#tried to go down to the swamp with the hag. too hard. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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

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Feel It Like I Do

ty to @writinglizards for the title and @contemplativepancakes for making sure Geralt didn’t wear a shirt into the bath 💖

At least in the terms of Geralt's long life, they haven't known each other long but Jaskier has fallen hard. He was lost from the start if he's honest, enraptured by golden eyes and silver hair and a heart that cares just this side of too much. But loving someone is not always easy, and loving an emotionally stunted Witcher is all that much harder - especially if your Witcher doesn't believe he deserves good things.

And it doesn't help that Jaskier isn't quite sure how to approach things with Geralt. Normally, things with him start with sex. It's quick and easy and Jaskier has never failed to get someone into bed with him. Normally, when he wants something or someone, he smiles and charms and flirts his way into getting it, but things with Geraly have never been that simple. And not for a lack of trying.

But Geralt doesn't even realize he's being flirted with, which is a tragedy. Nor does he notice now when Jaskier picks up herbs he's getting low on. Geralt is thankful and appreciative but dense as stone and Jaskier finds himself lost, unsure of how to approach this wonderful, difficult man that destiny has brought to him. He figures it out unexpectedly on a dreadfully damp and foggy day - in the middle of a swamp, of all places.

So maybe Geralt had asked him to stay back at camp with Roach, but Jaskier's never seen a water hag for himself and if he's going to write about them, he'll have to have the details correct.

The first time he gets mud chucked at him, he grumbles and complains, but he can hear Geralt's chiding voice in his head reminding him he should have stayed at camp and he holds his ground. A little mud in his face is nothing for the chance to see Geralt at work.

Geralt dispatches of the hags - there are three of them, in all - without much trouble, but he earns himself a pretty hefty swipe for his trouble and when he returns to Jaskier, he's favouring his left arm. Jaskier frowns, reaches out before he can think better of it, but Geralt just brushes past him and toward their camp.

Jaskier follows at a safe distance. Geralt doesn't much like to talk after he completes a contract, or at all when he's taken a potion, so Jaskier keeps quiet and sits across from him when he makes it to their camp. He watches as Geralt hauls his pack into his lap, wincing still as he rummages through it and he wants to help. Jaskier aches to reach across and take the bag from Geralt's hands, to find whatever is it he needs. To help. He knows Geraly would never allow it, but he crosses over to sit next o him anyway.

"Can I do anything?" he asks. Geralt just grunts at him in response and Jaskier sighs. Instinctively, he reaches out and touches a hand to Geralt's good shoulder and Geralt freezes under him.

Immediately, Jaskier realizes he's made a mistake. Geralt tenses up under him, his whole body stiffening at the touch, but then he does something Jaskier would not have expected. He leans into it.

Jaskier holds his breath, afraid to move lest Geralt realize what he's doing and pull away, but his heart is racing and that, apparently, is what breaks the spell. They've known each other a little over three years now and Geralt has never allowed him to so much as touch him before, not more than a simple brush of their shoulders as they walk side-by-side and Jaskier is overwhelmed.

When Geralt turns to him, he looks surprised, almost embarrassed and when Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, Geralt rises to his feet and stalks off out of sight. But Jaskier is determined, so he picks Geralt's pack up from the ground and replaces the vials that spilled from it in his haste to escape. Setting it with the rest of their things, Jaskier turns to lighting the fire and laying out bedrolls. It's the least he can do to ensure things are as comfortable for Geralt as they can be when he returns.

And he does, a couple of hours later, silent as always. But he's given Jaskier something to go off, a brief glimpse into what Geralt actually wants but won't allow himself, and Jaskier, armed with this new information, is determined to give it to him. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction.

For the next few days, they're in and around town, so Jaskier keeps a close eye on Geralt, especially his interactions with others. He's not sure how he never noticed before, the way Geralt stands taller, straighter when other people are around, or the way his whole body goes stiff when someone approaches him unprompted. He's bracing himself for the worst; for pain and hate, like the words spat at him in the streets, and Jaskier finds himself wondering if Geralt has ever felt a kind touch that wasn't paid dearly for.

But Jaskier knows now that that's something he wants; Geralt longs for kind touches, like anyone who's been denied for so long, and Jaskier hates the people who have made him feel like he's not allowed. And since no one else is willing, Jaskier will have to do it himself.

He starts small that very afternoon, stepping a little closer to Geralt's side as they make their way out of town. He isn't pushed away and if Geralt notices his proximity, he doesn't mention it, so when they lay down to sleep that night, Jaskier lays his bedroll out next to Geralt's. He'll be a little further from the fire, but the late spring weather is warm enough that it shouldn't matter.

When he wakes in the morning, Geralt had shifted and he's further away than he normally sleeps. It's frustrating, but Jaskier isn't one to back down from a challenge - especially not where Geralt's well-being is concerned.

So that night, he tries a new tactic. Maybe if he can get Geralt to initiate the touch himself, he won't be so quick to pull away. They find themselves at an inn, so Jaskier's initial plan of closeness through cold isn't going to work as well as he had hoped, but when they arrive the inn is old and cold enough that it just might work.

Once they've laid down for the night, he wraps himself in the scratchy blanket provided for them and stares out into the room. Geralt has made himself a bed on the floor - much to Jaskier's displeasure. It would make things so much easier if Geralt would just climb up here and sleep with him.

"I'm cold," he whispers into the darkness. There's nothing at first, then a rustling and footsteps fading away and returning. A very small part of him hopes that Geralt will come back and lay down next to him, but as always, he doesn't.

"Take this," Geralt says, draping something heavy over him. Jaskier turns to sit up, but Geralt is already moving away, back to his makeshift bed on the floor.

Jaskier resists a sigh of defeat, if only because Geralt would hear him, and settles back into bed, pulling the new blanket up over his shoulders. Only it isn't a blanket and when Jaskier inhales, Geralt's scent engulfs him. A quick grope around tells him the new addition to his bed is Geralt's travelling cloak, thick and woollen and likely warmer than the thin blankets that they carry with them. Despite the failure of his plan tonight, Jaskier can't feel entirely disappointed, though he worries that the way his heart thumps heavily against his chest is obvious to Geralt, sleeping only a few feet away.

After failing to fall asleep that night, surrounded by Geralt's scent, Jaskier takes a different approach. It's probably easier for him to reach out to Geralt first, but he wants Geralt to be comfortable with touch and he continues his attempt to get Geralt to reach out to him.

He pretends to be hurt or to have an itch somewhere he can't scratch himself, but Geralt never falls for it and Jaskier just gets more and more frustrated. On the one hand, he can understand why, after however many years of being met only with hate and disgust, Geralt would seclude himself. But Jaskier has never treated him that way and all he wants is to help. Because he knows how it feels to go without, to spend weeks alone without the faintest trace of human contact. It's awful, he can't even imagine the need for it after years. There are occasional visits to brothels in the bigger cities, but even then touch is a luxury paid for when Geralt can find someone who'll have him. Because he's a Witcher. Because he's inhuman.

Only Jaskier has never seen him that way, not even in the very beginning of this complicated relationship, and he longs for Geralt to understand that. After Geralt has been turned away from brothels, Jaskier has considered offering it himself. He could set his own feelings aside to give Geralt what he needs, but he suspects Geralt would see it as nothing more than a pittance and that's the last thing Jaskier wants him to think. Geralt is so much more than what everyone thinks and says about him and Jaskier is on a mission to prove that. A mission that apparently starts with convincing Geralt himself.

So one night, when Geralt is called out to take care of a wraith that's been haunting the village graveyard, Jaskier follows him. Geralt hasn't been sleeping well lately, and Jaskier has insisted on him sitting this one out, but they need the coin and what Jaskier earned at the tavern last night won't even cover their room for another night. So Geralt, exhausted and worn out, traipses up to the cemetery unknowingly with Jaskier in tow.

Jaskier sits and waits as Geralt disappears into the crypt, but he keeps an ear out for anything that could mean Geralt's in trouble. It doesn't take long before he hears the sounds of a fight, and right from the start, it doesn't sound good. Then abruptly, silence and nothing more.

Jaskier aches to run in after him and make sure he's okay. His fingers twitch against his thighs, and he runs through what he'd do over and over in his head, but he knows there isn't much he can do against a wraith. Something physical, maybe, but this is somewhere he can't really help. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest and without realizing it, Jaskier's on his feet and heading to the entrance of the crypt when he spots Geralt, staggering through the arch and toward him.

Immediately, relief floods through him and his legs shake but manage to hold him well enough to get to Geralt. Without thinking, Jaskier ducks under Geralt's arm, pulling it around his neck and helping him back toward camp. He's surprised at how well he manages to support Geralt's weight, and it's not until they reach the unlit fire at their camp that Jaskier realizes how much of Geralt is pressed against him. And for the first time, he panics.

He helps Geralt down to sit on a stump near the fire pit and while Geralt sits and catches his breath, he continually assures Jaskier that he's fine. By now, Jaskier knows he can hear Geralt's heartbeat, how fast it's racing right now, and he knows the words are just to placate him. He knows Geralt must be injured but he doesn't trust Geralt to tell himself, so as much as he hates to push further than Geralt is ready for, Jaskier starts unbuckling his armour.

He stands behind him, laying each piece out carefully on the ground next to them, keeping an eye out for any hesitation, but Geralt seems resigned to this. It's not until his armour is off and piled neatly, and he's in nothing more than his tunic, that Geralt flinches when Jaskier reaches for him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes. "I can't see how bad it is with this on, can I-" He doesn't even finish the question before Geralt gives a curt nod and drops his gaze to the ground. He lifts his arms to let Jaskier pull it off, wincing as his muscles pull.

There's bruising all the way down his side and Jaskier fists his hands in Geralt's tunic, pushing out the anger that always accompanies seeing him like this. Maybe if the people who cursed him in the street could see him now, they'd think better of Witchers. Then again, he supposes, most of them are probably beyond changing. He shakes his head to keep from wondering about how it happened and steps away to find salve and bandages.

When he does, he digs a spare piece of linen from the bottom of his pack, using it to wipe away any remaining blood where the skin is broken. Geralt lets him, sitting still until Jaskier spreads salve on the worst of his wounds. He winces then and pulls away, turning to scowl at him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier breathes, " just- please, let me help." After a moment, Geralt turns back around and rests his elbows on his knees, relenting.

Jaskier is as gentle as he can be, though suspects the only reason he's allowed to do this is because Geralt, despite his many talents, can't reach his own back properly to do it himself. It doesn't stop Jaskier, once he's finished bandaging him, from brushing his fingertips down Geralt's back.

He doesn't mean to, doesn't even realize he's doing it at first, but Geralt presses back into the touch and Jaskier tries again. He doesn't want to take advantage, but Geralt's muscles are tense under his hands and he knows if he can just get Geralt to let him, he can ease that stress.

Jaskier eases into it, touching him softly and just letting his hands drift over Geralt's skin to start. And slowly, Jaskier can feel him relax under his hands and he risks a little more pressure. Geralt's breath comes a little quicker as Jaskier's hands slide forward over his shoulders, but Jaskier pauses, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Geralt's collarbone until he feels the muscles there relax again.

Jaskier is elated to be allowed such a simple thing and he revels in the heat of Geralt's skin under his hands, the scent of his hair, though tinged with dirt and sweat. He lets himself get caught up in it, slipping his hands further down Geralt's chest and back up to rub the sides of his neck. Geralt's head drops back against his stomach, a soft groan slipping between his lips. Jaskier stiffens, afraid that he's pushed too far, but when he looks down, Geralt seems relaxed - more relaxed than he's seen him.

It's so rare that Jaskier - or anyone, he suspects - gets to see Geralt like this, that he feels almost like he's intruding on a private moment. He knows it's only due to exhaustion that Geralt submits so easily to him now, but he likes to believe a part of it has to do with trust as well.

Jaskier brings his hands back to Geralt's shoulders, fingertips pressing into the stiff muscle and working out the knots. He tries to concentrate, but Geralt keeps letting out soft little huffs of breath that are incredibly distracting and quite often he finds himself losing focus and slipping too far forward. He realizes his mistake when his fingers brush over a nipple and Geralt shudders under him.

Jaskier withdraws as Geralt sits forward shifting awkwardly. This time he knows he's pushed too far - accidentally, but he doubts that matters now. Jaskier shuts his eyes and as Geralt shrugs out from under his hands, he lets him go. When he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes what the problem is and he hates himself for the initial heat that runs through him. He rips his gaze from where Geralt's cock is hard in his trousers, but he knows he's too late and he knows Geralt has seen him looking.

Geralt turns away and Jaskier curses himself as the Witcher stalks off into the dark. He tries to tell himself it wasn't his fault, but maybe he shouldn't have tried anything at all. He didn't mean to push, he didn't mean to turn him on and he definitely didn't mean to see. But Geralt was definitely aroused and the fact that Jaskier is the one who affected him like that is something he struggles to reconcile.

As far as his progress in getting Geralt to open up, this incident has a negative effect. Geralt closes himself off again afterward and Jaskier is upset with himself for taking advantage because it was the first time Geralt let him get that close and he went and fucked it up. For both of them. But he has to keep trying because Geralt does so much and gets so little. And he never takes anything for himself so Jaskier wants to try and give something back.

So he starts small again because he knows Geralt's trust isn't easily earned, and he finds his progress hasn't been undone as much as he'd expected. Geralt doesn't pull away when Jaskier walks close and even when their hands brush together, he seems unconcerned about it. Which is a relief and Jaskier doesn't think too much about why. He wants Geralt to adjust to his touch in any context, though since the incident with the wraith, Jaskier can't help thinking about making him feel good in other ways. It's a dream and nothing more, but it's in his mind nonetheless. He just wants Geralt to be more open, to be able to let himself have something good besides the sex he pays for.

For months, Jaskier works tirelessly to acclimatize Geralt to soft and gentle touches. He puts his own needs and desires aside in favour of trying to convince the most stubborn man he's ever met that not all touch has to be bad. On occasion, Geralt relents, but it's only when he's injured or exhausted and while it's a small victory, Jaskier will take what he can get.

But after a little while, Geralt seems to realize what Jaskier is doing. He doesn't back off like Jaskier expected him to. On the contrary, he'll even give a little back on occasion. If he's trying to hold Jaskier back, more often he'll press a hand to his shoulder rather than grabbing his clothes and pulling him back. The first time it happens, Jaskier is so surprised he stops dead in his tracks. But he appreciates the effort.

Then, one night, Gerallt surprises him.

It's been over a year now since the wraith incident and Jaskier always keeps that night in the back of his mind, reminding himself not to be too bold when Geralt gives him an inch. But he still thinks about it all the time, how he got Geralt hard with only his hands and how he so desperately wants to do it again, he just needs Geralt to let him. And it's not that things are going badly between them, but Jaskier has no delusions of anything like that happening again. Especially not intentionally.

They're in Temeria, staying at a little in that looks like it's seen better days and they've only just paid for their room when Geralt goes off saying he has to do something. Jaskier's sure something is heading to the local whorehouse and he wants to tell him he doesn't need to, but Geralt is determined and Jaskier keeps quiet. He heads up to their room alone.

He feels helpless and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do because he can't just come out and tell Geralt to fuck him instead. He wants to be able to, but it's so much more than just sex for him, even if maybe it's not for Geralt. But he wants Geralt to know that there's an alternative to how he's been living, that Jaskier is here to offer him more than just soft touches and a conversational companion. Geralt can get what he needs from someone who loves him, someone who wants to be with him. He can have kindness and affection without having to pay for it. He could be there for Geralt if he'd just let him. But every time he tries to offer, the words fail him.

Jaskier pushes the thoughts aside in favour of tidying the room and organizing their things before heading down to find his own company for the evening. He orders an ale for himself and sits at a table near the low-burning fire, keeping an eye on the crowd, but no one strikes his fancy tonight. If he's honest with himself, it's been a while since he's been truly dedicated to pleasing himself rather than Geralt.

He only stays long enough to finish his drink and by the time it's gone, he's still alone so he heads back to the room alone. Only when he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with Geralt, looking a little sheepish.

"I had a bath poured," Geralt says. "If you want."

Jaskier does his best not to show his confusion, but he's speechless trying to figure out why Geralt would order him a bath. The only words he can manage to get out are "I don't need it" and he regrets it immediately. He quickly corrects himself adding, "go ahead. I'm sure you would enjoy it."

Geralt doesn't look at him and for a second, Jaskier thinks he's offended him, but when he really looks at him, Geralt looks... conflicted, like he's struggling with himself.

"Join me?" he asks so quietly Jaskier almost doesn't hear him.

Oh. "Are you sure?" he asks, watching for any sign of hesitation, but if Geralt is wary of what he's offering, he doesn't show it. He just nods quietly and Jaskier is still trying to figure out what's happening because this is very unlike Geralt and he doesn't want to agree to something if Geralt is going to be uncomfortable about it later.

But he seems anything but uncomfortable. Geralt undresses like it's the most casual thing in the world and Jaskier catches him as he's unbuttoning his trousers, tugging his shirt loose. He finds himself staring, watching the way Geralt moves as he drops his arms backs to his sides, and Geralt notices. Just as Jaskier turns his head to look away, Geralt steps toward him and catches his attention again.

He reaches out, undoing the top few buttons on Jaskier's shirt and despite his careful composure, Jaskier's throat goes dry and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Geralt has never willingly let Jaskier get this close to him unless they're asleep and Jaskier is starting to feel like maybe all of his hard work has paid off.

"You can't bathe in your clothes," Geralt says by way of explanation which, Jaskier supposes, is true. When he looks up from where Geralt's hands are on his shirt, Geralt is looking at him so softly, almost nervously, and Jaskier's skin flushes under the attention. He wants so badly to close the rest of the distance between them, but Geralt is already putting himself out here in such a huge way and Jaskier want to let him take this at his own pace. Whatever this is.

He does reach out cautiously, letting his fingers brush over Geralt's shoulder and when he's met with no resistance, he lets his palm settle. And Geralt takes another small step forward, returning to Jaskier's buttons.

"Why do you always want to touch me?" he asks. Jaskier moves his head to meet his eyes, but Geralt is avoiding him, his focus solely on getting Jaskier's shirt undone. He hadn't realized Geralt had been quite that attentive. He'd thought his little advances could have been passed off as just trying to be closer or, well, something. But he should have known better.

"When was the last time someone touched you with kindness?" he asks and this time Geralt's head snaps up, eyes meeting his with confusion. "When was the last time someone touched you without getting anything in return?"

"Last winter," Geralt says without hesitation and the quickness of his response only makes Jaskier's heart sink further.

"Not every touch has to be hard and biting," Jaskier breathes. His hands rise on their own, softly wrapping around Geralt's wrists and lowering his hands from their task. "Not every kind gesture has to be transactional. You deserve good things just for the sake of it."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Geralt," Jaskier says a little more firmly, "if you don't understand by now that I care about you, I don't know how to convince you." Well, that's not entirely true, but he's taking things at Geralt's speed, not his own. "I know I don't have to do that, I don't have to do anything and yet, here I am. I want you to know I'm here for you."

Geralt shifts his weight, looking anywhere but at Jaskier like he's not sure how to process this. Maybe it's a good thing Jaskier can never find the words to tell him everything. Jaskier's heart beats a million times a minute as he takes a step forward into Geralt's space. He reaches out, meeting Geralt's eyes again as he presses his palms to his chest. Slowly, cautiously, he pushes his hands up Geralt's chest, slipping over his shoulders and around the back of his neck.

They're so close now that Jaskier can smell the oils on him and he realizes Geralt must have taken a lot of care in choosing them because the scents he picks up on are lavender and cedarwood, two of his favourites. And his chest constricts at the thought of Geralt putting that much effort into anything so frivolous, especially for someone else. Especially for him.

When he meets his eyes again, they're soft and every instinct is telling him to lean in, to press his lips against that soft mouth but the last time he pushed too hard, he fucked it all up. This time feels like something real and he doesn't want to risk making another mistake.

But he's leaning in without realizing and Geralt meets him halfway, bumping their foreheads together. All Jaskier can hear is the sound of his own breath and the blood rushing in his ears like thunder. He shuts his eyes and Geralt tips his head just so, bumping their noses together. And if Jaskier is feeling this overwhelmed by their closeness, he can't possibly imagine how Geralt is feeling right now.

"Jask..." he breathes and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and moves without thinking.

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against Geralt's. He feels his breath against him as he draws back, hears a soft little noise that sounds something like relief and then Geralt's leaning in again and kissing him in earnest. His mouth slots against Jaskier's like that's what it was made for, hot and wanting, but Geralt seems unsure of what to do with his hands.

Jaskier never considered what with Geralt's want for a gentle touch that he might also want to touch. His hands hover in mid-air, just shy of brushing Jaskier's hips like he's never done this before, but it doesn't take much encouragement. Jaskier takes Geralt's hands and presses them against his own hips and it's all the direction Geralt needs to be given. He slides his hands up Jaskier's sides, pushing under his shirt and the heat from his skin sends a shudder up Jaskier's spine.

He moans softly against Geralt's lips, sliding his own hands up to tangle in his hair and Geralt hums appreciatively in response, one warm hand sliding up to the center of his back to hold him close. His lips part against Jaskier's, deepening the kiss and gods, Jaskier has never thought about how Geralt would kiss, but now that he's been given the chance, he doesn't hold back. And once he gets his hands on him, he doesn't let go.

