beg you! Cut my own arm or finger, I dont care! Just dont hurt my father!" You cried in your hands as Chisaki saw your father's teary eyes looking at you, muttering something hoarsely...

It was your name...

He frowned at your figurine and sighed, grabbing you by the arm and lifting you up with a scoff. The headmaster arched one eyebrow at his sucessor making his way to Kurono, taking the sword out of his grasp and ordering the man to get up.

You stood unmoving on the ground, trembling like a leaf as you looked at the man you fought earlier extending the sword right at your father's chest, one inch or less as a distance.

Then he did something that made you confused, but at least got your breath back... he threw the sword on the ground, still staring at your father as he spoked something to him.

Your dad's eyes open wide at that before looking over you. You called weakly for him and he smiled, doing a little salute as he dismissed himself from there and excused for his actions.

Although, he called for Chisaki for something. The man arching one eyebrow at that before your father handed something neatly wrapped on a napkin to him, speaking to him as Chisaki did not even changed his facial expression.

And in one blink of an eye, the gates of the yakusa closed, you with teary eyes at the floor as your father looked back, one last smile before the gates closed.

You blinked the tears away as the mens present made their way back to their quartes, you looked down at the wooden floor of the balcony... wondering if what you saw was real... he had just gone away and neither of you got punished for it? You knew how the yakusa worked...

You gasped at noticing the shoes of your future fiance, looking up at him and seing hiw the moon this time gave him a form of the halo... his face already with the black mask emerged on the darkest, yet his golden eyes shined through it.

"Get out from the floor." He ordered nonchantly, you got up, almost tripping over again "Take a shower and go to bed. This is what we will call it a might so far, don't bother me with nonsense or dissobey orders."

And with that he was walking back inside, hands on his pockets as his heart thumped hardly on his chest, grasping it in his glived hand as a form to steady himself.

What the hell did you do..?

You looked in disbelief. It couldn't be right...Such a arrogant man like him just... saved your father form having a badly injury..?

Did you really knew him? Did you really knee the man called Chisaki Kai?

#overhaul x reader #overhaul scenario #fanfic overhaul #overhaul #chisaki kai imagine scenario #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #my writing #zuffer writings

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Family, Duty, Honor [Part 3]

Part 1 | Part 2

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 7: Loyalty To sovereign, country, and the code of chivalry

Obi was no stranger to a good fuck, not even among silk sheets. He’d worn a different face then-- so many had crossed over him, before he’d earn the warning over his brow-- but the body remembered, no matter what shape it bore. His hands may be deft with a blade, but they were even more cunning with a woman; he’d had every girl between Asshai and Estermont screaming whatever name he’d borne before moonrise on a summer night.

So there’s no godsdamned reason for him to have two fucking left hands now.

One hooks behind her head, the other round her slip of a waist, and-- and he means to scare her, just a little, to show her what a man could do if she gave herself to him-- but she softens instead of struggles, and oh, he hadn’t counted on her being pliant in his arms. This is supposed to be leap from a tower, not a surrender.

His mouth meets hers, and for a sweet moment, everything fades away, paling in comparison to the softness of her lips. To how they nestle so perfectly against his. It’s no longer about silencing the question he doesn’t dare to answer, or a calculated feint to make her retreat, but instead--

He wants this. All of it. There has never been a sweeter nectar than her gasp against his lips, a more arousing touch than her fingers clutching at his shirt, a more heady brew than the way she flows into him as his desire drags him under. There’s a free fall in his heart, and--

And it ends as his back hits the mattress. Their teeth clack together, hard enough to leave his rattling as they rebound from the fall. Father above, at least they’d only gone as far as the pillows.

Miss pulls back, hand over her mouth, eyes stark with betrayal. “I thought you said there would be no pain at all with you?”

He gives her a flat look. “If only I’d known you’d be so eager, Miss, I’d have braced myself better.” He arches a brow. “Are you sure there’s no Mormont in you? I’ve hear they like to give their men a good mauling--”

“You were the one who grabbed me.” She’s far too prim for a girl who just asked for him to put his get in her.

“And you were the one who asked me to.” His hand flexes at her waist, smooth linen tickling his palm as he rounds it over the curve of her hip. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, Miss. After all, you--”

Her fingers tangle in the bristle of his hair, dragging him down. This time it’s him who gasps against her lips, who lets her drink him down. Ah, he’d thought that first kiss had been the height of pleasure, but oh, he hadn’t known what her lips seeking his would do to him.

“Haah.” He tries to think past the blood rushing through his ears, racing to make it to his cock. “Miss.”

“Obi.” Her bright eyes flutter open, piercing him as well as any Tully spear. “Please.”

This is not the sort of begging he’s used to in bed; his lovers beg for his cock, but Miss-- Miss asks so much more. More than he ever planned to give.

He rolls her-- an impressive trick, he knows; hard to master but child’s play when a man knows the knack. She certainly seems impressed, jaw slack and chest heaving, the forest in her eyes half lost to night. He catches her hands in one of his, pinning them to the plump pillows above her head.

“I’m no lord, Miss,” he warns her, “there’s no wolf or stag or fish stamped on my shield to remind me to be gentle with a maiden.”

No dragon either, he nearly adds, but oh the line between kindness and cruelty is too thin for him to dance. He means to rattle, not wound, and that shaves a hair too close.

Her mouth pulls thin, eyes distant, and oh, she’s not here in this room with him when she says, “A man may wear a flower but still crush another in the taking.” Her chin lifts, and she meets his gaze squarely, no fear lingering in her eyes. “I trust you, Obi. I always have.”

