Summary: Set between Episode 2 & 3 of Season 2 of The Witcher.
Rinah Saov is living with the consequences of saving Vessimer from the Leshy, as the other witchers make her life a misery she decides there is somewhere else her heart and mind need to be.
Words: 2,267
Notes: Just trying something new, writing some new characters/universe that I haven't written before. I know that not many people like OC characters etc. but I really wanted to write this so I hope some of you like it. Just trying something a little different for once 🤷♀️
Rinah Saov was the nightmare parents told their children to keep them quiet. She was the stuff of Cintran legend; Redania denied her existence despite her long studies at Oxenfurt - stories and songs and tales of vast pain have been created in her wake.
The last name she adopted was a moniker of her kind, Saov meaning Soul in the elder language. Rinah was a ‘Second Soul’, a creature split in half by ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Equally in control; switching between a strong, extraordinary, but un-magical existence and a being of pure unfathomable power, sporting blood-red eyes and a magic not even the oldest mages of Aretuza know.
She was the origin of it all; the origin of the darkest magic in the continent, older than Chaos itself, a burden she knew all too well.
Their kind had existed before The Conjunction, few and far between, but by the time it was over Rinah was the only one left. Seemingly, she was now one of the oldest creatures on the continent inhabiting the body of a twenty-something year old woman. After The Conjunction, in an effort to placate the many creatures of this new world order she locked away the darkest part of her soul in a cage of her own minds making, vowing that her magic would remain dulled until war ravaged the lands she swore to protect.
A task that she had not been able to fulfill during the first Nilfgaardian war, a war she’d spent mostly unaware of what was happening as she remained locked in dimeritium chains in the dungeons of Cintra alongside Geralt of Rivia.
Geralt had met her by chance, some 30 years previous when he was a young Witcher. Fascinated by his lack of fear Rinah had followed him, irritating him into companionship. Eventually he stopped telling her leave; one day he handed her his sword to fight as hers was kicked from her grasp and that ostensibly insignificant act had sealed a formidable duo that was equally revered and feared across the many kingdoms. Her legends became entwined with his until she was not just two souls but three.
There was however a fourth, one that more belonged to her heart. Jaskier, Viscount De Lettenhove.
Since their chance meeting in a tavern deep in the northern mountains the bard had wormed his way into her heart, a heart she had never once given to another. A thousand years of loneliness came crashing down around her, a feeling she never knew the sound of till she knew him.
Passing each other like flittering nymphs they had flirted with the prospects for years, seemingly only toying with it rather than solidifying any feelings. Geralt dutifully ignored his companion, the most powerful entity he had encountered in all his years, acting like a love-struck child. Swooning every time the loud-mouthed bard would cross their paths.
Then, one night in the woods outside Novigrad, as Geralt had slept, they had spilled their hearts open. Agreeing that the other may do what and whom they pleased, as long as they always made it back to each other.
Rinah was thousands of years old, monogamy wasn’t her style – a fact Jaskier embraced heartily.
Then came the dragon hunt, then Geralt’s rage and an issue neither of them had discussed – the fact that both would follow Geralt’s instructions without question, a different sense of loyalty. Hers to stay and his, with a shattering heart for both his love and his best friend, to leave.
Rinah paced the cold corridors of Kaer Morhern, cracking the bones of her neck in agitation, “Ignore him,” Vesemir said calmly, leaning casually against a damp wall. The silver adornments on his Witcher armor glimmered in the moonlight that shone in from the windows beside them.
The night air around them was peaceful and still, making the echoing thumps of her boots on the stone passageway sound like the walls had a heartbeat.
Shooting a look of daggers his way Rinah snorted incredulously, “I don’t know if you noticed but the little lamb makes it rather hard to do that.”
“Lambert is a feckless brute; he will come around.”
She sighed, halting her pacing and looking at Vessmier much kinder, “What I did to Eskel was…”
“… For the best.”
Rinah’s eyebrows furrowed in sadness, “I would never hurt any of you, but that… the Leshy had taken over, I had no choice.”
Vesemir grunted with a confirming nod, “So let it go child.”
Rinah smiled at his use of child, so tender and yet so incorrect. It had been a long time since she’d been treated like someone’s daughter. Vesemir smiled back as if he knew; his cold-grey eyes watching her curiously for a moment, as he so often did, before leaving.
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Dinner was noisy as usual, clattering cutlery and mingled voices. The air was thick with tension however, Geralt and Rinah sat at the opposite end of the room to the rest. Ciri sat by Rinah’s side too, side glancing at her every now and again with wary worry.
Suddenly Lambert's voice rose above the rest, “Can’t trust anyone these days!” he shouted in a jovial but pointed tone. His words were followed by a boom of bass-filled laughter.
Rinah rolled her eyes as Lambert peaked over his shoulder intentionally in her direction.
“This is impossible,” Rinah muttered under her breath. Geralt grunted dismissively by her side, shoveling spoonfuls of broth into his mouth, “They’ll move on.”
Sighing, she turned to him, lowering her chin so she could whisper, “They don’t want me here, and who can blame them.”
“You did what had to be done.”
A flash of the Leshy’s face, a mimic of Eskel, blinked across her memory, “I killed their brother! It doesn’t matter.”
Geralt was definitive, “Let it go.”
Rinah pushed herself up, plates clattering as her hips knocked the table as she clambered out from the bench, “I can’t.”
She stormed from the dining room, avoiding eye contact. Her feet carried her forward, cold air whipped her face as she made her way down some stone steps at the back of Kaer Morhern.
Ice filled her lungs as she breathed down, trying to loosen the rope tightening around her chest. Her mind raced like a flood rushing down a hill, pointless to stop. She couldn’t stand their eyes on her, their judgement and rightful emotions.