Jaskier absolutely delights in how tactile Geralt is. Even his mouth doesn't leave his skin, straying from his lips only to press against his jaw and slide down his neck. Jaskier's head tips back giving him better access and Geralt groans against his skin, a low rumbling sound that rips right through him. The low simmering in his guts spikes and he wants to lean into the touch and press himself against Geralt but he draws back instead, not that Geralt lets him get far. Geralt looks at him with big, dark eyes and whatever reservations Jaskier was about to voice die on his tongue.

His breathing is shallow and as he meets Geralt's eyes, he can feel his chest heave with each breath. Geralt looks at him like he's just seeing him for the first time and he reaches between them, tugging Jaskier's shirt up over his head before slipping his fingers beneath the waist of his trousers. Jaskier tips his head down, watching as Geralt's fingers work open the clasps. Then Geralt pauses, tips Jaskier's chin up to look at him and kisses him again, hard and eager.

Jaskier's breath pulls from his lungs and he finds himself walking backward. When his knees hit the tub, he stumbles a little, but Geralt winds his arms around his waist, bracing him. When Geralt draws away again, Jaskier is breathless, and the way Geralt's hands move back to his trousers again doesn't help matters.

His hands slide over Jaskier's hips, catching on the silky fabric and pushing his trousers down. Jaskier holds his breath as the fabric slides over his heated cock and Geralt's hands slip back over his ass, forcing the roll of his hips. He's already half-hard, but he can hardly control the state of his cock with Geralt pawing at him like this. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he lets out a low, breathy "oh" as his cock presses into Geralt's hip.

And he realizes maybe he doesn't have to be so cautious with Geralt after all. Jaskier risks a quick roll of his hips and Geralt rumbles pleasantly, pushing back against him. He kisses him again then, slow and sweet and just this side of too much and Geralt moves against him, lips parting as he presses against Jaskier's chest. He's so close and Jaskier can feel every inch of him, every tiny little movement of muscle and Geralt is hard against him which is a feeling infinitely better than any of Jaskier's wildest dreams.

He aches to touch him, to feel more than just the press of Geralt's cock against his hip, wonders if he could get a hand around him because he feels huge. Geralt breaks away to kiss Jaskier's jaw, down the side of his throat and Jaskier can't help the little gasp that slips from his lips. In a hundred years, he never expected Geralt to be like this when he was finally allowed free reign to touch.

Before he realizes it, Jaskier has a hand between them, snaking down to cup Geralt through his trousers. Geralt's hips jerk into the touch and he rumbles low in the back of his throat. Jaskier pulls back. He thinks he's gone too far again, that Geralt isn't ready for so much, but then Geralt's arms wind tightly around him and his feet lift the floor. A rush of excitement goes through him and he loops his arms around Geralt's neck as they head toward the bed.

"What about the bath?" he asks and Geralt meets his eyes with a dark look.

"Later," he growls and Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him. He'd mention the bath getting cold, but he doesn't think it would matter; Geralt is nothing if not focused and Jaskier is thrilled to be the one at the center of his attention. He's not about to sabotage it over a little cold water.

Geralt drops onto the mattress with Jaskier in his lap. He shuffles back, stacking the pillows behind him with one hand, the other still firmly curled around Jaskier's hip. When he's satisfied, he slips his other arm around Jaskier, too, tugging him closer and Jaskier groans at the way their cocks grind against each other. Geralt is still maddeningly hidden, tucked away just out of Jaskier's reach, which is so unfair he could cry. Because he's thick and hard and pressing up under Jaskier's balls in a way that makes him needy.

Then one of Geralt's hands slips down, squeezing his ass as he lifts him and pulls him close against him. His fingers slip down, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Geralt's trapped cock is pushed to the back of his mind.

Jaskier's eyes flutter shut as Geralt's fingers graze against his hole. He tips his head down, pressing his nose into Geralt's neck, speechless for the first time in a long time. If anyone had told him a week ago that this would happen, he never would have believed them, might have even told them off for teasing him and yet.

Jaskier rolls his hips encouragingly, and Geralt's mouth finds his shoulder, teeth grazing the smooth skin, but he doesn't give any more than he already is. But his grip is firm and Jaskier is happy just to be in his arms; it's more than he could ever have hoped for, considering Geralt's (apparently prior) aversion to touch. He's enthusiastic about it now, fingers lipping against Jaskier's hole in repetition, pressing just a little firmer each time. And Jaskier breathes praise into his skin, humming softly where he can't find the right words to tell Geralt how he feels without chasing him away. Because he loves him too fiercely already and Geralt is only just learning how to accept him as a friend. Although after this, maybe.

Geralt shifts under him, reaching out and Jaskier's eyes follow his hand to where it dips into one of their packs of the floor. He nips at Geralt's jaw, running his mouth along the line of it, and as Geralt settles back into position, he tips his head to catch Jaskier's mouth with his own. His gentleness is gone now, replaced with eager intent and for a moment, Jaskier is so wholly captivated by his mouth, that he doesn't realize what Geralt is doing with his other hand.

Cool, slick fingers slide against Jaskier's hole, prodding gently at the muscle and Jaskier nearly jumps in surprise. For his movement, he earns a soft huff of a laugh against his lips and that's- well, that's incredible. He draws away, smiling down at Geralt even as Geralt's fingers press into him, stretching Jaskier around him. Teeth dig into his bottom lip but Jaskier keeps his eyes open, enthralled by the little half-smirk that remains on Geralt's face, by the wonder in his eyes as he slides into Jaskier like that's where he belongs.

"Fuck," Jaskier groans, worrying his lip between his teeth. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, but he doesn't miss the way Geralt's grin spreads as he gives a couple of short thrusts into him.

Geralt is unsurprisingly quiet, apparently too caught up in Jaskier's pleasure to worry about his own. And he's barely giving Jaskier a chance to think, much less worry about anything but Geralt's fingers inside him. It's not exactly how Jaskier was expecting this to happen - not that he ever really believed it would - but Geralt seems more than happy with things as they are. Next time, Jaskier decides, if he gets a next time - he'll show Geralt just how good a gentle touch can be and he'll drag those noises out of him one way or another.

When Geralt gets a third finger into him, Jaskier groans impatiently. His hips work hard, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers and gods it feels good. And he needs this. As much as he wants to prove to Geralt that he's good and deserving of kindness, he needs this, too.

"I'm good," Jaskier huffs, but Geralt seems inclined to let him continue like this. His eyes are dark and focused where they roam over Jaskier's body and Jaskier can feel his cock beneath him. He feels the way it jerks, in need of attention, when Jaskier whimpers or pushes his hips down and he wonders if Geralt is already imagining the feeling of him, hot and tight around him. Jaskier lets out a soft moan at the thought, but it's not until he pushes Geralt's shoulders back against the wall, that he seems to break the Witcher's spell.

Geralt looks up at him slowly, meeting his gaze, but as soon as his fingers slip from Jaskier's body it's like a dam has broken. Both of them fumble with Geralt's trousers, getting them undone and shoving them open just far enough that Jaskier can pull Geralt's cock from its confines. He gives him a quick stroke before shifting forward and sitting back on him.

The stretch is a lot more than he was expecting, but he rocks back onto him, easing the way without having to slow down. Because Geralt's fingers dig into his hips and his breath comes in short heavy puffs. And when Jaskier lets himself relax when he sinks a little lower, Geralt's eyes roll back and he moans so sweetly. It's a sound Jaskier will never forget for the rest of his life and he makes it his job to draw as many of those sounds from Geralt's lips as he can.

When Jaskier fully seats himself, he feels like he can't breathe. He's so full of Geralt's cock that he can barely think straight, but his body moves on its own. He rocks his hips forward without rising up and Geralt follows the motion, pushing somehow even deeper into him.

"Oh fuck," Jaskier whines, lifting his hips to slide up Geralt's cock. He drops back onto him just as quickly and the growl he gets in response makes his own cock throb.

When Jaskier realizes just how much Geralt likes letting go, likes letting him take the lead, he leans back, bracing himself on Geralt's thighs. He works his hips quick and hard while Geralt touches him. Geralt keeps one hand on his hip, but the other slips up his stomach, fingers sliding softly up the column of his throat and over his jaw. Jaskier likes it almost as much as he likes the cock up his ass. He preens under the attention, presses his chest out, moans a little louder when Geralt's fingers press into his skin.

It's rushed and inelegant, but Jaskier's heart swells when Geralt tugs him into a bruising kiss. Jaskier pants against him, moaning into Geralt's mouth as they move as one. Like this, he can feel every little change in Geralt's body and he has to wonder if it's not similar to how Geralt always seems to know how he's feeling. A shuddering moan escapes Geralt's lips, a little gasp, and Jaskier knows he's getting close. He loves it, loves to know he's the one making Geralt feel this way. He's the one with Geralt's cock inside him and his hands on him and even as he leans forward to rest against his chest, it feels unreal.

Geralt's hips snap up and he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, holding him close as he buries his face in his neck. He's mumbling something, but Jaskier can't quite make out the words, muffled by his own skin.

"Beautiful," Jaskier huffs, tilting his head and pressing his nose into Geralt's hair. He presses his cock into Geralt's stomach, rutting against him with every forward thrust.

When Geralt comes, he pulls his knees up, pushing Jaskier closer against him and letting out a moan that nearly has Jaskier coming undone right after him.

He works Geralt through it, fucking him steadily until Geralt's grip on him loosens and his legs drop back against the mattress. He mumbles a stifled "fuck, Jas," and pushes his fingers up Jaskier's back and into his hair, seeking out his mouth and kissing him softly.

Jaskier shifts without breaking the kiss and Geralt shifts under him, his fingers tightening in his hair. But when Jaskier moves to lift himself out of his lap, one of Geralt's hands drops to his hip, holding him down.

"No," he breathes, "don't stop."

"O-okay," Jaskier huffs, "do you want to-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss and a quick snap of his hips. Fuck, he's still hard. Jaskier shifts his hips and when he's met with a groan, he looks up to meet Geralt's eyes. "Touch me," he whispers and Geralt's tongue darts out between his lips before one hand curls around the base of Jaskier's cock.

He lets out a sob, reaching out to curl a hand around the back of Geralt's neck. He's wanted to say those words for longer than he can even remember now, and in all that time, he was never expecting Geralt to be quite so eager to comply.

His hand is warm, even around Jaskier's heated cock, and he grips him firmly, stroking straight up to the head. He squeezes around the crown, rubbing his thumb underneath and Jaskier drops his head forward against him, hips jerking forward against his hand.

"Geralt-" he chokes, "oh, Geralt."

It takes him a moment to adjust to the additional sensation, but Jaskier manages to find a rhythm that suits them both, fucking back onto Geralt's cock and forward into his hand. He's already veering quickly toward the edge and when he shifts in Geralt's lap, he realizes he's not the only one.

Geralt's mouth drops open against his own, a soft moan escaping as Jaskier squeezes around him. Gods, it's barely been any time since he came and already Geralt looks like he's struggling to hold on.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, bumping their noses together, "are you close?" The only answer he gets is a quiet hmm, but it's as much confirmation as Jaskier needs. He works his hips a little quicker, wraps both arms around Geralt's neck and kisses him. He nips at Geralt's lips and when the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, he buries his face in Geralt's neck, clenching his fingers in his hair. One hard tug is all it takes to push Geralt over the edge a second time and he pulls Jaskier tightly against him.

When Geralt comes again, Jaskier is right there with him. His legs shake under him and only Geralt's arms wound around his back, keep him from toppling over completely. His cock continues to rub against Geralt's stomach and Jaskier has to bite down on the Witcher's shoulder to keep from crying out.

Neither of them moves for a few moments, panting heavily against each other until Geralt shifts to pull out. Jaskier whines at the loss, but it's a weak protest and Geralt appeases him with a soft kiss, rolling Jaskier onto his side so they're facing each other. It isn't until then that reality sets in and Jaskier realizes exactly what they've done.

He opens his mouth to say... something, but Geralt moves closer, cupping his jaw and humming softly against his mouth. It's not a kiss, really, barely a brush of lips before Geralt pushes himself back up again, but it's enough to soothe Jaskier's worries.

"Would you still like that bath?" he asks and Jaskier smiles despite the prospect of very cold bathwater.

"It'll be cold."

"I'll warm it up," Geralt promises, setting a hand on Jaskier's hip.

"Okay."

He does, indeed, warm the water with igni before peeling himself out of his trousers and stepping into the bath. Jaskier watches from the bed. His legs are still a little shaky, but when Geralt tilts his head and spreads his knees it feels like an invitation, one Jaskier isn't willing to turn down.

He crosses to the center of the room, stepping into the warm water and Geralt's hands are on him again, turning him so when he settles he has his back to Geralt's chest. It's nice, leaning back against him like this. Bathing is one of the few indulgences Geralt allows himself and Jaskier is happy to be able to share this with him. Sighing softly, he tips his head back against Geralt's shoulders and runs his hands down Geralt's thighs, smiling as they only spread further apart.

"I like it when you touch me," Geralt hums from behind. His voice is soft and low, so much so that Jaskier doesn't quite hear at first, but as the words register, he smiles.

"I noticed that."

"I don't mean-" he lets out a little scoff, but his hands come up to cover Jaskier's fingers entangling with his own. "I mean like this, the small things."

"Oh?"

"Like when you pretend to be cold so I'll come sleep closer to you." Jaskier starts at that and leans forward to turn and face Geralt.

"You knew I was pretending?"

"Yes."

"And you still-?"

Geralt hums, a low rumbling sound that Jaskier would never tell him reminds him of a cat purring. "I told you," he says, "I like it."

"Well good," Jaskier settles back against him, bringing Geralt's hand up to kiss his palm, "because I have no intention of stopping any time soon."

#geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #soft babs #with a little bit of spice #rex writes #the witcher

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bunnirs · 4 years ago

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Scarlet Crossroads:

Chapter 3: Race

Previous/Next

Scarlet Crossroads Masterlist: Here

It had been a few minutes into what you perceived to be the first phase of the Hunters Exam. The Examiner, Mr. Satotz, seemed to walk like a living doll. His limbs were stuck straight, his posture never faltering. It was almost intimidating as you compared him to the others. They ran with their backs leaned inward, their skin red as blood flow seemed to accelerate. You could hear the blood pumping in their veins, the familiar crimson color implanted into your brain.

While running seemed to be difficult for others, you seemed to be holding up just fine. As if to show your disinterest in running, you stayed close to the back, where the entertainment seemed to be.

Of course, that ‘entertainment’ was the trio that you had stricken a conversation with earlier. As you gazed at them you noticed that Gon, the small green boy, had fallen a little behind Leorio. Kurapika was still at Leorio’s side, the two of them seeming to take a liking to each other. It was good to have friends, especially those you could trust.

Speaking of friends, it seems that the white haired boy had started to catch up. He was riding the same skateboard you had seen earlier, the red arrow reminding you of the color red. It seemed to follow you.

As you pushed onward, you noticed that Leorio had started to argue with the children. As immature as it was, it brought laughter to you.

Laughter was a foreign word. It was never used among your family, and it certainly wasn't used by you. You breathed inward, the smell of sweat filling your nose, and your smile quickly dropped into a grimace.

“Hey, what are you laughing at you old hag?!” The small white haired boy from earlier yelled at you, almost tripping over his skateboard.

This caused your eyes to narrow, your mouth pulling into a scowl. “Obviously nothing anymore.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the kids childish antics. “Who even are you anyway? Jack Frost?”

He looked at you in confusion, his eyes pulling into a squint. “My name is Killua, and i’m twelve years old.” He spoke confidently, his lips forming into a smirk. “And you? What’s your name hag?”

“If I tell you, will you stop calling me that?” You scoffed, growing annoyed with the basic insult.

“Nah.” He giggled, his eyes finding a new found light as he saw your frustration. Maybe this kid was a sadist or something.

Well at least it was worth the shot.

“Well then, my names Y/N.” You hummed, slowing down your jog. “The last name isn’t important so I have no true interest in saying it. I hope you’ll understand, seeing as you didn’t say yours either.”

“That seems fair!” Gon said loudly, jumping to join the two of you in your jogs. You smiled softly, admiring his determination in the one small action. He was such a sweet boy for such a large goal. If he passes this exam, there’s nothing that can stop him.

As the two kids began to discuss, you found yourself running ahead of them. Even if it was disappointing to leave their side, you thought it would be best to let them converse. They did seem to be the same age after all, and hanging out with children wasn’t why you were here.

As you pushed forward, you matched strides with the two older males from before. Coming to their sides, Kurapika and Leorio acknowledged you with small head nods, before going back into what conversation they were having.

The conversation seemed to have to do with Leorio’s reasoning for becoming a hunter. As sad as it sounded, money was a real reason for people to become hunters. Hell, your family were thieves, so you understood him to an extent.

As Kurapika prodded at Leorio, you could see that Leorio was unsure of himself. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but was deciding against it.

“We won't judge you if you have something else to say.” You blurted out, reading his face as it molded into one of irritation.

As you said those words, his mouth opened, and he started to yell.

You held your ear as it rang, a frown on your face. Of course he yelled, why wouldn’t he not? He was loud and annoying to say the least, but as he continued to yell about his goals, you seemed to change your opinion.

He needed money to become a doctor… so he could heal others with the same disease that had killed his friend.

You hadn’t come here planning to be subjected to sad back stories, but it seemed fate had another thing coming.

You noticed how Kurapika’s frown had turned into a small smile, filled with relief. It seems he was hoping Leorio wasn’t just a gold digging piece of crap, and he got his answer. They would be good friends seeing as they seemed to bring out the best in one another. How sweet.

“So, Y/N,” Kurapika turned to you, his smile still on his face, but less evident.

His lacking smile almost bothered you, but you had to remind yourself that you didn’t know him at all. “Oh.” You replied curtly, almost having to think of a convincing answer. “...I just want to travel I guess.”

“That’s it?! Wow that makes me feel so much better about myself!” Leorio laughed in relief, his finger pointing at you.

“I think it’s a reasonable answer.” Kurapika hummed, satisfied with your reply.

You nodded, turning your head back to the front. It seems the light was getting closer, the stairs growing boring as you continued to look at them.

As you seemed to adjust to the comfortable silence, a spiky head of hair flew past you, obviously belonging to Gon.

He was giggling as he kept running, swerving through the others as he tried to get to the opening. He kept looking back, but it wasn’t at you.

Another head of hair ran past you, screaming curses as he tried to overtake Gon. So it seems Gon and Killua wanted to race each other. That seemed to remind you of a time not too long ago.

Faint giggles seemed to echo across a barren wasteland, no doubt Meteor City. As the giggles got louder, so did the sounds of splashing water.

A group of teenagers were running around, throwing plastic water bottles at each other as it rained, puddles building up upon the layers of trash. Following after them was a small girl, her short legs making it hard for her to keep up.

When they continued to ignore her, she grew agitated, her eyes sinking as she pouted. She had wanted to play with her brother and his friend’s, but they always outran her. It was disappointing, but at least watching them beat each other with worn down plastic was fun.

As she took one step towards them, the trash beneath her seemed to break apart, a sinkhole forming. As she thought she was going to fall, she closed her eyes, but nothing happened.

As soon as she opened her eyes, she was right in front of her brother and his friends. They seemed slightly confused, the plastic bottles laying dormant in their hands.

“...Where’d you come from? I thought you were over there?” Her brother, Chrollo Lucilfer questioned, his gaze turning to where she just was.

As she turned her head, she noticed that the pile of trash was still falling into a sinkhole, but she was no longer standing there. “....I dunno.”She muttered, her eyes remaining on the hole.

As you came back to your senses, you opened your eyes to see the beautiful sunny sky. What laid beyond you was a fog covered swamp, the grass beneath you already damp.

The sounds of footsteps interrupted you from your scenegazing, and you turned around. Coming out of the 1st Phase’s tunnel was the Examiner, Mr. Satotz, Gon and Killua, and everyone else.

Seems you won the race.

TYSM foR READING!!! SORRY ITS A LIL LATE!!!! GOT CAUGHT UP IN SCHOOL AND HAD TO EDIT!

EWHJKFWEUIHFUIEHFUIHEUIGFUG SO YOU GOT ANOTHER HINT AT HER NEN ABILITIES :D

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fivegoldpieces · 5 years ago

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"Do we have a deal?"

The hag leans forward and extends her hand, fingers hooked unnaturally as she grins. Saliva pools at the corner of her mouth, constantly dripping on the table.

"Deal."

Soulless eyes pin the monk, but Beau doesn't flinch, not when she feels the leathery texture of too-old skin, not when fingernails dig into her bruised knuckles, not when shadows move towards her as she shakes the hand offered.

The hag reclines in her chair, head thrown back in satisfaction, a bark of almost-laughter pulling itself from her chest. She waves, and the monk hears the thud of the door open behind her, "Better start saying your goodbyes soon."

"How long do I have?"

The grin on the hag's face grows impossibly wide. "As long as I give you."

Beau says nothing, does nothing but turn around and walk out of the hut, jaw clenched and fists shaking.

---

She manages to ignore the burn at the corner of her eyes, up until she closes the door to the hut. She feels rather than sees the Nein - the prickle of attention on the back of her neck, the bated breaths as she turns to to them, the itch in her throat begging to be let out as she sees the fear on their faces.

She tries not to cry when she tells them, she does, really.