His cock gives a traitorous twitch. Fuck him for being such a soft touch.

“And what was it you said?” she continues with a wry smile. “With me there’d be no pain at all--”

He tugs on her hands, cutting off the rest of that mortifying impression. “There won’t be. But that,” he leans in, letting her take in the full horror of his predator’s smile, “doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you hard. I’ll leave you wanting. Ruin you for other--”

“You’re stalling,” she says, blinking. “Are you nerv--?”

His mouth latches to her neck, nipping at the soft hollow behind her ear. With a moan that goes straight to his cock, she arches into him, every piece of her misaligned with his own body. She’s a giant in his mind, a true she-bear of Mormont, but in practice-- she’s a mouse. Her ribs grate against the top of his stomach, her lips straining to brush his chin, and he-- he grabs her hips with a bruising force, yanking her into him.

“Does it feel like I’m nervous to you, Miss?” His shaft grinds into the useless mound of her skirts. “Do I seem like a blushing boy, needing your hand to hold?”

He might as well be with how hard he is. But Miss knows nothing of men, not out of her books and diagrams. She doesn’t know he could have the Black Pearl herself writhing against him, naked as the day she was born, and never twitch. Yet with her he’s counting faces to keep himself from spilling on her like an untouched boy.

He expects his Miss to blush and stutter, to bolt upright and call the whole thing off. Instead she reaches out, fingers curling in the bristle of his hair, and drags him back to her neck.

Obi might be a fool, but oh, she does not need to ask him twice.

His teeth sink into her, tongue lashing the soft skin of her neck. She jolts beneath him, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails pricking him through the soft film of his shirt.

That gives him no little pause. Another woman might mean to goad him on, but Miss has plenty of reason to use tooth and claw against a man, and none of it for pleasure.

He lifts himself the barest breath away-- an effort worthy of song, the way he wants her-- opening his mouth to ask--

And she moans in protest, long and wanting. Oh, there’s no mistaking that, nor the way she pulls him closer.

Her pulse hammers hard against his lips, not a rabbit’s flutter but the strong beat of an entirely larger animal. Elder Highness-- ah, the False Dragon now-- had always said she was not one of them, not a dragon-born, but oh, if he could feel how she moved beneath him, how she writhed into his hands, blood boiling beneath her skin--

Some dragons are hatched, but some, some are born of fire.

He trails biting kisses down the column of her neck, each gasp and groan making him harder, hotter, burning him from the inside. Oh, a Red Woman she must be for her to ignite such fires in him and still remain unburnt.

At least, so it seems, until flesh turns to silk and damask. Obi pulls back, ardor cooled by his annoyance.

Her eyes, screwed up in pleasure, peek open. “I didn’t say to stop.”

“No.” He tugs at the sloping neckline of her gown. “But your damned dress did.”

She has the grace to flush; though it only highlights just how much of her eye has gone to pupil, green forest charred by the force of her desire. “It’s not as if I meant to-- that I came here to--”

“Ah but Miss--” his finger flips the first clasp on her robe, toying with the second-- “you did come here to. Quite specifically.”

Pink spreads to the top of her stays, perhaps beyond. His cock twitches. He’ll find out soon enough.

“I suppose I did.” Her gaze fixes to his fingers, following every minute shift. “You can take it off then.”

His stills, numb. “W-what?”

Her cheeks blow out, so red she might make it part of her device: red trout, desperate to spawn. “You’ll have to anyway if you mean to--” she licks her lips, and oh, he does not need to be reminded of how deliciously pink they are, like shells found on the shore-- “fuck me.”

Beyond the wall, they would call her kissed by fire, and Stranger take him, she must be to ignite him like this, to make his hips buck into her as if were she and not he who commanded them. Obi reins them, barely, and she--

She presses back against him, eyes entirely guileless, as if it were just instinct to meet him.

Obi may be no virgin, but by the gods, he is a man, and he cannot, he cannot--

He grits his teeth. He must.

“Not necessarily,” he manages, with less pain than he feels. “A creative man--”

“I want you to.” There’s not a coy bone in Miss’s body, but Mother fuck him, he never thought she’d put it to use like this. “Please, take it off.”

Never has he been more pleased to take a command.

He flips the last clasp, damask and silk falling aside, revealing the simple stays beneath. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before; she’d been down to less after her dip in the Blackwater, still flushed with victory and clutching Kihal’s case to her chest, but still-- it’s different, knowing all this is for him, that this is an invitation for him to touch.

So he does.

“Oh!” Her hand tangles in the bristle of his hair, but she does nothing to pry his mouth from her breast. If anything, she holds him more firmly against her, urging him on, making the sorts of noises that give men like him ideas.

“You should,” she pants, drawing his mouth up to hers. She loses her train of though for a moment-- he makes sure of it-- before trying, “You should get this over with.”

He jerks back, eyes wide. He’s had a hundred women from here to Essos, and not a single once has told him to get it over with. “Miss?”

She stares back, mouth slack and eyes dark, the very picture of a maid eager to be debauched. “Can’t you just...put it in now?”

“Some men might,” he admits, gritting his teeth as she squirms under him, his cock jumping at the attention. “If they didn’t care about the cu-- the woman they lay with.” He lifts a hand, running a thumb along the delicate ridge of her cheekbone. “But I promised you no pain. I mean to keep it.”

The round of her cheek heats under his palm. “But back in Oldtown, you said it was simple enough. Just stick them with the pointy end.”

