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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Just The Way You Are

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: horns and fangs

Jaskier has never understood why people call witchers monsters. It's true, they're different, but so are cats and dogs and horses and people like them just fine. Jaskier just sees Geralt as Geralt and always has. He's no different than any other person he's met - a little more coordinated and he dies a little less easy - but otherwise the same. People are so cruel and dismissive of Witchers, but Jaskier is a firm believer that they deserve nice things as much as the next person, maybe even more, and so, he decides to take it upon himself to do nice things for Geralt. Like surprise him in Kaedwen when he comes down from the keep.

Only it turns out Jaskier is the one to get a surprise. He's never understood why people call Witchers monsters. Not until now.

He spots the hooded figure passing between shops and he's sure it's Geralt, but he doesn't want to approach until he's absolutely certain. So he sneaks between the buildings, trying to get ahead of him and catch a glimpse of his face. Maybe-Geralt pauses in front of a stall and for a moment Jaskier thinks he's stopping to buy something, so he sneaks away, but when he comes around the other side of the house, he stops dead.

His breath catches and for a second, he's certain that even his heart stops beating.

The man in the market is certainly Geralt, he knows that now, but sprouting from the top of his head are two thick, curled horns. He tries to call out, but his mouth is dry and maybe it's for the best because Geralt’s expression darkens suddenly and he sniffs at the air.

For the first time, Jaskier considers that maybe Geralt meets him further south for a reason. Maybe he doesn't want Jaskier to see him like this, he obviously takes measures to ensure that he doesn't. Fuck. He's gone and fucked this up, too.

Ducking back behind the building, Jaskier holds his breath, hoping that Geralt hasn't caught his scent. He knows if he has there's nothing for it, he's caught, but maybe-

"Jaskier."

Geralt's voice is low, right on the edge of a growl, and Jaskier winces. When he looks over, the hood is back in place, but Geralt's teeth are bared and they're barely teeth at all - at least the canines - more like fangs. He swallows hard and risks a glance up at his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt demands, moving at once to pin Jaskier's shoulders against the wall. Jaskier doesn't know what to say. He shifts uncomfortably, unwilling to look Geralt in the face.

It's not the first time Geralt's been upset with him, but this time Jaskier’s intentions were genuine, he just didn't think it through all the way. Or rather, he hadn't considered that after fifteen years together, there are still things Geralt keeps from him. Deflated, Jaskier wrenches out of his grasp and picks up the bag he dropped when Geralt shoved him. He's embarrassed, feels like an idiot for thinking Geralt might be happy to see him and now on top of it, he's intruded on something he was never supposed to see.

Geralt doesn't stop him from walking away and Jaskier tries not to think too much about that.

He books a room at the inn and doesn't bother to go down for dinner. He doesn't know what to do with himself, because if he can't travel with Geralt - and he certainly didn't seem like he was happy to see him - what can he do? Certainly not go back to Oxenfurt and admit to all his peers that yet again, he was a fool and thought someone cared when they didn't.

It's just that fifteen years is a long time. Nearly half his life. And for Geralt who rarely lets himself form attachments well, Jaskier had thought maybe it meant something to Geralt. It did to him.

Jaskier doesn't even bother to put his things away before flopping onto the bed and staring up at the beams. Geralt had been so angry. He had just wanted to do something nice, he should have known showing up himself would not be welcome. But maybe this is for the best, maybe everyone was right when they told him he couldn't follow Geralt around forever.

But he had wanted to. For the last fifteen years of his life, Jaskier has wanted nothing more than to have Geralt in his life, even if nothing ever comes of it. He's never been greedy, never wanted more than he thought Geralt would be willing to give. And look where it's gotten him? Geralt doesn't even trust him enough to show him what he really looks like.

Geralt lingers as Jaskier hurries off away from him, and he can hardly blame him. He wouldn't stay either if he’d found out the person he'd been travelling with was a monster. Jaskier tries to convince him he's not, but the thought has always been there, nagging at him. He just hasn't seen you, it says and Geralt knows it's true. He is a monster. Whatever happened to him during that second round of trials took away the remaining sliver of humanity. He'd tried so hard to hide it, to try and keep Jaskier for just a little longer, but Jaskier shows up here and how is he supposed to plan for that?

And what is Jaskier doing here in the first place? Geralt needs this time to himself. Needs a chance to hole up and file down the horns and the fangs, to make himself presentable. To visit the brothel before returning to the torture that is travelling with Jaskier.

Jaskier showing up here had thrown him off. He'd been overcome with shock and confusion and fear. Fear that Jaskier would see him like this and hate him. Fear that this one minor incident would ruin everything he's worked so hard for.

Fear had taken over and he had reacted... badly. It's no wonder Jaskier had left him there, no wonder he didn't want to be seen with him when the first time Jaskier sees what he really looks like, he practically attacks him. Fuck, he really is the monster everyone always says he is.

After everything Jaskier has done to try and prove to the world that Witchers have been given a bad name, that they're not mindless, emotionless killing machines, this is how he repays him. He has to fix this, if not for him then for his brothers' reputation and for Jaskier's peace of mind. The last thing he wants is for Jaskier to think he's in any danger with him. With a sigh, he pulls his pack higher on his shoulder and heads toward the inn.

He catches the scent of Jaskier's perfume as soon as he walks through the door and it tugs at something in his chest. It's bright and floral, but there's a tinge of despair, of sadness intertwined with it. It's not fear though, and while Geralt struggles to comprehend that, the innkeeper passes over a key. Geralt follows the directions to his own room, ridding himself of his pack and swords. He strips his armour, leaving him in only a thin black shirt and his trousers. Before he leaves the room, he pulls his travelling cloak back over his head and shoulders.

He finds Jaskier's room in a matter of minutes and stands outside the door. He's faced griffins and fiends and hired assassins and none have come close to the fear that surges through him now. Because if he failed there, he just died, plain and simple; a fitting end for a Witcher. If he fails now, he loses the person most important to him. He's glad Jaskier isn't the one with heightened senses, glad that he doesn't know how long Geralt stands outside the door before lifting to hand to knock.

But he does. And as soon as he does, Geralt’s chest tightens and he wants to leave. There's a shuffling from within and then the door pulls in and Jaskier is right there. It catches him off guard and before he can consider what Jaskier might be thinking, he blurts out,

"Let me explain," and then doesn't know what to say. What do you say? What are you supposed to say to a man who's known you half his life and only now learns you have horns. Geralt shifts, looking at him. Jaskier says nothing, but he moves aside, letting Geralt come into the room. The door shuts behind him and a wave of fear crashes down over him.

Jaskier looks sad, confused, hurt. He doesn't know where to start.

"I know you're mad and I understand-"

"You're the one who slammed me into a building," Jaskier chokes. The anger is there, Geralt expected it, but it's being smothered by something else, something stronger, like ivy around a sapling.

"I'm sorry," he winces. He is. He never meant to hurt Jaskier, not emotionally and certainly not physically. "I was... scared. I saw you and I didn't know what to do." His shoulders slump and he turns to look out the window, jaw clenched. "You're not supposed to see me like this."

"And why not?" Jaskier asks. The anger is toned down slightly, the other feeling still there but not so harsh. Geralt doesn't like it, doesn't like the feeling of it or the way it makes Jaskier's voice breaks and he wishes it would go away all together, but he doesn't know how to do that.

"I'm- Look at me, Jaskier. I'm a monster. I'm exactly what they say I am. A mutant, a freak." The anger scent remains, but it takes a sharp turn, twisting into something much more recognizable. Something he knows from tavern brawls and holding Jaskier back when they’re on the road when someone makes a snide comment.

"You absolutely are not. You're a liar and a terrible friend, but you're not a monster."

"What-"

"Why did you keep this from me?" Jaskier asks, that other feeling creeping up to regain dominance.

"I thought you'd-" Geralt drops his chin, staring at the floorboards between them. There's a crack down the center of one of them and he focuses on that instead of the sound of Jaskier's voice. "You were the only one who stuck around. You met me during the spring when they're shaved down and I- I was selfish."

"How?" Jaskier prompts. He sounds impatient, but excited, like he's anticipated what Geralt is going to say. But if he had, he wouldn't be happy about it.

"I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want you to leave me. So I hid it from you. I became good at keeping them filed low during the warmer months and let them grow out during the winter. I didn't- it's why I never asked you to join me in Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier squints at him, disbelieving or confused, he's not sure, but the look is piercing and Geralt feels transparent under it, like Jaskier can tell every thought in his head. But he knows how that feels and this is not it. Jaskier is making assumptions if anything. Not that that thought is any less horrifying under the circumstances.

"So let me get this straight," Jaskier says, calmly, cooly. Too calm. "You once rescued me from the den of an incubus you thought would kill me if he tried to fuck me. Again, I might add. If you recall you walked in in the middle of it. You stopped me from leaving the bar with a vampiress one time because, and I quote, you don't need any help losing blood, and one time you intentionally gave me space to continue a quite lovely conversation with a, particularly amenable centaur. But you thought horns were a bit too much for me? Is that what I'm to understand Geralt?"

He doesn't know what to say to that. It's not just the horns, he supposes. But he doesn't need to give Jaskier another reason not to travel with him. Melitele knows there are enough of those already.

"Am I to believe that you're daft enough to believe that after fifteen years of traipsing over the continent with you, of writing you songs and cooking you supper and tending to your wounds- that horns would be the final straw? Geralt if you haven't noticed I've fucked dozens of people who are, to put it indelicately, much less human than you."

Geralt isn't sure how Jaskier's sex life is relevant, but he says nothing.

"I actually like them," Jaskier says, eyeing the hood. "Could I... look at them?"

Reluctantly, Geralt reaches up and pushes the hood back. The air feels cool on his head and he feels incredibly exposed letting Jaskier see him like this, but he shuts his eyes and ducks his head as Jaskier takes a step toward him.

"Can I touch?"

The air is punched from Geralt's lungs with that one simple question and he nods slowly, tucking his chin a little closer into his chest. Jaskier brushes his fingers along the curve of the left horn and the only way Geralt knows he's touching him is the way he hums with intrigue, similar to the way he hums at his lute when it's newly strung. He takes his time, reaching right down to the base and touching the more sensitive skin there. It doesn't hurt, but it ignites Geralt's instinct to protect himself, makes him feel like he should pull away, hide this from Jaskier again.

When Jaskier touches his head, he does. He's not sure what it is about the touch, maybe that he can fully feel it, but it snaps his restraint and he pulls back, breathless.

"Sorry," Jaskier whispers, "did it hurt?"

"No," Geralt admits, "just... unusual. No one's ever touched them before. Maybe Eskel when he helped me file them down the first few times."

"Why don't we," Jakier suggests, "come sit on the bed, take your cloak and your boots off. I'd like to get a better look at them. if that's okay?"

Geralt nods and Jaskier's hands are on him before he removes his cloak himself. He undoes the clasp with no effort, draping the cloak over his arm before directing Geralt to the bed. This is... not at all how he expected this to go down, but at least Jaskier hasn't turned him away yet. He toes off his boots and sits back on the mattress, leaning against the wall with his feet at the edge.

In a moment, Jaskier climbs up over him, making himself perfectly at home in Geralt's lap.

"There," he says proudly, "it's much easier to see like this and you won't' end up with a crick in your neck." Geralt remains silent, worried that he doesn't know the situation well enough to comment.

Jaskier's hands slip into his hair again, fingers looping around the base of both horns and he feels the faint tug and Jaskier slips up, following the curve of them with his hands.

"Do you brothers have them?" he asks. Geralt shakes his head.

"Second trials" he explains. "Lost the pigment in my hair and grew fucking horns."

"I like them."

Jaskier continues his ministrations, apparently happy to just sit and touch and nothing else. And Geralt relaxes under the touch, even if he can barely feel it. Jaskier isn't angry with him, doesn't hate him, and for now, that can be enough, But the air between them grows thick. He doesn't notice it right away, too preoccupied with Jaskier touching his horns, but the scent is what alerts him. Spicy, earthy, floral.

It's nice, he thinks absently, familiar and enticing. But he doesn't think too much about it. Not until Jaskier's little hums become softer, sweeter. The realization hits him so abruptly he nearly snaps his head back up, but he doesn't want to give Jaskier any more reason to leave him, although, maybe that's not as much of a problem as he thought.

"Are you... aroused by this?"

Jaskier huffs a little laugh, awkward, but not uncomfortable. "I just think they're sexy."

"Oh."

"Why, does it turn you on?"

"No," Geralt snorts, "I can barely feel it. If I could filing them down would be excruciating."

"Right," Jaskier realizes and Geralt can sense the thinly veiled horror in his voice."Anything else I should know about?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Geralt opens his mouth and pulls his lip back. He'd be horrified at the way Jaskier gasps if he couldn't smell the arousal wafting off of him.

"Fuck, Geralt, that's-" he reaches out, pressing the pad of his thumb to the point of Geralt's fang and smiles. It's a faint sort of thing, more amusing than outright joy, but he's fascinated and right now that's good enough.

Jaskier's finger slips along his bottom teeth, but Geralt shifts under him, dislodging him, and Jaskier's fingers brush his bottom lip before slipping forward, sliding between his lips and pressing against his tongue. Geralt's skin prickles just at the thought of it and when he looks up at Jaskier, he finds him wide-eyed and intrigued.

Their eyes meet and Jaskier holds his gaze. Then, cautiously, withdraws his fingers and runs them along the swell of Geralt's bottom lip, eyes dropping to watch the way they press against it.

"Geralt?" he whispers and Geralt realizes he's been so focused on Jaskier's fingers that he hasn't been paying attention to anything else. He's surprised to find he's got his hands settled on Jaskier's hips. His eyes flick down to his hands, then quickly back up to Jaskier's. The moment they meet again, his willpower snaps and he hauls Jaskier forward, one hand slipping to the back of his head to guide him.

The moment their lips collide, Geralt realizes this was inevitable. That one day Jaskier was bound to find out and want to know about them. His reaction though, Geralt never could have anticipated.

Geralt is... kissing him. It takes a second for his brain to catch up with what his body has already realized and he breaks the kiss with a jolt.

"You're not mad at me," he pants and Geralt just stares at him for a moment.

"No, I told you, I was afraid-"

"That I'd leave you." Jaskier finishes. Geralt nods. "I'd never leave you." He leans in again, trying for a softer, gentler kiss, but the way Geralt's hands press against him sends sparks across his skin.

Jaskier leans into it, parting his lips to deepen the kiss and Geralt's hand slips to his waist, one big, warm hand curling around his side. He pushes into the touch. It's not often he feels small or delicate with a lover, but Geralt does that for him and it's hotter than it has any right to be.

He parts his lips, deepening the kiss and Geralt moans softly against him. It's the most beautiful sound Jaskier has ever heard and he responds in kind, desperate to hear that sound again.

When they part again, Jaskier's breathing heavily and, much to his delight, so is Geralt. He leans back a little, far enough to look at Geralt's face, but not far enough to keep from touching him. He takes in the golden eyes staring back at him, the point of his teeth where Geralt's lips are parted, and the horns. Fuck, Geralt must be an idiot to think he wouldn't want him like this.

"Can I touch you- the rest of you?" he asks and Geralt grunts a yes, surging forward to hold him again.

Geralt gets both arms around him this time, lifting him off the mattress and rising to his knees. He shifts them so he's facing the head of the bed and as he settles, gently lays Jaskier back against the mattress. His head hits the pillow and Geralt settles between his thighs, slipping his hands over Jaskier's hips.

Jaskier reaches up to him, running his hands over Geralt's shoulders, down his arms. He follows the lines of his chest through his shirt, straight down to his trousers where he tugs the fabric free. His fingers slip beneath it and he sighs at the warmth of Geralt's skin on his fingertips. Geralt shudders against him and it gives Jaskier the encouragement he needs. Carefully, he curls his hands around the hem of Geralt's shirt, lifting it up and tugging it over his head.

He inhales sharply and Geralt pulls back just slightly. Jaskier is quick to explain his misunderstanding, slipping his hands around the back of Geralt's neck and sliding them down his shoulders.

"You're beautiful," he whispers.

"You've seen me naked a dozen times this week, Jaskier."

"Not like this."

And it's true. He's seen Geralt naked more times than he can count and he knows Geralt is sexy, knows the lines of his chest better than he should for never having seen them up close, but he's never seen him like this. Geralt is soft like this, so close, and Jaskier is allowed to touch him, Jaskier is allowed to look.

He brushes his fingertips over his nipples. Geralt gives a little gasp and his eyelids flutter.

"Wouldn't think it makes a difference," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier realizes he thinks he's talking about the horns.

