#he would have pulled the tree off its roots and happily go after you

[grabby-smitten]

[azsazz]

Siren Songs

Merman!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: A mermaid Azriel making a pearl necklace for his beloved... 

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,879

Notes: No because this has me in my feels. 🥺

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The ground is soft beneath your toes, grass tickling your feet as you wander through the low hills, a soft smile on your face. Your basket is clutched tightly in your grip but your pace is leisurely, enjoying the sudden spring weather as you walk.

You’d kicked your shoes off almost immediately, eager to feel the perky, lush grass, rearing its head under the warm sun. Winter had been far too long for your liking, snow piling onto the ground, the cold weather freezing over the Sidra, and it had left a pang in your chest, knowing that if the river running through Velaris was a block of ice, than so would the bodies of water scattered throughout the Night Court. 

But the deep blues of the Sidra are now flowing again, and for the first time all winter, the longing that filled your soul was replaced with excitement, with hope.

Your sweater is folded nicely in your basket, the warm sun kissing your skin, pale from winter. Your heart thrums in your chest, the soft breeze carrying your hair around you in a gentle caress. 

Life is good.

You shut your eyes at the feeling, humming appreciatively, pointed ears perking up as you slow to a stop, the sweet, low sound of singing not far off.

Forget where you’re going,

Forget what you’re doing,

And come to us,

Come live with us…

Your heart settles in your chest, warming at the sound of the familiar voice, drawing you to its sweetness like a moth to a flame.

It’s a soft melody, saccharine and weaving through the trees, the lyrics dancing happily in your head. It sounds safe, like something comfortable, trusting, urging you nearer with its prominent words.

You follow, and it's as easy as breathing.

The path through the squabble of trees is simple, the path worn from the others before you, lured in by the honeyed songs and perfectly pitched tones. His low rumble of a voice settles your bones, your heart fluttering in your chest.

You don’t want to pry your eyes open, don’t want the spring-like tones to stop, but you trip over a loose root with a gasp, shattering the sugary mood.

The pounding of your heart in your chest doesn’t slow because there’s no more sweet song, because he’s there, all tanned skin and blue shimmering tail kicking up aimlessly where he’s splayed out on a smooth rock, working something in his hands that you can’t quite make out from your vantage point across the pond.

He’s fucking beautiful.

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns.

His dark damp hair clings to his forehead like he’s only just arrived, a sneaky bead of water trailing down the column of his throat. His startled face melts into a certain softness reserved only for you. His golden gaze flickers with his tail and his pretty pink lips curve upwards as he takes you in.

The glow of your presence is fractured when his scarred thumb mindlessly caresses the object in his hands. It catches in the sun but from this far away you can’t make it out, even less when he bashfully tucks it beneath the water as he slides off of the rock.

He swims towards you like he’s the one drawn to you, and you have no doubt that he’d pop right out of the water if he could, but his powerful, shiny blue tail moving fluidly behind him as he moves nearer prevents him from doing just that. 

You crouch at the edge of the pool with a soft smile. You don’t care if the water seeps through the knees of your dress, chilly from only the first few days of spring, you only care about getting your hands on him, letting him hold you after such a long time apart.

Reaching a hand out he slides right up into it, planting his hands on either side of your legs as he breaks the surface, pulling himself up from the water and into your embrace. 

“Azriel,” you breathe, and it’s wet with emotion. You’d missed him entirely too much.

“(Y/N),” he murmurs your name like a prayer, pressing his forehead up against yours. Every part of him aches for you, and he so desperately wants to press his body up against yours, to finally feel you again after having had to spend so much time away in the Summer Court while winter raged in Night. He doesn’t want to ruin your pretty dress.

At least not yet.

The kiss feels like your first. Everytime your lips meet it feels like you’re a young girl in love, dreaming about falling in love with a prince or a knight.

A merman is so much better.

It’s tender and you feel it rushing through your veins, wrapping your heart with warmth and love and longing, settling into your bones like you’ve never once been apart. He is a breath of fresh air.

“You’re early,” he whispers against your lips before pulling away slightly.

You give Azriel a soft smile in return, brushing the wet hair from his brow. 

“You know I can’t resist that pretty voice.”

Azriel winces, drawing back on instinct. Your heart twists with worry. He knows that his singing lures in anyone who hears it, and while there was a time that that would end in a harrowing death for whomever listened, it just isn’t who he is anymore.

Not since he’d met you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he admits worriedly, but you’re pressing your hand to his cheek in reassurance. His scarred one darts from the water to wrap around your wrist and your temper flares at the sight of the pink skin, heart aching for the merman who’d been dragged out of his home and set aflame. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Az,” you speak easily, trying to dispel the fear in his golden eyes. He’d never forgive himself if someone else had lured you in like this, and he’s beat himself up over it for years since he’d done the same to you. “I know you would never hurt me.”

The twin emotion in your chest eases as he assesses you, relaxing when he detects no lies.

“I love you,” he gently turns your hand from his cheek to press a kiss to your palm, “I missed you.”

“I love you too, Azriel,” you respond, eyes sparkling and chest thrumming with just how much you love him, “It was a long winter without you.”

“I wish I could experience it,” he says, flopping his tail into the water with a pout. “It’s not fair that water freezes in the winter.”

“If it didn’t it would still be too cold for you to swim in, Az,” you roll your eyes playfully, “No matter if you believe that or not.”

He pushes away from the bank, floating on his back a moment, tucking his hands behind his head as he grins up at you, hazel eyes glimmering with mischief. “You should steal me away, I’ll live in your bath.”

You laugh and his smile only widens, “You’d hate it.”

“But I’d be with you,” he says somberly, the grin dropping from his face as he once again swims closer. “I hate being without you.”

“I know,” you respond sadly. If you could steal him you would, but it would be horrible for Azriel to be trapped in such a small place for the entirety of winter. If there was only something you could do.

You perk up as an idea blinks into existence.

“What is it?” he asks, cocking his head cutely at your sudden shift in attitude. 

“What if I move to Summer?” you ask bashfully, cheeks pinking up as your gaze falls to your lap. “Then we could be together every day, even in the winter.”

He doesn’t answer for so long that rejection stings your chest, but when you peek up at him, his jaw is agape with awe.

“You–” he clears his throat, “You would do that for me?”

Your cheeks flush hot and you know they’re redder than Cassian’s siphons.

“You know I would, Azriel. I love you.”

He breaks out into joyous laughter, springing from the water and snatching you around your waist. You squeal as he tugs you into the pool of water with him, holding you tight.

His scaly tail is smooth against your exposed legs. The water is a lick of cold against your body, but his warmth against you makes it worth it.

“You’ve just made me the happiest male in the entire continent,” he grins, and he doesn’t stop as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck and the kiss is nothing more than your smiling mouths pressed together because the utter delight he’s flooding your chest with has you feeling on top of the world.

You peck him once he settles a little, eager to get you going. You could listen to him talk for hours, and you love how excited he is, telling you all about how there’s a building you could live in that butts right up to the ocean, balcony and all so he’ll be able to visit you everyday.

His one hand moves across your hip to adjust you better and you feel something in it but you can’t make it out because of the dark water.

“Az,” you peck his cheek with a giggle, “What’s it you’ve got in your hand?”

It’s his turn to look sheepish, a ruddy blush creeping up his gloriously tanned chest to his cheeks.

“I, uh, I made you something,” he tells you, acting a little nervy.

You’d just offered to move to a different court to be with him, so you don’t know what could possibly have him so jumpy.

“Can I see it?” you pry with a sweet grin that you know he can’t resist.

He bops you on your nose, grinning when you scrunch your face up cutely. 

“I suppose so,” he replies, more playful and relaxed. He scoops his hand out of the water and you gasp at the string of milky pearls he holds.

You almost don’t want to touch it, don’t want to taint its beauty, but Azriel’s taking your hand and showing it to you, urging you to finger over the smooth, opalescent pearls.

“Took me all winter,” he admits in the silence you’re stunned by its allure, “Couldn’t get you out of my head, love.”

Your eyes are wet when you look up at him, “Thank you, Azriel. It’s so beautiful.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he smiles, sweeping you into another wild kiss. He spins you around in the water before settling again, asking eagerly, “Can I put it on you?”

You nod, turning around in the pool, wading your arms to stay afloat as he slips the necklace over your head. It’s a perfect fit slaying across your collar bones.

“Well? How do I look?” you ask, turning around slowly so that your love can drink you in.

Azriel can’t help it, taking your hand and tugging you into his chest. He’s the happiest he’s ever been, deeply in love with you.

“You look perfect, love,” he whispers against your lips, “Absolutely perfect.”

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

~Texas gets a new friend~ (and gets burned-)

(TW: fire, getting burned, animal death, and characters possibly being OOC)

(Also: PLS DONT TAKE HOME WILD ANIMALS THIS IS PURELY ENTERTAINMENT)

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Texas was taking a walk in one of the many forests that were in his state. He had his backpack with some food and water if he needed it, the sun was shining through the clouds, it was warm, and there was a nice breeze. It was absolutely perfect in Texas's opinion. He had nearly flipped out on his governor and the stupid laws that were being made, and he had been doing nothing but going to meetings for literally the past two days. And now he finally had an opportunity to clear his mind a bit. So he took it.

Texas inhaled the sweet scent of Mother Nature's wonders. In the distance, he could hear the creeks water moving along with the current, he could hear all the chirps and tweets of the birds and the occasional ruffling of the leaves from the squirrels playing tag. It was all very calming. He took a deepish inhale of the air, taking in the scent of the flowers, grass, trees, and....Smoke?! He could smell smoke. Ah sh*t. That ain't good....

He could feel a burning sensation spreading across his shoulder and had to muffle a small cry. He looked up and saw fire quickly spreading throughout the shrubs and trees on his left side. He had to get out of here.

Texas absolutely BOOKED it and started running through the forest (them deer instincts are kickin in-), trying to outrun the fire. He quickly came to a halt when a burning tree fell down in front of him, further igniting the ground. He started running again, this time in a different direction. Unfortunately, he tripped over a burning branch that he hadn't seen. He whimpered a bit in pain when the branch burned his shin. He quickly put out the fire that was on his leg and painfully got up before continuing to run. After about five minutes of running, something caught his eye.

There were two coyotes, a mother and a pup. Except the mother of the pup was crushed under a burning tree, and basically looked pretty much dead. And the pup was yapping at its mother, telling her to get up so they could run, so they could escape the fire. The poor thing looked terrified. Something in Texas told him that he couldn't just leave the coyote pup there to die. And so he didn't.

The Lone Star State carefully but quickly approached the little pup. He clicked his tongue a little bit, gaining the terrified coyote's attention. The puppy whined and started walking backwards with his tail tucked. Towards the fire. Texas spoke in a gentle voice:

"Hey hey hey it's okay buddy.... I'm not gonna hurt ya." He said, taking off his backpack and pulling out some beef jerky that he had taken with him. He held out the jerky to the pup, hoping and praying that he would take it. He sighed in relief when the pup hesitantly walked over to him and hungrily ate the food that was offered. The pup looked him and yipped a bit, as if expecting more food. Texas chuckled a little bit and gave the hungry pup some more jerky. The pup jumped up on his lap and yipped happily. Texas hesitantly pet him on the head and gently scratched behind his ear.

"Cmon buddy, we've gotta get ya outta here before you get hurt." He said, standing up with the coyote in his arms. The coyote pup snuggled close to him, but then looked back at his (now dead) mother and yipped at her, as if to tell her to come on.

Texas held back a few tears as he looked at the mother. He knew she wasn't alive anymore, and if she was, she wouldn't be for long.

"I'm sorry buddy..." He whispered before continuing to run away from the fire, which had now spread even more.

He ran as fast as he could get his legs to carry him, keeping a tight but gentle hold on the pup. He mustn't have been keeping a close eye on his footing, seeing as he yet again tripped, this time on a tree root, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As he fell, he flipped around to make sure that the coyote in his arms didn't get hurt. He could feel his arm burning, and he knew that he was probably gonna land on it. NEVER did he think that he would be grateful to suddenly feel the pull of teleportation, and hear his state call from Florida. He allowed himself to teleport, keeping the pup close.

After a few seconds, Texas felt himself appear in the statehouse. He instantly fell to his knees, completely ignoring the burn on his shin, and coughing up two lungs worth of wildfire smoke. His vision was clouded, and he whatever he could hear was muffled. He felt somebody rubbing circles on his back, trying to calm him down and stabilize his breathing again. He heard a bunch of muffled shouting around him.

"SOMEBODY GO GET MASSHOLE!!" he heard someone , it sounded like NY, shout. After a few minutes, he somewhat gained control of his breathing and he could hear properly again. Still couldn't see properly tho. He could feel the coyote pup climbing on him and trying to gain his attention.

He looked up and saw Massachusetts through his blurred vision.

"Oi moron can ya hear me??" Asked the Bay State, putting a hand on Texas's good shoulder.

"Yea...."

"What the f*ck happened??" Mass asked him, tho it was quite obvious.

"Cant you see??" Florida shouted.

"Alright Florida do ya wanna go-"

"Mais sha will y'all stop fighting??" Loui shouted. That shut them both up. Loui never shouted, so when he did, they knew to listen. He sighed and walked over to the Lone Star State and kneeled in front of him. "Can ya hear me Texas??"

"Y-Yes..." Texas said, his voice kinda hoarse. His throat felt like it was burning.

"Are ya aight sha?" Loui asked gently. Loui was always good and calm in high stress situations.

"Are you blind? He is quite clearly burning ali-" California started.

"California, respectfully, shut the f*ck up." Louisiana ordered firmly. He turned back to Texas and repeated the question.

"I-im fine...." Said the quite obviously panicked Lone Star State.

"Okay then.... Who's this little guy ere'?" Loui asked.

"I-I found him and his mom in the forest when I was r-running from the fire. His mama didn't make it..." Texas answered.

Even tho Texas's eyes were clouded over with smoke, Loui could see the sadness when Texas said that, he could feel it. And so he hugged the taller state, being mindful of Texas's arm and shoulder. Louisiana gently pet the little coyote on the head, the pup licking his hand in response.

"Cmon let's let Mass take care of yer shoulder an' arm." Loui said, standing up and putting out his hand for Texas to take.

Texas took Loui's hand and stood up, only to almost fall again when a wave of pain shot through his leg. He would've fallen if New York didn't catch him.

"Woah don't die on us here like goddamn! Killin' ya is my job. What the hell happened to yer leg??" York asked, holding up the taller state so he didn't fall again.

"I tripped?"

"On what??"

"A tree. That was on fire."

"Jesus Christ...."

After Mass had taken care of Texas arm, shoulder, and leg, Sippi, Loui, Florida, Georgia and NY (yes him too. He was worried sick whether he would like to admit it or not.) had all curled up next to/on top of him (they were mindful of his injuries dw). Kentucky just say off to the side and scolded Texas on the safety and importance of watching where you are going and telling him how worried he was.

"Alright alright I get it, Pops, I get it. I'll be careful next time that this possibly happens. Sheesh....and ere' I thought Georgia was a mom."

"I'm just- glad that yer safe, Texas." Kentucky said, sighing and placing a gentle hand on Texas's.

"I know Ken, I know. Sorry I worried ya." Texas said.

"It ain't yer fault, kid."

"Yea it was those damn humans."

"Yea."

"Mais sha this is cute an' all, but can y'all please shut the f*ck up?? I just got York to sleep for once." Loui said quietly. He had NY curled up next to him and was running a hand through the sleeping state's hair, and York looked like he was pretty blissed out.

"Yea sorry bout' that." Texas said with a small chuckle.

"Also Texas?~" Loui asked.

"Yea Lou?"

"If you ever scare me like that again, I will murder ya in yer sleep sha."

"Noted."

[underforeversgrace]

broken trust and the wounds hidden behind - 5

title: broken trust and the wounds hidden behind

words: 4295

Chapter 5 of 7

Story summary: Jack wasn't meaning to snoop in his son's room when he found a box of medical supplies and a USB with a tag that said IF I DON'T COME HOME. Danny’s secrets revealed, Jack is desperate to earn his son’s trust, to earn the right to this secret he stumbled across. After almost two years of unknowingly hunting his son, is Danny's trust too broken to heal? NO ONE KNOWS AU

@astatia-ghast

AO3

Tumblr Chapter One

Tumblr Chapter Six

It would only be three days before he’d get a text from the burner phone.

From: Phantom

Can you meet me at the clearing?

At least Danny had actually reached out to him, Jack thought grimly as he ran to the GAV. It was midday on a Saturday, so he threw the sirens on as he sped to the park, cars jumping out of his way. Danny had asked for help for the first time and Jack would be damned before he let it take longer than absolutely necessary to reach him.

He arrived at the park, parking the GAV in typical Jack Fenton perfect parking (meaning, somehow he took up five spots) and grabbed the tracker, running into the forest.

He let the tracker guide him, the forest vastly different in the light of the sun above. He didn’t trip this time, though, as he approached the clearing, the roots no longer hidden by the night.

“Phantom!” He called as he burst through the tree line, easily finding his son in the middle of the area. His mouth went dry when he saw the ghost child in front of him.

“Uh, hey, Jack. This a good time?” Phantom asked with a slight chuckle.

How the hell he was even chuckling was a mystery to Jack as Jack dropped beside Phantom, flinching at the squelch of his suit hitting the ectoplasm pooled into the ground beneath the two of them.

“What the hell happened?!” Jack asked, taking in the sight.

A laceration ran nearly the entire length of his son’s back, from hip to opposite shoulder, deep enough Jack thinks he saw muscle. Danny had pulled off the top half of his jumpsuit already and let it drape to the ground, the entirety of his back beneath the injury coated in green blood.

“Skulker’s knives are sharp and sometimes he gets in a lucky hit.” Phantom responded, shrugging. He hissed slightly in pain as the action tugged his injured shoulder. “And I can’t stitch up something on my own back. My duplication isn’t good enough yet.” He admitted, holding out the hand attached to the uninjured shoulder.

Jack grabbed the small box from his hand, popping it open. He almost wanted to be sick as he realized what he held was a miniaturized version of the first aid kit hidden under Danny’s bed, complete with red and green stains and needles with thread.

“You… want me to give you stitches?” Jack asked, dumbfounded.

“I can’t exactly go to the hospital. My existence is illegal, remember? And hospitals are only obligated to treat illegal humans. For me, they’re obligated to call the Ghost Investigation Ward. Even I can pass out from blood loss, though. Uh, ectoplasm loss. So. Stitches.”

Jack’s stomach was doing impressive feats of acrobatics as he realized with horror that Danny was right. Even though he had no doubt that the hospital would happily treat Phantom - they had actively lobbied against the law Danny was referencing - their hands would be tied when it came to reporting to the GIW. Federal law wasn’t something they could break.

“Okay.” Jack said, grateful his hands were far more steady than his voice at that moment as he threaded a needle. Big as he may be, he had plenty of experience working with things much, much smaller than his hands. He pulled a large piece of fabric from the box - it took up over half the box. It seemed to be a rag that may have formerly been white, though it was currently doing its best to cosplay as Christmas. God, his poor son. “No antiseptic?” He asked as he dug through the small box, only finding more needles and thread.

“Ghost, Jack. I’m dead. Infection isn’t a concern.” Phantom said, his voice slightly slurred. Right. Right, blood loss.

Jack’s throat felt constricted but he dutifully began stitching up the large injury. He decided this would need two applications - one with more spaced out sutures to get it more manageable, and to reduce the amount of time it would be freely bleeding. Just like a sewing project - get the outline done before the details. Jack’s gloves quickly turned more green than black as he quickly did the more ragged, less consistent first row.

With every prick of the needle, Danny made small whimpers of pain that absolutely tore through Jack’s soul.

Once the first set was done, Jack picked the rag up again and began to clean off Phantom’s back, trying to get a better visual of the damage.

Semi-stitched up, the fresh wound looked much better, but it also threw the rest of Danny’s back into stark relief. This wasn’t the first injury sustained here, not by any means, though this did appear to be the largest. White lines decorated Phantom’s back, long healed scars, criss crossing with the green branches of the Lichtenberg figure that seemed to wrap around Danny’s entire torso. Tears blurred Jack’s vision. He hadn’t even considered Danny having scars, ghosts didn’t as far as they knew.

But they’d already been wrong about so much, he and his wife.

And Danny wasn’t all ghost, regardless. Made sense, that he’d have scar tissue. After all, hadn’t Jack noticed small injuries littering his son’s arms? Scars he could see on Phantom’s arms, too, though they were much larger and brighter in this form. He couldn’t help the pained sob that escaped him.

“You okay?” His son slurred.

How had he gotten such a good kid? Someone who was so genuinely worried for others, even when bleeding half to death?

“I’m… alright. I didn’t expect the scars.”

“Oh yeah. Meant to warn ya. Not pretty back there.” Phantom continued to slur, though his voice was definitely stronger than it had been before Jack started.

“I’m about to do a second layer, okay? You ready?”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore.”

Jack ignored the not-answer Danny gave and began sewing the second layer in, keeping his spaces small and concise.

“Keep talking to me, kid.” Jack said, for his own sanity as well as Danny’s safety. “I don’t know how different ectoplasm loss and blood loss is, but this is enough to have had a human long since unconscious.”

“Watcha wanna talk ‘bout?”

“Uh…” Jack desperately wanted to ask more about Danny - he doubted Danny would remember any of this conversation - but no. He would not get answers he didn’t deserve by taking advantage of his son’s injury. “Skulker. He’s the hunter ghost, right? Tell me about him.”

“Uh. Metal ghost. Small dog complex. Is actually barely more than a blob ghost when taken out of his mecha. Likes hunting. Wants my pelt.”

