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adoringhaikyuu · 3 years

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they reject you and regret it afterwards

CHARACTERS: kuroo + iwaizumi + osamu + (gn!reader)

REQUEST: pspspsps i hope its okay if i drop my request here since i saw that yours are open :D can you maybe do how kuroo, iwaizumi and osamu rejects reader confession ( they are best friend ) because they have feelings for another person but later they regret it when they moved on? i love it when the boys realize it later how much the reader means to them but y/n took the chance to move on and have a sexy glow up ✋😩 yessss i wanna see them suffer at the end >:) • by anonymous

WARNINGS: dumb boys hurting your feelings and you hurting them right back :/

NOTES: i feel like i’m not too good at writing angst lol but i made these blurbs instead of hcs!

kuroo let you down easy, not wanting to hurt your feelings––to be honest he did feel something for you, but he wasn’t sure if it was what you wanted it to be. he felt more certain of the feelings he had for someone else. someone you slowly watched him admire from afar until he worked up the courage to start joking with them, then offering to buy them lunch and so on.

you still remember the awkward smile he gave you when you confessed to him, the smile that absolutely broke you because it showed you how much he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. not enough to give up his efforts with someone else. “i’m flattered y/n, but i’m sorry i just––you know i have a date this week...”

you’d looked down immediately, unable to look him in the eyes longer and swallowed back the lump in your throat that was aching to come up in a sob. “yeah yeah, i’m sorry i just––let’s forget this ever happened, yeah?”

you gave him your most convincing smile and he agreed, wanting everything to be normal between the two of you.

but it wasn’t until he’d gone on a few dates with them to realize that it didn’t feel right. it didn’t feel familiar, the way he thought it would. it wasn’t the same comfort he felt in your presence. when they texted him, he didn’t feel the same burst of happiness he felt when you messaged him. he tried to wait it out, to see if things would change, but they didn’t. they just weren’t you.

it’d been a few weeks since you’d confessed and gotten rejected, but you decided to move on instead of dwelling on his unrequited feelings––it wouldn’t do you any good to wallow and weep over your best friend. you wanted him to be happy, and you deserved to be too. so you knocked yourself out of that sad headspace and changed yourself up a bit. you started to value yourself better than you did before, you dressed the way you wanted to but were always afraid of doing and everything about you just brightened up. and other people noticed as well.

kuroo had kind of been too preoccupied to notice, if he was being honest. he didn’t realize what he had in front of him until he practically sprinted over to your place to surprise you and be honest about his feelings. you opened the door, already dressed up and kuroo took a step back, eyes widening as they took you in. did you always look this breathtaking?

“wow...”

you smiled gratefully, straightening out your clothes. “thanks, that’s what i was going for.” you walked back into your apartment to get your shoes, “not that i mind but what are you doing here?”

he blinked out of his trance and stepped in, closing the door behind him. “oh i just––i brought us some food.” he raised the bag he was holding even though you weren’t facing him. “i was kinda hoping we could spend some time together...” he scratched the back of his head, “maybe talk about a few things...” he trailed off when something clicked in his head as he watched you slip your shoes on. “wait why are you all dressed up?”

you turned and looked at him apologetically, “oh...i’m sorry kuroo,” you paused, “i actually have somewhere to be. can i take a raincheck?”

he opened his mouth for a few seconds as he watched you, but no sound came out. “oh um...well could i just––wait here? until you get back?”

you looked to the side awkwardly bringing one hand up to hold your other arm. “it’s just that...i might not be alone when i come back.”

as soon as you uttered those words, he could feel his heartbeat falter in his chest, a faint ringing noise in his ears.

“...a date?”

you nodded with a smile and though it’s selfish, he felt a part of him dim on the inside when he noticed how excited you were. he didn’t really have a right to stop you now did he, not when you chose his happiness over your own what felt like way long ago. so he wouldn’t.

he nodded as well, “oh” he forced a smile onto his face and stepped back towards the door, “that’s exciting. i’m happy for you, really.” he turned the door knob, “i’ll catch up with you some other time then, yeah? you’ll tell me how it went.” he looked at you one last time, his gaze wavering under the undeterred happiness radiating from you.

when he finally stepped out and closed your door, all the emotions hit him at once. he didn’t know what hurt the most, the fact that he was too late, or the fact that you didn’t stop him, didn’t notice the pleading look in his eyes as he silently begged you to stay with him.

iwaizumi froze when you told him how you felt. it was the smallest reaction you’d ever seen from him before, the calmest––yet it did anything but soothe you. you could see the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty of what to say next in the way his mouth opened but produced no sound. you already knew what he was going to say.

he will admit, seeing the tears in your eyes that you barely managed to blink back when he rejected you did strike a blow to his heart. but he just couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear, he wouldn’t lie to you. “i––i’m sorry y/n i just...don’t feel the same.”

his eyes were apologetic, almost pitiful as he watched you take a step back, “right, right. that’s––that’s okay.” you tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. “i just didn’t want to keep it to myself, that’s all. i’m sure i’ll get over it soon.” he nodded but wasn’t sure what else to say. so he didn’t say anything.

things were a little awkward for a couple weeks between the two of you, but you didn’t want to lose your friendship, so you eventually moved on.

it wasn’t until one day you were at the café you always went to together that you noticed him taking longer than usual to bring back your drinks. you looked over to see him chatting with the barista, both of them with nervous smiles on their faces. he came back a few minutes later with a note in his pocket that you assumed was the barista’s number and a blush on his cheeks. he placed your drink in front of you, eyes looking down, and didn’t mention anything, probably since he didn’t want to rub it in, so you didn’t bring it up either.

but you did wonder if they were the reason he didn’t feel the same for you––you wondered if they weren’t in the picture, if he would have fallen for you instead.

he didn’t want to hide anything from you, so he told you when he had a date coming up. you wished him luck and told him you hoped he’d have a good time and that was that.

they ended up dating but you didn’t mind. he seemed happy and you truly did want the best for him. you started focusing on yourself and eventually found a boyfriend, one who appreciated you and loved you and you couldn’t ask for more.

iwaizumi was happy for you as well, but he couldn’t ignore this piercing feeling he felt when he first heard the news, then when he would see you two together, on your double dates, at parties, anywhere, really. something just ticked him off. he knew he didn’t have a right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t make sense of it. he couldn’t even figure out what it meant.

only once he realized the ache he felt in his chest when you smiled at your boyfriend the way you used to smile at him, the pull at his heart when you kissed his cheek, completely enamored. only then did he realize that he was jealous, that he’d made a mistake, that he’d lost the one chance he had of being with his soulmate.

osamu had just gotten his new restaurant, he was achieving his goals, living his life without fear, and you took inspiration from that. you decided to be upfront about your brewing feelings and ask him out just as he put the finishing touches in the establishment.

he was wiping down the counter as you sat at the bar, swallowing your nerves as you watched him. “hey samu?”

he hummed and glanced up at you for a second before looking back to what he was doing.

you took a deep breath, “would you maybe...want to go out to eat tomorrow?”

he didn’t look up, but his brows furrowed, “yeah? why are you even asking?”

you paused, of course he wouldn’t realize what you meant, you guys ate together all the time. you blinked a few times before clearing your throat, “um i just––i meant as a...date?”

this time, he paused, well more like froze. he kept his eyes on the counter, his face blank, but you could tell he was internally processing everything. did he hear you right? “what?”

you considered taking it back, but you had a feeling he did hear you, he just wasn’t sure how to respond. “um...i asked if you wanna go on a date? with me...”

he nodded and straightened up, “right.” he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head, finally looking at you and the look in his eyes was enough to make your wavering confidence crumble. “i sort of have my eye on someone else right now...” you nodded, trying not to let the tears form in your eyes. he went on, “my new neighbor needed to borrow something and we got to talking...was thinking of asking them out, actually.” that was the final twist of the knife.

“oh...” your voice was small ”thats––that’s great!” you smiled but kept your eyes cast down, “forget what i asked i just...wanted to see what you’d say haha,” you tried to play it off as a joke, “i got you!”

he stared at you silently for a few seconds, clearly contemplating whether or not he believed you, but in the end, he let it go.

you never brought up that night ever again, but you thought about it constantly. it haunted you, in a way. of course the one time you’re finally able to speak up about your feelings, it backfired.

you were in a very upsetting and self deprecating headspace for a while, wondering if this was your sign to never make the first move, if you were the problem. it took you a little while to snap out of it, but once you did, you realized your worth and stopped looking at the world through a grey lens––you felt like you’d bloomed as a person.

things didn’t go very far with osamu and his neighbor, but you didn’t take that as an opportunity to try again with him, you didn’t want to wait around for him, even though you thought about it for a second at first––you learned to respect yourself more.

meanwhile, your best friend was beside himself, going through the process of reflection and realization. it’s not that he was desperate after a failed relationship, it’s more so that he suddenly realized he had someone perfect right by him all these years––it only made sense. but he was too stupid to realize that, to realize that he cared about you as more than a friend. he had foolishly mistaken his feelings for you as caring for a friend––you two had been inseparable since you were kids, he couldn’t even notice when his feelings shifted from caring for a friend to loving his best friend.

he decided to talk to you about it, it’d only been a few months since you’d joked? about going on a date with him, but part of him felt confident that you might have meant it for real. he was sure you’d be open to it still. he called you during his break at work and found himself smiling as soon as he heard your voice.

“hey samu what’s up?”

he started to answer, but he trailed off when he heard you laughing at an unfamiliar voice in the background. “hey...just wanted to talk. what are you uh up to?”

he heard you shush whoever was with you. “nothing much.” he heard you sit down.” i can’t stay for long but what did you want to talk about? i’m all ears.”

he was going to brush it off, maybe it was just a friend, but when he heard a faint ‘babe’ and what sounded like a small kiss on the other end, that was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. “yeah i just...i’ll actually call you back later, okay?”

you paused on the other end, most likely confused, but you let him go nonetheless.

osamu sat there in his office at the back of his restaurant, surrounded by silence, complete disbelief and an indescribable ache running through his body. was he really too late?

#haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu blurbs #haikyuu drabbles #kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo angst #kuroo blurb #kuroo drabble #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi blurb #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi drabble #osamu #osamu x reader #osamu angst #osamu blurb #osamu drabble

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akatsukinojutsu · 4 years

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𝒮𝒶𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 - Madara Uchiha

summary: You were a confident Uchiha who's fighting abilities were often impressive on the battlefield. That is how you caught the attention of the very special, Uchiha Madara. When a Senju finally got the upper hand, you are left bleeding out in the grass. Just as you are ready to accept your passage into the next world, the famous Uchiha leader saves you and tends to your wounds. [a/n: originally posted on my ao3]

Despite being a woman, your strength was comparable to most Uchiha men in the clan. You worked out often and trained constantly; your ability to succeed on the battlefield was nothing short of utter ecstasy. War, fighting, conflict -- all of these fueled your being and made you feel alive. The sounds of hundreds of men yelling as they charged one another was comforting and the clangs of swords was like the percussion of a symphony orchestra. This was a trait that not many Uchiha women shared and you often found yourself palling around with the men; this caused many stressed relationships with their wives and girlfriends.

But you meant no harm, you had their backs and they had yours. No matter what. This lust for conflict gained the attention of the skilled leader, Madara. He often watched you from afar -- he admired you and metaphorically licked his lips as he observed your talents. He craved to get his hands on you and explore your frame with his rough palms. Madara kept his lustful thoughts to himself but referred to you often to his brother, Izuna. Anytime that he knew there would be conflict for control against the Senju, he wanted you involved. "Someone's got their eye on you, [Y/N]," a male Uchiha member interrupted the conversation that you were having with them. The male tilted his head to the side with his lips slightly puckered in enjoyment.

You turned around to see Madara staring at you from across the courtyard; a blush grew across your cheeks. "What's that I see? Are you turning red?" the male chuckled as he poked your cheek with his forefinger. You grabbed ahold of it and bent it backward in a swift motion. The male shrieked in pain as he dropped down to his knees. "It was just a joke! You broke my goddamn finger!" he rocked as he held his injury. "You're fine," you said coldly as you watched him snap his finger back in place. You exchanged another gaze with Madara, he seemed to have been amused by the scene -- a smile still faintly remained on his lips.

You returned the smile before you turned quickly on your heels to flee before he could approach you. It scared you to think what he could possibly say. You? Scared? Over a man? That was unheard of, nothing scared you. But man, Uchiha Madara made your blood rush. Several days have passed and it was time for another spat with the Senju clan. One of their members attacked an Uchiha during the night and it was time to retaliate. You unsheathed your katana and took a deep breath in...then out. A war cry erupted from your mouth as the field filled with a roar of yells, you charged the enemy along with your kin.

Swords clanged and screams of anguish wailed but you felt like you were in your zone. You jumped, flipped, ran, and spun in flashes of red and black. Your long dark hair whipped wildly in the air as you slayed any Senju that stood in your way. An opponent caught you off guard, they pressed their katana onto yours as they struggled to strike you down. You winced and yelled as you fought back for your life but they began to overpower you. Your right knee began to bend as you were pushed further down to the ground but just before they were able to succeed -- a flurry of crimson and black flew through the air.

The Senju spat blood all over your face before slumping over to the side and laid dead on the grass. You cleaned your face of blood and blinked several times before your eyes focused on your savior. It was Madara. He smiled as he grabbed your upper arm and yanked you to a stand. "You're welcome," he said in condescending tone. You brushed your outfit off and punched him in the shoulder, "I didn't ask for your help." his brows furrowed at your response but your smile that followed afterward confirmed your appreciation.

The two of you danced around the battlefield together in a sort of macabre waltz. You slaughtered the enemy with a gracious swipe of your blade and so did Madara. At times he would crouch over and you would roll over his back to strike, it was mesmerizing to observe the two of you in your natural habitat. As the last Senju fell, the two of you were now face to face. His height was several inches over you and his dark, onyx orbs flickered as they studied your face. He raised his hand to wipe away some blood from your lower lip. You raised your hand to meet his and as you opened your mouth to speak but a frantic male called out to Madara. He informed him of an urgent need and his presence was vital as it involved the Senju clan's leader. "We will continue this later," his thumb dropped from your lip and he quickly took off to assert the situation.

You turned to return home but you were unaware that the last Senju that you had taken down was not dead. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground with his sword in hand... with his last breath and bit of strength, he pulled the blade back and with the last of his will -- he plunged the blade through your abdomen before dropping dead. You gasped loudly when you felt the blade abruptly stab through your stomach, your eyes shook with fear as you realized the weapon was sticking out of your body. Blood dripped from the gaping wound and dribbled down the front of your body. It felt as if you wet yourself because it spread quickly throughout the entirety of the fabric of your uniform. You dropped to your knees as you cried in pain, "I-I can't remove it.. I'll just bleed out," you tried to assure yourself that it would be okay. But the sword was embedded deeply in your muscle and was sticking out the other side -- it would be a miracle if you would survive this.

Your strength was diminishing quickly and you fell to your side; you cried out in pain again as the force from the drop pushed the blade further out. You laid on your side and hacked up a large clot of blood. You knew the end was coming but you weren't ready. You damned the Senju and damned yourself. How could you be so foolish? You knew it was always wise to ensure your enemy was dead with a final stab to the cranium. But you were wooed by the Uchiha leader and his intoxicating presence. The sun began to be covered by dark, grey storm clouds and rain began to drip from above. You closed your eyes as the cool rain began to sooth your worries, it was as if your ancestors in heaven were weeping. But they most likely saw you as a monster for the violence you participated in and thrived greatly from... Maybe they weren't weeping in sorrow but in merriment.

Your vision began to blur and your breaths became shallow as they occurred further apart as time passed. You could feel yourself getting tired but tried to fight back the drowsy feeling that accompanied knocking on death's door. However, if you would end up in hell you would continue to put up a fight there and bring the demons there to their knees as you did in life. You struggled to tug the corner of your lip into a smile as you accepted your fate and awaited death to whisk you away to the afterlife. Your eyes closed and you laid still but... the reaper never appeared. Instead, a savior. You could no longer feel the drips of the rain on your cold, pale skin but the warmth of a person's strong arms.

Your eyes just barely opened but you could see familiar crimson chest plates but before you could further study your hero, you lost consciousness. Madara kept his word that the two of you would continue what happened on the battlefield. He knew that you felt the sexual tension rise and the gruesome waltz that occurred was nothing short of being something real. He recalled the way that you looked at him when he touched your lip, the way he could sense the passion in your dark eyes. You often blushed anytime you caught him staring at you -- he found that cute. But what really appealed to him was your passion. You were a female version of himself and he liked that. Plus, he ached to fill you with himself. If anyone would be suited to produce perfect Uchiha offspring, it would be the two of you. The children you would create and raise could dominate and decimate any enemy that stood in the Uchiha's way.

The Senju called off anymore retaliation at the time and the Uchiha had won this battle... Madara's immediate thought afterward was to return to you. When you were not in your home, he assumed you were still on the battlefield. He rushed back to the area and expected to see you either defeating a last survivor or pacing the field deep in thought. But he was taken back when he did not see you. Madara dashed across the landscape as he searched for you and was in shock to see you collapsed on the ground. He knelt down and he attempted to remove the blade. "No, she would just die from blood loss," he said to himself. The Uchiha knew that you did not have much time left as he placed his ear to your mouth, your breaths were far and few between. He gently scooped you from the ground but he took note of the stream of blood that poured from the wound when he did so Madara pressed his lips firmly together with concern, then he took off to his home.

He would save your life, no matter what it would cost. Madara rushed you into his home and placed you on the kitchen floor. He gathered towels from his bathroom as well as some bandages. "This will get you by until I can get medical-shinobi here," he assured you. He placed one palm on your hip and grasped the hilt of the katana with his other, "Ich, Ni, San...," he whispered as he pulled the blade out with one, smooth movement. You were silent and still which concerned him but his finger on your wrist felt a faint pulse, "Good, you're still alive." However, he needed to address the crimson stream that was now spewing from the large hole in your stomach.

Madara quickly placed towels onto the wound and pressed firmly. He reached over to grab the bandages. Slowly he lifted your body and rotated the roll of bandages around your abdomen to keep the wound covered. It was enough to slow the bleeding and it bought him enough time to seek help from the medically trained shinobi in the clan. "There's no guarantee that this will work, Madara-sama. Her injury is quite extensive." the medical kunoichi reluctantly informed her leader. Madara gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, "You all will do what you need to do to save her." he stormed away to leave the shinobi to perform the Healing Resuscitation Regeneration Technique. It took several hours and cost the shinobi nearly all of their chakra but they were able to save your life. "She is stable," the same kunoichi happily briefed Madara. A rush of relief crashed over him and he thanked them. "I will take it from here." Madara was sure to keep your privacy and decency of your unconscious body.

He poured warm water into a large bowl and slowly undressed your body. The man took tender care of washing your body of the dried sweat, blood, and dirt. He did not fully expose you as he kept your private areas covered with your undergarments. However, curiosity did rear its ugly head. This was the most intimate he had ever been with you and with any woman, actually. He was familiar with the female form and anatomy but he never fully laid with any woman; the conflict with the Senju and the security of the clan was his priority. But he remained proper and respectful, he would never indulge in his desires without your permission, no matter how tempting it may seem. He dressed you in his spare night robe and clothing; then proceeded to scoop you from the floor and place you in his room.

Madara lightly set you down on his bed and covered you with his silk blankets. He placed the back of his hand on your cheek and observed the rise and fall of your breathing, "Good." He retired to his entrance room and made a makeshift bed from several blankets. Daylight came and the sun shined in through the room's shoji which woke the Uchiha leader from his light slumber. He wondered if you were awake from your deep recovery slumber. Madara quietly shuffled his way down the hall but hesitated to slide the door open; he pressed his ear up to the door to listen. No noise came from inside, so, he decided to enter. He knelt down beside you and again, placed the back of his hand on your cheek. This startled you awake and you quickly grabbed hold of his wrist with a tight grasp.

Madara smiled at your reaction and the firmness of your grip. "You're awake," he spoke with amusement. Your eyes frantically darted around the room as you assessed your environment. "Where am I?" you croaked, your throat was dry. "You're safe, [Y/N]-san." you let go of Madara's wrist and pushed yourself up from the bed. "Easy. You're recovering from an injury... I-," you cut him off, "You saved me." He hummed with a nod.

"And you dressed me as well?" you asked as you examined the borrowed clothing that you were in. Madara cleared his throat, "I cleaned and changed you from your bloody clothing. I kept your decency, I promise."

The Uchiha expected you to give the same curt reply, "I didn't ask for you help," but you didn't, "Thank you, Madara-sama." He raised head and then his hand again and pressed his thumb on your lower lip, "I told you that we would continue later."

He smiled, his tired eyes seemed to lighten when he spoke. Your memories of the battle were fuzzy but the roughness of his thumb on your lip helped you to recall the events. You remembered your violent dance together on the battlefield and the sexual tension that existed. There was nowhere for you to run and hide from your emotions. The time was now and he was here. And you wanted to thank him for his actions. You raised your hand to his cheek and caressed his skin.

He then pushed his lips onto yours and you reciprocated the action. The two of you sat there with lips pressed before breaking away, "That's not how you kiss," you whispered bluntly. "Then show me," he commanded. Madara roughly grabbed the back of your head with his palm and pushed your lips against his. This time you licked his lips and he took this as a request to open his mouth. Your tongues touched and you showed him the way, soon the sheepish kiss turned passionate. His hand moved to your waist then up to your chest, his hand roamed your bosoms and played with them roughly.

Despite being a stern, serious man who was confident and experienced on the battlefield... intimate moments were foreign to him. He pushed the clothing off of your shoulders and exposed your bare skin. You tugged at his identical clothing and he complied, his bare chest also now exposed. His chest was firm and chiseled. You would be a liar if you didn't admit you squealed inside like a horny school girl. Madara continued on to litter your upper half with kisses as he sucked and bit on your soft skin; which he proceeded to leave marks of his passion behind. His bites were hard and one drew out a crimson bubble to the surface of your flesh.

He ran his fingertip over the passionate wound and proceeded to place the digit into his mouth; a rush of erotic chills rippled through his skin at the taste of your blood. You squirmed under his control and your hand went right for the prize as you grabbed hold of his crotch. But he stopped you with a firm grip of his left hand. You felt disappointed and confused by his hesitation. Madara pressed his right cheek onto your left and he breathed heavily, "Not now." His right hand grabbed the side of your head and his fingers were wrapped tightly in your hair.

"We will continue this later..."

#naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto fanfiction #madara uchiha x reader #reader x madara uchiha #uchiha madara x reader #uchiha madara/reader #madara uchiha fanfiction #uchiha madara fanfiction #naruto #madara uchiha #uchiha madara

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booksimp · 4 years

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Flame of Autumn - Part One

Midnight at Rita’s

A/N: My first attempt at writing smut! Let me know what you think :) Also, sorry it’s a bit late. This scene took on a mind of it’s own & ended up being wayy longer than originally intended.

I’ve felt his attention on me all night, like a physical touch. Mysterious hazel eyes monitor my every move, from the rotation of my hips to the way I throw my head back in celebration when I laugh. For a while, I pretend not to notice. But he is not the kind of male you ignore. I blame what happens next on a mixture of drinking and dancing, and the encouragement of my friends. Instead of hurriedly looking away and disappearing into the crowd, becoming a wallflower like I usually would, I meet his eyes. The unabashed appreciation there surprises me. That look sends electricity sizzling through my blood, waking my body in a way no one has in a long time. So I decide to dance for him.

