Another long Roman weekend is in the books, and Jensen loved every second of it; but he’d be lying if he said that these conventions didn’t wipe him out.
He yawns as he makes his way down the hall towards the exit. The car will be waiting for him, and he hopes that Danneel is already inside it because he wants to get in and get back to their hotel as soon as possible. They’ve got an early flight in the morning and his chances for sleep are dwindling by the second. But when he arrives at the curb and the driver opens the car door for him, it’s not his wife’s lovey eyes that he sees gazing his way … it’s Misha’s.
“Hey,” Misha says with a soft smile.
Jensen immediately returns it as he climbs in next to him. “Hey. Where’s Dee?”
“She said she’s going to ride with the kids. You know how she is.”
The car door shuts behind Jensen just as he collapses into his seat. “Yeah, okay—she’ll meet us back at the room though, right?” He looks Misha over with sleepy eyes, lingering on his new haircut and the way his jaw seems even more defined now because of it.
“Probably. But then again, she may stay out partying with them tonight too. Jojo really brings out the twenty-something in her,” Misha chuckles. “The forty-something in her will certainly regret it tomorrow though.”
Jensen snorts. “Yeah it will. Which means she’ll expect us to pack all her things while she sleeps in.”
“And we’ll do it. Because we’re completely whipped by that woman,” Misha groans.
Groaning too, Jensen rests his head on Misha’s shoulder; but he’s smiling as he finally closes his eyes, just as the car begins to pull away from the curb. “We certainly are.”
Misha’s head soon plops atop Jensen’s and then they both sigh in unison, leaning into one another—relaxing into their shared ease and solitude. “You good?” Misha asks after a few more quiet moments, reaching over to lace his fingers with Jensen’s to give them a squeeze.
Jensen squeezes back, knowing that Misha isn’t just asking about his current physical state. He’s asking about all of it—about everything that was said and done over the last 48 hours. In the past, these Roman weekends have gotten the better of him; but thankfully, he’s just better now, and he gets himself. So, with another sleepy smile, Jensen nods against Misha’s shoulder, and he breathes in the peace that having his boyfriend nearby gives him, and he says “I’m great, Mish” with the confidence of a man who truly means it, and that means everything.
Hello hello, this is my first time posting my writing anywhere so I’m excited but also a little nervous! After I watched the Witcher on Netflix, inspiration hit me like a train and so here we are. I hope you enjoy:)
Fandom: The Witcher
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier
CW: minor character (OC) death, other than that you should be fine. If there’s anything else I should tag pls let me know!
So we all know that Jaskier unfortunately is human in canon. But hear me out, what if he wasn’t? I present to you, half-elf!Jaskier:) (also the title is a wip as well so if anyone has title suggestions pls feel free to comment them or shoot me a dm)
When Julian Alfred Pankratz is 8 years old, his mother tells him he is half elf and gifts him a bracelet of brown and blue pearls. It looks just like the one she wears around her left wrist, except hers is brown and green. The colour of her eyes, little Julian thinks. She instructs him to never take it off again. He nods and slips it over his left wrist, the band tightening as if by magic until it fits snugly around his small arm.
‘Listen carefully, my little one’, she says and kneels to be on his eye level. ‘The world is not kind to our kin. This is the only thing I can do to protect you from now on.’ Her eyes are piercing and serious and little Julian swallows nervously. ‘Soon, the changes will begin. Would you like to see what I mean?’ Little Julian nods again. With a swift movement, she takes off her bracelet and her eyes begin to glow softly. Her ears, previously round and soft, have graceful pointed tips. She smiles, warm and kind as she has always been and her teeth are too straight. She taps the place where her canines would be normally and little Julian runs his tongue along his own pointy teeth.
His mother slips the bracelet over her wrist and her eyes return to their normal green colour. ‘There is more. Come, my little one.’ His mother extends her hand and they leave his room. She leads him to her garden, the one that none of the children are allowed to enter and that is guarded by at least two men at all times of day. He blinks in awe at the colourful flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. His mother smiles at her little boy’s wonder but steers them to a flower pot with her favourite plant. She kneels beside Julian again and takes a small flower bud between her fingers. She whispers a few words and his eyes widen at the impossible sight before him. Slowly, the flower bud unfurls and blooms a beautiful yellow-orange. He gasps and turns to his mother, who only laughs softly. ‘When the time comes, I will teach you all I know. Do you want to learn?’
