#( I will force any way to have a companion verse ; even if it's a 'hey I am being heavily monitor' )

[lalohefalter]

Signora in her Traveler companion verse looks a lot more like rosalyne ; she loses the mask as well , but her hair covers the burns on her face. Her outfit is less intense also , && without a delusion she can only use the flames that burn her ; which is eased with the Traveler around. I think it would be cool if she found herself a vision during , && having a pyro vision would completely shatter her expectations in a cruel but poetic way. Does she stop being a bastard? Only just , && that's mostly because the pain and vulnerable state she's found herself in ; her memories as Rosalyne can't be contained anymore , so parts of her old personality show through a lot , even if she's still guarded about it. She also still has loyalty to her Queen , but as she is right now , she is trying to regain strength to return home -- even if it's not in the same capacity as before. I just think her having a reliance on the Traveler's purifying capabilities would be the only way those two could work together , even just a bit. As well as her being watched over by the Tenryou Commission , like Scara , but in very much she's a prisoner on temp parole at times.

[thedilucharem]

Two Perpetually Broke Geo Dudes Hike Up Dragonspine for the Deceptively Believable Commission Worth 500,000 Mora (Part III)

The Ordo Favonius have a whole lot to answer for once they finally wrap their heads around how Itto and Zhongli clowned a legitimate force. Somewhere, Diluc is smugly grinning into his glass of grape juice.

Part I, Part II

As it stands, Itto and Zhongli sit underneath the kiosk at a bit of a self-induced impasse, caught in between the reality of what they had done and the lack of a commission that the both of them can agree with. If one was to recap from the previous installment of this roller-coaster ride, it can simply be summarized as such: They tried diplomacy and diplomacy failed. Twice.

Itto: (thoughtfully) You know, I kinda get what Diluc was talking about now.

Zhongli: (turns to him, numbly) About what?

Itto: So you know how he's always like 'Knights of Favonius, always so bad at their jobs' and stuff like that, right?

Zhongli: (nods once, distressed) Mhm?

Itto: Well, the knights here kinda suck. Like, really suck. What kind of guy who's a 'knight' or whatever just runs away like that? (snorts) Not any knight that has any sorta pride anyway.

Zhongli: (exasperated) Itto. (lets out an uncharacteristic noise of worrying frustration) This is the fifth time you've assaulted a public officer this month.

Itto had best hope that Shinobu is well-versed in Mondstadt's criminal law. And yes, Zhongli still thinks he himself hasn't done anything wrong.

Itto: (defensively) Well, then maybe he shouldn't have done that to me! If anything, he's in the wrong for trying to arrest us for no reason!

Zhongli: (rubs his temples) That's not the point! More will come and actually arrest you!

Itto: (scoffs) So? They can try to arrest me. They couldn't even if they wanted to! In fact, they could bring their whole force and it still wouldn't be enough to take me down! (crosses his arms) Besides, the guys back over in Inazuma City would give me more of a fair fight than the 'Ordo Favonius' or whatever ever could.

Zhongli: (facepalms) (wearily) We were supposed to simply pay a debt . . .

Itto: (lightly shakes Zhongli's shoulders assuredly) Come on, we still can! In fact, we'll settle this mora thing right here and now!

Itto grabs a commission with the number '5000' on it and shows it to a genuinely relieved Zhongli.

Zhongli: (scans the title) 'Maintenance'? (nods) This will do.

Itto: (brightens) Okay then! (turns to Katheryne) We'll take this one.

Katheryne: (looks at the both of them carefully) You seem up to it, but your companion there . . .

Itto: Pfft! (boastfully) Gramps over here is as tough as nails and almost as tough as me! We'll be fine, no need to worry about us!

Zhongli: Yes. (formally) We hereby accept this commission and will do it to its completion. The contract is set.

Katheryne: Alright then. (hands them a map of the general area along with other documents) (automatically) Farewell, and thank you for supporting the Adventurers' Guild. (pauses) And good luck!

Itto: (salutes) Thanks! (nudges Zhongli) Ready to go?

Zhongli: (lightly pats Itto's shoulder) (strained) Sure. (to himself) The sooner we leave the city gates, the better our chances of actually completing our commission.

The two of them make their way towards the open gate, acknowledging Swan and Lawrence as if one of them didn't just embed a leading officer into a stone building moments before. They make it a ways over the bridge before the next problem arises. As if it was going to be easy going forward.

Timmie: Hey!

Zhongli: Hmm? (looks at the scattered feathers on the ground then back at the kid) What is it?

Timmie: You scared my pigeons away! (stomp foot with anger) You big, stupid, meanies always scare my friends away! (looks Itto in the eyes, indignant with tears)

Itto: (scratches the back of his head awkwardly) Ahh, sorry kid. I didn't mean to scare your birds away, but-

Timmie: (sniffles) You're . . . you're sorry? (looks to where the pigeons flew off) (starts to cry in earnest)

Zhongli: . . . (to himself) Help.

Contrary to popular belief, Zhongli is not naturally good with children. Hell, he's not even that good at passing himself off as human sometimes. So here, he is presented with the opportunity to watch a master at work.