A small smirk plays on his full mouth, dark eyes glinting as I run my hands along my body, through my hair, putting on a show meant only for him. He leans back in his booth, the picture of male satisfaction, and raises an eyebrow appreciatively. Keep going. Heat scorches across my skin at that smirk, and I can’t help but picture his lips in wicked places.

His face is elegant, classically handsome in every way. If it weren’t for the tattoos, scars, and diaphanous shadows swirling around him, I’d even say he was pretty. There’s an enthralling lethalness to him that acts like his own gravitational pull, completely captivating me. I always did love a bad boy.

I spin and twirl, the silk of my dress flaring in a halo of midnight blue. I move for him until sweat runs down my bare back, and glistens in the hollow of my throat. And he keeps watching me, until the smirks and wandering eyes have me desperate for more than just his gaze. The rest of the club has melted away, leaving just us.

I look at him from beneath lowered lashes, a question in my eyes. Are you just going to watch all night, or actually dance with me? He’s outright grinning now, his eyes on my exposed thighs. He shrugs, and relaxes further into his seat. Why rush things? I quite like the view from here. I sigh, wrinkling my nose in frustration and flipping my hair over my shoulder. He smirks again, and twirls his finger. Spin for me.

I do just that, the pleasure of following his direction like honey in my veins. I don’t even know this male, and yet I can’t help but do what he wishes. He’s the kind of otherworldly gorgeous that's utterly unattainable. Tousled raven hair, bedroom eyes, exceedingly tall, and a body that would make the gods weep. And Cauldron above, those wings.

I keep turning in place, hips swaying and hands in my hair. I feel the exact moment he glimpses my naked back, covered in sapphire blue tattoos that perfectly match my dress. I found this gown in the palace of thread and jewels, and the shop owner would not let me leave without it.

I’m endlessly grateful for her sage counsel when I glance over my shoulder to catch the males reaction. He knocks back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet, dark eyes devouring every inch of my bare skin. My breath catches in my throat as he slowly makes his way across the bar, until he’s standing mere inches from me.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incredible dancer?”

His voice is startlingly deep, and smooth as velvet. It takes me longer than it should to formulate a coherent response.

“I- no. No, just you.” Well, not entirely coherent.

He smiles anyway, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Gods above, dimples too? The male leans close to whisper in my ear, and his scent hits me. Cedar and moonlight, rain on the pavement. I can’t help but inhale deeply.

“I’m Azriel. May I have this dance?”

I can only nod, his proximity scattering any intelligent thoughts in my head. He places one scarred hand on my back, the other on my hip, and we begin to sway with the music, our bodies pressed together intimately. My skin smolders beneath his touch, stoking the molten fire he’s awakened in me.

“I’m Sabine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sabine.”

From the intensity of his gaze, I know he can scent every reaction my body has to him. I lock my eyes on his as he trails a finger from my cheek, down my neck, and back again. I gasp when he leans down to press a kiss to the point where my neck and shoulder join, a throbbing starting in my core as he gently bites down. A small, involuntary moan leaves my mouth. Azriel chuckles darkly against my skin.

“Did you like dancing for me, love?”

He inquires, voice soft as he tightens his arms around me. I let my head fall back, exposing more of my neck for him to explore. He obliges by trailing hot kisses up my throat, and nibbling on the shell of my ear.

“Y-yes.” I gasp, heat rushing up my neck to fill my cheeks.

Azriel growls low in his chest, and I can’t help but notice a considerable length pressing against my thigh.

“I’m going to make you say ‘yes’ just like that, all night long.”

I shiver in his arms, finally opening my eyes to see his have gone completely black with arousal. There’s a promise in them that has my knees going weak. His reaction to me inspires a sudden boldness.

“Then take me somewhere I don’t have to be quiet, Azriel.” I murmur, biting my lip and hesitantly stroking a hand down his chest.

A confident, male smile graces his lips. Without a word, he turns and leads me out the back door. His hand is rough and calloused on mine as we hurry down the streets of Velaris, a fact that only makes me want him more. I can only imagine how they’d feel between my legs.

Azriel leads me into a luxury apartment building, and we cross the marble floored lobby to the elevators. The doors take their sweet time closing, and as we wait, he admires me from the far wall. Hands in his pockets and smirk on his face.

“When we get to my apartment, I want you to undress for me. Can you do that, baby?” He leaves no room for argument as the doors finally close, and he moves slowly towards me. A lion, hunting his prey.

And I am eager to be caught.

“Yes.”

As he stands before me, he tilts my chin up and presses a soft, tender kiss to my lips. A flower of flame blossoms in my chest.

“Yes, what?”

I am only confused for a moment. He must see the realization in my eyes, because he hums in approval.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes flash, and then his mouth is hard on mine. He backs me to the wall, pressing his body so firmly to mine that I feel every line and hollow of his muscled chest. I moan into his mouth, pushing myself up on my tiptoes for better access. Sensing my struggle, Azriel cups the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist. For a moment, anxiety shoots through me and I stiffen. I’m not exactly small, with my soft stomach and round thighs. But he lifts me effortlessly, and with finesse. Thank the cauldron for Fae strength. When the action lands me directly on the bulge in his jeans, he releases a delicious groan.

I smirk into the kiss as I rock my hips over that firmness, and Azriel’s hands tighten their grip on my thighs.

“Don’t tease me, Sabine.” He growls, hands slipping farther beneath the hem of my dress.

“You may not like the consequences.” This he whispers in my ear as he finds the heat between my legs, and begins to rub slow circles over my clit.

I gasp and tighten my already shaking legs around him, as he pulls my panties to the side and slowly inserts a finger in my sex. Within moments, I feel myself teetering on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm. Something about Azriel’s touch makes everything feel keenly hypersensitive, bewitching in it’s intensity. Thankfully, the elevator door dings before I can make a fool of myself by cumming before he even has my clothes off. Instead of setting me down, Azriel cloaks us both in shadows and exits the box, still hefting me in his arms as tenants enter the elevator behind us.

“Azriel!” I hiss, hiding my bright red face in his shoulder.

“They can’t see you, baby. But soon, they’ll be able to hear you.”

I vacate my hiding spot so I can meet his eyes, not bothering to hide the overwhelming, all encompassing need burning in them.

“Promise?”

His eyes are molten obsidian, making his answer obvious. We reach his apartment, and he seals us inside immediately. Azriel wastes no time taking me to his bedroom, and I am so wrapped up in him I don’t even peek at his apartment. Is it a swanky bachelor pad or minimalist studio? I make a mental note to snoop around a little before I leave.

Azriel’s kisses have grown softer, almost reverent in their slow rhythm. He gently deposits me amongst his grey blankets and pillows. He hovers over me for a moment, a strange, almost confused light in his eye.

“Az?”I whisper, suddenly self conscious. Has he changed his mind?

And just like that, his eyes are clear again. He fixes me with a warm, male smile.

“I like when you call me that.” He kisses my throat once more, then skims his lips over the top of my breasts, my nipples peaking in response.

“Didn’t you say something about me undressing for you?” I murmur breathlessly, practically writhing beneath his ministrations.

He chuckles against the skin of my shoulder before rising from atop me. Azriel crosses the room and settles into a leather armchair by the fireplace, which crackles to life as he approaches.

“How could I forget.” He murmurs, once again observing me from afar with eyes that promise immeasurable pleasure. While he sheds his leather jacket, he motions for me to begin.

I start by crossing my legs in order to unzip my thigh high boots, before discarding them at the end of the bed. My hands shaking under the weight of his stare, I extend my leg and start to remove my stockings.

“Keep those on for me. Just those.”

I look up at his voice, and my mouth goes dry as I notice Azriel adjusting the very apparent tent in his jeans. Gods, a bulge that huge has spine tingling implications for later. My heart skips in my chest, and I’ve become so wet I know I’ll find my underwear a sopping mess.

“Yes, sir.” I whisper, rolling the lacy garment into place as requested.

“Good girl.”

A moan slips past my lips at that, shocking even me. Never, ever did I think that I’d call a male ‘sir’ and get off to following his commands. But here I am. If it was any male other than Azriel, I’d laugh in his face or slap him.

But it is Azriel, and he’s already awoken a part of me I had no idea existed. It lay dormant inside me until now, waiting for him to show me what I’ve been missing. And we haven’t even fucked yet. I shiver in anticipation.

“Does someone like that? Being praised?” His voice is the deepest I’ve heard it, slow and commanding.

“Y-yes, sir.” I’m still seated at the end of his bed, boots discarded and aching with need.

I look up from beneath thick lashes, heat spreading across my face as Azriel unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, his jacket now draped across the back of his chair.

“Look at me, love.”

I obey, of course. The ocean of longing I feel is mirrored in his dark eyes, and I bite my lip to keep from begging him to take me. Take me and never stop.

“You don’t have to feel nervous with me. You’re safe. I know surrender can be scary, but I promise I’ll cherish the control you’re giving me. I’m honored that you’d give yourself to me like this.”

A light, warm sensation spreads through me at his words. The sincerity in his hazel eyes is what does it for me. I rise from the bed, and all of my nerves melt away under the scorching heat of his gaze. All my worries about my body, his expectations, become unremarkable. With my eyes never leaving his, I reach under my dress and hook my fingers around the waistline of my panties. Slowly, I slide the scrap of lace down my legs. He lets out a puff of breath, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair, all sense of smug relaxation gone.

With a feline smile, I toss them into his lap. He grins back at me, while stuffing the panties into the pocket of his jacket.

“I’m keeping these.”

I turn towards the bed, and look over my shoulder at his face as I slide the thin straps of my dress down my arms.

And it falls to the floor in a puddle of silk.

I am completely bare before him, and I have never felt more beautiful. Azriel looks like a male seeing his first sunrise, after spending an eternity in the dark.

With a growl, he crosses the room in three strides. His hands land on my naked hips, and he pulls me smack against him. I moan at the feeling of his length pressed to my backside, and my body grinds against him without my permission.

“You have the most perfect ass I have ever seen. I think I may spank you later.”

His lips are at my neck, kissing and biting. He spins me around in his arms, onyx eyes exploring as he runs his hands down the curve of my waist and hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groans, massive hands coming up to cup my breasts.

I whimper as he begins to pinch and pull gently at my nipples, and he relishes the sound. When he takes one of them into his mouth, I nearly fragment right there.

I have to feel his skin on mine. I need him in me, immediately.

“Az, please.”

With desperate, shaking hands I yank open his fine black dress shirt. Buttons fly and scatter across the ground, but I hardly notice.

Azriel’s naked torso is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. He is all lean muscle and broad shoulders, a deep V leading beneath his pants. Black swirls of ink cover his chest, and trail down his arms. I curse under my breath and run my hands over every elegant line and ridge of his body, mouth agape. When my hands find the waist of his trousers, his core tightens and a strained chuckle leaves his lips.

“Gods, love. Keep looking at me like that and you’re never leaving this bed.” For the first time tonight, he sounds just as breathless as me.

“And if that’s what I want?” I purr, looking up at him from my kneeling position on the bed.

He gives me the slow, confident smirk that first enraptured me at Rita’s, and unbuttons his pants. In moments, they’re discarded on the floor with my dress.

I look down.

Sweet cauldron above.

Torrid flames lick up and down my body, and I can’t stop myself from touching him. It would take two hands to properly pump him, and who even knows if I could fit him in my throat.

Soon, I would find out soon.

Azriel hisses at the contact, hips thrusting into my hands. Next thing I know, his lips are slamming into mine and my back meets the bed. He takes my hands in one of his and forces them above my head as he kisses me, hips slowly thrusting against mine.

His cock slides between my folds, and we both groan into the kiss.

“Fucking gods. You’re so wet, baby.”

His voice is rough with pleasure, and my entire body tenses at the sound of it. I could easily cum to just his voice alone.

“Oh fuck, Az please, oh gods please.” I cry, rolling my hips against his in an attempt to get the release my body is screaming for.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

My reply is inarticulate, the need and frustration boundless. He chuckles against my mouth, and soon he’s trailing kisses down my body. I gasp and tremble beneath him, squeezing my legs together when I realize where he’s headed. I’ve only ever let serious, long term lovers pleasure me in that way. It feels so intimate, so vulnerable.

“Relax, beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

He murmurs soothingly, massaging my hips with gentle hands. I hesitantly let my legs fall open, and I glance down at the gorgeous male.

The sight of him between my legs alone nearly has me climaxing. Azriel presses hot kisses all over my thighs, his hands still massaging my hips. I feel myself go limp in his arms, my eyes closing in complete bliss. If I’m going to make an exception for anyone, it's him. Especially since I know that if there was anything I wasn’t comfortable with, he wouldn’t push me.

“That’s right, love. Relax. I’ve got you.”

I smile, and reach a hand down to tangle my fingers in his tresses.

And then his mouth is on me, and my back is arching off the bed and I’m gasping his name. Azriel devours me until my legs are shaking and tears are streaming down my face as I cum, his fingers pumping inside me.

And he does it again. And again.

By my third climax, I’m nearly sobbing and my body is quaking under his hands.

I open my eyes to see Azriel hovering over me, adoration in his eyes and lips glistening. He leans down, and I crash my lips into his. Kissing him is like… like coming home.

I’ve had a few one night stands throughout my adult life. Most were drunken and sloppy, with zero emotions involved. Something about this time feels different.

“Azriel.” It comes out as a whine, and if I weren’t completely unraveled, I would be humiliated at how desperate I am for this male.

With a heated look, he grasps my hips and angles them up, settling himself between my legs. He rests his forehead against mine, our panting breaths mingling. When the tip of his cock pricks my entrance, I dig my nails into the scarred skin of his back. I think I even whimper.

‘I’ll be gentle.” Azriel promises, pressing a torrid kiss to my swollen lips.

“For now.”

I open my mouth to comment on that remark, but Azriel buries himself to the hilt inside of me.

In unison, we let out guttural moans that are loud enough to wake the neighbors. He curses into my shoulder, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin there.

As he begins to gently thrust, letting me adjust, I realize just what it is to be with a male of his size. I am filled entirely, stretching in new, delicious ways. I realize now why he was so insistent on pleasuring me so thoroughly. I’m sure he loved teasing me, but it was also to prepare me for him. I wrap my legs around Azriel’s waist, urging him deeper.

He complies, angling his thrust with a low moan. A string of incoherent curses leave my lips as the change strikes me deep, pleasure forking through me like lightning.

“Right there?” The supreme satisfaction in his voice, and the smirk on his full mouth undoes me.

“Quit teasing me and fuck me like I know you want to.” I snap, glaring up into his eyes. This male has me beyond frustrated, beyond desperate. And he knows it.

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky grin only growing. But he remains silent as he strokes his thumb across my lips, his attention drawn to where he and I are joined. His face is flushed, muscles tight with restraint. I feel a deep sense of delight when I realize he’s just as affected by me as I am by him.

The grin falls from his face, replaced with absolute primal need, as I take his thumb into my mouth. I can’t help but grin mischievously at the look on his face, and I swirl my tongue around his fingertip. With a growl, he gives me exactly what I’ve been begging for.

Azriel unleashes himself, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the master suite. His hand wraps around my throat, and he uses this new leverage to pull me onto him each time he thrusts. I cry out, the sudden increase sending my vision into fractures. Azriel’s hips meet mine again and again, our moans combining into a symphony.

“Bend me over.” I gasp, and I’m surprised when I hear the words leave my mouth. Azriel’s grins down at me, raven hair falling into his eyes. He chuckles darkly.

“As you wish.”

Suddenly, Azriel is flipping me onto my stomach, and dragging me to the end of the bed by my hips. I squeal in surprise, the sound cut off by a moan as he sheathes himself in me once again. With a strength I’ve only ever seen Illyrian males exhibit, he hauls my hips back to meet each thrust, eliciting screams of absolute pleasure from me. Az tangles his fingers into my hair, and then there’s a sharp sting across my ass. I gasp, though the pain soon turns to pleasure. Azriel leans down, his voice in my ear.

“Look at you taking all of my cock like a good girl.”

I whimper and feel myself tighten around him, his voice always my tipping point. He presses his chest to my back, and groans into my shoulder, wings coming down to encircle us.

“I-I’m close.” My voice is hoarse, and entirely breathless.

Azriel gently turns me until I’m on my back again, his forehead meeting mine.

“I want to watch you cum.” He gasps, his movements becoming more and more fervent.

I wrap myself around the shadowsinger, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He claims my lips once more, our tongues and teeth clashing in desperation. Heat flares inside my belly, my inner thighs beginning to shake with our rapid, passionate joining. I know I’m about to fall off the edge and I’m desperate to take him with me.

His massive, silky smooth wings are still curled around me. Guided by an unknown instinct, I press a kiss to the scarred underside of his wing, my tongue stroking softly.

His eyes shoot open, entire body going rigid and roaring as he spills himself into me. At the sound of my name falling from his lips, my own orgasm plows into me, our climaxes nearly simultaneous.

My vision goes black, and then bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors, my entire body alight with white-hot pleasure. I shake apart in his arms, and he in mine.

Then something miraculously unexpected happens.

The mysterious, ethereal link I’d felt enthralling me to him all night explodes into existence; pulling taut and snapping into place with dizzying velocity.

His eyes are blank with astonishment, face pallid. I blink up at him, feeling as if I’m on the edge of sleep, not entirely awake.

Azriel sits up abruptly, wings flaring behind him as he pants. I freeze, suddenly feeling very exposed beneath his gaze. I yank the nearest sheet over me, my face blazing red. It's as his eyes are searching my face that I feel it. A questioning, incorporeal tug down the bond.

The Mate bond.

Oh gods. Oh gods. I sit up hurriedly, scooting myself to the other side of the bed, even if moving away from this male feels like ripping myself in half.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Azriel is -

“Oh, fucking hell.”

#azrielfanfic #azriel #acotar #acotarsmut #acotar fic #feysand #nessian #smut #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 3)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 2

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Y/N seem to have woken up with a panic attack and with questions inside her head about on how she would come back to her world. Geralt may have said a solution to it, but it was rather difficult to achieve. Furthermore, it seems as if there was another thing difficult to attain as well which leaves him upset and frustrated with everything. No matter how you were out of place in Geralt's family, you couldn't help but still feel that peculiar warmth you wanted to feel forever.

Warnings: No modern references in this one except for fried chicken. Story title insertion! *wink wink nudge nudge* A lot of Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri banters and a soft but kinda rough Geralt in this one because of certain circumstances. THERE'S TENSION IF Y'ALL BE FEELING IT. AHONHONHON. Mention of Yennefer of Vengerberg in this one. Also explanation of portals and mention of potions used in the game. A lot of talking, less action. You’ll get your action and ANGST on the next chapterSSSSS!

Words: 6,570+ (LONGGGGGGG AF! I WAS SHOOKTH!)

A/N: Reader is between 5'1 or 5'. You can imagine a 4'11 one if you want to! I JUST REALIZED...HOW...SHE'LL....THEY'LL....ALRIGHT, GET WRECKED, READER! 😅🤣🤣

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @missjenniferb (I couldn’t tag you bud! A different blog was popping out of the recommendation and it wasn’t your blog. Though, I’ll try again on the next update! Don’t worry!) @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well. I’ve taken it from the games.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

The sun's rays cascaded on your face. Smell of burned out Oak wood whiffed through the air and filled your senses as faded voices suddenly become apparent for no reason, or probably a reason for you to wake up from your uncomfortable sleeping position.

Was it the TV? You thought to yourself, scrunching your nose from the sun that hit your face and merely from the dust that was flying all over the place. As much as you've remembered, cleaning has been your habit at home and having a dirty apartment was unfamiliar.

The rays of the sun was suddenly hidden from a body who had to lean down to take a good look at your face. You've hardly squinted your eye to blur out the television in the background, shifting your head around and leaning fully on your forehead instead to avoid your cat named Jafar from sniffing your face.

"Princess Cirilla," Geralt deeply groused, his grim seeming to be felt by how brooding he had to put up; inches away from Jaskier and Cirilla who were close to you and around the table, watching you sleep like a baby.

The light blonde princess who had bright ocean blue eyes demanded with a soft kick to the ground, "But, Geralt!" she bellowed with a huff, "I wanna be her friend! You lads aren't fun to be with!"

"She won't stay long, Cirilla. She isn't from our world," Geralt droned and felt the enervation of not having his sleep last night. You were weeping like a toddler all night and his heightened senses weren't helping himself when he could hear those snuffles echoing as he shifted and turned all over on his side of the bed.

It was beyond terrible and utmost irksome.

His initial thought was to help a screaming lady sprinting in the middle of the woods and shoo her off when he's done killing the creature hunting her down. He didn't expect for her to live with them after he did so' just like how Ciri eventually landed on his hands for him to take care of. Amazingly, the adoption he had consist of an explanation, a royal offer from the kingdom of Cintra that involves the Law Of Surprise unlike with you; there was none. Not even a justification as to why you were there with them.

Saving Y/N didn't mean another adoption was up to claim and for him to protect with all his life.

Jaskier sat on the wooden chair in front of you as he deliberated and tried to understand your situation in his own creative wits, "You mean a Teleporter?"

Geralt shook his head, eyes narrowing as he looked at you from the side; assessing your whole ordeal and trying to get a gist of magic in your veins, "No, Jaskier." Howbeit, he'd felt none and it was frustrating the Witcher, "---She doesn't possess magic, I can sense it."

The bard shrugged and disregarded his opinions, giving Geralt a once over before focusing on your hair; momentarily plucking out a small leaf out of your hair which erupted a cock of Geralt's head as he watched Jaskier having no fraught from touching you.

"You know that senses of yours aren't exactly a hundred percent accurate when you've got kicked by a Kikimore and bitten by Ghouls,"

His expression was stoic, glowering before them both and especially from Jaskier's comment. Cirilla had her delicate fingers clasp together and over the side of her face as she admired your sleeping face, "She's so adorable while she sleeps!" she continued to cajole, "---Even a little shorter than me! Maybe she's my age and we can play!"

"She isn't," Geralt ceased her admiration and shook his head, beautiful gold eyes staring at your face that shifted and was now face front as to where he stood from afar, "How certain are you about that? You've only met her last night!"

Jaskier had his fist on his chin, deliberately looking at Geralt with that knowing look.

The Witcher lowly hummed in ponder. Focal point on your sleeping face with a stoic expression, trying to distinguish your length of life from the moment you were born, "Y/N must be in between the age of twenty to twenty-five,"

Cirilla had her eyebrows in a twist as she moved around to take a closer look at you again, a frown from the information that has been said, "But, she looks younger than her age!"

"Not at least in between ninety? or exactly a hundred? Like you, Geralt?" Jaskier added to the dispute. His query making Geralt sigh because he has been repeating the idea like a slow idiot.

"She doesn't possess some sorts of magic nor is she mutated, Bard."

"Maybe she possesses the power of immortality!"

He glared at the bard who gave him a shrug, Jaskier's face still dead beat from how his nap has been ruined prior to the night, but he had more sleep than Geralt did considering he wasn't a Witcher and had senses that not any normal human may possess.

"So her name is Y/N?! Why didn't you wake me up to welcome our visitor?!" The girl in a mint green Kirtle exclaimed, their voices finally coming to your senses and realizing that it wasn't your television nor was it your cat's breath on your face. You whimpered in an attempt to wake yourself up; yawning in the process and languidly bringing your head up for it to be bent at an angle with your arm on the table and fist on your temple.