She had no right to be angry, no right to be upset that they hated her. The only reason not a single one hadn’t tried to take her out wasn’t because of their history together, it was because of Geralt. Her mere presence was faltering cracks in their unbreakable mountain of bond. Geralt would pay a price that wasn’t a debt he owed the longer she held on.
But where would she go? Home was a foreign concept lost on her many thousands of years ago.
Then a face appeared in her mind, a memory that only made the rope around her chest more taut. The string-plucking sound of a lute like a call across the wind.
She’d go to him.
-----------------
Geralt heard Rinah before he saw her. The clatter and her weapons strapped to her back, thudding against the leather of her heavy pack.
“Vesemir,” she called out, gesturing him closer. Vesemir's eyes raised to hers casually before he caught sight of her appearance and despite the concerned furrowing of his eyebrows he rose to his feet and crossed the room.
Geralt stood when he saw her dressed in thick armor, his feet getting closer as she asked, “Do you have a horse you could spare?”
“A moment Vesemir,” Geralt spoke, cutting off his answer. Vesemir didn’t move for a split second before a sideways glance from hard, gold eyes encouraged him away.
“What are you doing?” his graveled voice rumbled her way.
Rinah sighed, looking past him to see if Ciri was still sat at the table, she found it empty, “I need to leave this fucking place.”
Geralt raised his eyebrows just a touch, understanding her reasoning but silently questioning it. She huffed in annoyance, “Geralt, you are not my guard I can come and go as I please.”
She pushed past him, making some more headway towards the doors at the back of the room. A gloved hand grabbed her bicep and tugged, “Enough of this,” he growled.
“They do not want me here,” Rinah replied, sounding out each word, “This is only going to get worse. You deserve better… she does too,” she lowered her voice to a whisper.
Geralt rolled his eyes, so used to her constate of quick to reaction, “You’re moving too fast, give it time,” Geralt said, his voice almost lilting down towards soothing as he loomed over her blocking Rinah from the prying view of their company.
“I know where I must go,” Rinah said with tentative words, carefully eyeing Geralt to see if he understood.
“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Ciri appeared from the darkened corridor at the side of the room, smiling with a dreamy, doe-eyed happiness.
An understanding of a memory passed between them, one night at camp whilst Geralt hunted for food. Neither had ever had friends such as this to gossip about, Ciri asking all the questions with girlish glee that an age-old creature wouldn’t think too. Like sisters, tittering over some boy, Rinah had opened her heart once more.
Softly smiling, Rinah nodded and Ciri bounced on her heels, bounding towards her, “Go after him!”
“We’ll come with you,” Geralt adjusted his armor and looked around, deciding which direction to go first. Armor or to load up Roach with supplies, Rinah could see the cogs turning behind his eyes.
Even Ciri balked at the words, staring up at him incredulously. Had the weight of her decision not weighed her down Rinah may have smiled.
Rinah shook her head, “I will do this alone.”
“Rinah,” his grumbling tone warned her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and disagreement. She placed her hand against his chest to stop the forward step he was taking.
“You will stay here, for her,” she kept her hand against his chest, a physical stop in his tracks, and tilted her head in gesture, “And for you.”
His eyes said everything his lips did not. Squinted in disapproval as he looked down at his friend.
Rinah rolled her tongue in the hollow of her cheek, swallowing her irritation, “Need I remind you Geralt, it’s your fault he isn’t here. Do not begrudge me this.”
Her heart ached, fear of not knowing what she’d find, but she knew she had to follow this feeling. This was not a habit she made practice of very often, her years were deeply lonely before the witcher had strolled into her life. But this was different, like an invisible string was pulling her Jaskier’s way.
She’d more than likely find him in bed with some wench he’d found at a local tavern but even that brought a twitch of a smile to her lips.
Rinah raised her eyes to Geralt, her expression somewhat pleading. A wave of her forgotten grudge swirled around them, Geralt's nostrils flared as if he could smell the scent of her fear, her pain.
“If you knew Yennefer was alive, you’d go after her, am I wrong?”
Geralt stayed fixed in brooding silence as she continued, “Don’t insult me by telling me it’s not the same thing.”
Rinah’s hand reached up and rested against his armored shoulder, “I have to do this,” she urged, “Even just to see him once,” she continued under her breath so only he would hear, “I don’t even have to speak to him, I just… need this.”
She had no way of explaining the ache in her heart, although she feels the level of anger that she threw at Geralt in the months after the dragon hunt may have given him a hint. They barely spoke for weeks as she tried to forgive him. And as she tried to forgive herself for not telling her friend to fuck off and running after Jaskier before he stepped one foot off that mountain.
Geralt spoke in-kind, “This is a bad idea. You don’t know where he is or even what you’ll find, he could be anywh- “
Suddenly arms were around Rinah’s waist cutting off their muted conversation and ice blonde hair smothered her, “You’ll come back?” Ciri asked softly, muffled by her cheek against Rinah’s chest.
Pulling back, Rinah grabbed Ciri’s face, hands cupping her cheeks so she would look at her, “Always, I will always come back.”
Rinah took one last knowing glance upwards towards Geralt before turning her back, collecting her sword from the table behind them. The other Witcher’s watched in silence, it was unusual to hear this hall so quiet. The air felt a little colder in the absence of rambunctious energy.
As she made her way to the door, she passed Lambert; raising an eyebrow accusingly she quietly spat, “You got your way, little lamb.”
“Rinah!” a booming voice echoed after her before Lambert could speak.
Turning on her heels she saw Geralt taking tentative steps towards her, he opened and closed his mouth as if to speak despite his face remaining steely and unfaltering.
As it had done so many times before, understanding passed wordlessly between them.