“He wants your what?” Jack nearly screeched. He hadn’t known that bit! He’d known of Skulker, that was one of the enemy ghosts they saw most often, one who always seemed to target Phantom rather than causing general chaos. And that was because he wanted to skin Danny alive? “Why?”

“‘m unique. He likes uncommon trophies.”

So this ghost knew Danny was half human and still hunted him? A ghost might be able to survive having their ectoplasmic skin removed, but would Danny? Could he regrow parts of him like other ghosts could? Or did this Skulker just not care he’d be killing a human?

“So he’s the kind of ghost I thought all ghosts were, then?” Jack finally said.

“Yeup. There’s only two ghosts like me and he works for the other one, so he can’t hunt him.”

“Two?” Jack choked out as he tightened the next knot. He was nearly done.

“Other guy’s a fucking fruit loop.”

Jack’s mind began to go into overdrive until he forced his thoughts back down. There was only one person Danny called a fruit loop and Jack was not prepared to face that knowledge yet, especially not while he was still sewing up his son’s skin like a torn canvas. He would absolutely be having a meltdown once he was home alone again, though.

Finally, he finished the last stitch, tying it off and cutting the string with the small scissors in the kit. He wiped off more of the ectoplasm drainage, though there wasn’t nearly as much now. “Okay, I’m done. You feeling okay?”

Danny pressed his opposite hand to the injured shoulder and slowly rolled the joint. “Yeah. I’ll live, at least. Probably shouldn’t use that arm for a few hours though.” Phantom turned around, reaching for the kit in Jack’s hands.

As soon as he fully turned, though, Jack felt what he would’ve sworn was a superhuman punch to his entire body as he saw the scarring and damage to Danny’s front. It was much, much worse. The electrical pattern continued here too, seeming to concentrate around his heart, as the scar seemed to be worse - darker, more solid - there. Even more healed scars scattered across him, though these seemed to have small pinpricks surrounding them - where Danny had stitched his own wounds up, Jack guessed, based on the unevenness in the spacing. All of this, though, paled in comparison to the large scar stretching across his entire torso - the Y he’d left the GIW with.

The incision Jack himself would’ve given just two weeks ago if he’d had the chance.

Jack didn’t even think as he pulled Danny close to him, engulfing him in a hug as he freely cried, gross, ugly, loud sobs. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he was already this close to spilling his guts to Danny about knowing the truth. Sure, he’d known it happened, but seeing it? Seeing where someone else had tortured his son the same way he’d always dreamed of?

Phantom immediately tensed his entire body in preparation as Jack grabbed him, but seemed to relax some as he realized Jack meant no harm. This just made Jack cry harder, though, that his son’s first instinct was to fear him. One day, he wouldn’t be afraid of his father’s embrace. One day, Jack promised himself.

“Jack?” Danny asked, voice echoing around the clearing as he wrapped his uninjured arm around Jack, awkwardly patting him comfortingly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Jack blubbered, tears falling into Phantom’s hair, immediately turning to ice on contact and glittering in the sunlight.

“It… uh, it’s okay. You didn’t do it.” Phantom said sincerely.

Jack just cried harder, continuing to mumble apologies on repeat. Seriously, how had he been lucky enough to end up with a son like this? Danny was just so goddamn good!

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Phantom continued as he kept patting Jack’s back. “You didn’t do it. You changed.”

“But I could’ve.” Jack said brokenly. “I would’ve.”

“I… I think you would’ve stopped.” Phantom said slowly. “I think you would’ve realized you were wrong and stopped.”

“God, I hope I would’ve. I’m… I don’t even know.”

Phantom gently pulled loose from Jack’s arms, lightly pressing Jack away. “If you think only of what may or might’ve been, you’ll drive yourself crazy. You have to stop thinking in what ifs. If I only ever thought of what if, what could’ve been, what I could’ve done, if I hadn’t had my accident… I’d have lost myself a long time ago. Ghosts who’ve continued to hold on like that have gone insane.”

Jack sniffled a few times, wiping his nose into the crook of his elbow, far above where the ectoplasm on his gloves ended. “I‘ve still hurt you.”

“And I forgive you.” Phantom immediately said, though his eyes widened in surprise. “I… huh. I forgive you, Jack.”

Jack just looked at his green stained hands, unwilling to look at his son anymore.

“Seriously. You thought I was bad. I can’t… can’t fault you for thinking you were helping. I didn’t even realize it ‘til just now.”

“How can you forgive so easily?”

“Forgiveness is easier than hatred. Besides… I don’t wanna be alone again, y’know?” He said, shuffling slightly. “It’d be hard to be friends with someone I hated, I think. And, having help… it’s kinda nice.”

“Every awful thing I’ve done and said. I take it all back, Phantom. All of it.” Jack insisted.

“I know, Jack. You wouldn’t have helped me just know if you still believed any of it. You’re a good guy - just kinda biased. There’s as many ghosts with my, like, humanity or goodness or whatever, as there are without.” Phantom smiled gently, reaching his bare hand out and patting Jack on the knee.

Jack just shook his head slightly. He didn’t feel he deserved Danny’s kindness right now. Wasn’t sure he ever would again, to be honest.

“So,” Jack said, changing the subject to something that hopefully wouldn’t hurt as much. “How are you feeling now?”

Jack watched as Danny slowly rotated his injured shoulder again, careful to keep his eyes on his son’s face only, knowing he’d break down again if he looked at the chest scars.

“Better! Damn, that’s some good stitch work, Jack. Half the stitches I do end up popping with any bit of movement!”

“Maybe let me be the stitches guy from now on? Stitches, uh, aren’t supposed to snap that easily, kid.” He said, doing his best to keep the plea from his tone. Jack had no doubt the scars continued all the way down Danny’s body, probably also chock full of scars with half done stitches.

His stomach churned when he wondered how many of those scars he’d caused, enough looked like burn patterns that he was sure at least a few of them were from he and Maddie’s weapons.

Yet still, his son forgave him. All the injuries, all the threats, all the slurs. And he was forgiven of them.

“Heh, maybe that’s a good idea…” Danny admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m just, uh… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure about coming to FentonWorks. Not yet, at least.” He added, looking at Jack apologetically.

“I’m fine meeting here until I’ve earned more of your trust, Phantom. I’ll stock a first aid kid into the GAV, okay? What all should I bring?”

“Uh, all I really use is needle and thread and that rag, to be honest. Sometimes I use gauze to make sure I’m covered in case a stitch fails.”

“Okay. So, stitching supplies, rags, antiseptic - better safe than sorry, kid - and gauze with medical tape?”

“Duct tape works better than medical tape.”

“Excuse me?” Jack asked, suddenly remembering Phantom alluding to that the night he’d been given the cell phone.

Danny grinned sheepishly. “Medical tape doesn’t hold as well through fights and it isn’t uncommon for me to get patched up right before launching into another fight.”

Jack’s brain seemed to short circuit for a second. Well, at least that explains why Danny had had the duct tape beside his bed.

…having that question answered did not bring him any comfort, though. He wasn’t sure if any answer yet had brought him comfort, actually. Mainly they just seemed to be eating him up with concern for his child’s wellbeing.

And Danny’s wellbeing was very, uh, not well, to say the least.

“I kind of hate that you know that.”

Phantom shrugged. “I have a lot of experience, Jack. Open wounds are distractions I can’t always afford.”

Jack sighed. “I can’t argue there. Some of the ghosts you fight are no jokes.”

“Why do you think I joke around with them so much?” Danny asked, grinning. “Throws them off because no one wants to get insulted by some dumb kid, so they’re tryna think of a good comeback and don’t notice me coming in at Mach 10.”

“Wait, your puns are battle methods?” Jack said, incredulous. He had never even considered that - even before he knew Phantom was Danny, he’d just assumed it was a kid thing, left by the imprint of whoever Phantom’s human had been.

“Yep!” Danny said, laughing. “Works on humans and ghosts alike. Even enemies I face repeatedly - they know it’s coming and still refuse to lose to me in a wordplay battle. Typically, at least. Some of them have gotten more used to it and are still able to allocate at least half a brain cell to dodging me. Honestly, Pariah Dark is the only one I’ve ever faced who didn’t care about my quips.”

“Really? I’ve always wondered how that fight went, and what happened to the ecto-suit you sto-uh, took.”

A green blush rose into Danny’s cheeks. Jack was thrown off for a moment, but he supposed it made sense. He knew first hand, especially now, that Danny bled green in this form. “Uh, promise not to get mad?”

“I promise.” Jack said genuinely. If it was what had kept his son alive, he did not give a single flying damn what happened to the suit.

“Well, it increased power, like, what, a thousand fold or something? And I’m, uh, kinda a powerful ghost?”

“You are?” Jack asked. Phantom had referenced as much before, but Jack couldn’t deny he was curious for more details.

“Heh…” Phantom said, looking at the ground and pulling at some grass. “Uh, yeah. Even by ghost standards. I’m, uh, fairly highly powered, remember? But! Uh! Anyway! Pariah! That suit worked so freaking well! Like, seriously, that was a damn good invention! Anyway. Some of the other ghosts helped with Pariah’s minions so I could get to Pariah himself. Duplicated myself - which I still struggled to do back then, though I haven’t gotten much better - and rammed his ass into a magical sarcophagus that makes him sleep forever.”

Pride surged through Jack again. His son may not be able to get a grade higher than a C anymore, but he could go toe to toe with a ghost king and win. Jack knew better than anyone - academics wasn’t everything. Sometimes application was enough. Could he explain why some of his inventions worked? Not at all. But that didn’t change that he knew how to make them work, that he could imagine each piece and component working off each other, that he could dig through the equivalent of a trash pile and make a weapon in fifteen minutes. “And then what happened?”

“Uh… I don’t actually know. I remember seeing the ecto-suit say that my power - or life force or whatever metaphysical thing it was reading - was at 2%. I lost consciousness. Woke up in my b- uh - in Amity Park, on the outskirts of the ghost shield, no ecto suit in sight. I think it may have been stolen, but I had no idea who took it. It’s been over a year and I’ve been waiting for someone to show up with it, but no one ever has. Uh. Sorry for stealing it? And then losing it? I swear I meant to return it!”

Jack knew the end of that was a lie. Vlad - who Jack was still very adamantly refusing to think of - had found Danny Fenton outside the shield and brought him home, injured and exhausted. Danny had been bed ridden for the next two days.

“It… the suit nearly killed you?”

“Technically the correct term is Faded for ghosts - it nearly Faded me, not killed. But, uh, yeah. I knew it was a risk, but I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines. This is my city and I will protect it.” Danny said, his aura briefly flaring pure white and expanding around him.

A chill ran down Jack’s spine at how Danny said that. After the previous visit in the clearing, he’d assumed his son’s Obsession was stargazing. But the sheer possessiveness in his voice as he said that, the gravity and certainty of his words? Jack was wondering if he had it wrong.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Danny apologized, seeming to focus on drawing his aura back in as he noticed Jack slightly recoil. “It’s, uh. Um. Kinda. An Obsession of mine? Making sure the city is safe.”

“Wait, you’re able to discuss your Obsession?”

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“Just more theories I had wrong, apparently. Ectoscience holds that ghosts can’t discuss a lot of things - former life, death, Obsession, unfinished business, stuff like that, without going into murderous rages.”

“Oh, right. I mean, it’s not like it’s something we shout from the rooftops.” He shrugged. “But it’s not a taboo topic. Some ghosts don’t like to discuss it and some don’t remember everything, but that’s just like human trauma. Ghosts don’t die peacefully.” He held up his left hand as though in emphasis.

“Do you wanna talk about it? Any of it?” Jack encouraged.

Danny pursed his lips. “I don’t mind talking about my Obsessions. But… I don’t like going into detail about who I was before.”

“Obsessions? Plural? Ghosts have more than one?”

Phantom nodded. “Some do. Some actually don’t even have any at all. No one has more than two, though, as far as I know. But yeah, I have two. Protection of Amity - uh, because there’s a ghost portal here, I didn’t live here - and stargazing - which you probably guessed the last time we were in the clearing.”

“That is so fascinating, Phantom. Man, I really screwed up hunting ghosts on sight. So much bad data, bad science, bad hypotheses. So much of which has been cleared up by talking to one ghost a couple of times in a few weeks.”

“I mean, the guy who first said the earth orbited the sun was like murdered or something, right? Not like you’re the first one to hold to old ‘truths.’”

At that, Danny stood, testing his limbs, pulling on his right shoulder gently with his left hand. He nodded, then pulled his hazmat back on. “Anyway, I think I’m stable now. I can feel the skin growing back.”

“You can feel that?!” Jack asked. Wow, he really was learning a lot about ghosts today. And all it cost him was to stop shooting his goddamn son.

“Uh, yeah, kinda? Rapid healing is pretty nice to have.”

“What’s the worst injury you’ve ever healed from?” Stumbled from Jack’s mouth before he even thought it. “Ah, I mean! Sorry!”

Danny, surprisingly, just laughed. Honestly, the echoing laugh his son had when he was like this - a ghost - was growing on him a good bit. “You’re good - still a scientist, remember? Worst injury I’ve healed? Uh. Kinda a tie. I had to regrow half my pinky once. And, y’know. This whole deal.” He said, gesturing to his covered chest.

When the actual hell had his son lost half a finger?!

“You’ve uh. Really been through the ringer, huh?”

Danny shrugged. “Such is the life of a superhero, amirite?”

“Superhero?”

He blushed again. “I may have read too many comics. And it’s, uh, cooler to say than being a friendly neighborhood ghost or whatever. I mean, I’m not Casper!”

Jack laughed. “I think it fits. You really are Amity’s very own ghostly superhero. All you need is a secret identity!”

Danny’s eyes shifted back and forth slightly, unwilling to look Jack in the eye. “Hahaha, right? But c’mon, I’m a ghost! Not like I can hide all this.” He said, gesturing to his face and hair. “I’m kinda a floating glow stick.”

“Yeah, I suppose the whole glowing green eyes and echoed voice don’t help either?”

His son nodded again, though his face seemed slightly relieved as they moved the conversation away from secret identities. “Little bit hard to hide being a ghost.”

“Anyway. Uh. You’re feeling better?” Jack asked.

Phantom adjusted his shoulder a little bit again before rising to hover above the ground. “Yep, I’m good to go! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, kiddo! Seriously, though - call me next time you need sutures. I’m going to pack a first aid kit into the GAV and I am always more than happy to meet you here, okay? Anytime of day or night.”

Danny hesitated for a moment, then held his uninjured hand out to Jack. “I promise. If I need something tended to, I’ll call you.”

Jack gripped Phantom’s hand, shaking it vigorously. Danny - currently untethered from gravity - had his entire body moved by the shake, much to both of their amusements. Danny began to laugh like a little kid, Jack starting to laugh almost immediately after. The situation, odd as it was, just felt so familiar - Jack doing something overly boisterous around his kids and making them giggle.

They released each other and - with one final wave from Phantom - the ghost shot into the sky and disappeared, leaving Jack to walk back to the GAV.

Jack got lost a few more times than he probably should have, considering the walk absolutely was not that long from clearing to parking lot, but he was so lost in his thoughts it took him nearly an hour to get to the vehicle.

Everytime he talked to Phantom, he learned more and more about his son, though none of it seemed to make him feel better.

Once he arrived home, though, he did finally let some of the words Danny had said crush into him.

Danny was one of only two ghosts like him.

The other he called a fruit loop.

Jack had always wondered why Danny seemed to insist Jack’s old friend Vlad Masters was a fruit loop.

Could Vlad be… could he be another half ghost? Was it one Jack had seen around? Vlad had moved to Amity Park’s wealthier subdivisions a few months back, citing a desire to rekindle their friendship. But was that really it? Did Vlad somehow know Danny was half ghost, too? But Danny had said he didn’t have any allies on this side of the portal - did that mean Vlad was an enemy?

Which enemy?

…had Jack killed Vlad too?

[samuelwrites7stories]

"HEART OF THE MURKY FOREST"

- A (first draft) short story

The forest normally brought her great comfort, a sense of belonging. Yet this one was... odd. The greenery was more vivid here, the trees and rocks more slippery, and the early morning dew still lingered in the air like unspoken words at a funeral. But she couldn't stop to admire, or even to tend to the bleeding scratch on her leg she'd obtained slipping on one of the rocks earlier, she just needed to keep going. Before the riders caught up with her.

Without noticing she ran over a patch of moss that gave way and swallowed her up. Turns out it was a thinly veiled blanket over a surprisingly deep body of water. The forest wanted her dead, it felt like, so if it hadn't been for the bag getting caught on a branch the forest would've happily consumed her.

When her head went under the moss and into the grimy water, for a split second she swore she heard singing; a beautiful voice calling out to her, telling her to dive deeper, stop the running. But could she? She hadn't heard the riders since she entered the woods and she knew that soon the sun would go up and the forest would return to its safe kingdom, so it appeared that for the moment she was safe. She merely hoped she wouldn't wound up lost in these woods like her brother...

Regarding her brother, she was only a young girl when he left. Their mother, however, would tell her stories about how he seemingly went mad, insisting that he would to find a heart and live forever and then one evening he snuck away to enter the Murky Forest. He'd been the first victim of the forest's dark magic, followed by dozens of people who ventured out at night. It came to a point that even the king stopped his own men from entering the forest during the dark hours.

After a moment she pulled herself out and found herself on the other side of the moss. With the moss quickly closing up as if it had never been disturbed at all. Given just a moment to relax on dry land she started hearing the riders, closer than they'd ever been. She looked up and the dawn had still not come, the riders were disobeying their king by coming in here before it was safe.

A vine wrapped around her leg, so tightly that she felt her toes go numb. It wasn't budging and she had nothing to cut her lose with. She heard the riders closing in on her and all she could do was await their attack.

There they stood. five men on five black horses, all staring down at her across the moss. Their faces cold and pale, the horses trampling the ground below them. Alliard, the man at the forefront of the group, pulled off his helmet and handed it to one of the men before dismounting his horse. He pulled out his sword to poke holes in the moss, feeling for where the ground was still solid. Alliard was one of the few who were used to the Murky Forest's hidden traps and so knew exactly why she was soaking wet.

"Perhaps the forest knows what you deserve, mon cher," Alliard said and gave a sadistic smile. He worked his way around the moss until he was close enough for her to notice the ritualistic scars on his arms. "Perhaps...-"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence as behind him two of his men who had also dismounted were pulled into the moss by roots of the nearby trees, the other two still on their horses begun screaming like they were of fire as black fog took them hostage and eventually disappeared with the riders into thin air. Alliard didn't have a second to react before a branch speared his chest from the back and had him fall into the moss as well, never to be seen again.

She couldn't comprehend the moment. In the span of seconds five riders and two horses were gone. The three remaining horses neighed loudly and galloped back the same way they came from. She looked down at her leg and the vine opened up to let her go, but the vine had turned into fingers. Human fingers. Behind the rock she found herself on her brother hid, he hadn't died or been led astray by the forest. He was alive and a part of it, no time had passed on his face as if the forest preserved him perfectly in time. Her mind was spinning in circles, no words came out, so her brother broke the deafening silence;

"I told you I would find the heart of the Murky Forest."

Woodlands at Dartmoor National Park, Devon (@matt_beach_photography IG)

[thewankbankuk]

BRUCE AND CHRIS

TAKE A HIKE

Bruce anxiously hopped out of the car.  He had just arrived at the national park with his best friend Chris and this was the day he would propose to him.

They met on the swim team in high school and quickly became good friends. They seemed to be together for every major event in each other’s lives since then. They won swim competitions together, went to the same college, and Chris was even there when Bruce’s mother passed away.

They dated for a bit in college, but after they graduated life seemed bent on keeping them apart.  They both got jobs in other cities and began to drift away. They would catch up every now and then by phone or skype, but it was never like old times. But Bruce was so excited when he got promoted and was transferred to the same city as Chris.

This hike meant so much to Bruce. It was a chance to not only celebrate his promotion, but it was also a way to really reconnect with Chris, without any outside interference. A chance to express his thoughts, emotions, and dreams for the future.

The plan was they would reach the mountain top right before sunset. Bruce would, of course, get down on one knee and confess his deep love to Chris. After Chris said yes, they would set up a site and spend a beautiful night under the stars.

Everything was going according to plan.  They had been hiking for 2 hours and would soon be at the peak. But then the strangest thing happened.  A man dressed head to toe in rubber stepped out of the woods in front of them. The man had a loose-fitting black rubber body suit on with rubber boots, rubber gloves, and a gasmask. The rubber man didn’t say anything to them, but they could hear the slow deep breaths coming from the gasmask.

Bruce and Chris looked at each other confused. The rubberman then reach out an arm and offered them a gasmask. Bruce and Chris didn’t say anything and began to turn around in hopes of avoiding any further interactions with the rubberman. As they did turn around though they noticed even more rubber men standing behind them.  As Bruce’s relief to finally be alone with Chris, quickly became anxiety that they were all alone in the woods with these crazy rubbermen. What were these men doing out here and what did they want with Bruce and Chris?

Both Bruce and Chris were very strong muscular young men, but there were too many of the rubbermen for them to overpower. The rubbermen were beginning to close in on them fast. So, Bruce and Chris began to run.

Pushing rubbermen out of their way they ran off of the path and into the woods. Bruce was so focused on running away from the rubbermen that he didn’t notice Chris had tripped over a tree root and fell. Giving just enough time for the rubbermen to swarm around Chris.