Itto: (hisses under his breath) Crap. (quickly, but as gently as he can manage) Hey, hey kid, don't cry! (crouches to Timmie's level) I mean, it's not like the pigeons won't come back at some point, right?

Timmie: (sadly, still crying) I know . . . but . . .

Itto: You miss 'em, right?

Timmie: (nods, sniffling)

Itto: (somewhat exaggerated) Well, of course ya do! They're your friends. And since they're your friends, they probably miss you too!

Timmie: (sniffles) Really? (skeptically) Well, Mommy says that they won't be scared of me if I love them, but they can love me too?

Itto: (nods enthusiastically) Yep! And since they all love you so much, they'd probably hate to see you all upset like this, right?

Timmie: (nods) Uh huh. (sniffles again and starts wiping his tears)

Itto: (encouraging) There you go. (lightly ruffles Timmie's hair and gets up) Now I know this isn't making up for much of anything, but I really am sorry about scaring 'em off. In fact, here! (hands him a small sucker) Who knows, maybe they like candy, huh?

Timmie: (laughs a little at that) It's okay, mister. Just . . . try not to scare them away next time?

Itto: (salutes) Absolutely! And that’s- (winks) a promise from the one and oni! Tell your friends I said hi, okay?

Timmie: (smiles) Okay, mister! Bye!

Itto: (waves) Yup, see ya around. (makes his way towards Zhongli)

Zhongli: (blinks slowly as he meets Itto in stride) So-

Itto: (cuts him off) It's no problemo, Gramps! (grins) As long as you're with me, I've got your back.

Zhongli: (gratefully) Thank you.

They almost make it to the other side of the bridge before a retinue of knights pour over the bridge and then stop, making a gap between the two of them and the company. Timmie managed to make himself scarce seconds beforehand.

Knight #1: (shrill) There they are! (points in their direction) They're the ones who did it!

Itto: (groans loudly) By the Archons. (to Zhongli) We can't catch a break with these guys!

Zhongli: (eye twitches slightly) For once, I find that I am beginning to agree with you on this.

Knight #3: (marches a bit closer and bellows) If you come with us now the punishment will not be as severe, but if you do resist, we are authorized to use heavy force to apprehend you!

Zhongli: (exhales deeply, rubbing his temples)

Itto: (at the knight) Hey, what gives?! We just want to finish our commission-

In this instance, before both sides would engage, an icy and rather ticked-off presence makes itself known on the side of the bridge that teased freedom and the continuation of sloppily laid-out plans. For you see, the devil works hard, but Eula Lawrence works that much harder.

Eula: Halt! What is the meaning of all of this commotion? (snappish) Quickly.

Knight #3: (coughs into his fist) Ah, Captain Eula! (gestures in Itto and Zhongli's direction) These criminals have yet to be apprehended as they keep resisting arrest for a multitude of crimes.

Itto: (yells over him) That is not true! (to Eula) Look lady, I don't know who you are, but these guys obviously have the wrong idea! We're innocent!

Zhongli: (drily) You were innocent before you threw one of them into a wall.

Knight #3: (confirming nod) The officer has yet to wake up from the barrage.

Itto: . . . okay, maybe that part is true, but you can't get me over that because he made the move first! (to Zhongli) Whose side are you even on here, huh?!

Eula: Ah, I see the situation now. (raises her voice) Hark, vagabonds! If you will not go peacefully, then I shall have to deal with you myself. (summons her claymore) Prepare yourselves, lest you are unacquainted to the world of hurt you may find yourselves subject to if you resist.

Itto: (growls and turns to face Eula) You can try, but I ain't going nowhere. (stomps his foot, causing a small quake on the bridge)

Knights: (nervous muttering and shuffling)

Zhongli: (steps in front of Itto) (to Eula) I give you my sincerest apologies in advance, but we do not have the time for this. The more time that passes, the less time that we have to settle this pressing matter. (with authority) So we will be going now.

Itto: (confused) Wha- hey! If she wants a fight, she's getting one-

Zhongli: (firmly) Itto. The quicker we finish this (holds out the commission), the quicker we can be done with it and move on. (emphasized) Please.

Itto: (begins to protest, but uncharacteristically relents)

Zhongli: (with a finality more for himself than anyone else) Excuse my bluntness, but if you will not get out of our way, then I will simply move you out of the way.

Eula: (pauses, then scoffs) And who are you to be telling me as such with whatever authority you think you have? (lifts her nose) The audacity! (prepares to fight) No matter, because you'll be soon taken care of anyway.

Zhongli: (gravely nods) Very well.

The instant Zhongli had made it up in his mind to choose violence for the sake of his self-induced contract, he spreads out his arms, a visible force of elemental energy rippling off of him in waves and sending the knights tumbling down to the ground.

Eula stood fast, using her claymore lodged unceremoniously in between the cobblestone even as her body rocked and roiled with the sheer force pressed upon her body.

And, perhaps for the first time in his life, Itto is rendered speechless.

Knights: (groaning in pain on the ground)

Zhongli: (nods) I commend you for still standing after that. Not many can.