Rinah smiled tenderly before turning her back once more, calling out over her shoulder, “Our girl better be more skilled than you with a sword by the time I get back Geralt!”
Thank you everyone who follows and who has read my little stories, I love seeing your feedback and getting to hear your thoughts (even if you hide them in the tags 😉). I hope you stick around for more!
I know I'm not as active as I used to be but I hope to get my writing mojo back!
Also a special thank you to my love @saynotoshityouhate and my best frieeeeend @desparadowriter for being my biggest supporters 🥰
I have no doubt some of you are bots but I'm celebrating nevertheless!
Matt finds you ✨engrossed✨ in watching CCTV footage from Daredevils latest fight and he can't help but notice how much you like it.
Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, fingering, talk of violence
It wasn’t often that you googled Daredevil.
Last night Matt had been out longer than usual and he had kept all too quiet about it this morning so you decided it was time to change that.
You’d heard him sneak in through the bedroom window at around 4am, the slip of suit fabric from his skin was louder cause your ears pricked up to it in your half-asleep state. In the dark you imagined what each tap and bump was before he slipped under the covers beside you. You could picture him in your mind, kicking his heavy boots under the dresser and flicking the cumbersome suit over the back of the chair that sat against your oak vanity and placing his helmet next to your hairbrush on the side.
The dip of the mattress fully stirred you, the heat of another body joining you under the grey silk sheets.
You hoped he wasn’t aware you were awake but you turned over, sleepily nuzzling into his shoulder as he lay on his back. Your worry before bed had made your sleep restless so, as usual, you gravitated to him the second you knew he was safe. You chanced a peak and his eyes were unfocused towards the end of the bed but his chin was tilted down in your direction.
“You’re awake,” he whispered, eyebrows pulling down regretfully.
“How did you know?” your voice sounded groggy through the heaviness of sleep.
Matt smiled softly, kissing the top of your head, “Your breathing changed.”
“You scare me,” You joked before yawning, nestling yourself against his arm and closing your eyes once again.
---------
Come the morning he was not forthcoming with where he’d been, “I just went further than usual, didn’t realize and it took longer to get back is all.”
Matt tried to play it off with a joke in his tone as he fiddled with his tie, opening his mouth so you could slide a piece of buttered toast between his teeth.
“Matt, you didn’t answer me. Where did you go so late?”
He shrugged, picking up his jacket and grasping the slice of toast between two fingers, “Nowhere special,” he mumbled between chews and he headed out to the office. Your sigh of defeat was punctured by the slam of the door.
---------
After work, in a quiet apartment, you sat down on the bed, laptop perched on your crossed legs, as you set about googling him. It wasn’t something you liked to do, choosing to stay as far away from his double life as possible.
Immediately a new article popped up, posted 6 hours ago.
‘Daredevil is Suspect in Mass Brawl’
The first thing that popped up before the article even began was a video. Clearly CCTV footage from the grainy, black and white image.
For some reason the thought of watching this felt wrong, a part of him he didn’t want you to see. But you were suddenly, unexplainably curious.
Matt was sweet, complicated but sweet, so there was a part of you that couldn’t imagine that level of violence you’d heard Daredevil had been involved in.
You’d seen him do things before, on the news, prior to your knowledge it was him. But here, alone in your apartment, something deep within you encouraged you on to press play.
At first you flinched, listening to the guttural sound of pain and violence. When whoever had acquired the video edited it to zoom in you questioned yourself on how you’d never know Daredevil was Matt before he told you, the recognizable sharpness of his jaw and the baring of his teeth that you’d seen in very different circumstances.
The call back to more intimate times made a dangerous connection in your mind. A pathway formed as your eyes took in blow after blow of his fist. Heat pooled low in your stomach and your spine straightened.
Something about his ease to violence scared you but his clear ability to revel in his effortless capabilities made you shudder with pleasure. His body was so strong and lithe, he took blows as often has he landed them but they only seemed to spur him on.
The line of his back distracted you, bringing strong shoulders down to slender hips, and once again you wondered how you never knew.
You chewed your lip harshly, as you became entranced the video suddenly stopped. Without thinking you scrolled it back and allowed it to begin again.
----------
He was smiling before he even made it through the door, he wasn’t sure what he could hear but he had guesses, suspicions, of what you were up to within the private walls of your shared apartment.
Slowly he clicked open the lock, determined to remain undetectable to your busy ears.
Toeing off his boots he pads in socked feet across the wooden floor towards the door to the bedroom. Carefully running his hand along it, he noticed it was open.
Dropping his shoulder against the frame he took in his own personal kind of view. The senses you kindled in him were tantalizing every time.
His tongue tingled like you were already flooding it, his nostrils flared at the sweet scent of perfume that floated off the nape of your neck as your hair dropped from your shoulder.
An almost silent, breathy, “Fuck,” left your lips and Matt bit his lip to keep from laughing. His hand dropped, rubbing just above his cock through his suit pants as if trying to deter the throb that pulsed through him.
Your skin was hot and he knew just what that meant, he didn’t need to know you as well he did to know how you felt. The smell of you, drifting through his nose and igniting his taste buds, was enough to clue him on your intentions.
Matt heard as your chest rose faster, breath quickening, accompanied by the slick sound of your tongue licking out over your lips as you remained engrossed in the screen.
His nails dug into the wood of the doorframe to prevent himself from stepping into the room for a little longer. As soon as he moved, he knew you would pick up on his presence, he wanted to bathe in your indulgence a little longer.
The sounds of what you were watching caused flashbacks of his previous evening; the dawning smirk of recognition slid up his cheek. The smirk broke into a grin when he heard the sound your fingers hesitantly twitching against fabric, inching ever closer to sliding under the hem of your little lounge shorts he guessed, like your brain and fingers were in an unbeatable tussle of right and wrong.