Chris yelled and Bruce turned around, but at this point Bruce was too far ahead to help Chris. But Bruce could see the rubbermen hold down Chris and force the gasmask over his head. The gasmask seemed to suction itself to Chris’s head, subduing the young man enough for the rubbermen to control him without much force.

The other rubbermen stopped trying to peruse Bruce and turned around and walked towards Chris. They formed a large circle around Chris and they began to breath heavily through their gasmask in unison.

Chris grabbed at the gasmask on his face trying to take it off. But the longer the gasmask was on the more relaxed Chris became. He then gave up trying to remove the mask and instead unhooked his backpack, letting it fall to the ground. He then pulled out his phone and took off his smartwatch. He placed them on the ground and began to violently smash each device with his boots until each was inoperable. Then Chris stood up straight and let his arms fall to his side, breathing in heavily through his gasmask in unison with the other rubbermen.

The rubbermen broke the circle and Chris began walking naked and robotically into the woods as if he knew where he was going. The other rubbermen began forming a line behind Chris and they all marched in unison.

Bruce watch, from a far, in horror and disbelief.  He envisioned his dream of being with Chris.  A dream that he could not let go of.  

He thought out loud, “What the hell is going on?“

” What the fuck have they done to Chris?“

He didn’t know what to do. They were so far from any kind of help. If Bruce left to get help, he may never see Chris again.

So, Bruce began to follow the men into the woods. If Bruce could just get to Chris and pull the gasmask off his face, they could bolt and hopefully lose the rubbermen.

The rubbermen continued to follow Chris into the woods until they reach an abandoned military complex. Out front of the complex were a few men not in rubber but military uniforms and gasmask. They saluted and watched the rubbermen and Chris walk into the complex. They then stood out front of the complex with rifles guarding the entrance.

It was dark outside and Bruce knew he wouldn’t be able to go through the front, so he began to walk around the complex looking for an alternate way inside. He walked up to a side door to see if it was open. When all of a sudden two military drones emerged from the door, grabbing Bruce and pulling him inside.

Once inside, Bruce quickly looked around trying to orient himself. It was a large dark concrete room with no windows. There were hundreds of crates, against the walls, stacked on each other. There was a single light, hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, where the drones brought Bruce.

Bruce fought and struggled but it was no use. The drones overpowered Bruce and forced him to his knees. Pushing down firmly on his shoulder to hold him in place.

Bruce yelled out “Where’s Chris?”

“Why are you doing this to us?”

But the drones didn’t respond. Then Bruce heard footsteps and deep breathing in front of him. The drones let go of Bruce and he looked up in fear.

But it was just Chris, standing rigidly, completely naked over Bruce. Chris’s muscular body glistening with sweat. Bruce thought that Chris looked really hot. As the sound, the sounds of slow heavy breathing pulsating from the gasmask still over his head made Bruce a bit excited.

Bruce popped up and hugged Chris.

“Chris, I was so worried. Are you OK?” Bruce said, But Chris simply kept staring straight ahead as if he was looking past Bruce. Chris began breathing even heavier through the gasmask. Bruce tried to look into Chris’s eyes but was unable to see them through the dark lenses of the gasmask.  

Chris mindlessly pointed at one of the drones.  The drone put down its gun and walked over to one of the crates, opening it. The crates were full of gasmask and the drone grabbed one and walked over to Bruce, offering it to him. Bruce knocked it out of the drone’s hand and it fell to the floor. Bruce then reached up and tried to pull the gasmask from Chris’s face, but it was no use. The mask was suctioned too firmly.  It seemed to be fused to Chris now.  

Then one of the doors, to the room, swung open and hundreds of the rubbermen flooded into the room. Creating a circle of rubber around Chris and Bruce.  It was clear there was no escaping.  

Bruce began tearing up as the feelings of dread and despair grew inside him. He shook Chris as if trying to wake him from a dream.

But Chris was no longer there Bruce realized. Chris was just a mindless drone like the rest of them.

However, just as Bruce thought all hope was gone, Chris turned his head to Bruce. The lenses of the gasmask glowed as they looked directly into Bruce’s eyes. Chris then began to gently caress Bruce’s face. Bruce leaned into Chris’s hand and began to profess his feelings for Chris. He told Chris that he had always loved him, that life kept getting in the way of that love, and that he wanted to marry Chris so that they would be together forever.  Bruce shared how he had planned to propose on the mountain top as the sunset.  

In a deep robotic monotone voice, Chris responded to Bruce.

“Put on the gasmask Bruce”. Chris continued, “Everything will be better. No need to think. No need to worry, just mindless obedient bliss”.

Chris briefly paused, “We can be together forever. Isn’t that what you really wanted Bruce?”

Bruce began to cry even more, unsure of what to do, falling to Chris’s feet.

“Pick up the gasmask Bruce and put it on” Chris said. “It’s our only way Bruce!”

“Do it for me Bruce, because you love me. Show me how much you appreciate me, and how much you want to be with me”.

Bruce picked up the mask and looked up at Chris. He wanted to please Chris so badly and show Chris how much he loved him. He knew he would be trap into the collective and this would be his new life from now on.  It was his only way he could be with Chris.

“JUST FOR YOU BABY!”   Bruce replied as he slowly slides the gasmask over his head and took his first deep breath. The mask immediately suctioned itself to his head beginning to fuse with his skin. The gas from the mask began to take affect and Bruce began to relax. He started to hear the voices and commands of the collective in his mind and Bruce felt numb and obedient.

Bruce wouldn’t mindlessly obey the orders of the collective, but most importantly he was overwhelmed with joy when he realized he would from now on be perpetually connected to Chris. He could hear Chris’s thought and share the same mindless bliss. They were finally a unit and nothing would separate them ever again.

Bruce stood up letting his arms fall to his side as the gasmask took over complete control of his mind. Knowing this was where he was supposed to be.  A couple drones brought over rubber suits. Bruce and Chris eagerly dawned the rest of their rubber body suits happily joining the collective knowing they would be together forever.  

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Love (I Can’t Forget)

Pairing: geralt x jaskier Warning(s): minor jaskier x other Rating: mature

Summary: Jaskier is quite enjoying his morning with the innkeeper's daughter when he hears the cry of a golem. He knows a contract has been put out for a Witcher and that everything should be perfectly fine. Only the contract put out was for a rock troll.

There are few things in his life that Jaskier regrets as much as his extensive knowledge of all things monsters. And not even the majority of the time, just right now on this particular day at this particular time.

He's been stuck in Hamm for three days on his way to Cintra to check in on Ciri. But there's a rock troll that's been blocking the only safe route out, chucking rocks at travellers and being a general nuisance. Rock trolls aren't much trouble otherwise, but this one is affecting trade and travel, so the town has put out for a Witcher. Judging by the chatter in town, the witcher arrived this morning. So, unable to leave and unwilling to go out and get involved with the Witcher and his business like everyone else, Jaskier has holed up with the innkeeper's daughter Penelope and he's quite enjoying himself.

Or, he was, until he heard the cry.

Because right now, he's quite happily trapped beneath layers of lace and silk, pinned between soft thighs, and all he can think of is that the contract was put out for a rock troll and that sound? that was a golem. Which means that right now, there's a Witcher thinking he's going up again a calm and peaceful creature and is very much not prepared for what he's about to find. And Jaskier is torn.

Because on the one hand, he doesn't want anyone getting hurt, especially due to miscommunication - intentional or otherwise. But on the other hand, the likelihood of Geralt being the Witcher called to deal with the problem is very high. And Jaskier doesn't want to see him.

It's been months now, close to a year since he last saw Geralt, having received no apology or even acknowledgement since the dragon hunt. Which is fine; Geralt's an asshole and he can travel alone if he likes, but if that's the way it's going to be, Jaskier simply does not want to see him. Ever again, if he can help it. But he also doesn't want to see him die.

"Fuck," he mumbles and Penelope giggles as he drops his head, hair tickling her thighs.

"Mmhm, I hope so."

Jaskier crawls out from under her skirts, running his hands up her thighs and doing his best to look apologetic. Because he is; he'd rather spend the entire afternoon making her come than face Geralt for even a second, but he can't sit idly by when the man he, regrettably, still loves could be in danger.

"I have to go," he says softly and she frowns. "I'm sorry and believe me, I would much rather stay here with you, but an old friend is in danger, I can't leave him alone."

"The Witcher?" she asks and Jaskier nods. She must have heard the cry too. "Isn't it his job to fight monsters?"

"Yes, when he's given the correct information, but that's not a rock troll out there." Penelope sighs but pushes her skirts back into place, tidying them.

"You'd better go find him then."

Jaskier dips down, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before gathering his things quickly and hurrying off to find the Witcher. He prays under his breath that it isn't Geralt, but even as he does, he finds himself looking for traces of the man. He knows Geralt's habits, knows where he'll set up camp - the people here aren't friendly enough to welcome a Witcher into their homes or even host him at the inn - and so Jaskier heads for the woods.

It takes him a remarkably short time to come across the meagre camp. Roach is tethered to a tree just a few feet from the fire pit and Jaskier's heart aches to see her. She dances excitedly and he swallows back a lump in his throat.

"Hey, girl," he whispers. "I've missed you too, but I can't stay, okay? Geralt could be in trouble." He gives her a quick pat, regretting that this will likely be their only chance to see one another.

Jaskier drops to his knees next to Geralt's pack, rummaging through it. He finds the satchel of oils first, pulling them out until he recognizes the bluish hue of elemental oil. He sets it aside and continues looking for potions. Immediately, he finds swallow and thunderbolt sitting neatly in their sheaths and his heart clenches. He grabs them both and a third vial he hopes is white rafford's and tucks them all into his pockets, turning to hurry in the direction of the fight.

It's not hard to find them. The golem is loud and Jaskier follows the sound of its roars until he almost stumbles over a log in his urgency to get to him. Geralt rolls in his direction, dodging a blow from the beast, and when he sees Jaskier, his expression sours.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jaskier?"

Jaskier stiffens, immediately defensive. He has to bite his tongue as he crouches down next to Geralt, still keeping one eye on the golem. It seems to have lost its target for now, but Jaskier knows that won't last long.

"Rude," he retorts, "considering I'm here to rescue you." He empties his pockets, listing off the supplies as he pushes them into Geralt's hands. "I thought you might need the assistance since a golem is a lot harder to talk down than a rock troll."

He's seething now, all the anger and hurt of the last year bubbling to the surface and it takes everything in him not to cry in front of Geralt. He's always been an angry crier and he hates it. But Geralt's head jerks up and a little bit of pride peeks through the anger. Because he does know what he's doing. He pointedly ignores it, eyeing a scrape on the side of Geralt's face that will need tending to later.

"Take the thunderbolt now," he says, "don't risk going at it again without it."

Geralt scoffs but he makes no attempt to take control of the situation, letting Jaskier continue. Jaskier focuses on the golem; there's no way Geralt can get the jump on it from here, so he'll have to distract it once he's ready.

"Oil your blade," he says and Geralt eyes him suspiciously, but he's already got the rag in hand.

Once he's finished, he keeps his eyes on Jaskier, no longer waiting for a command, but skeptical of what comes next. Jaskier knows he's realized something is up or else he would have just gone after the golem again, but he's waiting, he's letting Jaskier help.

"You're not going to like this," Jaskier says, rising to his feet, "but know that I'm only doing it for you."

He darts away through the trees and he can hear Geralt yelling after him, but it's too late. He ignores him, pushing on until he hears the golem turn its attention on him. This is closely followed by an angry fuck and Jaskier knows his plan is working.

Geralt still isn't at full strength, but with a distraction, he shouldn't have trouble taking the golem down. He just needs to keep it away from him without being killed until he has the chance. It's only then, that he realizes he didn't think his plan through all the way; once again, he was too concerned about Geralt's safety to consider his own and that's proved ill for him in the past.

He trips over a root - a root! - and fumbles backward to keep out of the way, but he's expecting this to be the end. He shuts his eyes and braces himself, but just as he can feel the golem's breath on his skin, it lets out a cry and whips around to turn its anger on Geralt.

Jaskier cracks an eye open to see it swinging at Geralt, now caught up and wielding his silver sword. Jaskier sighs in relief and scrambles to get up, ensuring he hasn't lost any of the supplies he brought with him. He doesn't stick around to watch the fight, heart still hammering in his chest, instead finding himself a safe spot to look out for Geralt until he takes the golem down.

And he does, shortly now that he has the right supplies, dodging its blow and pirouetting around behind it to deal a deadly blow. The golem collapses, shaking the ground beneath it and Jaskier holds his breath as he waits for Geralt to emerge from the pile of rubble.

But he doesn't and Jaskier can stand the wait any longer so he rushes out to him. Geralt's eyes are open when he reaches him, but his eyelids droop and his breath comes in hot heavy puffs. Jaskier drops down next to him, careless of the mud and blood that soaks into his trousers.

"'M fine," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't sit up or make any attempt to move and in Jaskier's opinion, that's not fine.

He hauls Geralt up into his arms, propping him up against his chest and pulls out the remainder of the potions he brought with him. Geralt scowls and bats his hand away.

"I didn't come all the way out here to watch you die," Jaskier tuts, "I was having a very nice morning and I'd appreciate it if I wasn't interrupted for no reason. Take the potion."

Geralt rolls his eyes like a petulant child and takes the vial from Jaskier's hand, downing it like a shot of liquor.

"See," he says, "fine." Jaskier wants to smack him.

"Get up."

It's a struggle to get Geralt to his feet and Jaskier suspects his physical injuries are worse than the exhaustion, a prospect that has his heart racing, much to his chagrin. Geralt shouldn't mean anything to him anymore and yet he can't keep himself from feeling sick at the thought of anything happening to him.

Geralt uses him for support, leaning on Jaskier's shoulders as they make their way slowly back to the camp. Geralt complains about getting the necessary proof that he killed the golem and Jaskier does his very best not to call him a fucking idiot about it. He promises, with as little irritation as he can manage, that he can return for it in the morning.

He sits Geralt next to the fire and as he crosses back to Geralt's bag to collect spare linen and salve, Roach nibbles at Geralt's hair, nudging him with her nose. Jaskier smiles softly at her worry, he can understand it well; Geralt all but left him for dead, and here he is pulling him out of danger and bandaging his wounds like nothing has changed.

When he returns to him, Geralt has two of the clasps on his armour undone, but he can't reach the third and he's frowning at it. Jaskier sets the linen down with the rest of his supplies and sighs softly.

"Let me."

Geralt remains silent as Jaskier unstraps his armour and pulls his shirt up over his head. He's bruised mostly, but there are a few fresh wounds including one that spans nearly his entire stomach. There are a few scars he doesn't recognize, too, and Jaskier doesn't want to think about what caused those.

He cleans his wounds first, then wipes down the rest of his torso, relieved to find most of the gunk on him is not actually blood.

Once he's finished his work, he leaves Geralt to get dressed and gathers more wood for the fire. He lights it with bits of flint from Geralt's pack and while the smaller branches begin to crackle, Jaskier sets about finding something for them to eat. He's never been very good at hunting - that was always Geralt's job when they travelled together - but he knows his plants and with what he still has in his pack, he fixes something up for them. Not that he feels much like eating.

It's not until Jaskier is about to leave that Geralt finally speaks. Jaskier is just on the edge of sleep, exhausted from worry and the effort it takes to be so close to Geralt right now and he very nearly misses it.

"Why did you do that?"

"What part?" Jaskier asks.

"Risk your life. For me."

"I had to. I couldn't just let you die because someone was too stupid to know the difference between a rock troll and a golem."

"I'm impressed that you knew."

Jaskier's stomach does a little flip-flop and he curses himself for being so weak. "I learned from the best," he quips. "But you should sleep. I'll come back to check on you in the morning."

There's a long silence as he gathers his things and then, "Stay?" Geralt asks and Jaskier's heart clenches.

He wants to. Gods, he wants to. To lie down next to him and look up at the stars like he always has and to fall asleep to the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of Geralt breathing next to him. But he shouldn't. That part of his life is behind him now and Geralt made it very clear that he doesn't want him around. This was just a means to an end; he couldn't with any good conscience, let a Witcher die on bad information. Even if that Witcher is the same one who broke his heart on a mountaintop so many months ago.

"I miss listening to you sing while I rest," he says and Jaskier's legs shake under him.

"You.. do?"

"Mm, I didn't realize how much I appreciated it until it was gone."

Jaskier stands still, unable to think through the rush of blood in his ears. He was angry and hurt and spiteful for a long time, but maybe it's time to let go of all that.

"Alright," he breathes.

He tries to remain calm as he can because he knows Geralt can tell when he's not. He can hear the sound of Jaskier's traitor heart and the way his breath comes just a little too fast. And he'll know what it means, the insufferable git. But in the end, it doesn't matter because Jaskier will always choose him over anyone.

He lays down in the dirt, folding his arms back to rest his head on - he's already covered in muck and Geralt's blood, what's a little more dirt? - and he sings. It's not an active choice, but he sings a love song. It's a lovely little tune, not one of his own, but one he's always been fond of, and as he sings, he closes his eyes and lets the warmth of the fire wash over him, remembering the nights when this was a common occurrence. Geralt is quiet, apparently genuine in his desire to hear him sing and Jaskier isn't quite sure what to make of that.

When he finishes, he thinks Geralt is asleep and he settles as well as he can against the rocky ground. He's tired enough that he could fall asleep anywhere, but then Geralt goes and opens his mouth again

"I looked for you," he says, "at first." Jaskier doesn't know how to respond, but Geralt doesn't seem to want a reply and he continues. "I knew what I said was wrong and I knew I'd hurt you so I tried to find you. You must have made it down the mountain before me. I was angry about what happened with Yen, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Jaskier whispers and he does. He realized a long time ago that he was not the intended target of Geralt's rage, but it didn't help to heal the wounds and it didn't bring him back. He's not sure what else to say and his heart beats too fast.

"Come here," Geralt says softly, shifting slightly to make space for him under the blanket.

Jaskier moves to lie next to him and Geralt pulls him close, wrapping an arm around him. Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's shoulder, burying his face so Geralt can't see the emotion it betrays. He smells off, tangy, like blood and it makes Jaskier's chest tight.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'll be fine."

It's not a good answer, but Geralt tips his head down, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair and it's good enough. Jaskier presses closer, allowing himself this small bit of comfort.

In the morning, he wakes with Geralt's cloak over him, but Geralt himself is gone. As he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes that Roach is still there, grazing happily at the edge of their camp and that means Geralt couldn't have gone far. He doesn't know how welcome his company will be, so he waits for Geralt to come back, but when he doesn't Jaskier starts to worry and he goes after him. It doesn't take long to find him.

Geralt is sitting on the edge of the forest, looking out over the town though they're far enough away that no one looking would notice them. Jaskier drapes his cloak around his shoulder and sits down, just slightly behind him.

"I thought about you," Geralt admits, "just before you showed up."

"Oh."

"I didn't think I'd see you again. I didn't want to die knowing you hated me."

"I don't," Jaskier says a little too quickly, "hate you. I can't, I tried. I was angry at you for a very long time and I was hurt for even longer, but I could never hate you." I love you too much for that.

"I have a... habit of saying things to you that I regret. Twice now I've nearly lost you for good and our last words would have been unpleasant."

"Twice?" Jaskier asks.

"Mm. The djinn."

"Right." Jaskier doesn't remember much about the djinn incident - it was fairly traumatic for him - but he does remember Geralt wishing for peace and quiet and saying some awful things about his singing voice. He mentions it, a little of the bitterness bleeding through.

"I didn't mean that either," Geralt swallows, "you have a beautiful voice." That voice fails him now as his stomach twists into a knot.

"Why now?" he asks because that's all that will come out.

"I miss you. I miss your company and seeing you again," he sighs like it's the most difficult thing he's ever had to say. Jaskier forgives him for that because this is already more than Geralt has said to him in a long time. "It makes me realize I was wrong before." He pauses again and Jaskier waits, nearly breathless. "I didn't actually expect you to leave."

"Then what did you expect?" he snaps, "Geralt I've put up with so much of your shit and I've stuck by you despite it. But you told me you didn't want me, that I was a nuisance, that I-" he turns and Geralt is right there. His words stick on his tongue and his throat goes dry.

"You're not a nuisance," he says and Jaskier nods dumbly. He looks at him and he can see how hard this is for Geralt to even get out this much and it's better than he was expecting. Anything else they can work out later if Geralt was genuine about wanting him around. Jaskier opens his mouth to speak to offer a compromise, but Geralt interrupts him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says, "I didn't want to, I wasn't thinking."

"Geralt-"

"You're important to me, Jaskier. And you saved my life yesterday," his lips quirk just so and Jaskier stares for a moment, trying to figure out if he's really seeing this.

"You never were very good at taking care of yourself," Jaskier shrugs. "You should have someone to look after you. Someone who knows something about these monsters you hunt."

Geralt huffs a soft laugh but says nothing, meeting Jaskier's eyes and holding his gaze. He tips his head to one side and Jaskier can feel the breath catch in his throat because Geralt is so close and it's been so long. He doesn't move, afraid to disturb the peace between them, but Geralt leans in, closing the space between them and cupping Jaskier's face in his palm. Their noses bump together, then Geralt's lips brush against his own so faintly he thinks he imagined it. But when he doesn't pull away, Geralt kisses him properly, leaning into it. Jaskier lets himself be drawn forward, lost in the press of Geralt's lips against his own. He hums softly as an arm winds around his waist, bringing him closer, and when Geralt breaks the kiss, he presses their forehead together.

"I know it's not fair," he breathes, "to ask you to come back after the things I said to you, but I want to make amends. Tell me how to fix this."