"Oh it does, my darling, but I mean like this," he says, pulling Geralt lower over him. "Where I'm allowed to touch you."

"You're always allowed," Geralt mumbles, chin dripping to inadvertently give Jsskier a better look at his horns. He reaches out, slipping his fingers down to the point again. "I just... can't help the way I react when I'm too close to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You make me want things I shouldn't, make me think about things I can't have-"

"Bullshit. What shouldn't you have? What can't you have?"

Geralt lifts his head to look at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and then, "you," he says sadly. Jaskier doesn't give a chance to respond before Geralt continues, evidently relieved to get this off his chest. "You spread your affection so wide, in every town and village and I- it's different with me. You're soft and kind, but how could you want... you have your choice of any person on the continent, how could I-'' he cuts himself off with a sound that Jaskier would call a sob from anyone else.

"What are you saying, Geralt? You don't think I could want you? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

Geralt just snorts at him and moves to pull away, but Jaskier rolls him onto his back and straddles his hips.

"Do you know how wonderful you are?" He pushes his hands through Geralt's chest hair, pressing his fingertips into his skin. "How could I not want you? Do you see me following anyone else around?"

"You're always with someone, always inviting someone else into your bed-"

"Because you wouldn't have me. Or, I thought-" He shifts a little, and suddenly Geralt's hands are sliding up his back, pressing him down against him.

"You thought wrong," he breathes, and then he's kissing him again, soft and slow. One hand slips up into his hair and Jaskier sighs against his lips, letting his eyes fall shut.

He slumps against Geralt's chest, pressing his hands to either side of Geralt's face and he kisses him softly. He pours all of his affection into ever, every feeling he's never been able to share with Geralt, every little thought that he's thought would be too much for him. He rocks against him, pressing their bodies together. He wants to feel Geralt, to be as close as he can for whatever time he has with him.

But then Geralt is pressing back, arching off the bed and wrapping one arm tightly around Jsskier's back until they're so close Jaskier can barely move. He nips at Geralt's lips, pushing back the words that bubble to the surface, the words he wants so desperately to say. He's been holding back for years and maybe now he's allowed? Maybe now Geralt would be amenable - her certainly seems to be so far.

And Jaskier is so caught up in the thought, in the idea of being able to tell Geralt how he feels, that he doesn't realize he's being rolled over until he's on his back and Geralt isn't touching him anymore. He rises to his knees, breaking the kiss only to mouth at Jsskier's jaw and down the side of his neck.

Geralt nips at his collarbone, runs his tongue along the ridge of it and sucks at the skin just below. There will be marks in the morning, Jaskier is sure of it, and he's already itching to look at them. But Geralt doesn't give him much of a chance to think about it before he's nuzzling at Jaskier's neck again, the tips of his fangs just barely brushing against his skin. And Jaskier shudders. The motion goes through his whole body and a soft whine escapes his lips. How the fuck Geralt ever thought seeing him like this would be a bad thing is beyond him.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "I want you. Can I?"

"Anything," Jaskier gasps, "please Geralt, anything."

Geralt hums against him and meets his eyes for just a second before lowering them again to Jaskier's chest. He presses soft kisses into the skin, slipping down to nuzzle into his chest hair and Jsskier is preoccupied with the warmth of his breath and then Geralt's fingers brush over a nipple and he cries out, arching off the bed as Geralt pinches it between his fingertips. It's still gentle, still softer than he's used to, but it's Geralt.

It's Geralt touching his chest and kissing his neck and playing with his nipples. It's Geralt kneeling over him and Geralt breathing against his skin and it's... a lot. Automatically, Jaskier reaches out to him, pulling Geralt close so he can bury his face in his neck.

Geralt works a hand between them, slipping down to fumble with the clasps on Jaskier's trousers and then he's pulling away just enough to be able to undo the clasps. Jaskier groans as his trousers are shoved away, discarded off the side of the bed, but then Geralt is fumbling with the buttons on his own and a wave of heat engulfs him.

This is really happening.

In his 33 years, Jaskier has slept with kings and queens, counts and countesses, and he's never wanted someone so badly as he wants Geralt. It makes him a little anxious and he has to swallow back his self-doubt as Geralt shifts out of his clothes and settles on his knees between Jaskier's thighs.

Without breaking the kiss, he slips his arms under Jaskier's knees, pressing them back against him until he's leaning over him again. Geralt deepens the kiss, pressing down on him and Jaskier groans despite himself. Geralt's cock brushes against his hip and he's hard. It tugs at something deep inside him and Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, fingers pushing into his hair.

He shifts against the mattress and Geralt pulls his arms back. His mouth doesn't leave Jaskier's, even as he reaches for something off the side of the bed. When he settles again, he's got a bottle in his hand and Jaskier whimpers at the thought of it.

Geralt draws away, breaking the kiss with a hum and kissing down Jaskier's chest. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his mouth around the head of his cock and then he's bobbing gently, sliding halfway down his cock and slipping back to the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he focuses on the feel of him, the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his hair in his hands.

When one of Geralt's hands presses against him, he hums encouragingly but doesn't move otherwise, afraid of breaking whatever spell he's under. He doesn't want to risk ending this, doesn't want to risk almost losing Geralt again.

Geralt slips a finger into him and Jaskier reaches up, smoothing his hands up the curve of Geralt's horns. He tries to keep steady, to keep from getting too worked up, but it's hard. Because this is Geralt, this is something he's wanted for years - what if it goes badly? What if it's terrible and Geralt no longer wants him?

A second finger presses into him and Jaskier gasps, startled from his thoughts. Geralt's eyes meet his and he looks worried, questioning.

"Is this too much?" he asks, "we don't have to-"

"No. No, I want you, I want this. Please." Jaskier's fingers slip to the base of his horns, brushing almost nervously where the flesh meets horn. "I just want to be good enough for you."

"You are," Geralt says immediately, "more than enough."

Their lips met again and Geralt's fingers press in a little more firmly. Heat rolls up Jaskier's spine, but he's not aching for it, he's not desperate to come. His cock is hard against his hip, but he wants to be close to Geralt. He wants his arms around him, wants to wrap his legs around Geralt's waist and just press himself against him. He wants the press of skin on skin, unhindered by clothes or blankets of any number of things that have kept them apart in the past.

He just wants Geralt and it doesn't matter how.

When Geralt finally pushes into him, Jaskier groans at the stretch. It's good, so good, and Geralt presses down against him again. Jaskier takes the opportunity to wrap around him and they move together easily, as though they were built for each other. Geralt kisses and nips and Jaskier loves so deeply he can't cope.

He hates the tears that bead in the corners of his eyes, hates the emotion that threatens to tear him apart and he buried his head in Geralt's neck to distract himself. Before he can get his arms around him properly, Geralt pulls back. As soon as he sees his face, Geralt's features pinch together.

"Jaskier-"

"Fuck," Jaskier whines weakly, "Geralt."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jaskier whimpers. He reaches up to Geralt, wanting to pull him close again. He doesn't want Geralt to see him, doesn't want him thinking he's too much, too emotional.

Geralt guides him back against the mattress and detangles their arms, leaning up on one elbow. Jaskier is embarrassed. He's a renowned lover, known for giving his partners the greatest pleasure and in the face of Geralt and one tiny bit of genuine affection, he breaks down.

He crosses his arms over his face but Geralt just wraps gentle fingers around his wrists and pulls them back.

"Hey," he whispers and there's worry in his voice that only makes Jaskier shudder. He chokes on a sob and turns his face, pressing his forehead against Geralrt's wrist.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, but Geralt just brushes his thumb over his forehead.

"For what?"

"I'm... " he doesn't know what to say. A mess? too much? not good enough for you? "okay."

"Jask, you're crying. Is it me?"

"No," he blurts, "no, Geralt, I-" a gentle thumb presses beneath his eye, wiping a tear away and that only makes it worse. "I love you," he whispers, so quiet he's sure no one will hear it. But Geralt, aside from his horns and his fangs, has sensitive hearing.

"And that's... bad." He says. It's not a question.

"No. No, but I- I fucked up. I almost lost you-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "you didn't. I was afraid you'd hate me like this, that you'd see me as the monster everyone else does. I was angry because I thought I was going to lose you."

"I know I'm a lot to put up with-"

"You're not."

Jaskier huffs a wet laugh. "I talk too much and I get in trouble you have to get me out of and I'm too slow and too annoying and too-" Geralt quiets him with a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Once," he says, "at a tavern in Posada, I would have believed those things. I don't anymore." He brushes his fingers down Jaskier's side, settling his palm against his hip. "If I really thought you were too much, I wouldn't be here now." He dips down, kissing him on the mouth again.

Jaskier can't help but sink into it and when Geralt shifts back on top of him, Jaskier winds around his neck again. Geralt breaks the kiss, kissing Jaskier's jaw and down his neck.

"We can stop if you want?"

"No," Jaskier mumbles.

"What do you need?"

"Just... you."

"Yeah," Geralt breathes, "yeah, okay."

He shifts his hips, resuming his slow but steady rhythm and Jaskier clings to him. He can't believe he came so close to losing Geralt tonight, to losing him and losing this forever. A swell of emotion threatens to rise up again and overwhelm him, but he kisses Geralt, holds him tight and focuses on the weight of his body against his own.

His fingers trail absently around the base of a horn, bumping over the uneven skin there. The horns themselves are smoother than expected, probably because they're so fresh, but he likes the sensation of them under his fingers and Geralt seems pleased about it.

Sparks skitter across Jaskier's skin as Geralt's pace quickens and he gaps against his mouth as Geralt rocks into his prostate. Even when Geralt's lips aren't on him, they hover above his skin, hot breath creating goosebumps in its wake. And when he kisses him, it seems a tremor audit through Jaskier's body, making his heart beat quicker and his toes curl in the sheets. He's never felt this way with anyone, never found himself chasing closeness before an orgasm, but he likes it.

He likes the sleekness of Geralt's horn under his palm, the tickle of his hair as it brushes his bare skin, the tackiness is dying away on Geralt's skin. All of it. He draws him close again, just as Geralt's hips give a little snap and it knocks the breath out of him.

"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier knows he won't last long with Geralt's hand on him, but for once that doesn't seem important.

"Please," he whispers and Geralt's palm slips up the underside of his cock, making him shudder.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier just nods, a small sound escaping his lips as he rocks his hips into the touch.

Geralt's fingers wrap around him and it's like a wave of heat washing over him. Jaskier's entire body burns for him, arches off the bed to get closer to him. Geralt takes him apart so easily and it's only a matter of minutes before he's gasping for it, groaning his need into Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt rocks into him, stroking him in time with his thrusts and when he kisses him again, Jaskier shatters. He groans against Geralt's lips, rocking back onto him as he spills between them. His thighs shake and his arms feel like noodles around Geralt's neck, but he holds him closer anyway.

He's still breathless when Geralt's hips snap forward again and Jaskier can tell he's close in the way he shudders as he rocks into him. He tangles his fingers in Geralt's hair, kisses him hard. He wants this to be good, wants Geralt to know that he's safe here, he can be happy here.

When Geralt comes, it's with a quiet moan against Jaskier's chest and he stays there for a moment, breathing against his skin. When he pulls away, he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulder, pulling him onto his side so they're still facing each other. Neither speaks and Geralt kisses him again, slow and gentle. His hand comes up to cup the back of his head, and Jaskier hums softly against his lips.

They part again on a shaky breath and Jaskier bumps his forehead against Geralt's. He doesn't want to ask him to stay, he's still too afraid to hear him say no. But he doesn't want Geralt to go. It's already hard enough losing him over the winter, he can't bear the thought of being parted any longer than that. He shuts his eyes and presses close, pacified by the way Geralt's arm tightens around him.

"Next winter," Geralt mumbles, abrupt, "come with me. There's nothing left for me to hide and I... miss you over the winter. I worry about you." Jaskier's heart soars, despite his best efforts to keep his emotions restrained.

"You'd want me there?" he asks, "with your brothers?"

"Yeah. And they've been bugging me about it since I first mentioned you."

"You talk about me?" Jaskier asks, pulling back to look at him. Geralt tips his head up, golden eyes shining even in the dim light.

"Of course. You're-" he pauses as though unsure of what exactly Jaskier is. "I love you, too," he whispers at last, eyes lowered.

It feels like a dream, like any moment Jaskier will wake up and be back hiding behind that building or worse - alone in his room. But when he kisses him, Geralt is warm and solid against him and Jaskier buries himself in that warmth.

He will never, could never, understand how anyone can see this man as a monster.

#geraskier #fangs #horns #monster march #this got... sadder than expected oop #rex writes #the witcher

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 26 - ao3 -

“Qiren-xiong, would you like me to keep them back a little longer?” Lan Yueheng asked anxiously. He’d been biting his lip and wringing his hands and pacing hard enough to leave a mark on the floor. Lan Qiren really ought to let him go back to his mathematics and his alchemy, to abandon this sad sorry world of politics that the rest of them were mired in for the purer joys of academic discovery. “It’s just, they’re getting really insistent on talking with you…”

Lan Qiren sighed and put down the cup of tea that had already cooled without him taking a single sip.

“No,” he finally said. “It’s fine. I’m amazed you managed to keep them back this long.”

He had been working very hard these past few days. He’d just wanted a short break. An afternoon of silence, or even just a few shichen...

Apparently, he couldn’t even get that now.

Lan Yueheng beamed. “I got Zhang Xin to help! She’s keeping them all back – elders and teachers and fellow disciples and all.”

Lan Qiren frowned a little, thinking of the lady in question, who was fierce and fiery but definitely not fearsome or well-respected enough to hold back the teeming tide of Lan sect members desperate for Lan Qiren to stop ignoring them. “…do I want to know how?”

“With a club!”

Lan Qiren did not want to know how.

“I put explosives in the –”

“Please stop explaining,” Lan Qiren begged.

“You asked.”

Technically, Lan Qiren had asked if he wanted to know, but he shouldn’t stand on technicalities. Especially not now that he was –

He stopped that thought before completing it.

“Go out and tell them that I will not be taking any questions on my living conditions, quarters or clothing, any of the current rule modification proposals - it’s far too soon - and certainly none that are just about the current situation, and also that anyone who doesn’t have a question is not welcome,” he decided. “If there’s anyone left over, they can come inside and pose their question. If it’s not a good one, I will impose punishment on the basis of Concentrate on cultivation.”

In the end, there were only three people admitted out of the disappointed throngs of disciples outside. The first two questions were appropriate ones, being both purely administrative and critically necessary to the running of their sect; the last, however…

The disciple in question was one of the gate-guards.

He saluted. “There are visitors on the way in,” he reported. “From other sects.”

“Didn’t I already give orders that all access tokens not currently in the Cloud Recesses be revoked, and no new ones issued?” Lan Qiren asked curtly. “We are not currently accepting guests, and will not be until matters have been settled. You may inform them as much.”

The disciple hesitated.

“What is it?”

“The visitors in question…” The disciple hesitated again, and Lan Qiren frowned. “It’s Sect Leader Nie and Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren had been reaching for his cup of tea again, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

“They’ve been very stubborn. Neither has agreed to go, no matter what we tell them, and they’ve been there all day, saying that they’ll stay standing at our gate until we let them in. Do – do the same orders apply to them?”

Lan Qiren looked down at his hand, frozen in midair. His fingers were trembling a little. Strain, probably; he’d had a very bad time for quite a while now, and even though he’d taken the time for it, he hadn’t actually slept properly. He’d only lain in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to absorb whatever little rest he could.

“They do,” he finally said, putting his hands back into his lap as if he could hide his misery from himself. “Dismissed.”

The last disciple left.

“Why won’t you let them in?” Lan Yueheng asked from behind him. “They’re your friends, aren’t you?”

He paused, falling silent for a brief moment.

“You could use friends right now, Qiren-xiong,” he finally said. “You really could.”

“I know,” Lan Qiren said, and felt the bitterness rise up in his throat until it almost choked him. “They are my friends, and one even more, my sworn brother. They are that, but they are not only that – they are also the sect leaders of two of the other Great Sects. Even if they don’t want to cross me or hurt me, their sect obligations must be always in the forefront of their minds, be their primary care and consideration, just as the Lan sect must be mine.”

Now, he added. Must be mine, now.

“But…”

“The sect comes first, Yueheng-xiong.” Lan Qiren was so tired that it felt like a physical ache. “It has to come first. First and foremost, above everything else. Haven’t we seen what happens if that’s not what’s done?”