But Fjord is making the same face he does when he's about to collapse during their workouts, and Caleb is staring off into space - his hand twitching as if he's looking for her shoulder to hold onto, and Yasha has the same expression she did when she woke the day after they left Lorenzo dead, and Caduceus looks more scared than he had ever been on the Ball Eater, and Nott is looking at her with such loss and gratitude and pain, and -

Jester has drawn back, her tail rigid behind her, the tinkling of jewelry familiar to the monk's ear absent, her hands slowly curling into fists, her body shuddering with each breath as if she was being punched in the gut, her eyes full of hurt and confusion and anger, fangs almost poking out in a snarl, the ground below her starting to harden and freeze.

A sight to behold. Something she had hoped to see more than once.

Beau falters, lets whatever words on her lips tumble out into silence. She steps towards Jester, hand reaching out for hers -

Her hand grabs nothing but air.

---

Beau blinks and she finds herself standing in a room, boots tracking mud onto hardwood floor, hand falling limp by her side.

Her stomach churns and the room is spinning, so she finds somewhere to sit, let's her eyes jump around the room. In the corner, a large bed meant for a dog. Shelves all around her full of trinkets and books. A familiar statue tucked in between a book and a potted plant. Almost unnoticeable, if Beau hadn't been privy to how it was hidden.

She feels the tingle of magic climb up her spine and curl around her ear - Sending.

She sucks in a breath as she hears Jester, asking if she's alright, asking where she is, asking her what she did, sent one after the other.

"-don’t you answer-"

She tries to make a sound, a noise, something, but pain sinks its claws into her neck, chokes her until she can barely breathe, the voice in her head the only thing keeping the shadows of unconsciousness at bay.

"-love you so much, Beau, why-"

The tears come slowly, warm like the rain in Kamordah.

---

Reani finds her in the living room, hours later. Her delighted smile fades into worry at the sight of Beau: alone, freshly-bruised knuckles, scratches from brambles and thorns, clinging scent of swamp, eyes puffy. She sits down next to her - gentle, as if she's afraid Beau would run away.

Beau almost laughs. There's nowhere for her to go now.

---

Beau tells her the gist of what happened and Reani insists on letting her crash on the couch as long as she needs, says it’s the least she could do for a friend. Beau doesn’t know how to thank her, so she resolves to make herself less of a burden than she already is.

She may not be a monk anymore, not in name at least, but she'd always been quick on her feet and smart with her fists. The guard reckon her too skilled for perimeter watch, so they send her out with the patrol groups to fight dire wolves, wyverns - any creatures that get too close to the mountain.

Some days she visits the forge with Reani, learns how to communicate with her hands from Deilin, even picks up some smithing skills from Umi. Other days she finds herself deep in the stacks of the Vellum Steeple, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. A couple of times she helps the archers with target practice - Fen always manages to land in a few good shots.

Days blend together. Umi doesn’t glare as strongly when she calls him Umi. Fen even shoots her a not-frown every once in a while. She falls into routine.

---

Early mornings she works out behind the house and tries not to think about tusks and the scent of seawater. She helps take care of the plants and tries not to think of carefully pressed flowers or the taste of freshly-brewed tea. In the Archive, she finds herself listening for the rustle of pages and the scribble of ink on paper to accompany her own. The thwack of arrows and bowstrings remind her of the thud of crossbow bolts and the swish of alcohol.

She refuses to set foot inside the bakery.

---

Everyday, magic crawls its way into her ear and whispers of what she gave up. Sometimes it’s Caleb, bringing updates about the war. Other times it’s Caduceus with cryptic messages that make her head hurt. Most of the time it’s Jester, talking about her day, who they saw, what they did.

Some days all she hears are snippets, their voices broken up like waves against rocks. Other days it’s as if they’re right next to her and she has to fight the urge to talk back, the pressure in her lungs growing unbearable if she even entertains the thought.

On those days, she finds herself wandering around the city. Every society has a criminal underbelly, and Uthodurn is no exception. Beau pieces together locations and meeting places from conversations she and Reani have over dinner.

She joins a fighting ring, let’s the crunch of bone and the warmth of blood drown the voices out. Afterwards, she steals mail. She never gets caught.

From criminal, to monk, to Expositor and hero of a nation, back to where she was before. She expected as much.

---

It’s almost impossible to see stars from the back Reani’s house, but if Beau presses on her eyelids hard enough, explosions of color paints the barren ceiling of rock above her. In a way, it reminds her of Hupperdook - this time, she doesn't have flower necklaces, but goodbyes she has plenty.

She wonders how Kiri is, wonders if her and Luc and TJ would’ve gotten along.

Reani joins her sometimes. Sometimes they just stare at the ceiling, sometimes they talk. When they do, it's mostly Beau listening and Reani talking.

"Your friends are strong," she says one night, the light of her halo making interesting patterns in Beau’s vision, "The war is over now. I'm sure they'll find a way to break the curse."

If they still wanted to.

Beau bites her tongue until she tastes metal and stares up until the explosions blur together.

---

“Beau, I know you can hear me. I don’t know why you won’t answer, but I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. We’re trying to-”

“- find a way --- the hag --- traveling to ---”

“- be fine --- Just hold on, okay? --- you so much. I wish --- showed you --- I’m sorry.”

---

"You loved her didn't you?" Reani asks one night as they limp towards her house - dire wolves had caused trouble in the woods north of Uthodurn.

Beau pauses by the door, then bends down to unlace her boots. Distantly, she thinks of her first battle against a remorhaz - fists burning with each punch, taking note of the half-orc, keeping track of the tiefling in the creature’s grasp, ears tuned to the murmur of arcane magic, hardened bone sinking into her side, taste of metal filling her mouth, then warmth as her muscles stitched itself together, strong arms holding her, purple eyes full of anger directed at the slithering creature.

She pulls herself out of her memories, the weight of the Aasimar’s stare still trained on her making her shoulders tense. She places her boots by the door.

“Yeah,” Beau croaks out, coughs to clear her throat, turns and meets her gaze “I- Yeah.”

Reani simply nods, something akin to understanding in her eyes. She shuffles closer to Beau, lays a hand on her shoulder and pulls her into a hug.

---

The Sendings stop coming.

One shot becomes two becomes five becomes ten becomes twenty becomes more and yet the dullness doesn’t come, doesn’t drown the burning in her lungs nor the searing ache in her chest nor the tiny bit of relief that she doesn’t have to listen to her friends move on without her.

A dwarf is eyeing her, brown eyes and light brown skin, smirk playing on her lips. Pretty. Beau smirks back.

She places a platinum piece on the bar, feels the confused stare from the dwarf as she leaves.

---

One hit against the jaw, two steps to the right, five jabs in a row, ten seconds to take a breath, twenty minutes deep into the forest.

She cleans her boots outside, leans them against the house to keep the floors clean. Reani is nowhere to be seen, but there's a healer’s kit on the table waiting next to a plate of food.

She swallows down the scream in her chest and curls up on the couch until morning comes.

---

Reani tells her to wait at The Broken Stool, said she had something exciting to show her. Why she told her at the crack of dawn, Beau didn’t know.

She moves to drink her mug of ale when a hand yanks on her shoulder, bringing the tankard down to her lap. She swears, snaps her head up -

- but then -

The clink of jewelry. Strong arms around her shoulders. Rough pointed bone against her cheek. Cold weight on her wrist, hot tears on her collarbone, the scent of pastries and blood and sweat and smoke -

"Jes’?" Beau chokes out, muscles locked and heart pounding because this can't be real, "Is this- Is it really you?"

The hold on her tightens and Beau feels a nod, a horn jutting into her chin. The pressure in her lungs leaves with one breath and she melts against the tiefling, wraps one arm around her waist, runs her fingers against the base of Jester’s horns. One moment stretches into two, and the stares from the other patrons make her skin itch but she doesn't care.

Jester pulls herself from the embrace, just enough to be able to face her. Soft hands cup her cheeks, thumbs tracing the dark circles underneath her eyes. Purple stares so intensely, flit everywhere its gaze could reach - lips to chin to temple as if the tiefling was committing each shape and feature to memory, like she's scared Beau would disappear if she looks away.

Her lungs ache, breathless in the best and worst way, and she can’t stop herself -

"I'm sorry."

The gentle strokes against her skin stop. She catches a flash of something in Jester's eyes, too quick for her to figure out but potent enough to make her shoulders tense. She averts her gaze, tries to chase away the sudden feeling of cold creeping into her stomach.

Silence seeps in, floods the space between them until she feels like a ship chasing the horizon. Beau finds herself eyeing the entrance, the windows, muscles locked and ready to flee but she doesn't want to leave.

A quiet sigh barely reaches her ears. She feels Jester's palms slowly drop from her face to her hands, their fingers intertwining.

"I was mad at you, you know?" says Jester softly, rueful smile tugging on her lips, "So so mad."

Beau tears her gaze away from the window calling to her and turns to Jester, slew of words ready to run out of her chest - apologies, explanations, neither. She meets her gaze, expecting to see anger, hurt, disappointment, all three even.

Yet all she sees is tiredness, a mirror to her own, and suddenly all the words on the tip of her tongue vanish.

Jester watches her own fingers trace circles on the back of Beau’s hand. “I think I scared the others a bit, how angry I was” she laughs, short and subdued, “I wish you were there to see it, you would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m still mad. And we still need to talk. All of us.” she looks up at Beau, gives her hand a squeeze, smile growing a little bit brighter, “But right now I’m just really glad you’re not like, dead or something. Like, the hag was saying all of these crazy things when we were killing her, like she was all like ‘she’s already dead!’ and we were all like ‘fuck you!’ and then she was like ‘her soul is bonded to me for eternity!’ and - ”

“Wait,” Beau interrupts, “You guys killed Isharnai?”

Jester rolls her eyes. “Well duh. How do you think we got to you?” her brows furrow, “We Sent to you like, right after it happened, did you not get it?”

“No. I got the other ones, and then they just kinda stopped coming, like a few weeks ago,” Beau shrugs, rubs the back of her tingling neck, “Honestly, kinda thought you guys were dead. Or finally got tired of me.”

Jester jerks back, sputtering, “Tired of you? Beau, we would never, we love you so much!”

Beau makes a noncommittal hum, shrugs again.

“We do,” she insists. “I love you so much,” Jester finishes quietly, blinks once, twice.

Beau feels dizzy, the somersaults in her stomach doing nothing to help. “I love you, too, you know that.”

“No!” Beau’s face falls, and Jester panics, lets go of Beau’s hand and waves her arms around, “Wait, no, I mean, yes! I know, you love me, but I mean -”

“BEAU!”

They jerk away from each other, the shout clearly heard over the din of the tavern. Her heart stutters - she knows that voice.

Nott bursts through the entryway first, almost unrecognizable to Beau in her halfling form, if not for the crossbow on her back and the jade bracelet on her wrist. Yasha runs in afterward, Frumpkin resting on her head, almost trips on Nott in her haste to get inside. Caduceus hurries inside, nearly hits his head on the door frame. Caleb and Fjord stumble in right on his heels, both of them out of breath.

Caduceus sees her first and begins to squeeze his way towards her, murmuring apologies to the bar patrons he jostles. Fjord follows suit, dragging Caleb by his coat sleeve. Yasha and Nott keep close behind them, Frumpkin slinking between a half-elf's legs.

Jester pulls away from her, keeps a hand on her back and her tail wrapped around Beau’s wrist. The somersaults in her stomach are back again, except this time they’re jumping on her lungs and scratching under her skin and beating on her throat and -

She closes her eyes, imagines the resounding splash of breaking waves, gritty sand in her mouth, the blast of wind against her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. She counts one, two and breathes a little more loosely.

Her eyes blink open.

Standing in front of her, panting, sweating, questionable stains on their armor, growing grins of disbelief - the Mighty Nein.

---

A second passes, then two, then more - no one saying anything. The longer the silence stretches, the more her stomach drops, the more the door calls to her.

"Um.” Better that it’s her who breaks the quiet, she figures. “Long time no see?" Her voice cracks, and her eye twitches, "Fuck, shit, I mean-"

Then. The shape of buttons against her calf. Calloused hand on her shoulder. Scent of incense and ink and saltwater and tea. Furry chin digging onto the top of her head. Strong arms around her. Mix of green, pink, white, blue, ginger, blurring together.

The tears are sudden, but she welcomes them all the same.

---

Reani arrives later, knowing grin on her face as she slides next to Beau at the table. The rest of the Nein waves, busy playing a Xhorhasian dice game Yasha was trying to teach them.

“Exciting enough?”

Beau snorts, nudges her on the arm with her shoulder. “You’re such an ass for not telling me,” she says, no actual malice in her voice.

Reani just laughs, shoves her back, Beau doesn’t even budge.

“Really though,” Beau says, tapping the table, “Thank you. For this. For everything. I owe you.” She coughs, rubs at the corner of her eyes.

Reani pretends she didn’t notice Beau’s voice crack, her grin settling into a smile. "We're friends. You don't owe me anything," she pulls Beau into a quick side-hug, lets go. "Just visit more often and take care of yourself."

They watch Fjord lose against Nott, cackling as he gets even greener, being forced to drink a mix of Caleb’s ale, Nott’s whiskey, and Jester’s milk. Nott slams her flask onto the table, flings the dice towards Beau. She catches them easily, rolls them around in her palm.

“I challenge Beau to this - Bunions and Dice? Whatever this game is called - and whoever loses has to pay for the drinks of everyone in this tavern,” the halfling gestures wildly, nearly toppling Yasha’s ale. Nott holds out her hand, eyes squinting, “Do we have a deal?”

Beau stares at the hand, smirks, and squeezes the hand offered to her.

"Deal."

#critical role #beaujester #fic #my writing #I've been staring at this for too long

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ds-ts-smut-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Far From Home [Chapter Four]

Chapter One

Read on Ao3

Synopsis: Remus and Logan arrive at the swamp and find things are not as they expected.

Trigger Warnings: NSFW, explicit sex scene, demonic possession, DnD-typical violence, lmk if i missed anything!

Words: 6,422

A/N: Explicit sex scene at the very end of this chapter, there'll be a paragraph in bold where it starts so you can stop reading there, you won't miss anything past the sex. Also: Remus and Logan are level 6 after this chapter! I gave Remus another level in Bard, and he chose the College of Whispers per Adelaide's request, and as far as I know, Logan picked another level in Monk. I honestly didn't expect this battle to be so difficult, I almost killed the both of us several times :)

It only took half an hour to arrive at the outer edges of the swamp.

Remus hopped off Juniper and walked a little ahead so he could warn Logan to get her out of the way if needed. The swamp was quiet aside from the occasional buzzing or calling of insects, and the gloopy, sucking footsteps of their group. The fog was too dense to see very far ahead.

Making a small face, he ducks a hanging vine. "I hate it already… any signs yet?"

“Yeah, I’m picking up some tracks,” he murmured, eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t you say the hag is a little girl?”

"They usually attain full form at 12 or 13, kinda a shitty thing really, not becoming an adult human but a disgusting creature. Why?" Squinting, he tries to see what Remus does.

“These footprints are huge.” He looked up and tried to see through the fog to no avail. “How big do hags become?”

"Like, human adult size I think? How big are the prints… Oh dear, was she coming here because her mother was here and is teaching her to hunt?!"

“What?” Remus laughed and looked up. “What are you talking about?”

"Sorry… My mind jumped to terrible scenarios of death. Show me what you mean, Remus?" Sliding down carefully, he waits for Remus to point out what he's seen.

“I still don’t… Really know what you mean, but…” He laughed and squatted down to one of the footprints. “This. Can you tell what that is?”

"Oh dear… That's not a hag… That's a giant of some variety." He looks around them carefully. "We should not go that way maybe?"

Remus pulled out the map of the swamp given to them by Lucinda. He squinted at it. “The Blackmarsh Ruins are in the centre of the swamp… We can try to go around but I don’t want to waste too much time. Maybe we could leave Juniper here and try to stay hidden?”

Humming, Logan nods. "Probably for the best… I don't want her getting hurt."

Remus pet her for a moment and kissed her snout, then helped Logan down.

She nudges Remus gently before wandering to the edge of the swamp to find some grass to graze on. Logan smiles as he leans on Remus gently. "Mmm… So, lead the way, my dear?"

“Yeah. Get down.”

They crept close to the dense foliage, using the fog as cover, as they headed towards the ruins. Remus frowned in confusion as they stopped about ten feet away from tall, rickety walls. They were haphazardly made with jagged, cut tree trunks and nails sticking out or bent.

Two half-ogres towered near an entrance, grunting at each other, each brandishing an axe with huge blades and fairly short hilts.

Remus swallowed and gripped onto Logan’s arm to keep him from continuing.

A moment later, another half-ogre came out of the entrance. Remus held his breath. Eyes following Remus' line of sight, Logan ducks a little more, trying to figure out a way past. This isn't good… they're too big, too many to try and fight.

Remus gripped Logan’s hand, mind reeling with fragments of plans.

The half-ogres grunted at each other for a few minutes, before a fourth one came out, snapping and yelling at the other three.

Stroking Remus' knuckles, Logan points backwards, gesturing for a silent retreat. Remus looked at him in surprise and shook his head.

Arching an eyebrow, Logan raises 4 fingers questions in his eyes. You think we can take all 4, Rem?

Under his breath, Remus snapped, “I’m not leaving.”

He looked back to the half-ogres, only to find one staring right at him. He ripped his hand from Logan’s and sprinted away, closer to the wall.

Logan curses softly, creeping closer and aiming to position himself behind the group that is now thoroughly distracted by Remus.

Remus pulled out his sickles as one of the half-ogres pointed him out and the others ran towards him. Adelaide’s voice crept under Remus’ as he narrowed his eyes and snapped under his breath. One of them stopped and flinched. It roared in frustration and shook his head.

It charged at Remus and attacked with the battleaxe, Remus jumping out of the way before it could hit. Another one came up right behind the first, cutting a slash across Remus’ arm. Remus grit his teeth and hissed in pain.

Spotting Logan, the fourth ogre points and bellows before hurling a javelin at the new opponent, missing by a wide margin, but alerting his counterparts that there are two attackers. The last ogre decides to swing at Logan with his battle axe but gets too excited and slips on a patch of muddy grass, missing as well.

Logan grins, deciding to strike the one that had attacked Remus with his sword, slicing in deeply and grinning widely as the blood sprays. Remus sliced twice with his sickles, letting out an angry yell. One slammed hard into a half-orgre’s face, leaving a large, bleeding crack, his other sickle flying over the ogre’s head.

The half-ogre grunted and straightened itself up, its body already battered, bruised, and bloody. It brought its battleaxe over Remus’ head, only for its eyes to roll back as it stumbled, the axe landing harmlessly in the ground. The half-ogre next to it ran to attack Remus as well, and tripped over the fallen axe, landing on the grass.

Axe now in hand, the one that had tried to javelin Remus swipes at Logan, deciding to avoid the dark little fury for now, missing again in his shock over two comrades tripping over themselves.

The last one also swings at Logan, hitting him hard in the side and making him wheeze out a shocked breath before turning to swing back and return the favor.

Remus’ eyes widened, fear jolting through him. He dashed between the two ogres’ legs, yelling as an axe came down on the back of his calf, and brought his sickles down on the ogre that hit Logan. The ogre yelled in rage and pain, falling to its knees and struggling to stand.

The half-ogre that had gotten Remus’ leg turned with thunderous stomps. It bought its axe up, wheezing through pained breaths, and lost hold of its axe. It screamed as the axe fell onto its foot. The last ogre snapped a few things in Giant and readied a javelin.

The javelin soared through the air and buried itself in Logan’s arm, poking out the other side as he curses and staggers a little.

The healthiest half ogre grins and swings at Logan hard, axe digging in and sending him to the ground with a spray of blood, just barely conscious. The last ogre claps its hands when it goes to swing, dropping its axe on its own foot.

Logan pants hard, hand glowing as he heals himself a little with ki and fumbles for a potion of healing, drinking deeply. Remus fumbled for his own health potion, taking the biggest vial. Remus’ wounds healed over, the red liquid glowing under his skin as it rushed through his body. He ripped a small pouch from his belt and tossed it, a thousand shiny metal balls rolling over the ground. Remus forced an encouraging smile to Logan.

One of the half-ogres jumped out of the way just as the ball bearings came out, the other charging at Logan and slipping hard, landing on his axe. He bled out on the ground.

One of the ogres struggled to its feet, panting and huffing in rage. It turned to Remus and brought its axe up to attack, and Remus easily stepped out of the way.

Shifting carefully the other two remaining ogres stand, the first not caring and running at Remus but his wild swing misses and he falls again with a heavy thud. The last one is a bit more careful, swinging at Logan who's a closer target, but he also misses.

Logan chuckles, using the panicked swing to slice under its arm and send it to the ground. Remus took a second with heavy breathing to take in the situation, the half-ogre at the brink of death, the ones beat up and staggering, the last who hadn’t been hit once. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, panic coursing through his system.

Let me help.

“Fuck off, Adelaide,” he groaned under his breath, and brandished his sickles.

He ran to one of the half-ogres attacking Logan and leapt, landing on the ogre’s back and bringing his sickles down hard. The sickles squelched into its head, and all of its muscles tensed and locked under Remus’ thighs. Remus landed on his feet as the ogre fell, dead.

The ogre with the crack to the face snarled at Remus. It turned to leave, and Remus sliced his sickle out in panic, slashed it in the back of the head but it kept running and disappeared into the walled ruins.