"Come back to the inn with me," Jaskier breathes, "I'll talk to the innkeeper, get you a room - or you could stay with me?" he's still a little hesitant, but this is Geralt. "We can talk about what comes next after a bath and some supper."

"Will you join me?"

"In the bath?" Jaskier stutters and he can see the flush that creeps across Geralt's cheeks.

"I didn't mean -" he starts, before glancing down at Jaskier's muddy trousers. "But if you want-?" Jaskier barely remembers to breathe, but he settles himself.

"Supper first," he says, "then we'll see about a bath." Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt smiles back, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself looking forward to whatever comes after.

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Little Brother Knows Everything

I lied. Here's a bonus chapter.

Warnings: Mention of Death ; Unrequited[?] Love ; Mention of bombs ; Jealousy

Words: 3.1k

Tommy may have been an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. He noticed the little things more often than he didn’t. But there were four things he knew about you better than anyone else.

Tommy knew that you liked tea.

Siblings, and people in general, seem to have this habitual kind of indicator of their mood. Some people bounced their leg when they were nervous, others liked to twiddle their thumbs or pop joints; It’s different for everyone.

But he could always tell how [y/n] felt by the tea they were drinking.

When they were nervous, they made tea brewed from lavender buds collected from a flower field they often visited with Technoblade or Phil. They brought Tommy once. He had run around the whole area with infinite energy before the blond climbed the tree. He had climbed higher and higher until he could feel the warmth of the setting sun shine on his face. The branch broke, but when he plummeted, he wasn’t scared. They were at the bottom, waiting to catch him. They were always waiting to inevitably catch him no matter if it was from his own stupid decisions or from someone else’s. They got nervous a lot, but when he was by their side, he could never be.

When [y/n] was stressed, they made tea out of the peppermint leaves in their garden. The scent filled their house while it brewed and the act of harvesting the herb was “soothing”. Tommy wasn’t sure how weeding was supposed to be relaxing, but he happily did it when their newest sibling figure asked him to. He remembered pulling out a whole mint plant the first time he had worked beside them, unknowing that that was the plant he was supposed to be protecting. They had laughed, gently scolding him, before setting it aside. Even if they were stressed out, they never took it out on him.

When he was sad or upset, they made chamomile tea with honey. Chamomile is a calming flower, he remembered them saying once. And the honey helped you remember that golden days were ahead. They made it for him every morning after he would wake up in the bed he seemed to sleep in more than his own. Sometimes the honey came from Technoblade, sometimes they had retrieved it themselves from wild hives, but they always seemed to get the best stuff. Even when he cried or started to -what was the word they had used? Disassociate? That sounded correct-, he could expect the mug to be pushed into his hands, a sugary but not cloying aroma wafting off it. He always felt much better when he left. He could never remember seeing them drink the tea, despite having such an abundance of it. Did they even get sad? He had never witnessed it.

When they were happy, they made black tea of various kinds and drank sweet iced tea that reminded him of what diabetes would taste like if it were liquid. They drank this with him almost daily. It was always a new blend they wanted to try and perfect or one they wanted him to taste. He loved smelling this tea the most. When its fragrance filled the air, somehow, everything felt right in the world. He couldn’t recall a single time when he didn’t see them on the porch, drinking the amber liquid out of a glass when they knew he’d be coming over for dinner.

It was the days when you didn’t drink tea at all, he was afraid.

Tommy knew that no matter what someone did to them, [y/n] wasn’t afraid to make enemies or insert themselves between their friends and any sort of danger to protect them.

Dream was surprised to see [y/n] at the meeting between the Greater Dream SMP and L’Manburg. It was only supposed to be him and George convening with Tubbo and Tommy. They held no real power in the country. They didn’t belong in this meeting, just like they didn’t belong in this timeline.

He watched the way they, during George and Tubbo’s discussion, rested a hand on Tommy’s arm when his hands clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He saw how they would murmur quietly to him and the child would relax ever so slightly. He noticed the nods they gave the blond when he looked to the adult for confirmation after he made a questionable statement. He observed your true role here.

“Nice to see you replace Wilbur so quickly, Tommy. That’s good. He was a horrible role model for you.” His lips curled behind his mask at the shocked expression on everyone else’s face aside from the vice president before him. His eyes were sharp, angry. “Maybe without his influence, you’ll actually be a competent leader for something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Considering L’Manburg was supposed to be totally destroyed and returned back to the Greater Dream SMP, I’m glad you found someone a bit less self-destructive to help keep you under control. We all know Wilbur did a horrible job at it.” Watching the child soldier stand quickly gave him a certain satisfaction.

“Fuck you, bitch! I don’t need to be told what to do.” Dream watched [y/n] give Tommy a warning look and the way he ignored it.

“And yet you followed someone who lost his own presidential race and blew up his own country before seeking out validation from someone else.”

“I don’t-”

“Tommy.” He watched the blond flinch at the edge to your voice and look down at you.

“He’s saying I-”

“I’m aware. He’s just trying to rile you up. It’s what he does. Ignore him.” The glare they sent him made a sharp jolt go down his spine, but he couldn’t help the chuckle that spilled from his covered mouth.

“Listen to your sibling, Tomathy. At least this one is sane. And if they kill themself, they’ll come back.” Tommy opened his mouth once more to say something before it snapped closed and he released a breath through his nose.

“I don’t need this.” The slam of the door echoed through the now quiet room.

Dream’s attention was immediately back on [y/n]. He watched them square their shoulders and lower their head to look him dead-on. Their glare met him with a hidden fury threatening to break forth and raise the hell that seemed to be just as deeply rooted in them as it was the company they kept. Their lips were pursed in a way that made his own grin grow larger. "Wilbur may not have been the best man. He may have hurt me and put the rest of L’Manburg in this situation. But that is our business alone, and you have no right to say anything bad about him or about Tommy, for that matter."

There was a pregnant pause and he heard George start laughing awkwardly to dispel the tension before being hushed hurriedly by Tubbo.

“And what is it you’ll do to me if I do?” Dream kept his voice level.

“You know why I’m here and who’s behind me. You can use your imagination..” They stood, chair scraping against the floor loudly. “I’m going to check on Tommy.” “But we’re not done!” They stopped at the door, hand resting on the handle.

“I’m sure you can handle the rest by yourself, Tubbo. You know what to do.” They looked at him over their shoulder, before glancing over George and then settling on the man in green. “Don’t you ever speak his name ever again. Or we just might have to build that prison you mentioned. Am I understood?” Sullen nods came from the monarch and the president as they stormed out.

“Well, that was something.”

Tommy had been sitting in the hallway, curled in on himself the same way he had been after the Pit incident.

“Toms?”

“Why is he even here?”

You sat next to him, back resting against the wall.

“Because he cares about George. Kinda like why I was in there for you.” You felt the taller lean against you and relax when you wrapped your arm around him. “I’ll always be here for you, Kiddo.”

You felt him nod and you pressed a kiss to his hair.

“You know I’m not trying to replace Wilbur, right?”

“Of course not. We were like brothers.” His lips quirked a little when he heard your laugh.

“If he were here, I’m sure he’d tell you not to say that or he’d cry.”

“Good. Fucking bitch.”

He didn’t know what he’d do if you never came back.

Tommy knew that the only other person who loved you as much as he did was Technoblade.

Techno had never felt jealous of Tommy before. Or really anyone. He was pretty secure in his position as your best friend, and the vast amounts of platonic affection you showered him with kept him content. Even during the Pogtopia rebellion, watching the looks and touches Wilbur gave you or seeing the child sneak into your bed for another night in a row didn’t make him jealous. So why did he suddenly have the very real impulse to shove the blond off the side off a cliff just to retake some of your attention?

The hybrid watched you talk with your hands as you recounted the night before and your surprise at finding Tommy already there when you came home from Phil’s. He was happy he had been right. You and Philza were similar in many ways and got along well. You would constantly joke with Techno that you were trying to get yourself adopted by the older blond and he would just respond with an amused “don’t tempt him, he might.”. You would always laugh in response.

That was always the best sound.

He listened to your words as he topped off the teacup in front of you with more of the red-tinted liquid. The warm scent of earl grey and roses wafted off of the cup tinged with the subtle tang of the orange peel he had added on a whim. You were right in your suggestion. Citrus always makes deeper teas better.

“If it’s really that bad, the offer to move in still stands. I have more than enough room and you can escape that raccoon.” He snickered at the pout that rested on your lips.

“I never said that I didn’t like it! And don’t call Tommy a raccoon.” He sipped his own tea.

“It’s true. Gets into trash, beady little eyes, a nuisance. He even breaks into your house.”

“He has a key, Tech. It’s different.” You had rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your face spoke of your fondness for them both. He felt the small well of jealousy in his chest flare. Did Tommy know how privileged he was? He hoped the child knew.

“I’m just sayin’. Whenever you want to leave that place, my door will always be open for you.” He watched your smile soften and the firm squeeze when you reached across the table for his forearm.

“I appreciate it, but Tommy needs me still. Maybe one day, okay?” He grunted at you and you giggled. “Who knows, maybe Phil will come with! He could build his own little cabin and everything.”

“I’ve already extended the offer to him as well. He said he’ll think about it.” You shook your head.

“He’s probably trying to figure out how close to the meadow he’d be in comparison.”

“Man loves the flowers, what can he say?”

“Sure, it’s definitely the flowers.” You sipped your tea with a knowing grin.

“What else would it be?” He watched the glint in your eyes, seeing exactly what Tommy had always said about you. They had seemed a lot deeper lately, more knowledgeable. The child had always claimed that you spoke like you knew more than you let on and he saw it in your smile sometimes, but the look you were giving him right at that moment confirmed it.

“Maybe it’s all the memories.”

He couldn't imagine you not returning the feelings they both held for you, despite the vast difference.

Tommy knew that you wouldn’t hide anything from him unless it was absolutely imperative.

He found you sitting in the living room, curled into an old recliner that you would never tell him where it came from. You felt Tommy haphazardly throw his arms around your shoulders from behind, releasing a small sigh of contentment as he pressed his face further into your neck.

"Hey, Kiddo, what’re you up to?" His grip on you slackened, and you could almost feel his face draw up to a small pout. He absolutely hated that nickname but couldn’t deny the small warmth that flared in his stomach whenever you called him it.

"[Y/n], how many times have I asked you to stop calling me that?" He removed himself from you when you shrugged your shoulders.

"Sorry, Toms, the nickname stays. You're too much of a brat for it to leave." He groaned, eyebrows drawing together. You knew he wasn’t entirely mad at the name. He wouldn’t have whined the way he did if he truly wanted you to stop. You and Tommy seemed to share a wavelength. It wasn’t the same one you shared with Techno, but it was just as perfect. You wished you could tell him why it was.

The realization set a rock that started in your throat and slowly started to sink to your stomach. It spread through you, causing a wet hot sensation to form behind your eyes. You’d never be able to tell your little brother your deepest secret. What if he hated you? What if he told everyone else and they cast you out? What if he felt he couldn’t trust you anymore?

Carefully pulling yourself out of your own thoughts, you looked up at the child. “I’m sorry, what was it you wanted?”

"Can I talk to you?" Your eyes flicked to the book you were reading before back to him. You knew what he wanted. A bookmark was wedged between pages and the room was silent before you stood. "Sure, kiddo. Is it going to be a long chat?" You set off to the kitchen, soon pouring some water into an old kettle that Phil had given you the day that you had awoken. You had been “gone” for over a full day. Aside from Phil, no one else knew what had happened and where you went.

An opaque jar was pulled from the cupboard, carefully opened, and he watched as purple buds, green leaves, and yellow-white flowers were deposited gently onto the mesh cloth that you would tie into a sachet. He had never seen them combine those teas. He didn’t even realize you had such a large jar of it stored.

“What happened at Phil’s?” You hesitated before steadying your hand and pouring the steaming water into a teapot before setting the sachet in. It floated for a moment before you used the string to dunk the bag a few times to soak it before it sank midway.

You only pulled one mug down.

You gestured for him to sit at the table and he took it. You could see the way his anxiety rose even higher when you didn’t sit across from him.

“What day? I’ve been at Phil’s a lot lately.”

“Oh fuck off. You know what day I’m talking about.” You shrugged, trying to keep your expression even.

“I really don’t, Tommy. You’re going to have to narrow it down for me.” Your fight or flight instincts were dialed to high when he gave you a knowing look.

“You don’t have to lie to me, [y/n]. I’m not a child.”

“Yes, you are, and I’m not lying.” You flinched when he slammed his hands on the table, chair screeching as it was slid back with too much force before it fell backwards.

“Then why have you changed?” You froze. “You used to love spending time with me before-”

You wanted to reach out, to comfort him, when you saw his lips quiver, but he turned his head away from you. He couldn’t look you in the eye.

“Before you were gone for almost two days and came back wrong. You don’t talk like how you used to either. It’s like you know things, but like, more than you used to. And come to find out from Ranboob, you had gone to Philza’s house. What did he tell you?”

You just shook your head, wanting to tell him you remembered him. You remembered every timeline he was in. Every moment he had fought for what he believed in and won. Every time he had died. Every timeline he could have died.

“Did I do something? Is it because of Ghostbur? Do you-” He looked back up at you, looking exactly like the sixteen year old he was supposed to be. “Do you hate me?”

“Of course not, Tommy. Why in the world would you ever think that?”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Siblings don’t keep secrets.”

“They do when they’re trying to protect the ones they love, Tommy.” You watched his face grow red in frustration.

“You’re not always gonna be there for me, [y/n]!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” His voice broke, and so did your heart.

“Because you’re still just a kid, Tommy. And I think sometimes you forget that. And everyone else too. And I can’t tell anyone what happened.”

“But why? I stopped being a child when we won our first war. I should be able to hear about this!”

“Because the things I saw, the things I heard, no one else should have to bear this weight.” You swallowed back your tears. This was no time to cry. “You can be mad at me all you want, Tommy. But I’m still the same [y/n] who tucks you into bed and links pinkies with you on the Prime Path and who will always be there for you.”

The hurt look he gave you would haunt you for the rest of your lifetimes.

“Then why won’t you let me be there for you?” You could only shake your head.

“Because that’s not how it works, Kiddo.” Tommy’s eyes hardened and he sucked in a quivering breath.

“Fine.” He started walking back towards the door.

“Toms, where are you going?” He didn’t answer you.

His tea was bitter and cold by now, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel the same.

Tommy knew all those things about you. So why did it feel like maybe he didn’t know you at all?

[archibaldcurothers]

Take the Long Way Home, Part Seven

—————————————-

“I spy something…green!”

You chuckled, this was too easy. “Is it Jaken?”

“There are many green things,” Jaken protested, “why do you assume she refers to me and not the grass or trees or-“

“But she was right; it’s you, Master Jaken!” Rin happily announced.

The small demon was about to protest further but Lord Sesshomaru had halted and Jaken collided into the back of his leg.

“P-Pardon, my Lord!”

Sesshomaru ignored him. “Inuyasha is near.”

“Oh! do you wish to confront him, my Lord? He would surely benefit from a humbling altercation with yourself; he is far too arrogant for his own good. It would do him well to be reminded he is but a half-demon!”

You waited anxiously for Sesshomaru’s decision. If he decided to intercept his brother then perhaps you could speak to Kagome about crossing back to your own time. It might be tricky to do with the two brothers quarreling, but it could be your only chance.

“No. I have no business with him at present.”

“Um, excuse me, my lord…”

Sesshomaru turned his head to glance back at you, waiting for you to continue.

“I know you don’t have reason to go, but do you think, perhaps, we might go pay a visit so that I may speak to Kagome?”

Sesshomaru glared at you for a moment as Jaken gaped at your insolence, but before the steward could chastise you, his lordship spoke, “I said I had no business with him.”

You had been in his company long enough to know this was his restrained way of telling you to drop the subject, but, in desperation, you pressed further. “Please, Lord Sesshomaru, Kagome is likely the only one to know how I might-“

At this, Sesshomaru turned to face you fully, and snapped, “If you’re so concerned with meeting that woman then go find them yourself.”

You recoiled. "I’m sorry, I just-“

“You’re not needed here anyway,” he snarled. “Just leave. Go back to your own time.” At this, he turned from you and stormed off.

Jaken and Rin stood in stunned silence, looking from Sesshomaru to yourself, unsure of what to do. Even Ah-Un had instinctively taken a few steps back at the venomous outburst. Sesshomaru had never spoken to you like that before. He had always been a man of few words, but the words he had shared with you before had never felt hateful. Your throat constricted and you could feel your face getting hot; Rin and Jaken’s anxious glances your way did nothing to ease your nerves. They’d been put in an awkward spot, and it was your fault. They couldn’t defy Sesshomaru, but you knew they pitied you and were hesitant to turn and leave. Feeling bad enough at the position you’d put them in, you decided to spare them of having to make the choice to abandon you. You looked to them for a moment, gave them a pained smile, and slinked away.

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

Night had fallen at last. The remainder of the day had been spent walking in a tense silence. Now and then, Rin had let a whimper escape, but she had done her best to limit her outward emotion. Now they rested by the fire Jaken conjured with the enchanted staff, the two disciples leaned against Ah-Un as they ruminated over the happenings.

Sesshomaru was not with them. After dictating they rest there for the evening, he had slipped away, and none were confident enough to chase after him. This was a small blessing for him. He didn’t want their concerned looks; didn’t need their apprehensive eyes boring into him with that hounding question: “why were you so cruel to her”.

He stood on an outcropping, looking out at the night sky. He remembered her telling Rin that, in her time, there were humans who dedicated their lives to these celestial bodies. An aching pain swelled in his chest, and he winced. Those humans of her time, they had travelled through the stars and arrived at the moon, but they needed only look to the sky to see their destination. (Y/N) hadn’t known where Inuyasha’s group was, nor did she possess Sesshomaru’s keen sense of smell to be able to track them. She would not have found them. She would be lost and alone, with no one there to defend her against the cruelties and dangers of the world.

He wrestled with this reality; it was none of his concern what became of her, and yet he could not put the thought from his mind, could not snuff out the worry that plagued him, could not silence the shame he felt…

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

You hadn't anticipated the terror you would experience upon being alone at night, though, to be fair, you hadn't had time to consider the repercussions of your decision to go it alone. You no longer had the security of companions. No longer could rest your weary feet by riding atop Ah-Un. No longer had the the protection of Sesshomaru.

You stopped next to a large oak tree. You could feel panic swelling inside yourself, threatening to split you apart. The world swirled around you, it felt like you were dying. In desperation you crouched down and rested your head on your knees as you tried to keep your breathing steady.

In...out...in...out

After a minute of this you stabilized slightly and raised your head, but then you felt the cold drop off water splash against the bridge of your nose. Rain. As if things couldn't get worse.

You were incapable of gathering the energy to do anything more, it felt useless to even try. In exhaustion, you collapsed back against the trunk of the oak. At least nothing could sneak up on you with the large tree behind you. Its foliage partially shielded you from the storm brewing, but, between the wind and the droplets that did reach you, a shiver coursed through you.

A crack of thunder broke out, sounding as though it had discharged right by your ear. Panic raced once more through you. You could no longer contain it. You collapsed into yourself, weeping; you would die here.

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

It hadn’t taken Sesshomaru long to trace his way back and follow (Y/N)’s scent. He soon found her huddled and whimpering under a large oak. He observed for a few moments, hidden from sight by the flora of the forest and the shadows of night. He had expected to find her and bring her back. Simple. However, confronted with the raw emotion of her dejected spirit, he found himself rooted to his spot. What should he say? Would she even want to go back with him? Would she demand he escort her to Kagome so that she could leave this world forever? The thought pained him, but he mentally chastised himself for it. What was it to him what this woman chose to do? Sure, he had become accustomed to her and so had wanted to insure she was safe, but he hadn’t really cared that she was gone…

He wondered what story she might have been telling Rin this evening if he hadn’t lashed out at her. She did well with the girl.

He stepped from his covering and approached (Y/N), halting just in front of her. He gazed down and observed as her shoulders trembled, her crying muffled from her face being buried into her knees. She hadn't heard him approach. Between her own lamentations, the rumbling thunder, and howls of the wind, she had heard nothing.

"(Y/N)."

Her crying sputtered to a stop, and for a moment she did not move. Hesitantly, she lifted her head and met his gaze. They stayed like that, eyes locked, neither moving, until Sesshomaru abruptly offered his hand.

"Come. You are missed."

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

You stared at his hand for a second, in shock, until the realization you were being offered salvation dawned on you. You eagerly took his hand, and he pulled you up. However, he didn't seem to know his own strength and as you were brought to your feet the momentum caused you to stumble forward into him. You were pressed against his chest with his cold plate of armor digging into you uncomfortably, while his kimono radiated with the heat from his body and his fur stole tickled at your cheek. Your mind froze and so did your body; the scent of rain and wet earth clung to him, and the musky aroma quickened your heart. Glancing up at him, you saw him peering down at you.

You had expected him to look cross about you colliding into him, but instead his face looked almost gentle as he asked, “Are you alright?”

At the realization you were still pressed against him, you hastily stepped back and averted your eyes as you replied, “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I-”. The fur he kept round his shoulder was being draped around your neck.

“We should get going. That is, if you want to…”

The uncertainty in his voice was so unfamiliar. He was always self-assured, never questioning himself. And yet, here he was before you, a mere human, testing the water to see if you might acquiesce to his request. Never before had he been so vulnerable with you.

“Yes, I’d like that, my lord.”