Oh, he remembers that vividly enough. Stuck on an endless watch with second sons and guttersnipes, the boy called Hero fretting over one of the whores who haunted his patrol. He’d said it as a joke, as a way to ease the kid’s worries, but--

But if he’d known Miss was skulking about instead of snug in her bed, he wouldn’t have said it at all. Fuck, what a fool he is.

“Miss,” he groans, pinching her cheek. “You know better than to take a man’s word when he talks about fucking. Especially if he’s saying it to another man.”

She blinks, utterly guileless. “Not even yours?”

He barks out a laugh. “Especially not mine.”

It’s a mistake to say, pure and simple, especially when he’s got a girl pinned beneath him, hot and begging for his cock. Or, well, inquiring politely about its availability. And to say it to this girl, well--

It makes her entirely too thoughtful. “So everything you have said of lovemaking I’m to assume is...false?”

“W-well now.” He’s surprised he can still blush with the way his cock presses into her. “That’s not what I said, Miss.”

Her brows rise, and oh, she may play a sweet maid, but she’s the daughter of a bar at heart. “But isn’t it?”

Obi heaves a harried sigh, but beneath the cage of his ribs, his heart races. You only like the chase, Torou teased him once, that’s why you never keep what you’ve caught. She’s right, she’s right, but oh, he could chase Miss like this every night, letting her lead him into his own traps and liking her all the more.

“I may joke,” he quotes, leaning close enough to tap her nose with his. “But I never lie.”

Her mouth rounds listening to her words on his lips, eyes growing darker. “Which ones were jokes?”

Her breath is shallow now, matching his. He does not imagine her hunger when he murmurs, “I’m sure my lady could guess.”

Her hips buck beneath his, an accident, but still his eyes roll back in his head. He has to clutch the covers to keep himself upright.

“You once said men would put their mouths, ah--” her gaze flickers down between them, her cheeks pink-- “there.”

He lets his weight press into her, reveling in the way her head tips back with a sigh. “That is what you find far-fetched?”

A giggle bubbles out of her with a gasp. “Why would a man want to put his face down-- down there, when it yields him neither heirs nor pleasure?”

His mouth tilts, wicked. “Are you so sure of that, Miss?”

“I--” he presses a kiss to the slope of her breast, grinning as her back arches, breath leaving her on a sigh-- “oh.”

She licks her lips, eyes fixed to the beams above them. He knows the air she holds is to speak, to compose her next argument. There are two pieces of wisdom the maesters cling to in Oldtown: never interfere when dragons dance and do not get entrenched in a debate with Mistress Shirayuki. Both always lead to ruin.

Little do they know, there’s one way to win against Miss: never let her start.

Her mouth opens, argument at the ready, and Obi takes the tip of her breast into his mouth and sucks.

The noise he draws from her threatens to end this whole affair before it’s even begun. With a hiss, his cock grinds down into the mattress, but feathers are far from what he needs. He rears back, hands gripping her knees where they bracket his hips, long skirts rucked up around them, and he kneads them down her thighs, bringing heavy damask with him. She trembles beneath his touch, eyes dark as she watches him, but he has barely begun to enjoy that look before he catches a sight that captivates him more.

He’d known her cunt would be a pretty thing, flushed and pink, pale flesh framed by deep auburn curls-- ah, how that would end a few bets at the garrison, if he hadn’t seen to it already. Still, he wasn’t prepared to see her fully flowered before him, wet and weeping for his cock though they’ve hardly startled.

“Obi?” His gaze jerks up, taking in the painful flush of her cheeks. “Is there...is there something wrong?”

With me, she means. His Miss is fearless, a woman to throw herself from a tower rather than be held captive, but here she is, shy before his eyes.

“Not at all, Miss.” He lets his mouth cant, cock twitching at the breath that hitches in her chest. “Just thinking about how well I’m about to feast tonight.”

Her eyes pulse wide. “Oh, you don’t have to--”

“Please, Miss.” He drops to his elbows, not missing the way she flutters as his breath ghosts over her folds. “I’m famished.”

Palms settle against the dewy skin of her thighs, pushing them open, pushing them up, and then he licks a long stripe up the length of her slit.

She strangles a squeal, hips bucking, but he’s ready for her. His hands keep her still, keep her steady, pressing her thighs further back as his tongue dips between her lips, taking his first draught of the nectar within.

No woman is sweet; that’s a bard’s song, meant to flatter noble women who dream of a man with a silver tongue as their lover. But Miss is something close to it; clean and fresh and earthy still, untainted. No acrid perfume to mask her scent, just thick and musky and her, the salt heavy on his tongue.

“Obi.” It’s nothing more than a gasp, a prelude to the way her nails drag against his scalp. Her fingers knit in his hair, drawing him closer, and when his lips close around that small bud at the center of her--

Well, it’s a good thing he thought to hold her down. She could break a man’s neck with those legs.

His traitorous cock jumps. Ah yes, of course it likes the idea.

His tongue traces her, once, twice, before he closes in on that place again, using just the barest hint of teeth. She’s whimpering now, so close she’s dripping, staining the silk beneath them. Smart of her to choose his bed; the lord won’t be looking here for her sins.

She strains against him, hips seeking more. He knows what she wants, knows what her cunt is craving, and there’s nothing he’d like to do more than to give it to her; to unlace his trousers and bury his cock to the hilt, but, oh--

He has a point to make. And he knows better than to cede the floor once he has it.