Wasn’t everything they were suffering now all because his brother had put himself first, instead of the sect? He had equated his interests with the sect and in doing so harmed the sect so deeply, harmed all their family and all the rest of them, everyone that relied on them...how could Lan Qiren willfully repeat such a mistake, no matter how much he longed sometimes to do so?

“But -!”

“I’ve made my decision.”

“It’s the wrong one,” Zhang Xin said from the door, still holding that club of hers and looking as fierce as a small angry dog. “You’re the rule expert, aren’t you? Stop thinking about your brother for a moment and focus on them. As far as I’ve always heard, the rules say that you can’t just care for the sect, you have to care for yourself, too. Or else who’d be left to care for the sect?”

Lan Qiren flinched and looked down at his hands again.

He supposed she had a point.

“Yueheng-xiong,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Go after that disciple. Tell him…tell him that they still can’t enter, but that he should pass along a message to them. Tell him to tell them…” He hesitated. “If they truly wish to remain nearby, I will be available to meet with them in Caiyi Town ten days from now.”

That should be enough time to settle everything if he really exerted himself, Lan Qiren thought. All the preparations that needed to be made before the world could find out what had happened.

“They don’t have to,” he added, bitterness curling in his gut even as he tried to make it clear that he was speaking in earnest. “If they don’t want to. I won’t be offended if they don’t.”

After all, it would be asking rather a lot, forcing them to stay outside doing nothing for such a long time. Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie: they were sect leaders both, Great Sects at their command, and not possessed of a great deal of spare time. More than that, neither of them were especially patient people in the best of times, and much less so now that they were currently at odds with each other – though perhaps the fact that they’d put up with each other’s company long enough to yell at his gate-guard suggested that their recently frozen-over relationship had perhaps at last started to thaw.

Anyway, Lan Qiren wasn’t even doing them the courtesy of offering them accommodations within the Cloud Recesses, as anyone might reasonably expect. They’d have to stay in Caiyi Town instead, take a room at an inn like any ordinary mortal…truly, it would not be a surprise if they did not choose to stay.

It would be fine if they didn’t stay. It would be.

“I’ll pass it along,” Lan Yueheng promised, and ran out the door. Zhang Xin sniffed, but said no more. It was clear she would have preferred he do more, perhaps go and speak to them immediately, but she also knew that she’d pushed her insolence about as far as she could take it.

She was very brave.

“You should marry him,” Lan Qiren told her, thinking to himself that someone ought to be happy even if it wasn’t him, and she blinked at him. “Yueheng-xiong. He looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky.”

Zhang Xin blinked again, and then flushed. “Well…”

“You like romances, don’t you? Why not take the next step on this one?”

She waved her hands at him. “We’ll get there! Don’t rush us.”

“You don’t have parents, right?” Lan Qiren pressed. “If you like, I can act for them in making the arrangements –”

“I’ll consider that,” she hissed, her face now bright red. She pointed the club at him, and Lan Qiren hastily raised his hands in surrender; he knew what Lan Yueheng’s explosives were like. “Go back to moping. I’m starting to think I liked you better that way.”

Lan Qiren didn’t think she did.

“I need more ink,” he said instead. If he was going to have to make up for all of his brother’s failings and get the Lan sect into the state it needed to in order to be ready to face the storm that awaited them outside their gates within ten days, he would need to work hard, and that meant starting now. “Please fetch some for me. I promise not to bring it up again.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but bustled off, and Lan Qiren turned to apply himself to work.

Work was – he could do the work.

As long as he didn’t have to think about why he was doing it, or how long he would need to do it, not think about how this work wouldn’t just be for now but for the rest of his life, he could do it.

It took the full ten days and several sleepless nights, interspersed with sleep borne of pure exhaustion, but in the end Lan Qiren managed to make all the preparations he thought were necessary to minimize or at least endure the loss of face that the Lan sect would subject to once the world heard of rumors of what had happened. Even with the sanitized, filtered, cleaned-up version of it that they intended to spread, it would still hurt their reputation.

“You should take several days to yourself,” his music teacher advised, looking genuinely concerned, and his swordsmanship teacher nodded in agreement. “There will be more work to come, but none so soon.”

Lan Qiren nodded, being too tired to care about them worrying about him now, and went to the gate.

“Zhu Dawei,” he called, recognizing the disciple there. It was the same one who had brought him the news, ten days back; the one he’d sent back with the message. “Was there…”

He trailed off, not sure how to ask the question without seeming overly pathetic – by chance, do you know if my sworn brother and best friend abandoned me and returned to their sects, as any reasonable person would, or did they decide to wait an unreasonably long time in order to talk to me?

Zhu Dawei saluted adroitly. “Sect Leader Wen and Sect Leader Nie said to tell you that they will be waiting for you at the inn along the main waterway in Caiyi Town, the one with the red awning. They’re planning on dining at you hour if you would like to join them.”

He had good friends, Lan Qiren thought, feeling stabbing pains of emotions in his chest that he thought might even be a good thing. He nodded. “My thanks,” he said, and headed down the mountain.

Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie were there in the inn in one of the private suites that were available for rich guests, sitting at a table laid out with all the local specialties: six different dishes and tea and wine. They were bickering over something or another – Lan Qiren didn’t strain himself to listen, only paused a little outside the door, watching them both for a moment.

Having been forced to spend ten days’ time in close proximity had clearly been good for them: they were practically back to the way they had been before they’d fallen out, each one clearly genuinely at ease - Wen Ruohan with his smirks and his haughty sneers, Lao Nie with his booming laugh and expressive scowls. Perhaps they had even had the opportunity to actually talk to each other, to clear the air between them and make plain their respective positions, which Lan Qiren had been starting to think they never would - that Wen Ruohan would grow so resentful that he’d shut off his heart again and take Lao Nie back on the condition that he never speak of it again, and so let it fester as an unhealed wound. Lan Qiren had worried about the terrible things that might come of such lingering rage. He had not liked it, but had felt helpless to change it: after all, who on earth could force these two men to stay near to each other when they did not want to?

Him, apparently.

They looked good together, suited each other, he thought, watching them both. They were both tall and strong, fine men that exuded power and fierceness and determination in equal measure; it was a real pity that they weren’t quite the right match for each other.

Lao Nie caught sight of Lan Qiren standing at the door first. The moment he did, he turned away and rose to his feet. “Qiren! There you are – come in – sit! Sit, sit – have you eaten?”

“Earlier,” Lan Qiren said, coming in and trying to raise his hands in a salute that got quickly knocked aside. “I could eat again.”

“We insist on it,” Wen Ruohan said, looking him over with a judgmental frown. “I think you’ve gotten thinner…he’s gotten thinner, hasn’t he, Lao Nie?”

Lao Nie held Lan Qiren at arms length and looked him over critically. “Normally, Hanhan, I’d accuse you of being a mother hen and never let you live it down ever again,” he remarked, “but in this case I really think you’re right. His face is thinner than it was before, definitely a sign of losing weight too rapidly…tell us what happened, Qiren. There’s been no news at all from the Lan sect, only that there was some sort of crisis – some violence – and then all the gates to the Cloud Recesses were shut.”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing at his temples. He didn’t really want to think about it, but there was no avoiding it. “They were. The full details will be announced at the next discussion conference, which is coming up rapidly.”

“It is,” Lao Nie said. “I should know; I’m hosting. Will you tell us in advance what the news is?”

“I will.”

“Food first,” Wen Ruohan interjected. “No talking during meals, remember?”

Lao Nie made a face at him, but Lan Qiren smiled thinly at his sworn brother’s poorly concealed kindness and sat down. He ate quickly, the food largely tasteless on his tongue even though it was finely made and featured many of his favorites. They must have ordered them especially, knowing that he was coming tonight.

The quiet was a welcome reprieve, and allowed him to think over what he was going to say a little more thoroughly. He’d known, of course, that he’d have to tell them, but he hadn’t yet settled on exactly how to force the words from between his teeth…

When dinner was done and the dishes cleared, the only thing left on the table being the tea and the wine, he cleared his throat. “Did you rent the room?” he asked, and they nodded. “For how long?”

“We booked the whole month,” Wen Ruohan said carelessly. “It didn’t cost as much as all that.”

Caiyi Town was the nearest town to the Cloud Recesses, which was full of very rich cultivators. The prices here were far higher than a comparable inn in another place, and were nowhere near cheap even for a night - much less a month. More than that, Lan Qiren hadn’t seen any other guests, which made him suspect that Wen Ruohan had rented not only the room but the entire inn, making it the sort of expenditure more commonly seen among the scions of Lanling Jin.

Still, Lan Qiren did not complain or point out the inaccuracy. Not when he had hoped for something exactly like that.

“Good,” he said, and reached up to his forehead ribbon.

Both Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie gaped at him in stunned disbelief as he removed it, carefully folding it up like the precious thing that it was and tucking it away into his sleeve for safekeeping – even though the process took some time to accomplish, they had not yet recovered by the time he was done. They looked a bit like gawping fish.

“The forehead ribbon reminds you of your self-restraint,” Lan Qiren quoted. “I do not intend to maintain it tonight.”

More gawking. He ignored it.

“I’m intending on getting drunk,” he clarified, nodding at the jars of wine on the table. “I’ll drink as much as you allow me to. Could you keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t leave the premises? I can’t lose face for the sect right now, but both of you are considerably stronger than me, and faster, too. You can keep an eye on me and restrain my behavior, if necessary, and I would appreciate it if you would.”

“…of course,” Wen Ruohan said, exchanging glances with Lao Nie. “If that’s what you want, little Lan. We’ll care for you.”

“Can we ask why?” Lao Nie asked, always the blunt one.

Lan Qiren looked down at the table, gathered his courage, and looked back up at them. “I’m going to be attending the next discussion conference,” he said, and even he could hear how dull and depressed his already monotonous voice was. “At that time, you will need to call me Sect Leader Lan.”

“Sect - Sect Leader…? You?” Lao Nie was gaping again. “But – you –”

“What happened to Qingheng-jun?” Wen Ruohan asked, his eyes already narrowed as his mind rapidly churned over the information.

“He has entered permanent seclusion,” Lan Qiren said. His fingers had tightened into fists again, and his knuckles were white from the strain. “Along with his wife.”

“His – wife?”

“He Kexin?” Wen Ruohan asked. “He’s married – no, she married him?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, because friends or no, brother or no, they were still sect leaders, still outsiders. He could not share with them the full story, at least not yet, not until he’d made sure they couldn’t use it against his sect. Not until there was a story that the whole world would accept as the truth. “They are married, and secluded. I am the next in line, and have therefore taken on the position.”

“But you wanted to travel,” Lao Nie said. “To play music, to go see new places. You had all those plans –”

Lan Qiren flinched.

“Be silent,” Wen Ruohan told Lao Nie. “Can’t you see you’re just making it worse? He knows.”

Yes, Lan Qiren knew. No one knew better than him the dreams he’d had, the plans he’d made, how much it had been a fixed part of his life – stronger than mere hope, it had been an expectation. He had never imagined that his life wouldn’t be what he planned to make of it.

He never imagined his life would be…like this.

“It is temporary,” he added, the rotten feeling of disappointment coating his tongue like a swallow of bitter medicine. “An examination has revealed that He Kexin is pregnant with my brother’s child. Although it is far too early for any medical indications, divination suggests that it will be a boy.”

And even if it wasn’t, well, Lan Yi had set a precedent for women to be allowed to be sect leaders, too.

The sect elders had compared the exceptional qualities of Lan Qiren’s brother against Lan Qiren’s own, compared their respective talents for cultivation and temperaments and their ways with people. That analysis complete, they had suddenly changed their tune: no more did they try to comfort Lan Qiren for his crushed dreams by painting pictures of the power he would obtain, of his children inheriting after him – as if Lan Qiren had ever cared about power, he who had never coveted the position of sect leader even once in his life, and had on account of his inclinations, or lack thereof, had already given up hope of children – and instead they spoke instead of Lan Qiren’s duty to his brother’s legitimate bloodline, his duty to the sect overall.

Lan Qiren had listened in silence for a while, barely restraining from sneering at their shallow and obvious hypocrisy, before striking a deal with them: he would take on the role of acting sect leader, as he had already known he had no choice but to do, and in time he would willingly step aside for his brother’s heir or heirs, if there was more than one, but he insisted on being the one to raise them.

He didn’t especially want to raise children, having no idea if he would be any good at it, but he didn’t trust anyone else in his sect to prioritize raising the children as children – as people of their own, rather than extensions of their father, as another chance to correct the mistakes of the past. To raise them with the rules as guidance, as support in times of weakness and pride in times of strength, not as an obstacle to be overcome; to try to do whatever he could to help them avoid the faults of the prior generation without crushing their souls the way his brother had tried to crush his.

He would give this unborn nephew or nephews everything he could. He would give them the rules, and he would protect them from them; he would spend the rest of his life exerting himself to clean up the sect until it was something worth inheriting, and then he’d give them that, too.

“Congratulations,” Lao Nie said blankly, and Wen Ruohan elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Lan Qiren chuckled humorlessly. “He’ll be only a few years younger than yours,” he said to Lao Nie. “And about of age with your second when he’s born, da-ge.”

“You don’t deserve this,” Wen Ruohan said, his mouth twisted with bitterness that for once had nothing to do with his own desires. “You deserve better.”

Lan Qiren appreciated the thought.

He appreciated them both being angry on his behalf, which they so clearly were. Lao Nie’s face had grown black with rage, his brows tight as if pulled taut with a string, and while Wen Ruohan’s face was calm and sedate as always, his qi seethed and hissed and coiled around them all as if he could keep away Lan Qiren’s duties by sheer force of will. He might even try, if it was something Lan Qiren would consider letting him do.

It wasn’t, though.

“The sect’s needs come first,” he said simply. “You both put your sects above yourselves; you know how it is. It’s the same for me.”

“You still deserve better,” Lao Nie said, and shook his head. “Hanhan’s right. You really do. I’m so sorry, Qiren. I should’ve been there to help more – shouldn’t have been so distracted –”

“Nothing could have been done to change it,” Lan Qiren said. He didn’t disagree, knowing as he did how careless Lao Nie had been over it all, but if he were to blame Lao Nie, he might as well blame Wen Ruohan, who he knew for a fact did know about it and didn’t bother to try to intervene – but he didn’t want to blame his sworn brother, who had no responsibility here, and he didn’t much want to blame Lao Nie, either, even if he’d said some very stupid things from a distance. It had only ever been his brother’s fault; there was nothing else for it. “It’s…”

He trailed off, not able to say it was fine, because it wasn’t. It just wasn’t true.

Do not tell lies.

“I’ll live,” he said instead, because that was. No matter what, he had to live. His sect depended on him, his not-yet-born nephew depended on him. “I’m going to become a teacher, instead. It’ll give me something to do.”

He would have more than enough to do as the sect leader, of course, acting or otherwise, and with him just barely into his early twenties he was very young to be a teacher. But he desperately wanted something that wasn’t just the sect’s, something all his own, and he had planned on being a teacher, too. Much later in life, of course, but – it was still something.

Something of his own.

Maybe he’d push the elders for permission to have children from other sects come for lessons, just to mimic the variety of the world that he was no longer permitted to go see. Sect leaders feather their own nests with the stories of others, he’d once told Cangse Sanren, that’s a way of living, too…

He had to think of it that way. If he didn’t, he’d think instead of what she said, a caged lark singing only for a select few, and that would be worse.

“Do you have any more questions?” he added, not wanting to think of anything at all any longer. “If not, I would very much like to get drunk on your wine, if you don’t mind.”

Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie exchanged glances again, some secret communication that Lan Qiren didn’t bother to try and fail to decipher – truly, if there was one good part to the entire disaster it was that they had overcome their distance in truth rather merely on the surface – but then Wen Ruohan nodded firmly and Lao Nie began to set out the drinking bowls.

“For once, I’m almost looking forward to hearing about your sect rules,” Wen Ruohan remarked. “As long as you just tell me about them, this time, and don’t knee me in the –”

Lan Qiren grabbed at the drinking bowl, glaring at him, and Lao Nie laughed. “Let’s see how much you can tolerate,” he said cheerfully. “The liquor here is pretty mild, so start with one bowl and tell me how you’re feeling after –”

Lan Qiren drank the bowl, grimacing a little at the taste, and remembered nothing more.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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nishigo · 3 years

Text

an anomaly. // bennett x reader.

a page from the book of memories.