*

*

*

*

Tag list: @fierysins @blck-bmbi @berryblossum @neeadinghugs @sailor-earth-1 @thefandomzoneisdangerous @afuckingunicornn @grace-writes-shit @rememberourlastkiss @morphituu @samanthaa-leanne @probablyzombiedinosaurs @blacklotussai @poemfreak306 @moonchild2190 @ohjammers @crispygummy @bottled-poet @seohee-hwa @themarblefox09 @dottie-witch @soshitan @nellaphine @skrilltia @florssils @katherine12123-blog-blog @reignofglitter @katialvi @ameonna97 @velveteencurls @jessicarosequinzelfleck @zoilalove213 @scorpios-unite @maixx @lysawayne @tanyeonn @radicalcannoliqueen @viktorian-horror-story @motheraiya

[pixiedust-designs]

Caught

This is my story for @bittydragon community prompt thing. Had a lot of fun with this one.

(Warnings: talk of killing someone)

———————————————————————

George ran as fast as he could through the forest. He cursed as he stumbled over a root. He had to get there in time. He had to go faster. George had been getting food in the market when he overheard some people talking about how some hunters found a giant nearby. George panicked listening into the conversation. It couldn’t be the same giant. Right? He gasped as the people said the giant had had a odd mask on its face when the hunters found it.

George turned dropping his food and ran into the forest. He had to find the hunters before they hurt Dream. George was panting from running for so long, he paused listening. His head snapped up as he heard a ground shaking scream. Dream. He ran off in that direction soon finding a large clearing that had obviously had a fight in it. Trees where ripped from the ground and gashes lined the earth. In the middle of the clear glass was Dream. Chained to the ground covered in small cuts. As he walked out of the tree line he saw a small group of hunters starting a fire before the sun set. They quickly noticed him, shouting why he was here.

George nervously walked closer. “I- umm just wanted to see the giant for myself.” He couldn’t say he was here to save Dream. As he spoke he saw Dream turn his head to look at him. His mask was gone lost in the fight. He couldn’t read Dreams expression.

The men laughed and clapped him on the back. “Well it’s not every day we catch one of these monsters. It’s a rare sight to behold.” One of the tall burly man grinned. “How did you know it was here?” He ask gritting he’s teeth at calling Dream an it. “Ha! The towns folk called us in to handle it. It’s been terrorizing the village” George nodded putting on an act. “Yeah this ones been bothering the town for awhile.” Dream had never done anything to the town.

He kept talking with the man keeping up the act of hating the giant as the talked about what to do with him. Some of the things they said made him so mad he wanted to throw away the act just to yell at these hunters. But if he wanted to save Dream he had to be smart. The sun soon set and the fire was lit. “So you just going to keep it chained up for the night?” He asked trying to figure out what to do about the chains.

“Yay for the night it’ll stay right where it is. Then we’ll kill it in the morning.” George’s blood ran cold at the words. “Yeah probably best to get ride of it sooner then later. But you sure the chains will hold?” His words tasted wrong in his mouth. He glanced up at Dream freezing at the cold glare he was getting. He had never seen Dream look so angry and betrayed. Didn’t he realize George was just pretending? He was going to have to explain later.

“The only thing that can brake those chains is something made out of the same metal.” One of the hunters said. “Like our swords.” He said patting his weapon. That was going to make this a lot harder if he had to somehow get the sword. George nodded coming up with a plan.

The hunters had offered for him to stay in their camp for the night and he had taken the offer. He closed his eyes waiting till he heard snores from all three hunters. He quietly got up and soundlessly managed to pull out a sword to cut the chains. He turned to Dream with a happy smile. He paused seeing Dream had turned away from the group not looking at him. He walked around Dreams head so he could tell him what he was doing. Before he could even open his mouth to talk Dream growled at him shaking him to the core.

Dream had been excited to see George when he first showed up. But as George had talked with the hunters he quickly realized he wasn’t here to save him. He had wanted to say something cry yell as he listened to George talk about him like he was nothing. It broke his heart to listen to his friend. He had to look away from George not wanting to see him anymore. He hadn’t thought that George would try to kill him himself though. He growled seeing George come up to him sword in hand. “You wanted to do it yourself then?” He said keeping his voice quiet.

“W-what?!” George asked alarmed. “You think I’m going to kill you?!” He hissed. He thought Dream would have put it together by now.

“What else would you do with that fucking sword?” Dream said glaring at the one human he thought he could trust. It had probably been George to call in the hunters on him.

George was upset Dream would ever think that. “I’m trying to help you! You idiot.” George whisper yelled. He walked to where the chains where bolted into the ground.

“Help me?” Dream wanted to laugh. “I’ve been listening to you all day. You don’t want to help him you just want me gone. Have you truly just been pretending this whole time?” Dream ranted not paying attention to George. He had wanted to say this all day. “All those times you said we where friends, was that all fake?

George frowned as he listened to Dream who clearly wasn’t listening to him. He would just have to prove it to Dream. He swing the sword in anger at the large chains. He froze hearing the shrill ringing sound it made. Dream also froze at the loud sound. They set and listened to see if the hunters had woken up. They both breathed out a sigh of relief hearing the loud snoring coming from the men.

“I’m not trying to fucking kill you Dream. The only thing that’s been fake is what I’ve said today.” He turned looking at Dream. They both glared at the other. George huffed in frustration turning back to the chains. He had to do this a lot quieter. He poked at the chains finding one spot where they all came to one point. But it was on Dreams chest. He walked closer to Dream who had just been watching him this whole time. He griped onto the chain and climbed up to sit on Dream chest. He could feel as Dream chest raised and fell as he breathed. “I just need to hit this one spot then you’re free. He was a little worried about what Dream might do to him if he still thought George was going to hurt him after the chains where off. He shook those thoughts from his head and walked forward.

George paused as he got to the middle of Dream chest. He looked up seeing Dream had closed his eyes and was actually shaking. Dream was scared of him.... he realized where he was standing. Right over Dreams heart. He could kill Dream right now if he wanted. And that’s exactly what Dream thought he was going to do. He turned his back to Dream and hit the chain. A loud ring was made again. But he had only dented it. He frowned and hit the chain again and again. He took his anger out from having to sit and listen to the people who wanted to kill his best friend all day. George yelled as finally the chain broke. He grinned as the chains fell off Dream. He froze though as he heard someone yell. He looked down from Dreams chest seeing that the hunters where awake and one had an arrow pointed at his chest.

Dream didn’t want to see George plunge the sword into his chest. He looked away. He flinched as there was a loud sound. Then it happened again. He glanced at the small human on his chest. He was hitting the chain. Was....he was trying to cut odd the chain? Did George really want to save him? He smiled as the chain fell off of him. He turned to apologize to George and saw the hunters where awake and had a bow pointed right at George.

“What do you think you’re doing?! The beast will kill you!” The hunters yelled.

“He’s not a beast! He’s my friend!” George yelled back. Hopefully after tonight it would stay that way. If he didn’t get shot that is.

George screamed as everything seemed to move at once. Suddenly he was in darkness and being jostled around. He pushed at what was around him realizing Dream had grabbed him. George couldn’t move as the hand squeezed him. He yelled out struggling to move. Was Dream really going to squish him?! He could hear yells and screams from the hunters and loud growls from Dream. He whimpered as Dream was suddenly running. He was pressed up against a chest he clung to the fabric of Dreams top.

Dream had grabbed George the second he could get his hands free. He fought the hunters pushing them down to the ground and ran off not wanting to risk George. He had to apologize to George. He breathed a sigh of relief seeing his cave. He pushed aside the vines and crawled into the giant cave. He set down pulling George away from his chest. “George?” He said softly.

George shivered as he was pulled away from the warmth. He nervously looked up at Dream as he said his name. “Y-yeah?”

“Are you ok? I’m so sorry I should have realized you wouldn’t hurt him I’m so sorry. I’ll do-“

“Stop.” George cut off Dream. He smiled up at the nervous giant. “It’s ok. You’re safe now.”

Dream smiled softly running a finger down George’s back. “You saved me...”

“Well of course I did.” He hummed happily leaning into the touch.

Dream was relieved George wasn’t scared of him. “I am so sorry though.”

George shook his head. “I know you are you don’t have to keep saying it.”

“I kinda do though.” He felt awful for thinking George would have ever betrayed him.

“No, your sorry I’m sorry. We’re both safe now. That’s all that matters.” He said.

Dream hugged George to his chest gently petting him. “Thank you for saving me.”

George hummed happily getting comfortable cuddled up to Dream. “Of course I saved you, you idiot.”

Dream chuckled happy to have his human back with him. He set there happily cuddling George. He asked a question and George didn’t reply. “George?” He looked down to see George had fallen asleep right over his heart. He leaned back closing his eyes to fall asleep himself. “Goodnight.” He said as he fell asleep. They might have to worry about the hunters tomorrow but for now they where right where they where meant to be. Together.

[midnightmoonkiss]

Before The Full Moon.

Werewolf! Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: The night before a full moon always offered an abundance of fun, especially when you call your man ‘Alpha.’

WARNINGS!: Biting, oral (female receiving), horny asf Izuku, sex, sub!reader & dom!Izuku

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Werewolf! Izuku is here! First out of three Halloween Au’s!  I’m a bit rusty with my writing skills.. heh..

Just To Clarify: 

Despite Reader calling Izuku ‘alpha,’ this is not ABO

Izuku always has his tail and wolf ears, he just hides them when in public or around reader earlier in the relationship

This takes place in the country in a forest town

Werewolves can shapeshift whenever, they just has no control over it on a full moon night

All characters are aged up

Reader and Izuku are living together but not married or engaged

Perm. Tag List

@coupsieddori​ @desia2​ @strwbrry-lia​: 

Having a werewolf as a boyfriend wasn’t nearly as bad as you originally thought it would be.

Granted, you were lucky enough to fall madly in love with a kind one, and not a bloodthirsty beast.

You had been dating the buff man covered in freckles and scars with an addiction to sweaters for a year and a half before actually finding out his little secret, having witnessed him morph into a ginormous wolf with thick, green and black fur under the blinding light of the full moon.

You had been frozen in fear, tripping over your own two feet as you stumbled back when his head snapped towards you.

The floor creaked with every step he took, the sheer weight of the wolf being enough to make a loud thump that only added to the terror and nausea bubbling up in your stomach. You had almost accepted your death once he towered over you, only to promptly flop down beside you, whining like a puppy as he placed his large head on your legs, eyes practically begging for you to not freak the fuck out.

He made himself as small, cute, and less threatening as possible.

Yeah.

It was a wild night.

Later, he introduced you to the world of werewolves, how they fit seamlessly into society.

“You can always tell someone is a werewolf based on if they smell like a wet dog in the rain, though!” He chirped happily, emerald eyes squeezing shut as he gave you that radiant smile that showed off his sharper than average canines that you had never noticed before despite locking lips on a regular basis.

It had been a year since then, and getting used to your boyfriend shapeshifting was no easy task. Hell, you still weren’t used to coming home to a huge ass dog in your living room on nights with the moon full, despite being fully aware of what was going to happen to him that evening.

He certainly wasn’t what you expected when the word ‘werewolf’ came to mind.

Wolf-like humans covered in fur are what you and most people pictured, standing up on two legs with a snout of a dog and a bushy tail, not… essentially a dire wolf.

Apparently, werewolves could turn whenever they pleased but had no control over themselves on the night of a full moon. Most weren’t vicious, but the few that were stirred up fear in the small communities with their legends rooted deep in the ground.

He even had a pack, friends he led who were as loyal as can be to him, just as he was.

Living in a small town surrounded by forests, trees with trunks thrice your size, he had shown you what it was like to be a werewolf, letting you cling to his fur for dear life as he ran through the greenery, dirt kicking up behind his large paws as his tongue lolled out, clearly joyful to hear you screech and hold on tighter whenever he jumped. The shit.

But werewolves.. were extremely territorial. It wasn’t often you’d hear about a wolf giving up territory without a bloody fight, and so it certainly wasn’t uncommon for your sweet Izuku to come home to you covered in bruises and scratches.

You’d always take care of him, wash his wounds and wrap them if necessary before smothering him in love that always made the tail he typically hid in loose shorts or pants when in public wag.

He was your big puppy, and you were, as embarrassing and thrilling as it was to admit, his mate.

Since he was technically an alpha, a title he wore proudly since he had fought to earn it, you’d occasionally refer to him as that, just to watch as his freckled cheeks light up, darkened eyes side-eyeing you as you giggled like a school girl.

His friends always teased him when you’d call him that in front of them, to which he shook his head at, only for him to absolutely wreck your insides once you got home, growling for you to call him it again.

It got under his skin in a good way, made it burn and sent shivers down his spine.

He loved it.

He loved being an alpha, being your alpha, and he was never going to let that go.

But there was.. one thing you found out pretty quickly about werewolves the night before a full moon.. Before you found out his secret, you would always wonder why he avoided you the days before, but now you understood why.

If only you had found out sooner, you could have helped him with his problem.

“(Y/N)..” He growled possessively against your sensitive neck, sending shivers down your spine as your legs tightened around his slim waist.

You were pressed against the wall in your shared apartments darkened hallway, the hunk of a man you were honored to call your own had you pressed snuggly against him.

“Izuku..” You whined, his hot, growing erection grinding against your clothed crotch. He nipped at your skin, making you gasp and tilt your head, giving him more room to lick, nibble, and suck, marking you as his own with each hickey, large or small. Each bite was sweetly kissed, his chest vibrating with glee with each little noise you made.

His jade eyes sparkled with lust as he gazed at you, making your belly burn and twist with excitement, panties growing even more wet.

His large hands went down to your ass, squeezing at the plump flesh just to draw a gasp from you.

Making sure you were secure against him, he pulled away from the wall, drawing a small shriek from you.

He chuckled, and if you weren’t as horny and desperate as you were to get the daylights fucked out of you, you would’ve scolded him.

His lips then smashed against your own, tongue invading your wet cavern and smiling when he heard your muffled moan. Lips met again and again in a hungry haze as he walked to your shared bedroom, your hips continuously grinding down on his cock making it hard to focus.

All he wanted to do was to bury himself deep in your tight, warm walls, make you his again and again and again so that all who were nearby could hear your cries of his name. You were his.

Reaching the large bed, you were promptly shoved onto the soft mattress, legs loosely hanging off his hips as he pulled away from you.

His hands instantly went to his shirt, practically tearing it off of himself before doing the same with your own.

He was delighted to see you with no bra, your nipples already so delightfully perky and cute.

You were in your pajamas, after all. 

Your face was flushed, eyebrows pulled together, tugging him forward by the waistband of his gym shorts.

Diving down, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, shoving your own shorts down so he could grind himself against your core again. He could practically feel your wetness soaking his front, it was exhilarating to know he could turn you into putty so easily.

His tail tickled at your feet as it wagged, his ears standing up on top of his bushy head, listening to every ragged breath you let out and the light creak of the bed with every movement.

Pulling away, he nibbled at your lower lip, kissing down your chin, over your jawline, licking and nipping at the large marks he’d already left.

He could feel your heart hammering in your chest as he kissed down to your exposed left breast, its sound like a love song singing his name.

Rough, calloused fingers trailed up your body, scarred palms smoothing against your warm skin as he shamelessly felt up what was his.

Moving down, you whined at the lack of friction, only to whimper as his lips encased one of your nipples, tongue circling the flesh and teeth grazing over and pulling it. Your back arched off the bed, one hand fisting the pure white sheets below you as the other tangled itself in his green curls.

His thumb played with your other bud, pinching and rolling it, kneading at your soft flesh whilst sucking on the other one.

“Hah..! I-Izu..! Mm..” You enjoyed the rough treatment he gave you, finding pleasure in the smallest amount of pain as his sharpened canines touched your skin.

He pulled away with an audible pop, letting the cool night air hit your wet nipple, moving to give your other bud equal treatment with his addicting mouth.

He always was a boob man, their plushness and bounce always catching his attention. But yours.. my God he was devoted to yours. Sweet to the taste, so cute and such a beautiful canvas for him to paint a picture on, he couldn’t help but suck marks all over them, his own sanity slipping through his fingers as the night went on. 

He could smell and feel how wet you were, smell how much you wanted him.

It thrilled him to the very bone, made it hard for him to give attention to his favorite girls.

Giving one final lick to your nipple, he finally moved down your burning body, sitting back on his knees on the floor, hooking his large, muscular arms dotted with freckles under your thighs just to yank you down to the end of the bed.

Your soaked panties were right in front of his face, legs dangling off his broad shoulders.

Kissing at your thigh, he pressed his nose against your clothed core, inhaling your scent deeply, making his tail wag and you cry out in embarrassment.

You were so cute, hiding behind your hands.

He adored it.

Impatiently, he ripped the flimsy material from your body, giving you no tome to protest as he dove straight into his sopping meal.

“H-hAH.!!” You cried, fingers pulling at his green curls as he eagerly began to lap at your pussy like a starving dog.

Your juices dripped down his chin and neck, but he couldnt give less of a fuck. You were delicious.

His pupils were blown wide, drinking in the sight of your arched back and parted mouth.

His tongue expertly licked at all your special spots, giving a broad lick over your pink labia, avoiding your clit just to have you buck desperately at his face. 

Izuku Midoriya was a simple man. 

When his mate cries out for more, sobbing his name, he gives them more.

Your hips bucked off the bed once the flat of his tongue ran over your twitching nub.

Finding it hard to please you with your hips going wild, he held them down to the bed, eagerly eating your cunt out, holding you to his face so you couldn’t move away.

The crickets chirping just outside the window above your bedframe were drowned out by the wet sounds echoing in the room from his sloppiness, you were too focused on the pleasure to even care.

“O-oh!! I-Izu!! Mm! Haa..aAAH!!”

His mouth felt like pure numbing magic, sucking on your clit like he did your tit felt like heaven. He moaned against your wet flesh, sending your head flying back into the mattress, belly tightening with that familiar burn. 

You were close. So damn close.

And he knew it.

He knew you so well.

“I’m..!! Izuku, I-I’m so..!” Your legs were shaking like crazy, squeezing the bushy warm head between them as he made you feel like you were high on drugs with his mouth alone.

A particular rough lick at your clit sent you over the edge, screaming his name as your eyes fells shut, convulsing like you were possessed against his mouth. 

He held you even closer to him, slurping up the mess you had made, sticking his tongue into your fluttering walls to lick you clean, savoring your addicting taste that drove him absolutely insane.

But he wasnt done.

Pulling away, strings of your cum mixed with his saliva stuck to his face for a moment before breaking. He watched as your clit twitched and throbbed, much like the neglected cock in his boxers.

Pulling one hand away from your hip, he slid two digits down your cunt, collecting left over juice to slicken them up before pressing at your entrance that seemed to begged for him already.

“P-please…” You weeped, finally looking down between your twitching legs just to be met with such a sexy sight.

His face was covered with your mess, pupils blown wide with a feral gleam to his usually warm eyes, it made your cunt squeeze around thin air.

Despite being the sweetest man you knew, he sure fucking knew how to drive you mad.

Typically, he would tease you, make you beg and beg for him to give you what you want, but his mind was far to foggy to truly even try.

He just wanted to break you in the sweetest way possible.

And so, he plunged his fingers inside you, groaning at how you sucked them in, barely giving you a second to adjust before he began thrusting them in and out of your pussy, dragging more and more moans from your throat as his thick fingers filled you up.

Curling them, he pressed against that spongey spot inside of you, “NGHHAH!! AaaAAhH!! Th-There! HaAh..!” His fingers clicked wet against your squishy walls, mouth coming back down to lick around your clit before flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Your body felt like it was charged by electricity, zaps running down your thighs and up to your belly, shooting shocks at your perky nipples and down your back.

You couldn't help but grind against him, crying out for more and more, to which he was always eager to give.

Until..

He couldnt take it anymore.

His sanity finally snapped, and with an animalistic snarl nothing short of carnal that had you keening, he pulled his fingers from you, shoving you further up the bed, yanking his shorts and boxers down. You had a single second to soak in the image of his large member slapping against his toned abdomen and oozing with precum before you were flipped over, ass high in the air and face pressed down into the soft pillows.

“Mine.”He growled out, mounting you and plunging his thick cock deep into your squeezing walls. Eyes rolling back into your head, a scream of ecstasy and pain tore from your throat, legs instinctively spreading as he fucked into your little cunt. 

He leaned down, pressing his warm chest against your back, nuzzling his chiseled yet rounded face into the crook of your neck as he thrusted in and out of your tight hole that constantly pulled him back in.

Saliva dribbled down your chin, jaw slack as you cried out into the night, “Alpha..!”

His hips stutter, fingernails digging into your flesh, sure to leave blemishes in the shape of crescent moons as the title registered in his delirious mind.

His tongue flopped out of his mouth, smiling and panting as his chest rumbled with desire as he pulled you impossibly closer, thrusting faster than you could even handle, tail wagging like a bullet behind him.

“Ha-aAAhH!!”

Slick poured down your thighs, the loud slapping of skin against skin and animalistic growls echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls and intensifying the sensation of your brain being turned to mush with how good you felt, how good he always made you feel.

“‘MmMMH! S-sO!! H-aaH!! NNHH!! So g-good!! Alpha!! Y-you fah… feel!! Mm!!”

It was hard to get a coherent sentence out as his thick cock filled you up again and again, rubbing and fucking at all your sensitive spots with expert precision, kissing at your cervix each time he bottomed out inside your dripping cunt.

“Mine.” Izuku breathed out roughly, spare hand burying itself between your legs spread wide for him, just so he could rub your puffy, twitching clit in a circle that drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Nn-! N-no! W-ait! It’s t-oo..!! Much!! Aa-aAaaAh!!

You quickly reached another mind blowing orgasm, head flinging back as stars exploded in your vision, his teeth digging into your throat making you nose dive off the edge of pure ecstasy.