Matt took you in in fascination as the video came to an obvious end and your fingers tapped away and it started over. He wondered to himself how long you’d been at this, how long you’d basically edged yourself watching him beat the shit out of a group of dumb thugs trying to rob a warehouse.
As much as he struggled to admit it, Matt knew he got off on the ease of his skills in these situations but he was surprised to discover so did you.
Matt heard the almost silent sound of moving fabric and he knew you were getting twitchy. He stepped forward just a little, the urge to play with you taking over.
---------
“Having fun?” Matt’s voice felt louder than intended as it broke through the quiet tension. You jumped, hands gripping your laptop to stop it falling from your lap.
Now your breath certainly was loud as the adrenaline pumped through your veins, it did nothing to still the stirring of Matts cock as the rush of blood around your body made the room flood with your scent. Your heartbeat thudded against his eardrums as he stepped away from the door.
“I didn’t know you… y-you’re home?” You stammered, clumsily tripping over your words as you tried to remain collected. Casually, keeping your eyes on him, you fumbled to close the laptop lid. The tap of it shutting cause the video to stop and suddenly the room was very silent.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek you tried to subdue your irritation at the smug look on his face.
“Are we really going to pretend that I don’t know what you were doing?”
You scoffed, “Watching the news? I don’t see why we need to pretend about that. Also… now I know where you went last night, why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”
Matt laughed, arrogant and cocksure, “Oh no no no. We’re not going to do this right now, don’t even try it.”
You still pressed on, lacing your tone with worry, “You were in serious danger, Matt, that was a lot of…”
“…Shhhhh.”
Moving slowly, he let his knees hit the end of the bed, something about the roll of his shoulders and the way his body thrummed with pent up energy made you want to move back. Resting back on your hands you made to move yourself up the bed, edge yourself back from the weight of his presence but you didn’t get a chance.
Faster than lightening, his calloused fingers wrapped around your ankle holding you steady. You yelped, although upon reflection it sounded closer to an embarrassing whimper.
“We both know I can handle myself just fine,” he said, voice so low it rumbled in his chest.
Grabbing onto both of your ankles now he manhandled you, dragging you to him, the shock to your system made your body go limp and he was able to spin you half onto your front. Getting the idea, you helped him out with a huff of effort, shuffling so that you comfortably lay flat on your stomach.
Frozen in anticipation you stared at the sheets, wide-eyed. His labored breathing sent tickles up your spine when you heard it, the growl that hung heavy in his throat. His hands explored your calves, massaging and squeezing their way up.
“Maybe I should take you along some time,” he mused.
You swallowed harshly, “What do you mean?”
“If it gets you off so much,” he said plainly. You gasped, face flushing with embarrassment to hear him say it so matter of factly.
“I’d make sure you’re safe, out of harms reach but close enough to see me. Maybe you could slip your hand into your soaked panties and touch yourself for me. I would be able to smell the sweetness of this pretty pussy mixed with a bitter twinge of their blood.”
You’d lost the ability to control your breathing, your chest pushing down against the mattress making it hard to catch your breath. Matt chuckled, his hands sliding up your thighs to your ass, grabbing handfuls for a harsh squeeze.
He was in his own world you could tell, at this point he wasn’t thinking of your pleasure but his own. The exploration of your body was his fuel right now and you were a willing form of sustenance.
“Imagine that angel, you… touching yourself in public for me. That gorgeous wet sound reaching my ears to drown out their pathetic pleas for mercy.”
Gulping you asked, trying your luck, “What if they saw me?”
“I’d rip their spine out through their throat before they got the chance to take one step in your direction.”
You closed your eyes tight, as if trying to wake yourself from the possibility of imagining this, “Holy shit,” you breathed.
Suddenly his body weight pushed you down, he lay himself the length of you and propped himself up with hands either side of your shoulders. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing his lips to the curve of your ear.
“Oh, you like that huh?” Matt teased, despite his weight on top of you he pushed his hand underneath you. Wriggling it down between your legs he pushed and pulled with an intoxicating sense of urgency until his fingers slipper over the fabric of your panties. His fingers met with soaked cotton and he let out a shaky breath.
The cocky bite of a laugh he let out made you scrunch your eyes closed, “Hmmm yeah, you like that idea.”
The room felt like it was caving in with heat, the fabric of your clothes felt too close like you were suffocating in the best way. You wanted him, this moment, to drown you as you clawed at the sheets whilst his finger circled on your clit at an agonizingly slow pace.
They were purposeful yet lazy circles, his touch was so attuned to you that he no longer needed your input. Matt could just take you.
You arched your hips up into him, unable to move much under him. You whimpered at the feeling; a second finger brushed over your clit as he pushed his cock back against you.
The sound of his whisper made the muscles in your lower stomach clench violently, “That’s ok angel, let me take care of you. Poor thing.”
Your breath shook as the air pressed from your lungs with another thrust of his hips and you choked on the last air you had as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder.
“Matty,” you gasped, whimpering at the rush of pain and pleasure that thudded through your core. His fingers sped up and your hips twitched as the sudden bolt of pleasure that climbed up your spine.
“Atta girl,” his voice sent vibrations along your skin, “That’s it.”
Matt was still pressing himself into you, uncaring that his hand was crushed beneath you. His body weight felt delicious on you, holding you grounded as your nerves lost their sense of reality, head swimming with the heat and the pressure. Your hips ground down hungrily seeking out more as he coaxed you on, “There you go, that’s my girl.”
You whined desperately, and he laughed, his teasing tone only fueling your spiral towards your climax, “Oh I know, I know.”