One hand slips down her thigh, her wet curls tangling round his fingers as they trace down, down, past the crease of her leg. She squirms as he brushes her folds, but oh, he slides right to the knuckle, her sheath tight around the blade of his fingers. Her keen splits the air, and he should tell her to hush, tell her that this plan requires some discretion, but--

He doesn’t care, not when with every stroke of his fingers she clenches tighter, so close, body bent back like a bow--

She releases on a sigh, every bit of tension leaving her as she comes around him, his fingers drenched with her. He pulls back, pressing a kiss to her cunt for good measure, and smiles.

“Now tell me, Miss.” He takes her hand in his and puts it right over his aching cock. “Does that feel like nothing to you?”

Her jaw goes slack, eyes dark, and he nearly grins to see her so thoroughly routed, to finally see her bereft of her words--

And then she rubs him. Gentle, testing, and then-- then very much not.

“Miss.” He only just stops himself from rutting against her palm. It’s been far, far too long for her to be touching him like that. Not when he’s already-- when she’s already--

Gods, when she looks like that.

With no warning, she grabs his shirt, dragging him down to slot her mouth against his. He expects her to pulls back, to grimace at the taste of her on his lips, but-- she doesn’t. Instead she rolls her hips into him, only the weave of his trousers between him and her sweet cunt, and--

“We need to--” she gasps for breath against his mouth, ceaselessly moving against him-- “need to-- to--” his teeth graze her bottom lip-- “the baby.”

He springs back, gaze meeting hers. She can’t--

Her hand snakes between them, tugging at his laces. “Now.”

He’d be a liar to say he’d never thought of this, that he’d never dreamed of her reaching for him with hunger in her eyes, but oh, this is-- this is so much more than that. His own fingers fumble at familiar laces, lost, and it’s only Miss that manages to undo the knot there, pulling out his cock. Oh, he’s ready to have her now, to do the duty she has set for him--

“No,” she says, stopping his heart in his chest. She must feel it, since she’s ever held it in her hands. “Obi,” she murmurs, plucking at his shirt, “I want to see you.”

“Miss.” His heart aches more than his cock ever could. “There’s no point. None of this-- none of me is real.”

He does not say, but I am more real than I have ever been before. He cannot say so much, not even to her.

Her eyes are so wide, so wild, so green when she looks up at him. “Then show me the man you want me to see.”

Obi needs no more provocation than that; he whips off his shirt, the filmy material slumping to the floor. Miss’s clever fingers are already at his laces, scrambling to work him free, but he slaps them aside.

“You too,” he pants, pulling wildly at his waistband, “I want to see you too.”

In a flurry of movement, they are left bare, save for the stays his miss struggles with. Her finger scrabble at the stiffened cloth, trying to find purchase, and Obi rumbles out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No, no, Miss,” he purrs, drawing her to the bed, gathering her up on his lap. “Allow me.”

His hand slides beneath his pillow, and with a quick flick of the wrist, her lacing parts beneath the keen edge of his blade. She stares, mouth round and eyes wide, and lets out a laugh.

“I should have known,” she says as the boning falls away, “even naked you are armed.”

“Armed I may be,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “but against you, I am defenseless.”

Her mouth softens. “Obi...”

He does not know what she means to say, but anything she might do is dangerous. He wraps her up in his arms instead, falling to the bed and catching her mouth. He’s prepared for the drop this time; there’s no jittering of teeth or unpleasant landing, just his hands in her hair, his fingers trailing down her spine, the whole of her radiant atop him.

Though not for long. A single squirm of her hips reminds him of his duty, and in a single, fluid roll, she is beneath him, breathless.

“You’re sure?” he asks, rubbing his cock against her, soaking himself. “You don’t--”

She tilts her hips up, just right, and Mother, Maiden, and Stranger, she better be, because he sinks in with nothing put the smoothest, hottest slide.

“Fuck,” he moans, teeth biting into the pillow. “Fuck. Are you--”

“Just a moment,” she pipes, strained. “I-- there’s so much of you.”

“Yes,” he gasps. “You’ve taken all of me. Fuck, but you’ve taken all of me.”

Her breath hitches, pained. “Is that-- bad?”

He laughs, somewhere between a honk and huff. “Maybe if you were with a lord, and he thought you a-- haah, fuck, but give me a moment, Miss-- light skirt.”

Her hips move so slightly against his, testing the motion. “Should I be-- ahh, that’s good, oh-- tighter?”

“If you were--” he thrusts into her, so gentle, and grits his teeth when she rises to meet him-- “I’d have embarrassed myself by now.”

“We’ve hardly-- haah, Mother--” her head tips back onto the pillow, baring her throat, and oh, who is he to refuse that invitation-- “started.”

“I know, I know, but, fuck--” he closes his eyes, starting a gentle rock that still threatens to ruin him-- “you’re perfect.”

Ah, he did not mean to say that. That’s-- that’s giving away far too many of his secrets.

Her arms wrap around him, legs clamping around his hips. Oh, that he does not pin her to the mattress and fuck her like her cunt’s begging him to should earn him a white cloak.

“Ah!” Her gasp is sweet in his ear, and if every noise she made was not already hurtling him to the edge, then--

“So are you,” she moans, nipping at his ear, “you-- you’re--”

“I’m close,” he admits, “I’m close. Are you sure you want-- should I--?”

“W-wait.” she pulls back, and Father’s cock, it is torture when she leaves him soaked an cold, no cunt to keep him warm. “I’ve heard-- the women say this is, um, the position. The best one. For conceiving.”

She rolls onto her belly, ass tilted into the air as she rises on her knees. Gods, it would take a better man that him not to bury his cock straight into the glistening pink shell of her cunt. She’ barely arranged herself before he’s on her, arms twined with hers.