Your pussy fluttered around his aching dick, squeezing him like a molten hot vice as you came on his cock, stomach feeling full as you squirted onto his tense thighs.

He didnt stop fucking in and out of you as you came undone, only adding to the extreme, overwhelming pleasure you felt, pins and needles dancing across your shocked skin making your head lob to the side as fat tears rolled down your flushed and sweating cheeks.

Suddenly, you were flipped onto your back, dick pulling from you momentarily with a wet pop, your thighs trembling like a newborn doe around him were shoved down to the bed, fully exposing your pretty pink, wet cunt before shoving himself back inside your warm heat.

“IZUKU—!”

You screamed his name, your own nails digging into the toned muscles of his back, scratching to ground yourself as his hips snapped into yours so roughly the bed banged concerningly loud against the wall.

The bed was squeaking so loudly you feared for a second it would break from the sheer force he was giving each time he slammed into your over-sensitive pussy.

“No!” He snarled into your ear, glaring at your blissed out face, “who am I?” His threatening tone made you shake like a leaf, only turning you on even more.

His nose was crinkled up as he growled at you, ears pressed to the back of his head,

“Y-you’re Iz- HAAAH!!! AAAH!! oOOH MY- F-FUCK!” His hips moved impossibly faster, stirring up your insides like day old soup on a burner.

It made your toes curl as incoherent babbles fled from your mouth, “ALPHA!”

He always loved it, being called Alpha.

“That’s right.!” He grunted, pulling back, he forced you to stare into his eyes blown wide with lust and gleaming in the silvery, angelic light of the moon pouring in from the open window,

“I’m your alpha.”

[contemplativepancakes]

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

i.

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room. 

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting. 

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose. 

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated. 

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt. 

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose. 

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier. 

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes. 

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up. 

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room. 

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag. 

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.  

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap. 

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly. 

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond. 

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely. 

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days. 

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water. 

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades. 

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received. 

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword. 

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously. 

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight. 

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath. 

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank. 

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. 

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat. 

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it. 

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there. 

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth. 

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts. 

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing. 

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor. 

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. 

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked. 

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes. 

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed. 

Geralt grits his teeth. 

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff. 

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him. 

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up. 

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said. 

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left. 

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again. 

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter. 

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on. 

-

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion. 

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view. 

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked. 

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed. 

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter. 

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky. 

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe? 

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from. 

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt. 

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else. 

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him. 

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it. 

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing. 

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point. 

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself. 

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot. 

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared. 

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers. 

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed. 

And, gods, did he miss a lot. 

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around. 

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it. 

 Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh. 

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier. 

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt. 

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp. 

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came. 

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help. 

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat. 

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts. 

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows. 

v.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself. 

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen. 

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s. 

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long. 

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs. 

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place. 

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh. 

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time. 

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream. 

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react. 

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away. 

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. 

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—” 

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers. 

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin. 

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone. 

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness. 

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear. 

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp. 

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. 

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree. 

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits. 

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines. 

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth. 

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention. 

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself. 

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out. 

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip. 

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again. 

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him. 

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist. 

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles. 

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him. 

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point. 

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough. 

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits. 

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock. 

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole. 

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles. 

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. 

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him. 

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it. 

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless. 

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him. 

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach. 

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers. 

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums. 

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear. 

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing. 

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly. 

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting. 

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him. 

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin. 

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum. 

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

[sophie-jen]

water lilies and tadpoles

read on ao3

James rolled onto his back. He looked up at the sun, shining joyfully in the cloudless sky, then immediately groaned, and rolled back onto his stomach.

"You look like a beached whale, honey."

James groaned again. "S'hot," he mumbled. 

"Why don't you go down to the lake and take a swim?"

James did not dignify this question with a response. His mother had been trying to kick him out all morning. She clearly didn’t want him in her way as she pranced around in her sunhat, gardening tools in hand. James was too miserable to care. He just groaned louder and rolled over again. But this was the wrong move, he realized belatedly, as he felt the crunch of his mother's favorite lilies being crushed under his weight. 

Five minutes later and a shovel shaped dent in his skull found James making his way toward the stupid lake. As he pushed his way valiantly through swarms of mosquitoes, he considered the very real possibility that he would drown in his own sweat before he ever reached water. 

The suffocating heat made everything hazy. Overhead, branches swayed. Leaves rustled. Underfoot, twigs crunched. Moss whispered. Streams of light danced around him. Birds croaked. Frogs chirped. A mushroom tipped its cap to him. 

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it occurred to James that he might be lost. Just as the beginnings of panic started brewing in his stomach, his foot caught in a root and he went toppling down a hill. He rolled to a stop next to a small glittering lake, and groaned. This was definitely not the lake his mother had been referring to. He hadn’t known there even was another lake in this area. It really was quite small, resembling more of an oversized pond.

There was something emphatically off about the happy twinkle of the water and the ethereal glow that bathed everything in a golden light. He also couldn’t help but notice that the water lilies were eyeing him suspiciously. To their left, a large, judgmental looking trout poked its face out of the water, took a good look at him, and with a disappointed shake of its head, went back down to report what it had seen. And sat on an outcrop not three feet away, looking straight at him while her fingers combed through her long tendrils of red hair, was a mermaid. This was a little much for poor James to take, and mercifully, after one last groan for good measure, consciousness fled and everything faded to black. 

                                                      *

James gasped awake. He lay in the dark for a few seconds, contemplating the strange dream he had been having, before sitting up. As he did, something cold and slimy slid off his eyes and down his face, taking his glasses with it. He felt around for the glasses, slid them back onto his nose, looked at the lily pad that had dropped into his lap, and felt his stomach drop with it. 

"I thought it might help cool you off."

He looked over at the girl who sat not far away. She was looking at him with an expression of mingled apprehension and curiosity. And sure enough, when James looked down, he saw curled under her a long gray tail, scales shimmering in the sunlight. He had to make a considerable effort not to faint again. 

"I’ve found lily pads are really refreshing. I was afraid you had heat exhaustion or something,” the girl said. 

“Oh. Thank you.” James didn’t know how to explain to her that it most likely wasn’t the heat exhaustion that had caused him to swoon. 

“I'm Lily, by the way."

James considered her for a moment. Considered at what point between rolling onto his mother’s lilies and meeting a mermaid named Lily he had lost his mind. Considered the lily pad laying limply in his lap. Made a decision. 

"I'm James."

                                                      *

“So, uh…” James kept his eyes on the small blue fish eating out of the mermaid’s hand. He was trying not to stare at her webbed fingers. “You live here? In the lake?”

“No, I actually prefer to perch on tree branches.” She gave James such a deadpan look as she spoke that he was inclined to believe her. At this point, he was inclined to believe just about anything. 

“Yes, of course I live in the lake,” she continued after a moment. She turned back to the fish, which was stretching as far as it could out of the water, vying for her attention. 

“Ah. Right.” James mulled this over for a moment. “But where do you-” he paused, trying to think of the best way to ask the question. “Well, where do you, you know, live?” Well said. “I mean, have you got a bed at the bottom of the lake or something?”

“Yep. I even splurged on a water mattress recently.”

To James’ surprise, a snort of amusement escaped him. Lily smiled as she stroked the fish, which flapped its tiny fins happily. 

“Honestly, I mostly sleep on land. I like looking at the stars.” She gave the fish a final pat, before leaning back onto her arms, her tail stretched out in front of her, and tilting her face towards the sun. “I couldn’t really do that much back home.”

“Back home?” 

“I live in the ocean.”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I got caught in a storm and washed up in a river somewhere, so I swam up here.” She leaned over and lifted a clump of moss off the end of her tail, where a large translucent fin lay. The left portion of the fin was in tatters, and an angry looking rip spanned almost the entirety of it. "I can't swim properly with my tail in that state." 

"So, what, you're just stuck here?" 

"Until it heals and I can try finding my way home. But I honestly don't mind. I grew up surrounded by angelfish and dolphins, so lake trout and tadpoles have been a nice change of pace.“ 

Despite her lighthearted tone, she didn’t look particularly thrilled as she said it. James immediately felt compelled to do something, though what that something was, or why he even felt compelled to do it, were beyond him. Instead, his mouth moved of its own accord. "Oh, so you're usually surrounded by a much more so-fish-ticated crowd, then," he said, placing emphasis on the “fish”. He regretted it immediately.

“Did you just-” She looked at him incredulously, but James was thrilled to hear the laughter in her voice. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Yeah, my bad, won’t happen again.”

“Unbelievable,” she said through a giggle. 

Not wanting to push his luck, he stayed quiet, and they sat in silence together. The fish, realizing it wouldn’t be getting anything more from Lily, swam up to James and gave a hopeful wiggle. He stroked it distractedly as the mermaid next to him sighed and readjusted the moss covering her fin. James only hoped she couldn't hear the frantic whirring of cogs as he tried to make sense of the pretty redhead and her tail, quietly soaking up the sun beside him. 

                                                      *

"Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at my tail."

"It looked at me first."

"It's impolite to stare."

"Social norms don't apply when your cousin is a guppy."

A lily pad thwacked James across the face.

                                                      *

The sun was beating down mercilessly. James sat at the edge of the water with his feet dipped in up to his ankles. He watched as Lily resurfaced, yet another trinket in her hands, and swam closer to add it to the row of eclectic objects she had set out on the sand. She called them her treasures, although they looked more like what a demented three-year-old might drag home from the playground. 

While she fiddled with what looked like a vaguely heart-shaped ball of algae, he examined one of the rocks. She had said it reminded her of the hammerhead shark that would dig up her garden in search of crabs. It was oblong and one of the ends was slightly flat. To James, the resemblances ended there, but Lily had been thrilled at the discovery, so he had smiled and praised how hammerheaded the rock looked. 

He set the rock back down and checked to see what Lily was doing. She was still poking at the green blob. Her hair looked darker now that it was wet, pooling like blood in her collarbones and trickling down her back in rivulets. He looked away as soon as she turned toward him, and stared intently at a chipped snail shell. 

“I know, it’s not very impressive.”

“What? No...” 

She raised her eyebrows in skeptical amusement. “I wish you could see the collection I have at home. I’ve got this gorgeous pocket watch I found with all these flowers carved on the back. It doesn’t tell the time anymore though.”

“Where’d you find it?” asked James. He slid into the water and made his way towards a water lily he had spotted. 

Lily hadn’t seemed to notice, focused on smoothing out the wrinkles of the snake skin she had laid out. “We collect them from shipwrecks,” she explained.

“That’s morbid.” He snapped the flower off the stem and waded back over to Lily and her treasures. 

“Is it? I remember when I was little, my sister and I used to go looking for sunken ships and scare the octopuses living in them.”

“Here, add this to your collection.” Lily turned toward him, and he handed her the water lily he had picked. 

“I can’t add that. It’ll start wilting soon.” She took the flower from him, her fingers brushing his as she delicately held the white petals. He dipped his fingers in the water to quell the tingles. 

“Oh. I just thought it was pretty.”

She studied the flower for a moment, before placing it in her hair and securing the stem behind her ear. He watched as she fussed with it, trying to get it wedged properly. “There. That way we can enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I can get you another when it turns brown,” James offered. 

“No, I like this one,” she said. “I don’t want to replace it. Some things are meant to be temporary anyway.”

                                                      *

"GAAAHHhhbrrggllslg..."

"Pipe down, you'll scare the fish."

James came back to the surface, spluttering and coughing. “This clearly isn’t working,” he wheezed. 

“Really? I thought we were making great progress.” 

“Funny, ‘cause I thought that’s the third time you’ve nearly drowned me.” James rubbed his eyes a final time and opened them. Lily floated next to him, her hair like a pool of blood around her. He pulled a piece of it out of his mouth. 

She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a snail that had gotten tangled in the strands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Well excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation.”

“You’re acting like I’m trying to kill you!”

“Lily, I don’t have gills! You can’t just push me underwater without warning!”

She looked surprised at his outburst, her green eyes were wide with worry, and James immediately felt bad. 

“Listen, it’s fine. I just got freaked out for a moment,” he backpedaled. 

Lily wasn’t listening. “Maybe we should stop.” 

“No, really, it’s fine! I’ll just make sure to plug my nose next time!” 

But she was already swimming away, and with a flick of her tail, she had disappeared to a place where he couldn’t reach her. 

                                                      *

The bite was oozing. Oozing what, he didn’t know. Didn’t really want to know. He had never thought he would be having to deal with fish bites. Hadn’t realized such small fish even had teeth. Evil little bastards. Always sweet and cuddly when Lily was around. But this was apparently a summer of firsts. 

He poked at the angry looking marks, and hissed. Lily would know how to take care of this. Fix it. He had no idea where she was. She hadn’t yet resurfaced. 

Not knowing what to do, he climbed onto the outcrop where he had seen her for the first time, and stretched out. Warmth enveloped him on all sides, immediately making him drowsy. As he drifted off, he thought about how unbothered he was. Everything was fine. He let himself be pulled under, into the depths of sleep, not worried in the slightest. She would turn up. She always did. 

                                                      *

He’s sinking deeper into dark blue depths. His legs keep up a frantic pace as he kicks, trying to propel himself forward. All he can see is her: her long, slender fingers, her wrists, her collarbones, glowing in the murky water as she hovers, ethereal. All he wants is to go to her, but with a laugh she turns and swims further down, engulfed by the darkness. 

He can just make out her tail undulating as she moves inexorably on, never slowing down. As he follows her, going ever lower, several jellyfish zoom by, their tentacles tangling together to form a billowing cloud of exhaust. Somewhere to the side, a school of clownfish float in a large reef together, studying. A preoccupied looking manatee comes out of a dense wall of seaweed and almost bumps into James, muttering an apology as it hurries away. 

James is undeterred, his focus only on the mermaid in front of him. She turns to face him, curls one finger in a beckoning motion, and her smile is a hook that snags him, reeling him in, pulling him closer to her. Her lips are moving. He can tell she’s saying something, something important, but he can’t understand her. The water is filling his ears, muting everything, and he strains to hear her, to make out something, anything. Panic rises in his throat as her face grows troubled, panic so thick it’s suffocating. He can’t breathe, and she’s floating further into the murky shadows, and he hates the greedy gloom taking her away from him with every fiber of his being. As she grows ever more distant, his panic grows, and he’s never felt so lost, so helpless. He has to reach her, to stop her, and she’s screaming, screaming his name, over and over and-

                                                      *

“James!” He opened his eyes, gasping for air. After several steadying breaths, the darkness began receding. He blinked while the world came back into focus. The panic he had felt so acutely was already fading, dripping through his fingers, leaking out of his ears. It was replaced by the feeling of solid rock under his back, the sun wrapping him in warmth, and Lily’s hands cupping his cheeks. Her face was right over his, her hair forming a curtain around them. 

“Here.” He felt his glasses being placed gingerly over his eyes. “You alright?” 

Lily’s voice was laced with concern, her eyebrows knitted so close together they were almost touching. Her face was so close to his that he could see every individual hair in her eyebrows. He focused on one hair that lay slightly askew, pointing towards a freckle on her eyelid, as he finished catching his breath. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a weird dream.”

“Oh. Sure. I have those all the time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely. The other day, I dreamed that I had climbed up a tree, and I couldn’t get down. And you were in the water, and I kept calling you, and asking you to help. But you insisted that you couldn’t, because you had to practice your underwater somersaults. And I was so angry that I started picking crabs off the tree and pelting them at you. But you kept catching them in your mouth and eating them. And you were laughing the whole time. And then you said, ‘Look, Tulip!’ and did a backwards somersault with so much force that you created a huge wave that knocked me off the tree. And then I woke up.”

“Sorry about that.” James was trying very hard to keep a straight face. 

“I can’t believe you called me ‘Tulip’,” Lily said with a frown.  

She looked so genuinely offended that James immediately felt compelled to comfort her. “Like I would ever forget your name!” 

“What was your dream?” she said quickly. 

“Oh, I was just drowning.”

“Well that’s not bad. Why do you get to have normal dreams?”

“Probably because I know how to do backward somersaults.”

                                                      *

James stared at the water intently, looking for any disturbances in the smooth surface. In his hand, he held a freshwater mussel the size of a large baseball. Lily had dug it up from the bed of the lake for the game she had devised. She had informed him that the mussels' name was Petunia, mentioning something about the mussel reminding her of someone. 

He tightened his hold on Petunia, causing her to give an indignant shake in response. James had discovered that a firm grip was necessary when handling the mussel. She had a tendency to clamp down on his fingers when he wasn’t paying enough attention, and getting her to let go required threats of feeding her to the snapping turtle that lived nearby. 

A sudden ripple drew James’ attention to a spot on his left. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of a tail flicking above the water. As he scanned the green surface, he spotted a smudge of red. Raising Petunia above his head, his eyes following the billowing of crimson under the water, he took a steadying breath, and aimed. He exhaled. Petunia went flying. 

“Fucking ow!” 

The cry told him he had hit his mark. The proud victor had only a moment to celebrate his success before a wave of water was flung in his direction, drenching him entirely. 

“Bit of a sore loser, aren’t you?” James smiled as the top of Lily’s head surfaced. Her eyes narrowed and the green flashed somewhat dangerously, but he took no heed. He was on a roll. “Seems I’ve o-fish-ially won!” 

His laugh was followed closely by a scream as Lily pulled him into the water, and he felt his nose being pinched shut as he went under, smothered by a wave of red tendrils. 

                                                      *

"You know I can't stay here." 

"Can't you? What's so great about the ocean, anyway? So it’s got dolphins. Did you know dolphins are actually vicious? I read that they kill porpoises just for fun."

“James-”

“And they’ve been known to attack people.”

“Are you honestly trying to slander dolphins?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a cruel world out there. But it’s safe here. I can guarantee you’ll never be attacked by a toad.”

“The other day, I woke up with a tadpole up my nose."

“Small price to pay.”

“Small price to pay for not being viciously attacked by a dolphin? Do you hear yourself?”

“I just don’t get why you have to leave right now. How could it possibly be safe? Your tail isn’t even fully healed yet!”

“It will be soon.”

Quiet settled over the little lake again. She broke the silence first. 

"Mermaids can live for up to 300 years."

"My dad is turning sixty next month."

“I want to go home, James. You can go home any time you want. You can be sure that you’ll be able to celebrate your dad's birthday with him. What about me? All I've got here are the tadpoles.”

"You've got me."

"What?"

"You've got me, haven't you? Or do I not count?"

"Of course you count, you idiot. You count so much, you have no idea." 

James' heart must have swollen so big it cut off the oxygen going to his brain because all he could come up with was, "I'm actually terrible at maths." 

She sighed. “I will miss you. But I can’t stay here forever, hoping you’ll visit me occasionally.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.”

                                                      *

The heat had somehow worsened. The pair floated in the cool lake water together, incapable of anything requiring any more energy. He could sense her presence, sensed it constantly, incessantly, tugging on his consciousness whenever he was around her. 

They floated in silence, the only sound coming from two particularly loud swallows. The birds were having it out over a spider they each felt entitled to. The angry chirping hadn’t ceased for at least the last ten minutes. 

James felt a ripple and saw Lily shift over and look up at the birds. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. He felt the sudden urge to bottle up her smile and keep it stashed away, to take out and enjoy on special occasions. Instead, he dunked his head in the water and pretended with all his might that his heart wasn’t being constricted so tight it would shrink to the size of a marble and roll out of his mouth when he was sleeping. 

                                                      *

And then she was gone. Just like that, the lake was empty. James sat on the outcrop, and watched as a wilting water lily floated by serenely. A small blue fish poked its head out of the water. The fish looked around and then stared at James for a few moments, as though wanting to ask something, before diving back under with a small splash.

Here’s a painting that I think looks just like Lily

[ohheyitsokay]

classic

pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: none, tropes on tropes on tropes, weird descriptions of things

summary: good, old fashioned fan fiction chaos

notes: there’s no getting around it - everything I write with Jack is inevitably influenced and inspired by @scribbledghost s version of him, particularly her neighbor!whiskey. I tried not to, but I still feel I should give credit!

>>

It was the kind of razor your grandfather would have used – more of a knife than anything, because of course it was.

Of course this would be edge that your housemate used to slide along his jaw and chin and cheeks to make that perfect mustache before work in the mornings. He was the type to love old fashioned, traditional, dangerous things - it made sense. After all, that was why you were staying in the guestroom of his ranch home while your apartment was being renovated. Old fashioned courtesy between friends, of course.

Dangerous.

Jack had caught you watching him, impressed in spite of yourself as the sharp blade scraped over his neck, neatly slicing the hairs on his throat, and pushing your heart into yours. It was unnecessarily intense, dramatic, the touch of risk for the sake of vanity. It made you swallow, awed that he wasn’t covered in little cuts, and almost aroused at how casually he used something so akin to a weapon. And that alone made him smirk, cocky, as though he had been waiting for you to notice, hoping to impress you.

A few days later he’d coaxed you to him, settled in a chair with his legs spread wide with confidence as he handed you the tool, smug with confidence – almost a challenge. He had gotten wrecked at work – he actually had, and it was the perfect excuse to draw you close, make you bend to his will. Schoolyard tactics, really, but all of this was, and it was worth it to have your eyes on him alone, face a breath away from his.

It was about trust more than anything. Not that you would ever hurt him, but the power of being over him was heightened by the intimacy as you lathered the cream over his skin.

His deep eyes bore into you, not flickering to the blade as you tried to focus on your task. If he had asked you a different time, another day, you maybe could have refused, but somehow his wanting your steady hand felt heavy with implication.