"That can't be good…" Logan hums softly, watching the other ogre slowly back up to follow. "Give chase or let them be?"

Remus growled in frustration. “We won’t be able to catch up, let’s finish this!”

Logan nods, sending one of his darts at the slower ogre, hitting it hard as he runs their way.

Grinning wickedly, Logan nods, tossing another dart and whooping softly as it drops dead, skidding to a halt to look for the one that got all the way to the ruins. All that laid ahead was the sunken, rotting frames of the old buildings. Sloppy footsteps trailed towards the most put-together building in sight, an inn half-sunken into the mud.

Remus got on his hands and knees to find his ball bearings. “How are you feeling?”

Kneeling to help, he hums, assessing. "Not dead yet, you?"

Finding the majority of them and securing them back on his belt, Remus rolled his shoulders and cracked his back. “Would’ve been dead if not for that potion. Fine now, though. If you’re good, we should keep moving in case the ogre gets back with more help.”

"I hear that loud and clear…" Touching his chest, he uses his ki once more to patch up more of his wounds. "I know I almost passed out myself."

Remus grabbed his hand and stared at him seriously. “You can leave. Go back to Juniper and wait in town, let me handle this myself.”

Squeezing Remus' hand, he shakes his head, lifting it to kiss him softly. "I can't do that. I promised to be your support, dear. We promised to go after this sea hag together and that's what we'll do."

Remus took in a shaky breath and sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Remus crouched down as they moved through the ruins, heading slowly towards the inn. Remus stopped a few times to listen, but there was only silence. Logan slides along carefully, martial training helping him to blend into the scenery as he keeps an eye out, cleaning his weapons after tugging the darts out of the one he felled with them.

Remus gestured for Logan to wait as he scouted forward, creeping up to one of the broken windows. He peeked inside. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

Two sea hags hid behind the counter, just barely poking out. Neither of them had silver hair. The half-ogre that had gotten away stood poised by the door, battleaxe raised. One of the hags narrowed her eyes and her gaze snapped to Remus’.

“Motherfucker,” he snapped under his breath and pulled out his sickles.

Without waiting for Logan, he kicked the door down and attacked the half-ogre. Remus barely managed to miss, yelling in frustration. Remus slashed with his sickles again, blood pouring from the half ogre’s wounds.

Whistling softly, Logan leans in and stabs at the ogre, sending it down in a gurgle of blood, dead. As Logan came into the inn, Silver dropped from the ceiling in an attempt to grapple him. Logan leapt out of the way just in time for her to land on the ground and snarl at him.

“You bitch, you should’ve never come here,” she snapped.

The two sea hags hidden behind the counter jumped at the sight of their dead bodyguard. The one with long, dripping wet seaweed hair read from an old book, the other two joining in on the chants. A cone of sickening green light launched out to Logan.

The smaller, thinner hag snarled at Remus and charged him with her claws. Remus ducked out of the way with a gasp. Remus came at her with his sickles, growling in frustration. She hissed as a cut opened on her cheek.

Slicing at the closest antagonist, Logan hums. "I'm not a bitch, I'm a monk!"

Silver leapt at him, blinded by her rage and slashing uselessly with her claws. The two hags in the bag chanted together, and a blast of lightning shot out towards Remus. Remus’ eyes widened but he couldn’t jump away in time. His entire body convulsed, his skin smoking, and he fell unconscious on the ground.

"Remus!!" Logan screams out and slashes at Silver harshly.

Remus fought to get up, to open his eyes, his entire body heavy and burning. He let out a little whimper, his fingers twitching.

Kneeling, Logan takes his hand channeling his ki to help him heal. The hags’ laughter echoed through the inn, their chants growing louder. Silver grinned and held her hand out, fingers spread, and clenched her fist.

Her grin faded as Logan straightened up, the spell a fail. The long-haired hag leapt over the counter and tossed the book to the thinner one, tearing into Logan’s throat with her claws. The third one flipped through the book in panic.

Remus gasped and sat up, looking around and taking in the situation. “Fuck,” he groaned, and staggered to his feet. “You ugly, evil fuck,” he snapped at the thin hag, casting vicious mockery.

The hag dropped the book to hold her head, yelling.

Panting a little, Logan takes stock, striking at Silver with his sword and fist, slicing her up and pushing her back away from him a little.

Silver’s eyes locked on Logan, then slipped over his shoulder, at the tiefling spitting magic insults at her mom and sister. She pushed past Logan with a growl and lunged for Remus.

The mother hag glared Remus and slashed at him as well, bringing him to his knees and wheezing for breath. The sister chanted quietly, eyes focused on Logan. She growled in frustration as Logan once again refused the Hold Person.

Remus crawled backwards, back against a soggy wall, and fumbled for the last health potion in his bandolier. He gulped it down and chucked away the empty vial, leaving it shattered on the ground. Slicing out at Silver with a small grunt, Logan takes out and chugs his potion, straightening up a little more as he drops the vial. She spat blood on the ground, panting heavily, hair ragged.

Silver turned and rushed for the exit. Logan stepped in front of her and pushed her back, his and Remus’ blades sinking into her. back and stomach. She gasped and tensed, then fell over, dead.

“NO!” The mother hag heaved for breath, staring at her dead daughter.

The sister hag chanted angrily, the mother quickly joining in.

Remus’ eyes dilated. He swore his hands were still at his side but he watched them bring up his sickles and decapitate Logan, listened to Adelaide’s laughter echo as Logan’s head rolled. He stumbled back, as far back as he could, pressing against the wall.

"Remus? C'mon… Whatever you saw, it's not real!" Stepping in towards the hags, Logan growls softly, stalking them and swinging as soon as they're in range, missing due to his rage but he gets her on the backswing across the face.

“You killed my daughter,” she hissed, the sister chanting in the background. “You will regret that!”

"So far… not really?" He smirks as he shakes off another wave of magic with a laugh.

She pushed past him with a growl, the sister following with their book.

She screamed as Logan’s short sword speared through the pages. He ripped it up, splitting the book in half. She fumed, but her and her remaining daughter rushed out and disappeared into the fog.

Remus panted, chest heaving, blinking frantically and looking around.

Turning to Remus, Logan tries to calm him. "Remus? Can you hear me, hun?"

“Logan?” He panted. He reached up and cupped Logan’s face, then sighed in relief, pressing their foreheads together.

Wrapping Remus in a hug, he nods, nuzzling softly. "Yeah, baby… I'm right here."

Remus looked up. “Where did they go?”

Gesturing with his sword, he hums. "That way… I did get a parting shot on that book they were always flipping through though!"

Remus dropped his head on Logan’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he sighed. “They got away.”

Stroking Remus' hair, Logan nods. "I let them go because you are more important to me… We killed their guards and Silver… We can heal up and track them. They can't have gone far!"

He nodded. “Yeah. Have you found the prisoners?”

"Why don't we look now? Take a quick search through on our way?"

Remus pushed himself to his feet. He pressed two fingers to his own forehead, and two to Logan’s.

Leaning into the touch happily, Logan sighs softly, feeling strength return and wounds heal up more. "Mmm, kiss me, dear one?"

He hesitated. He kissed Logan’s cheek, then said, “We have a job to do.” He squeezed his hand and searched through the inn.

"I know…. Just had to reassure myself that you're here and safe." He helps check the area with a small smile.

Remus still reeling from his hallucinations, struggling to stop the tremor in his hand, it was mostly up to Logan to find the kidnapped villagers. He quickly came across a locked door.

Remus came up with a frown. He reached into his skirt for his thieves’ tools. He gets it open quickly, and a thick, heavy stench rolled out.

Gagging a little, Logan chokes quietly. "Oh dear… That can't be good."

Remus grimaced as he stared into the room. Amongst the dozens of dead bodies were four live ones, two small children, a woman, and a man.

Logan offers his hands out to help them out of the room. "I promise you're safe now."

The group of them stumbled away from the bodies, all dirty and half-starved, and fell into Logan’s and Remus’ arms. Remus fumbled for his waterskin as Adelaide cackled, poked fun at their expressions and appearances. Remus grimaced and helped the children drink.

Offering some rations from his belt pouch, Logan makes sure the ones that came to him have water as well, almost chuckling as the boy that resembles Ginger touches his horns. "You seem to be a hit with the small ones again, darling!"

Remus blushed. “Let’s get them to Juniper and back to town.”

Remus let the small ones climb onto him, Ginger’s brother riding on his back while the girl clung to his front.

Helping the adults back to the meadow where they left Juniper, Logan smiles gently as the kids cling to Remus. It's honestly adorable how good he is with kids. They trust him.

Logan and Remus got the adults settled on Juniper, while Remus let the kids cling to him.

“When we get back to town, where should we bring you?” Remus asked.

The kids just giggle and cling more, but the adults look at each other before saying, "The healing house."

Logan hums, showing their map and having the woman point it out for them. "I'm guessing you prefer to be checked over before heading to your homes."

The woman nodded. “Yeah. Not that we can’t wait to go home, we just… We’re worried.”

"Understandable!" Logan clicks to Juniper, leading her along the path back to town. "I can look over you a little first, if that helps at all? I just want to get a little further away from the swamps first."

They consented with little nods. Remus took watch while Logan carefully examined them, finding them to be bruised, cut up a bit, half-starved and dehydrated, but far from death’s bed. Reporting what he's found and bandaging the small cuts, he smiles softly. "All set… Another little snack and maybe we drop each of you off at your home?"

Remus pulled his water skin off his belt and shook it a moment. “There’s not much left, but this should tide you over until we get back to the Villas.”

They all nodded, accepting the food Remus handed them from his rations. They got everyone back to the Villas without problem, dropping the woman and the little girl off at their homes in the residential sector and heading to the orphanage to drop off Ginger’s brother.

"We'll have to resupply and rest before we try to find those two again… Or should let the guards try round 2?" Knocking on the door of the orphanage again, Logan hums softly.

“I don’t know,” Remus mumbled. “Maybe we should just tell Lucinda what route we’re taking, have her send after us if they return.”

The door opened and Laucion’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at the sight of Ginger’s brother. Laucion barely managed to catch him as the small child hurled himself at him.

Grinning, Logan nods, watching with soft eyes. "Mmm… they can deal with the others that weren't as lucky perhaps?"

“Yeah,” Remus sighed.

“Thank you,” Laucion said dumbly. “Just… Thank you. I- I don’t even know what to say, I thought…”

Logan smiles softly. "It's okay, I understand. It's why we knew we had to help. I'm sorry we didn't come through sooner."

“Is there anything I can do for you two? Anything at all?”

Looking at Remus, Logan is a little at a loss, he can't really come up with anything.

“Here, I have an idea. Wait right here.”

Laucion disappeared inside, and a few minutes later, came back without Ginger’s brother. He gestured for Logan and Remus to hold out their hands, and put a smooth, round stone in each of their palms.

“Do you know what these are?”

Logan turns it in his hands, shaking his head. "I confess that I only know this is lovely?"

Laucion laughed. “They’re sending stones. Keep one on each of you and if you ever get separated, you can use them to talk once a day.”

"Oh! That's lovely!" Grinning broadly, he carefully tucks it away. "Thank you, so much!"

“Thank you for bringing him back. Ginger was so overjoyed, I…” He clapped them both on the shoulder. “I spoke to Lucinda for you. She should have a small cash reward for your troubles. Please, come back to the Villas any time, okay?” He laughed. “We could use your help.”

Logan grins. "Thank you indeed… Not necessary, but thank you! We should get this gentleman home, but pass along good wishes to Ginger and her brother? They're lovely kids!"

“I will. Have a good night.” He smiled and shut the door behind him.

Remus fit the stone in his bandolier and met back up with the last man. “Where to?”

"Wherever our last friend needs to go, I'd like to see them all home safe before we stop by the guard station." Logan hums softly, gesturing for the man to direct him as he helps him back onto Juniper.

Taking the reins, the halfling guides Juniper gently, smiling. "If I know my husband, he's in the shop or storefront. Alberic is such a workaholic when he's worried."

Remus let out a quiet breath of relief. “We’ve met him. He was really worried. Let’s get you home.”

Chuckling softly, Arlan hums, hurrying Juniper along and smiling more the closer they get to the shop. "Poor thing falls apart without me, I think. He can't cook for beans."

Remus tied up Juniper’s reigns when they arrived at the blacksmith. He rapped on the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

Logan helps Arlan down before hugging Remus gently. "Patience, my dear."

The door swung open, Alberic staring up at them with wide eyes. “Well?”

Arlan sighs, stepping up where he can be seen and opening his arms. "I've missed you too, you great grump!"

Alberic pushed past the heroes and threw himself into Arlan’s arms. Remus laughed and stepped next to Logan.

Arlan sighs, wrapping around his husband. "Mmm, there you are, darling."

Logan whispers softly, arm wrapping around Remus in a gentle embrace. "This is so pure…"

Alberic looked up with watery eyes. “Please, come inside. I have gifts.”

Remus and Logan followed him to the counter as he dug around underneath. He pulled out a large crate, recognizable a ghost blade and two very sharp sickles sitting inside.

“I also scrounged up some health potions, and, oh, this one is fun,” he tapped a small jar filled with gray smoke, like he’d pickled a stormcloud, “and, Logan, I saw you work with darts, and I noticed your quiver, Remus. I managed to make you three sedative darts and two poison arrows.”

"Oh my… This is all so much! Thank you, we have to at least offer some kind of payment." Logan looks a little overwhelmed at all the gifts, being used to a simple existence.

Arlan hums softly. "A lovely set of gifts, my dear! Perfect for such kind gentlemen!"

He blushed. “You brought my husband back alive. Please take it, or I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably. “If you're serious about it… Um, thank you.” ((Go ahead and add 1 standard healing and 1 greater healing to your inv))

Logan shifts a little as well, shy but thankful. "Well… if you insist, thank you. Thank you very much. We should at least give you our previous weapons as stock for upgrading so you're not out as much material."

“Of course,” Remus said and pulled out his old sickles. “Thank you.”

Trading out his short sword for the ghost blade, Logan makes a gentle bow. "May you live long and prosper, thank you very much."

Arlan smiles, kissing his husband's cheek. "You're most welcome! Get some rest soon? You've earned it as well as our respect!"

Remus blushed and nodded. “We’re going to visit Lucinda, then get some dinner in the inn. We actually need to get moving tomorrow.”

Logan nods softly. "Indeed. The last two sea hags were wounded and fled, but we focused on the prisoners first. We might be back through at some point though?"

Remus nodded. “We don’t want to leave you vulnerable. Just… Don’t get too comfortable.”

Alberic nodded somberly and came to Arlan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We know how to defend ourselves. You should get to Lucinda before she closes up office.”

Smiling a little, Logan pats Juniper in thanks for her work before swinging up into the saddle again. "Certainly. We'll definitely do our best to track them down on our way to the next town too. See you later!"

The husbands waved, and Remus and Logan brought Juniper back down to the stables. Remus gave each worker a silver in thanks and followed Logan to town hall.

They came up to the desk. “Lucinda is expecting us,” Remus said.

Logan bit back a grin as the desk worker scurried off, obviously having heard some rumors about them. She came back out and Lucinda appeared in the doorway, waving Logan and Remus inside. She gestured to the seats across the desk, sitting herself.

“Tell me what happened.”

Sitting easily, Logan hums, explaining what had happened briefly, obviously a bit proud that he'd been right about the sea hag and that the young girl was one, and tapping a map on her desk to show where the bodies could be found, he explains their plans for the next day.

She nodded, her face twisted in a grimace. “Very well. Thank you for helping Blackmarsh Villas. Since two of the hags went free and could come back any day now, I simply can’t afford to give you the full reward, I hope you understand that. Nevertheless, I did scrape something up for you.”

She pulled two tiny pouches from her desk and placed one in front of each of them. “That’s one hundred platinum each. I hope it’s enough.”

"But of course. I wasn't expecting a reward, but thank you for doing what you can. If we do come across them and dispatch the two remaining hags, shall we send you word?" Taking the pouch, he counts it carefully before tucking it away.

Remus choked.

Logan gently pats his knee, also a little flustered by the amount, he tries not to show it.

“Is there anything else I can do for you two?”

“Um…” Remus swallowed and pulled out his map of the continent. He laid it out on the desk and dragged his finger along as he spoke. “This is the route we’re taking to Maeston Coast. If those hags become a problem again, you can send a courier to catch up with us and we’ll come back.”

She nodded once. “Very well. Anything else?”

"I believe that's all we have to discuss with you. Thank you for your time." Standing slowly, Logan gives a short bow.

Remus scrambled to his feet and sloppily copied, then grabbed his platinum and rushed out of the office.

Following Remus out, he gives him a gentle hug as soon as they're out of the building, whispering in his ear. "I'm so proud of us, my dear!"

Remus blushed and hugged him awkwardly, then led him towards the tavern. “I mean, we could have done better. Two hags got away. We almost died, like, a couple of times.”

"Well, yeah, but… we came out alive, four half ogres and a hag is dead and hopefully shredding their book will help take them down later!" Following him easily, he hums softly.

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah… I guess that’s true. God, I just- I’m exhausted. Let’s get something to eat and go to bed, okay? We can stop by the bathhouse before hitting the road tomorrow?”

"Okay. I can definitely get behind that… Or we can see if we can take advantage of the bathhouse to relax and sleep better?" Letting Remus lean on him gently, he smiles.

“Curfew,” Remus reminded sadly. “If we don’t get in the tavern soon, we’ll be in trouble.”

Logan chuckles. "I forgot honestly. Alright. Food and bed it is. Maybe we can get some warm water brought up and I can give you a sponge bath, dear?"

Remus blushed bright red. “If you want.”

They made it to the tavern and while they waited on their food, Remus popped open the window beside them and pulled out his pipe— black, wooden, very old. He didn’t use it often, but he was exhausted and his body thrummed in pain. When he lit it up, white smoke came out the top, shaped like skulls.

Settling near him, Logan encourages Remus to lean, rubbing small circles in his knee in a gentle pattern he'd learned from Patton for stress. Remus sighed happily and leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder as the drugs lessened Remus’ aches. Their food came quickly, hot and at a discount, and Remus practically choked it down.

Nearly moaning, Logan eats quickly as well, some of his usual trained grace disappearing in the face of hunger. Remus put his pipe away and they finished eating, then stumbled upstairs. Remus fell into bed with a groan.

Following, Logan locks the door as he balances the jug of hot water and rags he'd asked the kitchen for. "Mmm, strip for me, baby~?"

Remus blushed and took a second to collect himself, before sitting up. He peeled off his trenchcoat and the scraps he used for a shirt, and kicked his skirt off. Watching with a smile, Logan prepares a bowl with water and some soap as well as one with just water to rinse.

"Such a lovely one you are, dear. Lay out for me to clean? I'll let you choose if I start on your front or back… but I will clean you everywhere~!"

His face was redder than ever. He rolled back onto his stomach so he could hide his face in the pillows.

Logan grins a little, starting on his hooves and working up with gentle scrubbing and massaging strokes. "Going to pamper every inch of you, my dear~!"

Remus couldn’t figure what he did to deserve Logan. He pushed those thoughts away before they could get too overwhelming, and forced himself to relax under Logan’s touch. He rustled around until he found his flute and quickly cast minor illusion so Virgil could curl against his shoulder and neck.

Smiling as he sees the comfort illusion show up, Logan hums, fingers gently digging into the muscles of Remus' back and ass to release tension. "Mmm, I see your lovely friend is back… I'm glad."

Remus blushed. “He’s a druid. He likes you, I’m sure.”

"I certainly hope so… He's your friend. I hope to be judged worthy of you~!" Nuzzling Remus' neck softly, he kisses the side Virgil isn't pressed against.

Remus sighed happily and found himself lulling half-asleep with Virgil’s purrs and Logan’s gentle care.

Stroking and rubbing, Logan hums lowly, massaging softly and slowly rolling Remus over carefully to start on his front as well. "My little one… So pretty and strong~!"

Remus let out a little whimper. “No…”

Dipping the rag into the water, he grins, kissing Remus' nipple. "Mmm, you are, baby~! Nearly got hit a couple times just watching you fight… You're too sexy~!"

Remus buried his face in his hands and arched his back.

My god, you are too easy.

"I'm half tempted to slide right into you and sleep with you just holding my cock for me, baby~!" Stroking softly, he keeps kissing and licking the small nubs as his fingers keep cleaning down Remus' body.

Remus grinded against him weakly, his bones jelly.

Stroking Remus' cock, he hums. "You're so tired though…. I don't want to take advantage of you."

“Please,” he panted. “Feels… so good…”

"Feels so good to be full of cock, my dark darling~? Have I made you a cock hungry whore~?" Pressing a gentle finger over Remus' entrance, he rubs softly to test how open he is.

Remus arched his back and spread his legs. “A-ah… fuck, yes- yes, sir…”

Lifting the spread legs, he hums, sliding in a finger followed by another as he feels the oil and cum still lubing him up. "Good~! And you're only mine, aren't you~?"

Remus went to answer, but something jolted painfully inside him. “Adelaide,” he choked out.

"Oh, I know… but I mean other than us … you won't go bending over for just a person on the street to get your fix of cock, would you, baby~?" Kissing his lips, he hums. "Well, unless we told you to~?"

That sounds fun!

“Not unless you told me to,” he agreed weakly.

"Such a good boy… So obedient~!" Kissing Remus again, he nips softly. "I won't do that unless you want to be watched being my little cock whore, and we have plenty of money right now~!"