"You were sleeping," Geralt began, resolving her dismay at the situation at hand, "--and there was a beast, Princess. It was hunting her down,"

"Oh, poor Y/N," Cirilla frowned a tighter one, eyeing you down and peeking from under your arm as she noticed the bruises on your face. She took a second before straightening her back, the braid she'd fixed never turning higgley-piggledy because of how tight and proper it was. A look of interest sent to the Witcher by the princess of Cintra herself and now the future queen ahead, "But, did you kill it, Geralt?"

Their voices seem to be recognizable, the two men of some sort and the kid's voice completely unfamiliar for you. Repetitive blinks full of fatigue before having the energy to sleepily place your chin on your fist, a blurry image of a youthful, lean body and a pretty face of a man sitting in front you coming clearer as you blinked again.

"Isn't it such a sight to wake up to your bruising face early in the morning, small rat."

Your face turned into a tight frown at the image sitting before you. The pillow of your lip jutting out in a pout when you've scanned the whole place and saw Geralt standing with a stern expression on his face, behind a kid who looked taller than you and extremely pretty.

The house even looked more old and primitive in the morning like you're currently living in history which made you groan to yourself because you haven't teleported back to your home as Jaskier said last night.

Great. Just great. You thought in the back of your mind before grumbling, "Can you...stab me with your sword right now?"

The question was sent to the Witcher despite of staring fully on the table. You didn't hear an answer from him as per usual and felt your anxiety rising through your head in agitation like a lighter sparking the gas. It's travelling too fast that you haven't realized the panic shooting wildly.

"I'm still here," you bawled, "I'm still here," and repeated over and over like a dinosaur jumping on rocks whenever google doesn't have internet. The panic was beginning to boil, making your fingers tremble in apprehension as you've struggled to keep in place on your seat, your feet on the ground shaking from the worry. Both hands gripping on your roots as you began to bawl out because you couldn't scream out all your frustrations because that's not how you roll, "I've already slept, I thought I'll be waking up in my apartment already,"

Cirilla took a step back when you've started crying, looking over at Geralt to ask what was happening. Both men together were contemplating as to what was happening as the Bard reluctantly and very slowly stood up as his gaze was fixated on you who kept on mumbling in whispers. He ran behind Geralt like you were a possessed woman and actually thinking you were casting a spell because of how fast you were mumbling your feelings out loud, sounding incomprehensible to the ears of everyone except for Geralt.

Jaskier stood behind Geralt like a kitten shielding behind his mother, "Geralt! I told you! She's a sorceress! One like Yennefer! This is probably why you're fond of her!"

Cirilla examined your state and tried understanding what was happening, her nerves also unsettling about the fact that maybe you were possessed by black magic. Though, she doubt it because you should've attacked everyone already.

Hence, there you were in your own seat. Bawling your eyes out like a toddler who had been left by her parents.

"Geralt? Is she okay?" the pretty child questioned Geralt who stood behind her with a distant look on his face.

His eyes narrowed on you, continuing his perusal. He was trying to fathom what was running inside those mind of yours and when a tear fell and another sniff coming from your side of the cavern, he knew it. A slight turn of his head and his silent thoughts of understanding as he had seen you freaking out and crying like last night; he knew what was happening.

"She's...panicking. Utterly harmless, Jaskier. Just like how humans do unless you aren't actually one," Geralt nonchalantly informed the bard who was hiding behind his towering form. He watched you roughly wipe your tears with the back of your clothed hand; his sweater that was awfully big for you and continued to rant while he narrowed his eyes as your focus was now on the knife set on an empty soiled plate that Jaskier has left.

"I just wanna go home!"

His forehead creased to the extent of trying to figure you out. Shoulders slumping as he breathed out a ragged curse beneath his breath to further his dissatisfaction of your next move.

"Y/N!"

You were fast enough to grab onto the sharpened knife, aiming it to the sensitive portion of your neck. However, not fast enough for the Witcher to even let it happen.

The knife in your hand wasn't even lifted halfway for Geralt to know what you were going to do. He'd seen a lot of bloodshed and known enough people who wanted for their blood to drop out of their hands. It only took two steps for him to construct his onslaught before you've even tried to slit your throat before them.

Your choice of weapon has been sheathed away from you. The tall, brooding, brawny Witcher slightly bending you on the table as he pulled the knife away from your neck with just a grip that didn't even earned him a sweat. It was like taking candy from a baby. Yet, you were pretty much struggling a lot from his strength as you tried wrenching your wrist off his hold with Geralt hunching down before you and never letting go.

Those gold eyes were a charm against the rays of the sun cascading his face. Your faces close from each other and you can see the chagrin and fury swirling in his eyes rather than those plain, apathetic glimmer set in his eyes with a warmth you couldn't express. With that only being seen and stared at, you knew he was furious.

The scary witcher was losing his temper.

"Let me go, Geralt." you firmly stated, voice wavering and sounding small like you were being hunted by a cheetah. Geralt held his scowl better than he had to when he has seen you the first time and it wasn't faltering.

You tried wrenching your wrist away from the Witcher, but he pulled it back with no remorse. Keeping you in place as he seethed; Aurum eyes momentarily taking a glimpse of your dry, chapped lips that were inches apart before settling those peepers on yours again and he wanted to groan out loud for the unsettling emotion he was having, "I would like to see you try, Midget."

Geralt held your wrist tighter around his fingers because you were moving, though; the simple action was enough for you to stop and never even think about doing it again. The strength that he was using was not enough to inflict pain. "I don't need another person's blood on my hands,"

Some of his dirt-ivory colored hair fell on his face as he continued to fume. Expression thoroughly livid as he said those words like it was burnt till dust, a history that should've been left forgotten but was now relived because of your forsaken act.

His warm breath hit your face and you couldn't move at all, like you were powerless and utter putty in his hands. You've heard a grumble vibrated out of his chest before snatching the knife off your fingers and quickly retreating from his position with a frustrated hum, leaving you exhaling out a breath you didn't know you were holding since he has grabbed onto you.

"Wha-what if dying is the only way to bring me back," you've tried to keep yourself in tact despite of the fast beating of your heart and the anomalous heat travelling all over your body. You shook the feeling off with a shake of your head as you continued; looking at Jaskier and Cirilla, avoiding the presence of the man who has been playing with your mind and human heart, "---I've slept, tried everything and still woke up in your house,"

The declaration sounded weak; completely despairing as you've seen Geralt saunter back to where he has been standing before you even tried to slit yourself alive. A tight moue that twisted his features from the act that has happened; filling utter disappointment as the rough crease of his wrinkles wanted to say.

But, he chose to stay silent rather than let out those emotions he was battling with.

You were completely an unorthodox to him. A picture he couldn't see and never wanted to even touch but hoped to imagine.

"I can feel you, I can touch everyone, I can feel sadness, despair, happiness, pain and a lot more," he felt your eyes on him as the first word has been said before reluctantly sharing gazes at the other two who were breathing when you've continued your articulation.

Nevertheless, the act that has happened made Jaskier and Cirilla's breaths hitch because they couldn't believe that it just happened in front of them like it was nothing.

It looked like Geralt has handled the situation well and you were suddenly okay. Just like that. A peculiarity of an event that they couldn't understand.

You've straightened your back and held your hopes high, dubiously taking a trek till you were in front of the people who were nice enough to give you shelter despite of not knowing you from the start; with a goodwill to even save you from an Alghoul that appeared out of nowhere when you should've died already when Geralt wouldn't have jumped into the picture.

But, no. You were still alive and you didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing as the protection came with a fair trade to be living in the world that they were in. A world where you still believed was in earth because of how human they appeared and felt. The only fragment that could keep you in doubt was the monsters that emerges out of nowhere and the magic that these people have been saying. A magic that can't be seen with the naked eye because you haven't seen a supernatural phenomenon yet.

Geralt gave a gravelly hum once you've settled your short self before him, the height differences apparent to the perspective of people. Geralt had his Herculean body in an assertive stance, broad-shoulders poised as you peered up at him with forlorn, the upset frown etched upon your face and he couldn't help but breath through his nose to compose himself.

"I need to go back, I gotta go back. Aren't you a witcher? Can't you cast a spell and help me?"

Jaskier and Cirilla had their forehead creased as they stared at the two. The beautiful child completely unaware of where you originated. She was deep in thought, thinking you came from any of the kingdom or if you were mutated as well just like Geralt because as been said by the witcher, you didn't belong in their world.

The man with glowing Aurum eyes sighed, "Witchers..don't work that way," he claimed with a slant of his head, eyeing you with gall and a slight pacified demeanor after losing his patience a while ago, "---I slaughter beasts, not brew the Fillet of a fenny snake with an eye of a newt nor cast a spell while mixing tons of shit in a cauldron like you thought I was,"

His disclosure was enough to make your heart fail from having faith again. It seems like every darn time he opens those luscious damn lips of him leaves you in a crestfallen shape or he just seems like the type to not give you hope with positive things like this which is why he was failing no matter if he wanted to give comfort.

You've washed your face with your hands in frustration, the fear rising for the second time this day and felt Geralt's heated stare on you, eyes shining in baffling fascination no matter how phlegmatic he wanted to appear. You can just see it in his eyes and it was odd because you've remembered how you couldn't read him like a book the night before, yet here you were; understanding how he tries to interact with you.

"Then, who can help me? Is there a portal or some sort?"

His eyes looked away for a moment; deeply dwelling a thought inside his head. "Sorcerers create portals of natural phenomena and places that actually exist," the Witcher began roughly, voice utmost in the lowest timbre he could ever do and it almost made your body vibrate from his pitch, "---However, most sorcerers can only link portals to the world they're familiar with and that occurs in having the same witchcraft that a certain world creates," Geralt landed his bright eyes on you as he continued to ponder. An inevitable glower stamping his face as he went on with more information and a tight grimace, "---we aren't exactly certain about your world. But, the contingencies of casting a portal that should've been left untouched can cause upheaval or chaos not just to both worlds, but to the natural habitat and the future as well,"

Your frown was cut short, changing into an ample amount of confusion because of his explanation. Simply to say, the chances of creating a portal will jeopardize not just their world, but also earth as well. If you'll be wanting to cast a portal, there was a great amount of risk ahead.

Geralt continued his vouch, still engrossed at looking you in the eye like he wanted you to melt into a puddle. Your traitor of a heart skipping a beat as you've avoided his eyes and looked elsewhere, "---Which definitely leaves insignificance as to why you're lost in our world when there was no witchery encompassing that earth you call your kingdom,"

"So, there's no hope then?" you pointed out, sapless.

"It takes risks, Midget." Geralt lowly enunciated, the gravel in his voice seeming coherent as he mentioned the nickname he calls you. He looked to the ground, mind wandering off Wonderland as a scowl began to form again, like the next thing he wanted to say should've been kept and not mentioned ever again, "---And a very powerful sorcerer,"

Jaskier's ears perked at that, speculating and trying to involve himself with the topic at hand, his tongue waiting to be moved and for words to be told for reiteration, "Or sorceress," the bard boasted with a tone that made the witcher hiss back at him with contempt.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg could do the job well or some of her associates," the bard jested with a soft push of his elbow to Geralt's ribs, though it didn't even made him flinch. His nose flared back at him, giving him the stink eye before cussing him beneath his breath.

"Fuck off, Bard."

Cirilla ignored their laser eyes and tried to join in the conversation, "Who is Yennefer? I've been asking this since the last two last years!" she pondered, hesitantly raising her hand as if asking the teacher if it was time for her to spit out questions.

"Someone you shouldn't know, Cirilla,"

So, there was really hope. Even only a fourty-five percent of that aspiration you needed for your heart to be filled with faith. You nodded to yourself in understanding, leaving those other questions inside your head and asked straight to the point, "Who is Yennefer?"

Jaskier stepped a foot close, officially involving himself in the conversation with a smug grin on his face. His hands on his hips as he revealed with no shame, "Geralt's long lost love,"

Geralt had to close his eyes to calm himself down from the bard who kept on interjecting in the talk with you.

The princess of Cintra huffed, stomping a foot on the ground as she fixated her gaze at the huge trunk of a man who seemed to be having a moment of meditation, "You didn't tell me you had a lover!"

"Not anymore," Geralt grumbled more so to himself as the crowd asked questions after questions and served their opinions on a buffet plate; open for everyone to hear.

You innocently cast a look to his face. He could also feel your eyes on him and when he'd fluttered them open; it was completely pure for his irksome heart to fall in tranquil, "She's the one of the most powerful sorceress I know," he subtly breathed in your scent, masking himself with it as he tries to remember it in the back of his mind. Becoming familiar to the strong scent that makes his thoughts go in a haywire. A sharp, palpable and fresh scent that he ought and needed to ingurgitate straightaway. Lemon with a hint of peony; definitely different from the scent that Yennefer had, Lilac and Gooseberries. "---Maybe the only one who could create an enigma of a portal," the witcher more so than grumbled, face twisting in a way that made you look up at him in question because he seemed to be in pain, "Then? What are we waiting for? We should find her!"

The mere mention of a person who could help you leave their world quickly placed a warm beam lifting your lips, a sight that Geralt has been struggling to forget since last night. His eyes wandered off elsewhere, missing the catch of your bright filled ones as his nose scrunched from how overwhelming it was to be close to you.

"That's the problem," he gurgled before taking a step back, hissing beneath his breath because of how he was starting to become frustrated again, "---she's nowhere to be found," before turning his back away from you with a grumble.

You watched him walk away from you, embracing all his negativity and feeling your heart plummet because he was acting far from the welcoming man last night. It was like it has never been him that was offering to cover your wounds as he knelt in front of you, all the more; giving you a small smile despite of it not being his forte in doing so.

He was unconventional to you. A book you've definitely wanted to read, yet difficult to understand because the words were such a complex for the naked eye. Geralt was rare and a kind you've never encountered. Literally.

Nonetheless, his presence was intriguing and definitely inveigling.

"I have no hope then," you've thought to yourself, hearing Cirilla and Jaskier banter over something about the sorceress that ignited Geralt's change of heart.

"I'm hungry," Cirilla stressed towards the Bard who was now holding his Lute and plucking with the strings like he was forming another one of his epics inside his head. The bard ignored her and gave Geralt a once over who was on the other end of the cavern, opening wooden cabinets which had all different kinds of concoctions that certainly a normal human cannot take because of how toxic it was and how it was only forbidden and restricted for Witchers.

Cirilla threw a hissy fit, blowing out a breath of agitation and hunger because she was famished. You studied the child and noticed she was a little taller than you no matter how she should've been small. As you've tried to eye-ball her height, she seems to be in between five foot four or five foot three. "What's your name, kid?"

She narrowed her eyes on Jaskier who began to tread to where the Witcher is, "Cirilla," the princess honestly voiced out, palm on her stomach as it grumbled a sound that says she was starving so much.

Cirilla turned her heel to look at you, better than having Geralt stand before you because he was giving you stiff neck from being a tall, brooding man. She eyed you in question and you gave her a sincere smile, waggling your brows at the princess, "I can make food if you want?"

Princess Cirilla jumped on her feet like a child being given candy, clapping her hands in excitement, "Great! A mother figure other than a pair of boys! Geralt and Jaskier make the nastiest food they can ever cook," she jeered with a puff of her breath. Her eyes twinkled in felicity.

She gave you a big wide grin when you've pondered in thought as to what was easy to make in medieval age; questions numbered inside your head and asking no one in particular if their world had chicken? flour? or bread flour, if they didn't have one? Condiments or any kind of spices for taste. Their time had to have chickens and so, you wanted a modern kind of dish to help yourself as well despite of living like in the past, "I can make you fried chicken, if you want? That is, if you can get me chicken,"

"What is a fried chicken?" she'll definitely love it, you thought because she was a child. Seeing her smile go bright just from hearing it made you heart coo; or it was simply a new image rather than those scowls you have been seeing since the morning has started so the kid had a soft spot in your heart. "An unhealthy dish, but definitely scrumptious,"

You turned your head towards the men who were a little bit far from where you both stood, they were talking in silence and that was completely pristine than the banters you've heard non-stop last night, "---And also a healthy viand for these boys you have,"

Jaskier continued plucking on his Lute, strumming random notes as he hummed inside his head, he gave you and Cirilla a glimpse as the bard watched you both interact with each other like you were both long lost friends, like a natural bond slowly being created, "Maybe this cuckoo of a maiden isn't actually bad to have around," he decreed with a look of sympathy. Turning his head to look at Geralt who seemed to have a furious staring contest with his potions.

"---You should help her, Geralt."

The Witcher languidly blinked, partially shutting the wooden cabinet closed and noting that he was deficient of Cat elixir, a concoction to help him grant sight in total darkness, some Black Blood and Fiend concoction that helps him increases the amount of weight that he can carry without being overburdened. Geralt sighed at Jaskier's confession.

"Do I have a choice?" he gurgled back at the bard.

"Won't a djinn help?"

Geralt gave Jaskier a once over before taking a glimpse of you and Ciri who were now sitting on the table, chatting about certain things that can entertain the princess. Jaskier finally had the tune he wanted, a simple catchy tune but different from his song about Witchers. It just had the same style, "I've already took it down into consideration," the bard hummed, completely intrigued and gave him a look, "We can take risks,"

Jaskier ceased himself from humming, the voices of women giggling in the background coming along in their conversation. The ambiance changing into a lighter tone from the moment you came into their cavern. A thorough spin of the world like it was changing in the different kind of path; it was like seeing a new color for the rainbow that has been added to complete the beauty of it all.

You just had that specific effect that could create allurement to the world wherever you're in. Hence, that was probably your magic.

"But, are you willing to take it, Witcher?"

He was taken aback by the question, a question even asked as a question inside his head. Was he really willing to take the risk in helping this midget? another person on his hand to protect and help? Will it not slip apart due to unfortunate circumstances? Geralt calmly breathed through his nose, his facial features slackening when he'd seen Cirilla's eyes twinkling again despite of what she has been through. "I've been through hell and maybe even deeper than that. Probably already met the devil with it,"

Geralt slanted his head in a way to adore the image right in front of him; though with a face that seemed to be lackadaisical, "---This woman hasn't experienced what I have, not even the slightest and I don't want her to," he suddenly admitted, "---I have no thought as to what curse has this woman been cast upon,"

Jaskier nodded in comprehension and ruth for you; pretty blue eyes admiring the sight before him and Geralt, "Seems quite an unfortunate path,"

"Evil is evil," The Witcher added as a matter of fact, "---Lesser, greater or even stronger," a subtle pause to catch his breath as he eyed you beaming back at what Cirilla has said before he continued, "---She hasn't shielded herself from it, nor does she have an amulet with her; like she was sent here for a reason. She's bound for ill-fate because we're in a world full of animosity and mayhem," Geralt trailed off when you've rummaged for the things in the pocket of your short that was neatly folded on the side of the table.

You've shown Cirilla a small beautiful transparent ball that had rainbow color stars inside. It was a lucky charm for you and it has been given as a gift from your mother back in earth.

"Do you know Jacks and Stones, Cirilla?"

Cirilla's ears perk at that, a perplexed expression written on her face. "The game doesn't ring a bell, Y/N."

Once Cirilla has seen you grabbed onto the small stones on the space below their window and tried to play on your own, her forehead creasing seemed to relax and a look of elation and familiarity run through her face, "I think I actually know it! Isn't it Knucklebones?"

You've caught the ball and the small stone in one hand with no sweat. She eyed the ball and the stones scattered around the table, her eyes gleaming a lot more than she ever did. "I think so! But, here's the catch! Loser gets a slap on the forehead with a finger and the Winner gets two drumsticks of my special fried chicken,"

"---Oh, you're on, Y/N! I'm great at Knucklebones!" she challenged as she abruptly stood on the table, looking right back at Geralt and Jaskier who were already looking in fascination.

Cirilla demanded in blithe. A big, bright smile shining her face, "Geralt, we need chicken! Catch us one!"

At the mention of that, Geralt couldn't help but repeatedly blink at the wishes from the princess; catching him off-guard. Jaskier couldn't help but send a shit-eating grin to the Witcher who had his brows in another kind of twist, his face wanting to wince but he ceased to.

"I'm a Witcher, not a farmer," he deeply mumbled with a sigh. Cirilla blew a breath, her hands on her hips as she sassed, "Aren't you a butcher of Blaviken? Or do they just call you that?"

The Witcher's forehead creased at the mention of one of his monikers. He didn't want anymore retorts because the princess would drop down more comments for the argument that will last for hours till end just for her demands to be taken into account. Thus, which is why; Geralt was shrewd enough to end her pleading with submission.

"Fine,"

He thought that would be the end of everybody's demand when you've suddenly stood up on your seat and waved a hand to get his attention. Geralt gave you a look of query and with a little bit of tenderness in his eyes that you could undeniably feel no matter how stoic his expressions were. You cleared your throat, grinning back at him like a Cheshire cat.

"Can I come with you? Please?"

"No, midget." He strained, the lackadaisical tone lacing at the end of his tongue. His answer was fast and prudent, entirely against the idea.

You just wanted to be familiar with their world when you'll be staying in it for days, maybe even months or badly for years because of how you didn't know the portal they were saying. All you knew on how to transport was cars, airplanes, boats, bikes and even walking would do the job. But, not with magic and scientific luck.

You pouted back at The Witcher, heart falling from the rejection. Sending him the most pitiful look in your eyes and hoping you weren't looking like a waggling goose before them, "Pleaseee, Geralt? I wanna wander in the woods! Be familiar with the place especially that I've probably going to take time before I go back home," pause. "After Cirilla and I play and know who wins and loses,"

Geralt huffed to himself, an incoherent one as he deeply sighed. Jaskier could hear him from where he stood as he adjusted the leather hoop of his Loot across his shoulder, his witcher of a friend's jaw clenching like he was thinking about it deeply. Before granting permission in the end because of how you were giving him those Hirikka eyes; as said by his inner thoughts out in the back.

"Fine,"

The bard wanted anything but to cough out loud from that submission. Jaskier gave him a double-take. An evident look of surprise in his eyes as he turned his soles to point a finger at the Witcher. Geralt was quick enough to shake his head and slap his finger away with the back of his hand.

"Don't...even start, Bard."

"It's been a day and this small rat already has you wrapped around her finger!" he whisper-yelled at his friend, excitement and jest sparking his nerves which got him grinning like the devil.

Geralt glared at the mischievous bard grinning back at him with the knowing look that they can only both understand, "When will you bloody shut up?"

"When I don't have the voice to poetically sing my wonderful epics," Jaskier scoffed, crossing his arms on top of his Lute with that mocking glint in his eyes. The Witcher smirked back at Jaskier, spitting out a particular jest that could get him back-paddling, "Guess I'll need a travel companion in finding another Djinn,”

Jaskier blinked in surprise, taking a step back as he shook his head and had a hand on his hip while the other was wiggling in the air to express his negations, "Oh no no no, Witcher! Keep me out of your heroic attempts of gathering some kind of genie! I am done!" the bard ridiculed as he took hesitant steps back, slowly and slyly taking off before Geralt carries him on his shoulders to purposefully tag him along in finding another Djinn, "I figured playing this jacks and stones with Cirilla and Y/N will be much better instead,"

Jaskier halted from his silent, sneaky egress. Giving both women a glimpse who were playing behind him, "A BARD WISHES TO JOIN YOUR WONDERFUL ADVENTURE, LASSIES!"