‘Yes!’ he shouts excitedly and she chuckles.
When Julian Alfred Pankratz is 12 years old, his mother dies in her sickbed. For all her knowledge on herbs and medicinal plants there was nothing she could do to stop the sickness. Neither could Julian, only having learned under her for three years. Julian feels empty and cold, but he knows he must keep it together for his sister. Essi is only 7 years old but she understands that her mother is gone forever.
It takes him weeks to pick up his lute again. When he does, Essi comes running. He brings her to bed and sings to her until she falls asleep, careful to keep the magic out of his voice, just like his mother taught him.
Later, he finds his mothers’ jewelry box. Buried under all the glittering necklaces and gem-studded rings there is a bracelet, the twin to the one on his left wrist. He takes it out and hides it in his own box of jewelry.
When Julian Alfred Pankratz is 13 years old, he runs away from home. Naturally, he is caught by his father’s guards not half a days’ journey from the estate grounds. He is brought to his father’s study, where he sits behind a giant oak desk. He sets his blue eyes on him, blue like his sons’ eyes. He looks so tired, Julian thinks.
‘I wish to be free.’, he states with all the courage he can muster. Granted, it’s not much. He used it all up on his daring elopement.
‘Julian.’, his father says.
‘You and I both know I could never be your heir. Teodor is the eldest but even if he wasn’t he is the only one who can inherit your title and lands.’ Julian isn’t bitter or resentful towards his elder stepbrother, born from a union of his fathers’ first wife. He is glad that his brother will take on the burden as the heir to the Viscount de Lettenhove, because it leaves Julian to do as he pleases. If only his father would allow it.
His father sighs deeply. ‘Do you think I don’t know the laws? Do you think I enjoy the way your mother was treated by them?’ He rubs a hand over his face. ‘Very well, you may have your freedom. You may go to Oxenfurt to study whatever it is you wish to study.’
Julian’s heart jumps in his chest and he rushes forward to hug his father. ‘Thank you, father!’, he whispers as warm hands pat his back.
Julian packs meticulously for his journey (others would say he is attempting to stuff his entire room into two travel packs). In the midst of it all, Essi plops down on his bed to watch him intently. As Julian turns his room upside down to find that particular red doublet, Essi I know you must have seen it! his brother enters and laughs at the mess Julian’s made.
‘You are leaving then?’, he asks.
‘Father has allowed me to study at Oxenfurt.’ Julian can’t contain the bubbling joy and smiles. ‘I will become the best bard on the whole Continent, just you watch me!’ His brother grins and they clasp hands. Essi jumps from the bed and tackles them both into a hug. ‘Take care of yourself.’, his brother mutters. ‘We will miss you.’ Essi is sniffling a little but makes an effort to hold it in. She hugs her brothers tighter.
‘And I will miss you.’, Julian says soflty. ‘You both take care of each other for me, will you?’ They both nod and Essi releases her tight hold.
Teodor makes his goodbyes and leaves Julian’s room again.
‘This reminds me, Poppet’, he turns to his dressing table and opens his box of jewelries.
‘Will I get your ring?’, Essi screams excitedly and jumps up and down. Julian smiles at her antics but returns to show her his gift.
She looks at it plaintively, then back to her brother. ‘A bracelet?’ The confusion is clear in her voice, tinged with disappointment.
‘Listen carefully, Poppet.’ He kneels down to face his little sister. A strange sense of déjà-vu overcomes him and he can’t fight the wistful smile. His face turns serious again as he fixes Essi with his eyes. ‘When I was eight years old, Mother gifted me this bracelet.’ He holds up his left arm and her little hands find the blue and brown pearls with ease. ‘Tell me, how old will you be this summer, Poppet?’
‘Eight’, she replies quickly.
‘That’s right!’, he praises, proud of his little Essi.
‘You see, Mother was an elf.’
She gasps and clasps her hands before her mouth.
‘That means that we are half-elves, both of us. Because of that, our bodies begin to change at a certain age. Our ears become pointed, our eyes glow and we develop magic.’ Essi’s enormous blue eye shines softly, the other hiding away behind her unruly blonde locks.