Eula: (hisses under her breath) Egad! (grits her teeth and pulls her claymore out of the cobblestone, breathing heavily) Well met, good sir! In other circumstances, I would acknowledge you and cross blades, but unfortunately, there is vengeance to be had, and I shall have it! (springs forward with her burst)

Zhongli: (exclaims) Solidify!

Some time after what happens next, Eula would simply remark that it was a misstep on her part and that under different circumstances, things would have come out to be much more decisive on either end.

In a twist that no one in Mondstadt could have ever seen coming, a pillar hewn of solid stone materialized not even five feet from it's caster's person. The impact of solid Geo meeting the burst as it detonated deafened everyone present save for Zhongli and Itto.

Eula, on the other hand, was violently struck in the sternum and the ribcage with the tip of the stele, the pillar springing up on the side and effectively catapulting her body up and over the side of the bridge, a giant splash indicating where she had landed.

Zhongli: (exhales) Well. (turns to Itto and says plainly) I understand that we may be in even more legal trouble now, but it couldn't be helped given the present situation. (claps the dust off of his hands) Shall we go?

Itto: (jaw still open in shock) (drawn-out exhalation)

Zhongli: (confused) Itto?

Itto: (clamps his jaw shut and begins to walk onto the path beyond the bridge)

Zhongli: (hums and meets him in step)

The two of them take a right on the main road, the sun already peaked and lazily making its way to the horizon. The two of them walked in a silence that was foreign to them as both would usually fill the uncharacteristic lack of noise with their musings and thoughts. At least until Itto finally breaks it.

Itto: (whips his head towards him) Holy smokes, Gramps! (directly in his face) That was seriously awesome! (grins widely) I mean, you are kinda awesome . . . sometimes, but woooo this was something else!

Zhongli: (blinks, startled) Wha-

Itto: (grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him) You never told me that Geo Vision holders could do any of that! The way that you went all (imitates quaking) and then (imitates pillar) and everything! That was seriously badass! (suddenly frowns) Hey, are you holding out on me or somethin'? (whines) Dammit, Gramps, I thought we were bros!

Zhongli: I- (coughs awkwardly) Firstly-

Itto: (leans that much closer into Zhongli's face) Teach me everything you know.

Zhongli: (raises his hands to Itto's shoulders and shakes them once) Arataki Itto.

Itto: (suddenly stops) Oh! (steps away and places his hands on the side guiltily) Sorry, but it was really cool-

Zhongli: (puts his open palms up) Oh no, don't apologize for that. (fondly, but firmly) It gladdens me to see you so excited, but please-

Itto: (perks up a bit) I get it, I get it, but still-

Zhongli: (laughs breathily) I don't mind your physical affections at all Itto, but a warning in advance would set me at ease.

Itto: (nods) Got it. Totally gonna remember that, shove it into my brain and make it stick, got it. (coughs into his fist) Anyway-

While the two of them struck up a lively conversation for the next few hours, they took a wrong turn on the fork that would've pointed them to Dragonspine provided they took a right instead of a left, leading them into the village of Springvale.

Itto: -and we're finally . . . here? (looks around) Huh. I don't see any mountains. Mondstadters are weird.

Zhongli: (turns to Dragonspine in the distance) (turns back to Itto) I have seen many a strange thing in my lifetime, but I am certain that this small village isn't Dragonspine.

Itto: (nods) Yeah. Besides, it isn't really that cold.

Zhongli: Well, while we're here, we might as well take the opportunity to understand this commission a bit more. (takes out the commission) Come, I'll find us both a place to sit.

They find a place to sit underneath the structure near Brook's residence.

Itto: (whines) Ugh, Gramps! Couldn't you have found us another place to sit? (stomach growls) All I can smell are those steaks . . .

Zhongli: (sighs) I understand, but- (stomach growls louder) (sighs) It is a shame that we do not have the funds for some food.

Itto: (groans loudly) (braces his hands on his knees, hearing the sound of mora in his pocket) (smile) Hey!

Zhongli: Hmm?

Itto: (pulls out his moneybag) We've still got somethin'!

Zhongli: (surprised) Well, that was genuinely unexpected. (small smile) Shall we satisfy our appetites?

The same mora that was supposed to be left at the Good Hunter was instead used for Brook's steaks at the discounted price of 750 mora for two. The steaks were good and served to replenish them as they finally decided to read the fine print of the commission they had grabbed.

Zhongli: (head hanging low in his hands) We were scammed, Itto.

Itto: (protests) How? All we gotta do is check on some beacons, kill a boar for meat, find some teeth, and then we're done!

Zhongli: (lifts his head up to glare at him) For the price of 5000 mora? Only 5000 mora? (shakes his head) It is a rather terrible idea to attempt this commission for such a small sum.

Itto: (shrugs) I mean, I guess so. 5000's what we need, isn't it?

Zhongli: (looks up shamefully) And to think that I actually obligated myself to make that contract in the first place . . .