He snapped his head back at Geralt who simple wore a crooked smile and a look of mockery filling his perfectly chiseled face, "Off you go, Witcher of the night," the rascal waved him off, a gloaty banter being thrown back to the smug witcher, "I have also yet to create another knightly epic for an intriguing love story that is bound to unfold in the far north of Kaedwan,"

Thusly, Geralt's crooked smile was rapid to fall. His face masking in condemnation when Jaskier began to strum his lute and with a tune that would probably haunt his friend as he tried to sleep through the night.

"Doeful eyes like a dear~ Seems like a Witcher who couldn't bear~,"

Jaskier's singing has made history through different places in the continent and he was never wrong with the epics he'd been orally singing out around which is why this new song he was forming to create would either be a complete disaster, a mere tell-tale or a myth that was bound to end up in the vast veracity of the epic told.

IT’S ALL FUN AND HAPPY NOW. BUT, Y’ALL WILL SEE THE WRATH OF ANGST WHEN THE CHAPTER GOES FURTHER!

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funkzpiel · 5 years

Text

Drift

So the original prompt had been lovely, utterly lovely, and asked for Alpha!Jaskier using his nature to help Geralt take care of himself (i.e. using his voice, body language, touch, etc. to help persuade Geralt to eat, drink, sleep, rest, etc.) and I LOVED IT and I sat down to WRITE IT and then whatever the fuck this is happened instead… I’m not sure how it spiraled away from me so vastly or how to even quite describe what it turned into, haha. So I’m keeping the original prompt in my rolodex, cause I’d like to try again per the asker’s original idea some time - but for now, have 13 pages of whatever the hell my non-stop headache managed to put together below…

warning: contains abo dynamics, however, literally focuses solely on the dynamic between Alpha/Omega. Does not contain smut. What has happened to me?

Also available to read on AO3

Little girl, little girl ~ don’t lie to me; Tell me where did you sleep last night?

In the pines, in the pines ~ where the sun never shines; Shivered the whole night through

- In the Pines

“Someone spotted your witcher out by the wood. He’s in a right state. No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

Those had been the words of the messenger who had tracked Jaskier down at the inn, sent by the alderman. Jaskier had been prepared to go out into the rain and find a soggy, grumpy witcher. But “a right state” didn’t even begin to cover it.

It was raining. Of course it was raining, Jaskier thought petulantly as he braved the weather to find his witcher. It was easy to hide behind his griping. Easier to whine about the cold and the wet than to think too heavily on the messenger’s words: “No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

He found Geralt at the tree line, as promised. There were at least six trees that had fallen victim to the man, carved up in great hacking lines that bore no pattern or reason. Just vicious, gaping wounds that oozed sap and frayed bark. Weeping splinters atop their roots. Geralt was busy carving up another tree. He was using his steel sword. It kept getting caught in the bark, the blade not made for slipping free of wood as easily as it cleaved flesh or bone. Every time it snagged, Geralt would snarl, shoulders heaving as he yanked it free and attacked again, each time without any of the finesse expected from a witcher. So he wasn’t practicing; not that he should be, so fresh from a hunt.

Jaskier could tell from afar that the man was exhausted. He could hear wheezing in his heaving breaths, see the way his armor struggled to make room for each inhale. His shoulders were low, his arms heavy. He didn’t move his feet more than he had to, instead forcing his hips and thighs to bear the weight of his movements, his attacks. His skin was pale and sickly, and even with the potions having faded off, his veins still showed through his skin like silvery cobwebs.

Something must have gone wrong, there was nothing else to it. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before. Witchers by nature and grooming were not the most expressive people. They did not know how to tolerate any pain that was not physical. That usually meant their distress got channeled into outlets such as this: calculated violence. As if that stress and that emotion could be worked out of the body like a knot from sore muscles. Each blow exhausted him, each strike winded him – but it kept his mind off whatever had happened. Focused on movement, on the swing of his sword, the angle of the blade’s descent.

Jaskier leaned against the fench a short way from the snarling witcher, elbows braced atop its warped wooden rail. He’d let the witcher tire himself out, that tended to be the best move to make in this particular dance. He’d watch, be there when Geralt—

Jaskier’s thoughts came to a grinding halt as Geralt’s sword buried itself deep into the wood of his victim, then snapped with a clang that rang out like a song in one long, mournful note. The air drew sharp and electric, and Jaskier felt himself tense like an animal suddenly all too keen that a predator was nearby and on the prowl. Water trickled down the slope of his nose, under his collar, between his shoulder blades. He shuddered, eyes fixed on the witcher. Geralt stumbled with the force of the sudden break, and for a moment Jaskier thought that had done it, that had been the last straw of the witcher’s stamina. He waited for the man to fall to his knees. For an opening to go to him, gather him up and help him home. But instead Geralt drew himself up, sides heaving as he panted like an overrun horse, and held the broken sword up so he might better admire the damage.

The metal that remained attached to the hilt was jagged and short. It glimmered weakly, its runes in shambles, its use outlived. Magic popped and crackled along the blade in fits and bursts like a death rattle until finally Geralt tossed it aside – a sneer curling his lip, exposing his teeth. He stood still, like a rock in the middle of a raging river, head down as he glared at the broken sword among the grass. Jaskier prepared to walk to him, guide his exhausted witcher back to the inn, only to freeze when a wounded sound split the air with the same viciousness as Geralt’s sword had split the tree.

The bard’s eyes darted further into the tree line, looking for the source of that animalistic sound – then shot back to Geralt who was moving now, fast as a whip, fist colliding with the tree. Leaves fell, casting him in a veil of baby green leaves and spring petals as the force of the blow shook even a tree as thick as his victim to its core. But the sound, the sound had Jaskier shivering. Wet and fleshy. Geralt’s knuckles – gods above –

Geralt didn’t stop. He reared back, struck again, that howl that had sent icy dread down Jaskier’s spine tumbling from his lips, from behind his teeth, from deep inside his chest. Snarling and blind, Geralt punched again, and again, the sound of his knuckles impacting worsening each time. Jaskier heard a snap and finally that broke the trance that sight had cast upon him, wide-eyed and fawn-legged. He leapt the fence with more grace than he thought himself capable of. Long legs crossed the field, willowy and lithe, and although he knew he was in fact moving quickly, everything felt slow and distant.

“Geralt!” He shouted but could not hear his own words. The rain suddenly worsened, pelted him, as if each sheet might hold him back from his goal single handedly. Geralt either didn’t hear him or did not deign to listen. Petals and leaves kept tumbling down around him in bursts, decorating his hair, littering his armor. Haloing him with life as he raged. Striking, again and again, slap, slap, slap – “Geralt, stop!”

The words came out in a boom, slicing through the rain like a thunderclap.

Jaskier managed to catch the man by the bicep on his backswing, and even through his armor the bard could felt the whipcord tautness of the man’s muscles – the way he held himself, still yearned to strike, but neither relaxed nor continued. Vibrating like a hound snarling at the bit, waiting for the command to launch itself forward and maul its target.

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were fastened on the tree, his jaw clenched so tight Jaskier swore he could hear the groaning of his bones, plaintive and grinding. A muscle was leaping in his cheek. His pupils were blown wide, so black and so large that only a thin sliver of amber remained. But he stopped.

He stopped.

Jaskier didn’t enjoy having to use that trick on Geralt – his voice. It was the equivalent of taking Geralt’s choice from him, his autonomy, and while once upon a time Jaskier used to look on such things with rose-colored glasses and nostalgic ideas of romance and “the way of things”, it wasn’t until he met Geralt that he learned that his voice was a very powerful, very painful thing. A tool easily manipulated into a tactic for control rather than kindness; control disguised as comfort. He was no master. Geralt was no pet.

The thought of trying to control something as untamable, as wild and beautiful as his witcher, made him shiver sickly.

No, he had long ago told himself he’d never use it. Yet here he was, the words tumbling so forcefully from his lips without a second thought. A command. Stop.

Geralt kept thrumming beneath his touch, every inch of him shaking. Trembling so finely that were he made of the fine edges and dangling trinkets of a wind chime, he’d be singing faintly. His nostrils were flared, every breath coming out in a huge, heaving plume from each. From his throat and beneath the falling hush of the storm, Jaskier caught the sound of something strangled emitting from the witcher. Lodged tight and captured behind his teeth; a moan, a whine, a snarl, a plea.

Help.

Jaskier hated to use it. It had been a problem in the beginning – his voice. What it stood for, what it meant, what it took away. A problem that took no small amount of effort to work through. Jaskier had been chock-full of all these ideas and notions of what it meant to be an Alpha, what it meant to have an Omega. The bard had built up this fantasy in his head of what that would look like. How he would coddle them, protect them, nest with them, because that was what an Alpha was meant to do. It took time to pull that structure apart in his mind. To rebuild on healthier foundations, all from scratch. Once or twice he thought Geralt would leave him. The Omega was too wild, too free. Every archaic tradition made him buck like a stallion refusing the bit and saddle. In the beginning, it had been infuriating. Frustrating. Offensive, even. Now…

Jaskier had been so blind. He had seen Geralt as something unique to be tamed rather than the truth – there was only one true way to love, regardless of secondary gender, and it was through respect, communication, and the understanding that tradition was a construct, not a rule.

Geralt stayed. They worked through it. Together, they rebuilt that house in Jaskier’s mind, in both of their minds. They made concessions, they navigated the dark together and created a language all their own with which to define what it meant to have a mate, to be an Alpha or an Omega. And one of those concessions had been simple and clear: do not try to own me or control me. Do not use biology against me.

I am a person, not a conquest.

Jaskier had used it. His voice. But he couldn’t watch Geralt do that to himself. Guilt curled coolly in his guy, greasy and sneering. But it was done. It was done.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, voice raised over the howl of the wind and the rain, but normal. Unaffected, powerless. Pleading. “I didn’t mean to… but your hands, Geralt, gods above, you wouldn’t stop.”

Geralt’s pupils contracted ever so slightly, that mad expanse of black thinning with every word that reached him. His heaving exhales turned into something shaky and stuttered, and finally Geralt blinked. He let Jaskier guide his arm down, slim hands reaching for his pale and quaking one. His knuckles – Geralt hissed, the pain finally registering as he caught sight of them – were torn to shreds. Swollen, broken and bleeding despite the rain that ran over them. Bark stuck out in places. Stung. Geralt groaned, nearly whined, before he caught it behind his teeth and swallowed it down with a grimace of distaste. His hand was shaking harder now in Jaskier’s.

The longer he was still, the more Jaskier saw that panic – that frenzy – begin to take root again. Spreading like vines and weeds that filled Geralt’s eyes, blinding him, choking him. Overwhelmed. Amber eyes drifted from the wreckage of the tree slowly, slowly to Jaskier’s face. And for a man as stoic as Geralt, with expressions so minute and so fleeting, Jaskier looked at him and saw nothing but shattered glass, buried beneath the thin line of his lips, the little wrinkled dip of his brows, the unfocused haze of his eyes. Lost.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his heart throbbing painfully against his ribs in great, crushing pulses, “Are you with me?”

Geralt clenched his jaw tighter. His pupils expanded. Something flickered – wild and animal-like – in the lines of his body and the tense edges of his bones. Feral and bewildered because his mad fight with the trees hadn’t worked as it should. It had exhausted him, broken him – and yet whatever had caused the panic remained with nowhere left to go.

His gaze strayed back toward the tree. In Jaskier’s hands, his own curled back into a fist even as he swayed on his feet, all color leeched from his skin – drenched and wrecked.

“No,” Jaskier said, softly but firmly. It drew the witcher back to him. Had the man stepping closer, pressing into his space. Drawn to the confidence of his tone. “Tell me what you want. How to help. Anything… just not that. No more. Please.”

Geralt said nothing, but in Jaskier’s palms and the cradle of his fingers, the witcher’s fist went slack. Trembling and bloody. Jaskier nodded at that, tried to think of how far the inn was without looking – too afraid to lose Geralt by breaking eye contact.

“How can I help?” He repeated, but Geralt just grimaced as though Jaskier had suggested plucking his nails from their nailbeds. He was searching for words that the School of the Wolf had never given him, Jaskier realized. So he asked instead, “What happened?”

All at once, Geralt’s pupils contracted to thin slits, then expanded all over again – worse – eclipsing all but the thinnest ring of amber at their edges. As though an electric current had gone through the man, he stiffened. A noise grew and choked him. Jaskier reached up to grasp the back of his neck on instinct and instinct alone, the call to soothe him too great to resist despite their many conversations. It went beyond tradition now. It was a bone-deep need, irresistible. His fingers dug into the witcher’s neck. Urged him down the scant few inches of difference between them until Geralt’s forehead rested against his own, white hair running into brown beneath the rain. Geralt huffed against him, a soft, relieved little sound, and his eyes flickered shut. Ever so slightly, his shoulders slackened, responding to that hand. Jaskier felt himself have to bear more of Geralt’s weight as the exhausted man leaned into him.

Geralt could have pulled away. He had before. But he didn’t.

“Does this help?” Jaskier asked.

The man keened, remained pliant in his hands.

“Do you want this?”

Another sound. Jaskier felt a plea of his own whimper past his lips, so desperately wanting to soothe – needing to soothe – and yet loathe to assume, to take advantage. Not when he had seen the wildness in Geralt’s eyes in those early days. Not when Geralt had asked for more than tradition dictates.

“I need a yes or no, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, the plea nearly lost to the rain, “Please.”

Geralt shuddered under his hand, all the way down the length of his spine. His jaw worked at something, huffed helplessly, then finally wheezed, “Yes,” like a death rasp. Needing nothing more, that knot of dread in Jaskier’s stomach unraveled – curling out into long, winding tendrils of instinct that directed his limbs thoughtlessly. His hand on Geralt’s neck squeezed a little tighter and a purr rumbled in his chest at the sight of how that little gesture had made Geralt’s eyes soften, relax.

It was like finally flexing a muscle he hadn’t moved in a very long time – a need he hadn’t realized had gone unanswered for so long. Jaskier’s bones thrummed pleasantly at the sight of his Omega – Geralt – responding to him so openly. It wasn’t just that he was feeding into his instincts. There was a level of trust there. A bond that went unsaid. He had no doubt that Geralt would have slunk into the woods by now, fangs gleaming and eyes wild, if he didn’t want Jaskier to touch him, help him.

That was enough.

“Ok,” he said in a hush against the crown of Geralt’s brow. He inhaled the scent of the witcher – rain, blood, Geralt. Then he dipped into the waters of his nature that he had abstained from for so very, very long. He used his voice. “You’re going to follow me to the Inn.”

Geralt nodded, brow still against his, and beneath Jaskier’s hands the bard felt a shiver run through the witcher – electric and pleasant. When he was sure the man would obey, he let his hand leave Geralt’s neck, instead weaving one arm around his own neck so their sides were as flush as possible. Geralt burrowed as closely as possible, and the longer they walked, the more he found the witcher leaning into him not purely for the pleasure of touch alone. Geralt was exhausted. From the contract, from whatever had gone wrong, from his rage at the tree line.

He wouldn’t have made it home alone, Jaskier realized. He might not have even tried. That realization made something strange and uncomfortable twist dreadfully in a place that had never quite twisted before. Geralt was hardly his first partner, Omega or otherwise. Hardly his first trial with instincts.

But never had he felt this; this keen understanding that his Omega was just a man, and that despite every stereotype that insisted that a ‘good Alpha’ could protect one’s mate by will alone, he could not protect Geralt from anything. He could not protect him from this, from his Path.

He could only be there to help him home.

“Witcher,” the alderman exclaimed at the sight of him the moment they returned to the inn, but one look from Jaskier – sharp and feral, daring the man to come closer – had him pause. It was the growl that followed, making Geralt shiver in his grasp, that sealed the deal. It was apparent then and there the man had not even considered Jaskier might be anything more than a Beta. Whether it was from disorientation or surprise or a keen understanding that to push any further would be to invite a fight, the alderman merely said, “Apologies. It can wait.”

Jaskier didn’t realize he had been baring on pearly incisor, lip curled, until he managed to guide Geralt up the stairs and back to their room. He sat Geralt on the bed and when he realized the man would not look him in the eye, he forced his expression, his body language, into something open and familiar rather than bristled and tight as it had become the moment the alderman had tried to conduct business with them.

The village leader wanted to know the status of their contract. Jaskier knew this. Knew that the intent had been benign, one born of fear and concern for his people. But what about Jaskier’s people? What about Geralt? How had the man not known right away that now was not the time? He turned away lest Geralt see how even so much as thinking about it affected him.

Jaskier wanted so badly to ask what had happened. He had seen Geralt return from missions in a variety of states: pleased, exhausted, annoyed, covered in guts, clean as a whistle – and he’d even seen the man fail before. But never like this. Geralt sat on the edge of the bed like a man numbed from a blizzard, still and pliant, eyes staring. It was a drastic change from the feral thing he had found at the tree line, and Jaskier still didn’t know if it was an improvement or something worrisome. The white wolf’s hands quaked on his lap – bloodied, splintered and swollen – and Jaskier decided there was no better place to start than that, once he got the man into dry clothing.

“Let’s get your armor sorted out,” Jaskier mumbled, automatically going to work on the man’s many straps and buckles with the efficiency of the practiced, peeling him apart piece by sodden piece until nothing but a thin, whipcord tight witcher remained. Geralt just let him do it. No grumbling, no grunts, no protests. The bard felt sick, off-kilter.

Jaskier took care to set his swords against the nightstand where he could easily reach them, then to set his armor in the corner in the way he had seen Geralt do many times before. All the while, the witcher didn’t stir. He just sat there, similar to the way he meditated. Distant, detached. Drifting. There, and yet not.

Jaskier dipped into the other room to heat the water he had already ordered be drawn long before his trip into the storm – knowing Geralt would want it when he returned and eager to remove at least this from Geralt’s plate. He let it heat as he returned to the witcher.

“Stay there, Geralt,” Jaskier said idly, the words tumbling from his lips on instinct as he fetched first a stool, then the medical kit from Geralt’s pack and began setting up beside the bed. He placed the stool between the weak spread of the witcher’s knees and automatically placed one hand across the span of one thick thigh and squeezed as he navigated his way around the witcher’s kit. Geralt’s breathing steadied ever so slightly and without looking Jaskier rumbled softly, pleased, “Good, Geralt. Very good. You’re doing so good for me.”

Jaskier and Geralt had played with the merits of praise before. The bard knew firsthand that the witcher was utterly starved of it, that it was an easy way to twist the wolf around his finger and get him howling. But this was different. These were no mere words meant to rile up an affection-starved, stoic cut of stone of a witcher. This was so much more.

Genuine praise for a man who knew not how to ask for help, and yet in his own way was asking for it. Because while Jaskier had made his concessions with Geralt, he had asked for some of his own as well. That was the core of relationships: give and take. I will not pester you, I will not control you, but in return please trust me. Please come to me when you need shelter, no matter the circumstances. Let me anchor you in the storm.

Praise for a promise kept against the witcher’s every independent instinct, giving into a nature he had struggled against the image of for so long. For his health. Because he trusted Jaskier.

Geralt seemed to melt somewhat, the stiff line of his spine curving gently beneath the weighty blanket of Jaskier’s words and touch. The bard did his best to keep at least one hand on the man at all times as he went through the delicate process of cleaning the wolf’s knuckles and bloodied fingernails, plucking splinters and wooden shrapnel from his skin, and applying ointment and sterile wrappings. Murmuring in low tones, so close to his voice but not quite, how good the witcher was. How much he appreciated his trust.

In the cradle of the bard’s working hands, the witcher’s fingers slowly steadied but for the lightest, faintest tremor.

Already Geralt’s fragmented bones were reknitting beneath his tattered flesh; a taxing affair. Jaskier could see it in his eyes as a heady cloud of exhaustion began to overtake the man, but still Geralt fought it, too afraid to give in. Too afraid to loosen the steel trap that was his mind and open himself up to whatever had happened. Whatever haunted him from the woods. Jaskier’s mouth pulled into a taut, concerned line.

“Alright, up now. Out of your smalls and into the tub,” he said, the directions helping him as much as it did Geralt. He braced the witcher by the forearm as he obeyed, disrobing entirely with an eerie, distant slowness. Drifting. Drifting in the current of Jaskier’s voice, his direction. Drifting far away from the woods and whatever lay inside them.

Jaskier guided him to the tub. Eased him in, singing soft praises beneath his breath all the while – smooth and steady.

“That’a boy, Geralt, just like that. Keep your hands out of the water. I’ll handle the rest. Yes, good. So good,” he babbled, draping either of the witcher’s hands to hang over the rim on either side before taking a washcloth, lathering it with soap and beginning an intimately familiar habit. This he knew. This they both knew. In this, they had even, stable ground.

Geralt wasn’t terribly filthy, for once. However long he had spent in the downpour, it had done the trick of washing the evidence of the woods and the fight away. It was more a matter of warming and soothing the wolf now. Easing the tremors from the corded muscles of his shoulders, the tight lines of his arms. He washed his hair, digging his fingers into the man’s scalp gently, scrapping idly with his nails. In the mirror, he watched the witcher’s eyes begin to fall and hood. Dazed and heavy and drifting.

Jaskier had never thought he’d share a moment like this with Geralt. He’d help the man with his wounds before, of course. They’d learned ways to show their affections for one another. But this was different. Primal and organic, impossible to imitate or force. What he had always wanted, so very long ago…

He remembered once – one of their first arguments about their dynamics, back when they were both unpracticed in the art of loving one another – how viciously Geralt had sneered at him when Jaskier had described the way he was supposed to take care of the man, the Omega. Remembered the jagged cut of his teeth, the wildness of his eyes, so unlike the stories he had always been told as a boy about Omegas.

“Shall I swoon for you, too? Lay down and present right here like some animal in a field?” Geralt snarled, outrage breeding a tremor in his bones. Shaking him from somewhere deep the way earthquakes could rend great fissures in the ground.

“Is it really so terrible for me to want to take care of you!”

“You don’t need to take care of me, you like the idea of taking care of me. They all do, until the time comes – but no one wants to clean up after broken glass! You wouldn’t be taking care of an Omega, Jaskier. It wouldn’t be soft. It wouldn’t be a simple matter of building a nest and stroking my hair. You’d be taking care of a witcher. And that’s dangerous for everyone involved,” he roared, “I’m not some item on a checklist to cross off and prove that you’re an Alpha. Don’t debase me by trying. I’m not collateral in your identity.”

There was a wound there, somewhere, just as much as there was truth. It took time for Jaskier to see that, but he did, eventually. He learned to live without a checklist. Learned to bite his tongue when people mistook Geralt for the Alpha, Jaskier for the Omega. He found the beauty in a relationship established not by society, but by communication and trust. Slower to grow, but stronger for it, like a tree with roots that spread and spread and spread.

Roots that led them here – to the moment Jaskier could finally prove himself. Not as an Alpha, not to society, but to Geralt, as a partner. Prove that he was someone who could be relied on. Present and patient, without ulterior motivation. So he wouldn’t ask about the woods again, not while Geralt was like this. He wouldn’t take advantage, knowing that his voice could likely get him anything right now. The witcher was vulnerable, his every defense devoted to protecting his mind from himself.

So Jaskier would guide the man while he drifted until the witcher found his way home.

“Water’s cooling,” Jaskier murmured, rinsing the man’s hair carefully before brushing it back, looking Geralt in the eyes – searching. But the witcher wasn’t there. “Come on. Food, then bed. That’s all that’s left to do, Geralt, I promise. Almost done, you’re doing so well.”