“Is that what you want?” he says with more clarity than he’s managed since she put her hand to his chest and asked for just this. He sinks into her by inches, and gods, if she isn’t making every sweet noise known to man. “You want me to spill in you?”

“Y-yes,” she whines, “please.”

“You want me to come?” His hand drags down between her breasts, settling on the soft cushion of her stomach. “You want me to put a child in you, mistress?”

“Yours,” she pants, “I want yours. Please.”

It takes no more than that; the edge he’s dancing on falls away beneath him, and he’s only vaguely aware of how he pounds into her, relentless. All he knows is the feel of her clenching around him, so tight, too tight, and the heavenly pitch of her keening, and then-- then--

He follows. As he always has. As he always will.

It should be awkward, after.

They separate with the usual noises; her wetness and his come making a mess of them both, not to mention the sweat they’re drenched in. How he’ll ever sleep in the muddle they’ve made, Obi can’t begin to guess.

He rolls off her, spent. The sheets are damp beneath him.

Ah, but now he’s done it. There’s no going back, not after this. If Master were to find out--

Well, if all goes to Miss’s plan, he’s certain to. Obi scrubs a hand down his face. Ah, Stranger fuck him sideways, what a fool he is.

Still, the work’s not done. He rolls up, hobbling over to the basin. It’s no hardship at all to clean his cock; it’s hardly flagged even after a fucking like that, though it’s only a matter of time before nature takes its course. He soaks the cloth again, cleaning it of his mess, and then wrings it out, turning--

To see Miss on her back, knees folded against her chest, wet cunt making his cock twitch.

“Mother, have mercy,” he laughs, prowling toward the bed, “I’ve already fucked you.”

She blinks, head twisting to follow him as he crawls upon the bed. “Oh, no! This is-- to help it catch.”

He hums, gently taking the cloth to her. She gasps, ball tightening, before relaxing into his touch. “I see. My miss knows all the tricks.”

“I know enough,” she murmurs, cagey. “We will, ah...have to do it more than once, you know. For a babe to catch.”

He hesitates, cloth stilling against her cunt. He did know; he hadn’t been sure she did. “You really mean to do this, then?”

Her gaze meets his, and oh, he knows that set to her chin, that defiant glint in her eye. “It’s the only way,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “Zen needs Riverrun.”

His heart clenches hard in his chest, but it’s nothing he didn’t already know. With one last stroke-- she gasps, and ha, if only his cock would accept there is no encore that would not disappoint-- he sets the cloth aside, laying with his back to her.

“O-Obi?” Her fingers lightly graze his back. “You aren’t--?”

“Wake me up in an hour,” he rumbles, curling into himself. “I’ll be ready for you then.”

She huffs, indignant. “We don’t have to do it all right now.”

“I know.” He turns his head over his shoulder, grin wide and knowing. “But you want to, don’t you?”

She flushes, and oh, he know she would be like this, insatiable. It would be exciting, if it wasn’t for such a limited time.

“Take your nap.” Miss flashes a look at him that can only be called trouble. “You’ll be needing all that stamina, if you want to keep up with your promises.”

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #game of thrones au #FINALLY IT IS TRULY DONE #TAKE YOUR SMUT AND GO YOU HEATHENS #maybe one day i will actually write this fic in its complex entirety #BUT NOT TODAY

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chibinekochan · 5 years ago

Text

Business proposal ft. Victor (Mr. Love) x Fem. reader

aka Love and Producer aka Mr Love: Queen's Choice, aka Koi to Producer: EVOL×LOVE

*I don't know which of these names the fandom uses*

Written for my very lovely friend. *You know who you are.*

Reader isn't the canon Mc.

Fem. Reader x Victor

words 4.3k

*under the read more due to length*

After a long time you finally meet your very busy friend.

You are very happy about your meeting but still manage to be about 5 minutes late.

You meet in a coffeehouse. It's not super busy so you spot her right away.

She looks tired but as soon as she sees you a bright smile graces her face.

You wave at her and make your way over to her.

"Sorry, I made you wait." You apologize with a guilty smile.

"Don't worry about it. I arrived early anyway." She smiles at you. "By the way, I already ordered for you. They had your favorite cake." She easily forgives you.

Her kindness almost makes you cry.

"That's so sweet of you. You didn't have to do this." You sit down across from you.

"Don't worry about it. I rarely get to spoil you." She smiles in a truly kind way.

"You are too good to me." You bow lightly and give her a big smile.

The food and drinks arrive and your eyes begin to sparkle upon seeing the delicious food in front of you. You have to keep your drool under control.

She also looks pleased with her choice and you both eat without hesitation.

Soon your plates are empty. "This was so good." You sigh pleased but also think of the amount of calories you have just eaten.

"Yeah, I'm glad we finally got to do this. I have been way too busy lately but you know how my boss is with these quarterly reports. I swear he only has this business for them." She sighs, slightly exhausted.

"Is he really that bad?" You've heard stories about him before but it's still hard to wrap your head around it.

"You have no idea. The other day someone had a typo on page 210 and they had to rewrite the whole thing. I warned them too." She shakes her head at the memory. "They ended up crying and then ran away. This is the 6th time that happened. I really want a reliable assistant. It makes me cry." She looks very exhausted.

"Is this why you look so tired?" You feel bad for her.

"Yeah, now I not only have to do their workload but I also have to hire a replacement." She sounds seriously fed up.

"You know that I am still looking for an internship right? I surely could help you out." This would be such a great opportunity for you.

"I really appreciate it but it would be like feeding you to a lion." She just wants to protect you.

"I know he sounds scary but I could really use the job." You look at your friend with big puppy eyes.