Itto: (nudges his body) Come on, Gramps, it's easy-peasy and kinda interesting! Besides, you'll be able to say that you climbed to the top of Dragonspine, eh? (boastfully) Arataki 'Conqueror of Dragonspine' Itto does have a nice ring to it after all.

Zhongli: (sighs) I suppose. Now to see about the remainder of what the commission says . . .

Itto: (looms over his shoulder to see)

"Upon the completion of this commission and the retrieval of the items requested, the adventurers shall be allowed to keep 25% of any treasures and valuables (i.e. coin, gems, ores, crystals) they may happen to find, any spoils from monsters and beasts they may encounter, as well as . . ."

Zhongli & Itto: " . . . the additional sum of 500,000 mora."

Itto: (looks at Zhongli, dumbfounded) Did . . . did you read that too?

Zhongli: (looks at Itto, also rendered dumbfounded) I . . . yes, yes I did.

Itto: (mutters, shocked) 500,000 mora . . . (laughs a little)

Zhongli: (tries to hold back his snorts as his shoulders shake) Yes . . . well that commission makes sense now . . .

Itto: (shoots up) (eardrum-breaking shriek) 500,000 MORA!! (laughs freely with pure bliss)

Zhongli: (gives in and genuinely laughs along with Itto) (joyfully) 500,000! And to think I was so obtuse because of a few zeroes- (starts to cackle with glee)

Itto: (puts both of his hands up) Put 'em here, Gramps!

Zhongli: (gets up and gladly gives him the high-five)

Itto: (grabs one of his hands and pulls him in, squeezing tightly while spinning them around, still laughing) I can't believe it!

Zhongli: (returns the hug enthusiastically, laughing too hard to speak)

After they collapsed onto the ground in a wheezing, laughing heap, they promptly used the rest of Itto's 4000 mora to haggle two long coats, a giant backpack, and some basic supplies and foodstuffs out of the general store as well as a night's rest at the local inn.

The next day early in the morning, they left Springvale and in a matter of a few hours, made it down the road that led up to Dragonspine, easily taking care of the hilichurls on the bridge, and now stand at the edge of its base.

Zhongli: It seems that we have arrived at our destination. (blinks as a snowflake falls onto his nose, musing) How interesting, that even at the height of the summer, the mount remains cold and covered with snow . . .

Itto: (also musing mischievously) Yeah, you can pretty much have unlimited snowball fights here . . .

Zhongli: (without missing a beat) Do so, and I will not hesitate to call upon you the Wrath of the Rock.

Itto: (raises his palms in surrender) Alright, Gramps, geez! (mutters) Way to spoil the fun before it even starts.

Zhongli: (nods) Hmph. There shall be plenty of time for such frivolous things after we finish this commission and pay the Good Hunter back.

Itto: (rubs his hands in anticipation) Alright! (points at the mount and declares) You better bring your A-game, Dragonspine, because Arataki 'Numero Uno' Itto is gonna kick your ass! (pauses) Oh, and my buddy here will absolutely rock your shit! Literally!

Zhongli: (pinches the bridge of his nose)

Itto: (to Zhongli, excited) Let's go! (speedily walks eagerly ahead)

Zhongli: (smiles as he meets him in stride) Onward and upward.

---

Yeah, I decided that Timmie had suffered at the hands of the fandom for long enough. Keep scrolling. His backstory is depressing and once the bomb drops that his daddy's dead, what the hell is he gonna do? Y'all clown on an orphan just to showcase your built characters. For shame.

For the gear they grabbed, Zhongli has the map and his coat reaches below his knees. Imagine that Itto's coat isn't big enough to button up. So yes, he still has his chest out. He is also the designated pack person, so he has everything else, including the giant backpack. Think Klee's in proportion to her body except for a bit smaller. And the only argument that I can offer for Itto's characterization here is this: HE 👏 HAS 👏 THE 👏 MOTHER 👏 FUCKING 👏 RANGE.

There's a lot happening here as this is the longest installment that I currently have for this series of mine. I don't know when this series is gonna end because all I know is that I'm having a goddamn blast. It's over when it decides it's over. May Barbatos have mercy on Dragonspine's wig, because it is guaranteed to get snatched and fly to Celestia.

(inspired by the aforementioned commentary concerning this topic and this collection of headcanons)

[fallout-wastes-reacts]

hey! Love fallout 4 so much. Could you write where the companions (romanced plz) react to a sole trying to go "cold turkey" and quit chems?

Hi thank you for the request!