He eased him out of the tub, sat him atop another stool. Toweled his hair – always so much whiter after washing, like freshly fallen snow – and brushed it out. Clothed him, double checked that his wrapped knuckles were still sterile and dry. He coaxed the witcher into eating a few strips of jerky from their packs and a glass of water, unwilling to leave the man alone to order food from the bar. Then, finally, he eased Geralt down unto the bed.

It was hard to navigate how much space to give. The Alpha in him bayed to plaster himself close, cover the man with his body – to protect him. But their arguments echoed in his head, replaying over and over. Was he betraying Geralt in doing this? Was he no better than any other Alpha? Was this right? Geralt’s pleading eyes from the tree line haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He laid on his side, watching Geralt stare at the ceiling a few scant inches away.

“It’s done. Everything’s done. There’s nothing left to do, Geralt… Try and rest,” he finally said, giving the witcher the initiative to seek that rest however he saw fit – in Jaskier or otherwise. Geralt’s head slowly turned on his pillow then, gaze falling from the ceiling to land on Jaskier’s face. He stared, so far away despite the intimacy of the bed, until finally he blinked. His pupils contracted ever so slightly, focusing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“Yes,” the bard said, relieved and yet hesitant to hope. There was a long moment where it looked like the witcher was going to say something – eyes trailing across the room, no doubt wondering how they got there, how much time had passed. Instead those amber eyes just fell back on him. Was he mad, or—

Geralt turned onto his side so he might face the bard. He curled his hands between them, then reached until his bandaged hand could properly splay across the span of Jaskier’s chest – right atop his heart. He hummed, eyes closing as the witcher felt the tempo of the bard’s heart, Jaskier realized.

“You stayed.”

Jaskier felt his brow furrow, confused, and breathed, “Of course,” as if there were no other answer, no other possibility. Amber eyes bore into him for a long time. Then Geralt burrowed closer, only so close as to tuck his nose beneath Jaskier’s chin and into the hollow of his neck, and finally the witcher went lax.

Geralt had been right. It hadn’t been simple.

But it had been worth it.

Jaskier fell asleep at some point, the witcher tucked into his arms. One arm had fallen asleep, all numb and swollen feeling and promising the uncomfortable pinch of pins and needles when he finally freed the limb from Geralt. The witcher never stirred, not once, not until he woke.

When he did, he spoke into the long column of Jaskier’s throat, voice rough from shouting himself hoarse – no doubt in the woods.

“I didn’t get there in time,” Geralt finally said, lips chapped and brushing against Jaskier’s skin. Breath hot and steady. A shiver trailed down Geralt’s back beneath his hands, so he chased it with the warmth of his palms.

Jaskier closed his eyes. Now that he had Geralt back, the contract began to return to him. Something about a beast in the woods. Missing children.

Children.

I didn’t get there in time.

“But… the alderman said the children had returned from the wood,” Jaskier asked. He had been certain that’s what the messenger had relayed to him when he came to tell Jaskier about the raging witcher at the edge of the wood.

Under his chin, Geralt swallowed dryly – but when he spoke, the words followed as cool and detached as ever. Clinical and distant.

“Not all of them.”

Distance was entering the man’s voice again. Geralt had told him, once, on a particularly drunken night, about what happened when a witcher failed a contract. If he was lucky, he got to keep the upfront deposit. If he was marginally less lucky, he didn’t get paid.

Generally, he got run out of town. Stoned. Spat on. Cursed.

Geralt knew what lay ahead. It wouldn’t matter that he had saved some of the children. Wouldn’t matter that the beast was dead. Only pain lay ahead. Pain on top of the knowledge that he had failed. Disrespect on top of the memories of those little bodies and whatever had been done to them.

And Jaskier hadn’t a clue what to say. What was there to say. That it wouldn’t happen like that? Surely they couldn’t blame him when he had been the only one brave another or skilled enough to try? No villager would have done better and Jaskier didn’t think any other witcher would have had any more luck either. But that wouldn’t matter to Geralt. Any explanation, any pardon would wilt in the man’s hand, fall away to dust.

Respect for a witcher tended to go hand in hand with their successes, and it would appear that rule had bled into Geralt’s bones like marinade into meat, stewing and soaking until the man’s own self-respect obeyed the same principle.

Jaskier worked his jaw, searching for words, but nothing came. His years of education, his grasp of language, his every beautiful string of words – all of it felt stale and worthless before the witcher’s grief. Children were dead.

Jaskier held Geralt closer, buried his nose into the witcher’s hair, and hummed deep in his chest where the witcher might feel it against the splay of his hands and the tight curl of his body. The grief was Geralt’s to hold, who was he to belittle or speak it away? All he could do was share it. Be present for it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Geralt’s hair. He felt the wolf let out a hushed breath against his throat, as though he had been holding it for some time. Geralt didn’t respond. He also didn’t pull away. He had been waiting for Jaskier to leave, the bard realized.

No one likes picking up after broken glass. Liable to get cut.

They stayed like that, together – the room silent, yet so full.

[LINE BREAK]

They dozed most of that morning. Jaskier let Geralt lead. After all, who better to navigate those waters than the man who had navigated them before. It was not his place to take it away, nor to numb it from the witcher’s mind. He did made himself present, and quickly realized that’s all Geralt ever wanted all along.

Eventually the witcher dressed. Jaskier thought they would go to the alderman next, but instead Geralt led them out of the village, back to the tree line. He never told the bard not to follow. In fact, he walked quite close to Jaskier all the while. It wasn’t until they returned to the edge of the forest – the bark scarred by Geralt’s outburst – that the witcher finally stopped, momentum faltered.

The bard looked from the woods to the witcher, confused, and asked, “Do you… not remember the way, or…?”

“I remember,” Geralt said, one hand on Jaskier’s chest just as he had done that morning – anchoring himself to the bard’s heartbeat. His gaze was firm if brittle, but he kept the bard’s gaze as he said, “You need to stay here.”

For the first time since Geralt had returned him, there in that inn bed, curled tight to his chest, Jaskier found that instinct to control rearing its head again. He had only just got the witcher back. The thought of losing him to that haze again made his gut clench violently. His eyes fell to the gloves that hid sterile white bandages, pain hidden beneath heavy armor and duty.

He could not stop himself from arguing.

“Oh no, Geralt, I’m not sending you back into there alone after last night, there’s no way,” he babbled, his own gaze turning a touch frantic at the thought, but Geralt just eased a hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck and squeezed – once – to get his attention.

“There are some things only a witcher should see, Jaskier.”

Ah. It was bad then. Messy.

It won’t be like caring for an Omega. You’ll be caring for a witcher.

The sound of Geralt punching the trees, splitting his knuckles, breaking his bones – all of it – echoed in Jaskier’s ears, running over him like a winter chill. But for a witcher, there were simply some things an Alpha couldn’t do… Some things they could not be protected from.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jaskier tried. His eyes drifted to the trees. To their long shafts and shifting branches and dappled shadows, all swaying so innocently, so invitingly. Those children had been lured in by much the same innocence. They had played in the wood, in those trees. Fetched berries for their mothers and kindling for their fathers. Somewhere, back behind those pleasant bows of grass and gentle curves of oak, there were bodies. Small, fragile little bodies. Jaskier shivered.

And Geralt wanted to go alone.

The Alpha in him bared its teeth and paced the cage of his self control, looking for any gap in the bars, any sign of warping or fatigue. Gods above, did he feel fatigued. But Geralt’s warning rang like a bell in his mind and realized, finally, the truth beneath Geralt’s bristling and snarling and feralness: most Alpha’s didn’t want to stick around with someone they could not protect, could not control. A witcher’s Alpha had to be a man willing to go against instinct. It was no easy ask. Obviously, Geralt had been left before.

No one wants to pick up after broken glass that they cannot protect, cannot prevent from breaking. Picking up finer and finer shards, all so sharp and piercing, cutting up their fingers until they could hold on no longer. Dangerous for everyone, Geralt had said.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Jaskier,” Geralt broached with surprising gentleness. With understanding. He was waiting for this to be too much. Braced for it. Expecting it.

Jaskier let his shoulders slump as he found himself at the crossroads Geralt had always known their relationship was leading to. Could Jaskier handle this – handle fighting his instinct to protect – knowing that there was no protecting a witcher?

I told you it wouldn’t be easy.

His career had not been easy. Leaving home and financial security and the royal safety net of his birth right had not been easy. Going against expectations and becoming a bard rather than head of household had not been easy. Loving Geralt had not been easy.

Difficulty was not synonymous for worth or regret.

The bard ran a hand through his hair, looking around, then finding a suitable stump he plopped down with bardly grace, crossed his legs, and said, “Nothing worth having ever is,” with a beatific smile.

The witcher stilled, eyes ever so slightly wide, and stared at him – stunned. Behind him, the trees swayed lovingly. Petals and leaves danced between them, carried on an unknown current. Drifting.

Geralt opened his mouth at that, then closed it – at a loss for words, not that he ever had been a man of many words at all. He looked out over the village, over the inevitable. He’d return to that village soon enough. He’d tell them of the fate of the children who hadn’t come home. And more than likely, he’d be run out of town – and Jaskier with him. Geralt was at a crossroads of his own: could he bear to let someone carry the burden of their scorn with him, knowing they deserved none of it?

Jaskier watched, waited – let Geralt lead.

After a long, searching moment, the witcher clenched his jaw and nodded before finally disappearing into the wood without him.

It took time to bury the dead. Time to make sure they were buried deep enough to be protected from ghouls or anything else that might dig them up for an easy snack. Time to transfer their little bodies from the scarred nook of woods infected with their fear and their death to somewhere deserving of little bodies to be put to rest. To honor their graves with rock markers and holy candles and incense to ward away any creature that might try to make an easy snack of them so early after their deaths. Time, and great care, and all the while Jaskier waited patiently because Geralt, in his own way, had promised to return if he promised to stay.

Petals danced. The woods whispered a hushed lullaby. And on the alter of Geralt’s table, he offered the only thing the witcher had ever asked for: in the face of every difficulty ahead, every non-conventional hurdle, every contradiction of instinct – Jaskier stayed.

Jaskier waited.

He stood only when a slim, broad shouldered figure appeared from the womb of the woods, solitary and wraith-like in that way wolves always seemed to appear when separate from their pack. He paused at the tree line, in that delicate state of existence between the wild and man; and seemed surprised to see Jaskier there. Surprised, Jaskier realized, but also relieved. Some unspoken tension seeped out from the man’s shoulders. Left him like a malicious spirit leaving cursed flesh, finally setting its victim free. His entire body language bespoke of a man finally breaching the surface of some vast, unknown lake.

Jaskier wondered how long he had been drowning.

“You stayed,” Geralt grunted. Stunted and unaccustomed to being proven wrong.

“When have I ever been conventional, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, unable to hold back the volume of his smile, the light of it, the relief. “Of course I stayed. You came back.”

Geralt shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable.

“I did,” was all he managed. And that was enough. That was everything.

Jaskier broached the gap between them and laced his fingers in dirty, grave-soil stained hands; all too aware that beneath those gloves were the bandages Geralt had let him apply when the witcher had been weak, vulnerable and wanting. A symbol of the concessions that bound them. He could not protect Geralt as his armor did. Could not show his care publicly like any normal Alpha might. No one might ever know, may not ever see. But for that price, for that payment, he could have what mattered. He could have what the witcher was too scarred, too wary to offer anyone else.

Yes, he thought as they walked hand in hand back to the village – ready to face the people’s ire together. It was much better to love the man than the idea.

Geralt was real, more solid and more vast than any concept of intimacy or love that Jaskier had ever conceived of as a boy.

Geralt was real, and he was wanting. That was enough. That was everything.

#The Witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gaskier #omega!geralt #alpha!jaskier #Witcher Writing #Witcher Ask Box #idk wtf happened #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort (emotional)#no beta we die like men #ya'll someone needs to stop me lmao what have i done

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softnaruto · 4 years

Note

Could you do an angsty scenario for Itachi where the reader(his lover) finds out the reasons behind the massacre after his death? If not it’s okay I love your blog !

Death’s Karma

author’s note: So sorry for the wait! I actually had finished it but then realized I had read the request wrong, so I rewrote it! I hope you like it, I wanted it to have a twist!

word count: 1730

genre: angst!

warnings: death

Before the departure:

Having to see the bodies of the individuals you had once talked to, laughed with, and loved was more heartbreaking than anything else you had ever experienced. You were in the Hokage’s ANBU, however, and emotion was something that was completely restricted. Your mission that night was not to think about Itachi’s unspeakable actions, but rather, help pick up the bodies as your comrades tried to find any trace of the murderer.

As you picked up the corpses on the street, tears brimming in your eyes as you carefully took strands of hair off of the small, lifeless victim in your arms, you thought about Itachi. The simple thought of picking up bodies as if they were leaves made you feel disgusted, but there was no space for feelings in the shinobi world. As the Hokage had said, Itachi wasn’t the same person he was before, was he?

He was now Itachi the murderer, a traitor to Konoha.

What was he thinking when he was murdering innocent people? Was he really a selfish being that only thought about himself and hated his own clan? Even after making you devote your life to yours?

You would stay up every night, look at the ceiling, and remember the way Itachi’s hands would trace your skin; the way his fingers would warm you up, igniting a fire you had never felt before. You would breathe in his scent through the clothes you stole from the Uchiha compound a couple of nights after you had eradicated any trace of death. You would close your eyes, imagine his arms around you, wondering if he would still hold you the same way after his horrid act.

You felt guilty. Loving someone who had murdered so many was a horrible trait of yours, and yet you pushed the feeling of wanting him with you deep down inside of you.

A couple of months after the terrible sins that were committed, your mind drifted back to the incident. The explanations that the Hokage and Danzo had for the village as to why the incident happened seemed to shallow. Itachi wouldn’t just do it for power. Itachi wouldn’t murder his family, his friends, his clan for a simple test of strength. So why would he?

The obsession with the truth became uncontrollable, and eventually, it was impossible to not do anything about the situation. It was as if the disappearance of Itachi and the murder of the Uchiha clan had scarred you for life, leaving you as the only one able to truly find the end to the maze you had been living in. You were a mouse inside of a maze trying to find a way to escape, and you had grown tired of the shallow confrontations you have had with the ones who investigated the area.

The smell of blood and the sight of the innocent bodies in inhumane positions had stayed with you for a long time. Although you were once indifferent to the metallic smell of blood and the screams of the wounded, Itachi found a way to scar you once again. You had become trapped inside a cycle of insanity, wanting to be the knight in shining armor that would fix Itachi’s reputation, wherever he was.

Departure:

Fairy tales don’t exist.

You weren’t the knight in shining armor that had discovered the truth behind Itachi’s acts. Instead, you assimilated and became a nobody who allowed Itachi’s story to be a mystery. You had tried to investigate it and tried to find the truth about Itachi’s reasoning itself, but found nothing.

Instead, life was moving on without you, and while you wanted to stay inside of Itachi’s memory, continuously seeing him around you, you had to move on in order to survive.

You began to see the beauty in remembering him rather than the sadness in missing him. You would smile at the thought of sweet dumplings rather than the way he used to lighten up when you bought them for him, and slowly but surely, your heart healed from Itachi’s departure. You resigned from the ANBU, the emotionless and obscure life that you were trapped in, and became a teacher at the Academy.

Years after your heart had slowly healed from the disastrous massacre that had occurred in Konoha, the news of Itachi’s death had made their way to you. You were in the middle of a class, talking about clones and about the exam coming up when Iruka knocked on your door.

“Y/N,” He said softly, causing you to look up at him. You smiled at him before excusing yourself to your students and stepping out to the hallway.

“We got… news about Itachi.”

The news hit you like a kunai to your chest; they had taken the air away from your lungs, emptying them out and inserting poison. You, the once emotionless soldier that worked in the shadows, had been reduced to a weeping, broken, frame of a human in front of what seemed like the whole world.

It was as if the whole world had completely broken and there was no hope left. You had always wanted to find out the truth about Itachi, but the simple fact was that you weren’t strong enough to. Countless years of asking the Hokage for the truth, countless years of approaching Kakashi with pointless questions; they were all in vain. You were never able to heal him, help him, or bring him back home.

He was really gone this time.

After the departure:

After the news of Itachi’s death, you had begun to take walks through what was left of the Uchiha compound. In these pointless midnight walks, you found yourself remembering the way you would walk around the same streets with Itachi. The roads were empty, dust covering the once-crowded dumpling shops, and you winced as you remembered how much pain resided in the compound.

Tonight, you had walked endlessly until you found yourself in front of Itachi’s house. You trespassed the building, admiring how little everything inside had changed, but how vastly different the home felt. It once was a sweet memory for you, going into Itachi’s house and visiting his mother to drink her famous tea and admire Itachi from afar; now, the teacups were placed in cabinets never to be used again.

Walking away from the memories of his home and into the forest, you admired how beautiful the moonlight looked through the trees, almost as if to trick you into thinking a massacre hadn’t occurred in the compound behind you. You stopped at the Uchiha’s training grounds, remembering the way Itachi would try and teach you new justu every time you’d drop by.

“You aren’t an Uchiha.” A voice called out, making you freeze. The voice was peculiar and dark, almost teasing.

“I am not,” You answered, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. It was a strange thing, the way you had not noticed a presence. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” The voice called out, echoing through the forest. “Ah, I see now. You used to be Itachi’s friend, right?”

You brought out a kunai, inspecting the forest carefully. Whoever it was, if they were so skilled to not be noticed, they were sure to be dangerous; especially since they knew who you were. The voice laughed before a figure appeared before you out of thin air.

“Who are you? How do you know me?” Your voice was wavering, and you took a step back, trying to figure who the stranger was. Your eyes were met with a strange masked man in a black and red robe. The Akatsuki. “Answer me.”

“I’m… someone from the past.” He answered, almost as if he didn’t really care to do so.

“Someone from the past?” You questioned, keeping your guard up.

“Your resilience has always interested me, Y/N,” The man said, his voice creating shivers down your spine, “You knew Itachi had murdered his entire clan and yet you continued to investigate it. You spent countless hours sneaking into the Hokage’s office, never giving up. You just kept running after him, like a little lamb. Itachi did mention that you would try to run after him, now that I think about it.” The figure said before a small chuckle escaped the darkness that his voice was enveloped with. “You have refused to believe what the leaders have told you for years. I don’t think you’re persuaded easily, Y/N. That is a very good trait to have.”

“You knew Itachi?” Your voice wavered, and the weight in your chest became more prominent than ever before.

“Of course I knew Itachi,” The masked man answered, almost as if to taunt you with it… trying to reel you in. He was successful. “I helped him escape. After all, knowing the truth behind his actions really makes you empathize with him.”

“Tell me,” You pleaded, not caring if the man was dangerous or not. Itachi was not the cold-hearted murderer everyone thought he was. You had to know the truth behind Itachi’s actions and the real reason why he committed such an atrocious act. “Tell me everything about Itachi. I know he wasn’t a—”

“A murderer?” The figure answered, taking a few steps towards you, “I’ll tell you since you amuse me so much.”

A New Beginning:

The truth behind the Uchiha’s massacre had changed you. Your hatred towards the village, the Hokage, Danzo, and the belief of the will of fire that was installed in every little soldier they sacrificed grew immensely. You hated everything that reminded you of Itachi. His devotion to the village, his devotion to the people who hated him for being an Uchiha, and his devotion to his last mission disgusted you.

You wanted nothing to do with Konoha and nothing to do with the fake life you had created for yourself after his departure. The masked man, who had introduced himself as Madara Uchiha, was right. Konoha was an evil place that played with its people and sacrificed others for a greater good that did not exist.

One day you would go back to see Danzo, the Hokage, and the elders. Sacrifice them for the greater good.

“Welcome to the Akatsuki.”

#anime #anime headcanons #anime scenarios #naruto #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto scenarios #itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi x reader #madara #madara uchiha #uchiha clan

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five-miles-over · 4 years

Text

‘Aftermath’ Part 8: Something There (Commodus x OC)

Summary: Emperor Commodus is distraught after unnecessarily taking a life, and even more after he meets his witness.

Warning: Angst, lots of fluff at the end. (I apologize if it feels cheesy at certain points. This is honestly a bit short compared to the previous two chapters, and I promise the next ones will be much better)

Word Count: 2,041 words

Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here

Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here

Read Part 3: Point of No Return here

Read Part 4: Look Down here

Read Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky here

Read Part 6: These Palace Walls here

Read Part 7: Wait For It here

Almost an eternity of silence had passed as Caesonia stood at the doorway of her chamber, remaining stern as Commodus turned towards her.

“Never show weakness,” her father’s voice echoed in her mind.“You mustn’t be afraid of Death. It will only get you killed.” It wasn’t the violence that scared her, but rather having been the unfortunate witness of such an act that brought internal terror. It was no secret that the emperors of Rome valued their public image and many of them would stop at nothing to preserve a persona of wisdom, justice, fortitude, and temperance.

Disappearing into her room, Caesonia backed away from him gingerly. And without a second thought, the emperor followed her. Yet Commodus found himself remaining near the threshold of the doorway to debate his next choice of words.

Perhaps it was guilt, or even fear, that could be used to describe the emotion Commodus had been afflicted with. Lucilla’s words followed him like a shadow, even as he advanced towards Caesonia. Those stinging remarks were by his side long after the vision of his sister had disappeared. What if Lucilla were correct - that all he’d ever done was push everyone he’s cared about away? Would Caesonia, his Pink Fairy, become disgusted with his violent outburst and reject him? No, she couldn’t…she was his prisoner…he held the lives of her and his father in the palm of his hand. She belonged to him.

“Ave, Caesar,” Caesonia greeted, breaking the long silence and Commodus’s string of self-doubt. “Good evening, my lady,” he replied amidst blinking with astonishment. Commodus had not expected her to be so formal or calm, after what she’d just seen. And the sight of her obediently kissing his ring brought about a sense of temporary calmness for the emperor too.

Raising her chin so that their eyes met, Commodus took a moment to study her features before asking her a question. “Am I a monster, Lady Caesonia?”

She shook her head in reply. “I want to hear it from your lips,” he quietly growled.

“You are not a monster, Caesar.”

The emperor walked towards the aging, white bed, still standing before her with an intense stare. “Do you loathe me?”

“I do not, Caesar.”

Abridging the space between them, Commodus felt a slight quiver in his tone and swallowed as he inquired his last question.

“Am I not merciful?”

The analytical side of her would’ve weighed her answer based on which would guarantee her being alive to see the next day. An outright criticism of the emperor’s ways would guarantee an execution, while agreement would spare her. Yet, as the weeks passed in her empty, incarcerated existence, Caesonia asked herself endlessly why she was still obeying every command and trying to live. Her father hadn’t fought for her; he abandoned her in a heartbeat when she fought to spare his life. Then again, if her father were dead, she’d have no place to go. For all the righteousness and virtues many emperors claimed to possess, Rome was never kind to a lonely girl.

Still, was she merely trying to stay alive because that is what she was taught - to survive at all costs? Or was she finding herself loyal to her captor? Caesonia knew why her father was in trouble, and tried for treason. He failed his duty towards the Emperor of Rome, and had to be duly punished. The Emperor accepted her offer, and was as benevolent as possible to her. Instead of the dungeons, she was given a room. Granted she was not allowed to leave said room, but it was certainly better to be alone than to be surrounded by violent, insane men who’d certainly prey upon a girl thrust into their premises. And for his seemingly kind gestures, Caesonia took it upon herself to be obedient to him in return.