[ p a g e 3 2 9 ｡ ]

authors note: hello! this is my first ever attempt at something for genshin impact. this is longer than i expected, and there may be errors here and there, so i am sorry about that in advance. i do hope you will enjoy it though. i got bennett yesterday after rolling and although many say he’s annoying...he’s very much like me in real life. coincidence? i think not. Σ('◉⌓◉’) i also rolled a girl named keqing. she seems nice, and is a five star, but i don’t know if she’s rare. i truly don’t know how this system works, apologies. T^T anyways, traveler, happy reading. (*'▽'*)

word count : 2191

tw : none that i can think of. very much fluff. and perhaps a touch of a flirty!reader. :)

request status at time of posting : open.

in which he had finally someone who could balance out his unluckiness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行。( n o )

———

Bennett was, to put it simply, confused.

He had just finished a mission with you, being your support the whole entire way through. There had been an offering that had been posted on the tavern’s walls in dark, smudged text that caught his eye at an earlier time. It read that whoever could get rid of the new pop-up hilichurl camp that blocked the path to Liyue would receive a grand sum of Mora. Course, running low on money, Bennett had decided to take up the offer. They would be easy enough to take down, just a simple slash of his sword and a few burns here and there could get the job done in no time. However, there was a problem.

No one would come with him.

Bennett knew that he was very...loud. And he was energetic. And annoying. And, though he hated to admit it...he was unlucky.

Everything seemed stacked up against him. Everyone he turned to in the tavern took a simple glance at him and rejected the offer with no further questions asked. He would try to convince them, but they would simply get more annoyed at his stubbornness and shoo him away with a flick of a hand or some splash of beer to the face. It’s not like he could take the older adventurers out either, they could barely walk on their own two feet. They were so old that they certainly would have shriveled up in the sun if he brought them along. So there that option went, leaving him with practically nothing else to turn to.

But then, if he had no one to go with him, what would happen? Would he continue to be stuck in that tavern? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to waste away like that. He was meant to be out there, in a world that could supply him with the thrill and rush that his heart yearned for. The boy desired to be just as great of an adventurer as the ones who came before him, or perhaps, dare he dream, even greater than them. Bennett desired to be a legend. But being a legend could not be done alone, even if that was what Bennett determined he would forever be, deep in the back of his brain.

Which is why you were such an anomaly.

You were the last person he spoke to that night. He was a complete mess. His shirt was damp with beer and some white wine, his white locks were a birds nest with the goggles sliding off slowly, and his eyes looked devoid of life as he took a deep inhale and they brightened up again. This was his last chance. You were the one who was either going to make or break this plan.

“Hello stranger! I am the great Bennett, and I was wondering if you would be able to help assist me with a mission that was posted on the tavern walls. It’s about the hilichurl camp by Liyue! Although I am rather strong, I need some help so it’s done more efficiently and faster. I’m even willing to split the Mora with you that we make out of it! What do you say?” Bennett recited his lines again, as if he was in an interview of sorts. His leafy green eyes watched as you scrunched up your eyebrows, as if thinking and examining him. Your face was blank other than that, lips in a straight line and hand cupping your cheek. Bennett found it to be quite terrifying. It was such an intimidating look, in fact, that he was about to ask you to forget about it before you spoke first.

“Sure.” You stated simply, a smile forming on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Ahhh, understood, I’ll get goi- WAIT!” The pyro boy turned to look right at you as he gasped. His face was one of shock morphed with a cute, ecstatic look. One could compare it to a puppy of sorts. You were not meant to say yes. You were meant to be like everyone else and reject him. He was dumbfounded as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and tilted his head.

“You’re not joking?!”

“Course not! Why would I do such a thing?” You rebuked before he giddily jumped up and down while pulling you up to a sweet hug. It was a gentle and firm one, though, he pulled away quickly after realizing he still wreaked of alcohol. You told him you didn’t mind it though, making him rub the back of his head sheepishly and laugh. You two would converse for the night, agreeing to meet up at the gate the next morning so he could lead the way to the camp and also split the mora gained evenly. After the small chat, you would leave the tavern to stay at the local inn for the night and get some rest. Bennett’s eyes were trained on you as the door then closed, realization hitting him like a truck: he found someone. He found a real person to take on a mission. Better yet, they were as gorgeous as they were strong. This was better than any dream he could have made up. Bennett decided he had to turn in for the night soon after you left, taking a spot in his cozy bed under the sheets. His eyes closed as the curtains rustled at the soft wind that blew through the window. The pyro’s last thought before going to bed was that he truly hoped that you would fulfill your end of the deal and show up.

And you kept your promise. You were there as the morning sun rose to reflect your beautiful skin, hair flowing gently in the light breeze as he ran up to you and froze. You looked powerful now that you were out of the tavern and he could see you properly. You had on your adventure gear, dressed appropriately for a mission that required taking out many enemies. What caught his attention, though, was your white cape with golden accents that flowed from behind. Flicking your hood down and off your head, your face was now fully visible as you watched him stare. He was adorable, like a little baby who was just discovering the world for the first time.

“You’re really gonna do this with me?” Bennett asked in wonder. His face was blank as a smirk landed itself on your features. You positioned yourself to stand upright, away from the wall you were leaning on as you held your weapon of choice in your dominant hand. As for the other, you outstretched it towards him with a grin.

“Lead the way.”

Bennett didn’t even have to think twice about it as he eagerly took your hand into his own gloved one and began to lead you out of the city and into the wilderness. He seemed to be very hyper from what you could tell, as he couldn’t seem to stop commenting on how he was destined for greatness, or how thankful he was that you were going to come along with him. He also bombarded you with questions about yourself as well, like if this was your first time in Mondstadt or what kind of element you had control over. He was easily excited, but especially when you told him that you were a traveler that had been moving around place to place to see the sights of the world. It was why you were so strong, you had defeated a wide range of enemies, great and small, on your journeys. Bennett was fascinated by that, drawing him to be more and more curious about you. Alas, the questions and storytelling had to wait. You two had arrived at the camp, and it was time to take some enemies down.

You two ended up making a fantastic duo of sorts. With his sword and experience, he was able to cut down enemies with ease. You did the same, your speed and agility outmatched as you two basically made a massacre out of the camp. His fire would spread through the long grass, and with the natural wind, spread quickly to begin burning it all down. You were quick to come to his aid when he would sometimes get backed against the rocks or a tree, helping him heal with some quick magic you had learned. It wasn’t anything special, but it was enough to keep him up and moving. With such precision and perseverance, your duo was able to defeat the camp with relative ease. However, both you and Bennett were still tired from fighting for so long. You two were out of breath as the fire died out, heaving for air as you gave him a head pat and grinned.

“You did amazing out there. You’re a talented pyro user as well, I’m impressed.” There you went again, making him all confused as he sat there. You just complimented him. A powerful traveler, that has practically defeated every sort of monster there is out there, was impressed by him. Bennett, the unlucky, was impressive? For the first time, he was rendered speechless as he looked at you. It was now night, the moon high in the sky as it illuminated your face. Oh goodness, you looked ethereal. The way the stars were reflected in your eyes, the way the gold of your cape sparkled and flowed behind you, the way you smiled at him, like he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen. The only thing that stopped the comfortable silence between you two was the fact that he shivered when a breeze brushed against his pale, scar littered skin. You snapped out of it and looked him up and down, noticing how a lot of his skin was exposed to the chilly night.

“Here, take this.” You told him as you unbuttoned your cape, taking it off your shoulders. With one swoop, you draped it over his own figure, being as gentle as possible as you buttoned it up again. Bennett was reduced to continuing to stay silent as you clothed him. You placed the hood up on top of his head, a hand on your hip as you grinned at him. It was a bit big on him but nonetheless, it was rather cute. You used your other hand to take his chin gently, making him look you in the eyes. He was rather happy that the hood cast a bit of a shadow, because his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as he was forced to look at you.

“Huh. Looks better on you than it does me.” You commented before he seemed to regain his ability to speak.

“You need this more than me! I-i’m literally a pyro user, I c-can heat myself-” You hushed him, letting go of his chin as you put a finger to his peach pink lips.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t waste your energy to heat up, especially since we have to walk back to town. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse weather situations.” He glanced down at your finger, and then back to you as you dropped your hand and began walking down the path again, back towards the city. Why did you have to be so, so...enchanting? And you were so smooth as well! He had never been so flustered when talking to someone, heck, he was the one who was meant to be doing most of the talking! Though, he supposed that him being talkative didn’t equate to being able to flirt. But something about the thought of you leaving made him pout. It was as if the butterflies were leaving his stomach, but they left him emptier than before.

Bennett refused to be lonely anymore. Not when he had you.

“Hey, darling!~ Would you stop standing there and staring off into space? I know I look wonderful tonight, but we gotta get a move on! We won’t be able to get to town and rest our weary bones if you keep this up!~” You called out to him, making him shake his head and refocus. Right, a bed. Sleep did sound rather good right now, along with a shower and something to quench his thirst. He ran and caught up to you, walking by your side as he grinned. He began to already ask about other missions that the two of you could do together, like gathering supplies for the alchemist or helping around the town for some spare Mora here and there. Bennett then stopped for a moment again, looking at you.

“Would you like to work together again?” There was a moment of silence before you nodded.

“I think I would. We make a great team.” Bennett then continued walking with you, as if time didn’t just stop for a second as he went back to his usual, bubbly nature. The more he thought about it, the happier it made him. More adventures to be made. More memories to be created. All with you at his side the entire time.

And you would make all the difference.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin oneshot #genshin bennett #bennett #bennett x reader #bennett x reader genshin impact #genshin impact bennett #genshin x reader #aaaAAAAA ITS OUT-#flirty reader? i think yes.#i hope you all like this #maybe kaeya next?#anyways i hope bennett isn’t too ooc #sorry if he is ;3;#hao’s library #the book of memories

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stellarstarwarsimagines · 3 years

Text

Surprises

Pairing - Din Djarin x Reader

Summary - After loosing the Razor Crest, Grogu, and the Dark Saber coming into Din’s possession, you’re not sure either of you can handle another surprise being thrown your way.

Word Count - 1.7k

Warnings - Pregnancy

The first time it had happened, you thought something had made you ill. After all, it wasn’t as if you and Din had the best sources of food at your disposal. There had been a couple of times when something had upset your stomach.

The second time, you had assumed it was leftover from the first.

When you continued to be sick the next day, a sneaking suspicion had entered your mind.

The two of you were stationed at Nevarro until you figured out what to do. You no longer had Grogu to watch out for, or a ship to fly in, and you had the dark saber to contend with now. The truth was though, you both needed a break. Too much had happened too quickly, and you both needed time to sort through it all, and the safest place to do that was Nevarro. After all, you had friends there.

One in particular whose help you were going to need now.

“Karga. I need you to take me to the best medical droid you have around here.” You told him, barging into his little office like you were on a mission.

It was clear that he was surprised, but intrigued by your outburst. “Why? What’s going on?” He asked, filing the papers he was looking at away to focus on you.

You bit your lip. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to jinx it and end up looking stupid in the end, but you also knew Karga wasn’t going to help you out unless he had the story. Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, glancing around the room to make sure you couldn’t be overheard before answering him. “This doesn’t leave this room.” You demanded.

Karga nodded, looking even more intrigued.

“ . . . I think I might be pregnant.”

To your surprise, Greef didn’t look the least bit shocked. In fact, he almost looked . . . smug, leaning back against his chair with a little smirk. “I knew you two were together.” He said.

“Karga!”

____________________

You hated being probed by droids. Them taking your blood was one of your least favorite things in the galaxy. There was something about seeing your blood that made you feel dizzy, anyone else’s was fine, but your own? You closed your eyes, biting your lip and waving the droid off as it asked you if you were okay.

The test didn’t take long. The droid put your blood under a microscope and within moments, it had confirmed your suspicions.

Pregnant. Eight weeks.

You slumped against the back of the chair, a dozen different emotions all washing through you at the same time. It was like you two couldn’t catch a break. You were exhausted trying to keep up with all the new things that life was throwing at you, and this was another one to add to the list. You were angry at yourself for not being more careful, anxious because you weren’t sure how Din was going to react to this news. You were sure that Din was going to be a great father, how could you not be after seeing all that he had done with Grogu? But a little voice in the back of your mind wondered if this would be the breaking point. Would he be able to handle another life changing thing on top of everything else? Would he push you aside knowing that it was too much to take on?

On the other side of your mind though, another little voice spoke up, reminding you that you were now carrying the love of your life’s child, and if everything went okay, you would now always have a piece of him, no matter what happened in the future.

You couldn’t help but be a little happy about that.

____________________

Still in a daze, you walked back to the little inn where you and Din had been staying, opening the door to find him sitting there with two bowls of food, waiting on you.

The sight of him without his helmet was jarring even now. After seeing only the briefest flashes of chin for so long, it always startled you for a moment to see all of that handsome, gorgeous face whenever you did. So you always liked to take a minute to observe it, committing it to memory with a soft sigh.

As soon as he heard you, he stood up, and you were once again struck with how awkward he seemed to move without all the beskar weighing him down. “I - uh - I got us lunch.”

You smiled at the gesture, but it seemed to be a weak one, because Din’s expression turned to concern almost at once. It was funny, how before you had never been able to tell what he was thinking or feeling, but now it was so easy. You weren’t even sure he knew how expressive those dark brown eyes were.

He stepped towards you, his warm hand cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch at once, enjoying the comfort it brought. “Are you all right cyar’ika?”

His voice was so soft. Softer than it could ever sound coming through his helmet, and you melted at the sound of it. “I think that’s going to depend on you my kar’ta.” You replied, turning your head and closing your eyes to press a kiss against his calloused palm.

His brow raised in confusion, but at that moment, you caught a whiff of the lunch that Din had brought the two of you. Your eyes widened, and you covered your mouth as a wave of nausea hit you like a blaster shot. You ran into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow you, but of course he did, holding your hair back as you vomited up the contents of your breakfast.

“Here, just keep breathing.” He murmured, transferring your hair to one hand so he could stroke your back with the other. “It’ll be okay. Better out than in.”

Would it be okay?

Once you were done, you sat down, leaning your back against the wall and watching as he got you a cup of water and a towel. You took them from him gratefully, sipping slowly as to not upset your stomach once more. “Do you think it’s something you ate?” Din asked after a few moments.

You shook your head, closing your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths, the nerves of what you knew you were about to have to tell him making it worse. “No, I know it’s not that.”

“You know?” He repeated, taking the glass from your hands and setting it aside.

“It’s morning sickness.” You admitted with a little sigh.

“But it’s the afternoon -”

“Din,” You opened your eyes, finding his confused ones staring back at you. “I’m pregnant.”

You waited for him to say something, anything at all. You wouldn’t be sure how to feel about this until he did. Instead he fell backwards onto his ass, as if your words had knocked him over. The silence was deafening, and you could feel your heartbeat picking up at the implication of it.

Would he leave you because of this? “I - I know the timing’s terrible, if you don’t want any part of it, I - I could go.” You suggested. It would break your heart into a thousand pieces, but you could do it for this baby, because the longer you sat there, the more you realized how much you wanted it. No matter how bad the timing was.

Din kept his gaze on the floor, running a hand through his hair. Your fingers were twitching against your legs, and you . . . you wished he would look at you. If he would look at you, you would have a better sense of what he was feeling and then maybe . . .

Maybe you could decide if this was a good thing or not.

Finally, when it felt like years since you had taken a breath, he spoke. “I don’t want you to go.” He said, his voice filled with emotion even as he stared at your feet. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did though. It’s not like this is the best place for a child. We’ve learned that.” He reached out for your hand, stilling your fingers. “If you go, I would make sure you and the child were taken care of. I could send credits -”

“Woah, wait -” You interrupted, shocked at the turn the conversation had taken. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Not without you. I just knew you had so much on your plate already. A baby on top of that . . .” You broke off, glancing down at your own stomach.

“It’s a lot.” He admitted, and this time when you looked at him, he was looking at you too. Those captivating dark brown eyes were watching you so carefully, and you were sure he was looking for your response, the same way you had been looking for his.

So you let a little smile settle on your lips, getting on your knees to scoot closer to him, “but we’ve already been doing the parenting thing . . . not with a human, but same concept, right?” You asked.

A small twinkle appeared in Din’s eyes that made your smile widen. “Might even be easier, since he won’t be able to move things with his mind.”

“He, huh?” You said as Din pulled you into his lap. “How do you know that?” You asked, slipping your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Intuition.” He replied, and you closed your eyes as he pressed a delicate kiss to your chin, lingering there for a moment before speaking again. “I want this if you do, cyar’ika.” Din whispered against your skin.

“Even with everything else going on?” You whispered, opening your eyes again when you felt his nose brush against yours. You wanted to believe that he wanted this baby with you, and the hint of excitement you spotted in his eyes made you think he did, but you needed to be sure.