Cait: cait is happy that sole is trying to quit chems but shes also kinda mad that they would even get into them in the first place, i mean…they helped get her clean and they go and do chems? She wont express her anger but she will encourage them to quit, hell she might make them travel to the vault to cure their addiction, she’s supportive over their decision to try and quit

Hancock: its no surprise hancock is a chem junkie himself, one that will never quit. But when sole gets addicted hancock Trys his damn hardest to get them to stop, his excuse being that hes a ghoul so it doesnt matter what he takes. He may offer some chems to them during the process before reminding himself that theyre trying to quit, hes…actually never seen someone try to quit so he might accidentally offer chems here and there

MacCready: MaCready has never even touched a chem so you best be sure hes gonna immediately try and help sole quit, he constantly reminds them of the consequences chems can come with, Surpisingly not a single joke or immature comment comes from him while sole is trying to quit, he’s actually…acting like an adult for once, he’ll throw away any chems they find on their travels and will constantly be checking on sole to see how they’re doing with quitting

Piper: piper has maybe tried a chem once or twice but…never again, she hated it, so she hates it even more when sole gets addicted to the damn things. She’ll constantly be on their ass about quitting, pulling up old papers about the consequences of chems and will even start writting papers on the effects chems have on the body, sole almost always gets a free copy as a way to say “you need to quit” piper also constantly keeps sole by her side to avoid them getting to any chems, like someone forcing their dog back if they go to run off

Curie: curie is a robot very well versed in medical emergencies and medical knowledge so she knows all about the dangers of chems, she will be very supportive over soles choice to quit and will encourage them by mentioning some of the dangers of specific chems, she will also act like a parental figure, slapping chems out of soles hands even if theyre not using it, and then reminding them to not touch any chems before continuing on with whatever she was doing

Preston: Preston is…disappointed to say the least, i mean the general of the minutemen on chems? He’ll comment about it but not aggressively or anything, but he’s extremely relieved and happy when they say that theyre trying to quit, preston will praise them for this and try to help however he can, and he’ll constantly be checking on them and going with them whenever they leave sanctuary, never know you might run into a charismatic chem dealer so Preston isnt taking any chances

Danse: danse is more formal and strict about it, he’ll obviously be supportive of soles choice to quit but…hes much more persistent about it, constantly commenting about the brotherhood not needing chem addicts or about sole being unfit for the brotherhood, he may sound like a dick but trust me hes trying to edge them into quitting more, he might get some stuff from the brotherhood’s infirmary to help them quit more, he also worries a lot. Chems can cause severe radiation and radiation can lead to ghoulification, he stays up at night worrying sole might accidentally turn themselves into a ghoul with all these chems, and…you know the brotherhood doesnt take kindly to ghouls, feral or not

[ktheist]

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’? 

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

x

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say. 

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

x

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?! 

x

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

x

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.”  yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile. 

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner. 

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes. 

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

x

 dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

x

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm. 

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

x

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

x

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites. 

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon. 

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer. 

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you. 

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.” 

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

x

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

x

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything. 

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

x

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

x

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

x

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading.  the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying. 

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

x

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance. 

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

x

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

x

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane. 

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

x

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

x

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else. 

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the  a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths. 

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

x

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

[angstydays]

Bad things happen Bingo x genshin impact- xiao and Hu Tao x infected wound & grabbed by the chin (maybe xiao overdid himself and Hu Tao found him and kinda forced him to rest because he’s denying his injuries and stuff as usual :D)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38755392/chapters/100129149

Edit: had to edit and remove a prompt since it goes against the event rules, sorry requester for the inconvenience.

Requested by: Anonymous

Prompts: Infected Wound + Grabbed by the Chin

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters involved: Hu Tao and Xiao

Summary: After finding Xiao injured, Hu Tao forces him to take care of himself.

Wuwang Hill's eerie silence would be anxiety-inducing for most people, the fear of the unknown having the capability to overtake any common sense when something out of the ordinary happens.

Hu Tao can't be considered as part of the majority of people, for she loved the atmosphere the hill provided, and her little ghost companion manifested from Pyro energy can agree on that with her. She found it comforting even, strolling through the spooky mountains seem to garner a soft spot from her, and even if something went wrong, she can easily defend herself if need be.

Everyone pretty much gave up on trying to change her mind on going there so often, even the normally persistent ones didn't bat an eye anymore, knowing that she'll come back without harm.

Usually her hikes on Wuwang Hill are relatively uneventful, aside from the occasional run ins with Treasure Hoarders or Hilichurls or Cicins or people who have no idea how jumpscares work, there wasn't any real danger around.

This particular trip however, was different, but in the worst way possible.

It started off well and normal, as normal as it can get with the gloomy atmosphere the hill gave. Hu Tao had managed to dodge a few Cicins and played a few tricks on some naughty Treasure Hoarders. It was quite a fun day for her.

That is, until she hears a distant thud followed by a strangled noise.

She followed it to the source, her curiosity piqued. It could just be someone who is pretending to be injured to get the jump on some poor, unsuspecting soul to mug them, or someone who genuinely needs help. Although she has no evidence that either case is correct, she decided to take a look anyway.

Soon enough, she came across the person who made the pained sound. She expected it to be a Treasure Hoarder with fake blood, or at least a civilian from the harbor, but it's neither of them.

It was Xiao, with very much real, authentic blood dripping from his body, infecting the ground with its colour. Ugly-looking wounds were all across his figure, only a few were covered up by his arm clutching his chest, for better or for worse. His polearm was clenched in his free hand, attempting to use it as a crutch and failing miserably, forcing out another groan of pure pain as he tried to stand up.

"Xiao?" Hu Tao called out, cautiously approaching the Adeptus, her feet stomping on the grass creating a distinctive sound that alerted him to look around instinctively.