Ignoring the quickening steps of your heart, your fingers grasped his chin, shaving away the stubble he’d let grow just for this. Each slice of smooth skin revealed left a thick line of froth and hairs on the blade, and you got to breathe as your turned away to wipe it off. You could feel his gaze, still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Hovering over him while he was seated, touching his jaw, leaning close, and meeting those brown eyes would have been too much.

Your denial was as a solid as a wall with half sunk into the ground with cement – almost rooted in your fear of rejection.

It was a challenge to ignore the shots of adrenaline that filled you when he’d reach around you to grab something in the fridge, his chest against your back, hand on your hip. Already you had shoved down the butterflies in your stomach when he’d offered you a place to stay, carried your boxes, and called you sweetheart. You had spent far to long ignoring the way he hadn’t brought a single girl home since you’d been there to fold now and admit anything. Because if you did, there was a chance you would lose your friend forever, and that was out of the question.

You kept your eyes down to keep your hands steady.

For his part, Jack’s plan was only half working. He liked your attention, liked the way your breath hitched as you wiped him clean. But you were closer than you had ever been, patting in the aftershave and you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t open the door for him to push the tools and towels aside and kiss you. All he wanted was to grab hold of you and pull you into his lap and make you melt against him but there wasn’t a moment.

You’d been friends for a long time, been there for each other countless times and he had yearned for you almost as long. At first, he tried to deny it too, grabbing at random women and hating himself when he imagined they were you as he pulled them into his room.

Then he’d given that up, stopped pretending anyone could replace you, that anyone else occupied his dreams, anyone else could be as good a fit for him, and went after you full speed. It had honestly been innocent to invite you to stay, instinct instilled in him from his childhood. Still, he had begun to see the opportunities for the two of you to enjoy intimate domesticity right away, when he’d cooked you dinner and you’d talked at his table for hours, finally not worried about having to drive home. He ached for that – not ever really having to leave you, and he spent more nights than he’d like to admit thinking of knocking on your door.

Only… you were still in your denial phase. Not sleeping around just pretending it was normal to sink into his arms after a bad day, to let your friend play with your hair until you fell asleep, to watch his lips as you gently helped him shave.

It was too vulnerable, to high of a risk to go after you with the chance that you weren't ready. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

-

“What, really?” you said, genuinely surprised. When you’d accepted to stay, he’d promised you there would be no problems, but now you felt guilty.

His mama was coming to town, and would more than likely be staying with him.

“I’ll find somewhere else!”

Jack was already shaking his head at you, like you were missing the joke, but he looked… almost nervous? You couldn’t tell, it wasn’t something you saw on his face often.

“Actually, sweetheart, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he was asking, but it’s not like you could actually say no you him, when he shot that winning smile your way. It was like not petting a puppy – and you were the opposite of allergic to cowboy secret agents.

“You know Mama Daniels,” he said and you smiled, having spent many a summer helping her in her garden, and being thanked with dinners heavy with butter and love. “She’ll like you here, she’ll be over the damn moon.” And you conceded. It would be more than nice, to spend time with such a wonderful woman, an Jack had invested in a very comfortable couch. For a week you enjoyed a hopeful bliss, that she would help remind you Jack was just your friend.

The sun was shining through the windows, the winding almost singing a quiet, breathy song, and everything was as spotless as you could manage. Well worn quilts were clean, and you had set up a little station for yourself in the living room determined to make it your home for the week.

Then she came with a jacket that matched her slacks and shoes with little buckles and a paisley suitcase full of presents for her son, who she insisted wasn’t really grown. She hugged you and scolded you for being at work instead of coming to pick her up, and finally settled at the kitchen table, her intentions clear. You were to sit and catch up - Jack was already pulling the sweet tea you’d made from the fridge and a reused sewing tin filled with butter cookies appeared out of her purse.

Meekly, you sat, knowing if you didn’t eat the cookies in quantity, she would pout her whole visit. You could feel Jack settle at your side as she talked, warm and solid, a comfort, despite the heat of the day.

The cookies disintegrated on your tongue, melting with a burst of sweet before the bite was gone. They were full of love and maternal affection and things that you hated to spend money on and made all bad thoughts disappear. You were thankful your mouth was full of one when she mentioned, offhandedly, how plum delighted she was when she found out the two of you were finally dating. Abruptly, you remembered just how wrong your previous hope was.

The sweet lady had been hinting for you to marry her son since before he’d mastered his first lasso, and apparently, she was sure that moment was well on its way.

“And living together, no less!” she was beaming with pride, tradition apparently irrelevant as she chatted happily about it.

Turning to the man by your side, you found him choking, trying to breathe through the cookie he’d accidentally inhaled. There was a white ring around his irises as he stared at you, panicking and aptly confused. Sure your face matched his, you jerked your head at his mother, a silent argument ensuing.

Did you do this?

No!

What do we do?

We can’t break her heart!

It went unnoticed. You felt helpless, drinking your tea and trying not to have a small meltdown in front of a very misinformed lady who had brought you cookies.

He was your friend! And sure, you liked the weight of his arm around your shoulders or could get lost in the drawl of his voice but that was normal! It was normal to be so comfortable with him as the beginning, end, and highlight to each of your days.

Sounding weak even to yourself, a crack, solid and formidable, formed in the wall you created to protect yourself and the friendship you had built.

“Ma’am, I’ll be back in a moment,” you whispered, grabbing your phone as you grasped at air, hoping beyond logic that you could pretend it was an important call.

You didn’t exactly run away, but you walked very quickly outside, mourning the loss of your little guestroom, and the privacy it offered.

Jack would never, ever smack his mama but he did want to say some choice words. Nothing could have prepared him for the last two minutes of his life, first the embarrassment of the misunderstanding and then… the fear in your eyes.

He hated it, hated it so much more than he ever thought he could, hated that it was probably his fault it was there. And he hated that it shrouded the longing he had begun to see there, these past few weeks. Long strides carried him after you, hearing his own voice distantly saying words, explaining maybe, as he left the table.

There was a tree, trunk too wide to wrap your arms around, thicket of leaves creating bean-shaped shadow on the ground, by one corner of his home.

You were behind it, almost like a child, letting the bark press lines into your forehead. The dappled lighting did wonders for you – you looked the perfect picture of a storybook wanderer in distress.

Jack slowed, overwhelmed with the desire to encompass you in his arms, slay your dragons, and whisk you away. Now was not the time.

He kept his voice soft, reaching for you in place of his hands, trying hopelessly to find the root of your panic.

You were just as quiet, telling him it was fine, you would pretend, as long as you’d talk tonight, after she went to sleep. His heart was creating dramatic movie scenes where you would float into his room, declaring your love for him, before settling in his arms, but he shook them away, agreeing.

Smile over-bright, you touched his smooth cheek a moment too long, before pushing past him back towards the house.

He allowed the afterglow of his daydream to wash over him only a moment before he jogged go catch up with you.

-

The quilt on Jack’s bed had chickens on it, of all things. It was one of those that had clearly been homemade, years and years ago, taken care of, but worn at the edges with memories and use. One pillow had a dent for his head, the other was squashed into an unrecognizable shape

You didn’t know that it wasn’t like that, before. That his arms had only started searching for something to hold onto since you had been around.

All of his room was new to you – it made you feel strange, realizing that for weeks you’d been in his home but not this part of his space.

The afternoon his mother came, he’d been called into the field. You had never quite seen the look on his face as he reasoning fell on deaf ears – desperation and frustration like ants ruining honey on a picnic. The flannel across his back bunched as his shoulders had filled with tension before he stripped it off to change into his work clothes. Jack kissed his mothers cheek and spewed instructions for the both of you, some apologies spilling out and others kept just behind his eyes as he grasped your hand.

His final command was for your ears alone -  that you take his room, and you’d been too panicked to refuse. The last three days, the smell of him and the memorabilia  scattered around the space kept you company when his mother went to sleep and you slept in his bed for the first time, alone.

It was surprising how sentimental he was. His hooks had another cowboy hat on them, a little wider, brown, and considerably more worn. There was a stack of printed photos in a little box by his bed – it was open, and some of the photos had oil-worn fingerprints along the edges. You found ones of you, and your heart flipped inside your chest.

You should have realized it was impossible to deny yourself, your feelings, with him surrounding you like this. Each thing you learned, each reminder of him practically reached off of the walls, as if he were there, coaxing your heart into his hands. It felt silly, almost, that you even tried to ignore it - you had missed him the moment his hand left yours. Now you had all the time to process, surrounded by his neatly folded shirts and the line of his favorite boots.

The idealized illusion of your relationship had only lasted half a day of living with his mother. Her warm brown eyes were too much like her son’s – you couldn’t lie to them. It was good though, for her to hold your hand a listen to you talk as the birds gossiped outside the window and steam seeped out of the pie you helped her bake. Miraculously, she wasn’t disappointed with you, commending your honestly, and explaining that if she was patient until now, then she could certainly continue to do so.

The more you talked to her, the more you suspected that she was right, all along. She helped you dig up the walls, her kind determination the shovel you needed for those concrete roots.

You would work and talk and tuck yourself into his chicken-clad blanket at night and finally, finally let yourself think of him, allow yourself to be in love with him.  You didn’t know he had started actually living in his room again, when he’d started letting himself love you. That he thought of your smile when he’d found his old quilt. Still, the more you thought, the more you could admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too.

That was how Jack found you - absorbed in your thoughts - the whiskey in his hand as forgotten as the mission and the agent he’d played for the past seventy eight hours and twenty one minutes.

He watched through the half open door, words failing him as you sat up, startled and the way your eyes searched for injuries made him want to eat you alive. 

There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in his bed, even though he had told you to be there and three days to daydream about it. It was intensely intoxicating, having someone care for you so intimately. 

With his sheets sliding down around your waist, you looked as good as the pie on the counter, as if a single snapshot could encompass everything he wanted home to be.

You were wearing a shirt he’d given you, years ago, and he swallowed, hard.

“Are you up for that talk?” his voice was rough. It would have been nice, to relish in the feeling of you checking him over, attention on him as he unwound, but he couldn’t wait. This moment was three days overdue.

“I told your mom we aren’t dating,” you blurted and he smiled, having guessed as much. Smoothing the blanket, your hand patted the spot next to you, your legs crossing.

In that, Jack knew something had changed since he left you. The flickering fear had fled your eyes, and you seemed settled into your skin more than ever before.

He sat next to you, having played over how this talk would go a million times, and still not finding the right words. Confidence was easier to find when he was flirting, poking at you, but seemed foreign in the din lights of his bedroom. Instead he shifted trying to lean back with his arm along the headboard, hoping he didn’t seem like a teenager trying to buy himself time.

You began to talk, saving him, and all the things you’d processed with his mama tumbled out of you before you were realizing that you were confessing how much he truly meant you. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been strange how comfortable you felt, but in the moment, you were in awe.

Jack was as handsome as always, if a little roughed up, like he’d worn the same clothes a few days in a row. You wanted to run your fingers over the short, patchy beard he had going, and without a second thought, you did, feeling his cheeks move as he smiled crookedly and leaned into the touch.

There was only a moment of quiet, crickets outside, before he said, “I missed you, too.” And then, “Will you stay, sweetheart?”

When you whispered, “Where else would I go?” he kissed you.

It was late, and there were still words unsaid, questions to be answered, but you both let yourselves get lost, exploring each other. Long moments passed, letting all the pent up yearning overflow like cool water after a long, hot day. Then the next steps came out, whispered between kisses and as he moved over you, shucking the final walls between you, you found yourselves actually dating, and maybe even actually living together. 

Old fairy tales and historic romances played in the back of your mind, inserting their logic into your life like had never quite made sense before.

And you wondered if you had time in the morning, and his mama didn’t give you too much grief, if he would let you help him shave, and eat pie for breakfast. Because for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

<<

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@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @0celestialbitch0 @beautyagegoodnesssize

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Glass Swords

Summary:  Tovar knew he had bad luck–it came with the curse the witch gave him on his thirteenth birthday. Trapped in a contract by a band of bloodthirsty noblemen who use Tovar for his skill with a sword, he has all but resigned himself to a life of servitude. But then a job shoves him into the path of a princess who almost makes him smile. (Cinderella!AU)

Pairing: Pero Tovar/F!Reader

Warnings: None really. I make an allusion to the events of the movie but you don’t have to have seen it to understand this. 

Word Count: 4.8k

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​)

Or you can read on Ao3!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who seemed to have remarkably good luck. He was born to a wealthy, aristocratic family, and being the firstborn and a son guaranteed him a title of his own. His horse always came first in races, his opponents were always making simple mistakes in duels. He always had the keen eye to find a forgotten bit of coin on the ground. His first shot always hit its make when he was hunting.

Yes, Pero Tovar was lucky.

Until his luck soured at the hands of a woods witch.

On his thirteenth birthday, on a hunt with his band of friends and loyal servants, he darted into the forest to call for the hunting dog that had gone after gods-knows-what instead of the fowl they’d been hoping for when they set out. Again and again he called for the hound with no luck.

“Your dog has ruined my garden,” came a sudden voice behind him.

Pero turned to see a woman, old and shrouded in tattered grey robes, emerging from the forest shadows. An answering howl soon followed and a muddied hound bounded up to him, remnants of flowers and trampled vegetables hanging from his panting mouth.

And Pero laughed. What else was he supposed to do?

“For too long I have been held at the whim of your family. They have forgotten the treaty they signed when they came here, building your castle on my land and promising that you would provide. That you would never forget. But you have. And then you laugh when my little source of happiness was trampled by a hound.” Words tumbled from her chapped lips in a language he did not recognize and soon felt as if a bucket of icy river water had been dropped over his head.

“What did you do?” He hissed, feeling himself shake like a scared deer.

“I have made sure the world treats you as it treats me.” Her weathered mouth stretched into a smile he could see beneath the cowl. “But I am not cruel. I only want you to learn a lesson. But your lot seem stubborn so I would not be surprised if it took you the rest of your life.” She stepped forward and pulled a blade from the folds of her robes and Pero took an instinctive step back.

Almost instantly, his heel caught on a root and he tumbled to the moss-covered ground, pain zig-zagging up his spine as he landed.

The witch only laughed and continued forward. She twisted the blade in her hand and she held it out to him. And it was not as if he could say no. Not now. The short sword was clear—like glass. As soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, he felt the cold stone form to his grip, imprinting itself to his touch.

“When you’ve pierced the heart of a princess with your glass sword, then and only then will the curse lift.”

“A-a-a princess?” Pero parroted, feeling his stomach drop.

But the witch was gone and all he had was the glass sword.

His bad luck made itself known when he collided with his sister as they both rounded corners and she tumbled down the stone stairs of their home. Sancha was fine, thankfully but Pero would never forget how the blood pooled around her head or the scream she let out as she fell.

That was his fault. He knew it would only get worse as time progressed. He would not endanger his family. And so, Pero left a short note for his mother and father, telling them that he would return once he’d earned his honor on his own. The note he left for his sister told the truth, apologize for her injuring asking for her forgiveness even though he knew he already had it. Sancha was too pure of heart to ever hold any anger.

He set out. At first, trying to find another witch to counteract the curse. Then, to healers who promised anything and everything for the right price. And then, little by little, his hope faded. For a moment, he did consider driving the short blade through the heart of a princess—any princess—to just be rid of the curse. So he could see his family again. So he could live without worrying about bridges, loose bricks, or roots—or the millions of other things that the witch had made unlucky.

But he couldn’t. And in desperation to stay fed, he took up work as a mercenary. Another unlucky decision. It had led him to far flung lands that would have been an adventure to rival any explorer—he had fought creatures from another world!—but he did not enjoy any of it (aside from a few fleeting moments). And he could kill people who were trying to kill him all the time. Pero was good at it, he found. But it did not necessarily give him much opportunity to even know any princesses or be able to pick them out of a crowd so he could…stab them.

His bad luck continued.

When he failed to return to his employers, a group of nefarious noblemen from some country he didn’t care to remember, with the Black Powder they had requested, there were consequences. And now he was stuck in a contract, unable to leave his ‘employment’ because a bottle of ink had spilled across the contract and blotted out a very telling bit of information. He could not leave unless they were all dead. And if he broke that contract, his life would be forfeit.

He never would have signed—obviously—if he had been able to read that line.

But it was done. He was trapped. His bad luck mostly did not endanger his life—and he was sure the witch made sure of that. It would be no fun if it killed him and he was able to rest in death. The closest he had come to death because of his luck was when an ornamental sword fell from its hold on the wall and nearly took his eye.

One of the noblemen who benefitted from his terrible contract said the scar made him look fearsome. But he said it with a curdled milk smirk that rolled Pero’s stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, he knew.

And now he was called in by his ‘employers’ to settle another job. He vaguely listened—something about needing the little kingdom’s valuable port for some trivial reason and the easiest way to acquire the port was for Pero to kill at least the king and his eldest son so the second-born son could become king. Apparently, the noblemen who were employing him had an agreement with the power hungry prince. Pero was sure there were more details but he did not care to commit them to memory. He knew how to kill and his timeline.

That was all that really mattered.

But first, he needed to scout through the dense forest surrounding the castle to find a way in.

He weaved between trees as he started toward the castle. The outer perimeter walls had been easily climbed without drawing attention and while the surrounding grounds were vast, they were not heavily patrolled. As he continued to close the distance to the dark stone of the castle, Pero started to believe that this might the easiest job his contract had ever permitted him. The one solace he had was still being able to learn languages easily so he was able to learn of this mostly-unattended part of the perimeter wall by listening at the nearest market.

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the drying leaves drew his attention, his head whipping to the side, to one of the few bits of sunlight that slipped through the thick trees overhead.

It was a woman—one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if he was being truthful—sitting atop a horse. She was smiling up at the birds as they sang in the branches. She was dressed in a simple smock and her horse was unsaddled. She was probably a maid from the castle.

But that did not detract from how his throat tightened as he looked at her. She was, after all, beautiful. It was almost embarrassing how he didn’t even realize she had spotted him until it was too late.

“Hello, sir.” Her voice was kind on his ears and he was instantly wondering if she would speak again.

“Hello, my lady.”

“Are you lost? It is not often I see strangers in the kingswood.” She nudged her horse toward him, uncaring of the danger strangers often present. Or maybe she was unknowing. There was a certain sweetness to her that Pero knew could not be feigned.

“I am hunting, my lady. I hope I did not disturb you.”

She shook her head. “I was not aware the king was having a hunting party today. I hope I did not scare away your prey.”

“No, my lady. I have just lost the rest of our party. Do you work at the castle?”

“Yes.” Her smile seemed to be hiding something but Pero thought little of it, instead focusing on how the light made her eyes sparkle.

“Do they treat you well? I am sure I could put in a good word for you,” he said, knowing his roguish smile was starting to cut across his face. He might have the worst luck but he still knew how to make a pretty woman smile.

And it worked because she demurely averted her eyes before biting her lip for a moment. “They treat me much better than they should,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the offer.” She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I can fetch you a bit of water or ale from the kitchens, if you would like? You must be parched.”

“No, no, my lady. But you are kind to offer.”

The sound of someone calling out in the distance had her turning her head with a frown. “I’ve lost track of the hour. I must go.”

And then her dark horse was setting off, galloping between the black-barked trees, and disappearing from sight before he could even ask for her name.

Pero did not find a way into the castle that day. He could have, but he didn’t. His employers allowed him another day of scouting in the woods and he happily took advantage of it and hoped his curse would subside just for a day, or even a few hours, so he might happen upon the maid again.

And his silent plea was heard as he found her at the base of a large tree, a well-worn book settled on her lap.

“Hello again,” she said as she spotted him.

“Hello, my lady.”

She patted the bit of grass beside her and Pero wavered for a moment before taking the offered seat. “Hunting again today?”

“No. I must confess that I was hoping to see you.”

Her answering giggle had something squeezing in the deep recesses of his chest. “Well, you have found me.” She closed the book carefully and turned to face him a little more. “What is your name? I have tried to guess it but I do not think any name I might have conjured would suit you.”

He could have told her his true name. It was not as if she would be able to stop him in his quest. But he knew to never think he could outsmart his curse. “I am Tovar.” And then he quickly added his title that he had not used in decades: “Marquess Tovar.” As if that would somehow make his lie about hunting with the royals more believable.

She gave him her name in return and then started to gently, simply pull him into conversation about anything and everything—from the animals he was unfamiliar with in the forest, to learning how the she grew up inside the castle and still got lost in its twisting, turning halls and rooms.

He knew he should be committing the hints she was giving to him about the castle’s layout to memory but didn’t want to. He only want to continue to hear her speak. She would ask him questions too, about how he was finding her homeland and if he still “did not require a bit of drink to slake his thirst from the kitchens.”

She was…sunlight. And such a sharp contrast to the darkness of the kingdom she resided in with its masses of dark stone, fog, and black wood trees. She did not deserve such darkness. Sunlight. She should have been bathed in sunlight, in warmth, in all things light and lovely. Not here. Not in the dark and cold. Even if it was her home—even if she called it home with a tilt of her beautiful lips.

“Tell me, Tovar. Are you coming to the Masque tomorrow night? I would like to see you again.”

“There is a Masque tomorrow?”

She nodded with another smile and stood, brushing the moss and dirt from her little dress and apron. “The King is celebrating his birthday and his daughter has finally returned from her time abroad.”

“A princess?”

She laughed and held out a hand toward him, helping him to his feet. “Yes. I thought the king would have told you about her when you were hunting.”

“I’ve only heard of his sons,” he said, not entirely lying.