Remus whimpered, thrusting his hips uselessly.

What about an audience? Would you let Logan whore us out in plain sight?

Rubbing over Remus' walls, he works in a third finger. "Then again, there are clubs that I've heard of where people pay just to watch others fuck… That could be nice, just having a room masturbating to the sight of you taking my cock and moaning like a back alley whore~ !"

“Fuck,” Remus whimpered. “Hnnng… God…”

Trading his fingers for his cock, Logan slowly rocks into Remus, hands on the spread thighs. "So needy to be filled and fucked~!"

“Yes, sir!” He thrust back against him with a whimper, eyes landing on the open curtains at the window. “Sir…”

"Mmm~? Is someone already getting a little show~?"

“Sir, someone could see,” he gasped, clenching.

"And~?" Fucking him harder, he slides one of Remus' legs up around his hip to press deeper. "They'll see you getting fucked and liking it, helpless under me~!"

He whimpered and sobbed out.

Want him to ours you against the window, show everyone your sloppy hole?

“Shut up, Adelaide,” he whined.

"Could be worse, baby… I once bent someone over in the window itself, letting them moan out across the town, chest heaving as I fucked their ass good~!" Giving Remus' ass a soft spank, he grins. "Could do that again~?"

Remus eyes rolled back, unable to do anything but gasp and moan.

Fucking right against his prostate, he spanks again, watching his reaction. "Mmm, I think maybe next time~?"

“Please,” Remus gasped. “Please, please, need…”

Holding Remus' hands above his head for better leverage, he fucks in deep and hard. "Cum, slut… Untouched and helpless, let that little cock make a tiny mess on your belly~!"

Remus came with a sob, thrusting his hips wildly. Cumming hard into Remus, Logan kisses him harshly, fucking the cum deep with their combined thrusts.

“Please, sir,” he whimpered.

Wrapping Remus' hands around him, he slows his thrusts once he's satisfied with how his cum paints his walls. "Mmm, feels good to be fully claimed once more, baby~?"

“Yes, sir,” he panted.

Stroking his hair, he smiles, laying over and inside him. "I'm right here, dear… That vision they showed you… it wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

“Thank you, master,” he panted, gripping onto him.

Stroking and rubbing, he hums, kissing his skin softly. "You're welcome, my dear. It's only what you deserve…. my care, my affection, my protection, and all the pleasure I can provide."

Remus nuzzled into his neck, stretching out his legs. “You act like you owe me something.”

Blushing, he smiles softly. "You gave me purpose, so I suppose that I do a little? However, I just like to care for any partner I have, Remus."

Remus peeked up at him. “You’re crazy.”

Logan snorts softly, cupping Remus' face and kissing him gently. "Perhaps…. but you like that I'm crazy!"

He rolled his eyes and snuggled into him. “Goodnight.”

Sliding the blankets up around them, he snuggles Remus close, letting their legs twine. "Mmm, goodnight, my dear."

#logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #far from home #not safe for sanders

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mypoisonedvine · 5 years ago

Text

Helping Hand - Chapter 1

Jaskier x (female)Reader

Rating: E

Warnings: None, just a lot of smut and hopefully some fluff and angst to come

Word Count: a bit over 3k

Prompt: “Hey hey! I basically just read every piece of Jaskier stuff on your page and I'm in looooove. Could you write one where the reader (female) has been cursed with a love spell? Kinda? Like every touch is ultry heightened but she cant "take care of business" unless it's from the person she loves? So she has to embarrassingly ask/confess to Jaskier (and maybe Geralt if you want) for a helping hand?” (thanks for not only the prompt but the title idea lol)

Taglist: @100percentamess @mytinybaguette

Of course, you assumed the old hag was just senile, at first. When someone pisses someone else off, it’s somewhat normal to curse them, it’s just that it’s not really literal. So why would you take it seriously when some woman claiming to be a bog witch says that she’ll put a curse on you for trespassing on her swamp?

You didn’t even really pay attention to what she’d said- something about your true affections coming to light? And she had rhymed light with plight? But you forgot what the plight even was, because it didn’t matter.

Your first sign that something was wrong was when you rejoined Geralt and Jaskier at the edge of the bog. They’d asked how your search went, all was normal, but then Jaskier touched you. It was casual, something you never would’ve even thought about previously, but this time it felt oddly strong. Like he was gripping you with so much force, like he had punched you in the shoulder. Except it wasn’t painful? Just powerful. You still yelped in surprise.

“Damn, it was just a bug on your shoulder, no need to have a fit,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Why did you touch me so… hard?”

“I barely touched you…? Are you injured?” he asked. He started to reach out to examine you but you ducked away.

"I'm fine," you grumbled.

You weren't fine, and it became clear to you very quickly. As soon as you'd all begun to travel back into town, the heat started. It was cold out, and yet you felt like you were burning up. You didn't say anything because you didn't want to cause alarm over hot flashes. But then you felt that undeniable need, usually not the sort of thing to strike you in the afternoon as you walked alongside Roach, burning through you. You looked over to Jaskier and though he looked the same as always, you felt like you were seeing him with new eyes. As you gaze scanned each part of him, an urge to reach out and touch whatever you could reach began to knock against your brain. It’s not like you’d never noticed he was attractive before, but now it was like you couldn’t see anything else; you forced yourself to look away before you couldn’t stop yourself from pouncing on him.

The second you were back in town, you were in the pub and drinking like it was the end of the world. This was the sort of strange feeling that you felt like only alcohol could wash down. Of course, it turns out you were entirely wrong- being drunk just made it impossible to resist the ridiculous whims running through your mind.

“Say, would you pass me that-” Jaskier began. He hadn’t even finished when you jumped up and reached for the nearby mug of ale, handing it to him eagerly. “Erm, thanks,” he nodded. Even as you felt embarrassed upon realizing that your reaction was rather strange, you felt relief wash over you for some reason. To know that you had done what he wanted, perhaps to have even made him happy in some small way, was deeply satisfying.

“Are you feeling alright?” Geralt asked with a mildly concerned expression. Knowing that this was only going to get worse, you decided to take the opportunity to leave while you still could.

“This ale hits harder than I’d anticipated. I’ll turn in early, I think,” you decided as you stood up, giving a quick bow before you dashed upstairs to your room.

You fell onto your bed, and though your mind was requesting for some time to think about whatever the hell was going on, your body was alight with a very clear and unified need. You were barely laying down before you were shimmying your trousers down and touching yourself. It was good, but instantly you were longing for something more, and though you didn’t mean to think of him, Jaskier (of course) popped into your mind. Thinking of Jaskier brought you so much closer but never close enough. You were desperate enough to rub yourself raw seeking release, but you knew that it would never work. You certainly tried several times anyways, but soon you were looking to the door, then you looked away, then you looked back to the door, and repeated this until your desperation overcame your guilt and you found yourself stumbling down the hall to Jaskier’s room.

"Jask…?" you prompted as you pushed open the door. You found him laying back on his bed, setting a book aside to greet you.

"What is it?" he asked cheerily. You closed the door behind you.

"Do you remember a few months ago… we were at that pub in Cintra-" you began.

"I remember," he interrupted, almost sounding stern about it.

Talking about it made your stomach feel all floaty and twisty. You'd agreed it was a mistake, fueled by drunkenness and loneliness- him just having been dumped by the Countess again and you having developed affections for a man you'd encountered on the journey only to discover he had failed to mention he was married. (For you, marriage was actually a deal-breaker, much to Jaskier's surprise.) We both really wanted someone else, you'd told him, and settled on each other. He'd thought that was a good summary, you shook hands on it and thankfully were able to move on as friends. And that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry to bring it up," you nervously apologized.

"It's not like I'd forgotten about it," he chuckled.

"I'm sort of- I have a… situation," you began.

"The same sort of situation that had you falling into my bed?" he presumed. You felt your face get hot from hearing that. He seemed a little agitated, which made you very concerned that this was going to backfire on you. But, you were in too deep to stop now.

"I suppose," you answered.

"There's plenty of fish in the sea," he shrugged.

"I want you, specifically," you clarified. "I need you. It has to be you."

“So, I’ve ruined you for all other men?” he smirked.

“I can’t… by myself,” you gestured, hoping he would get what you meant.

"I’ve ruined you even for yourself?”

"I think I was cursed!" you finally blurted out.

"Falling in love with me can feel like a curse, I know, but don't blame yourself," he soothed sarcastically, resting his hands behind his head.

"That day I went into the bog, you touched me- and ever since, everything's been wrong, and you're the only person who can… I can't even think about anyone else," you continued. He seemed to actually start paying attention. "I have this strange urge to do what you tell me to, it feels so, erm, good. It feels good to do what you ask of me."

He straightened up a bit, his smile dropping. "Okay, that doesn't sound anything like you. You've definitely been cursed."

"And I have this… desire. It's overwhelming. I can't even think straight."

“You- you should have Geralt take care of you. He’s got a lot of stamina, and no pesky feelings to get in the way,” he dismissed, looking away from you as he got up off the bed.

If you weren’t so high on desperation, you would’ve noticed the implications of his phrasing, but of course you were, so you didn’t.

“I want you,” you begged, “please.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you weren’t cursed,” he scoffed. You stepped closer and in such a small room he was already so close and your body felt like a tuning fork, vibrating and humming for him.

“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” you countered, your breathing suddenly heavy.

He looked at you and he almost looked pained… sad, guilty maybe. Since when did a woman begging for him inspire anything but unadulterated joy in any man, let alone a man like Jaskier?

“Please,” you whimpered one more time. He stepped forward and reached out, tentatively at first, and brushed his fingers against your chest. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan.

“Wow, you’re really worked up, huh?” he asked, somewhere between genuine concern and teasing. You nodded feverishly.

“How can I help you?” he asked softly.

“Make love to me,” you pleaded.

He made a peculiar noise when you said that, like a gasp and a sigh at once, even though they’re technically opposites.

He leaned in and you nearly sobbed at just the idea of him kissing you. Instead he pressed his lips against your neck, even the slightest touch causing your hips to buck towards him. He reached around and started to undo the lacing on the back of your bodice- even through the layers of your blouse you felt the warmth of his fingertips, and the delicate movements of his hands sent shivering tingles up and down your back. He’d only been touching you for maybe twenty seconds and you felt like you were two-thirds to orgasm- everything was more sensitive, more powerful. You weren’t sure how you would keep your composure.

“This ale hit you really hard, hm?”

“It’s not the ale,” you panted.

“That’s not what you’ll say tomorrow morning,” he theorized.

“What will I say- ah- tomorrow morning?” you asked, trying to stop every moan and whimper from arising. He’d gotten your top off just enough to expose your shoulders and was kissing along the left one like it was actually worth kissing even though it was just a damn shoulder. An hour ago you’d have killed for him to kiss you like this anywhere, but now that you were here, suddenly you had much more specific ideas.

“I won’t be able to tell what you’re saying because you’ll be smashing my lute over my head,” he chuckled.

You’d sort of forgotten what question you were asking.

“You really think I dislike you that much?” you asked quietly. He didn’t answer, pulling your blouse up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. You expected it to be cold but you suddenly felt warmer than ever, like you were wrapped in warm blankets. Even better than warm blankets, though, you were wrapped in Jaskier’s arms, which felt so much stronger than you remembered as he pulled you close and guided you to his bed.

You expected him to lay with you but instead he laid you down and stepped back. You felt very aware of your toplessness, and that he was fully dressed and staring at you.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” you asked nervously.

“Or I could just stare at you all night,” he offered, crossing his arms.

“No, please, touch me,” you whined, your back arching.

“I was just kidding, don’t stress yourself out,” he laughed, slipping off his doublet and chemise and climbing on top of you. His body pressed against yours was everything you’d dreamed, everything you’d wanted, and finally he kissed you. You recognized it a bit from the back of the pub rendezvous but this one was different, a little slower, a little deeper. You decided that you needed to kiss him again when you were sober because this kiss was too good to be wasted on a version of yourself that couldn’t remember it perfectly, which sadly applied to both instances so far. Suddenly he rolled his hips, ever so slightly, and you felt that he was hard and it rubbed against you in just the right place and instantly you came, even with your trousers still on. You did your best to hide it, your moans lost in his lips, and either he didn’t notice or didn’t mind because all he did was pull you closer. Your face felt hot, in fact all of you felt hot, and even as relief had just washed over you, you were not spared from your desire. If anything, the edge had been taken off, and yet you felt like you needed him more than ever.

“Please, inside me, please,” you managed to mumble between kisses. He didn’t respond, but he did reach down to start pulling your trousers lower. You lifted your hips so he could do it more easily and you sort of hoped he would just get them down to your knees and get on with it, but instead he took the time to take them all the way off, sitting back on his legs to peel each leg off your feet. You sat up with him, starting to work on his trousers and having to fight yourself to do it slowly rather than ripping them off. Once you could pull them down enough to get his cock out, though, you were nixing the entire trousers concept and wrapping your hand around it. You sighed with relief, just to feel it so warm and heavy in your grip. Compelled for more, you found yourself leaning forward and taking it into your mouth. You heard him gasp and it was the most wonderful noise, the sound of it giving you that wonderful feeling like you’d done something good, something so right. You bobbed up and down and it seemed to come naturally to you, his gasps getting faster and turning to moans.

“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you,” he panted. You just moaned around him, doing your best to take him as deep as you could. His fingers wove into your hair, and just the way they grazed your scalp made your skin tingle and shiver all over. He didn’t let you go on much longer until he grabbed your shoulders and (lightly) pushed you back onto the bed, balancing on his forearms to hover above you. You thought he might say something, and he was looking at you like he wanted to say something, but he just kissed you again. How could just a kiss have so much of an effect on you?

But then he was running his hands along your legs, and gently spreading them open, and that had even more of an effect on you. In fact, you had to put in so much effort just to suppress your reaction, and yet your head still fell back against the pillow and your lips still leaked out a little moan.

“Is this the curse? Or the ale?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“It’s just you,” you mumbled.

“Bull. It’s the curse,” he smiled, “but I’ll pretend it’s me anyways.”

“Please, don’t tease me any longer,” you pleaded quietly, your back arching off the bed.

“This isn’t teasing, it’s seducing,” he frowned.

“I don’t care for it.”

“You seem to be having a good time,” he smirked, kisses running down to your collarbones, chest, and finally delicately wrapping around a hardened nipple. You whined, suddenly unable to form any words with which to respond. His right hand trailed around your thigh, reaching closer to where you needed him most until he ever-so-casually plunged two fingers into you. You had to dig your nails into his shoulder to resist crying out, afraid that if you were as loud as you wanted to be, you’d get a noise complaint from the neighboring rooms. He barely even had to move them to hit spots inside you that you hadn’t realized you had, making your hips buck and your legs shake.

“Please,” you stuttered, “I need you.”

“You have me,” he said as if it were some simple, obvious thing to say and not the sort of thing that would make you want for him so desperately that you feared fainting.

And all at once he removed his fingers, reaching to wrap his hands around your waist and since when were his hands so big?

And all at once he was pushing his hips closer to yours and your gaze met his and since when were his eyes so blue?

And all at once he was inside you and you didn’t really care about noise complaints anymore.

“Jaskier? Are you awake?” you whispered.

“I am now,” he responded quietly, turning to face you in the bed. There was only moonlight streaming in through the window but it cast the most beautiful shadows and you found yourself running your fingers along his muscled chest.

"I long for you," you admitted, "I need you."

"Again?"

Gods, did he have to make it seem like such a chore?

“Don’t you understand? I have no other way to get off!”

“Well, how often were you getting off before?”

“I don’t know, maybe… once, twice a night?”

His eyes went wider than you’d maybe ever seen them. “Holy- you can’t be serious.”

“What?” you shrugged.

“You’re insatiable! I mean, with a libido like that, how and why are you the most chaste of the three of us?”

“Because I’m getting off on my own three times a night.”

“You said once or twice,” he frowned.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I told you I go four times in a row,” you smirked.

“I’m afraid to keep talking to you in case the number just keeps going up,” he sighed, his head falling into his hands. “I can’t keep up with that!”

“You can!” you encouraged. “You have,” you mumbled.

“I have?” he repeated, perking up all of a sudden.

“Yeah, well, before…” you trailed off. “You’re just trying to flatter me until I agree to make love to you four times a day,” he dismissed.

“No, that’s what I’m saying. You don’t need to, er, do that four times to get four… just once is apparently enough.” How was it so hard to say the words when you’d already done the deeds? “Apparently? I think we need to test that theory,” he smiled, and though it was dark and you could barely see anything, you still saw a little glimmer shining in his eye.

“Jaskier, we need to get up,” you reminded as you shook him awake.

“Are we leaving town, or do you just want me to make love to you again?” “You weren’t complaining when I woke you up the last two times,” you remembered with a quirked eyebrow.

“Well, I wasn’t as underslept then. Gods, I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He turned to you, and moved a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

But he was giving you this... look, and you weren’t sure if it was the look, but apparently it was enough to get you inspired. You pulled him into a kiss, climbing on top of him and straddling his legs with yours.

“Suddenly I’m feeling very energized, actually,” you smiled.

(next chapter)

#jaskier x reader #my writing #jaskier x oc #jaskier smut

138 notes · View notes

criticalcoruscant · 5 years ago

Text

the road so far

7 disasters met at a circus,

got in trouble, fixed the trouble,

traveled together Just For A Bit,

worked for coin,

named themselved the Big Nope

worked for More Coin,

accidentally got involved in political activism,

met one of the boogeymen from across the mountains,

stole a Thing,

heard a war was brewing and noped out town by joining a gang,

adopted a child,

partied too hard on the job,

found a family for the child,

made more coin,

got kidnapped,

met with tragedy on the road to rescue,

met another disaster (Hermit variety),

rescued the kidnapped,

heard there was a war on and decided the ocean is lovely this time of year,

went to go talk to someone about a rock - accidently committed multiple murders and became pirates,

pretended to join a snake cult,

went to pirate island,

outed the snake cult,

banished from pirate island,

got trapped in a pocket dimension,

escaped the pocket dimension after KILLING A DRAGON,

freed an ancient demigod just a little,

got tired of the ocean breeze,

went home and discovered the goblin one is actually a halfling mom and wife and the war they'd been avoiding made her home rubble,

don't worry-the kid's alright,

but the husband got taken by the boogeymen from before,

cue hiking montage (but underground!),

pop up in the boogeyman's home turf,

turns out they're pretty okay over here?,

uncover a demonic incursion from the abyss,

get ratted out,

almost locked up,

oh that Thing from before?,

yeah it's totally a piece of their god so they're heroes now!,

lets go free your husband,

here have a house,

look into the abyssal stuff,

abyssal stuff is connected to the gentle giant barbarian?,

keep searching for answers,

the answers arent pretty,

now the gentle giant is under the control of a terrible person,

but we may be able to stop him by making a special sword,

also the sword place is a place the hermit needs to go to fulfill a dream prophecy to save his home,

while making the sword character with one foot in the snake cult and one foot out chucks his past into lava and becomes So Much More,

oh good Abyssal Bad Guy also summoning the betrayer god avengers,

hes always one step ahead,

they need an adultier adult,

go to visit the one Adult they know,

hes trapped in the pocket dimension he'd convinced them to hand over to him,

Rescue Mission Montage!,

also the key to defeating hulk!au monster summoned by Abyssal Bad Guy is also somewhere in here,

defeat it,

rescue the Adult,

discover that Abyssal Bad Guy is in way over his head and also he's gonna attack now,

cue amazing battle in a cathedral to stop the apocalypse and also rescue the mind controlled friend,

win the battle! immediately have to deal with the bureaucracy,

low-key accused of being traitors,

tasked with coordinating peace talks to end the war they tried to run from in the beginning,

run straight into the ghosts of the wizards past,

back to the other country,

convince them of peace talks,

wholesome time of learning how to make friends,

goblin wizard and wizard discover how to ungoblin the goblin,

but it doesn't work because of a curse from a hag,

time for a good old fashioned witch hunt,

run straight into the ghosts of the monks past,

fight a swamp,

haggle a hag,

break the curse and pop down south to continue the hermit's quest,

only to learn that the clerics trickery god was the cult we made along the way,

continue through the forest to discover that the stone family took their name a bit too seriously,

rescued the hermit's family,

task the family with continuing the quest and sent them safely on their way,

and now we need to deal with the cult

peace talks are on the horizon

and they’re on a boat

#critical role #critical role spoilers #let me know if i missed anything #it's been quite a year

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helly-watermelonsmellinfellon · 4 years ago

Text

Being able to make it so the Twins can’t use their power if you take Victor hostage the whole match, is a problem definitely. And some other things need to be worked out for the Killer, but I’m excited to face them when they officially get released.

IstG, the devs definitely have a ‘map of the day’ thing even if they deny it with their last breaths. Every single day I get one particular map 70% of the time.

Today was Mount Ormond ffs. I hate it. You can’t blend into anything on that map.

I’ve been equipping Flashlights out the ass. I had over 100 yellows on Claudette because I never used them, so I’ve just be practicing trying to get some Blinds on Killers. I’ve gotten better but I think the devs keep changing them with each update because by the time I get used to them, there’s an update and they feel different.

That issue with Meg, from my last DbD post, is still lingering.

Also, Nurses are completely invisible for me. I can’t even see their red stains.

Gotta love hackers. So many hackers.