"Hey hey, it's me." Hu Tao reassured, quickening her movement until she's right in front of him. Once he knew who it really is, he sighed.

"Hu Tao." Xiao bit his lip, still trying to get up. Typical. "You shouldn't be here. There's something wrong here."

"Aiya, why should I care about that now?" The eccentric funeral director pursed her lips, glaring at him for his blatant disregard for his own wellbeing. She grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him over to a nearby tree for him to lean against.

"You should-" Xiao's statement was interrupted by him coughing up blood, his condition worsening. "Should care. Enough to leave that is."

"Well right now I'm caring about you, idiot." Hu Tao wasn't too well versed in the art of medical practices, but she knew a thing or two from her grandfather, his skills were used to save those who haven't reached their limit yet in many situations. Or when they discovered the supposed dead person their clients wished to bury are still alive.

Pulling the arm that was hiding the rest of his condition - that of which also looked really painful - she can see the true horror of the wounds. Large scabs stretched across his body, looking far too red to be considered healthy.

Hu Tao grimaced at the sight. "Aiya, your wounds are infected."

"Infected?" Xiao, the cold yet honestly oblivious idiot, asked as if it was clear enough.

"Of course it is." Hu Tao's seemingly exasperated sigh disguised her true feelings over the situation. In truth, she really is concerned over him. While Adepti are known to be ageless, they are not immune to dying from other external factors that do not involve aging. Xiao is one of the only few people who tolerate her for who she is, she can't lose him, not now and perhaps not ever. "Qingce Village isn't too far away, you need to be patched up."

"I can't leave yet, there are demons around here and I simply cannot allow them to remain here any longer." Xiao shook his head in disapproval, against the idea of leaving a task like this unfinished.

"You are in no condition to do anything. You can barely walk."

"Hu Tao-"

"I can take over that role if you want."

"You cannot." Xiao looked away from her with scanning eyes, likely looking for whatever demon is here.

Out of frustration, Hu Tao grabbed onto his chin and turned his face towards her. "Do you see yourself? Are you expecting to be fine fighting whatever in Wuwang Hill even in this state? Can't you see how this would affect your abilities?"

Xiao seems to be genuinely taken aback by her action, but strangely enough he doesn't resist this. Either it's because he thought it would make him feel more discomfort or another reason. "The demon must be weak now, I must finish the job."

"If it's weak then surely it's not impossible for me to take it down for you, would it?"

"I..."

"Come on, Xiao. You can teleport right? Just go somewhere safe and heal up, I'll be back before you know it. Leaving an infected wound without proper medical attention would produce disastrous results." Hu Tao didn't notice she let some worry slip into her tone, but it's not like she cares anymore. If he doesn't take care of himself things would get worse later down the line.

Xiao appears to be deep in thought about this, and for a moment he opened his mouth, likely to say something about how he can handle it himself or some other nonsense, but he closes it and it stayed like that for a while. Finally, he allowed the words she wanted to hear come out.

"...fine. You better come back alive Director."

"Course, don't worry." Hu Tao grinned from ear to ear at his response. In a blink of an eye, he disappeared from her sight, leaving her to wave at the now empty spot. "Tootles!"

Now that she was alone, she got up and held her polearm in her hand, following the blood trail left by Xiao in the aftermath of battling whatever kind of demon.

"You'd better keep that promise of yours." She muttered along the way.

[havenoffandoms]

Hello and congrats on 800 followers!!! Could I ask for an Eskel x female cat Witcher!reader with prompts 3 or 5? Thanks 😊

Hi anon! Thanks so much and thanks for this really fun combination of prompt. Here’s my little silly take on cat!witcher!reader x Eskel. Hope you like it. 

Send your prompt requests here.

Cat!Witcher!reader x Eskel: “it’s really not that complicated” (prompt 3) and “we could get arrested for this” (prompt 5)

“Would you hurry up, wolf?” you urge your travel companion as he struggles to pick a simple lock, “it’s really not that complicated, for the love of the gods.”

“You try and pick a lock in a tight space with little to no natural light,” you hear the witcher known as Eskel snide back. A guttural groan pushes past his lips as he tugs on the lock in his frustration. “Fucking thing!”

“Oh, get out of my damn way,” you snap at him as you squeeze yourself into said tight space, elbowing Eskel in the ribs as you wriggle up to where the lock is resisting the wolf witcher, “here, watch an expert at work.”

“Why am I not surprised that you Cat witchers know how to pick locks?” Eskel punctuates his words with a pointed eyeroll. 

“At least Guxart taught us some street smarts. What do you bring to the table, your theoretical knowledge of monsters? Your working knowledge of poetry? How’s that gonna help, you gonna bore the guards to death by reciting a couple of verses?” 

“Fuck you.”

“Make me,” you hiss in response, but your mood quickly brightens when you hear the familiar ‘click’ sound as the lock yields under your nimble fingers. You pull on it harshly and manage to open the trap door, your only escape out of these dungeons. “Hah! Where does that take us?”

“Sewers, judging by the stench,” Eskel remarks, his nose scrunching up in distaste. You can’t help but agree with your companion on this one. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.”