‘Would you like to see?’, Julian asks. She nods vigorously. He chuckles and takes off his bracelet. He can feel the glamour fall away and reveal his pointed ears, glowing eyes and missing canines. All things that make him different, stand out, reveal his true nature. Essi only stares in wonderment. He slips his bracelet back on and holds the other one out to her. She takes it and brings the pearls close to her face, examining them. ‘Put it on for me, please, Poppet?’ She nods again and slides it on her left wrist, the band tightening to fit her small arm. ‘Now Poppet, this is very important, do you hear me?’ She looks him in the eye. ‘You must never, under any circumstance, take off your bracelet. This world is not kind to those who are different. Mother left this behind to protect you, to protect us, even after she is gone.’ Essi frowns. ‘But you just took it off!’, she eyes him, accusation clear in her voice.
‘My clever Poppet,’ he smiles. ‘That is because you are family and because I trust you. Even in front of father or Teodor, I would not take off my bracelet. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ Essi replies, playing with the pearls on her wrist. ‘Very good.’ He kisses the top of her head softly.
‘What did you mean when you…’, she trails off.
‘What is it, Poppet?’
‘You said something about magic.’ She fixes him with her blue eye, blowing her hair out of her face. Julian smiles again. ‘I can show you if you want. Wait in your room, it’s time for an afternoon nap anyways.’ She dashes off and Julian is left in his room. He looks around and winces at the mess he’ made. The two travel packs sit on his bed, stuffed to the seams with his clothes and other supplies he will need. Behind the packs, his lute is propped up on a pillow. He grabs it and follows Essi to her room. She is bundled up beneath her covers and only her wild mop of hair peeks out. He settles beside her on the bed and starts playing.
Let’s hide under the covers
We don’t know what’s out there
Could be wolves
So hold me, lover, like you used to
So tight I’d bruise you
I’d bruise you, I’d bruise you too
Careful not to let his control slip, he lets some of his magic escape and dance with his voice and his words. Essi, drowsy from Julian’s magic, rests against his side. He hums and continues strumming until he hears her soft, even breaths and turns to see her fast asleep.
As the President of the United States, Castiel Novak knows how to deal with stress. But sometimes, leading the country still gets to him; and the only thing that can put his mind at ease, is a big, greasy burger from his favorite fast-food establishment.
But one day, he discovers a secret-menu item that has his mouth watering. After that, the only thing Cas craves more than a big, greasy burger, is a hearty helping of Dean Winchester ... with a side of fries.
I wonder if Jensen and Misha rewatched the confession scene last night. I bet they did and I bet they cuddled while watching it.
They watched the aired version first, and then the unedited footage on Jensen’s phone.
Misha leaned against his friend’s shoulder, tucking himself into the curve of the man’s collar bone, between the smell of his cologne and the press of his presence. It was his absolute favorite place to rest both then and especially now—now that it’s all over … the show, the intense rush rush rush of their old lives, and most of all, their ability to see one another almost daily.
Now, it could be months before they get to sit like this again. Months before they can feel the other in the palm of their hands, the taste of the other beneath the tip of their tongues; so, Misha savors every touch, every kiss and every breath he breathes with Jensen in the same room, because it’s all more precious than gold now … and Jensen is looking especially gold in this moment, brightened by the low lamp light and the dim screen glowing from his phone.
Misha tilts his chin up and kisses the man just beneath the curve of his jaw.
Jensen gasps softly, surprised by the gesture—having been otherwise engrossed in the footage of their last scene together. “Are you still watching?” he whispers, starting to turn the phone over in his hand.
Misha doesn’t say a word, he just kisses him again—this time, below his ear, and it makes Jensen curl into him, dropping the phone completely.
“I guess we can watch it later,” Jensen huffs, pushing Misha down across the couch and sliding on top of him. He laces their fingers and limbs and love together as deftly as he laced up his boots for the last fifteen years. “I’d rather live in the moment anyway.”
Misha grins against Jensen’s lips, closing his eyes and breathing him in once more. “My thoughts exactly.”
Rising a little, Jensen then stills as he looks over Misha’s face, causing those blue eyes to open again and flow into the green like a river cutting through a mountain range. Gentle fingers come up to thread through his hair, stroking it back and making it look even messier than it already did. Jensen chuckles as he shakes his head. “I’ll never get tired of this.”
His words make Misha grin, cheeks bunching up and nearly squinting his eyes shut once more, but the sincerity in Jensen’s voice makes him feel too vulnerable. “I sure hope not. I’m too old to woo another co-star.”
Jensen rolls his eyes, but it’s brief, and soon enough they’re back on the blue—just as fond as ever. “I’m serious, Mish. This is forever for me.”