Your body shook violently, muscles tensing as you plunged over the edge. Matt’s fingers never relented as you squirmed your way through a harsh orgasm. Your loud cries made him grin, you could feel it as he rested against your shoulder blade, kissing your overheated skin.
His fingers left you, slowly, and your entire body felt like it was sinking through the mattress as your muscles released their tension. Your breathing rattled through your chest as you fought to steady it.
You heard the wet sound of him sucking his fingers by your ear, unable to respond as your body tried to come down from it’s high.
Once again, his lips were close and he whispered, “Now let’s hear more of what you were thinking about hmmm?”
Warnings: Verging on smut towards the end. Hints... whispers of smut if you will
“Careful!” Bucky hissed under his breath, you rolled your eyes and held your hands briefly up in surrender.
“You’re not going to rust you know!” you jabbed, knocking your knuckle against his metal bicep, “It’s just sunscreen.”
You continued to gently rub the cream across his collarbone, right up to the mangled, healed flesh of his shoulder, down to his chest, along the line where his body met metal.
The movements were slow, gentle as you massaged the cream into his skin, “You care too much.”
“I don’t want you getting skin cancer.”
He scoffed, “I’m not even sure that’s possible.”
Dropping more cream into your palm you ran your hand across his chest, “I can do this bit myself you know,” he joked.
You raised a knowing eyebrow, “But would you?”
He ducked his chin to his chest by way of answer, “That’s what I thought,” you smiled, finishing the job. His skin was soft beneath your fingertips, despite his size and abilities the feeling of his skin under yours always made him feel unduly fragile.
You heard him breathe lowly in his chest so you flicked your eyes to his face, which was plastered with a smug smirk. Pulling a disapproving face you swatted at his chest, “Does that horny little brain of yours ever rest?”
Bucky twisted his body, pushing himself up onto one knee on the couch and slowly began to loom over you. Having no choice, the proximity of his broad frame pushing you backwards a little against the cushions that were propped against the arm.
You tutted and he laughed, “I’ll take that as a no then!” you spoke, trying to hide the nervous high-pitch tone with an unconvincing laugh.
“Is it my turn yet?” he whispered.
Cold metal fingers gripped onto your thigh, suggestively high, “Bucky…” you breathed. The thud of the bottle of sunscreen slipping from your loosening fingers made you jump but Bucky paid the sudden sound no attention. His hazy eyes were zeroed in on you.
Lowering himself closer he nuzzled into your hair, lips finding the warm skin of your neck, “That’s it, keep saying my name… just like that.”
hi first of all i love your adcu work and second i would like to request the boys with a partner that is either on a a lot of med like i am just a comfort write if you would be comfortable doing that kind of work or if not i would like to see if you have not done any already the type of aftercare each boy would do for the reader
Hiiiiiiiiiii thank you for your ask and thank you for liking my work, it means so much!💕
I am 100% comfortable with that type of work. I've gone with my instincts - in terms of vibe, the few boys I've chosen but also meaning behind 'meds' - but if it isn't what you were hoping for or I'm WAY off please do leave me another message and I'm happy to amend ❤
Warnings: Discussions of doctors, health, mental health and medication.
Charlie Barber
“I know it’s hard,” Charlie said softly, his large hand rubbing circles between your shoulder blades as he watched you pick up your third little bottle of rattling pills.
You huffed, “Actually, no you don’t. Your body works perfectly fine.”
Charlie smiled knowingly, pressing a kiss into your hair, “Now, my age would beg to differ but I appreciate you thinking so.”
You picked up a fourth and final bottle of medication and shook one into your palm to join the myriad of others; all sorts of shapes, sizes and colours all creating a pretty mosaic that made your tongue taste bitter.
Slamming it down you huffed once more, “Your body is perfect and you know it.”
You tipped the handful of meds into your mouth, chugged back a gulp of water and tipped your head back, allowing them to begrudgingly slip down your throat.
“And so is yours!” he protested, an indignant tone taking over his voice. Charlie spun you to face, careful not to startle you too much that you spill the water in your glass.
He paused for a moment, making sure you’d seen the steadfast expression on his face, “So is yours…” he repeated slowly, “These meds just help it to function better, and you deserve that. You and your beautiful self, mind body and soul, deserve to be able to live.”
You chewed at your bottom lip harshly, trying to distract your brain from the tears pooling in your eyes.
“I thought you were supposed to be the director, not the dramatic actor,” you mumbled, teasingly.
Charlie shrugged, “I dabble,” he teased back.
Adam Sackler
His demanding cough was enough for you to realise what he was hinting at; Adam stood over you at the table after he’d picked up the empty breakfast plates and put them on the side in the kitchen.
He’d returned with your bottle of medication and put it in front of you. Expressionless you looked up at him as he loomed over you, “I don’t need them.”
“Bullshit kid.”
“Okay, I do but I don’t WANT to need them. I’m fine without them… sometimes.”
The tone of Adams voice brought an embarrassed pink tinge to your cheeks, “So, the month you spent not taking them, and collapsed on my living room floor just… doesn’t count?”
You rolled your eyes, knowing you were talking utter nonsense and that he was completely right. You tipped two pills int your palm, tossed them into your mouth and swallowed. Adam handed you a small yellow glass for you to sip some water. When you took it you glanced a look up to his face, he smiled ever so slightly but his eyebrows were still pulled down with worry.
Then, following the same routine you did every morning, you stuck out your tongues in time with each other. You following the movements of his tongue like a mimic so he could check the meds were gone.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, but right now he didn’t trust you. And that was ok, sometimes not trusting someone to be on their own for a little while is how you care for them best.
Sackler had moved into your apartment, he’d said it was just for a few weeks to keep an eye on you so you weren’t by yourself. But at this point you thought he’d never leave, but the soft smile you gave him back meant you leaned more towards wanting him to stay.