"I guess I can't win against you." She smiles softly at you. I'm not against it from a professional standpoint. I just have to warn you that he will never forgive any mistakes and you can never show him fear. Just pretend that he is a wild animal and it will be fine." She tries to warn you and you wonder what kind of man her boss truly is.

Your friend described him as a vicious animal but also very good looking.

You wonder how he really is.

"Alright I will do my best. How can I make a good first impression with him?" You really want this job and you know that you can rely on your friend to have your back.

"Well first of you have to look very professional and then you have to look him in the eyes, no matter how scary it seems. Victor doesn't like mistakes but he also always leaves room for improvement. If you work hard to fix your mistakes he will approve of it." Your friend lists off a list of good advice.

You feel like taking notes.

" Alright. I hope I have something that I can wear." Think of the clothes that are in your shack.

Your friend thinks for a moment." The best you can wear is a blouse with stripes. He seems to like them." She smiles.

"Thank you so much for the recommendation and the chance. I swear I will make you proud." You pump yourself up.

"I didn't do much." Your friend gets a business card from her bag. She writes something on the back. "Here I wrote the time and room on the back. Just come about a half hour before the time, go to the front counter and tell them why you are there. They will let you in and then me and my boss Victor will interview you." She calmly explains the process to you.

This gives you some reassurance but your heart still beats like crazy. You take the card and carefully place it into your wallet.

You talk for a while longer with her and then head back home and prepare your outfit for the next day.

You can barely sleep tonight.

The next morning arrives.

You made sure to set the alert very early.

After doing your usual morning routine you carefully dress and make sure that you look the best way possible.

You motivate yourself once again and make your way to LFG.

Your heart pounds like crazy. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Then you enter the building.

It's a very impressive entrance. Nervously you look around and find the counter.

With shaky legs you make your way in front of the Lady sitting there.

She quickly checks your credentials and gives you a visitor's pass.

You nervously put it around your neck and then you go through the security check. You truly feel like you are in a movie.

You walk until you reach the elevator door.

Suddenly you hear some commotion behind you. Curious, you look and then see a black haired male entering the building.

Everyone around you seems to be in awe and bows deeply.

The man does seem a bit intimidating with his large stature and menacing stare. You freeze like a deer in the headlight.

You can't help but stare at him. He comes closer and closer, walking at a fast pace through the entrance hall.

His steps are large and you have no time to collect your thoughts before he stands just in front of you.

He leaves you feeling like a rabbit that looks at a wolf or maybe a lion.

His aura is truly that of a king.

He looks at you with a cold gaze. "Not going to ride it?" His cold tone makes you shiver.

"What do you mean?" Your voice falters and your brain has frozen over.

"The elevator. Are you going to ride it?" With an inpatient tone he repeats his question.

"Yeah, I need to ride it… I mean I can wait for a bit if you want to ride alone…" You somehow feel like you offended him.

"There is no need for that. It's big enough." He says nonchalantly and steps into the elevator.

You can't help yourself but go after him. He is even taller now where he is so close to you.

You can even smell his cologne. It makes you a bit dizzy, or maybe it's his aura.

The elevator door closes behind you.

He stands right next to you, in front of the panel.

"What floor?" He looks coldly at you, making you shrink even more.

"Ummm." Nervously you look at your card. It falls right out of your hand.

You bend down to grab it, feeling slightly mortified.

The man is faster and grabs it. He takes a look at the card and then looks at you. "Hmm…" His expression seems to shift from indifference to something else. You aren't sure what it is.

He then presses a button on the panel and your ride starts.

The elevator is riding surprisingly smoothly and you can't bring yourself to utter another word.

The elevator door opens and it is your floor.

He steps out in front of you, like it's only natural for him to go first.

You follow after him, like a small puppy.

You are only relieved when you spot your friend. She is in her business attire and wears a business smile.

You almost wave at her, until you remember the tall man in front of you.

You really wonder who he is anyways.

"Sir, you are just in time. Please make haste and enter the conference room." Your friend faces the dark haired stranger. She doesn't seem scared but it's clear that he must be a higher up.

You just quietly stand behind the tall man, too scared to even breathe.

"I assume the interviewee has just arrived as well?" He glances at you.

Your heart beats very fast once again. It's unclear to you if it's from his good looks or the sudden attention.

"Yes sir. It's the girl I told you about yesterday. Shall we head to the conference room?" She smiles politely.

The tall man looks at you again, he is clearly gauging you. You wonder if you look like a tasty treat to him.

"There is no need for that. I have already decided." He speaks in a cold, matter-of-fact way.

You start to sweat. Have you messed up already somehow?

"Sir, please don't just judge people before you even talk to them. You know it's very hard to find good workers and I assure you…" Your friend is clearly frustrated.

He cuts her off with a hand wave. "What I meant to say is that I'm okay with hiring this one. She looks good on paper and I think it will work out. She hasn't fled after seeing me so I take that as a good sign. Now if there is nothing else I will go back to my office. There are reports to read." Without waiting for a response he already turns to leave.

You look at your friend in confusion.

She sighs." Alright then. Congratulations, you have the job. Normally I would complain but well there is a flood of papers on my desk and I'm glad that he likes you." She seems to be used to this behavior.

You still feel utterly confused. "What was that?"

"That my dear was the Ceo Victor and your new boss. I mean technically I'm your boss but he really is the boss." Your friend smiles in a slightly fed up manor.

You suddenly feel a strong sense of empathy for her.

Now all the stories you hear make sense.

"So that was Victor?" You are still baffled. You look in the corridor and then at your friend.