“You are merciful indeed, Caesar,” she answered, barely louder than a whisper.

“No, I’m NOT!”, he wanted to scream at her. “You watched me take an innocent life before your very eyes! Why would you still address me as merciful, you deceitful girl?!” But this was not the time for screaming. Maybe this wasn’t the time to say anything.

Instead, the chamber was filled with the sounds of weeping as the emperor of Rome suddenly fell to his knees. Tears streaming down his reddening face, Commodus couldn’t control his sobs. Whether it was for the unlucky servant, the scheming senators, his discouraged sister, or even the prospect of loneliness, his cries were beyond explanation. He didn’t know why he wanted to cry, but it was all that Commodus really wanted to do.

Caesonia stood as stiff as a statue for a moment, attempting to process the tragedy unfolding before her. Let alone an emperor, a man crying openly was almost unheard of. Trembling, she slowly knelt before him and caressed his cheek in hopes of wiping his tears. To her surprise, Commodus clasped her hand, their fingers interlacing, and held it close to his face. It was as if he wanted to know if she were truly real, or merely a figment of his imagination.

“Sh-sh-shall I bring you something, Caesar?” She asked, trying to be helpful.

He looked up at her with misty eyes, longing for only one thing. Commodus swallowed again, “I am not an emperor tonight, Caesonia.”

With a deep breath, he clarified, “Let us pretend that I am a weary traveler come from afar and that you are a lovely maiden in whose arms I seek refuge.” Inching closer to her, Commodus softly asked. “Will you grant me that, radiant beauty?”

“Yes, dear traveler,” she nodded sadly. Without another word, Caesonia wrapped her arms around Commodus and held him to her chest. “My rose…,” he whispered, losing himself in her touch while he closed his eyes. The poem, Caesonia remembered, the one about a rose blooming from another rose. The unfolded parchment was on top of her pillow as she’d been re-reading it to herself lately; how kind of him to notice that, she thought.

Whispering into his dark brown hair, Caesonia said, “Sleep well, dear traveler.”

——— ———— ——— ——— ——— —— —— —— —— —— —— ——

Slightly irritated by the glare in his eyes, Commodus groaned as he shifted around in Caesonia’s lap. He had accidentally fallen asleep on the floor and now it was almost past the break of dawn.

Her hushed snores immediately caught his attention. He was surprised that she hadn’t budged all night, instead choosing to lean her head against the bed. Right now, she seemed to be almost fast asleep; not a muscle of hers moved as he rose from her lap.

Despite having admired the Sun all his life, the emperor felt a twinge of jealousy for the celestial star being the first one to brush her cheeks. Mine, he thought, she should be mine alone - to hold, to hug, to cherish… Commodus tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how peaceful -almost seraphic- she looked. “Good morning, my rose,” he cooed into her ear while affectionately stroking her warm fingers.

“Good morning…” her voice faltered as she saw the emperor looming over her. “F-forgive me for making you sleep on the floor.” Caesonia wiped her mouth, suddenly self-conscious before him. The night was gone, and so were the traveler and the maiden.

Offering her his hand, he carefully helped her up. The two of them stood silently before each other, too hesitant to directly look at the other yet afraid of seeming weak and unnecessarily bashful. “I must go to the baths,” Commodus commented. She shakily nodded in reply. “I see.”

“Would you come with me?” he asked sternly, not wishing to let her out of his sight

“I accept your invitation,” Caesonia placed her hands behind her back and followed him out of her chamber, lowering her head. Most likely, the palace would be filled with maids and servants bustling about. Would they know that the emperor spent the night in her vicinity, or would they assume that he wanted her relocated for…penal purposes? She didn’t know; perhaps it was better to lie low than rouse suspicion.

When they reached the imperial bathing chambers, the emperor ordered for the doors to be closed. He began disrobing before the pools, letting his garments fall from his body. Caesonia averted her eyes only to be fiercely jolted by a hand on her shoulder.

“It is rude to show your back on an emperor, Lady Caesonia,” Commodus snickered, taking strange delight in her fear. He brought her here mainly because of remorse for bringing an unpleasant sight to her eyes; she deserved something to cheer her up.

His peridot eyes fixated on her, Commodus watched Caesonia dip her toes into the water. He waded gently in the pool and decided to gaze at her for a while, letting himself be consumed by her loveliness. Her soft side-glances spoke of a charming coyness, and it appeared that she had reciprocated his warm expression. After all, the baths were no place for suspicion; who would carry out dangerous plots in the baths?

Lost in her own company, Caesonia flicked her toes in the water, making little splashes. One of them wet Commodus, who turned around and raised an eyebrow at her obliviousness. Without a second to lose, he splashed her in retaliation. Her shocked eyes immediately met his mischievous ones from across the pool.

“Go on,” he goaded her with another splash.

Soon, the two of them were throwing water at each other, laughing like children, and grateful that the doors were closed. For now, the world faded away and time stood still for their innocent indulgence. In an effort to keep up with his splashes, Caesonia accidentally fell in. “Are you alright?” He made his way towards her. She nodded in return.

Her hands traced his broad shoulders as she clung to him. Commodus did his best to keep his breath steady, simultaneously bewildered and excited by being touched so tenderly. She studied him closely, running her fingertips over his slightly curved jawline and finally settling on his lips. Her thumb traced over the corner of his mouth, and in a playful manner, he pretended to bite her finger. Caesonia flinched, a fond smile forming as Commodus sheepishly grinned. “What is it, my rose?”

“I wanted to know if this was all a dream,” Caesonia confessed shyly.

“What do you think?” He asked in a hushed tone before capturing her lips in a kiss. Her lips locked with his, as if they had been separated for far too long. Caesonia daringly ran her fingers through his hair, softly yanking the cropped dark brown locks, and it was enough to arouse the emperor beyond compare. Whispering her name under his breath, Commodus kissed her deeper and tugged at any inch of fabric on her body that he could get his hands on. He wanted to have her so badly, to feel her skin against his, to make her melt with desire for him.

Their moment of intimacy was promptly interrupted by the voice of a guard outside. “Highness, your chariot to the Colosseum awaits you.” The emperor looked longingly at her before slowly making his way out of the pool, water dripping from his muscles. Caesonia followed him despite the heaviness of her soaked dress.

“Do you need…would you like help with your armor?” She asked, picking up the metallic breastplates from the floor.

“You may,” he smugly spoke. Even though he would ask for another suit of armor and a fresh set of robes the minute he reached his quarters, Commodus never wanted to reject her touch. Promptly she fastened the clasps holding the dark and shiny ensemble together.

Biting her lip, Caesonia timidly looked up at him when she finished dressing him. “Forgive me for being so bold…but I like you very much.”

“Commodus,” he finished, raising her chin to his eye-level.

“I like you very much, Commodus,” she repeated.

The emperor sharply exhaled at her confession, elated yet frightened, and tentatively stroked her hair. Perhaps Lucilla was wrong this time. For once, he felt like the hero he’d always desired to be.

#commodus #commodus fic #gladiator #gladiator 2000 #gladiator AU #emperor commodus

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echo-bleu · 5 years

Text

Vacation

Alex and Michael are on vacation in Paris. This is pure, self-indulgent fluff.

For @acomebackstory, whose prompt was "Malex on vacation in France. Michael keeps attempting to speak bad french with a terrible accent and all the locals hate him and Alex is giving everyone apologetic looks"

This went a little off prompt, but I hope you like it! Every single location and random fact mentioned is real :)

Read on AO3

"First real day of vacation,” Michael says, stretching in the huge hotel bed.

Alex props himself up on his elbow and smiles. “You excited?”

“Yeah! Paris, baby!”

Michael punches the air, and they both laugh. “It's gonna be amazing,” Michael says more quietly.

“You've ever been on vacation before?”

Michael bites his lip. “Not really. Never had someone to go with, or jobs I could take time off from. I took the Airstream out to a couple of places overnight back when I first got it, but that's it. Yesterday was my first time flying.”

Alex feels a little sad at that. He'd pieced it together, from Michael's anxiousness over this vacation and what he's told him about his life in Roswell over the last decade, but it's another thing to hear it confirmed.

“What about you?” Michael asks.

“I've been stationed in different places, and I usually went to explore if I got a chance,” Alex answers. “Mostly on my own, sometimes with the guys from the base, but I've never done something like this.”

“You mean going on a vacation as a couple?”

“Well, yeah, but also picking a place and deciding to go there just to have fun.”

Neither of them asks if they went on vacation as a child. They have something of a tacit agreement not to bring up their childhoods for no good reason, though they've spent many hours talking about the things they've been through. There's just no point ruining their fun by bringing up bad memories.

“So what's the plan for today?” Michael asks. “You said we wouldn't go see the Eiffel Tower until the last day, what are we doing until then?”

“Don't worry, there's plenty of other things to do in Paris. I thought we walk around here, maybe go see Notre-Dame?”

“Didn't it burn down?”

“Only the roof. It's closed to the public, but it's mostly interesting from the outside anyway.”

“How do you know all this? You've been here before?”

“No,” Alex shakes his head, sitting up. “I just did my homework. I like having a plan. You want the shower first?”

“Nah, you take it so you can do your PT while I shower.”

“Thanks.”

Alex is quick as always in the shower, a lifetime of military showers only slowed down a little by the need to sit down. Thankfully, he made sure that the hotel room was accessible before he booked it. By the time he's done, Michael is ready to take his place, and he's even pushed away the armchair to make space for Alex's slim PT mat.

They go down to breakfast half an hour later. The hotel restaurant is lively but not too noisy, and their table is in a corner. They're immediately served croissants and a choice of drinks.

Alex sweetly thanks the waitress in French and she smiles back, answering in kind.

“How do you speak French so well?” Michael asks.

“I told you, I was based in Tunisia for a while,” Alex answers, turning back to him.

“And you learned all the languages of the places you were in? Wait, don't Tunisian speak Arabic?”

“And French. Tunisia was a French colony. I had enough high school French to get by, and my Arabic was really bad, so I took Arabic classes in French.”

“Why would you even do that?” Michael grumbles. “You're such a nerd.”

“That's why you love me,” Alex snorts.

“Who says that's why? I may be secretly hoping to siphon the nerd out of you.”

Alex shakes his head. “You're just as much a nerd as I am. Why do you think I've planned for us to go the Palais de la Découverte tomorrow? They have a huge space exhibition and a conference on exoplanets.”

Michael throws up his arms. “Okay, you've got me. Exoplanets, really?”

“Yeah. I doubt there's going to be anything on telekinetic aliens, but I thought it worth checking out anyway.”

“You're amazing.”

Michael leans in to kiss him, but Alex pulls back, laughing. “Hey, you have a mouthful of croissant!”

“What? They're so good!”

Alex takes one crutch with him when they leave the hotel. He's going to need the support if they're on their feet all day, and he can only pray that his leg with hold up to the end of the week. Michael stops by the front desk in the lobby and butchers some French at the receptionist, grabbing a few pamphlets.

“So,” he starts when they're both standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel. “Where to?” He unfolds one of the pamphlets, which turns out to be a map. “Notre Dame is...there, and we're…can you help me out here?”

Alex watches him with amusement. “Are you actually using a paper map? Who even does that anymore?”

“I do,” Michael says sullenly, struggling to refold the map.

Alex pulls out his phone and brings up Google Maps. “We need to go in this direction,” he points.

Paris, or at least its center, turns out to be a real maze, though. After only a few minutes, they realize that they've been going in the wrong direction, and nothing is making sense, despite the blue dot on Alex's phone supposed to tell them where they are.

“Shit,” Alex beats himself up. “I'm supposed to be trained in this.”

“Not everything is enemy territory,” Michael shrugs. “How about we ask someone?”

Alex bites his lip. He's not quite ready to admit that stopping someone in the streets to ask for directions features in some of his nightmares−it's so stupid. It's a simple thing, yet he can't bring himself to do it.

“Pardon, ici c'est le rue Moon-gee?” Michael loudly asks a woman passing them before he can make a decision. (Sorry, here it is the Moon-gee street?)

The woman looks bewildered and Alex groans, dipping his head in embarrassment.

“Excusez-nous,” he says, summoning his courage. It's easier once the first contact has been made. “Nous cherchons Notre-Dame.” (Excuse us, we're looking for Notre-Dame)

“Descendez la rue jusqu'au bout, et vous la verrez sur la droite,” the woman answers without hesitation. (Go down the street to the end, and you'll see in on your right)

“Merci beaucoup,” Alex smiles at her. (Thank you very much)

“What did I do wrong?” Michael asks.

“It's pronounced 'Monj',” Alex says.

“But why? That doesn't make sense,” Michael complains.

“French spelling actually makes a lot more sense than English once you learn the rules.”

“That can't be true. All those letters that aren't even pronounced?”

Alex shrugs. “Believe what you will,” he smirks.

“Are you making fun of me?”

Alex goes to answer with something flippant, but there's an edge to Michael's voice that wasn't there before. “I'm not,” he says honestly. “I admire that you're bold enough to speak French even though you don't know much of the language. I really do. And there's nothing wrong with a paper map.”

Michael deflates. “I just...I want to get the full experience, you know?”

“I get that,” Alex says. “So do I.” Timidly, he holds his hand out to Michael.

“You think we can do that here?” Michael asks.

“There are so many tourists around, no one is paying attention,” Alex insists.

Michael grabs his hand and holds onto it tightly.

“Just relax. Enjoy the moment.”

“I love you,” Michael says in his ear.

Alex squeezes his hand with a smile.

Notre-Dame's parvis is packed with tourists, so Alex and Michael just take a few moments to admire the huge front, then decide to tour the island it stands on. Behind the front towers, the whole roof is missing, and the stones seem to be held up by scaffolding and no little amount of luck.

They walk hand in hand on the riverside, soaking in the spring sun. The tip of the island, where the two arms of the river meet, has a weeping willow overlooking the water, and they sit for a while on a bench under it. They're even daring enough to kiss.

Alex starts feeling his leg pull after walking for a couple of hours, despite their frequent breaks and the crutch. He tries not to feel guilty about slowing them down, and instead takes them to a small café on the other side of the bridge.

He lets Michael order them coffee in French, only speaking up to provide him with the vocabulary he's missing. The café's little patio overlooks the Seine and it feels a little like paradise, sitting in the sun together, admiring Notre Dame's towers and Paris's architecture from afar. They end up staying for lunch as well.

“We can go get ice cream for desert, I saw that the place that supposedly has the best in Paris is not far from here,” Alex offers.

“Ice cream sounds good, but I want to try crêpes as well,” Michael says.

“We have a week, we can try whatever you want. Did you know crêpes can make up a full meal too? Breton restaurants make buckwheat crêpes that are stuffed with just about anything you want.”

“Okay, then we have to try that.”

The ice creams, from a tiny place on the twin island, are amazing. Alex and Michael lick at their cones while ambling along, playfully stealing each other's ice cream.

They walk a little further along the river, finding barges that actually seem to be lived in, and then a park with blooming flowers at the water level. They end up in the Jardin des Plantes, admiring the color-themed flowerbed and the rare trees, the flora as different from the New Mexico desert as it can be.

Michael steals Alex's phone and looks up every plant they come across.

“I didn't know you liked plants so much,” Alex tells him.

“Not many to geek about in the desert. I've always been curious, but I've never seen so many species in one place before. Or that much green, really.”

“I'll have to take you out more often,” Alex laughs, thinking of the landscapes and forest of Oregon and northern California where he was stationed.

“Did you know there was another river flowing under here once?” Michael reads from the phone. “The...Bee-ye-ver?”

“Bièvre,” Alex corrects, looking over his shoulder. “Almost.”

“Whatever. It was buried under the city because it became too dirty. Seems like a strange idea. Oh, they have a mineralogy exhibition!”

“You mean like stones?”

“Yes! Can we go?”

Michael is giddy with excitement, almost jumping up and down. Alex laughs and nods. How can he say no to that face?

The exhibition turns out to be fairly small, but beautiful, made up of crystals and gems of all sizes. Alex finds Michael staring at large meteorite fragments.

“It's stupid, but I feel a sort of kinship with them,” he explains. “Not like we came from the same place, but there aren't a lot of stuff on Earth that came directly from space.”

“No, I get it. It's like…going to a foreign country where no one speaks English, and running into an Australian?”

Michael laughs. “You know, I actually have no idea if that metaphor is good or not. This is the first time I've been out of the US, beside, you know, before the crash.”

“Right. Definitely have to take you out more.”

“I'll hold you to that. Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

Alex frowns uncomprehendingly at the sudden change of subject. “Why?”

“Your limp is getting worse. It might be time to call it a day, no?”

Alex sighs. “I feel like we've barely done anything.”

“Alex, it's been an amazing day. I mean it. But I really don't want it to end with you in pain.”

“Okay,” Alex nods, biting his lip. “Yes, I probably need to rest my leg. Maybe we can go back out for a walk after dinner, or at least find a nice place to eat.”

“Sure. Hey, taking care of you is also part of this vacation, and it's something I'm going to enjoy, okay? You're not taking anything from me, or whatever you're thinking.”

“I know,” Alex sighs as Michael pulls him closer. “I still need some adjusting, I guess.”

Michael puts an arm around him. “Then we'll adjust together.”

“I love you,” Alex murmurs into the hug. He doesn't say it often, and he feels Michael squeeze him tighter. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. I couldn't be happier to be right here with you.”

#roswell nm #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #fluff #mine #echo's fanfiction

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tinytallashton · 4 years

Text

Anxiety

She pulled her tight suit jacket down, flattening it against her lean body. Taking a deep breath, she strode through the elaborate iron doors and into the brightly lit hallway. Her eyes squinted slightly as she made her way into a large ballroom, instantly hit with the sound of music that must be hundreds of years old. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she saw all of the bodies mingling. Touching. Blending. She wanted to turn around just from that sight but knew that she had to stay. For the group.

Emerging from the elongated staircase, the small girl noticed as everyone’s attention drew to the figure. A lengthy tailcoat cascaded behind him as he sauntered down the staircase, a dainty hand gracing the banister as his eyes scanned across the room. The emerald eyes landed on the tanned girl and they held a short gaze before the tall man reached his hand out to a female close to him, starting a quick waltz. Everyone watched the pair as the girl rubbed her rough hand together and taking a deep breath.

She felt a brush against her back and she quickly turned. A voice emerged, “oh, I’m sorry for surprising you like that. I’m normally more careful than that.” The girl looked up and saw a pink, scarred, face smiling back at her. She tentatively smiled back, “it’s okay sir, it was just a little startle. I’m sure that I’ll be fine.” The taller man sighed and held out a soft, yet shaking, hand. He locked eyes with her, “would you like to dance?” She nodded and took his hand as he pulled the girl into the centre of the room as the music picked up slightly, “I haven’t danced a lot before, excuse me if I’m a bit clumsy.” The man took one hand and placed it on her hip, “oh it’s okay, I just want to dance. Doesn’t matter how good you may be.” She smiled brightly as the man spun her around, her jacket flapping slightly at the ends. This isn’t what I’m here for. Then why do I feel as if I have to stay with this guy?

Once the song comes to an end, the man bows to the petite girl and she smiles. They wander to a corner of the room and the man leans against the wall, “that was quite fun, don’t you think?” She nodded, a small laugh coming from her throat, “yes it was. But I do need to ask, why are you here? You don’t seem to be any form of royalty.” He raises an eyebrow and pulls the girl into a separate room, “you don’t seem to be any form of power either.” Her eyes widen, suddenly feeling inferior to the man as she sees his eyes gleam while he takes in her posture. He straightens himself out and pats his coat down. He begins to pace around the room, running a hand through his fine and dark hair. The girl pulls her jacket around her body, taking a deep breath as she watches as the man slowly tries to figure his situation out.

The man ran a hand down his face and a big smile erupted after. He held his hand out to the girl, “let’s start this again. My name is Gregory Harris. I’m the mayor’s grandson.” Her eyes widened as she took the man’s hand in a firm grip and shaking it. She smiled politely, “I’m Cassidy. Cassidy Harper. I came as a request of my mother; she works within the law a few towns over. She wasn’t feeling too well so I offered my time instead.” Gregory nodded his head, eyes perturbing through Cassidy’s bones. He turned suddenly, “so what is the name of this town that you come from? I have been to every town around here, my father would force me to come along on political business.” Cassidy bit her lip and began to reach into her pocket. He growled, “answer me soon, young one. I don’t think you’ll be very appreciative when I call the guards to escort you out.” She walked over to the man, pulling her jacket off and dropping it to the floor. She placed a hand on his chest, “okay I’m not here for my mother. Truth is, I have been admiring you from afar for a good while now. I had a feeling that you would be here tonight and just had to take the chance. You understand?” She batted her eyelashes and smirked as his cheeks grew slightly rosy.

One of his spindly hands pressed against Cassidy’s throat lightly as he pushed himself against her. The smaller figure now found herself wedged between this towering beast and the cold, firm, wall. She groaned from the intimate contact as Gregory smirked, “I do understand. I understand that you’re a lying bitch, Cassidy Brown.” Her eyes widened as she felt a hefty impact into her stomach and let out a quiet cry. He brought her back into the ballroom, everyone too occupied in their festivities to consider Cassidy’s state. It felt like the room was closing in on her as she was brought to the main hallway and shoved forward. She slowly turned, “what the fuck? How do you know my name?” He smirked, “that’s my little secret, princess. Now, run along before my dear grandfather arrives. We wouldn’t be wanting a homicide to ruin this majestical day.” Gregory stared as she ran out and gasped as the fresh summer air hit her pained face.

Cassidy stumbled out, back into the streets. Streets that were now bustling with energy. She could feel the warm liquid slowly travelling down her torso. Just keep walking, the girl thought as she pushed past crowd members and mumbled her apologies. A few of these people grumbled as they felt the faint touches of Cassidy’s hands. The girl stared across the street in pure shock at what she had just heard, trying to think of the logical way to approach the situation. Breathe Cassidy, you’ve been in this situation before. It’s nothing different than before. She thought of the man’s smirk as she felt the cold blade enter through her skin. Her hair stood on end as she felt a tremble rattle down her spine as she continued moving.

Cassidy stumbled toward a large, iron, gate and forced her way out. She walked down the dusty road until it split off into a small passageway. As she made her way down this darkened passageway, she noticed the sky slowly merging into a haze of pinks and blues and oranges. She was still trying to control her breathing as she stepped the way that she had memorised from years of pain. She heard the voices in the tunnels and tried calling, but nothing could come out. Just need to get to Brook. She was trapped and could never escape. It was a feeling unlike any other that the girl had ever experienced, no idea what to think or how to react. Her legs gave way and she fell into a nearing wall, groaning in pain. Placing her hand around the handle of the blade that had protruded through her body, she yanked the cold steel from her torso. In an instant, the knife clattered on the ground as some blood trickled around it and coloured the ground with her life.

She tried to crawl. She couldn’t. It was as if someone had tied her body to the ground. Yet it also felt as if there was a steel weight laying on top of her chest. She could only take small gasps, tiny intakes of breath. Couldn’t scream, not out loud. It was an electrifying sort of pain, one that Cassidy would never wish upon anyone. No matter what they did, she could never do that. Finally, she managed a small croak as she felt the tears stream down her face. Tears? That’s the type of pain she felt, enough to make her weep. Or maybe she was realising her fate. Please find me.