The devs have to fix this weird thing where people get grabbed after clearing a vault despite the fact that they’ve cleared the entire vault. It has happened to me and ppl I’ve played with. I watched a Tapp get yanked despite his Lithe taking him far from the window he vaulted.

First match after 3 days with no internet: Good. Thank God.

This Huntress let me go when I was the last left alive, because I did the work. And I mean, I performed all Rescues. All 6 of them. Healed every person at least once. Did a whole Gen by myself(the only Gen that got done btw). Broke all the Totems(which was an Undying/Devour Hope combo so all were lit at some point). Managed to lose the Killer in every Chase she started with me. Never got Hit. Last dude dies and it’s just us. She was standing at the Hatch and nodding, so I gave her my Med-Kit before leaving. My teammates were all Red Ranks and the Huntress was not.

Today was all Coal Tower. Not that bad of a map so I didn’t mind all that much. It’s the days where it’s just corn maps that really get me. I am colorblind and no matter if I’m Killer or Survivors, the corn blends into a single color for me, which eclipses every other color because there’s so much of it, and it’s hard to make out even the shape of corn stalks. Having that one add-on on Doctor where they get a red stain when in a Chase is the only way I can handle corn maps. Bright, glowing red among the burnt yellow is a beacon.

I loaded into a lobby with all Feng Mins. I was Fluorescent Feng Min myself and wasn’t changing any time soon. I think the other 3 were swf because their builds were all exactly the same. They had Dead Hard/Saboteur/Botany Knowledge/Breakdown with pimped out Med-Kits. Well, I found a Purple Flashlight and proceeded to be an ass to the Killer with it, leading her on, Blinding her, slamming pallets on her, not taking her hatchets seriously and barely moving out of the way. Like, I finished the last Gen in her face, rotating around the Gen while she missed throws from across the map! She just stopped trying.

Played my first Killer match in a week. Spirit. 3K. Was long and hard won, but worth it. They were swf and the dude who Escaped sent me a GG and also told me my play style for Spirit is ‘weird but works somehow’ and said they had a hard time communicating cuz I would randomly stand still and then surprise them. I don’t phase in Chase cuz I haven’t worked it out well yet. I phase to patrol large distances quickly which is why speed add-ons are the most important to me.

I don’t like playing as Hag. She’s so fucking short and it kills me! I have so many 4th Anniversary Cakes on her, but I just don’t like playing her. Though the body blockers at pallets and windows are funny.

Did a Trapper match where I surrounded the Hatch with all the traps. I even let the person go because they got through the first line of defense before I could reach them. The Hatch was against the shack wall so with only three sides you could enter from, I used 2 traps for each side! If they want to Escape, they must work for it, and those add-ons were meant to slow trap disarming a shit ton.

Did some Default Meg games. People leaving the lobby when a Default character loads in is the fucking best! XD And when the same person who just left, reappears, it’s even better!

I’m trying to do this Challenge where I hit two ppl with Hillbilly’s chainsaw within 30 seconds of each other, but it’s so hard! It is so damn hard! I barely managed the one where I have to down someone 4 times in one match! That David lead me so fucking hard but I needed to chainsaw him before the last Gen finished otherwise I’d have to try the challenge again and I really didn’t want to!

Got Hawkins with Hillbilly again. Didn’t used the chainsaw except to break pallets and still got a 2K.

Repeated something I tried on Trapper once, and got the some map too! Basically, add-on’s for more traps. Then find my Ruin Totem and just use all traps on the map to surround it. It was dead center, all glowing and shit in the dark of the swamp. The grass and mud successfully hid the traps all over that small area, save for the one directly blocking immediate access, which was obvious. So Survivors would just run into the grass and get caught. Like, they finally learned when 2 were dead to just leave Ruin alone after that, but it was funny! I managed a 3K. ^-^

I, Rank 4, got a match where every other Survivor was Rank 17-20. And the Killer was Rank 1. And they were just dropping like flies, and I had to save everyone because they were all hiding and self-caring(badly)/dying/hooked! Got Iridescent Emblem for Benevolence but got no other points save for dying as the Obsession. I’m annoyed. First truly horrible instance of matchmaking in a while.

youtube

^I got the Hatch after the recording stopped. I circled the map back to where she’d gotten Hooked and watched as he teleported from the shack to the Hatch(on the other side of the map) to hit me just as I was going in. Got to keep that Key too.

The first person DC’d when he teleported across the map and grabbed them while we were doing a Gen. We could see him at the lodge just fine from all the way in the corner, and then suddenly he was behind her and pulling her off. It was a wide, open space. There was no way even with Perks, he would have been able to sneak up on us. We could see him coming from any direction.

That Feng Min and I watched him remain unmoving, from behind those trees, before she ran off to try and do a Gen. And that’s when I started recording because I had a feeling something was shifty.

He was a streamer and when I checked his stream, he was whining about how I shouldn’t have been able to Escape.

I reported him.

#dbd #dead by daylight

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27495y6263-blog · 5 years ago

Note

😰 - Angst, 🍈 - Feng Min, 🥪 - Hag - Lisa Sherwood

| Hello! This one has mild depictions of gore, stay safe friends!

Blackwater Swamp - Grim Pantry

BANG

Feng Min leapt through a window, the wood underneath her shaking with the force of her vault, eyes focusing on the next point in her run. A window and T wall at the end of the pier, unsafe. To the left, a pallet with a long wall of crates, safe. Sneakers dug into the mud, sharply turning her body in a spin as she twirled. When she heard a rush of air and a surprised snarl, Feng Min let her facade fall and a smirk worm its way onto her face. It missed. Another burst of energy got Feng Min to the pallet in time, but instead of slamming it behind her she paused for a moment and resumed running down the crates. This time she felt the air brush against the back of her neck, too close to be considered a miss.During her chase, Feng vaguely heard the pop of generators, too busy with chasing the high of evading the killer. By now she had a good idea of who was hunting her down. The Hag, the others called her Lisa, but to Feng Min that was useless to know as she kept running, the only information she needed was how cockey she could be in the trial. With the Hag, Feng knew she had room to work with. She liked the challenge of not looking, to her it felt as if this death would be her last. It was like another game to her, the ultimate achievement.

One more, just one more loop and they’d have that last generator done and they’ll escape...Oh how wrong she was. It all happened too fast.

Ding!

‘Yes! The last generator- oh fuck-!’

No One Escapes Death

---------

Weary eyes opened, blinking away the tears that had almost dried up along with her hope of escaping. It was fun, at least, she had kept the Hag off of her team and they all got ou-....no...no fucking way.“Dwight!... What. Are. You. Doing!?” She whisper-yelled, legs weakly kicking at him as he grasped her armpits, lifting her off the hook. “Can you run?” He asked, gently cupping her face as she grit her teeth, steeling her nerves as she tried to not glance down at the hole in her shoulder. Feng Min hissed and lurched forward, gripping Dwight’s shirt tightly. “Shit- I...I think so, fuck Dwight, why are you back? The gates are open and she brought in some weird fucking talisman-” Rather quickly, Dwight covered her mouth and shushed her, the two hearing a familiar snarl in the distance.“There’s no time...Feng, I came back because we’re friends. And...you’re really good at competing. But you don’t know everything about the realm.” It was odd seeing Dwight be so stern, thinking the title of a leader never really suit the nervous man she’d see out of trials. “I know enough-”“Enough to get us or yourself killed. Feng Min I don’t know what life you had before being sent here...but it’s okay to rely on us. We’re not perfect, but we can learn. We can try again.” He put his hands on Feng’s cheeks, holding her to meet his gaze. “This time, you’re escaping. I’m not leaving you.”A freight train, Feng was sure that's what crashed through her chest.

‘I’m not leaving you.’

How long had she been waiting to hear that? Striving, no, craving to hear those words from someone’s mouth. “I..Okay. Okay...what do you have planned?” She murmured, still cradling her injured shoulder. From his medkit, Dwight produced a purple bottle, swirling the contents inside as he popped the cap, “In the realm, there's these items that can help you...reverse the damage done. Drink it and go to the gate, I’ll distract Lisa.”The thought made her stomach churn, hearing the Hag get closer and closer with each passing second. “Wait- Dwight...why do you call her Lisa? And, and why are you so nice to her? She’s a killer, isn’t she?”Now wasn't the time to dwell on these thoughts, but Dwight heard the panic and uncertainty in Feng Min’s voice, his thumb smoothing over her cheek to try and calm her nerves. “Her body aches in trials...each step she takes her body screams at her to stop but the entity takes control of her body and makes her do the trials.” He handed off the bottle to Feng, who reluctantly took and drank it. The result was instantaneous, which made her cry out in surprise. Feeling the hole in her shoulder seal up as if nothing happened was unsettling, even more so as she heard the Hag...Lisa, scream in the distance. Nodding once, Dwight pointed Feng in the direction of the door and stayed close as he ran behind her. Rounding the corner, Dwight looked back and huffed as he saw Lisa lumbering after them, bloody claw dragging on the floor. She had to have had a hard trial, chasing Feng for all of those loops and infinites took a toll on her already frail and decrepit body. “Feng, GO! Don’t look back!” The leader shoved Feng forward, giving her a boost to the exit which she stumbled past, hearing the gong of the entity acknowledges that she had indeed, survived.

‘Don’t look back? What did he mean by that?’ Curiosity got the best of Feng, more so after she heard Dwight scream and fall, her eyes locking with his as Lisa flipped the talisman in her hand. “Feng, I’ll see you at the campfire.” “Wha- Dwight!?” She reached for him, being stopped by the entity’s spikes, what left the trial wasn’t allowed to re-enter. Watching in horror, She watched as Lisa lunged forward and bit into Dwight’s neck, the man screaming and crying out. Soon his groans turned into blood-filled gurgles as her claw plunged into the leader’s stomach, scooping and eating the contents. Feng took a few steps back, feeling her knees shake and nearly buckle as a chill ran up her spine. Lisa was staring into Dwight’s lifeless eyes. “I-I..I-....m…” Reaching out, Lisa closed Dwight’s eyes and turned her head away from the man. “S..S-S….Sor...ry” As the killer stood to leave, Feng managed to squeeze her arm through the bramble.

“FENG MIN!” Her arm was extended to the Hag, her legs screamed at her to run, but if her leader...no, her friend. If her friend could be fearless, she could be too. “I’m Feng Min. Dwight told me about you. I’m...sorry I threw all of those pallets down on you.”The stench of Dwight’s corpse along with silence filled the air, Lisa slowly walking towards the barrier between the trial and campfire. “...L-...Li...s...a…” Surprisingly, Lisa used her clean hand, putting it over Feng’s. With that she turned to leave, her lumber looking more like a limp as Feng watched her go.

Match Result: Survived

----

Back at the campfire, she slowly walked back into the light, tired eyes looking up and at the very man who saved her. All at once she felt emotions swirl in her, causing Feng to lash out. She dashed through the camp, leaping over a log and kicking some coals from the fire as she ran into Dwight, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.“DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN DWIGHT!” Feng Min’s scream cut through the camp, a thick cloud of silence now clamping everyone’s mouths shut. “Feng-”“NO! NO NO NO-” She shook him, trying to quite honestly rattle some sense into him, and herself. “YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE LIKE THAT. NEVER AGAIN!” Feng Min looked up, her eyes frantic and darting across Dwight’s face in search of something. “I’m- I’m sorry! I didn’t- FUCK!”

Finally, Feng Min’s legs gave up and she collapsed to the ground, Dwight following and kneeling beside her. “I’m SORRY. I didn’t know that- that's how I made you- ALL of you feel. I won’t- I won’t throw my life away again. I won't! I won't- just don't, not again Dwight! Not you.” Her babbling was cut short as Dwight pulled Feng into an embrace, his hand gently cradling the back of her head.“It’s okay...we’ll get better, all of us. We’ll get better.”

---

As the end of the day drew near, everything began to settle down, awaiting the next round of trials. Although their camp was open to all eyes, to the survivors this would be one of their more private moments. The sounds and creatures around them carried on, unaware of the cries that wracked Feng Min’s body, muffled by multiple embraces.

They’ll learn, they’ll get better. Together.

#dead by daylight #Feng Min #Dwight Fairfield #asks - answered #ask #Anonymous

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slashthedice · 6 years ago

Note

Hey I absolutely love your work! Could you possibly write a nsfw with the Hag and a male reader? A million bonus points if the reader ends up dying in the end! Thank you so much!

Oh my, anon! (/ε＼*) You certainly like it dangerous! Our dear anon would like to remain anonymous, but they contacted me privately to request some specifics in this one. Lisa needs more love. NSFW below :3

You had always been adventurous. Even when you were young, your mother had warned that your penchant for curious exploration would get you into trouble. As you grew older, that adventurous streak became more of an addiction. You sought the biggest thrills and the greatest risks, but it was never enough. You and danger became scandalously, unconscionably intimate.

However, this had to be the most reckless thing you had ever done.

She herself seemed to be made of the very swamp she called home, molded from the mud and clay. Her hair was more vines and vegetation than anything else, and a small part of you wondered what it had looked and felt like before all this. She was lean and lithe, stalking through the swamp completely unaffected by the grasp and pull of the mud that weighed you down and slowed your steps.

You had been enthralled since the first moment you saw her, elongated talons carving through the back of your fellow survivor. She stood over them and let their drip into her open mouth, the crimson painting her tongue and fingers. A wave of heat flowed through you, unbidden, to settle in your groin. She was lethal, a predator unlike any you had ever encountered. You fell under her spell immediately.

You never expected to get up close and personal with the killer that the other survivors referred to as The Hag, at least not in the way you wanted. Imagine your delight when you finally did.

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened. One after another, your fellow survivors fell and were sacrificed, their last breaths leaving them as shrieks into the night when the Entity took them into its dark embrace. Silence overtook the swamp when the final spectral form was lifted from the trial area. You were alone with her, but she had the home field advantage.

You crept slowly through the cattails, trying to disturb them as little as possible all while maintaining a close eye on the crows perched a scant few meters away. Should they take flight now, your position would be revealed and you would have next to no chance of escaping. Your feet and calves were caked in mud, and with every step you felt like you were being sucked down, down into the swamp as if it were hungry for you, body and soul, anxious to make you part of it. You wondered idly if that was what had happened to her.

Your nose and lungs were filled with the pungent, musky scent of the swamp. That ever present and overpowering smell of stagnant water and decay combined with the underlying scent of gasoline from a nearby generator assaulted your senses, causing your eyes to water. You listened to the puttering of machinery and the occasional squawk of the crows that watched you with unnerving black eyes, but you did not hear the Hag.

You glanced over your shoulder for just a moment too long, not watching where you were going and not paying attention to the anxious shuffling of talons and feathers upon the nearby rock. You realized your mistake when the disturbed avians took flight, announcing your presence with their shrill cries and beating wings. You froze, waiting for the telltale rapid beat of your heart or the gurgling hiss of her breathing down your neck. Waiting was a mistake.

Sooner than you could react, you heard the slap of her feet against the mucky ground and your heart was in your throat just as suddenly. She wasn’t as fast as some of the other killers, but she was faster than you, especially when you were wading through mud and foliage. You caught a glimpse of her before you propelled yourself forward, moonlight streaming through the tree limbs and hanging spanish moss dappled upon the root-like texture and pattern of her greyed skin. You realized with a sort of reverence that she was a true force of nature.

The rake of her clawed fingers down your back came much sooner than expected. She sliced through the fabric of your shirt and jacket, and your skin and muscle tore just as easily. You cried out at the pain, but it was numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. You pushed on, and tried not to imagine her tasting your blood as you knew she would be. Such thoughts were more distracting than you could afford.

She was on you again before you could run more than a couple meters, but this time instead of the bite of claws against your skin you were shoved to the ground by the full force of her weight against your back. Your mouth was full of mud, the taste of stagnant water and silt making you gag. She was crouched on top of you, boney extremities digging into your back and causing the wounds there to burn.

Her arm that wasn’t elongated and clawed reached towards you, fingers wrapping around your shoulder. She shuffled around so that she could flip you onto your back, now looking down at you whilst straddling your hips. The muck seeped through your ruined shirt to intermingle with the blood oozing from the slashes on your back, causing you to hiss in pain. It hurt, and when you arched up away from the ground, she sat more firmly against you and pushed your chest down, claws drumming threateningly against your chest.

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but to look up at her with nothing short of awe. Even the slightest movement from you prompted her to grind her emaciated hips down into yours and you were keenly aware of the pressure and heat that burned between your legs. A particularly rough grind against your clothed sex had you seeing stars and gasping your pleasure.

Her head snapped to look at you. You watched her take in your dazed, heated expression and tilt her head just the slightest to one side. She repeated the motion and you bit down against the inside of your cheek to quiet what would have been a moan in earnest. This seemed to thrill her, causing her to rock against you with more of a rhythm. She sought to pull more of those needy sounds from between your mud-caked lips, and it did not take all that much convincing on her part before they flowed from you.

You were achingly hard and oversensitive from the friction of her grinding against you through the material of your pants. You reached for the clasp, but she swatted your hand away, making a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss. Her meaning was clear though: you weren’t allowed to touch yourself. You dug your fingers into the mud, shuddering at the feeling of it squishing in your hands.

She leaned over you, hips still rolling and undulating against you. Her sharp teeth grazed your neck, and you grunted against the pinpricks of pain. The knowledge that at any moment she could bite down and rip out your throat had your already labored breathing coming harsher until you were nearly panting. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against your skin when she licked a trail following where her teeth had scraped.

You whined and huffed when she pulled back and snaked her way down your body, biting down as gently as her razor sharp teeth would allow on any exposed skin she came across. You grit your teeth against the pain, but couldn’t deny the pleasurable tremors running through your entire form. When she came to the clasp on your muddied pants, she looked up at you with those black eyes that were both familiar and completely other from your own. You gazed back down at her through half-lidded eyes, cheeks burning and body sensitive to her attentions. You threw your head back when you felt the release of pressure at your groin as her non-clawed hand freed you from your pants and undergarments.

You felt a bolt of anxiety shoot through you. As wonderful as her teeth had felt elsewhere on your body, you really didn’t want them anywhere near your cock. Thankfully, she simply gave it a couple of experimental licks that prompted a garbled string of moans from you. She sat back to watch your reactions, hand wrapping around the base of your shaft and slowly stroking upwards. The leathery texture of her palm and fingers was a completely foreign sensation against your soft skin and hardened flesh.

Once she had you a shaking, whining mess, she crawled back up your body. She placed both hands on your shoulders, holding you in place. You soon discovered that beneath the tattered remains of what might have once been a dress, her sex was uncovered. She had apparently been enjoying working you up nearly as much as you had, the slickness left behind on your cock as she dragged her folds across your hardened length providing more than enough evidence of her arousal.

The entire situation seemed like a dream, a fantasy you played through in your mind as you stroked yourself in secret while hidden in the shadows surrounding the campfire. It was hard to believe this was really happening. God, how you wanted to touch her. You wanted to feel the raised knobs of her spin, and the tough skin drawn tight over her protruding hip bones. You would have loved to twine your fingers with yours and close your lips around the peak of her exposed breast. But every time you tried to raise a hand, she halted you with a snarled flash of her teeth and growled warning. This would be on her terms.

When finally she lowered herself onto you, you groaned loudly and thrashed your head causing more and more mud to mat in your sweat and blood painted hair. You almost missed the pleasured hiss that escaped her, focused only on the velvet heat wrapped tight around your cock. She tortured you with the slow rise and fall of her hips, slickened walls dragging against your sensitive head. You looked down at where you were joined and groaned at the sight of yourself disappearing inside of her. It looked almost as good as it felt.

Your peak built up quickly as she increased her pace. She had apparently tired of toying with you and was seeking out her own release. The cuts on your back still burned, but the sensation was something to focus on so that you could hold out against the tidal wave of your release that was bearing down on you. You felt that familiar tightening and knew that you were getting close.

You were finally pushed over the edge of your pleasure when she made a satisfied sound and slammed down on your hips, sheathing your length fully inside her. You cried out as you spilled into her, digging your nails into your palms so hard that you surely drew blood. She rode you through your orgasm until you were trembling and moaning from oversensitivity. She sat back against you with a light huff, staring down at your reddened face and considering your ravished expression.

In the glowing aftermath of your release, you were putty beneath her. You felt weak and boneless as the orgasmic aftershocks shook your limbs. You were helpless and pliant, softening member still trapped within her heat. You realized what would come next when she raised the elongated, clawed arm above her head.

Talons burrowed through your flesh and bone with a deadly accuracy. You choked on your own blood as it filled your throat and spilled from your mouth while the sharpened points of her fingers were still buried in your chest. The pain was excruciating and maddening, albeit brief. As you bled out and choked on the warmth of your life source, you watched with awe and disbelief as she pulled your heart from your chest cavity. The last thing you saw before darkness overtook you was her razorblade teeth carving through the organ in her grasp, crimson liquid dripping down her chin.

#the hag #lisa sherwood #the hag x reader #lisa sherwood x reader #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd imagines #asks #anon #male reader #smut

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audiopilot · 6 years ago

Text

Snippet: Remanence Chapter 2

A tiny little sneak peak of the next chapter below!

The first thing Jake noticed was the mud. It made the ground slippery and caked to his boots as he pushed past a host of cattails tall enough to hide inside. The swamp stretched into the thick mist, trees rising up with branches bare of anything green, their silhouettes piercing the overcast sky. Jake walked beside a fallen log, noting a depressed area he could hop over before he was distracted by a large structure ahead.