"Yeah I guess you passed your first test. It's known as the 'Lionsdentest' by the workers. If you don't run away on your first encounter you have passed." She giggles lightly and pats you on the shoulder.

Well at least you have a job now.

Maybe you are able to survive here after all.

Some weeks pass where you get used to your job. It's not easy but you work very hard and get along well with everyone.

Then one morning you get a call from your friend. Just before you need to leave.

"I'm so sorry to throw this upon you but I have caught a cold and have a high fever. I'm burning up. Victor already knows all about this but the thing is that he really needs papers from me. They are on my desk. Usually Victor would take them out himself but he is still on his plane and he needs them as soon as he lands. You need to bring them to him. So I beg you to go to my office and get him what he needs." Your friend sounds awful on the phone. You feel very bad for her.

"Of course, I will do it. Leave it to me!" You tell her full of confidence.

"Thank you so much I won't forget this." Your friend sighs with relief.

You quickly make your way to the office and find the requested papers. You thank your lucky stars.

A cab is already waiting for you to drive you to the airport.

The drive takes a few minutes, enough time to remember how your first meeting with Victor went. Enough to make you nervous.

Your heart beats like a drum when you make your way towards the gate. You sigh of relief when you see that you arrived just in time.

You look through the glass window of the luggage pickup. There is no sign of the black haired Victor no matter how much you look for him.

Now what? You don't have his phone number.

Desperate feelings build up inside of you. You might have no choice but to get an announcement, stating that you are looking for Victor.

The thought of him getting called out like a small child makes you slightly giggle.

You then turn and with a thud get stopped by something that has to be a human figure. You are about to mumble an apology when you notice who you just bumped into.

"Seems like you have just thought about something funny and that while I have been looking for you." You know this annoyed voice very well. It still hounds you in your dreams

It's Victor, you go pale in an instant and stumble backwards and almost trip over some luggage behind you.

Then suddenly everything slows down around you, it's like slow motion.

Before you can react Victor grabs your wrist and pulls you up towards him.

You look at him with wide eyes. "What just happened?" You look at him, confused. You don't feel any pain. Did time just slow down or was it in your head?

"From my point of view you were playing around, made me search for you and then you almost fell and made me save you." Victor states this like it's a matter of fact.

He isn't wrong but his tone still irritates you.

"I was looking for you but I couldn't see you in the luggage pick up area." You meekly defend yourself.

"That is no surprise since I didn't have any luggage with me. Well, regardless, we wasted enough time. Do you have the paperwork?" Victor looks at you with an expecting gaze.

"Of course, I have it all here." You pat your bag.

"Alright then let's go." Victor doesn't wait for your reply and turns around.

"Wait, where are we going?" You nervously stumble after him.

Victor barely slows down and looks over his shoulder at you. "Since you came with the papers you will be the replacement of my usual company. On top of that she is sick anyways." Victor says this like it's natural. "I hope you have something to take notes with." Victor almost glares at you for a moment.

"Ye-Yeah I have something for that but I wasn't informed of this?" Thank you for having a phone on you.

"I just informed you. Naturally you will be paid overtime. Now stop staring into space and let's move." Victor's patience seems nonexistent.

"Alright, sir." You don't dare to say anything against his orders and so you follow him to the car with a driver.

Once again like a puppy following her owner.

Victor doesn't talk your entire trip and just quietly reads through the papers. You steal small glances at him. He is pretty handsome, if only his words were sweeter.

Victor probably notices your glances but completely ignores them.

Once you arrive at the appointment, at a large building across town.

You do as Victor told you and take notes of everything. Unsure of what exactly Victor is looking for in your summary.

It takes all day until you finally get back into the car. You are very tired and also very hungry.

"That was pretty good work today. I hope to see your summary tomorrow evening on my desk." Victor seems to approve of your hard work.

You feel thankful for that. "Thank you and I will make sure you get it as soon as possible." You try to sound enthusiastic but frankly you are very beat.

You look outside of the car, it's really dark by now. You sigh it will be hard to make something decent to eat at this time of the day.

The car stops and you hear the door opening.

You look at Victor with question marks in your eyes.

"I will treat you to some food as thank you for today." Victor states this coldly, destroying every bit of niceness from this gesture.

"I can't possibly accept that." You wave your arms.

"You are clearly hungry, so come on hurry up." He gets out of the car. Leaving no room for refusal.

You wonder if he heard your stomach rumble earlier and feel embarrassed.

The door on your side opens and you get out. It surprises you to see that Victor opened the door for you.

Maybe he is a gentleman under his rough fassade?

You get out of the car and see the rather fancy restaurant in front of you.

"Wow, this is a fancy place. I wonder if I fit in?!" You look questioning at Victor.

"Nobody cares about you as long as I'm there. Now lets go before you faint from hunger or something like that." Victor seems inpatient.

Your stomach makes another grumbling nice and for a moment you swear you can hear Victor chuckle. When you look at him his face seems like always.

He doesn't wait and heads into the restaurant. You follow him pretty nervously.

Victor was right nobody seems to take notice of you.

They all grovel in front of Victor, it's pretty impressive.

You get lead to a table and sit across from Victor.

He doesn't even ask for a card and just orders something that you never heard of for both of you.

You stare at him in disbelief.

"What you don't like what I ordered?" Victor grins at you.

Like, your protest won't matter regardless. "No, I'd just rather order something on my own." You pout a little.

"I would feel deeply ashamed if I you were to order chicken nuggets or something similar." Victor seems very amused by the thought.