Din’s hand rubbed across your back as he nodded. “Despite everything going on.” His tone turned more serious as he put some distance between the two of you so he could stare into your eyes, removing your arms from his neck so he could take them in his own. “I swear, no matter what else comes our way, I vow to protect you and our child until my last breath.”

His words, spoken with such conviction and assurance made tears sting behind your eyes. Warmth filled your whole body as you squeezed his hands tight, hoping your eyes were showing how much his vow meant to you. “Then let’s have a baby Din Djarin.”

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x you #star wars imagine

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raamyun-and-rambles · 3 years

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Of Qingxins and Rattles: One

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Xiao x Reader

Summary: He's afraid to reach out, to touch something so pure that a being like him must never hold. The voices in his head scream blasphemy and lies.

———–

Xiao was a being that has existed for thousands of centuries.

Which meant that he has outlived countless of people, watching them come and go as they eventually get taken by the passage of time.

It was also safe to say that the yaksha has experienced much more than any other mortal could in their entire lifetime. He's travelled the entirety of Liyue on foot, has bore witness to phenomenon that people could only talk about in hushed whispers as the eons pass them by and has fought a number of battles that no human could ever imagine. The blood that stained his hands wasn't something that could be easily washed away and Xiao was convinced that anything good touched by those hands would wither and perish. He was a sinner and Xiao was determined to live the rest of his life paying off the debt of his sins in perpetual agony until you waltzed into his life, turning everything he's come to known in disarray the moment he saw the breeze catch locks of your (h/c) as you overlooked Dihua Marsh from Wangshu Inn's balcony.

In retrospect, the Yaksha should have known better than to meddle in trivial human affairs. You were just another face among thousands he's met. You shouldn't have been able to draw him in the way you did. Yet here he was now, putty in your arms as you stroked gentle circles on the small of his back, whispering words of love and reassurance that Xiao knows he doesn't deserve but soaks it up all the same.

Perhaps...just maybe - Xiao thinks with a hopeful afterthought as his lips press against yours in a silent act of worship of your presence, fingers ghosting feather light touches onto your skin - maybe he too deserved even a moment of respite, to love and be loved.

To simply exist in bliss.

Xiao looks at you with a gaze that displays deep unspoken emotion. He watches you in awe even with the simplest of his things.

He watches in awe as you work your way in the kitchen, weaving your way through the space and he fights back a chuckle as you almost trip. He catches you before you could hurt yourself though (he always does).

He watches in awe even when you rouse from your sleep, admiring the way the sun bathes you in a warm glow as it floods into the room from the open window. He admires the way your lashes slowly flutter as you attempt to blink away the sleep that raptures your system, sending him a small smile as you nuzzle further into his embrace, murmuring something about needing a couple more hours of rest. Xiao scoffs at that every time, knowing you'd oversleep (yet he always allows you).

Mortal traditions don't normally interest Xiao, yet he watches in awe as you walked down the makeshift aisle the inn staff had prepared, donned in fine silk and Qingxin braided in your hair. Xiao thought you've never looked more beautiful, like a goddess that has descended from Celestia itself. It takes him a while to recover from the sight and by then you're already standing next to him with the brightest of smiles, holding his hand and intertwining your fingers. The entire world tuned out of existence and the only thing Xiao could see was you. He doesn't even remember what he said for his vows, too awestruck to even form a coherent sentence as his thoughts reeled a thousand miles per second. Whatever it was he said seemed to make you happy and Xiao allows himself to smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. There weren't many to bear witness to the day you both promised to be one - except perhaps Verr, Huai'an and the traveler who each played a part - but for Xiao it was more than enough to feel the plush of your lips against his under the light of the moon and the stars.

(Zhongli couldn't help but smile at the scene before him but he leaves without another word, receding into the darkness of the night before anyone could take notice.)

Xiao worried the most throughout your pregnancy and even more so on the day you gave birth. Mortals are far too fragile of a creature and Xiao was hyperaware of this fact as he paced to and fro outside the door, could only hear the way you cry out and the midwife's gentle encouragement as she eases you through the process. There was a moment of silence and Xiao had to fight the urge to burst into the room, thinking that something terrible must have gone wrong until suddenly there was a tiny cry and Xiao's heart seized up in his throat.

He was allowed inside a moment later and he immediately moves to your side, gently stroking your hair as you smiled up at him tiredly before turning your gaze to the baby swaddled in your arms.

"Congratulations," the midwife had said, a smile on her face before leaving the room, "it's a healthy baby girl."

No amount of words could have ever expressed the emotion swirling in Xiao's eyes, both anxiety, joy and excitement clashing within amber speckled orbs but his hand stops in mid-air and all of a sudden time feels as though it was suddenly put to a halt.

Is this truly alright?

He's afraid to reach out, to touch something so pure that a being like him must never hold. The voices in his head scream blasphemy and lies.

Perhaps this was just some dream he's conjured up in the hazy murk of his mind and he'll wake up on the roof of the inn like he's always had with only the frigid wind keeping him company. That's right, maybe this wasn't true at all. He's simply far too gone that he's fabricated an ideal world of his making. One where he lives in peace, where he's loved and accepted. The iron tang of blood suddenly fills the air and all at once he imagines the battles he's fought, the sickening squelch of metal against flesh and the dust and grime of battles waged in war. The screams, the cries, the pain, the agony-

A small hand wrapping itself around his pinky successfully pulls him out of his trance and the soft giggle and coo that followed after it made Xiao's chest constrict tightly with an emotion he can't seem to place.

Xiao's breath catches in his throat as the small fist around his finger grounded him back to reality.

For a moment Xiao felt stupid for allowing himself to be consumed by how his mind wandered back into one of the darkest fragments of his memory, how could he when he was in front of the very two things that shone light in his life of perpetual agony?

The adepti allowed a shaky breath himself a shaky breath at long last, leaning closer so he could rest his head against yours while he allowed his daughter to hold onto his pinky.

"Can I..." he started, fumbling with his words as he kept his gaze fixated on the infant, "can I hold her?"

The apprehension in his voice was terribly apparent and in an effort to calm his nerves you gently press a kiss to his cheek, nodding before carefully placing the child in his awkward attempt of a cradle. He quickly adjusts himself with your careful guidance, much more silent than he already usually is as the baby babbled sleepily. You will yourself to stay awake despite the fatigue and discomfort settling in your bones, opting instead to lean back against the headboard as you watch Xiao marvel in the presence of your child.

"I'll protect you." Xiao says a moment later, voice soft yet filled with determination.

He turns to face you this time and you swore you saw his eyes glisten with the beginning of tears but you don't get so much of a second chance to look before he rests his forehead against your shoulder, purposely hiding so you won't see the way he breaks and the vulnerability that lies behind the battle-hardened warrior of one of Rex Lapis' strongest Yakshas.

"I'll protect the both of you no matter what the cost."

You're both terribly precious to me.

———–

I feel like I idealize relationships with these characters so much because of how touch-starved and affection craved I am but I live for soff Xiao so here. Take this mushy thing I made during class again wwww

I do hope it wasn’t too OOC at least

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact Xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #Genshin Impact x Reader #Xiao x Reader #Of Qingxins and Rattles

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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A Bad Option for Close Quarters

PART OF THE VIPER & THE WILD THING COLLECTION

A/N: Hey there, Prince Oberyn party people! Before we get started in this one, I want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone for all the encouragement and kind things that you had to say after I posted the first part of this collection. I was and still am nervous to take on Oberyn, so reading the comments that you left really made me feel less nervous. You are Great!!

A/N 2: And now I have to talk about serious stuff- this part does have some sensitive material in it that may be difficult for some to read. I don’t normally put big red warning stickers on my work, but this one feels like it warrants it. Please as always read the content warnings and if you are still unsure, know that you can always send me a message to ask specifics.

Warning: language, violence, blood, injury, abuse (physical & sexual in nature) death, NO LIKE ALL THE WARNINGS APPLY. general brothel un-pleasantry.

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: Oberyn has made it clear that you are his favorite way to pass the time while he is in King’s Landing, and you are perfectly happy with that. But not everyone is.

“‘Bout fuckin’ time.”

You heard him before you saw him, lined up a few heads behind the front of the procession of prostitutes spilling into the brothel’s main chamber, but there was no mistaking his rough voice or the lowborn accent he tried so hard to hide when he spoke in the presence of others. Shit. You had known him long enough to pick him out from a legion of men by sound alone. Or smell.

It was Gannon Yast, a foot soldier in the Lannister army who had saved up his coins for years to purchase his surname from a forger on the black market. Like you, he had been born on the streets of King’s Landing, and like you, he was just another drop in the bay, another bastard bearing the name Waters. But unlike you who knew what you were, Gannon had always been subject to outlandish fantasies and truly believed the lies he told about himself and his upbringing. He had been spinning them in his own mind for so long that by now there was surely an elaborate tapestry depicting the lineage of a House that had never existed.

House Yast. The very thought made you roll your eyes. His sigil could be the pot he bought himself to piss in on a shit brown background.

The penalty for falsifying documents such as the ones that Gannon had illicitly procured ranged from execution to public flogging and time in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. To him, imprisonment in a cell was no worse than suffering the flea bitten life his birth name chained him to. Since he wasn’t so bold as to impersonate a nobleman, he knew that he wouldn’t lose his head, and to him it was worth the gamble.

You didn’t share his viewpoint. You had heard stories, rumors, about female prisoners and the things that had been done to them at the hands of the Gold Cloaks, and while you had no idea how true they were you were not at all interested in finding out. If you were going to get fucked by Lannister guards and soldiers, you may as well be paid for it. Forged proclamation of respectable provenance wasn’t the only way out of King’s Landing, and you’d also been saving your spare coins, few and far between as they may be, for passage across the Narrow Sea and out of Westeros. Even if it would take you a lifetime to save, you would rather hoard what you could over decades than spend even one night in those dank caverns.

Unless Oberyn actually… You had done your best not to dwell on the offer he had made you to leave the city with him, to live free in the Kingdom of Dorne. He hadn’t mentioned it again though you had been with him several times since. Six. Six times in eleven days. It wasn’t as though you were the only one of Litlefinger’s whores that the Prince and his paramour came to see. The only one he chose every time though. The only one he spent an entire night with. You shook your head and followed Dria, one of the other girls who had been there nearly as long as you had, into the chamber where Gannon and two others were waiting. Even if he truly meant to make good on his offer, his departure from King’s Landing was still weeks away. Anything could happen in that much time. He could make promises to half the whores here about-

The thin curtain separating the hallway from the main reception chamber was still billowing near your ankles when you felt Gannon’s meaty hand close securely around your wrist. He yanked you straight out of line, much to the dismay of the other men in the room, the girls in front of and behind you scrambling out of the way so as not to get tripped up by your sudden departure from the lineup. Biting the inside of your cheek to hide the grimace on your face at the twisting and pinching of your skin beneath his rough fingers, you stumbled into his hold. Shit. From the corner of your eye you saw Dria sneering at you as she draped herself over the shoulder of one of the other infantry men, and you knew it was because she was bitter about how much time you’d been spending with Oberyn and Ellaria while she and the others were left to serve the lesser customers like Gannon and his acquaintances. Jealous witch.

You didn’t have the chance to sling a glare back at her, Gannon spinning you around to catch your chin in his free hand, the other releasing your wrist to grab at your ass. Squeezing both to the point of pain, you let out a small muffled sound as he brought your face close to his own.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t that fuck-drunk prince’s prized little cunt.” His breath reeked of stale ale and whatever the slop stalls were serving up in their brown bowls that week, his clothes and hair soaked in the bodily stench of a soldier who had been away for long months. He drew his lips into a vicious grin, continuing to grope your flesh through the gauzy sash that barely covered you. The stark contrast between his touch and Oberyn’s made your skin crawl and your stomach turn. You knew that the next time you saw the Prince you’d likely be riddled in bruises and marks left behind by Gannon’s greedy grip and forceful fingers. What will he think of that?

Your mind provided a quick answer, the way he had looked at you when you told him how you ended up working as a whore in King’s Landing flashing in your memory, his eyes filling with pain, anger and dark fire. He won’t like it. At all.

Dria’s shrill laughter met your ear as the man she’d been pawing at picked her up and brought her into one of the private pleasure chambers, the door slamming behind them. The third man in the room seemed happy enough where he was, two of the remaining girls already stripping each other of their sashes and teasing him with the perfumed fabric. Those unselected by the men were already shuffling back down the hall, waiting to be called when the next batch of customers arrived. You longed to join them even if it meant forgoing pay for the afternoon, but wishful thinking wouldn’t get you out of this.

Nothing could.

You’d been anticipating this encounter since you caught word that the Lannisters were bolstering security around the city leading up to the Royal Wedding. You knew that meant low ranking soldiers like Gannon would be flooding the inns and brothels. The fact that Oberyn had been monopolizing you, keeping you from giving Gannon the homecoming he clearly thought he was entitled to only exacerbated the man’s jealous anger, his lack of patience, his belief that he was owed things from you and your body.

The man who was currently claiming as much of you as his fingers and thumbs could fit between them broke through your thoughts, continuing to snarl his displeasure over your recent unavailability. “You had me settle for scraps while you fucked that southern shit,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips to land on your cheek. “Every time I came looking for this,” the hand that had been squeezing your ass slipped between your legs as though you of all people needed him to explain why he was in a brothel. You winced, every last fiber of your being trying to recoil from him and finding nowhere to go. “Every fucking time, you were in that room bouncing on that peacock’s prick.” He turned you roughly towards the room that you had utilized several times with Oberyn on his visits and shoved you towards it. “I could hear you in there. You made me fuck scraps while I listened to that and-”

“I didn’t make you fuck anything, Gannon.” Knowing that you were only making him angrier in your struggle didn’t stop you, and even though he was twice your strength you did what you could to resist the way that he was steering you into the private chamber. “It isn’t my fault that you have to buy time in bed with a woman because no one who wasn’t forced to fuck you ever would.” You bit your words at him only because his flesh was too far from your teeth. “It isn’t my fault that-”

He timed his backhand with the slamming of the door that he had just pushed you through, releasing his grip and driving the knuckles of his right hand across your face so that you fell hard to the stone floor. Your knees and palms made blunt contact and you knew that as soon as the white hot ache tearing through your skull subsided, pain would erupt over those areas too. Fuck. Letting out a small groan, you tried to crawl away if only just to turn back towards him to see the next blow coming, one scuffed and scraped palm coming up to your already swelling cheek. You could feel warm blood pooling in the shallow cut there, saw a drop fall to the floor as you inched yourself closer to the wall, and though you knew it was likely that he would hit you again, while your body throbbed with the raw, abusive way he was handling you, you didn’t regret saying what you did.

Gannon Waters was a pile of shit in the gutter, and no forger could change that no matter how fancy the calligraphy on the falsified lineage documents looked. He was foul and filthy and that had nothing to do with which surname he paid for. He was a rotten being and it had nothing to do with where he was born or how many golden coins he could rub together, and suddenly you couldn’t bear to keep those opinions from leaping from your tongue. Not when you’d seen and known better men well before you ever even met Oberyn. The men you served were not always like Gannon, seeking only to assert dominance and demean the unlucky prostitute who didn't feel quite as unlucky until he put his hands on them. Not all of them were despicable and suddenly you had reached a threshold for what you were willing to accept without at least letting loose your venomous feelings, consequences be damned.

Before you could get too far though, you felt his tight grip wrap around your ankle to yank you back towards him, your knees both hitting the floor again as he did. You let out another involuntary cry, trying in vain to kick free of his grasp, aiming for his chin if at all possible. He thwarted your attempts with another hard pull, dragging you closer so that he could hold himself above you, trapping you between his limbs with one hand pressed firmly over your mouth. “You’re going to regret the day you turned me down, you little cunt.” He seethed as he tore at the sash that somehow still covered your lower half as he dropped his heavy weight on you, the hilt of the sword he still wore and the buckle of his belt scraping at your skin to leave indents. “You could have been my wife, could have had a name, but you wanted to be whore, and I am going to make you regret that choice no matter how many times you fuck that Dornish dog. I’m going to make you regret that until the day that you die, do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

It was Oberyn’s voice that you heard next, and at first you thought it was just a trick that your mind was playing on you, dizzy from the strike and the fall, wishful thoughts sweeping in to carry you away from consciousness. What? How is..?

The dangerous vibration in Gannon’s voice, the unhinged way that his eyes were twitching, the crushing grip he had on you, all of it made your world shrink to just those things, just what you could see and feel and hear. Which meant that you hadn’t noticed the door bursting open, hadn’t heard the shouts or the hurried footsteps of two figures as they rushed inside, hadn’t fully registered what was happening as Gannon was hoisted off of you and slammed into the hardwood table that stood in the center of the room. Someone was pulling you to your feet, wrapping a pair of warm arms around you, murmuring your name and pleading with you to look at them.