Breathing became harder the moment the crying began, it felt impossible. Felt like she’d never breathe again, never move again. She really felt trapped, isolated from the whole world. If you had tried to ask her in that moment, she would not have been able to tell you where she was. It felt like that part of her brain had shutdown, as if her body had just gone into a lockdown. Protecting what was vital, and nothing else.

Voices appeared in her head. Blamed her, poked at her, protruded every thought that she had ever had. She tried once more to scream, and suddenly the whole world stopped. She could see people run to her (Brook!) but was unable to comprehend that it was real. Her weeps turned into wails as she was surrounded. They stared at her, and she knew. She knew what they were thinking, at least that’s what she’d been convinced. Breathe, goddammit. She still couldn’t do it; she was physically unable to muster up the energy to take a full breath. The people around her, her friends and colleagues and acquaintances – strangers -, all looked on at her with eyes filled with a sea of emotions.

How had no one noticed that she was starting to unravel? That they had swamped her with so much work that she had begun to crumble underneath all of the pressure of it. That it had made her take reckless opportunities and jobs. Needed for the cause. That was exactly the reason why no one had ever taken the time to notice. She gasped as her eyes closed and, yet again, it felt as if the world had ended for a few seconds. Then, chaos erupted from the group around her. People running to the tunnels to find water and rags. Others scrambling out of the way as a few picked Cassidy up and hurriedly carried her body back inside; back home.

No one could tell what her condition was, they just had to pray to a god that none of them believed in. They begged for her to wake. There was one girl in particular that refused to leave the girl’s side, no matter how much the others begged. The days would arrive, and she would be there, the sun would dim, and another would enter to check upon Cassidy and her worsening condition. It took two weeks, but those weeks had felt like years to everyone else. So much had happened, so many had died in such a short amount of time. Two weeks before they made their choice with Cassidy. A choice that the other girl would loathe for the rest of her years.

By the time Cassidy had finally awoken, there was only one person sat waiting for her. Her mother. She stared at the figure with tear filled eyes. No. I can’t leave Brook. Not now. That’s when she sat up and looked around. Everything was the same shade. Of grey? But the tunnels are meant to be dark as night. She tried to stand, but still found herself incapable of doing so. Her mother smiled sadly and greeted her.

“Mama, I- “

“I know sweetie, but it’s time.” Her mother held Cassidy’s hand as they disappeared.

Back in the tunnels, you could hear a scream as loud and sudden as a gunshot. A scream as painful as a knife to the gut. Mourning. Yearning. Begging for this to be just a bad dream. For everything to go back to the way it was a few months ago. She knew the truth though. She knew that her brave girl had just died in front of her, and that she could do nothing to bring Cassidy back. The weeps came soon after that, echoing one of the last things that Cassidy had ever done before she took her last breath.

Others screamed in anger, unable to control the emotions that were ready to bubble and burst straight out of them. One collapsed to the floor, unable to process the situation. Some remained silent as tears trickled down their soft cheeks, begging for a miracle. Praying again to that god that they had never had any faith in until now. They had left their best girl behind, and now they were paying the price. The price of a life. But still, it hadn’t stopped the cause. All of their issues were still present, and life quickly went back to their normal. At least, it did for most of them.

They buried their friend near the tunnels, beside a calming stream, and tried to move on. Soon, weeks had already passed, and no one was really the same. Those weeks quickly turned to months, and most of these people had tried to move on. Or they were just blocking the girl’s existence from their mind. Anyway, this was nearly a daily experience for some. That’s exactly what they were fighting for, for people to stop the killings. The murders. The brutality. They will fight for those who have died during these times and they hope that Cassidy will watch over them in pride.

#writer #author #story #fiction #original writing #my writing #chapter #long reads #writers on tumblr #writers #original story #character death #dancing #amatuer

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clownsgobeepbeep · 5 years

Text

Batch of Camellias

I am...so

sorry

This thing is so late...again

But, let’s skip the excuses uwu Anyways, if there are any errors...I apologize...I was being to impatient and wanted to post this asap. I also tried to make it shorter...so...yeah...

Tagging @grotesquegabby and @post-itpenny because some of yours are in this uwu

Part Twelve /// Part Fourteen

“So you know how my daddy loves to sing to my mommy?”

“Yes, I know that very well.”

“Well, when he proposed, he serenaded her.”

“That’s all?” Jelly’s eyes widened as she watched the girl beside her. “Didn’t even ask-?”

“Of course he asked you and grandpa Lennie first!” Flora interrupted. “And he even asked you if the ring for my mommy was good.”

“And what did the ring look like?”

“You know that ring my mommy got when she was a lot younger? A little flower she still hasn’t taken off?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, one day she lost it and was extremely devastated. But luckily, my daddy found it and proposed to her with it.” Flora smiled. “I mean, he after all did buy it.”

“Bought it? What do you-” Jelly soon stopped herself from talking, remembering how it was Ula got that small ring in the first place.

She remembered that Ula had a little somebody that always gave her gifts, admiring her from afar.

And once she got the ring, she was absolutely smitten with it. Even showed it off to her friends as if she had just gotten engaged.

And in a December where the kids attended a winter school dance, Ula finally met the one who had been giving her gifts and sweet messages, promising to sing to her one day.

“Oh my stars.” Jelly blinked into the darkness she and the others were surrounded by. “Oh my stars, how did I not realize this before.”

Flora gave a bit of a giggle, then turning to see her brother who’s colors were really fading away. Her smile faltered a bit as she felt a pain in her chest, not being able to tell if it was out of fear that she was next or sorrow that her brother was suffering again.

“And, um…” she quietly gulped before looking at Jelly who looked back with a heartfelt smile. “My daddy took her to our carnival. Not just her, also you guys, and auntie Cordie and uncle Davey and our band uncles, and also uncle Walter, and everybody else.”

“And, he proposed on a ferris wheel?”

“Pfft, no.” Flora jokingly scoffed. “My daddy’s standards are better than that.”

“Wait, wait, wait. I am now just realizing something else.” Jelly interrupted. “Did you happen to say ‘our’ carnival?”

“Oh, that-”

Flora was once again interrupted, this time not by Jelly or any of the others inside the pocket dimension. Instead, she was interrupted by an undistinguishable sound.

This made everybody turn their attention to the area above, originally another void of darkness that was now a darkness with an end. At it there was a large crack that light poured out from, a light so bright that everybody beneath it squinted their eyes at it, especially as physical pieces of the darkness broke away.

_____________

“What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats?” Cantarella fluttered her eyelashes. “And can I just say that the sight of a head exploding is thrilling?”

“Lennie.” Zeta whispered to the short clown who turned to her. “I need to go somewhere.”

“Okay.” Lennie nodded, knowing that there was no need to be asking questions, especially with the current situation. He watched as Zeta slipped away and made her way out, so Lennie turned back to watch everybody else.

Zeta walked her way through the circus grounds, her presence enough to intimidate the nosy circus performers that no longer stood around. She stormed down until finally reaching the end of the circle, walking through the woods before a fluttering of wings was heard.

Right on Zeta’s shoulder landed a pair of claws, already knowing who it was that was now on her.

A caw was heard in Zeta’s ear as she glared at what was in front of her, never ceasing her walking.

Another caw sounded, as if to ask Zeta where she was headed towards. Once again, Zeta did not respond but instead waved a hand through the air, creating a portal that she walked into without any hesitation. Once in and then out, Zeta found herself in a part of another forest, finally stopping.

“What always runs but never walks, often murmurs, never talks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never eats.” Zeta whispered to herself, then kneeling down against the flowing of water she heard before her.

With a confused caw, the crow hopped and flew off Zeta’s shoulder before landing next to her, glancing up at her first.

“That brat.” Zeta gulped before blinking away the salt in her eyes. “That fucking brat.”

Zeta felt as the crow nudged its head against her hand, attempting to comfort her..

“I swore I would keep him safe.” Zeta shut her eyes, gulping down her emotions. “I said I would protect him. But I didn’t. How could I be so weak?”

The crow placed her hand on top of its head, nuzzling Zeta’s leg before something wet landed on one of their feathers. She glanced back up at Zeta, noticing that she was surprisingly letting out tears.

“I failed. I failed you.”

Zeta took a while before finally looking up and away from the ground, bringing a hand up to wipe away her eyes that she made sure no longer poured tears. However, it was deemed somewhat impossible when her eyes landed off the river before her and now the crow that hopped onto her lap.

She saw how he had suffered at the hands of his parent.

Even as an elder, Sionis could never identify who it was that parented the young boy. Or at least she had never been able to identify the second one.

The second one who took every possible chance to make him suffer.

It was yet another one of those days. Sionis attended to their usual doings at the circus where they were known better as Zeta, but she sensed a disturbance in the air.

Was it a great, impactive one? Of course not, but it brought such pain to her heart. She knew just what it was.

After having excused herself from her duties, Zeta made her way out of the circus and immediately teleported to an area that now sounded like waves crashing against each other.

As always she never ceased her walking and continued a straight path until coming across a warmth radiating from sand. Finally she looked down and noticed her boots having some sand on top of them, this being ignored as Zeta whipped around once the sound of sobbing and choking was heard.

There he was.

She immediately found an area that included some palm trees and rocks, then hiding behind them all as the weeping grew closer. Zeta had to take a moment to shut her eyes and release a deep sigh, feeling another twinge of pain in her chest.

After a while she opened her eyes and caught sight of the young boy that emitted all sorts of sorrowful sounds.

His eyes were closed shut as he curled up in a ball on the sand; his clothes clinging onto his frail body due to how soaked they were. He shivered so much as his tears blended in with the remaining water on him. The boy attempted to hug himself, choking on his own sobs.

“He needs you.” Zeta opened one of her hands that she had previously closed, revealing a strand of soft, black locks. “He has always needed you, and now is your time to be with him.”

She placed a finger on the hair for a moment, then cupping her hands together to conceal it inside. A light shone out through the cracks of her fingers, and her hands opened to reveal a blooming item inside. The hair was no more, but it was instead feathers that opened up to reveal a bird cupped in her hands.

Once the wings were completely unfurled and the bird, a crow, shook its new body to a comfortable state, Zeta gave a breath that only those who knew her would recognize as joyous.

“Go to him.” she whispered to the crow, opening her hands more to let it see the boy. “He needs a friend.A familiar face.”

Understanding clearly, the crow gave a nod before hopping off Zeta’s palms and flying towards where it found the sobbing boy, landing beside him.

He did not notice the crow, especially in his state, so the crow hopped closer to his shaking form. It leaned forwards, gently pecking the back of his shoulder. The first pick was not noticed, so another was followed before the crying became somewhat softer.

The boy shifted in his spot before his head was no longer hidden in his curled up figure, now blinking is watery eyes that landed on the crow that gave a purr.

“A-A crow?” he whispered in complete puzzlement, then glancing to his left and then right before sitting up to take a better look at the crow who had now hoppe onto his leg.

The crow cawed up at the boy, rubbing its head into his hand which made him lift it and place it on top of its head.

With this, the boy gave a bit of a shaky laugh before ever so carefully bringing the crow close to him as if to embrace.

He never realized that from afar, his guardian smiled to herself as she felt he was at ease.

“I need…” Zeta gulped back her emotions, shutting her eyes before giving a deep sigh. “I can not let things remain this way.”

The crow glanced at Zeta, and then the water which had slowly begun to part.

“I need Logium for this.”

_____________

Now that Ula was back, Lennie felt somewhat more at ease.

It was no doubt that he still felt a range of emotions as he sat in the circus tent, trying not to show what he was feeling with his children sitting around.

“Dad? When do you think Ula and Atlas will be done?”

Lennie turned to his left where Cordelia was, and she swung her legs in her seat while patiently looking at her dad.

“I don’t know, but let’s just be patient, okay? I’m sure they’re fine.” Lennie replied before turning his attention to Davey who sat on the highest bench alone, twiddling his fingers. “You okay up there Davey?”

Davey looked up from his fingers and down at his dad, giving a slight nod in response.

“How are you guys holding up?” another voice was heard, Lennie and Cordelia now turning to the right where Maggie seated herself.

“Fine, for now.” Lennie replied before ruffling Cordelia’s hair, prompting her to hug and snuggle into his body. “You?”

“Fine, I guess.” Maggie eyed Cordelia who turned to her, also not wanting to further upset the kids. “Do you know where Zeta left off to?”

“I don’t.” Lennie shook his head, then giving a sigh that made Cordelia snuggle more into him in an attempt of comforting him. “She just said she needed to go somewhere.”

“I see.” Maggie huffed, then turning to the side to feel startled upon the sight of Zeta.

“I have returned.” she plainly announced. “I need to talk to you.”

“Me?”

“Let’s go.” Zeta now turned, walking away as Maggie and Lennie shared a look before Maggie hopped off the bench and ran after Zeta.

“Well, I also need to talk to you.” Maggie cleared her throat while walking alongside Zeta who didn’t bother in turning to her. “I need answers.”

“Of?” Zeta questioned while still focusing on the front, never ceasing her walking which made Maggie quicken her pace to catch up.

“What the hell has been going on lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, and it’s clear you know more than the rest of us.”

“Ironic hearing that from you.” Zeta finally glanced down at Maggie, the latter feeling a shiver go down her spine from such an unintentionally cold look.

“W...where are we going?” Maggie finally spoke again, seeing as Zeta led her off the circus grounds and into the forest.

“My tent.”

“Why is your tent out here?” Maggie quirked an eyebrow at Zeta, receiving no response before they finally came across a lone tent in which Zeta walked into with Maggie following suit.

“You have returned.” a voice spoke to Zeta, Maggie recognizing it from some other day she had met its owner.

“I brought somebody along.”

“I sensed another presence.”

“Is that who I think it is?” Maggie turned to Zeta who gave a simple nod, both walking into a section of the tent where they found another figure standing beside a bed. “What is...that?”

“Maggie.” the other being greeted her. “A pleasure to have you back here.”

“Logium.” Maggie nodded at them, but her eyes mindlessly glanced back at the bed which was not empty.

“We needed a familiar face, but also another elder we could trust.” Zeta claimed as she stepped towards the bed, placing a hand over what was a cloth concealing something.

“Trust with what? And I’m sorry, did I just here you say ‘another’ elder?” Maggie also stepped closer, reaching out to grab the cloth before Zeta’s hand grasped onto her wrist.

“You don’t want to look at him.”

“Him?” Maggie blinked, then retrieving her hand once Zeta released her. “Zeta, who is this?”

“I am assuming you still have not told her about this?” Logium turned to Zeta who stared down at the bed. “Maggie, have you yet figured out what has happened with the boy Schrader?”

“I can only assume after the information Cantarella gave.”

“Only assume?” Zeta eyed Maggie who slightly shook her head. “Do what you do and tell us what happened to him.”

Maggie gave a bit of a nod before placing a hand on top of the coat, this time not being stopped by Zeta but instead slightly startled one a caw was heard. She looked up, seeing as a familiar crow landed onto the bed, watching her every move.

“Jabez.”

“J-Jabez?”

“It is your name, from me to you.”

“I…”

“Consider it a gift.”

“A-A gift?”

“Yes. It signifies ‘sorrow’.”

“Sorrow?”

“Sorrow: an emotion of great sadness associated with loss or bereavement. Jabez: he makes sorrowful; he was birthed in pain.”

Maggie found herself in a deep space, a rather dark one where she could spot only two figures beside herself.

One of them was a child, one with instantly recognizable sad, puppy eyes that looked up at a much taller figure that loomed over him. Maggie, however, could not clearly see who this shape was.

Even so, Maggie somehow recognized the voice, yet she could not put her finger on who it belonged to.

“This is too far back-” Maggie told herself, but she stopped when sensing that something negative was to come.

“I...I don’t like that name.”

“It is yours.”

“C-c-can’t I choose one?”

“No.”

“B-b-”

“You are the child, and I the parent. You do as I say.”

Maggie knew what was coming, so she decided it be best that she move on to another time of Schrader’s life, perhaps the one she needed to find. She had to admit though, there was something rather off with his timeline of memories, considering how the latest ones were….not ordinary. They really were messing up her vision, making it all seemed scattered around.

“She’s like my little sister, so stop ogling at her like an idiot.”

“I’m not ogling, dumbass. I didn’t even see her until you pointed her out.”

“Sure, whatever. Why don’t you go introduce yourself already, perv.”

Maggie now found herself in a restaurant she had been to quite a lot thanks to Jelly, seeing that it was a rather lively day.

In one of the booths she saw the three boys that belonged to Ula’s band group, seeing as a waiter leaned on the booth with an unsure expression.

“It’s not like she’s going to eat you.”

“Actually-”

One of the twins nudged the other to make him keep quiet, the latter rubbing his side while pouting at his brother.

“Just go for it, you have nothing to lose.” Dante attempted to push Schrader forward.

“Nah, I’ve got work to do.” Schrader shook his head, his eyes never leaving the sight that was Maggoe’s niece surrounded by a group of people who no doubt wanted in in her clique. “Maybe some other time.”

“You’re a fucking coward, you know that?” Dante judgingly looked at his friend who rolled his eyes. “Here, let me call her over.”

“What? No-!”

“Hey, Lily!” Dante yelled, somehow being heard over the music and the talking. “Get over here!”

Maggie gave a bit of a chuckle, then shaking her head before moving onto another memory.

Once again, she was in a dark space. No doubt the same one from before.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No. No, no, no. That’s bullshit, you can’t-”

“I tell you as I wish and you do as I tell.” that one familiar voice commanded, making the young adult that was Schrader keep quiet. “You are to leave.”

“And what, go back to Australia?”

“Of course not. You are to leave the planet.”

“What!? Why!?”

Maggie now gave a frown as she realized just what was going on.

“You are to leave by the end of the month. You can not tell anybody why or where you are going, including that pest that calls you brother.”

“Why the fuck do you hate Walter so much!? And why would you make me leave!? You said you specifically wanted me to be there!”

“Your services are no longer required.”

“Is that your way of saying that I’m useless or that you’re-”

“Silence.”

Schrader then shut his mouth, knowing that speaking any further would have its consequences.

“Listen to me when I say that you are ungrateful, Jabez. I give you until the end of the month to be with your beloved. Would you like me to pull you away from her this very instant?”

“N...no.”

“Then be quiet, and do as I say.” the tall figure pointed to the side. “Now, leave.”

Schrader walked deeper into the darkness without a word, eventually disappearing and leaving the other being alone.

“Nosy one, are you not? Was it Sionis who sent you?”

Maggie turned her attention to the being, soon realizing that they were staring straight at her.

“What happened?” Maggie heard to her side, now having returned to reality where she looked at Zeta and Logium.

“I...I couldn’t find anything.” Maggie breathed out before feeling a soft head nudge her hand, and she looked down to see the crow comfortingly nuzzling into her hand.

“Maggie,” Zeta made her way towards Maggie. “What happened?”

“Who’s Sionis?” Maggie gathered up some more confidence before turning to Zeta, hiding the shock she felt once seeing that Zeta looked taken back.

“I thought you had already met Sionis.” Zeta answered.

“But who are they? Have you met them before?” Maggie pressed on as Zeta took a step back. “You’re Sionis, aren’t you?”

“What does it matter now?” Zeta’s cold stare returned, instilling that intimidation once again.

“You’re undercover, but why?”

“You are asking too much.” Zeta then turned to look at Logium. “Start the process.”

“I have every right to know Zeta.” Maggie forced Zeta to turn to her. “I have a family, Lennie has a family, we all have loved ones.”

“You already know what’s going on.” Zeta leaned in closely, ripping her arm away from Maggie. “Risus.”

“But what does-”

“Logium.”

“Yes, Sionis.” Logium gave a nod, turning to the bed from which the crow hopped off and onto Zeta’s shoulder. “Heed my warning however, I have no reassurance of how it is he will act.”

“What are you even doing?” Maggie now stood beside Logium, then seeing as they removed the cloth to reveal a corpse that made her give a gasp.

“I am bringing him back.”

“What?” Maggie peered at Logium as they placed their hands onto the corpse, Maggie not wanting to see it as she knew who this was. “I thought...you couldn’t do that.”

The fact that a head was missing….it was disturbing.

“I can turn back time.” Logium sighed. “So, he will not entirely be back...it will be as if he were still doing whatever it was he did before death struck.”

“Death?” a new voice asked, everybody then turning to the side where they spotted Lennie standing in the opening of the tent. “Guys?”

“Sionis…”Logium whispered to Zeta before she made her way over to Lennie.

“Lennie, we will explain later-”

“Who is that?”

“My name is Logium, Lennie.” the other elder introduced themselves. “I would present more formalities, but I believe now is now the time for such things.”

“Logium? Are you a new performer?”

“Lennie, they’re another elder.” Maggie neared Lennie. “The elder of time and space.”

“What?”

“I mean no harm.” Logium stated. “I have come here to help. Sionis called for me.”

“Logium!” Zeta grit her teeth at the elder who stared at her, and event though they were concealed by a hood, it was clear that they did not give a care in the world.

“Sionis?” Lennie blinked up at Zeta. “You’re another one?”

“Yes, Lennie.” Zeta sighed. “But none of that matters at the moment, he does.”

They all once again turned to the bed, eyes glued on the bloodied corpse.

“Who is that?” Lennie stared at the headless corpse. “Zeta?”

“It’s…” Zeta held her breath for a moment. “It’s Schrader.”

_____________

“What do you think dad’s doing right now?”

“I don’t know.”

Back inside the main circus tent, Cordelia had decided to climb up the benches to seat herself beside Davey.

“How do you think Ula’s doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where do you think Bubbles went to?”

“Don’t talk to me about Bubbles.” Davey lifted his head from his palms, his arms now flat on his lap after having had his elbows propped up.

“Well, okay.” Cordelia quietly huffed to herself, then repeating Davey’s previous position. “Hey, where’s Ama going?”

“I don’t-” Davey then stopped himself, turning to look down where he saw his cousin walk away and to the back of the circus, no doubt planning on leaving it to go elsewhere. “She’s probably just gonna go check on Ula.”

“I’m glad she’s back, and not that mean girl.”

“Yeah, me too.” Davey slightly nodded, right before he noticed that he and his sister were approached by Vespers.

“Hey there kids.”

“Hiya.”

“Hi.”

“How are you two holding up?” he sat next to Cordelia.

“Good.” Cordelia gave a bit of a shrug. “A little hungry though.”

“You wanna see if we can maybe ransack through the kitchen?” Vespers suggested with a bit of a chuckle. “Or I could maybe call your uncle Cosmos, tell him to bring us some snacks from his place. Bring Phoebe and the twins too.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”Cordelia nodded, then looking to the bottom of the benches before giving a wave.

“Hi Atlas!”

“Atlas?” Vespers turned to also look, then feeling surprised once he saw his cousin.

“Hey. You called?” Atlas spoke loud enough for Vespers to hear. “Ama said you wanted to talk.”

“She did?” Vespers blinked a few times, soon realizing what was going on. “Oh! Yes, I did want to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Uh...you hungry?” Vespers mustered up.

“Um, not really.” Atlas shook his head, then looking around the circus. “Where are Lennie and Maggie?”

“Well-”

“Maggie left with Zeta!” Cordelia interrupted. “And then dad said he’d go check on Ula.Maybe they’re there?”