"I'm not a child you know." You feel pretty offended.

"You could have fooled me." Victor looks at you like he won some sort of price.

Unbelievable, this man!

You frown at least until your food arrives.

It looks really delicious, like a plate of delicious diamonds. Your mouth waters and you can't wait to dig in.

You quickly give thanks for the meal and then put a bite into your mouth. It tastes so great! It made today really worth it.

You can't help but smile and continue to eat. Then suddenly you feel a burning gaze on you. With a feeling of dread you look up.

Victor has an unusually kind expression on his face. He looks even more handsome when he doesn't glare at you. You blush.

“Seems like you really enjoy the food.” Victor gives you a small smile. It makes your heart skip a beat.

You swallow hard. This is very embarrassing, you could just sink right into the ground.

“I will remember this for future reference.” Victor keeps his intense gaze on you.

You feel cold sweat running down your back. Silently you pray for mercy and finish your meal very quickly.

Just before you head back to the car, Victor stops you and holds a business card out to you. “Why are you giving this to me?” You look confused at the card.

“This has my number on it. So you can call me if you can't find me again. Just don't loose it and only use it when there is an actual emergency.” Victor puts emphasis on both points.

“Alright, thank you sir.” You take his card with a feeling of gratefulness. “Do you want my number too?” You blurt the question out without much thought.

Victor raises his eyebrow. “Why would I need that? I don't see any need to call you dummy.” Victor shakes his head, he looks kind of amused.

You don't know if you should feel hurt or angry, so you just frown and puff your cheeks a bit.

This causes Victor to chuckle.

As glad as you are to hear him laugh, being the cause for this doesn't feel very nice.

After this you are brought home and basically fall into bed.

You kick your blankets very hard tonight.

The next morning comes without mercy. You still remember your dinner very vividly. Sadly time doesn't seem to slow down for you and you have to get ready for your work.

You work hard writing the summary. It's a very long report and it takes you almost all day to write it. You really took too many notes. Unsure what to leave out and unwilling to let Victor wait any longer you make your way to his office.

This is the first time you will see his office. Your hands are shaking when you knock at the door.

"Come in." Victor shouts through the closed door.

You take a breath and open the door.

"I have the summary for you." You hold it in front of you like a shield.

"Put it on my desk." Victor lifts his eyes and for a moment they meet yours.

You freeze on the spot.

He clears his throat, this snaps you out of your trance.

With a nervous smile you put the papers on his desk. You are about to bow down and leave but Victor stops you with a motion of his hand. Pointing you to the chair in front of his desk.

You start to sweat bullets and sit down.

Victor reads the whole summary at record speed.

Then he sighs. It feels like your whole life is flashing in front of your eyes.

You mentally prepare yourself for the scolding.

"This is basically a full retelling of every single detail. It even includes a thorough summary of my attire. I don't really understand that part. It's filled with unnecessary observations. I felt at points like reading your inner thoughts. Next time leave these out and make it an actual summary." Victor puts the papers back on his desk.

Is this all he has to add? You are baffled.

"That's all?" You can't help but to voice your thoughts.

"What were you expecting?" Victor raises his eyebrow.

" I just thought that you would yell at me…" You smile lightly.

"Do you want me to yell at you?" Victor seems confused.

"Of course not! I just thought you might be disappointed with my work." You feel relieved but this reaction is scary in its own way.

"Well, it's about as good as I expected from you. It can't be helped since you acted as a replacement." Victor doesn't sound like he expected anything at all from you.

It stings in its own way. You almost clench your heart.

"The next summary I write will be better." You feel a sudden burst of confidence. You want it to show Victor what you can do for him.

"Well in that case I want you to come with me tomorrow as well. It seems that my usual worker is still sick." Victor smirks lightly at you. Your heart skips another beat.

"Umm alright…" You suddenly feel like all strength left your body.

"Not so confident anymore? I can always ask someone else." Victor shrugs.

"No no, I will do it!" You can't back down, for some reason you want him to tell you that you did a good job.

"Well then I will pick you up tomorrow. Make sure you are ready in time." Victor seems to note something on his calendar.

"Do you even know where I live?" You are pretty surprised by this.

"Of course I don't. I will look into your file later." Victor just waves you off and with this the conversation is over.

You let out a huge sigh of relief once you exit his office. This man will definitely be the end of you.

Once again you head home feeling very nervous about the next day.

You want to cry and smile at the same time.

The next morning comes and you wait for Victor's car at the side of the road.

You then suddenly get hit by a gust of wind, caused by a sports car.

You see the car stopping just on the side of the road. It makes you a bit angry at least until you see it's Victor in the driving seat.

He let's the window down. "Get in, we have a busy schedule ahead of us." Victor only looks at you for a moment.

You open the door and get in the seat next to the driver's seat. "Good morning, Sir. I'm pretty surprised that you drive yourself."

"I like driving. Now fasten the seat belt we don't have time for small talk." Victor speaks matter of fact, as always.

You do as you are told.

"And by the way call me Victor from now on. All of my close workers do that." Victor doesn't even look at you.

Regardless, this makes you smile. "Alright Sir… I mean Victor." You feel a warmth spreading through your body. He must appreciate your work after all.

"This is no reason to smile like an idiot." Victor glances at you, you get bright pink and turn away from him.

He is a jerk after all.

~ I know this is different from my usual fandom but as you all know I play many of these games. I just don't usually write for anything that I'm not super obsessed with.

#mr.love #mr love #Mr Love: Queen's Choice #koi to producer: evol×love #mr. love victor #lp #fanfiction #love and producer #mr love queen's choice

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