It felt nice having someone here.
Picking up prescriptions was easier when someone was poking you in the back to get you through the door, taking medication every morning was easier when someone cooked you breakfast to go with it and the lower moments were easier when there was a more rational brain around to argue with yours.
He sat down in the chair next to you, eyes not leaving your face, “I got you kid.”
Paterson
Paterson’s smile was enough to make this moment even more joyous than it already felt.
“It’s been 3 months,” you said, grinning up at him, “3 months on these things and I’m feeling… better.”
You turned your grin down to the three orange bottles of pills you’d gathered up into your hands. You both sat together at the dining table, finishing up a dinner that Paterson had lovingly cooked when he got home from work.
It was honestly a moment you never saw coming, your doctor had taken you through so many trail/error phases that you thought ‘better’ was a pipedream. You weren’t fixed but damn it you were finally getting better!
“A long time coming,” Paterson said quietly, a man of few words but each one meant something. He made sure of it.
Reaching across the table he patted your hand before linking his fingers with yours, “You stuck with it, even when it was hard…”
“And it was a hard a lot!” You interrupted with a soft chuckle.
Paterson nodded knowingly, his smile still stretched up his cheeks, “But you did it, you persevered and you did it. I know it’s not what you wanted but this feels like… a future.”
It was your turn to nod, blinking out tears that dripped down your cheeks, “It’s not…” you hesitated with a heavy sigh, “I know this doesn’t fix anything, I know I’m still… sick… but I feel like I can live now. I can actually live! So yeah… a future. Our future.”
Paterson lowered his head with a low laugh, “Oh my love, it’s yours. I’m just happy to be along for the journey.”
Another for you my dear smoochy anon. The return of Matt & Angel 😘
Warnings: Mentions of smut, smutty language.
You stood in the doorway, leaning your shoulder against the frame.
Matt knew you were there, the thought of which made you smirk to yourself, but you liked to play this game sometimes - pretending you could actually surprise him, it changed the feel of the air in the room, heat crept up your neck at the mere idea of what could come next. He had found the white box you’d left on the bed, more importantly he’d found its contents – a set of black lace underwear.
“Someone’s being nosey,” you said into the silence. He chuckled, his back still turned to you. His fingers still played with the lace absentmindedly, his thumb stroking the trim.
He turned his chin over his shoulder, eyes cast downwards, “You left them out for me…”
“… Did I? For you?”
A wide grin cut his expression; a slight nod greeted your indignation, “Always for me.”
Quietly you walked up behind him, eyeing the smugness in his face with amusement. As you reached him you pressed your body into his back, feeling the way he leaned into you just a little. Your hand grazed down his bare forearm, feeling the soft ripple of lean muscle, before caressing your hand over his.
“You want me to model these for you?” you asked, kissing his shoulder softly.
“Now Angel, we both know I can’t see you in them no matter how hard I try,” he smirked, you swatted the top of his hand sharply and he hissed an ‘ow’ in protest.
Gently you tugged the soft lace from his fingertips, gathering it up and stepping away from him. His unfocussed eyes loosely followed the sound of you around the room, a twitch of a smirk ghosting on his lips as he awaited your next move.
You placed the underwear down on the bed and began to undress, the movements so slow that you unwittingly allowed your scent to float lazily into the room and right to Matts flared nostrils. A hungry hum played lowly in his throat.
“Now Matthew…” you echoed his tone, “… we both know you can see me in so many other ways.”
Matt’s fingertips twitched by his sides, he flicked and played with his nails to occupy the ache that thudded down his arms as his mind urged him to reach out for you.
As you undressed you stayed silent, reveling in the effect you had on him. To anyone else he would almost look nervous, twitchy and swaying on his heels, but you knew better. Matthew was fighting his instincts, something he wasn’t very good at.
For a catholic boy he sure lacked discipline in the face of something so delicious.
You slid the underwear up your legs, the black lace hugged your hips tightly. The bra clipped comfortably at the back and you adjusted your breasts into the cups, marveling at how they sat so pretty.
As you looked back up to him he pulled at the hem of his grey t-shirt and lifted it over his head, letting it drop to his feet.
“Presumptuous!” you mocked, tutting at him as he grinned.
You stepped towards him once more, reaching down and capturing both his hands before bringing them to your hips. Almost silently he sighed, a sound of relief as his fingers found the lace pressed against your silken skin.
Hooking the tip of his forefingers on each hand he pushed them beneath the thin fabric, running his knuckles against the line of your hip towards the heat between your legs. Now your fingers twitched, but you wanted him to play, to feel, to explore you.
He let the fabric of the underwear snap back, an airy chuckle following his motion. Slowly he moved his fingertips up, his plush lips falling open a touch in concentration.
They eventually rounded your breasts, not cupping them but tracing the shape as if committing it to memory. But you both knew every inch of your skin was etched into his mind already, this was simply just indulgence.
Goosebumps rose up as he traced the line of the cup, the swell of your breast pillowy against the touch. He chewed at his bottom lip and you lurched as if driven by unseen forces to kiss it.
“Eeeeasy,” he laughed breathily, his chest rising and falling under the heightening labor of lust. His hands dropped to your sides to steady you.
Matt’s hands were calloused, rough and yet tender as he moved them over the curve of your waist. He pulled you in, pushing your chest against his and you think, with delight, you saw him shudder from the friction of the lace against his bare skin. His heavy breath ghosted your face as he looked down at you, “You are dangerous, little angel.”
Grinning you pushed up slightly onto your tip toes so you could tease your lips against his, whispering, “And you love it.”