The burn of his tears is almost immediate, but Misha’s grin remains—growing wider still as Jensen’s gaze lingers on him. “Forever is a long time,” he croaks, still reverting back to the knee-jerk humor that he wears like armor, but the weight of it makes his grin sag a little, so he takes a breath and sheds the burdening commentary for more honest words. “But somehow … that’s still not long enough when it comes to you.”
Smiling, Jensen’s eyes shy away—his own means of protection when hearts start marching towards sleeves; but his defenses seem far more endearing somehow, and Misha can’t help but reach up and touch the man’s cheek, pulling their gazes back together again.
Jensen’s long hair falls forward, brushing against those tan knuckles, causing him to have to lower himself so they’re chest to chest in order to comb the strands back behind his ear.
Misha doesn’t mind though—not the weight on top of him nor the newly cramped quarters on the couch; and once Jensen wriggles in, finding the most comfortable spot for his shoulders and elbows that won’t rut or jab into either of them, Misha pulls him closer still, wearing him like an old sweater on a chilly autumn night. “I think we should just skip tomorrow and stay like this all weekend,” he mutters softly in the soft skin of Jensen’s temple, and he can feel the other man smile against him in response.
“I wish … but I don’t think they’d let us get away with that.”
Misha sighs, giving the hotel room a regretful nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“But … nothing’s stopping us now.”
Misha looks down at the side of Jensen’s face, wondering how every angle of this man could be just as beautiful as the last. “No … nothing at all.”
Jensen sighs and then squeezes his arms around Misha’s waist, burying his nose into the dark soft hair that’s lining his chest; and after another moment of quiet, save for the dim hum of the Charlotte nightlife in the city streets below, Jensen reaches for Misha’s hand, lifting it up a moment later to lay a single kiss atop his palm. “Happy anniversary, Cas” he whispers, leaving the words like ink stains across Misha’s skin.
With a smile, Misha pulls Jensen even closer, wishing he could melt into him, let his love for this man burn into his freckled body like a scar. “Happy anniversary, Dean.”
I wrote a little something. Read it if you wanna...
"All Three"
(1668 words)
by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins
Characters: Misha Collins, Jensen Ackles, Fandom - Character
Additional Tags: POV Misha Collins, POV Jensen Ackles, Misha talks about his feelings and his sexuality
Series: Part 24 of Destiel/ Cockles Shorts
Summary:
A peek into Misha's mind after the recent commotion involving his sexuality.
“Filming must be going late” Misha sighs to himself, looking between the clock on the wall and his phone, as if one of them might still give him some hope.
It was an emotional day—every day that draws them nearer to the end seems emotional now, but today was especially hard for him. He’s not even sure why; but in his exhaustion and misery, what he wanted to do more than anything was come back to this apartment and fall into bed with Jensen.
He just wanted to hold him.
And Misha just wanted Jensen to hold him back … but it’s midnight now and there’s still no sign of the man, and Misha finally gives in to his disappointment with a yawn.
He pulls his tired body from the couch and bustles down the hall to the first door on the left. It’s not a door he goes through often, but on nights like tonight when he’s all alone in this big, drafty apartment, this is where he sleeps.
It feels a little less lonely somehow.
The small bed is adorned with pink pillows and a pink blanket, and there are stuffed animals all over and toys under foot. For a moment, Misha feels like he’s back at home with his kids—as if Maison could come tearing in at any second, whipping up a cloud of chaos behind her; but the room is too quiet. It’s too clean and orderly for either of his children to have been here, and suddenly the loneliness reaches its cold fingers into this place too.
Even though it is not a room that feels absent of Jensen, it just feels absent, and Misha sighs deeper now, wondering if this ache in his chest will ever go away.
Not likely.
He doesn’t undress. He just climbs into bed wearing the sweatpants and shirt he had put on when he got back to lounge around. The handful of times he’s slept in this room before, he couldn’t manage to make himself feel comfortable enough to sleep in just his boxers like he usually does.
After all, this is where Jensen’s kids sleep when they’re here … or any other possible guests, but more often than not, this is his children’s room.
It just feels wrong to truly relax in their bed, so he stays dressed and he stays proper—and he stays lonely and unsettled as he scoots his body down the mattress.
It’s too warm beneath the heavy pink comforter and Misha knows he’ll just end up kicking it off in a few seconds, but he keeps it on long enough to snap a picture and send it to Jensen; but he hesitates on the message to go with it. He could be sincere—tell Jensen that he misses him, that he needs him back in his arms soon or else he just might crumble from the weight of this day, but somehow, simply saying that, even in text-form, might make him crumble right now, so he opts for humor.