Shaking in shock, you managed to turn your head and focus your eyes, blinking them furiously to force the room to stop spinning. Ellaria? As soon as you recognized the woman you let yourself collapse into her, feeling as she let out a sigh and strengthened her hold on you to keep you on your feet. “You’re alright now.” She spoke softly in your ear as she led you closer to the small table beside the bed where a wash bin and cloth had been set out. “Come here.” Without letting go of you, she reached for the white cloth and dipped it in the cool water before bringing it up to your cheek, the soothing relief of the soft fabric instant as she gently pressed it there. She continued to hush and soothe you, letting you lean into her, and more quickly than you would have thought possible you felt your breathing return to normal, the adrenaline still pounding behind your eyeballs, but allowing you to make sense of what was happening at least.

Oberyn and Ellaria… they must have come in just after… and then they-

“I heard you,” Oberyn growled at the man again as he used his agility to duck Gannon’s reactionary swing, slamming him into the table’s surface once more. Using the momentary disorientation, Oberyn disarmed the man before Gannon could fully unsheath his long sword, simultaneously forcing the man into a seated position in one of the chairs that hadn’t gotten knocked to the ground in the fray. “Now tell me why I should let you live.” He moved one hand to the back of Gannon’s neck and pressed hard until the man began to choke out, gasping and gesturing to the Lannister crest emblazoned on the leather chestpiece he wore, and Oberyn released his grip enough to lean back and glance down at the embroidered lions, a look of mock appraisal pulling his handsome features into a cruel mask. “A soldier? Is that what you are trying to say? That I should let you live because you are a soldier?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the sword aside. “No, no, no,” Oberyn chided, the skin over the knuckles of his left hand stretched tight over the other man’s neck as Gannon fought to free himself from the Red Viper’s hold. “You are not a soldier.”

The dented steel clattered noisily against the stone floor, skidding halfway across the room to where you and Ellaria stood, the woman stopping its momentum by placing the sole of her sandal atop the flat width of the blade. She still had one arm around your waist, the opposite hand still covering yours to help you keep the cool cloth pressed to your bloodied cheek. Eyes never leaving Oberyn, she turned only enough to whisper into your ear. “He’s going to make that swine pay for what he did to you,” she told you, leaving a comforting kiss on your uninjured cheek. “I promise.”

You didn’t doubt it. Ignoring the ache, your upper lip curled as you eyed the man who struck you. “Good.” From the corner of your eye you saw Ellaria’s mouth lift into a grin at your response while Oberyn shifted his grip from behind Gannon’s head to one of his wrists, forcing his fingers to splay open atop the carved wood.

“You are not a soldier,” the Prince went on, “I am sure of this because a soldier would know better than to draw his longsword in such close quarters. No, I don’t think Lannisters have soldiers. That word implies training. Dedication. Skill.” Leaning closer, he paused to allow his voice to fill with disdain, then looked over to where Ellaria’s foot held the weapon in place. “You are just a sack of meat with a pointy sword that is too far away to save you now.” Gannon began a string of swears then, but Oberyn didn’t let him finish it, cutting him off with a question. “Do you know why King’s Landing is such an ugly place?” He used his free hand to grab the sniveling, shaking excuse for a soldier by the jaw.

You shivered, watching his fingers dig in with enough force to leave deep bruises if not crack the bones beneath them. How are those the same hands that he- With a rough twist he forced Gannon’s face in your direction, left hand still pining the other man’s wrist to the table. The man who only moments before had been holding you down even more harshly actually had the audacity to shoot you a pleading glance, the fear in his eyes begging you to call off the attack. Fuck you, Gannon. You narrowed your eyes at him and spat blood onto the blade Oberyn had stripped him of.

Dropping his level he lined himself up directly beside the coward. Releasing the man’s chin as roughly as he’d grabbed it, he turned in your direction. You saw a quick flash of pain in his eyes as he looked at you, and though it was gone before you were truly sure it was there, you felt it in your chest. Oh, Oberyn, it’s… I’m alright.

As though he could hear your thoughts, he blinked and the remnants of the flash were gone, replaced with renewed anger. He swiveled his head to face Gannon once more. “Because worthless fucking shits like you destroy all the beautiful things.” With lightning speed he reached for the short dagger hanging from his own belt to unsheath it and dragged it across the tabletop. Gannon’s chair shifted as he tried in a desperate panic to distance himself from the glinting edge of the razor sharp weapon, the rounded legs scraping the stone floor as Oberyn brought the crooked dagger to hover over the man’s pinky finger. “Do you know what we do to men like you in Dorne?” He rested the edge of the dagger between the top and middle knuckles of Gannon’s last two digits, a thin crimson line appearing beneath the blade before it had even had the chance to bite into the skin there.

“Oberyn, wait.” You called out his name, raising the hand you’d been clutching onto Ellaria’s forearm with to stop him from removing Gannon’s fingers. His forehead creased in confusion, the woman beside you drawing a breath to protest your seemingly merciful request. But you only waited long enough for a spark of relief to flicker in Gannon’s eyes, your own burning with hate- for Gannon and men like him- and that flicker fizzled to nothing as he realized that you had no plans to grant him mercy. “It was the other hand that he struck me with.”

Flashing a grin as quick as the blade he held, Oberyn switched Gannon’s hands so that it was his dominant one to take the punishment, and in a testament of just how sharp the Red Viper of Dorne kept his knives, removed the top portion of the man’s four fingers with almost no pressure needed, the detached parts rolling over the table, no longer a piece of the man’s body, now just bits of waste. Gannon let out a nearly inhuman howl of pain as he keeled over onto the floor in a bloody heap, clutching the gushing stumps above his knuckles that used to be fingers. Though you had never had a digit cut off and couldn’t begin to guess at how it would feel, the sounds coming from the man were twisted, inverted almost, turning into a shriek, his face contorted as though he was being consumed in flames you couldn’t see. Finally, writhing his way to his feet, Gannon scrambled from the room, his screams still audible even as he fled the brothel.

You hadn’t even realized that you’d stepped away from Ellaria, not until you were reaching for the handle of the dagger that Oberyn had released once he’d finished carrying out the sentence he had passed on Gannon. But before you could close your fingers around the hilt, you felt and then saw Oberyn’s hands coming from behind you to cover yours, stopping you. Pressing your hands into your own stomach, he pulled you back gently but urgently into his chest, his lips immediately finding a home behind your ear where he kissed your name. “You’re safe.” His breath hit your skin in a wave as he slowly turned you in his arms to look you over. Satisfied that you hadn’t been more seriously injured than you were, he relaxed but only slightly.

Sticking one hand out wordlessly behind himself, he waited for Ellaria to pass him the cloth she had been using to clean your cheek, his eyes glued to your face as he brought the cloth there, dabbing so feather light that you hardly felt a thing. You did feel the weight in his eyes as he looked at you though, and you could tell that what he and his paramour had walked in on had shaken him. Just as your lips parted, intending to whisper his name, his eyebrows came together, a crease forming between them to turn his expression even more grave and it silenced you. Cradling your face between his large palms, he kept you framed between his bent forearms as he spoke. “You must never touch one of my blades unless I place it in your hand, do you understand?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes widened as they flicked back to the blade where it still sat atop the table. You had heard the rumors about the poisons that the Dornish Prince coated his weapons with, and as the sunlight filtered through the window, you saw it shining a dark sickly green color and everything fell into place. That was why he was in so much pain, that’s… he- You looked back at Oberyn then, your chest heaving as you wrapped your head around everything. “You… poisoned him?”

“He deserved worse.” You watched his nostrils flare, something fiery roaring to life in his eyes. “For what he did to you, he deserves-”

“Will he die?” You asked without flinching, without your voice wavering, giving him no reason to believe that you were off put by how he had handled Gannon.

His upper lip curled slightly as he answered, his voice dropping lower. “Not right away.” You inhaled a breath through your nose. He will, then. You caught what he wasn’t saying, that the poison he had used was not only responsible for the increased pain sensitivity, but that it would also masquerade as infection soon enough, sickening the man well beyond the point of saving before he’d even shown signs of illness.

“Good.” You narrowed your eyes to add emphasis, wanting him to know that you were entirely supportive of the fate he’d subjected Gannon to. He did it to himself.

Oberyn tilted his head to one side as Ellaria stepped around to take the cloth back from him, the pair of them existing in such harmony with each other that they didn’t even need to communicate verbally. She laid her hand on his arm, moving closer to press her lips to his bicep, kissing him through his robe. Though she didn’t even make contact with his skin, the action was so intimate that their connection was almost tangible. They’re so… Despite the pain you were still in and the shock that still coursed through your veins, the pure beauty in the way that they loved one another wasn’t lost on you. Most people would never have even a fraction of what they gave each other, what they allowed one another to have, what they encouraged each other to experience. You knew that no matter how long you would be involved in their lives, even if you did end up going back to Dorne with them, there was nothing that you or anyone could do to come between Oberyn and Ellaria. It was gorgeous, the way that they respected and supported each other, and you knew that most people wouldn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter to you, or to them.

Ellaria leaned over to tuck a piece of your hair out of your eyes, sweeping her fingertips over your swollen cheek. “This will fade, I promise.” She gave you a smile then that was softer than you had a feeling she liked to appear to anyone but Oberyn, then leaned in to speak into your ear. “Let him take care of you. He… he needs to know you’re alright.” Dropping a soft peck to your eyebrow, she pulled back and gave you a minute nod, and then she was heading for the door without another glance or word.

Once it had clicked shut, Oberyn took both of your hands in his and led you slowly backwards to the bed, pausing when he felt his calves hit it to shift his grip to your waist. As he sat on the edge, he pulled you into his lap, and you let him fold you close to his body. But instead of staying there, he slid his arms beneath your legs and around your torso, moving both of you backwards towards the pillows until he had enough space to lay you down. Completely bare, the sash you’d been wearing torn in bloodied pieces on the floor, he let his eyes roam every bit of you, taking stock of the bruises and scrapes, the scratches and red marks that you’d received before he and Ellaria had come to your aid. Then, without warning, his eyes were on yours, and they were spilling over with need, but it wasn’t the same kind of need that you’d seen there before.

He needs to know you’re alright.

You heard the other woman’s words echo in your mind, and you knew that this was what she meant. Licking at your lips, you reached for his jaw, fingers grazing the deceptively soft hair that covered it, and you felt him lean into your touch, eyes closed for several beats. “I’m alright, Oberyn,” you kept your voice as even as you could, knowing that it would help convince him that while you were hurt, it could have been far worse. “I’m alright, because you and-”

“I am sorry that I could not stop him sooner.” He hadn’t waited for you to finish speaking, nor had he opened his eyes, and the way that the muscles in his throat contracted as he swallowed told you that there was more to what he was feeling than you knew.

“I...Its-” His eyes opened as you swept your thumb over his cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes- I do.” He shook his head slightly and took your hand in both of his. Bringing it to his lips, he fit the knuckle of your middle finger between his lips, dragging it along the seam of them before kissing the very end of it. “I have my reasons,” he said, “for why I… why seeing this happening was-” he swore under his breath and swallowed again. “Something…monstrous happened to...to my sister.” You felt your heart break at the sadness in his usually vivacious tone, and you wanted to say something to comfort him, but you fought the urge, remembering what Ellaria had said. “I do not wish to talk about that with you tonight, not while you are…” He brought one hand to your abdomen, fingers finding a divot left there by the press of Gannon’s metallic sword hilt against your skin. “Not while you are in need of my care.” He carefully lowered himself to lay beside you, letting his touch travel over your body to caress each bruise, and then his lips were raking over the cut on your cheek, impossibly close but so gentle that even though the skin was raw and angry, it didn’t hurt at all. “I will tell you about her one day. I… I want you to know me, understand me. And you cannot do that without learning about her.” You wanted to know whatever he would tell you, even if hearing it would shatter your heart all over again. “But not tonight. Tonight…” he looked into your eyes then, that need still there. “Tonight, let me take care of you, my wild thing.” Though it wasn’t sexual, the burn in his desire to tend to you purely to help heal your wounds, you couldn’t help the way that your stomach flipped and your heart lurched, because that somehow made it mean even more. “I will not rest, he went on as you hummed at the sensation of the backs of his fingers trailing over the purplish marks on your arm, “until I have made my penance to every part of you that he touched.”

You fell asleep that night to his fingers in your hair, his lips resting against the crown of your head as you lay against his chest, not a single mark left untended by the Prince.

THANK YOU FOR READING! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list please feel free to let me know. And like I said up top: if you have any requests or ideas that you would like to see for these two, send an ask and I will see what I can do!

tags: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @pheedraws @valkblue @alraedesigns @beefcakebarnes @persie33ik @fific7 @g0ldenlush @insiespeckagain @thisgirl-knm @writeforfandoms @paracosmenthusiast

#oberyn martell fic #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x you #pedrostories #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfic #the red viper of dorne #oberyn martell #the viper and the wild thing #pedro pascal characters #TV&TWT #please read warnings

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Note

I've been doing nothing but read your fics for three days straight and I am in LOVE with your wolf pack fics. I love me some happy witchers and their bard.

I’m always so humbled when people read my stuff :) Thank you for coming along on this odd ride of who the heck knows what’s going to come next. But I am right there with you on happy witchers and their bard. So have some more :D

To say Jaskier was pissed off was an understatement. Nobody sent him packing with such cruel words. He would prove to Geralt that he was better than that. In fact, he would prove to the whole world! Revenge was a dish best served with a delicious side of “I told you so” and what was the point Jaskier had been trying to prove over the last 22 decades? It was that witchers weren’t the terrible, heartless creatures that the world liked to demonise them into. Well, maybe Geralt was but the others didn’t have to suffer because of his buffoonery. That left Jaskier with only one choice. He returned home to lick his wounds and prove his very own point.

It started, like many things, as an uphill struggle. Gone was Jaskier the bard and his place was taken by Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove. His parents had wanted him to take a more active role in ruling the lands and that was exactly what he was going to do. But on his own terms. The decree went out that no witcher was to be turned away. Payment was to be prompt and fair and, of course, it would be subsidised by the Pakratz treasury. If word got out that a witcher was shunned or shortchanged, that particular village or town would be paid a personal visit and not a good one either.

Word started trickling back. Witchers were suspicious at first. Some outright refused the offer of a decent bed and a meal, opting to kill the creature in the area and flee with a bigger than expected pouch of coin. However, it seemed that a few more intrepid witchers sniffed out the area and deemed it ripe for the plucking. One corner of the Lettenhove lands even seemed to get a resident witcher. At first, the locals were wary but, it turned out, they could only see a witcher a handful of times doing very human things like fumbling a pouch or staggering back injured before they bonded. And suddenly, a cat witcher found himself a home. Not only that, allegedly he had a friend in the shadows, elusive and rarely seen. A rare sighting or two could confirm he was grumpy, suspicious and more likely to pick a fight than accept any kindness. Jaskier would put money on the fact that it was a wolf.

The fortune of one cat meant another was bound to turn up to try and get in on the good fortune. It was just as well Lettenhove was big enough and this cat took the southernmost corner which also happened to be the warmest. Surely nothing to do with the viper witcher that scouted the area before settling in too. So now Lettenhove had three, possibly four witchers who didn’t seem inclined to move on to other contracts. In fact, the settlements nearest to them seemed to be doing a great job of finding contracts for them - not all monsters but a witcher’s might was definitely needed in the fields when the ox were being stubborn and rumour had it, the wolf was quite impressive if let loose in a forge.

A messenger came pleading for help on a sunny afternoon. The wolf witcher had dragged another one into the village but seemed aggressive to any who came near and tried to help. Even the cat was no use, seemingly preoccupied with tracking down a human companion of the injured wolf. Without hesitation Jaskier jumped onto a horse and rode hard and fast, heart breaking already. Surely Geralt hadn’t found another human companion so quickly. Even worse, he hoped that the companion wasn’t dead, he didn’t want Geralt on his own again.

It was an odd relief to see a mop of dark hair than white. Not that Jaskier ever wanted anyone to be hurting but he still did hold a torch for Geralt despite his cruelty. While he wasn’t allowed near the injured witcher, Jaskier could make an educated guess that they were Lambert and Eskel which earned him a sliver of trust. He was allowed to get things from the local healer and apothecary to help Lambert care for Eskel. Even better, Lambert finally accepted a room at an inn that he could carry Eskel to. If only that had been all the drama. Jaskier didn’t expect the cat to come into the village at a pull gallop, a body slung across the horse’s back. Thankfully the healer got there before Lambert and the human got carted off with worried cat in tow.