“Let’s go, then.”

With the agility worthy of your namesake, you jump down yet another hole tight and land on your feet and hands. You keep this position long enough to assess your surroundings, your yellow-green eyes picking up every movement without needing to use a Cat potion. Unlike Eskel, who is probably downing one as you wait for him to follow you into the sewers. Once you are satisfied that there is no immediate danger, you rise to your full height and silently slip along the humid walls. You hear rats squeaking in the distance and scattering as the sound of Eskel landing next to you spook them. 

“Any idea which direction we should be taking, street-smarts?” 

“Well, the exit was north-west of our cell, so I’m gonna take a wild guess and say we should be heading that way,” you point in the direction you were referring to, “you got your swords?”

“Duh,” is all Eskel offered in response, “do you think so little of me?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that question? C’mon, we’ve wasted enough time waiting for you to drink that stupid Cat potion.”

You ignore Eskel’s grumbled response and take off without another word. You and Eskel have known each other for years. You first met on the path after he saved you from a particularly aggressive female wyvern. The beast was in heat and very territorial, and she did not appreciate anyone interrupting her mating rituals. There had been no contract on her head, you just happened to have the worst of luck. After Eskel saved you, he could hardly believe that he was not only standing face to face with a witcher from the School of the Cat, notoriously responsible for the creation of a famously vicious breed of emotionally-volatile assassins, but face to face with a female witcher no less. Your school often trained women, but very few of those were put through the trials and even fewer survived. You managed to beat the odds. You’re exceptionally good at what you do, which is why you and Eskel got along so well. 

After months of travelling together, and after a boozy night following a successful contract, you and Eskel became lovers. At first, it was purely physical, but as the months bled into years you realised that it was nice to have someone to go back to after an exceedingy shitty year on the Path. You started to miss Eskel after prolonged periods of not seeing each other and that’s when you admitted to yourself that it had stopped being purely physical a long time ago. You couldn’t let Eskel know, though. It would only get to his head. That’s why you settled for the tough love approach instead. It worked fine. Eskel had yet to run away.

Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear the familiar hiss of drowners in the darkness. You and Eskel simultaneously unsheathe your swords and brace yourself for an attack. One drowner sneaks up on Eskel from behind, but you notice it first out of the corner of your eyes and blast Igni in its face. In the meantime, Eskel hacks off the arm of another beast before running his silver sword through its abdomen, killing it with one powerful thrust. In the distance, you hear the echoes of more drowners heading your way. 

“Shit. We need to fucking hurry.” 

You run blindly through the labyrinth of underground tunnels. The truth is that neither of you knows where the exit is, or if there even is an exit. There has to be, you reason, the sewers always lead somewhere. Traditionally to a river, at least. There had to be an exit, or else the underground tunnels would be flooded and you would be swimming in shitwater by now. The fact that you aren’t is a fucking sign right? Right?

“There? You feel that?” Eskel suddenly speaks and instantly every hair on your body bristles in anticipation. 

“Feel what?”

“A draught.” Yes. You do feel it now that Eskel mentioned it. “Follow me. Turn to the left.”

You follow Eskel through the sewers, and to the relief of you both, you’re running away from the nest of drowners rather than towards it. Under any other circumstance neither of you would’ve shied from a group of drowners, but you were trying to escape and not draw more attention to yourself. Some other witcher, one that was preferably not wanted in Temeria, could take care of that one.

“We’re getting closer,” you say when your nose picks up the smell of fish and seawater, “we’ve almost made it.”

You and Eskel reach an opening several frantic minutes later, at once out of breath but also relieved that you managed to find your way out of those dungeons. It’s dark outside, which will help you and Eskel escape without raising too much attention, or so you hope. You both manage to exit the sewers soundlessly. Even Eskel with his impressive size manages to stealth his way past guards and civilians alike. Not as flawlessly as yourself, mind you, but you weren’t one to brag. 

Well, maybe a little bit, but there would be time for boasting later. 

“Hey look, there’s some horses there,” you tell him, your voice too quiet for any mortal ear to pick up but you knew Eskel could hear you loud and clear. 

“No. I need to get back to Scorpion.”

“Oh good gods - really? Eskel, we don’t have time for this. Scorpion is stabled near the city gates… at the other side of fucking town.”

“I’m not leaving Scorpion.”

With that, Eskel takes off in the opposite direction, leaving you to ponder whether you should follow him or go your own way and hope that your paths will cross again eventually. Fuck it, who are you kidding, you wouldn’t let that idiot risk his life for a stupid horse on his own. Well, if he gets caught you might just let him ride it out for a while… you know, just to teach him a lesson. 

You follow Eskel’s trail, making sure to remain unseen. Your hand reaches up and touches your witcher medallion, shaped in the form of a cat’s head, something you’ve done since the trials to ground you, to calm your nerves. After what felt like the longest fucking chase ever, you see Eskel pressed against the wall of the stables that you recognise as the place you two had left your horses in two days ago when you first arrived. Eskel peeks around the corner, checking for guards, and when he’s satisfied that he hasn’t been spotted he climbs up the side of the building at a surprising speed. You curse under your breath, but follow him up onto the roof of the building. 