He always opts for humor.
Misha is frowning as he types it out:
“You know, this pink really isn’t my color. I much prefer salmon.”
He hits send and waits, knowing that Jensen will read between the lines at least a little—he’ll see where Misha in the picture is and he’ll know that’s it’s not where he should be, and maybe—just maybe, Jensen will realize that where he should be is back in this apartment, letting Misha be the big spoon like he normally is.
It takes ten minutes, but Jensen finally responds. “Sorry. We had to re-shoot some things.”
“Why?” Misha types out, far too excited to finally have some interaction.
“J was dicking around.”
Misha rolls his eyes. “Figures” he types with annoyance.
“We should be finished soon. Don’t wait up though. I know you’re beat.”
Misha frowns harder. He is beat. He could honestly pass out right this second if he just closes his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. He still wants to have hope. “How soon is ‘soon’?”
“🤷” is all Jensen texts back.
Misha waits another minute, but no new messages arrive. With a groan, he tosses his phone onto the nightstand and settles in for a rough bout of sleep. He’ll be restless and hot, and he’ll probably have a lot of bad dreams; and he knows that once he falls asleep, Jensen will leave him in here when he gets home. They made a rule a long time ago: Let the other rest.It's a good rule, especially since it’s one that Jared never abides by, so Jensen and Misha agreed to never wake each other if the other is sleeping, since sleep—in these days of multiple kids and lengthy shoots and unforgiving film schedules, is rare, so they wanted to know that they could at least relax around each other.
They could be each other’s safe-space.
But on a night like tonight, Misha truly hopes that Jensen will be rebellious. He hopes that he’ll break their longstanding golden rule ... just this once.
With reluctance, he finally closes his eyes and slumber quickly takes hold of him, making him dream of the spare room door cracking open, and the man he loves coming through it to pull him back to safety.
Misha smiles beneath that pink blanket just as dream-Jensen leans in for a kiss.
***
“Babe … Mish … come on.”
Misha grumbles, tumbling out of a deep exhaustion riddled with choppy thoughts and confused nightmares. “Wh—what? Why?” he croaks, not yet awake enough to open his eyes.
“Because …” Jensen whispers, sounding a little strained, and the ache in the man's tone wakes Misha up completely now.
Lifting his heavy lids to look at him, Misha's worried—yet relieved that the man is really here. He's not a dream that'll dissolve into horror the moment he moves.
But Jensen looks haggard, drained and dragged out—and it’s apparent that no preconceived rule made up by the two of them could matter now, sleep is not the most important thing ... maybe it never was. “I need you” Jensen says, voice cracking at the end.
Misha lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Jensen needs him; and by God, if he doesn’t need Jensen too.
He pulls himself from the small bed to stand in front of the beautiful man, looking him over as if he’s inspecting him for damages. “You okay?” Misha asks eventually, cupping a hand to Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen leans into his palm as he nods. “Yeah … just ... just tired. It was a rough night.”
Misha nods too, stroking his thumb across Jensen’s stubbled skin. “What time is it?”
“Two in the morning” Jensen says with a grimace.
“Jesus. Well, c’mon … let’s get you to bed.”
Jensen smiles gratefully and then tilts his chin towards the rumpled pink comforter. “And let’s get you outta this one. You know I hate it when you sleep in here. It’s way too small for you.”
Misha chuckles, leaning in to kiss the man, wanting to make everything better. “Mm, yes, please—keep talking about how big I am.”
Jensen rolls his tired eyes, “shut up” he laughs, sounding better already, and then he turns around, grabbing Misha by the arm as he does and drags him out of the room.
Soon enough, they’re back where they should be—in the main bedroom with its low-set king bed and its tall windows with sweeping views of the Vancouver coast; but neither of them are looking at the water. Instead, Jensen is looking into the water-blue eyes of the man he loves, and Misha is looking back, wondering for a countless time—how he got so lucky.
They undress each other before finally falling onto the bed, grazing soft touches and kisses from skin to skin, tan meeting freckles beneath a light white sheet, only needing each other now to keep warm.
Misha smiles.
“This is how it should be” he thinks to himself, pressing his body firmly against Jensen's back—arms wrapping the other man up like ribbons around a priceless gift. “This is how it always should be.”