Jaskier only left when he was confident everyone was healing and was staying put for the foreseeable future. The little he gleaned of the unusual group had his heart warming up though, glad that even out on the harsh Path, they had each other.

Of course, Jaskier’s act of generosity had consequences. Two more vipers, another cat and allegedly a griffin also took up residence throughout the lands. Which meant that contracts around the continent were being left unfilled. Witchers had plenty of work throughout Lettenhove and were well compensated for it, they had no reason or need to go further afield into harsher conditions. However, it gave Jaskier a business opportunity he just couldn’t resist. Especially when the messengers started trickling in, begging to borrow a witcher. There was no obligation for any of the witchers he considered ‘his’ to step in. But Jaskier made his home the middleman for contracts. He could negotiate pay, accommodation and other sundries for his witchers before they were offered a contract. Funnily enough, cats were the most likely to venture out, needing the change of scenery. While reclusive and prickly, it seemed that Lambert had found himself a new stomping ground he was reluctant to leave. Sometimes Eskel headed out, feeling the need to do good but never again was he chased from a village without pay, food and rest. The one time a viper was run out, Jaskier blacklisted the whole region for contracts until the king himself came to ask for forgiveness. Watching someone regal apologise to a bewildered witcher may have been the inspiration for Jaskier’s next ditty.

A grizzled wolf turned up on Jaskier’s doorstep, assessing and shrewd. He never did leave as Vesemir’s talents were put to good use with negotiations and also information gathering. Overall, Lettenhove was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Crime was at an all time low, the people were happy and witchers were beginning to be treated better throughout the continent. Yet there was no sign of Geralt. Slowly, Jaskier stopped hoping.

“He’s a stubborn ass. Should have started a new school just for him,” Vesemir grumbled one evening. “School of the Mule.”

It had Jaskier snorting a halfhearted laugh but his still pined. Months went by and other regions began to take inspiration from Lettenhove, offering their own versions of protection for resident witchers. It both filled Jaskier with pride and dread because now Geralt could settle somewhere else. The continent was vast and the safe havens were cropping up thick and fast.

Whispers started up. An elusive witcher had been spotted to the north. Nobody quite knew what he looked like, yellow eyes flashed from below the deep hood of a cloak. That was ruined by reports of Lambert tackling the mysterious witcher and Eskel piling in. Vesemir only smiled as he listened to the messenger relay the happenings while Jaskier’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

“Stubborn idiot. But also a loyal wolf.”

There were only four wolves in existence and Jaskier already housed three. Which meant the fourth could only be Geralt. His hopes and dreams were brought to life by the thumping knock on the door. Opening it, Jaskier regarded Geralt coldly.

“I have come to apologise,” he said as a blonde head poked out from behind him curiously.

“Only six years late.”

“My head was stuck so far up my ass, it took this long to get free.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to hold a grudge, he was also relieved Geralt was alive and well. Even better, he had his child surprise in tow.

“You have a lot to be making up for. But come on in.”

The rest, they say, is history.

#geraskier #implied aiden/lambert/eskel/cahir #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #aiden #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #long post #tldr: jaskier sets up witcher haven

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shysnowflake · 3 years

Text

"Purr For Me"- CAT!Xiao x GN!reader

hellooo!! So this time I'm offering you guys some fluffy yay! Please enjoy some cute meow meow moments with Xiao <33

btw,I changed Childe “ojou-chan” (young lady,girlie) since it’s gn,I hope you guys don’t mind.

Art credit: @MGPH__ on twt

""Summary: meow””

It was a calm afternoon for {name},they had finished all their commissions with success and now were waiting for Xiao in the Inn as they watched the sunset.

Xiao and {name} were in a relationship for 3 years and half now and things were going smoothly,he had many sides but didn't know how to express it which put them in a complicated spot for a while but,as time went by,Xiao started to get more comfortable and that was something that {name} was very proud and happy to witness.

{name} was pulled away from their thoughts when they heard a loud cat hiss coming from behind them,as they turn around they see Childe holding a what it seems to be a very unfriendly mint cat “Little cutie!! You are here,that’s good..very good actually” Childe greeted as he struggled with the agitated animal in his arms “Childe?!! What-? I have the impression that I don’t want to know the answer but,what it’s up with the cat?” {name} asks as they got closer to the man “ah yeah,funny story actually,but before that,what are you doing here?” “Me? I was just waiting for Xiao to get back from his- pfft” {name} suddenly start to laugh when they made eye contact with the cat thinking about how similar it looked with Xiao,specially since it had the same forehead mark “hm? Why the laugh cutie?” {name} composed themselves before answering “I'm sorry,it's just that this cat looks so similar to Xiao I couldn’t help it” “oh! Maybe it's because it’s actually him” “yeah probably….Wait WHAT?!” {name} is standing there in shook with what just came out of Childe’s mouth “What do you mean with it’s him?!” Childe,still struggling with the feline in his arms that refused to stay quiet begin to explain “so long story short, I ran up with Xiao on one of the hilichurls camp and decided it was a good idea to get closer to him while I gave him a little hand during the fights,the problem started when a witch appeared and tried to attack me with some weird magic thing, so I dodged but,well,Xiao was behind me and ended up getting the hit instead and now he is like this” {name} was concern about the situation, but they also were more confused than anything “why a cat?”.

They got a down a little and asked the cat “are you really Xiao?” the animal that was fighting with all his strength to escape from Childe’s grasp went quiet and just stared at them before answering “Meow” Both of the human were left staring at each other before asking at the same time “what do we do now?” and with that they were both left thinking about a possible solution “OH I KNOW! First you take this-” Childe said as he passed the cat or better saying,Xiao to {name} arms which he didn't resist it and just stayed quiet listening to their conversation “-Now I need to pass by Liyue harbor and ask Zhongli-sensei for help,I’m sure he knows something about this that could help us” {name} actually thought that was a great idea,who better to solve this problem then the oldest Archon himself “that actually sounds great,please solve the issue that you caused mister Childe” they said with an annoyed tone “yes yes,and you-” the young man said as he got down to talk to Xiao “-try biting me again and I will give you as a special ingredient to Xiangling” he finished with a fake smile on his face while Xiao tried to attack the man’s face but {name} hold him before he could “well then,im off,good luck with the wild animal little cutie” and left,leaving Xiao and {name} staring at each other “what do I do now” they thought to themselves.

“Xiao I swear to God if you run away one more time I-” they now found themselves trying to bathe Xiao in one of the round wood bathtubs of the Inn since he was extremely dirty and had some cuts over his body,but the cat seems to think different since from the moment he saw the tub he escaped from their grasp and is now running around the room “MEOW!?!” Xiao let it out a loud sound that could easily be translated it to “ARE YOU INSANE?” “Don’t you dare raise your meow at me old man! You're dirty and hurt from the battle so let me bathe you so then I can take care of your cuts” {name} said as they trapped the cat between the wall and lift him up in their arms with a tight grasp “MEOW!! MEOW MEOOW” the cat let it out as his lover took him to the tub and placed him in there.

Truth was that Xiao was embarrassed of being bathed by his lover,even if he was in this form,and for that reason he desperately tried to escape their arms and just as they successfully put him in the water he slipped out of it and run away… again.

They let it out a groan of frustration and said “Xiao listen to me,I need to bathe you so that your wounds don’t get infected and you get sick okay? So please come here and allow me to do that”{name} explained with a soft voice ,Xiao stared at them considering,his love did seem to be concerned about him, so him running away was only troubling them even more and realize that made him feel ashamed and childish for his actions.

The cat slowly approached {name},still felling incredibly embarrassed of being take care of by his lover since he was the one that usually did that, and rubbed his head against their hand “Are you ready now?” “Meow” “I will take that as a yes then” they said picking him off the floor and placing him in the warm water of the tub which made him relax immediately but still be aware of his surroundings,{name} took one of the cloths and proceed it to give Xiao a very relaxing bath.

“Done!!! Look at you-pfft” {name} had finally finished bathing and attending Xiao’s wounds and was admiring the cat in front of them that was wearing a lilac lace around his neck and had an irritated expression on his face “Meow,meow?” “Yes,I do think this is very fun and you look beautiful so don’t worry about it” they answered the animal while they got the bed ready for them,{name} decided it it was better to stay the night at the Inn since they still need it to talk to Childe about the situation in the morning “come here” they said while tapping on their side pillow, Xiao seems hesitant but eventually gave in and hop on the bed laying besides his lover, {name} placed their hand behind his ear carenssing making him purr and lean in their direction for more contact “Even if this is not the best situation,today was fun right?” they said while they gave up to the exhaustation and fell asleep,Xiao stayed awake for a while before slowly snuggle even more into their arms allowing himself to relax,for him, the idea of being taken care of was new, but he liked, the felling of having someone that cared and were there for him was really nice and with this thought both of them slept peacefully during the night.

“What is even that?” {name} asked with a weird expression on their face,they were now talking with the Geo Archon, and he presented a weird solution which was to apply some odd shiny blue powder over Xiao’s body that would make him go back to normal “this was a present from a powerful sorcerer I used to know,but I must say I'm not aware of the side effects involved in it” Zhongli explains,{name} look down at the cat in their arms and asked “are you sure you still want to do it? We can search for other ways,safer ways” “meow!” Xiao was determined to get his human form again,this was too pathetic for him to bear “awn! Even when he looks so small and wear such a pretty lace he is still a warrior inside” Childe that was standing next to them made a joke making Xiao try to jump at him but being hold back,again,by {name} “Quiet you two, Childe did you bring Xiao clothes and spear?” “Yes,here it is” the Fatui said while placed them on the table “good,now {name} put him down and let’s begin” they let the cat go that stopped in the middle of the room “Now,I’ll start to apply it,ready?” Zholgli said as he got down “meow” and with applying the archon meant just turn the whole cup of powder on Xiao’s body making the room fill up with a blue smoke “What the- cof cof,Xiao are you okay?” {name} asked trying to see him in all that smoke “Yes,I’m fine” the deep and stern voice made it’s presence as the smoke stared to fade away “that's great- waah” they are surprised by a pair of hands covering their eyes “oh no” Childe whispered as he tight up the ‘blindfold’ around their eyes “sorry cutie,you can’t look now,if you know what I’m talking about” {name} understanding what he meant felt their cheeks heat up and just let it out a tiny ‘okay’.

But the silent atmosphere is soon cut off by Childe suddenly loud laugh coming from behind them and Xiao angered voice “What the hell is this?” {name} worried about what had happened to Xiao start to fight Childe grasp “What happened? Childe let me go!” “Well,I believe that’s what we call side effects little cutie” Childe said still laughing and removed his hand from their eyes

The first thing they notice was Zhongli peacefully drinking his tea in the corner of the room not seeming to care about a thing in the world,but their eyes soon fall on the man standing in the middle the room shirtless leaving his back tattoo and battle scares out in the opening,however that wasn't the problem,the problem was the fact the Xiao still had the cat ears and the tail on him “oh my God!” {name} said,to them,he looked adorable,specially since he still had the lace around his neck “don’t blame me,I warn you about the side effects” Zhongli calm voice said while Childe was still laughing “Isn't he cute?!” he made fun of the adepti “That’s it! I'm killing you right here right now!” Xiao said as he grabbed his spear but Childe didn't seem to be scared of death and continue to tease him “try me kitten” and with that they started to run around the room “just don’t break anything please” The Geo Archon says,still enjoying his tea “Zhongli how long do you think the uhm, Side effects are going to last?” they asked “hmm.. I would give a month and a half” the two grown man stopped frozen at their place “A MONTH AND A HALF?” all of them say at the same time “this is going to be a crazy month” {name} thought to themselves.

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshinfanfic #genshin xiao #xiao x reader

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murusagi · 3 years

Text

[Ambush Meal] A Collaboration with Lord Toma!? Love and Madness of Delicious Meal Ft. Cage Translation

This is a part of Otomate’s April Fool’s Special Event in which the cast of several of the company’s franchises turn into social media personalities.

Orlok: ...Bonjourno. [Pio House] Episode 1926. Today, we're going to film your favorite series, "Oruru's Ambush☆Delicious Meal Next Door".

In this series, I'm going to make a surprise visit to someone's home and enjoy a meal there.

Nicola: Orlok, can you hear me?

Orlok: Yes. The earphones are working perfectly.

Nicola: Great. I also can see you clearly through this camera.

Gilbert: We better explain the rules to the viewers.

[Rule No. 1: Oruru must obey any instructions given to him through the earphones.]

[Rule No. 2: Oruru must eat the given food without being picky.]

[The ones giving instructions in this episode.]

Orlok: I'll do my best.

Direttore: Nice answer. Now then, without further ado, let us ambush our target this time around! Please press the interphone in front of you.

Orlok: ...Clicks.

Ding Dong

Toma: Who is it--oh, if it isn't Orlok from [Pio House]! Did you come here by yourself? What a good boy.

Orlok: Y-Yes…

Dante: ...He's stroking his head.

Nicola: That's Orlok for you. He's quick at gaining someone's favor.

Orlok: Umm… I'm happy to be able to meet Toma from "Love and Madness of Animal Channel".

Toma: Me too. So, what brings you here? Do you want to hang out with me or what?

Orlok: No. Actually…

Toma: I see, so you want to have dinner here. Hmmm… let's see.

Orlok: Huh… A-Am I not allowed to?

Direttore: ...We already made an appointment, right?

Gilbert: Yeah, we should have made it…

Toma: You kind of remind me of Shin, Orlok.

Orlok: R-Really…?

Toma: Yeah. He's like a lil brother to me. ...Right. Can you try me calling me Onii-chan?

Orlok: What?

Toma: I'll let you in if you do. How?

Direttore: That's quite the painful request from someone whom you just met.

Nicola: I understand his feelings, though. "Onii-chan"... It has a nice ring to it.

Dante: I'll give it some thoughts if you want to be called that…?

Nicola: I don't know how to feel if you call me Onii-chan at this age… You think so, right, Direttore?

Direttore: Fufu… I will hate it, for sure. Well, I don't have little brothers? No need to worry about that?

Orlok: U-Umm, so what should I do?

Gilbert: Oops. M'bad. We stopped giving you instructions. ...Do as he said. We can't go on with the filming if he doesn't let us in.

Orlok: Okay.

...To-Toma Onii-chan.

Toma: Hm? Sorry, your voice is so small I couldn't hear it. Can you say it again?

Dante: He definitely heard it!

Nicola: Orlok, one more time!

Orlok: Toma Onii-chan…!

Toma: ...Nice. This feels satisfying for some reason. That guy will never call me that, after all. Alright, come in.

Orlok: I… I feel like I lost something important… In any case, I'm coming in.

Toma: I'm making dinner right now. Wait a bit, 'kay?

Orlok: Y-Yes.

Nicola: Orlok, how's the target doing?

Orlok: U-Uhh…

Toma: Bolognese with lots of minced meat~I feel like an Italian already~♪

Orlok: He's humming… some spells, I think? He's frying something while doing that… Looks very focused.

Dante: I see. It's time for our usual "House Tour" then.

Yang: Go to his closet.

Orlok: ...What!?

Nicola: Hm? You're up, Yang? Too bad. I wish you wouldn't wake up for eternity.

Yang: You sure are messing around with me, filming while I was sleeping. 5 billion women are crying right now.

Dante: 5 billion…!?

Yang: In any case, off you go to the closet, Orlok. Let's uncover the true nature of our targ--What are you all…?

Knocks.

Orlok: H-Huh? I can't hear you guys all of sudden...

Gilbert: ...Orlok, can you hear us?

Nicola: Don't mind us and just go on, Orlok. Yang is currently reflecting.

Orlok: O… Okay. So, I don't need to go to the closet?

Dante: Unfortunately, you must obey any instructions that have already been given to you. Let's head there while Toma is cooking.

Orlok: A-Alright.

***

Orlok: ...I found the closet.

Gilbert: Looks normal to me.

Nicola: Hey, Direttore? You've been quiet for a while. Come on, say something interesting.

Direttore: ...Ridiculous.

Dante: Where did all his tension from before go!?

Gilbert: H-Hey, you okay? Is your stomach hurt or something?

Direttore: ...I'm not interested in peeking into someone else's room.

Nicola: Hey, your real self is starting to show, you know? Be careful.

Direttore: ...Oops. I sincerely apologize for the mistake, letting out my honest opinions like that.

Orlok: ...I found the closet. It doesn't look suspicious.