“You never promise!” he exclaimed, paddle-size hands flapping around in indignation. Adam had been your roommate for two years and not once had you promised him anything, and that fact drove him crazy. You were precious about your promises and honestly his mischievousness unnerved you on the best of days, so you teased him about it and dangled it in front of him like a carrot for a rabbit.
Your laughter only made him more exasperated, “The thought of you holding me to something is… terrifying.”
You mocked a shudder and he huffed before storming off into the bathroom. The door rattled the frame behind him, “One day!” he shouted, the sound muffled through the wood of the door.
Rolling your eyes, you went back to cooking dinner, “In your dreams Sackler!”
-----------
His eyes zeroed in on you, squinting suspiciously, “Seriously kid, what the fuck is up with you and promises?”
He waved an accusatory and expectant pinky finger in your face; you were sitting on the sofa trying to read your book and he was hunched in the opposite corner like a gargoyle. He’d been trying all weekend to get you to agree to something, thrusting his over-sized pinky at you for every opportunity. Would you promise to buy him a pizza later? Or take a shower cause you apparently ‘stink’? Or would you promise to marry and repopulate the earth with him if you were the last two people on earth?
“I don’t promise lightly Sackler, what can I say?” Once again you shrugged, the annoyance on his face was making you more stubborn and far more amused.
-----------
It was the first time you’d seen him cry. His sister had been in town.
You knew family stress got to him, honestly the more you heard about them the more you understand why he was a little…. out there.
All you did was sit and listen; you’d never seen him like this so mostly your silence was just the result of being dumbstruck. There was something so painful about the tone of his voice, like years of tiredness piled on top of him in one dinner with his sister and he had boiled over.
There had been yelling, apparently, some threats that set Adams teeth on edge and then he’d come home.
“I’m better off on my own, crazy fuckin’ family don’t deserve me anyway,” he ranted, harshly rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. You watched him quietly, unsure of the right thing to say.
He buried his face, fingertips massaging the hairline at his temples. He was still whisper-muttering to himself as you watched him.
“Adam…” you said, but he just grunted into his palms.
You sighed, “Adam….”
“Jesus, what kid?” he huffed, leaning up and glaring at you. His face was red, dampness was smudged around his eyes.
His eyes dropped from your face and zeroed in on what you were holding out to him. Your pinky finger.
You extended it like an olive branch with a tentative smile. His face burst into a toothy grin, his shoulders relaxed down from up around his ears and he turned his body to face you like he had to fully commit to the action.
Slowly he curled his fingers to his palm bar one, the pinky. Cautiously, like a nervous animal, he returned the gesture.
You raised your eyebrows encouragingly as the tips of your two fingers touched.
Your finger wrapped around his securely, your hand seeming baby-like against the gargantuan size of his, “I promise you’ll never be on your own.”
Summary: Matt feels out of control, he physically hurts from the burden he puts upon himself. But you find a way to give him peace in the cacophony of his world.
Warnings: Angst
Words: 1,492
Notes: Hello, yes I do still exist. Writing has evaded me lately so I'm really happy to I was able to write something/an idea just for myself.
His mind was noisier than usual tonight.
You could see it in the way his eyes darted, the slight tilt of his chin towards a noise you couldn’t hope to hear. He was fidgety, and as the minutes progressed it was only getting worse.
You raised your eyes to and from the page of your book and his face. He got up abruptly and walked at quite a pace towards the kitchen. Your ears perked up to his movements; the scrape of a glass being removed from the cupboard, the rushing sound of the faucet turning on and the glug of a filling glass.
The bang of the glass being whacked against the counter as he drained it made you jump. You heard the fridge open almost instantly and the familiar jangle of beer bottles is what followed.
Soon the bottle was abandoned, half empty, on the dining room table; you saw the deep brown glass glinting from the neon lights outside the windows in the corner of your eye.
Matt paced the living room, muttering under his breath. When you would look up his eyes would be darting this way and that. The agitated twist of his head told you there was a lot of activity in the city tonight.
He’d been trying to avoid it, trying to live more as Matt than the Devil but he was finding it hard. The screams drove him to distraction.
It wasn’t just his waking moments that it haunted, some nights he’d wake you talking in his sleep. Tears would drip down his face as he mumbled sleepily to someone who wasn’t there, someone he couldn’t save.
His muttering got louder and you lowered your open book to your chest to try and listen. Your eyes followed his pacing, it was more frantic than you’d ever seen him and a strange kind of fear nestled in your chest.
“Matty?” you sat up, concerned, letting the book fall open to a random page in your lap.
“Aargh god!” he yelled, heel of his palms pressed into his temples, “Can’t I have one day?!”
All his words jumbled together as his body basically curled in on itself in pain. You got to your feet slowly as he dropped to his knees, the book hitting the wood floor with a thud. You moved quicker now, diving to the space in front of him and falling to your knees.
“Matty,” you voice shook a little as your hand cautiously cupped his cheek.
His eyes were screwed shut and his face was twisted in what could only be described as pain, “It’s so fucking loud!”
“Stop,” you urged him, trying to get him to focus, “Just listen to me.”
He let out a loud groan of pain, his eyes were now open wide but his face was twisting in agony as he tried to hide from something he couldn’t hope to escape from.
“Stop,” you whispered before you plunged his world into silence.
Your hands came up, gently but tightly covering his ears.
Frantic eyes closed before you once more and your own scanned his face for any signs of change. You watched as every muscle, every tight line in his lightly tanned skin, relaxed. Burden disappeared from his features for the first time in a long time. And you couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before.
In that moment you brought him peace.
The thick muscles of his shoulders relaxed and smoothed themselves out, the slope of them dropped from up around his ears and a rush of quiet air left his nostrils. You calmed yourself with deep breaths, steadying yourself inhaling through your nose and sighing.