It was a beached ship, boards warped by age and discolored by mildew, half sunk within the damp earth. Perched about it were more black birds than Jake had ever seen, their small and dark bodies unnaturally still. Curiosity had Jake approaching. It had two levels full of stacked barrels and upright pallets. Their familiar, colorfully painted wood was bright amid the dirty surroundings.

The sense that he was being watched had disappeared, replaced by the more the routine suspense of waiting to see who killer found first. Jake looked around before getting any closer, aware it could the newest one-- the 'hag' as Nea called her-- and he had yet to face her. He knew she could lay traps on the ground, but he had no idea what they looked like in person. Nothing looked too out of place.

He froze as his next step alerted the birds overhead. They took flight all at once, screeching so loud it echoed across the area like a warning siren.

Shit. Jake turned back around. Even within the cover of the cattails and trees, it was a temporary safety until he could pin the killer's location. The middle area was wide open, letting him see almost clear across to the other side where the shack that was in all trials was located. Well, not all: Lampkin Lane didn't have one. The reminder of Myers made an odd shiver trickle down his spine.

The feeling that someone was watching him returned. Jake sunk lower into the cover of the cattails, but his heart beat slow and steady.

He hopped onto a generator and worked as quickly as safety allowed, deciding to ignore it. The progress was too slow, the generator smoking at odd intervals as electricity arced around the machine. Jake retracted his hands, but after a long moment it fell back into its regular whine. It must be the strange, ruinous power the others had mentioned that slowed generators. Destroying totems was the only way to stop it, Nea had explained, but they were fairly obvious: a stack of bones with lit candles burning underneath. Easy enough to spot, Jake thought, as he ventured nearby in search of it.

Several unproductive minutes later, Jake hunkered back behind the generator, now sparking from a destructive hit. At least he had apparently avoided the killer. He had noticed several unlit totems, but none marked with firelight. Best to power through it, even if it was annoying.

Jake was concentrating so hard on not setting off the negative effect that Meg running up surprised him. She slid to a stop in the mud.

"Hey," she whispered. She joined him and grimly smiled at how close the generator was to finished. "Nice. There's one almost done by the shack, but the hag is hanging around it."

"So it is her?" Jake murmured.

"Yep," Meg stopped to scratch the side of her face. She left a faint smear of mud behind. "I got away without a hit too."

They turned on the generator before splitting up as Jake followed the perimeter to the other side of the swamp. It was better to not do too many nearby as it left the killer with a smaller area to guard. Jake was approaching a generator out in the open when he spotted something. It was an odd symbol, standing out in the mud as a roughly drawn triangle. Jake crouched down to examine it, but nothing prompted him to destroy it. As he stood, a flash of light and sudden spike of terror froze him in place as the new killer appeared right on top of him.

Her body was shrunken, the skin flayed to reveal ropy muscle turned dark with decay. Scraps of clothing still clung to the sharp, exposed points of her hipbones and shoulders, but what was exposed didn't even register as nudity. Her shape was so malformed she seemed more a corpse dredged up from the bottom of the swamp than human.

The wet gurgling coming from her throat grew louder as her empty eye sockets focused on him. They stared at one another, Jake's heart fluttering with the urge to run. One of her hands was twisted into something too long that ended in sharp claws that twitched as she slunk forwards. Jake edged around a pile of scrap metal and wood. All he had to do was evade her long enough that she lost track of him, based on what Laurie had said. And avoid anymore traps.

Jake ran towards the remains of a dock, ducking underneath it into a maze of wooden pillars and walls. He could hear her scrambling after him and he almost slipped as he hopped a window. She smacked at the frame before crawling over after him. Another generator was fixed close by as Jake climbed on top of the dock's planks and weaved behind a pallet, waiting to see if she would follow, but she hesitated, head swinging between the dock and the lit generator. The indecision allowed Jake to swiftly leap from the top back down into the mud and race away into the cattails. He did a wide circle back to and slowed to hide behind the wide trunk of a tree. She stumbled past him, wet gasps loud as Jake held in his own breath.

When she didn't return, Jake went back to the dock where a generator sat untouched. The structure also held a locker and more stacks of barrels. He had a better view from up here of the layout of the swamp. Through the mist he could see the large ship on the opposite corner. In between was an open spread of grass and fallen trees. A smaller tugboat was submerged in the mud to his right and the shack to his left where the trees grew thicker. He stared into the distance, catching movement, and tried to puzzle out if it was another survivor or the hag.

He had just decided it had to be a survivor from the way they moved when something pressed down hard on the back of his neck. Gasping, Jake struggled and fell away from the generator as he went sideways to avoid a hit. Nothing happened.

He swung around. There was no one, only a faint wisp of mist drifting past. Jake felt at his neck. His scarf was still in place.

What was that? Some sort of power of the hag's?

Jake reached out to touch the generator again, tense as he waited for another attack, but he was slowly able to finish it without another incident. With only two to go, he began to feel hopeful the trial would end without anyone sacrificed to the entity's hunger.

#fic #ferromagnetism series #dead by daylight #jake park

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slapmybabushka · 6 years ago

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Oh man! Oh man Oh man oh man!!!

D&D was fun tonight, but I definitely cried in the car driving home!

It began with a nice light trip to an antique shop. (Wynn stood very still and didn't touch anything! And Galdric gave her a moon lamp, because he's very sweet!)

Also, those two finally had their first date! (We had to roll for awkwardness, and surprisingly, it wasn't awkward at all!)

The next day we ended up in a maze in the swamp near Stillben, looking for one of the vestiges, and we got a little bit lost. (In other words, I tried and failed at drawing a map of where we had been. Now we may never get out.)

In the maze we ran into some weretigers, and werebears, and hags, with domesticated owlbears. (None of those were too hard to take down.)

Then we ran into an adult green dragon, which was a little bit harder to kill. (Also we found Goristro tracks. Wynn and Galdric did not like that! Not one bit!)

But still we pressed on! Until we ran into a Naga, who told us that she was the good creature guarding the maze, and that the Goristro was the bad creature. And then she said that she would not be able to help them defeat the Goristro, or help them find a safe place to have a long rest.

So onward we went, going deeper into the maze.

Then we heard running from behind us, and we found ourselves facing the Goristro!

But not a normal Goristro! A Goristro that spoke with the voice in Wynn's head! (Which freaked Wynn out to the point of almost just running away. If it wasn't for Galdric she probably would have run away.)

But she stayed, and she fought. And in the end, the Goristro got the better of her. One hoof attack knocked her out, and the next two crushed her. Trying to use her death as a warning. (I didn't get to make death saves or anything!)

But tactical mishap fought on! And in the end Galdric got to avenge Wynn!

The Naga was then able to offer them a safe place to rest, and try to perform a resurrection on Wynn.

#dnd shenanigans #i am so excited for next week!!#i cant wait to see what transpires

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thestalkerbunny · 7 years ago

Note

A tiny for elemental that rides atop a big wax golem

A Water Witch who must escort a Flame Element and her Wax Golem Carrier to a holy pyre.

I wrote a thing also to elaborate. It is old and hastily finished, but mostly done.

"Does it bother you?" The Water Witch inquired quietly. The Flame elemental looked at the Water Witch with vauge disintrest. The Water Witch wasn't her first choice in 'magical escort protection' and she certainly wasn't pleasing to the eye. The Witch's skin was practically water logged and sallow looking in the dim light that emniated from the Flame's form and the meager Campfire that the Water Witch had set up reluctant upon the Flame's demand. Her finger tips always wrinkled and her hair hung in ugly strands, clumped together from the dampness that she was absorbing from the air itself. The Fish that lived in the tip of her staff swum lazy circles, half asleep itself. To be honest, the Flame loathed the way the Water Witch always stared at her; those eyes like a dead fish, glazed and bored.

"What does?" She inquired sweetly, laying her head on the shoulder of the golem. The Golem did not move as the wax began to sweat at her touch. The Witch's dull green eyes glanced up from beneath the brim of that soggy old looking hat that dropped at the edges.

"That you're killing him."

The Flame's bright shining yellow eyes fluttered for a minute, her colors flickered and crackled in the dry air. She quietly digested the question before smiling kindly at the Water Witch.

"It's of no real concern of you, now is it?" She cooed. "You're just supposed to escort me and my vessal to the sacred pillar on the mountain side. And there I shall light the pyre that will bring forth the Harvest God's Blessings." The Witch didn't smile or seem to accept that answer, so the Flame quickly changed her tune. "And besides, aren't you witches all about 'the natural order?" Her fingers crackled and flicked as she made airquotes. "This is just what happens naturally. The fox eats the rabbit, the fox dies and the grass eats the dead fox. Circle of life." The Witch's lips-possibly the only thing remotely pretty about her, tinted a pale cold blue-pursed tightly.

"That rule only truly applies to creatures that are in nature. To beings who do not require civilization to function properly." The Water Witch said dryly. "The Fox kills the rabbit because that is how it is done. However, civilized beings do not always have to kill the rabbit because they know other ways to get food."

"But something always suffers." The Flame retorted, laying a hand on the golem, The golem's waxy skin melting into an indentation of her flickering hand print. "Somebody always has to pay so others can live. I will live while my golem melts away carrying me to my destination as it should be. The Fire will melt the wax, but the fire will also burn grass into ash that will be used to fertilize the fields for harvest. And he would have it no other way."

The Witch looked at the Wax golem. It was twice as tall as both the Witch and the Flame combined and then more so-but before the Flame, it was probably twice as tall. Sculpted in the form of a muscular man, detailed clothing intricantly carved into the wax flesh to mimic a roman soildjer of sorts. The face was almost completely gone and only thick waxy strands remained as thru out the entiretity of the trip, the Flame had rode on it's shoulders and kissed and teased at the face in a faux loving manner. By the time they reached the Pyre on the mountain side, the golem would be gone completely. The Witch had to stop and reattach his arms twice and his leg once yesterday since the Flame continued to prance around him and melt away at his skin. He was magnificent once, beautiful and possibly the pride of whatever artesean created him. Now he looked sad and pathetic.

"He hasn't the voice to say otherwise."

"He doesn't need a voice to speak his mind." The Flame hissed, suddenly defensive. "He is HAPPIEST when he is fufilling his purpose and that is THAT." The flame slid away from her Golem and onto a pile of leaves, setting it ablaze quickly and laying down in the ash. "good NIGHT, Water Witch." And then promptly rolled over.

The flame from the Elemental's body still flickered. Light cast over the Wax Golem and the Water Witch as they stared at each other-one with no eyes or face and the other with eyes the color of the swamp.

"Goodnight, Flame." She mused quietly. "Good night, Golem."

The Golem was dying and the Witch was watching him fall apart as he staggered, still carrying the Flame. The Witch stepped around every other puddle of wax that dripped off his body, careful not to get any on her boots. Part from vanity since these were a gift from her Coven Mother, crafted from Sea Snake Skin and enchanted to ensure her socks never get soggy-but mostly out of respect of the dying. Her fish familiar still in her staff had changed shape again. At the beginning of the trip, he had been a lovely little goldfish with large observant eyes. Now he was something between a cleaner shark or a lionfish-he seemed to be unable to make up his mind on what he was feeling.

Well, what she was feeling. They say people's pets end up looking like them. For Familiars-they sometimes took the shape of how their master was FEELING.

And at the moment, the Water Witch could just wring the little Flame's neck.

She watched as the Flames slender orangey fingers tease and dance over the carved muscles of the Golem-melting away the gently crafted detail and burn her own designs into his flesh like gawdy tattooing. Every now and then, The Flame would cast a glance over her shoulder at the Witch and then lean over, kissing at his melted away face.

At this rate, he wouldn't make it to the Pyre.

The Witch snapped to attention when she realized she was in front and the Golem was behind her. The Golem was slowing down. The Flame frowned when she realized her mount wasn't keeping pace.

"go FASTER!" She complained loudly. She smacked him several times to try to urge him along. The Golem struggled in stride-the Flame almost like a massive weight, crushing him. The Witch had to stop walking to wait for him to catch up.

This happened 3 more times.

The Golem was a mess. It couldn't stand up straight, most of it's broad shoulders had been melted away and it had resorted to carrying the Flame cradled in his arms like a kitten. And now the heat of her body was burning away at his torso, making his form and frame even more weakened.

The Flame was humming a pretty little song as her steed was dying-holding her in his arms. She was crackling the air with conjured fire like nothing was wrong as another being suffered in her name.

The Water Witch stopped in her tracks.

"Emet, Halt."

The golem stopped dead in it's tracks-but the gravity of his now top heavy body propelled forward. The Flame suddenly shrieked as her Golem fell over foward on top of her, doing a tumble and practically crushing her in the process. The Flame flared up indignantly as the Golem lay a few feet away from her on it's back, leaving her in the dirt.

"DAMN YOUR WAX, YOU USELESS GOLEM, YOU DROPPED ME IN THE DIRT! I COULD HAVE GONE OUT-GET UP YOU-" She shrieked hysterically. The Golem struggled to right itself again, trying to push up on the one good arm-the other had broken off a few feet away.

"Emet, do not get up. Stay there." The Witch Calmly said. The Golem stopped and laid quietly back down. Within a few steps, the Witch stood before the Flame. The two stared at each other-one too spoilt and upset to stand up on her own and the other, standing in a pair of sea snake boots.

The Witch pulled back her boots and kicked up some dirt.

The Flame shrieked.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU HAG?!" She howled as the Witch kicked the dirt again and again into the Flame's body. The Water Witch said nothing, but continued to kick dirt at the Flame.

The Flame's body grew smaller and smaller with each layer of dirt kicked upon her-her body choking and sputtering out from the sudden cut off of oxygen. She began to gasp and struggle to breathe as more dirt was layered on-she felt pathetic and weak, she couldn't even see straight. She was going to die on this dirt road.

The Flame's eyes weren't working, but she felt something pick her up like a kitten and place her somewhere dry-but oddly damp. As her eyes readjusted, she realized she was standing on the tip of a wick, drenched in oil. She reached out but her hand stopped short as something clear and hard kept her from continuing forward.

"What did you do?" She quivered, her voice several octives higher than normal. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!!?" She wailed.

She was trapped. Inside a little oil lamp. A lamp-of all the indignity of it all-meant for COAL MINERS. She shrieked and howled and tried to conjur her flames higher, but could barely get above an ember to come out. The Flame pressed her face against the murky glass to see where she was. She gasped quietly.

The Lamp was firmly fixed on the Water Witch's belt.

The Flame watched bitterly as the Water Witch carefully collected and scooped the Golem up, dragging him away from the middle of the road.

"DONT YOU TOUCH HIM, HE IS MINE! LET ME OUT AND GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!!" The Flame pipped. The Water Witch seemed to pay no heed to the Flame's rants. Rather, she was focused on the golem. The Witch was carefullly trying to shape and restabilize the wax into his form; sculpting as best she could. He just needed to get to the town. He just needed to be stable long enough to carry himself to the town. Her Fish, which had become an monkfish during the frenzy, had returned to a pretty little goldfish and swam in circles, watching her mend the Golem

"You used to be something wonderful." The Water Witch whispered softly. "Do you remember? The village where you were carved and sculpted from the earth? They made you in the mirror of a warrior-of a protector. You kept the village so safe during the war-no Kingless Knight dared to pillage the town, no child was ever taken by the true monster of man." She plapped on another big handful of wax, it dribbled a bit-but it held strong as it was packed into his ribcage area. "They used to hold a big festival once a year, remembering your honor on the same day the War Ended, drinking and singing. I dont know if you remember, you were ordered to sleep after the war ended and never woken again-your prize after all those years of service being an endless rest. But they sang those praises for a great warrior."

The Water Witch smiled as she continued her work, reaching up to brush a long strand of wax that had begun to drip down in front of her face.

"You know, I grew up there. All those years ago, when I was a little girl. Before we moved to the Ocean to be closer to the Coven." She smoothed the clay over. Stable at last. It was just a patch job, but without the Flame destroying him, it would hold long enough for them to get to a Wax Worker. "It was the saddest day of my life when we got that letter from our Uncle that you had been stolen." Water Witch stood up and brushed her knees off; the flame still shrieking and cursing her name from the lantern. The Witch pulled her staff from the ground and held out her hand.

"Come, Emet." She ordered. The Wax Golem reached out and took her hand, pulling himself up.

The Water Witch and the Golem walked hand in hand down the road.

#TSB Draws #TSB Ask #Golem #Wax #Fire #Element #Water Witch #Fantasy #Short Story

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hypocentricblasts · 7 years ago

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Title: Sublingual [AO3] Rating: M (swearing, lime/kink, medical jargon) Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku Series: ヒロアカ| Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Summary: Take away my heart pain, as you linger in my mouth. Note: I don’t even know if this was done before? But still, this is dedicated to @peonydee , for “saving lives” and our frequent filth exchange in our chat swamp

After ten years of daily fisticuffs as hero rivals, of clearing old assumptions caused by childhood rifts, of angst-ridden pinning that culminated in a heart-wrenching apology--

Katsuki Bakugou is here. Together, with Izuku.

Who would’ve thought he’d spend his entire life with this nerd? To be granted this chance after all the struggles they went through?

However, friends and family had told them time and again that they had, in fact, predicted this outcome. Katsuki still had his reservations, yet he would never change it for anything. He rather savored the sight of his fiance’s engagement ring on his finger, of living together in their month-old apartment, alternating meals between curries, pork cutlets and store-bought rice balls, with their greatest achievement of no longer breaking into petty arguments every thirty minutes. To their credit, their squabbles were now only limited to the smallest things every other day.

And Izuku, that sentimental cheese, probably bragged told all that development behind his back to All Might, his mother, their classmates -- or anyone in their agency who would listen about his long-winded litany of domestic woes. Katsuki never called him out about this, but he always barked a dismissal (to his family and friends) or a command (to underlings and extras) if anyone dared to ask any details about his blissful bearable domesticity with Deku.

Currently, he’s sprawled on their large, unmade bed, trying to calm his nerves when the running shower finally shut off.

However, even after all that effort to make them work, they just recently - about a month ago - started testing the boundaries of their bedroom activities.

And it took a couple of days, to coax Izuku to tell him what he wanted.

He got his answer.

But it didn’t mean that Katsuki wouldn’t let this slide without any disparaging comment.

As soon as he heard those careful footsteps, he slowly took off his loose black tank top, letting lean arms bulge as he raised them over his head. Katsuki was aware of how those bright, devouring eyes lingered at the hard planes of his torso, and drift to the tempting tent on his boxers. Pleased with the few quiet seconds brought by Deku’s attentive perusal to his body, he flung his discarded shirt on his gaping, freckled face.

He cackled as Izuku spluttered, indignant as he threw the damp shirt on the floor.

“Kacchan!”

“You deserve it. I’m judging you, Deku.”

“Oh, wow. Compared to yours? I’ve seen your search history, Kacchan.”

What a fucking dick, that Deku.

“I’m going to punch you.”

He oughta punch this useless dick.

“Mmmhm, okay.”

At the dick. With his mouth. Or he could settle things by hitting his ass. Like, assiduously slapping those firm, round buttocks.

No, he was getting sidetracked. Focus, Explosion King.

“Fuck you.” He averted his small lapse with a sneer, pulled him by his arm, as Deku took a seat at the edge of their mattress. “This is weird.”

And Deku still had the gall to smile like that.

“Yet, you’re here, Kacchan. Are you nervous?” His voice dropped a few notches. “Don’t be.”

Those smiles and his endless concern for his well-being always ignited something in him. Made him internally combust in emotions that he always expressed in expletives and extremes.

His throat felt dry. The rebuttal Katsuki had in mind became a petulant I’m not instead.

In response, Deku knelt in between his thighs. That dipshit even had that mind-numbing smile focused on him, stunning him breathless underneath the warm glow of their lamplight.

He knows Deku’s baiting him---how could he be not baiting him? With those awful come-hither eyes, framed with half-lidded, long lashes. Tousled green curls were still half-damp, plastered against his temples.The scent of clean soap was still clinging to his spotted skin. He was a half-naked, glorious vision in this cramped bedroom. And his faux-innocent seduction act was working wonders on Katsuki.

Damn this freckled-munchkin to hell.

A scarred hand gently settled at the crook of his elbow, and in response, Katsuki raised his heated fingers over the curve of his chin, a soft anchor under his lover’s beautiful, fuckable face.

“Can I start?”

“Shut up, Deku. Whatever. Go ahead. Do it. Just-”

His short rants - he caught on Deku’s incoherent mumbling habit, great - were cut short with the sudden click of his molars snapping together, as that tongue slowly flicked on the pad of his index finger.

The wet touch dipped in between his knuckles, prompting a harsh hiss from between his gritted teeth. It curled around the base of his middle finger, slowly tracing a cracked line, halving one of his numerous thick blister-scars.

Damn, who knew his callused fingers were this sensitive?

Those soft lips curved, as the little shit let the middle finger dip further inside the smooth floor of his inner jaw. A hot current shot towards his poor groin, still constrained beneath his boxers. His dick stood up more attentively to the way Izuku sucked around his bed nail, followed how the top incisors gently grazed the side of his finger. A dilated ocean-green eye stared at him beneath a curtain of his dark fringe, as he gave another swirl of his tongue.

Arousal nips impatiently on his crumbling composure. Quickly, he raked those moss-green curls with his other hand, wanting to kiss him senseless. Lips puckered as Izuku let his fingers drag against the insides of his cheek, scrape a blunt nail against his gums before the drenched digits popped out loudly out of his mouth. His breaths came in shallow pants, accompanied by a reverent Kacchan against his skin when he gave a quick suck on his translucent wrist.