Nicola: Where should we go next? He lives in a one-room apartment so there's nothing to look at.

Orlok: The balcony, maybe?

Gilbert: Nice idea. Let's take a look. Maybe he has a kitchen garden or something.

Orlok: Then, I'll open the curtain…

Opens.

Orlok: ...This is…

Dante: ...A cage.

Nicola: A cage.

Direttore: That's undoubtedly a cage.

Dante: This must be… the cage he uses for "Love and Madness of Animal Channel", right?

Orlok: To observe the animals…?

Gilbert: Y-Yea. Let's just think it that way.

Nicola: But any animals who could go into this cage… For example…

Direttore: Human beings.

All: …….

Nicola: ...Let's just pretend we do not see it.

Dante: I-I agree. My capo's intuition tells me this isn't something you can touch carelessly.

Orlok: Y-Yes. I'll close the curtain.

Closes.

Toma: …..

Orlok: !!?

Toma: ...Did you see?

Orlok: I-I didn't…

Toma: Really?

Orlok: (gulps)

Toma: Fine. Follow me, I just finished cooking.

Orlok: O-Okay.

Toma: I could only make this much.

Orlok: Whoa… Amazing.

Gilbert: How could he make this many in such a short amount of time!?

Dante: Now that I look at it again, what are those strange ingredients!?

Toma: You're in your growth period, right, Orlok? Eat a lot.

Orlok: Tha-Thank you. But is it really okay for me to eat this much…?

Toma: This is Latium's famous Volcano Bocca, a soup containing shrimps, shellfish and vegetables. You can warm up your body with this.

Direttore: Latium… I feel like I heard about it somewhere.

Orlok: I'm digging in...ugh!

Dante: A-Are you okay!? Did he put in poison or--!?

Orlok: S-Spicy… But it has such deep flavors…

Toma: These are steamed crab dumplings, dobin-mushi, and fried sesames. I used the vegetables from Kaga, queen crabs and barracuda stocks.

Orlok: T-These are great too! It tastes like something a pro chef makes.

Nicola: I get him. They look like the high-quality food you receive at the inns around Kanazawa.

Gilbert: That's an awfully detailed comment you have there.

Dante: Where is Kanazawa, anyway…?

Nicola: A place with the best onsen around.

Toma: I also have a cake. I heard your birthday is on April 23? Mine is on April 12. Since our birthdays fall on the same month, I made it for celebration.

Orlok: T-Thank you… Hehe… I'm happy…

Dante: …

Direttore: What is wrong, signore? Are you jealous he got sweets?

Dante: W-Why would I…!? I-I-I just think the appearance gets my taste buds tingling…!

Nicola: Endure it for a while. I'll buy you gelato after this.

Gilbert: Anyway, how come Toma knows Orlok's birthday?

Nicola: ...Now that you mention it…

Dante: …

Direttore: Let's put that aside. It's better to keep that a secret.

Orlok: (munch munch)

Toma: How? Is it tasty?

Orlok: Yeah. ...It makes me happy.

Dante: I don't know how to explain it but seeing Orlok eat makes me feel peaceful…

Nicola: I get you. Seeing Gilbert and Yang eat doesn't make me this happy. It's not heart-warming at all.

Gilbert: Yang aside, why do you have to connect it to me?

Yang: For crying out loud, don't put me and Redford on the same shoes.

Nicola: ...Oh? I'm sure I already locked you up. You broke out already?

Yang: Of course. After receiving such a warm welcome, I should give my thanks…

Gilbert: S-Stop it, Yang! Don't pull out your blade!

Dante: You too, Nicola! Put your gun away! We're still filming!

Direttore: Oh… What a scandalous dispute. It pains my heart.

[We are experiencing poor reception issues. Please enjoy this beautiful view of Sakura.]

Orlok: Thanks for the food.

Direttore: What a good boy. He ate them all without leaving anything.

Toma: Amazing, you ate them all by yourself. I was planning to put the leftovers into a container so you can share it with the others.

Gilbert: I wanted to try some after seeing so many interesting foods like those.

Orlok: So-Sorry. All of them were delicious so I just…

Dante: It's all right. Finishing them off is part of the rules so you didn't do anything wrong.

Nicola: Great job, Orlok. We have enough footage with this.

Orlok: Thanks for today, Toma. I'll be going now.

Toma: Ah, wait a minute. I actually have a request for you.

Orlok: ?

Toma: I still need more footage for my channel, can you help me with that?

Gilbert: Well, why not? He helped us wrap up the filming without any troubles.

Dante: We should return the favor.

Orlok: Okay. I'd like to help if there's anything I can do.

Toma: Great to hear that. Now--.

Can you get into the cage?

Orlok: ….Huh? ...What?

Toma: I've been keeping my eyes on you. Since you look like a small animal, it’s just perfect.

Gilbert: I see, so it's come to this…

Toma: I figured you'll be lonely so I put some plushies inside.

Orlok: T-That's not the problem here…

Toma: Now, now. You can't tell unless you try. Get in there.

Orlok: I don't want to--.

Toma: Only you can do this, Orlok. Please.

Orlok: ….

Toma: Can you look here? ...Yes, nice. It'll gain more viewers, I'm sure.

Orlok: Can I… get out of here already?

Toma: No, you just got in here. Oh, right. I have some chains. Can you put them on?

Dante: Even chains… This is abnormal…

Orlok: U-Uuuhhh… Guys, what should I do…?

Nicola: You'll be fine, Orlok. It surprisingly suits you.

Direttore: I agree. I'm sure there are people who are into this kind of thing.

Orlok: ...I'm not fine at all…

Toma: It's not as cute as hamster, but there's a huge demand for something like this. Do you mind if I turn it into a series if it gets good feedback?

Orlok: !!?

Toma: I think we were meant to meet. Shin would scold me again if he were here, though.

Orlok: I want to go home…

Toma: Hm? You want to meet him? He's off for another recording right now, so he probably won't return for a while.

Orlok: ….

...I realized something. I shouldn't trust others. The only one I could rely on is myself…

Toma: Haha. That's a nice expression you have there. With that said, it all depends on you guys whether I should make this a series or not. Don't forget to subscribe to our channel!

T/L Notes: Dobin-mushi: Food steam-boiled in an earthenware teapot

#piofiore #amnesia #toma #orlok #dante falzone #nicola francesca #yang #gilbert redford #Henri Lambert #otomate

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thranduilsperkybutt · 3 years

Photo

He’s A Phantom 👻

Gif source

Pairings: Daniel Forsythe x MeeMaw!Reader

Warnings: Crack, this was not written seriously at all. Literally ,,,,, just ,,,,, not at all ,,,, meant to be taken seriously.

Word Count: 2,032 words

Reader Gender: MeeMaw

Author: Meg

Summary: MeeMaw sees a ghost... of her past. And also a literal ghost.

A/N: For my lovelies, @karasong and @bb8sworld, who are undoubtedly chomping at the bit to discover just what I meant when I jokingly said I was going to write a MeeMaw!Reader/Daniel fic when we watched The Spirit of Christmas together. Plot twist, I wasn’t joking. I wrote it. 🏃‍♀️ And now you have to read it, mwuahaahahhaaa---

Fingertips running over the bannister at the foot of the staircase, how long has it been since you last came to this place? The wood was old beneath your fingertips, yet looked in far better condition than the wrinkles that sagged at your own skin.

Once, you came here every year. Clockwork, in your youth, your visits had been.

The Inn had been your second home, up until it suddenly wasn’t.

“MeeMaw?” calls the questioning sound of your granddaughter’s voice, lilting upwards as she catches your distant attention, pulling you back from your memories of this place. You look towards her, seeing as much of yourself in her as the man you had eventually married, long after your time spent at this inn.

“Yes, dear?” your voice is familiarly yours, but the years have made you softer, slower, and your voice reflects that. A more relaxed sound, different from the vibrant excitement that had followed you during your days rushing through these halls.

She glances towards the photograph along the wall, “You never told me this place was haunted, MeeMaw.” There’s a laugh in her voice, the kind that comes with someone who doesn’t believe in such things… the kind of tone you had once held, when you’d first come here, all those years ago.

A sigh is in your throat, as you set eyes on him again, pushing your bifocals up your nose to catch sight of the aged photograph that was even older than you were, “Daniel.” Your granddaughter raises a brow at you, when you hum, “Yes, he’s just as I remember him, in this photo.”

“MeeMaw, don’t tell me you believe in that haunted nonsense,” she rolls her eyes at you.

“Don’t be so close-minded, dear. There’s more stories I could tell you of the time I spent with Daniel than would fill our whole trip here.”

“Sure, MeeMaw,” her sarcastic tone proved she didn’t believe you, and as she bent to grab her suitcase at her feet to tote up the stairs, you think you heard something about a nursing home.

Another sigh, as you glance back towards the photograph on the wall, softer, so that none would hear, as you whispered to the spirit, who had been your first love, “It’s been a long time, old friend. Are you still here, I wonder?”

You would find out soon enough, considering Christmas came in thirteen days.

---

You were never supposed to know about him. Back then, he had been the Forsythe family’s most well-kept secret. Henrietta had gone to great lengths to maintain Daniel’s secrecy when the Hollygrove Inn fell into her ownership, but one overzealous friend coming to call unexpectedly three days to Christmas had ruined all that in one fell swoop.

You had been the overzealous friend, if that wasn’t obvious.

Truly, you’d not thought about it whatsoever when you’d jimmied the lock of the front door upon no answer to your knocking, fruit cake in hand to deliver to your bestie, Henrietta.

The very fruitcake which had wound up all over the hardwood floor upon spotting the tall man lounging in the parlor, and the recognition that he was her long-dead cousin. He hadn’t looked a day older than the photographs then, either, which you’d realized before screaming your head off like you’d seen a ghost--- because you had--- which had resulted in him subsequently trapping you in the washroom until Henrietta returned home.

Swearing you to secrecy had been the easy part, but convincing you to set down the fire poker you’d strategically positioned between you and Daniel for the hour of her explanation had been harder.

Part of you felt pity for him, when she’d told you her father had spent the good part of his years trying to find a way to break the curse. The other part of you wondered just what Daniel had done so terribly to earn such a purgatory of these twelve annual days.

That first Christmas, you didn’t find out.

By the second, you found yourself warming to the spirit wandering the halls of your friend’s inn at yule time.

By the third, you wondered if there wasn’t perhaps some way to break the curse yourself.

So, when Henrietta asked you to watch the inn as she traveled across the country to visit her mother’s family for Christmas, you said yes, knowing you were the only option she had. The only other living person outside her family who knew of Daniel’s state.

That Christmas was truly the Christmas that everything changed between you and Daniel.

“I have no need for a keeper,” Daniel had grumbled as you dropped your bag by the door, removing your winter’s gloves to wave at the back of Henrietta’s cab as it pulled past the edge of the lot, down the road, ever away from the inn. Your smile faded somewhat when he all but ordered, “Go home, madam. I’d much prefer my solitude.”

“And what of last Christmas?” you countered, casting a scathing look over your shoulder as you turned to come into the home, closing the door to cut off the nippy air of winter that seeped through your stockings, “You didn’t say such things when Henrietta was spending Christmas with you.”

“Henrietta is family,” was his only explanation.

“You would truly rather spend Christmas alone, than with me?”

Perhaps it was the slight hurt in your voice, as you lingered there in the entryway, making no move to lift your eyes from the floor where you’d fixated against his shoes, or something else. You were still uncertain as to why he let out a huff and moved closer, boots coming into your vision as he bent to grasp your bag.

Nothing was said, other than, “I’ll put it in your room.”

And you could find nothing to say in return as you watched his back ascend the stairs with your suitcase, though a small smile slipped onto your lips at his acceptance of your presence here. Better than an outright refusal.

---

“Sweet Lord!” you jump at your reflection in the mirror upon the wall of the parlor, breaking you from your remembrance of your times spent here. Wrinkles sagged your cheeks, glasses thick and round along your cheekbones, crow’s feet dragging from the corner of your eyes and laugh lines cascading to your chin.

Proof you’d lived, when he had not.

The furniture was mostly different from how it was back then. A few pieces remained of the original antiques, but new mixed with the old of the inn, until it was just as much something you didn’t remember as much as something you did.

Your hand grips the back of the couch. It was reupholstered, but the same one you had sat in when you’d first come to the inn as a girl.

The bones of this place were familiar, calling out to you in a welcome that only you could hear. Recognize.

You wondered if Daniel would be happy or sad to see that you had done as he told you, when you spoke that last time to him. The first time you’d ever done as he had said, had also been the last.

---

The shift had been gradual, from acquaintances to friends to something more than that. You hadn’t realized the change until it was upon you, and you were left clutching your hot chocolate in front of one of the long windows of this inn, snow flurrying beyond it, beckoning the Christmas that would dawn in a matter of hours. Summoning Daniel back to the state he was in for the rest of the year, between existence and not.

“Is it not good?” he asks beside you, looking towards the cup in your hand and the frown settling into your brow.

“No, it’s delicious.”

“Then why do you look so displeased?”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you say it soft, barely a whisper, in the hopes that perhaps it will not come to be should you keep it secret, close to your heart, as Daniel had come to be. He stands there simply, waiting for you to continue, to explain, “Tomorrow, you’ll be gone again.”

“As I have these past decades, yes,” Daniel’s head tilts, questioning, but knowing all the same. You wonder if he asks, just to confirm his suspicion, “Why does it bother you, suddenly?”

“You know why it bothers me,” you were undoubtedly pouting, tearing your eyes from the snow building outside, to catch his gaze, and you know he can see the hurt building in your chest. “Maybe, there’s some way to help you. I can come back next year, and---”

“No.”

The single word slices through you, worse than anything he’d ever said. Firm, but soft against his lips, was his rejection. His small statement that would rip you to shreds along the hardwood floor, as thin as the tinsel along the tree in the corner.

“No?” you breathe, a shake in your voice.

Daniel reaches up, brushing his fingertips--- warm, alive, if only for a few hours more--- against your jaw, settling soft and bittersweet against your cheek, “No, I won’t let you waste your life chasing after some curse-breaking miracle as my cousin did before you. I won’t have you tied to this place as I am.”

“But, Daniel, I---”

“Don’t say it,” it was as close to begging as he had ever sounded, and the sound of it is enough to silence you forever. “You can’t. Not when you must leave here tomorrow, and never return. Leave this place, marry, have children, live--- live the life I’ll never be able to give you.” You wanted to tell him that no life would be worth anything without him in it, that you wanted to spend it here, with him, even if it meant only twelve days a year, but he must see the protest in your eyes, because he solidifies his request with, “If not for you, then do it for me. Live, for me.” Tears welling in your eyes, spilling down your cheek silently, as he croons and wipes away the salt and water, “Don’t cry.”

“I’m going to miss you,” is all you can manage through ragged breaths.

“We still have two hours until midnight,” Daniel had breathed, before bending to brush his lips against the watery smudge his thumb had left against your cheek. “Don’t miss me until after then. I want to remember you happy.”

As hard as it was, you push the emotion down, the overwhelming urge to sob your eyes out, knowing this will be the last time you see him. For him. For the first man you’ve ever loved, you can at least keep from crying for two more hours. So you do it.

And force a smile upon your lips, deep breath in as you try to remember him like this, too, smiling down at you, with as much an unspoken confession in his own eyes, “Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

“Merry Christmas.”

When he had said your name then, it had sounded like a prayer. Reverent, desperate.

---

When he says your name now, it’s surprise and disbelief. Sharp, on his tongue, as you turn from the kitchen to catch sight of him standing in the doorway, morning light casting through the curtained window. Your granddaughter has yet to wake, and you smile at the sight of him, just as bittersweet as your last meeting with him had been.

He doesn’t look a day over thirty.

You looked much more than that, now.

“I thought I told you to never come back,” comes from his lips, but a lopsided smile rests there.

“Since when did I ever listen to you?” comes jokingly on the tail of a breathless laugh, “Oh, it has been a while, Daniel.”

He crosses the kitchen in few strides, catching you in the warm embrace of his arms, squeezing gently, “You shall have to tell me all about it.”

“Well, for starters,” you lean back, beaming up at him, “they call me MeeMaw, now.”

He laughed, big and wide and more than you ever remember him doing, “My, you have lived, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

----------

I’m not going to add the taglist because this is so not what any of you signed up for.

#im not even going to bother putting this on my masterlist #nor am i going to tag it seriously #also uhh am i guilty that this is the first thing im posting after a long hiatus #kind of but oh well #daniel forsythe fanfic #the spirit of christmas fanfic #the spirit of christmas meemaw reader insert #author meg #fanfic by me

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