“Either way, will you come to the Masque tomorrow?” She looked so hopeful, so happy. He could not tell her no. And it was with a soft kiss to his cheek that she bid him goodbye and he was left in the dark of the forest, watching her disappear again.

A Royal Masque. And a princess. Perhaps his luck was turning on its own.

This would provide the perfect opportunity for him—kill the princess and be able to dance with the woman whose lips pleasantly burned his skin.

**

It had been easy to procure an invitation to the Masque. It had been harder to find an outfit that would not gain him unwanted attention. The shops were nearly all too busy or too empty but he did eventually find a decent enough ensemble and matching mask without emptying his coffers too much. His employers had been pleased to know he had found a way into the castle without too much fanfare and seemed to approve of his plan to carry out their plot at the masque. (And if another royal died that night, who would think that it was not part of a larger plan instead of a desperate man trying to break a curse?)

Pero handed over his invitation to the major-domo standing in front of the black and gold doors and was finally ushered inside—even after a few of the knights eyed the short sword sheathed at his hip. The halls were filled with more shining dark stone and gilded suits of armor from centuries past. Paintings and tapestries were hung along the walls, depicting the kingdom’s fabled rise to power. Blooms of white flowers were littered about, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to permeate each corner of this little kingdom.

No couples had already to the floor to dance yet but he did spot a few practicing an almost-familiar set of measured steps away from onlookers. The raised dais filled with a few ornately carved chairs—thrones, he supposed—was empty. His targets were not here yet.

But perhaps she was.

He scanned the crowd but did not spot her—even with everyone wearing masks, he was sure he would recognize her from leagues away.

Music suddenly blared, announcing the arrival of someone important. He turned with the rest of the crowd and listened as the royals were announced. There was the youngest son, the next, and then the eldest. The king was escorted by his daughter, but the answering applause and cheer drowned out her name and Pero could only crane his neck too much to try and get a look before he started to look suspicious.

The first official song was called and the heir apparent took the dance with his betrothed before other couples were allowed to join them on the gleaming wooden floor.

Pero continued to scan the crowd, briefly touching the small vials he’d hidden within his doublet, and found the servant in charge of bringing goblets of wine to the king without much trouble.

It was easy.

But then a woman dressed in fine clothes of the kingdom’s sigil was striding toward him, uncaring of the masses of people bowing and curtseying in her wake and she only slowed to a stop when she was right in front of him. This must be the princess. A mask of gold covered most of her features but her eyes sparkled in such a way that Pero could have sworn he had seen them before. They were alight with recognition and mischief.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

“Your highness, I-”

The princess tilted her mask up and…

And that was when he realized, the girl from the forest and the princess…were the same person.

His fleeting moment of happiness had actually been another stroke of bad luck. How cruel.

She looked just as beautiful in her finery and jewels as she did in the smock she had donned in the forest. Her grip was gentle as she carefully started to lead him in the dance and didn’t laugh when he stumbled over her gilded shoes. Eventually, thankfully, he righted himself and was able to properly dance with her, letting the music guide his steps with her gentle corrections whenever he missed one or two.

“You’re a princess,” he said, hating the moment they left his lips.

“I am. Very astute of you, Tovar.” She laughed and stepped back from him as the song ended with a flourish and clapped for the minstrels. But then she turned back to him “Come with me,” she murmured, just low enough for him to hear. The princess didn’t wait for his answer and grasped his hands, quickly leading him through the crowd, some of whom tried to stop them, asking for his name, for a moment of the princess’ time, on and on it went. But she did not falter. Her grip did not loosen.

Not until they were out of the humid air of the ballroom and in the beautiful, cooled night air did she finally stop. Her smile was still wide and his face hurt as he felt himself trying to, unconsciously, mirror her expression. His face was not used to the movement. “What are you up to, princess?”

“I have something to show you.” She squeezed his hands once. “Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I don’t mean to steal you away if you have someone else waiting for you.”

Pero shook his head. “No. No, princess. I am happy to know you want my time as much as I desire yours.”

She bit her lip with a soft giggle. “Well, I do hope you like it.” She stepped back to link her arm through his, and continued to guide him down the shining palace steps and into the lush, green gardens. It was as easy for her to pull little bits of information from him as she tossed her golden mask into a bush without a care.

“Tell me of your homeland.”

“It is beautiful, your highness. Filled with sunlight and…” he drifted off, finally allowing himself to think of his home and family for the first time in years. “I miss it very much.”

She was quiet as he thought and did not seem to mind as he came back to himself—a familiar, gentle smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do not strike me as a man who would leave someone or someplace you love so fiercely without cause. What pushed you to do so, if I may be so bold?”

“Bad luck,” he answered simply. “But tell me, why were you in the forest? Not once, but twice and without an escort or lady’s maid.”

Her face twisted into a pout for a moment. “I must admit that I do not care for every bit of royal life. It can all be so…tedious.”

“So, you snuck away?”

She nodded. “Donned my maid’s dress and took my horse from the stables while the hand was busy tending to my brother’s mare. It took hours for them to even notice I’d missed luncheon.”

“Did you not just return from abroad? I would have assumed that they would scarcely let you out of their sights.”

She shook her head with a laugh as they slowed to a stop in front of rusted gate she opened and waved him through. A secret garden greeted them, filled with all the color that the rest of the kingdom seemed to lack. Even in the moonlight, he could see the vibrant yellow, pink, red, and orange hues of the flowers that were growing haphazardly and unkempt by practiced hands. It reminded him, achingly, of the gardens his mother and Sancha would tend to on their own at home. They had always liked the free-roaming blooms over the careful structure of the manicured grounds.

“They like having me close, true. But underfoot is nothing but annoyance for everyone involved.”

“What is this place?” He asked, letting her pull him onto a simply carved bench in the center of the garden.

She turned to him with another smile—she seemed so fond of smiling. “This was my mother’s secret place. Free from the confines of my father’s kingdom and his advisor’s disapproving eyes. She would bring me here when I was little and teach me the names of all the flowers and how to care for them.”

It did not take long for Tovar to recognize the hurt in her tone.

He wondered if she heard it in his voice when he spoke of home. Of his beautiful family in Spain. Perhaps that was why he rarely spoke of them. But he wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her everything. So, he tried. He told her of the gardens his mother grew and refused to let their servants touch. Told her of how the fields around his home smelled sweet in the spring. Told her of all the colors he had seen on his adventures—even if he had to omit some bits of information to not reveal his true profession. And she listened keenly, asking questions and always seeming to think whatever he had said was interesting. In turn, she told him of her brief time in her mother’s ancestral kingdom, learning all she could and feeling torn when she knew she had to return to her home kingdom.

He was hardly aware of time passing, or how close they had grown on the bench until he heard a crier announcing the time—it was nearing midnight. He turned at the sudden noise and his hand slid across the bench—and quickly earned himself a handful of thorns to the webbing between his fingers. He hissed but hurriedly stopped himself as her gentle, soft hands cradled his and started to remove the thorns one by one. “Bad luck indeed,” she said, teasing. “I had trimmed those blooms back.”

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

The sword at his hip grew heavier.

He could do it. He could run the blade through her chest and pierce her heart and be done with this wretched curse. But her eyes were shining in the moonlight and she smiled at him and he…couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Seeming to sense his distress, her smile faded. “Tovar? What ails you?” She reached out toward him and the moment her soft hand touched his cheek…he fled.

Decades of running toward dangers left him in an instant and he ran like a coward. Out of the garden, through the crowded ballroom where people shouted for him to stop, and out into the courtyard.

He fled. He ran until his legs gave out.

And it was only then that he noticed his sword was missing.

**

Hiding in the woods was not the most comfortable of living quarters but it was not the worst he had used since he had run from home.

He would not face his employers’ wrath. Another job left unfinished would cost him his head, he knew it. To survive, he hunted and forged, only moving into the outskirts of the market when he truly needed to buy something—like healing herbs for when he cut open his arm on a low hanging branch, or new boots after his toe caught on a sharp stone and tore the sole clean off.

Perhaps it was his need to survive and not be noticed, but it took Pero weeks to realize that the kingdom was in a tizzy.

The King had nearly been murdered as the masque and his second son was implicated in the plot. A band of foreign nobles had been arrested and their heads now sat on spikes outside the castle.

But that was not all.

Apparently, the princess had been scouring the kingdom looking for the man she had danced with at the masque—who had left behind a very peculiar short sword; its handle seeming to fit only one man’s hand.

It felt silly to let himself hope.

Could he? Should he let her find him? The curse still loomed. He would not subject her to the danger that seemed to follow him. He could not-

“There you are.”

Apparently he had been ruminating too long and had not noticed the small band of people approaching him at the edge of the market. The princess—and he was loathed to admit that he had momentarily let himself refer to her as His Princess—was standing in front of him with her familiar, beautiful smile on her lips and his sword in her hand. She turned it over, holding the hilt toward him as he hastily bowed.

“This is yours, yes?”

He nodded and reached out for it, feeling the familiar hand fit into his hand like it had for decades. But soon a gentle warmth bloomed up his hand until he could feel it burrowing in his chest. Something had changed.

**

When the king learned of Tovar’s true identity, he was able to grant his daughter’s wish of allowing their betrothal. A son of duke of a wealthy kingdom was a worthy match—and the king liked to make his daughter smile, too, even if it was at the side of a foreign duke who came into palace looking slovenly.

But Pero was still nervous. Even if he no longer tripped on stairs, bricks did not fall and nearly crush his skull, animals did not dart in front of his feet. He wanted to be sure—after all, he had not delivered a heart to the woods witch.

But, on the eve of their wedding, as Pero paced in his ornate and comfortable bedchamber, a sudden blast of cold air had him turning. In front of him stood a familiar woman. Her robes were still tattered but she was…glowing. Near ethereal. The woods witch had come again.

“I could feel your worries from leagues away, little duke.” Her smile was all teeth and he knew to keep quiet. “While I would have preferred the actual heart of that beautiful princess, the curse has been lifted. That little glass sword led her heart to you. You are free. I promise you that.”

“I am sorry,” Pero said, feeling the words rush out as he looked at her. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

“I know,” she hummed before she glanced around the room. “She will like Spain more, little duke. I promise you that.”

Before Pero could ask for specifics, the witch was gone in another gust of cold wind.

**

Pero watched his wife’s smile grow broader and broader as their carriage drew closer to his castle.

The sun was shining. The air was sweet with the scent of springtime flowers and green grasses. It was filled with the colors he had promised her that night in the garden.

His family greeted them warmly and his sweet mother and sister cried in joy at finally having him back home while his father did look quiet near tears, too. Pero just watched it all with a smile on his face, so large and persistent it hurt his face.

“It is beautiful here,” she whispered to him that night in their bedchamber. “But, of course, I would expect nothing more from the land who gave me you.”

Pero kissed her, smiling against her mouth.

His glass sword was forgotten on their bedside table.

He had all he needed, all the good luck in the world, right here in his arms.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

A/N: please let me know what you think! 

[miraculous786]

I vote Damian to be Mari's Persephone because it would be hilarious to see him making flowers bloom when his wife is happy and when she's sad he brings out the hawthorns on anyone that made his Queen cry.

Note: Thank you so much Nonnies and @loveswifi for the help with this! Hope you enjoy it! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

A Hidden Hades Hunting For (Hopefully) Her Husband

Damian is son to Talia al Ghul, the goddess of harvest, sacred law, and the cycle of life and death. There are rumours that beneath her sweet exterior is a woman of high authority and challenge, but none have been confirmed.

She is believed to have wooed Bruce (Zeus) into having her child, however it is more widely accepted that she used her magic and power over fertility to have his offspring without him knowing. His wife Selina refuses to believe that such a brooding yet faithful man would cheat on her after he rid of his playboy-persona millennia ago.

In this AU, Jason is Ares, Dick is Hermes, and Tim is Athena.

Only those who know her well are aware of her true bubbly personality. They’re mostly the deceased souls of those who’ve died.

Marinette is Hades - goddess of the Underworld. She took visits to Earth in order to experience what life was like for mortals years ago, except stopped when gossip flew about around her being dark, despicable, evil.

Marinette laughed. Her domain didn’t need any worshippers in order to prosper, but she didn’t tell Lila that. She only sat back and watched, a grin on her face as students with glowing eyes accused her of unspeakable acts. It was only when one that she viewed as a sibling of sorts - Adrien Agreste - did as well that she decided to do something.

What happened was that a class of teenagers she came back to frequently were put under the spell of Dolos, or Lila who she took the form of. She sensed Marinette’s ichor and threatened to turn her followers against her if she didn’t conform to her will.

It was only after all of their deaths that they learnt what happened.

With a flick of the wrist, a crack formed in the ground beneath Dolos, soon enlarging into a crater as limbs made of fire pulled her screaming form down into the depths of the Underworld. The class watched, stunned, but then a fog began to clear out of their minds. They seemed to wake up, apologies on the tips of their tongues, only to realise that Bridgette and Adrien weren't there anymore.

Dolos was doomed to having to solve an infinite puzzle, whilst Adrien was allowed to live as an equal to Marinette in hell. The class, now adults, are sentenced to be souls who help them in their duties. They aren’t mistreated, however. On the contrary, they’re viewed as friends to her.

Now, we skip to present day.

Damian is sitting on a bench in one of the gardens that he is confined to on the orders of his mother, when he suddenly hears what sounds like a bark. He turns around, only to be met with something shoving him to the ground.

He whips out a vine, wrapping it around the creature to inspect its species. That's when he realises that it's a dog. A very happy dog that starts to lick his face all over and leave its saliva everywhere.

Despite his cold personality, Damian has a soft spot for nature and animals of any sort. He picks it up, stroking it gently and trying to fight off the urge to smile at the way it leans into his touch.

He's touch-starved himself, to put it simply.

Damian sits with what he realises to be a male dog for a few minutes more. He doesn’t bother to keep an eye out for Talia - he’s too busy creating vines that his new friend bats at with his paws. It explains why he doesn’t realise the person walking up to him until they put a hand on his shoulder.

A polite voice calls for him, asking if he found their pet.

He turns, only to be met with a beautiful face framed by a black hood. The woman smiles at him, then suddenly calls out, “Titus!” with a surprised expression.

The animal in his arms leaps forward, starting to lick her whilst jumping up and down happily. Her laughter causes Damian to freeze, since he starts to sense the magic surrounding her. She’s a diety, he realises. But how did she get in here?

That day is the day that a friendship blossomed between Damian and Marinette.

She convinces him that she’s a nymph of sorts, citing that the reason some plants wilt around her are because of a curse set upon her by Talia. It makes him cautious and understandably distrustful until she assures him that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They keep their meetings a secret for years, though it doesn't feel like that long because of their immortality. Titus is usually the communication between them, and leads Damian to where he needs to go within his mother's gardens to find Marinette.

She has earrings that preserve her identity and prevent nature around her dying - however, plants still wilt and weaken enough to be on the brink of death. They are brought back to life by Damian almost constantly when she is in his presence, meaning she can touch them without worry.

As time passes, the two become closer. Instead of words, they begin to trade flower crowns and daisy chains. They always have blushes on their cheeks when talking to one another, or even thinking about each other.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Talia.

She plans to figure out once and for all why her son's demeanor has changed, at least until she's called to Olympus by the higher-ups in order to discuss something. Something involving Damian.

This only makes it easier for the two to get away with their escapades.

One day, whilst her and Damian are sitting under a tree, Marinette pulls out a black ring. She shyly offers it to him, making him flustered as he slowly takes and slides it on his finger.

What he doesn't know is that there's magic laced within the jewellery.

They relax for a few minutes in silence, until she breaks it by calling his name. She takes a deep breath, preparing herself as she explains that she's not really a nymph - she's a diety. A diety that he wouldn't like if he found out about the domain that she ruled over.

A soft hand cups her tear-stained cheek. She looks up, only to hear Damian whisper, "I'm sure that's not true, Beloved."

That's all it takes for her to yank him forward into a kiss, which he returns full-force under the watchful gaze of her sibling Adrien in the shadows. It takes all of his will to not jump up and down from joy.

They officially become a couple that day.

Marinette returns to the Underworld in the evening with a dazed expression, causing Alya and her friends to grin and float up to her. She deals with their relentless teasing, trying to cover her face out of embarrassment whilst she hesitantly tells them all what happened.

Adrien is the first to suggest courting Damian, though she immediately shuts it down and expresses fear at being found out. Her reputation was tainted, after all - and maybe he would go back on his promise of still loving her true self.

He manages to convince her of his sincerity by reminding her of all their interactions (he may or may not have watched over them to keep watch and see his ship sail), and Marinette eventually comes to the decision to start courting.

As she prepares lavish gems to gift him in the future, she is unaware of what is happening in the skies way above.

She'd refused to give him up - saying that he was her pride and joy and the perfect soldier for them to use in battle against future enemies trying to overthrow them. That made him even more angry.

Bruce, after a long conversation with Selina and his many children, had decided to have a conversation with Talia about his youngest son not too long ago. He showed interest in wanting to have custody of Damian on Olympus instead of her having him on Earth, making Talia lose her sweet attitude and gain a scowl.

Lightning struck harsh that night, and the goddess of harvest had returned home with her tail between her legs and a newly-formed resentment towards Damian. He was too busy thinking about his 'nymph' friend to notice, however.

In Olympus at the current moment in time, Damian is kneeling before Bruce. The god tells him to stand, his sons and daughters at his side displaying various levels of shock as he begins to explain why he is there, and why he will be in the future.

Everyone had agreed that Talia wasn't a good fit for him, due to her revealed intentions for his birth. He doesn't have time to argue about the situation before he is whisked away into a room fit for a royal, high in the clouds and miles away from his girlfriend.

The next morning, a dinner is set up with all of the gods in Olympus, including Tim, Jason and Dick. Dick is enthusiastic, trying to make conversation with Damian as his brothers are eating (or drinking coffee...). However, he has none of it.

He's too busy thinking about Marinette. How she would think that he'd broken his promise, or had abandoned her, or forgotten about her. His demeanor switches to his defensive one - cold, cruel, uncaring.

Marinette returns to Earth with a crown in her hands the next day, which has a shining jewel in the centre and spikes with the finest of gems at their points. She looks around excitedly, smile on her face as she and Titus wait for Damian.

Hours pass.

Up in Olympus, said diety is being introduced to family friends and other gods, that all coo at him much to his displeasure. He growls under his breath after every new person he meets, only cementing in everyone that he is a child. A young one that needs to be watched over like a hawk lest he attempts to go back to his mother.

Just as he enters his room with a heavy heart, he senses something strange in the mortal world. Large fields of crops near to his old home had just been destroyed - their roots upended and ripped out. His eyes widen.

Damian rushes to Earth, taking a route that is unknown to most whilst trying to keep hidden from his new siblings. He reaches his destination in a matter of mere seconds, but it's too late. He only breathes out a shocked sigh as he gazes down at the crater in the ground.

There's a glint of something gold at the bottom of it, and he picks the item - the crown - up with almost invisible tears in his eyes. The ring on his finger burns as a reminder of Marinette's emotions.

Below him, a frantic Adrien is trying to calm her down, but it's no use. The goddess of the Underworld is hysteric, crying rivers of tears filled with betrayal as souls all around try to ease her too.

Damian spends the next centuries and millennia on Olympus, sometimes returning to Earth when he wants to remember Marinette.

He keeps her a secret from all of the gods except for one of his friends - Jon (Artemis) - though he only mentions that she was someone important that handed him the crown that is always on his head.

He reluctantly begins to view Tim, Jason and Dick as brothers when enough time has passed, but never admits it. Selina and Bruce, however, catch the glints of relief in his eyes when they're in his presence. He finally has someone to talk to without worrying about Talia, excluding Marinette all those years ago.

Speaking of which, she had slowly become closed off and harsher in her treatment of the dead in the Underworld. They see that she's spiraling, hiding her depressed state under a constant frown, but can do nothing about it. Even Adrien is unable to bring back her kind personality in the absence of Damian.

That is, until he catches word from the messenger, Dick, that he is up in the skies on Olympus.

It's a slip-up, of course, but he still manages to catch what Dick says and act like he didn't. He waits until he's gone before he rushes back to Marinette and tells her what he suspects.

A small smile spreads across her face. One that is cruel like the rumours say, yet happy like she once was. Of course he didn't want to leave her, she thinks. He was simply forced into doing so.

Damian is talking to Jon about another recent affair in the middle of a mortal forest, when suddenly, he freezes. He feels a familiar burn at the ring on his hand, along with fields full of nature dying in an instant miles away.

He uses a zeta portal to teleport to the area, leaving behind a confused Jon. He zips around, eyes wide as he senses the plants around wilting slightly, along with some of the nearby animals inching away from him.

Everything becomes quiet. That's when he catches a flash of black darting around in the corner of his vision. He turns there, his eyes widening in recognition when seeing a dog wagging its tail happily.

"Titus!"

Damian takes a step forward.

A large crack forms in the ground beneath him, revealing the depths of the Underworld in all of their glory. Just as he's about to fall down, a chariot of the darkest colours hovers below him, soon speeding off without a second to waste with him inside.

He tries to command vines to capture the person at the reigns of it, but can only muster enough energy to sag back. Strong magic fills the air around him, forcing him to stay seated on plush pillows.

The last thing he sees before his sight is shrouded with nothing is a glint of red at his kidnapper's ears.

~*~*~

More to come!

There will be a second part, which will include general headcannons and what happens after this. Feel free to send in an Ask if you have any suggestions of different legends in Greek mythology that could be included. :)

@northernbluetongue @moonystars14 @soupfilledboots @vixen-uchiha @starsshineandgivehope @professionalfangirl1738 @queen-in-a-flower-crown @pale-lady-dreamer