You leant your forehead gently against his, and almost instantly the pace of his breathing began to match your slow measured breaths. You stayed here as you spoke quietly, knowing that the vibration of your words would reach him.
“Just breathe, focus on me…” you paused, waiting for potential protests but none came, “…listen to my voice and only my voice. You’re safe, everything is ok.”
Slowly, gingerly, you released your hands from his ears – poised to return them should pain strike his features – he tensed at first but slowly his eyes opened and turned their unfocussed gaze to your face.
Matt sighed, the weight back on his shoulders, “I can’t do this. The darkness is… too much.”
Your eyebrows furrowed and as if he could sense it, he clarified, “It’s consumed me.”
“No matter what you tell yourself in the dark, you are a good man. Darkness doesn’t always have to mean bad,” You took a deep breath before continuing, “I remember you told me the story of the first time you ever put on the mask, what changed?”
“I…don’t understand,” he whispered.
“What changed? What makes the man who sits here any different from the man who protected a little girl from her father? What makes you different from the man whose instinct was to dive into action at the sound of terror instead of running from it?”
Silence followed your words, like the cogs in his head were turning to find the right answer. The finally, quietly, his replied, “I’m tired.”
“So, you rest.”
Matt shook his head and you smiled, “Rest is the only cure for tiredness that seeks so deep into your bones it weighs you down. You can’t fix everything Matt, sometimes you just have to let it go.”
“How?”
“You realize that you are not your father.”
His shoulders rolled uncomfortably, trying to release himself from the twang of the raw nerve you just touched. Reaching down you took his hands.
“From everything you’ve ever told me your father never knew when to stop, never knew when he crossed the line into territory that wasn’t good for him. He had no instinct for when stopping was the better option.”
Matt’s hands tightened their grip on yours, you felt their slight tremble and held on just as tight.
“You are not your dad. You don’t have to be desperately tainted by pride,” you paused, bringing both of his hands up to your face and planting light kisses against his knuckles, “These hands have done enough.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his full lips, “You’re too good to me.”
“Nonsense,” you replied with a smile of your own.
A moment of silence sat between you as you clung to his hands, unsure of the moment to let go and secretly hoping it would never come. He still looked troubled, like the cogs in his mind turned quietly at the back of some pitch-black room he’d built for himself.
“What have you done in the past? What’s helped?” you asked thoughtfully, breaking the silence.
“Praying,” He laughed incredulously, “Sometimes…meditation.”
“Let’s try that,” you suggested, sitting back from him, “I can help.”
You stood as Matt adjusted himself, sitting crossed legged with open hands, palms up towards the ceiling. You let him settle before you began to speak, taking another steadying breath as your mind raced with what to say.
“You and only you have the power to free yourself from the weight of your mind, you know how to find it you just have to let yourself go there.”
Now you simply just watched, pacing a circle around him slowly as his shoulders dropped once more and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The tips of his fingers twitched as his muscles relaxed.
“Find yourself,” you whispered, almost inaudibly.
He rolled his neck, breathing heavily through his nose. You stepped behind him now, perching yourself on the arm of the armchair, observing him. His back muscles moved in millimeters as he relaxed even further.
“I don’t know who I am,” he whispered back. Your face fell sympathetically before you replied, “Yes you do, you’re in there.”
You rose to your feet once more, fully behind him you couldn’t see his expression, or decipher what he could be thinking. You watched him in his most vulnerable form, the shape of his shoulder blades beneath his light-blue shirt or the little flecks of grey hair that glinted in the fluorescent light.
Something shifted, it was like a new feeling permeated the air. It was heavy and thick; it made your chest tighten.
“One more thing…” you spoke tentatively, letting your feet take steps at a glacial pace round the other side of him.
There was a pause, a smile playing on the corner of your lips that he couldn’t see, before you said, “Is it insensitive of me to say get your shit together so I can just love you?”
He huffed a short, sad laugh.
When your steps brought you back in front of him you saw his face. Down each cheek a glistening tear was slowly making its way towards his jawline, tracking its path across his skin.
Bending down you wiped them away with your thumbs, whispering “There you are.”
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Just a quick blurb inspired by the new White Noise promo pic that dropped this week. Special thanks to @ladyinwriting18 and @peachyproserpina for the inspiration and encouragement to get back in the saddle.
Tags: smut and angst and adultery
Words: 326
The glow of the neon motel sign burned Jack’s eyes through the rear view mirror. He pulled out his dark sunglasses, propping them on the bridge of his nose. The sun had set hours ago, but your scent and taste would linger on his skin for hours to come.
Sunday nights were for German classes. Or at least that’s what he told Babbette. Only you and Jack knew that Sundays were for creaky motel mattresses, cheap, lukewarm beer, and a shared menthol cigarette blown out the tiny ventilation window in the mildewy shower.
Sunday nights were for rug burned knees from swallowing Jack’s impossibly thick cock, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled you closer to the belly that hung low on his torso. Sunday nights were for animalistic grunts and sweat soaked sheets as he pressed your face into the mattress with one hand, while the other gripped bruises into your hip as he stretched your cunt open further than any man ever had before.
Sunday nights were for remembering that Jack was a man, a man who could pleasure a woman with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. A man with a desire to be loved as hard as he loved. Sunday nights were for setting aside his responsibilities as a professor, a husband, a father - and just focusing on his needs…his desires. Sunday nights were for you.
Sunday nights were for holding you close to his chest as he read to you from his favorite book of poetry, your eyes glittering with admiration as you watched him dance over every word. Sunday nights were for quick, hot showers and long, tearful goodbyes. Sunday nights were remembering that he’d never leave Babbette, or the kids, or his job, not even for a chance to spend more than just Sunday night with you.
Monday mornings were for reminding yourself that there were only six more days until Sunday night.