“Want more?” Katsuki couldn’t hold back his smirk with Deku’s vigorous nods, which reminded him acutely that he never really lost that childlike enthusiasm through the years, even when he’s supposed to be a successful pro-hero in his early twenties. And this dork’s excitement was more exhilarating than the light teases offered earlier. Katsuki tilted forward, dove to his open mouth to let his own tongue work this time, indulging to tickle those hard lines at the top Izuku’s palate.

It was getting harder to breathe, but it was better to drown like this.

Izuku cut off their kisses, probably getting dizzy already, knowing what a lightweight he was when he was overwhelmed. True to his predictions, Izuku leaned his forehead against his shoulder, nuzzling the dip of his neck. With a devious smirk, Katsuki grasped the sides of his wide waist and dragged him to his lap.

“I...Kacchan-!”

“Yeah, I’ll let you have more, but right now, I want to-”

To his chagrin, Izuku’s whole body shuddered on his loose embrace, head listing sideways against his collarbone,-

Did he come? Isn’t too early?

-before he rolled his eyes back and fainted.

What the fuck? They haven’t even-

“Oi, Deku. Did you just seriously nut after that?”

Katsuki shook him by his shoulders.

“Don’t you even try playing possum on me, or I’ll dick your mouth, you--Deku? DEKU!”

Izuku remained boneless, pliant and unresponsive. A slight thrum of panic ran through him as he noticed that his skin was covered in gooseflesh, cold to touch.

Is he sick? Dammit, why didn’t he say anything? But he seemed normal earlier-

A nagging thought came to the forefront of his mind.

He peeled off his eyelids to take in his dilated pupils. Took note the slow rise and fall of his chest for thirty seconds. His damp forehead, which he had assumed at first came from his previous shower, was clammy and sweating bullets. Soaked fingers firmly pressed to the carotid on his neck, and felt his rapid pulse.

Red eyes stared at his own tanned, blister-covered hand for a second, before it finally hit him like an explosion.

Fuck.

Carefully, he hooked his arms underneath Izuku’s knees and back, lifted his unconscious body and settled him on his side - just in case there’s a risk of aspiration. Or worse, if any convulsions started. From what he could barely recollect from the old hag’s guidelines for first aid during his preteens, he at least needed to raise Izuku’s feet to a few inches above the ground.

Katsuki pressed his mobile against his ear, tried to steady his trembling hold and collect their scattered pillows around the bed, along with his addled wits. He then filched a couple of trousers on the ground to get themselves dressed before the paramedics arrived.

So much for their first time.

All Izuku could hear were echoes.

Everything felt...shit, but when someone suffered from chronic aches since secondary school, the pain was frequently an afterthought. It was even a comforting constant in his life, a reminder that no matter what horrors he had faced, in the end, he was alive. Besides, his career had him acclimated and given him a higher tolerance than most individuals. It had always been a worthy price to pay - if he could concentrate on saving lives more than being bogged down by inconsequential things such as pain.

Kacchan would probably beg to differ and chew him out for that self-sacrificial thought.

He could discern, even without sight, that the pain was comparable to that time when Shouto had once unleashed his ice to turn forest fire into a tundra landscape - when everything had turned into ice, his limbs felt numb, and became cumbersome enough that he felt his body would just crumble to pieces with a single jerk. But this was worse, as he couldn’t even ignore that deafening, rapid pounding on his head, thrumming relentlessly, building like a pulsating migraine. There was also that indescribable weight that settled on his ribs, as if his body was chained to a bed, all movement impossible.

A stuttering breath, he took, before his first blinks of consciousness. His eyelids felt crusty, and the lights hurt - but it was worth it, to be awake.

“Midoriya-san.” He didn’t recognize her motherly, square face, but her scrubs and the stethoscope around her neck was a familiar to him - along with the intercom chiming overhead, its announcements, with the bustle of silhouettes lit by fluorescents overhead, and the squeaks of gurney wheels against linoleum...

Oh.

She then grasped his fingers. “Squeeze my hands if you can hear me.”

Izuku followed as instructed, and added a grunt, which earned him a relieved smile.

“Good, you’re recovering well.”

“Boku wa...?” He said, but only garbled words came out. It merely fogged the clear oxygen mask over his mouth.

“It’s the fourth of February at three in the morning, Midoriya-san. You were admitted last night in Mushuu Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?”

Ah, Momo-san’s. He needn’t worry about any media leakage about his medical condition then. So why was he being admitted to the hospital this time?

He twitched his left finger and felt the pressure of the clipped oximeter, as well the wrapped, open splint around his arm. White noise filled his ears, composed of metronomic beeps and whirs of monitors and machines. With a quick scan of his surroundings through his limited periphery, it was apparent that he was the only critical patient in the vicinity. To his relief, he had no casts, which meant he didn’t break any bones.

But what kind of injury did he get to be admitted to the ICU? Internal bleeding? Was he stabbed? His chest and stomach really felt like mush, so he couldn’t rule that out. Was he dealing with a high-profile villain case? Was it because of an enemy’s quirk? Were there any casualties?

Why can’t he remember? Where’s Kacchan? Is he okay? Kacchan?

“Ka-?” He tried to speak the moment the mask was taken off. “Kaccha-”

“Kacchan?” She prompted, and despite under the medication, he was rather amused that the nurse looked to her right, as if worried that she just summoned the devil and he would materialize in a blaze of hellfire.

Ground Zero always emphasized that he was only to be addressed using his official hero name, by colleagues and civilians alike. Yet his childhood nickname had been stuck with Izuku for years, and it was too late to change that when he referred his partner as such during interviews. And (un)fortunately, the public preferred the more approachable endearment, with kids calling him Kacchan when they went to schools or hero conventions.

“I mean, Zero-san.” She cleared her throat and added primly. “He called the paramedics from your home at 10:48 in the evening. He was awake for the whole night, and when your condition stabilized, we let him sleep on a spare bed beside you.” She waved on the half-open curtain at his right, only noting the familiar ash-blonde blur. “It’s a slow night, after all. We don’t mind.”

“Stabilized?” His question was muffled, but at least it was coherent.

“Yes, but I can’t disclose further details ” Her brows creased, concerned. “Noshita-sensei will discuss soon enough. Do you want me to call him?”

Izuku turned to his side and stole a glance at his sleeping fiancé. He usually found it reassuring to watch Kacchan sleep, but with those gaunt shadows and tired lines on his face, he felt his own chest cave in with worry.

Wanting a few more moments to think and let Kacchan get his well-deserved rest, Izuku waved his fingers back and forth as an answer.

“Of course, take your time.” She nodded, and after writing quickly on his chart, pointed out the call button beside him. “Call me if you need anything, Midoriya-san.”

And when the nurse left him to her nearby station, Izuku remained alone with his thoughts.

He tried to recollect his thoughts, brows furrowing, scouring through the cotton-like haze that filled his mind. Carefully, Izuku slowly compartmentalized the events in a mental bullet-form list before his mind blacked out yesterday.

Okay, I spent a half-day at work. Bought groceries enough for a week. There was an occasion? Kacchan was already at home. Mackerel, rice, and miso for dinner. Had to retire early because we decided it was time to-

Like stepping upon a mental landmine, he remembered. A metaphorical steam came out from Izuku’s flushed nose and reddening ears.

I passed out.

He suppressed a scream of embarrassment and settled for a loud groan instead.

While I was seducing Kacchan. Izuku ignored that his hand was still stuck with assorted needles and tubes, finding comfort in raising them to hide his flame-hot face. Right now, all he wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His eyes watered in humiliation and stared at his covered groin.

How could he even face Kacchan now? Why did this happen? Kacchan would call him Deku again. He really deserved that childhood moniker, Useless. Not only he was inept in the kitchen, or on book-keeping of their monthly expenses, Deku couldn’t even last for a minute in bed. He couldn’t even make his lover satisfied at the basest, carnal level. How can he even stay beside him? Kacchan would surely shrug it off and merely tease him endlessly, but Izuku promised him to make him happy for the rest of their lives. He had to make it up for him, no matter what. He’d endure a lifetime of kink-shaming and doing everything Kacchan wanted, as long as-

“Good. You’re muttering again.”

Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise when the curtains were swept to the side quickly.

As always, Katsuki, who sat on the cot with a hand on his wrinkling forehead, had saved him yet again from the frequent downward spiral of his thoughts.

”Kacchan!”

Instinctively, Deku opened his arms as wide as he can (raising them from his sides, instead of extending them), wanting nothing in the world but a comforting hug. Deku’s eyelashes were even lined with tears, frustrated that he couldn’t even bend his arms to give a decent embrace.

His bloodshot eyes were reduced to pinpricks, staring at him incredulously.

Apprehensive of what that almost murderous glare meant, Izuku added quickly.

“I’m really sorry!” Instinctively, Deku opened his arms as wide as he can (raising them from his sides, instead of extending them), wanting nothing in the world but a comforting hug. Deku’s eyelashes were even lined with tears, frustrated that he couldn’t even bend his arms to give a decent embrace.

His bloodshot eyes were reduced to pinpricks, staring at him incredulously.

Apprehensive of what that almost murderous glare meant, Izuku added quickly.

“I’m really sorry!”

If Izuku could only wail out his apologies, to earn Kacchan’s forgiveness-!

“De...Izuku..”

The way he drawled out the last vowel of his name, with his right arm spasming at his side, as if wanting to detonate something into pieces...it confused him. What did he say? Usually Kacchan, despite his ill-tempered disposition, would eventually melt and mold against him the instant he asked for any physical consolation.

“Kacchan?”

“I...can’t touch you.”

Katsuki stood up from his bed, feet bare on the floor. His glare softened when it took in his sniveling face, before his scowl became an impassive straight line. His lips then wobbled, as he tried to hold it in place, as he gritted his teeth in frustration. Sunset-red eyes now refused to meet his gaze. He didn’t move to take a seat on his bed, to even reduce their distance to an arm’s reach.

Stay back, Deku.

This forced distance between them screamed those words, louder than anything Kacchan could’ve said. Words that they had twisted and mangled in different contexts, in the each of the phases on how they came to be.

“Why do I keep hurting you, Izuku?”

No one could’ve heard the question, not from the cacophony of machine tuts and humming ventilation. But Izuku heard it all, even the unspoken fear beneath the quiet words.

Remorse on Katsuki had always been ugly; a disease that would slowly gnaw his thoughts, raking healed scars raw until everything festered and ate him alive. But that guilt was an imperative process for him to heal, for him to change and make amends, to cut off the debilitating hubris that hindered his personal growth.

“Why can’t I do anything right?”

At times, that same guilt had its downsides. He’d be unable to function with a clear mind if as he continuously ran over self-flagellating thoughts. He often questioned himself at the end of the day. And gods forbid if he had hurt Izuku again, even in spars and missions, sparking that small flicker of doubt if he deserved the chance to be change, to be with him-

“I just-”

His chest ached, felt that recognizable pang of longing. It was something he hadn’t been encountering recently. How could he even dwell on the possibility of being broken apart again?

To be separated away from Katsuki now would--

There was a sudden urge to re-acquaint himself Katsuki again: to feel his blisters that roughened his touch into a sandpaper-like touch. To that radiating, summer-heat skin that he craved during cold winter morns. To commit to the angles and corners of his body, and fit himself to Katsuki’s form until there wasn’t space left between them. To match the fervor and fascination Katsuki had on him, as he took in the cluster of freckles smattered on his skin, dotting names and figures with a snicker, before flicking Izuku’s forehead whenever he tried to swat away Katsuki’s wandering hands.

Heavens, even if they stood a millimeter apart, it’ll never be close enough.

Right now, It didn’t matter if Kacchan still wore those day-old clothes, looking terribly exhausted. His spiked hair was mussed and matted with sweat - and there were dubious rust-stains on his shirt that he knew was blood. And in the absence of injury, it’s probably Izuku’s own blood.

No wonder Kacchan’s miserable.

But, whatever happened this time to instigate this age-old dilemma of insecurities and self-worth, Izuku will tell him time and again that he won’t break. Never did he ever break from the start. Nothing in the past - either their miscommunications or complications - would make him doubt and leave Kacchan behind.

No matter what happened, Izuku would be here, always, to stay.

“You’ve always hurt me, Kacchan.”

Katsuki flinched in response, stepping back in fear.

“And you know what? People have hurt me too.” His right hand, crooked and bent, littered with ”The people who I loved had hurt me because I let them. And you’re the one I love the most.”

Izuku reached, palm open and expression earnest, to Kacchan’s hand.

“No matter what others think - or what you even think, Kacchan? ”

Kacchan tried to pry away from his grasp.

Undeterred, Izuku leaned forward, reinforced his grip and held him more tightly.

“You deserve to be happy. We fought for this, remember?” Their hands were a knot made of crooked scars and broken calluses, the hard-earned reminders of their pyrrhic victories from a decade of struggle - in fulfilling their ambitions, in keeping the world safe, of the chance to be together. “I fought for you, Katsuki.”

It’ll be fine. Do you know why?

“I will always fight for us.” With a gentle smile, Izuku brushed that flash of silver on Katsuki’s finger. “So, I don’t think you’d be rid of me that easily.”

Because I’ll be here. With you.

“You fucking cornball.”

Katsuki then used his soft, green hair as a makeshift pillow, sunk his forehead into it with a relieved sigh.

“So what’s the big deal, Kacchan?”

“You moron. You should’ve known...” He wouldn’t tell Katsuki that he felt that small sniffle, but he relished the feel of those hands around his hips. “You’re supposed to be the nerd in this relationship. But I can’t believe that we’re this dumb. It’s my fucking fault too. ”

“No matter how well I can read you, Kacchan, I’m not a mind reader. Please?”

But now that Izuku was sitting up, he was now more attuned to his surroundings. His eyes now caught on the clipped board of his every fifteen-minute vital sign sheet, to his IV bag with PNSS c 1% Meth Blue q 8 written in bold sharpie on the sticker. Come to think of it, that was a standard medication for cyanide or nitrate poison-

“I poisoned you.”

Oh.

That explains everything.

He couldn’t help it.

“Stop laughing, Deku.” Kacchan looked like he wanted to punt him, but settled for a grumpy grind of his chin on his green curls. The loose embrace around his shoulders didn’t help on his attempt for intimidation as well. “It isn’t funny.”

“I told you, Kacchan” Izuku sniggered, while relishing the warmth of his embrace, spotted button-nose snuggling in the space between his neck and right shoulder. “You should’ve taken a bath first. But you were so horn-”

“FUCK YOU, DEKU. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID TO HURRY UP.”

“Maa maa, Kacchan.” Izuku shushed, an unspoken reminder that they were still in a hospital, in his can you please tone it down, darling voice. “It’s my fault too. I forgot that you were a living nitrate. Don’t sweat it.” He couldn’t even finish the sentence before Izuku dissolved into giggles, burrowing his beet-red face further to hide Katsuki’s positively annoyed face. “Maybe we should buy another AC for our room?”

To his delight, Katsuki shut him up with an open-mouthed kiss.

After sixteen hours, an impromptu sponge bath, and a quick consultation later, the poison was flushed out from Izuku’s circulation and was transferred to a different, private ward.

Katsuki sat beside his recuperating dumb dork while waiting for the discharge orders.

Izuku just finished his third cup of strong, barley tea, while his other hand tapped at his tablet relentlessly to write on a word document, an acceptable substitute for his analysis notebooks. Those indecipherable mutters brought a substantial amount of ease to him, and regardless of his reservations and sanity, Katsuki took the plunge and asked:

“What are you doing?”

A pause.

Then Deku beamed a grin that could light up an entire cosmos, as the floodgates of information burst open to fill up the silence.

“I looked it up, Kacchan!” He eagerly laid the tablet between them as he scrolled to the top of text where words like perfect oxygen imbalance and light-sensitive were obnoxiously highlighted.

“Do you know that there’s no difference between the composition of a dynamite and nitrogly capsules? You just adjust the amount of dilution! I’ve always thought that your quirk wouldn’t really affect me since no one developed critical cases of anemia around you, and figured that we all developed immunity in the long run because of biological mutation or environmental adaptation, whichever came first. Which brings me to the conclusion that maybe the epidermis that had been exposed to you for years acted as a protective barrier. And the mucosa underneath our tongue, as it’s hidden and offers no protection, can quickly absorb your sweat. And there’s the fact that I probably took three doses of- ”

Gods, does he even breathe?

“Okay, I got the point. Stop yapping.”

“Sorry”

Deku stared at his fierce scowl, and the way his eyes then stayed at his trembling hand. Tried as he might, Katsuki still couldn’t conceal his apprehensions.There was that familiar iota of panic that that would shake his hand with every contact.

But Izuku rubbed his flushed nose, face set in apology, still holding strong on his shaking hand. His claw-like fingers inwardly curled, leaning even more to his side against him to close any remaining proximity left between them.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Katsuki grunted, filling his empty glass with tea. “Worrywart.”

“Huh.” Deku then tilted his head, that inquisitive pout told him he was about to mutter aloud again. “We should’ve thought about this a bit more. I never thought that it would end up like this.”

“Yeah. How should I know?” Katsuki blurted out in annoyance, glaring at Deku’s notes as he tried to hide his discomfort. “I’ve never had anyone suck my fingers before.”

“Oh, you liked it?”

Deku had the fucking indecency to look smug. Like it was a badge of pride. And to his horror, he felt the telltale flush that made Katsuki more flustered, so he blustered with a snappy retort.

“You’re the only freak who’d get off on it. Fucking Nerd. You should’ve known that its a drug.”

"Kacchan, you've always been a drug to me. You make me high." And the smatter of light spots on the bridge of his nose became more prominent. One scarred finger, rugged and bent, traced the side of his neck. "Palpitations." The tip of his nail followed the bob of his throat to the dip of his collarbone. "Bradypnea." His thumb then brushed the edges of his defined jawline. "Tachycardia." Those green-ocean eyes were dark, almost swallowing him whole. "Dilation of pupils-"

And because he couldn’t admit that Deku's weird dirty talk was a fucking turn on, he slapped a heated palm over his mouth.

"Stop jabbering with this poetic nerd crap. And, FUCK, Deku!" He roared when those fucking green eyes sparkled and those adorable, freckled cheeks twitched in amusement. "Don't lick my palm, you shit! Or else I’m going to-"

That fucking beautiful green stare darkened, as his brows wriggled, What?

With a demon-like smirk, Katsuki’s hand dove to the ass that has been taunting him for hours. Deku squeaked in panic.

“What? And if you say we’re in a hospital, it’s the reason why I asked for private quarters, you-”

“I like your fingers and all but...um. Rectums? Anal linings are quite vascular and I don’t think-”

Katsuki let out a strangled shout in frustration.

“I should’ve known why you like to wear skulls, Kacchan.” Deku whined, even if he had no right to complain at all when they’re already going to do it. In broad daylight. In a semi-public place. Their dignity as the best heroes in the entire world be damned. “You’re unconsciously telling everyone you’re a literal, living embodiment of a toxic substance. Already wearing subtle warning signs in public? Warning: Do not fuck this guy. Can kill you if you swallow, choke-”

“Dumbass. I don’t care. Shut up with the pillow talk.” Katsuki grumbled, shifting himself to straddle Deku’s thighs. “As long as you’re fucking me, then we’re gonna be fine.”

“...Well then,” Izuku snorted, glanced at the door lock and unbuttoned his pants. “I had enough of kinky foreplay, anyway.”

Author’s Note: HAVE MERCY ON THE POOR DOCTOR WHO’LL STUMBLE ON YOUR FRICKFRACKLE

Ahem.

This fic is also aptly subtitled as “what happens if you swallow a minute trace of dynamite?” A decade ago, I used to frequently administer NG transdermal patches/sublingual capsules to elderly patients. This headcanon came to mind when I heard the details about Kacchan’s quirk. (And IMO, canon Deku would totally know that you must never lick Kacchan’s hands, or let him poke inside your highly-vascular anal lining. Either they did it within a controlled environment, like a very cold room, lower than 5C or have him wear firefighter gloves?)

I could’ve also included here more discussions on nitrate/NG poisoning- from interventions, diagnosis and medical treatment - but I’m too tired to c/p and translate an entire wiki-like chat with my younger sister and Ate Pidi (both are healthcare/ER professionals respectively). Trust me, those conversations were both enlightening and frustrating at the same time because if I followed everything to the letter, then everyone should be suffering hypoxia around Kacchan. Or dead.

Thus, please allow a suspension of disbelief, like in all works of (fan)fiction. Honestly, at the end of writing this fic, I just threw my hands up in defeat to cry “Screw everything!”

Omake: Geriatric KatsuDeku living together Deku: Kacchan, I’m... *clutches chest because Katsuki still looks pretty even when he’s old* Kacchan: SHUT UP DEKU HERE *shoves his fingers in Izuku's mouth* Deku: *garbled shouting that meant "KACCHAN"* Kacchan: I’m saving your life here, you absolute pancake. Deku: *wrenches his fingers away from his gummy mouth* Deku: STOP SHOVING YOUR FINGERS IN MY MOUTH EVERYDAY, KACCHAN.

Comments and criticisms are appreciated! Thank you for reading!

#bakudeku : fic #bakudeku #katsudeku #bnha fic #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku fic

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