“That can’t be, I was just with Ula and the only one that went was Ama.” Atlas furrowed his eyebrows. “I think I should go check on her again.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Ama’s with her.” Vespers stood up from the bench. “Maybe you should sit down, give them some time. You really need to rest Atlas.”

“Vespers-”

“In fact, I’ll go check on them. “ Vespers walked down from the benches. “You stay here with the kids.”

“Fine.” Atlas sighed, then sitting next to Cordelia who smiled up at him.

“Just, stay here. Talk with the kids.” Vespers suggested. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Atlas nodded, then seeing as his cousin was the one to now disappear.

“What did my sister say to you?”

Atlas looked at Cordelia who looked up at him, blinking her eyes at him with pure curiosity.

“Um, not...much.” Atlas cleared his throat, remembering one of the last things Ula said to him. “She was just trying to catch up with things…”

“Did she tell you anything about Schrader?” Cordelia continued to question. “Did he actually leave?”

“I...um…” Atlas attempted to come up with some kind of response. “He didn’t quite come up in the conversation.”

“Oh.” Cordelia nodded, then fixing herself in her seat.

They remained silent for a while, up until Lennie appeared from the back of the circus.

“Hey Atlas.”

“Hey Lennie.”

“Where’s Ama?”

“She’s with Ula.” Atlas stood up. “I think I’m gonna go with them, see if anything’s needed.”

“Sounds good.” Lennie walked over to the benches before joining his kids once again. “Be careful out there.”

“I will.” Atlas nodded before making his way out, leaving the three alone.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you think mom’s doing?”

_____________

Once again, Atlas was out and about on the circus grounds, not knowing how to go to Ula.

The things she said stuck to him, even if she was honest, it hurt.

Yet...she said she wanted to be with him. She implied that she wanted kids...with him.

“I just...I want that idiot to propose to me some day.”

Atlas lifted his head at the sound of Ula’s voice, noticing that he now stood at the entrance from where she and Ama could be heard.

“Is that so?”

“I wanna get married to him, with you by my side as my maid of honor.”

Atlas’ eyes widened at the sound of this, prompting him to lean closer to hear more.

“My mom would be sobbing her eyes out, my dad would walk me down…I sound just like a hopeless school girl. I basically told him that I wanted kids with him.”

Atlas felt a flutter in his chest, even with the thoughts pouring right into his head. A smile crept onto his features as he replayed Ula’s words, attempting to ignore that little voice in his head that asked ‘why’ and ‘what the hell’.

“It’s nice.I hope the both of you come to your freaking senses.”

“Me too.”

And then-

“Atlas?”

His thoughts were soon interrupted once he heard a voice behind him, somebody standing behind him being enough to startle him. However, once he realized the familiarity of this person, Atlas felt a rush of shock.

“What...is Ula in there?”

“Where...where have you been? Atlas eyed the person in front of him, right before he heard running footsteps that he realized belonged to Maggie and Zeta.

“Atlas!” Maggie exclaimed, cursing to herself once realizing who was with him.

“Schrader.” Zeta called to the other person, having him turn around and face her. “We need to go back into the tent.”

“I need to be with Ula.” Schrader shook his head, not noticing that Atlas was also quite surprised to see him with white skin and orange hair. Just like... a certain pair of siblings…

“You need to lie down.”

“I need to keep Cantarella away from her.” Schrader claimed. “Where is she?’

“Cantarella isn’t here.” Zeta then turned to look behind Schrader and Atlas, seeing how the tent opened to reveal Ama.

“What’s going on here?” she frowned, right before her eyes landed on Schrader. “Oh my fuck.”

“Ama?” Ula called out from inside the tent. “What’s going on?”

Ama turned her attention to Zeta who shook her head at her.

“Nothing.” she then answered. “Just wait up, I’ll bring you a snack in a bit.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Why aren’t you letting me see her?” Schrader whispered to the women.

“Neither of you are in the condition to see the other. If not for yourself, do it so that she’s not overwhelmed.” Zeta also whispered. “You need to lie down.”

“I feel fine.”

“Schrader.” Zeta took his hand. “Please.”

_____________

Lennie had no idea how to respond to Cordelia,especially as he also felt Davey’s eyes on him.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Lennie forced a smile. “She called me, said she misses you guys so much.”

“I miss mom too.” Cordelia pouted before placing her chin on her palms. “I wish mo was here.”

“Me too.” Davey breathed out, Lennie still trying to hide how worried he was.

He wondered to himself just how it was he was going to find her, but nothing came into mind. He especially could not leave his kids alone again.

“You don’t need to look anywhere.”

The three soon lifted their heads, eyes widening once they landed on a pretty woman that stood at the bottom of the benches. Right beside her stood a mime, a small girl, and a tall ballerina who carried a sickly boy.

“Mom!” Cordelia exclaimed, then running down before embracing her mother.

“Jelly-Bean.” Lennie instantly stood up, then rushing down as well as Davey looked at the group.

“Lennie.” Jelly then released Cordelia, then picking up Lennie to plant a big kiss on his lips. “I missed you so much Sharky.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Lennie hugged his wife.

“What is she doing here?” sounded Davey from above, making everybody turn to him in confusion. “After what she did, she shouldn’t be here.”

“Who?” Velvet blinked at him, then seeing as Davey directly glared up at the one who stood behind the group.

Bubbles.

“It’s your fault my sister’s how she is.” Davey hissed out.

“Davey.” Jelly called him. “Relax.”

“But mom, Ula’s hurt because of her!”

“I know, she told us.”

“When?”

“When she got us out.”

6 notes · View notes

unicornsandphoenix · 7 years

Text

Roses of Hope

A drarry Cinderella story (one of two) based off of this post from this adaptation.

Written for the absolutely amazing @drarrymylove (I hope you enjoy!) with the help of my fabulous beta, @staganddragon

Read on Ao3 here

Draco’s mother had left him as swift as the winter breeze and as painful as the frost when Draco had just grown tall enough to steal her cookies off of the kitchen table. With a kiss on the forehead and a whispered “I love you,” she could have only one last wish for Draco.

“If nothing else, my darling, I wish for you to be kind and good. Please understand why there is rudeness or unpleasantness in the world, as you should understand why it arose. The more happiness you can bring to their lives, the more happiness your life will be filled with.”

Draco had taken these words to heart and lived by them everyday. He remembered the words when he accepted that to be happy, his father had taken another wife. He remembered the words when his new step brothers took his fine clothes from him, as they hadn’t had the pleasure yet to feel the fine cloth brushing their skin. He remembered the words when his stepmother asked, so his face would not act as a reminder of her late husband and his dead father, for him eat and sleep in the kitchen. He understood that their grief was lessened by his sudden disappearance into the servants quarters. He knew that the burden of death would be easier to bear if he contributed to the housework, washed the clothes, carried the water, and made the fires roar. By the end of the day, Draco would be so exhausted that he would fall asleep in the warm kitchen, next to the dying fire. This earned him the name Cinders, as he would often wake up with ashes on his face and clothes.

The household had soon forgotten that Draco was once the son of a lord, as they soon forgot his real name. The servants no longer called him Master, but Draco was happy as long as Winky and Dobby still called him a friend. His stepmother and step brothers, however, turned vicious and cruel, always calling upon him to do the chores and physical menial labour that was required to run the household.

Draco’s only solace was visiting his mother’s rose garden to care for the plants. It had been the pride and joy of the Lady Malfoy, and she had tended to it everyday. When she passed, the roses passed as well, turing an ashen grey on the brittle vines. It was after the passing of Lord Malfoy that Draco first went to the rose garden to weep. The tears he shed had fallen on the roots of the plant, and after hours when Draco’s eyes refused to release anymore, he had looked up to see the pale pink roses blooming once more. Since that day, Draco came back to the garden every day. He cared for all the life there: the birds who came with feathers as beautifully white as the hair on his head and would pick lentils off of his hand, the mice that came to feed off of dinner scrapes that Draco could hide in his thread bare pockets, and the roses that he coaxed to bloom year round that would reach to his touch. In return for this gentle care, the roses whispered a reminder of his real name to him when the breeze rustled their leaves, and the perfume they dispensed reminded him ever so softly of his mother’s baking and father’s hugs.

Years went by, and soon after Draco’s seventeenth birthday, the kingdom was in celebration. Their prince was to be married, and not only this, but to find his future spouse, there would be a festival that would last three days to which the whole kingdom was invited to. Draco was ecstatic. He had never seen the castle before, only dreamt of it from afar. He searched through his father’s old wardrobe, still untouched from after his death, and found the finest clothes they had owned, the clothes father had married in. His stepmother, however, was not as thrilled. As swift as a viper, she snatched the clothes from Draco’s hands.

“Cinder! You cannot possibly come to the festivities in these worn clothes. You would be the embarrassment of us all.” She promptly flung the garments out the window. “It is just as well, Cinder, as you could not have possibly finished picking the lentils I dropped in the ashes, and you still need to dress and prepare my sons.”

Dismayed but still demure, Draco left to do as he was told. Only once the carriage with his step mother and brothers had ridden off in a sparkle of bronze, feathers and jewels adorning their bodies, and the chores were nicely stacked against the sink, did Draco allow himself to come to the garden to weep. As he arrived, he saw the garments that had been flung out the window hanging on the rose bush. The garments themselves had changed into magnificent displays of silver and gold. It was soft to the touch, and the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen. And the shoes, spun with silk and embroidered with strands of silver; he had never dressed so quickly in his life. Without the ashes on his face and dressed in fine fabrics, he was unrecognisable. The doves cooed at him as he raced off to the festival.

~~~~

Prince Harry had never before seen a man as ethereal as the man who came striding in through the door of the ballroom. His arrival precipitated no announcement, and yet, none was needed. The two boys, brothers the prince recalled, that had been grinding the prince’s nerves were forgotten as the Prince distractedly left them to follow the glinting silver and gold robes of the beautiful man. Prince Harry was almost afraid to reach out, to tap the shoulder in front of him lest he disappear. Almost.

“Hello,” Harry said, breathless. Draco turned, and smiled. Harry was lost.

“Hello,” Draco breathed, eyes sparkling. “What is your name? Is it your first time at a ball too?”

Harry started; he couldn’t lose this, not now, not him. “Ha-Henry. My name is Henry. May I ask yours?” Draco shared only a small smile and shook his head. Harry held out his hand, eyes darting between Draco and the dance floor, and his heart melted as Draco laughed and grabbed his hand to drag him into a waltz. They danced all night, ignoring the other party members, the King’s thoughtful frown, and enjoyed each other's company.

At the end of the night, Draco left Harry with a kiss on the hand and a low bow, disappearing before Harry could get control of his beating heart. He knew at that moment, he would never be in control of his heart again.

~~~~

Draco hummed to himself as he walked home and straight into the garden. Placing the clothes safely under the roses, he sung the tune that he had seen dancing in his partners eyes as they swung around the room. Henry was kind, and Draco could envision the world bending to his hopes and dreams in a heartbeat. Draco knew he would as well. As Draco tended to the kitchen fire, he knew he had decided- mystery was nice for one night of freedom, but if he got the opportunity to join the festivities again the next day, he would share his name with Henry.

His step mother and brothers returned soon after, all sour faced and bitter. They rambled on about how the Prince had looked at no one but the mystery man, bragging that they had held the attentions of the Prince before he had been wrongly stollen away. Draco let them ramble on. His mind was on a different man.

The next day, after they left, Draco ran quickly back to the garden. The birds chirped at his arrival, and the roses opened with new blossoms. His mood grew. “Hello, all,” he whispered, Entranced by the love he could feel there. He ran his hand gently against the rose vines, jumping slightly when a single thorn cut into his finger. The drop of blood fell from his finger onto the beautiful garments he had worn before.

Before he could despair, however, the clothes transformed in front of his eyes. The deep red color of the blood spread through the robes, ribbons and ruffles appearing the folds. The color fell onto the shoes as well, with an extra shine. “Thank you,” Draco whispered, entranced by the beauty of it. He quickly washed his face of soot and went to the Ball.

~~~~

The ballroom was filled with men and women who had dressed in their finest silver and gold, obviously trying to appease the Prince, seeing what had worked the day before, but Prince Harry had eyes for only one. He paced the floor, refusing to speak with anyone else, much to the king’s chagrin. The King understood, however. He had been much the same with his wife.

When the Prince saw his chosen one sweep into the ballroom again, a slight flush on his face, he froze once more. The garb was different this time, delicately demanding, attracting the eyes and attentions of everyone in the room against a sea of silver and gold. The contrast to his almost white hair made Harry take a shape intake of air. Harry shook his head and went straight to his waiting dance partner.

“Hello,” Harry rushed out, reaching out for Draco’s hands.

Draco took his hands readily. “Henry! I- Henry is that the king?” Draco’s eyes widened in slight fear and admiration as he felt himself press into Harry’s side.

Harry blanched. No, he thought. I needed more time! “Father,” he said instead, tightening his grip on Draco’s hands when he squawked and went to move away.

“Harry, my son, who is it you have here hidden away?” The king smiled kindly at Draco, who bowed with a slightly awed look on his face.

“Someone close to my heart,” Harry chanced, “someone I hope to know more.” He tugged on Draco’s hand and led him away, through the french doors and down a flight of steps that lead them to the Palace gardens. Draco went willingly, albeit a bit numbly.

As they raced through the gardens, the only thing the other was aware of was the heat of the others hand on theirs.

Stopping by a bench near a field of lilies, Harry spoke. “I am sorry I deceived you before,” he said, head bowed. “I was so enchanted by you, I did not want to lose you to prior expectations or formalities.”

Draco smiled warmly, touched. “He- Harry. I forgive you.” He grasped Harry’s chin and tilted it up to meet his eyes. “You deserve to find someone without the pressures placed upon you.”

Harry smiled, and the conversation flowed from there well on till midnight. As the clocks struck 12, Draco jumped a little, almost hitting Harry’s head from how close they were seated next to each other. Draco grinned sheepishly. “I am afraid I must leave you. My journey home is long.”

“Stay,” Harry pleaded with him, but Draco only shook his head. “Will I at least have the promise of one last dance tomorrow?”

Draco hesitated. “Harry, I-”

“Please,” Harry implored grabbing his hands. “I must see you again. I don’t even know your name.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth tilted up in a half smile. His hand, without thought, came up to cradle Harry’s cheek. “My name is not important. Just like me. I want you to be happy, Harry. Dance with some others tomorrow. Find yourself some other partners.”

Harry frowned and mirrored Draco’s hand on his cheek. “The last dance at least. Will you deny me even the final dance on my birthday?”

Draco chuckled, and kissed Harry’s palm before he stood up nodding. “Until the last dance, then.” Harry watched him go around the bend, hand still burning with the kiss held tightly to his beating heart.

~~~~

Draco left the castle in a daze. His head was spinning as he sat beneath the rose vines in his haven. He wanted Harry to be happy with someone well suited to run a country. He wanted to please Harry’s father by allowing someone more suitable than him to take the place by Harry’s side. Perhaps a wife for children. Perhaps a foreign diplomat for his status.

And yet.

And yet his heart still pounded in its cage when he thought of Harry. Their conversation revealed a beautiful, caring soul behind the alluring exterior, but Draco knew this could never be. He belonged here, caring for his garden. He was no one anymore, he didn’t even have a name besides Cinders anymore, and Harry deserved someone. He peeled his layers back one by one, and placed the stunning red garments beneath the roses once more.

The next day saw his step mother and brothers more grumpy than before, and the overcast skies let go the rain they were holding. Draco could only spare a glance in the direction of the garden as hard pressed as he was to finish all the chores they piled on him. It was well into the night before he could release himself from his duties to go to the ball. All the better, Draco thought. I only promised him the last dance, afterall.

The garden seemed reticent as he crept up to it. Silent, but peaceful. He looked under the rose vines to find his clothes. Last night's rain had washed the vibrant colors away, leaving it damp, cold, and dirty. He struggled to pull his hands through the sleeves, trying not to feel frustrated, trying not to cry, when the pale pink garments moved on their own with a strange golden light.

The light surrounded him, caressing his skin in a kind manner that he had not felt in a long time. A tear fell down off his chin, as he recognized his mother's face in the midst of the golden haze. The light moved and swirled, sparkling in the night and covering and uncovering Draco and the clothes in an intricate dance. By the time the light left him, flowing back into the roses, he was cleaner of soot than he had ever been and dressed in the most magnificent robes. Pale pink with golden embroidery the robes fell to the soft earth in cascades of smooth, beautiful fabric. Pale pink flowers lined his head in a delicate crown and detailed the cuffs of his sleeves. The shoes had turned to gold, and Draco had never grateful in his life.

Blinking away tears, he looked at the roses and smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

~~~~

Prince Harry had danced with every eligible bachelor and bachelorette at the ball, but none held a flame to his match from the nights before. He sighed and, eyes widening, turned around a corner quickly to avoid the two brothers who would not seem to let him alone. He let out a breath of relief when the brothers passed right by him. The clock was ticking by, and soon the final song would play. Harry had not seen his heart the entire evening, and he feared he would not see him now or ever again. Soon, they were two songs from the end. Harry shared a sorrowful glace with his father and mother, and turned to head outside, away from the ball. Suddenly there were gasps filling the hall. The music slowed to a background humm, and collectively, the room turned to look to the entrance.

Standing there was the most beautiful man they had ever seen. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. His love had come. He bore a crown of roses, and Harry had never seen anything so fitting. He could imagine it as a ringlet of gold and hoped beyond hope that he could make this happen. The color of his clothes matched his pink cheeks, faintly blushed as he looked over at Harry. The robes were magnificent, Harry noted, nothing like he had ever seen before, yet they were pauper clothes in comparison with his love’s enchanting smile.

Harry strode up to him confidently as he dared as the music stopped, and the musicians’ papers shuffled around for the last dance of the evening. He held out his hand to Draco, chuckling at the clumsy bow he had received. “You have returned.”

“I have,” Draco said wryly, unable to stop himself from reaching out to Harry. “I promised you one last dance, after all.”

“That you have,” Harry said, and swept him off his feet. They twirled around the room, eyes only for each other and no words needed. Their arms embraced one another as they danced as close together as they could, neither willing to sacrifice even an inch. Their blooming hearts were not unnoticed by the King, but he only smiled, happy at his son for finding his true love.

The song ended, and with it, the last night of festivities. “Tell me your name,” Harry begged softly in Draco’s ear.

“I cannot, Harry,” Draco said sadly, mind made up. He was not the match for Harry. Harry deserved more than the orphaned boy had to give, which could only ever be himself. He stroked Harry’s face for what he knew to be the last time. “Goodbye, my prince. I can wish only the best for you.” Harry reached out to catch his arm as he pulled away, but the guests of the ball, all wanting to pay their respects to him on his birthday, had crowded around him, and by the time he got out, he saw only a hint of gold disappearing behind the door. Harry gave chase.

Running after his love, Harry tore down the halls and down the stairs. “Wait!” he called, though this only made Draco run faster. “Don’t go! Wait!” Harry was desperate. Draco was quick, however his shoes were making him slower and Harry would catch up any minute. After a moments hesitation, he kicked them off, but only managed to scoop one up before he took off again, down the road and through the town. Harry stopped by the lost shoe. Breathing hard, he picked it up. He knew he would have this man, and this man only as his partner and king. He would return the shoe.

~~~~

Days had passed since the ball and the announcement that the King’s son would be visiting every house in the kingdom, searching for the owner of the lost shoe. Draco sighed at his reflection in the pail of water. He wasn’t worried. The soot had dimmed his hair and made his face unrecognizable. Even if the Prince did recognize Draco, would he still want him like this? Disheveled and without a true family?

Draco carried the pail into the kitchen and almost dropped it when he heard the shrieks of his step brothers. The prince had arrived.

Draco sighed and continued his chores, not bothering to come out, the fear of heartbreak too great. That is, he tried to continue his chores, but could not when the prince proclaimed loudly, “Is there no one else in this house?” The echo of Draco’s step brothers laughing cruelly rung in the air as Draco dropped the pail and pressed his back against the wall, holding his beating chest.

“Only Cinders,” They said. “But he cannot possibly be the beautiful man you are looking for. He is covered in ashes day and night.”

“All the same,” Draco heard Harry say firmly. “I would like to see him.”

Draco’s step mother sighed treacherously and called out, “Cinders! Come out! Mind yourself and don’t track soot on the carpet again!”

Draco stood up on shaking legs. He wiped his hands on his rags and slowly made his way to the parler. Could it be that he would really want me? In the parlor, his prince was standing with his back to him, dressed as finely as a prince should be dressed. In his hand he held tightly on to a slipper. A golden slipper. His hair was tossed and unkempt, but it made Draco’s heart soar. That being said, Draco knew he had fallen in love with this man for who he was, and not how he looked.

“H- My lord,” Draco corrected himself as he bowed deeply and kept his head down. He did not have a chance to see the Prince's eyes light up in recognition, nor to see him running at Draco, arms outstretched.

“It’s you!” He cried, embracing a startled Draco. “I have found you!” As Draco clutched him back, hiding his tears of joy at being recognised. For the first time in years he felt safe, cared for, and at home. He couldn’t remember when the feeling of being home, in this very house he had grown up in, had slowly turned into stifling dread. It had happened so slowly, so gradually, it was only here, in Harry’s arms, he felt the years slowly fall off of his shoulders and pool on the floor by his feet.

For the first time, he felt liberated. And it was glorious.

Draco took a breath, breathing Harry in, and allowed himself to be selfish, just this once. If Harry truly wanted him, if he gave Draco a chance, Draco would do his best to be everything Harry could ever hope for in a partner, because Harry was everything Draco could ever hope for in life.

“You knew it was me. How?” He said softly, his eyes still squeezed shut as tightly as his hands were wound around Harry’s back, and as tightly as Harry’s hands were wound around him.

“Did you think I could forget you? Did you think I could forget your bow, your smile, and your voice? You looked magnificent in your clothes at the ball, but I fell in love with you. Not them.” Draco was sure his heart had stopped beating. Harry pulled back and smiled at him. “Now I believe I have something of yours.” He held out the slipper and gestured to a chair, which Draco promptly sat in with a heavy thump, eyes still open wide. Ever so carefully, Harry knelt, keeping his eyes on Draco the whole time. He slipped the shoe onto Draco’s foot and cradled it, as if he cared not about the soot covering him. It was a perfect fit. Harry stilled, looking at his thumb softly stroking the arch of Draco’s foot. Quietly, he asked, “Why did you run away from me?”

It was a simple question, and yet, Draco did not have a good answer. “I just wanted you to be happy, Harry. I still just want you to be happy.”

“All it would take for me to be happy, Cinders, would be for you to be happy with me.” Harry said, looking up, eyes blazing. Draco could see the determination, the promise, in them. Draco beamed as his eyes grew wet and cradled Harry’s cheeks between his palms, choking out a damp sob.

“Draco. Call me Draco.” And with that, Draco placed his lips upon Harry’s, and both of their dreams came true.

Outside, the doves cooed as the petals fell from the roses and the vines turned ashened and brittle and sighed once more in liberation. Draco and Harry would start a garden of their own, they knew. With lilies and roses, moon vines and narcissuses. With love, hope, and trust. A new start that would comfort each in turn for years to come. A garden that was not an escape, but a home.

#thanks for reading folks #I hope you like it!#i had so much fun writing this #i don't even know what to tag here #drarry #drabble #but actually more than that #fanfic #drarry fanfic #drarry squad #phia writes #cinderella au #roses of hope #sentient gardens #yup thats the extent of my tagging abilities

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