“You know we could get arrested for this?” you tell him once you reach the top. Eskel raises an eyebrow, a mocking grin tugging at the scarless corner of his lips. Anticipating his smartass remark, you hiss: “I’ve just sneaked out of a dungeon, I don’t fancy another trip through those sewers.”

“Don’t worry, this won’t take you long.”

“Me? Whatever do you mean, me?” Your eyes land on the chimney and its opening, too narrow for Eskel to fit through, but not too narrow to fit… you. Oh, the bastard was going to pay for this. When you turn to glare at your companion, all you can see is the protruding lower lip and the pleading eyes. 

“No…”

“Please? Scorpion means the world to me.”

“What about me?” you snap, forcing yourself to look away or risk falling for Eskel’s pretty face all over again, “don’t I mean the world to you?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone growing softer, “and I’m sure if the situations were reversed, Scorpion would do the same for you.”

“Urgh, fine!” you eventually relent despite the absurdity of Eskel’s last comment, “but you owe me for this.”

To this day you don’t know how you and Eskel didn’t get caught sneaking a massive war stallion out of the stables, nor how you two managed to escape the guards at the city gates. It certainly made for an interesting story that winter when you and Eskel travelled back to Kaer Morhen.  

Lambert relentlessly teases you for ‘growing too soft’ and ‘being wrapped around Eskel’s little finger’, but when you see the open adoration written plainly on Eskel’s face as soon as he and you retreat back to his room, well, you simply don’t find it in yourself to truly mind all that much. 

[besanii]

oh god i just saw the angsty shippy prompts you just reblogged and now i have to brace myself for angst for DAYS ㅠㅠ and because your writing always makes me feel All The Emotions i just know i'm going to feel like i've been punched in the solar plexus each time i see (and read, and re-read) an update and its reblogs... anyway i feel like this would be a fun one "i can't always help when you're in trouble" whichever ship you choose! ^^

He wakes to a dull, rhythmic throbbing in his head. There’s an itch on his nose that is growing more and more irritating by the second, but his body feels like it’s being crushed by a dead weight and his arm won’t move. The most he achieves is a tiny twitch of his right hand; it brushes up against something warm, and then he hears a sharp intake of breath close to his ear.

“Wei-xiansheng,” a familiar voice says. “Wei-xiangsheng, are you awake?”

He groans.

“My nose itches,” he croaks. His lips are dry and his mouth feels like sandpaper. “And my throat hurts.”

“That would be the anaesthetic wearing off,” another voice says. “If you’re not feeling nauseous, we can probably get you something to wet your mouth.”

‘Thanks’ is what he tries to say, but it comes out more like a garbled ‘auuaagh’. Nevertheless, a cool, wet cloth is pressed to his lips and he sighs gratefully at the soothing sensation. He opens his eyes slowly once it’s taken away, wincing at the way his eyes seem to have been caked shut; the first thing he sees is a very handsome, albeit very concerned pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes watching him.

“Hey,” he rasps. “Hey, gorgeous.”

A tiny frown appears in between those perfectly shaped brows.

“Wei-xiansheng,” Gorgeous says. He frowns.

“Don’t call me that,” he complains. “You should call me by my name.”

Gorgeous sighs. Put-Upon is a very nice expression on him.

“Wei-xiansheng,” he says again. “How are you feeling?”

“Mm,” he says coherently. “Better now that you’re here.” A deeper frown, and a pressure around his hand. “Ooh, you’re holding my hand. That’s nice. I like that.” He pouts when the hand is quickly retracted, but is rewarded by the adorable sight of reddened ears instead, so he lets it pass. “Fine. I’m uh—dizzy, kind of. Thirsty. Oh—uh, my shoulder hurts?”

“That would make sense,” the other voice says from somewhere on his other side. “Considering that’s where you were shot.”

A woman with a stethoscope around her neck is poking at the tablet in her hand as she studies his chart. She gives him a Look over the top of her glasses as she details the extent of his injuries.

“You were very lucky this time, Wei Wuxian,” she says sternly. “A couple of millimetres off and it would have nicked a major artery. I’m a world-class surgeon, but I can’t work miracles—not if you insist on putting yourself in unnecessary danger all the time.”

“In my defence, Qing-jie, it was completely necessary this time,” he says cheerfully.

Wen Qing raises the tablet over her head as if to smack him over the head with it. Wei Wuxian pouts and gives her his best puppy dog eyes, but Wen Qing does not buy it. She usually doesn’t, but her features soften anyway and she pats him on his uninjured shoulder before she leaves. 

“Don’t let him get out of bed,” she instructs his companion. “Got it, Lan Wangji?”

Lan Wangji nods. “Thank you, Wen-daifu.”

And then it’s just the two of them, in this too-sterile hospital room, staring at each other. The little crease is still there between Lan Wangji’s brow, and Wei Wuxian’s nose is still itchy, but it feels a little too awkward to be taking care of that particular problem now. He clears his throat and looks away with a wry grin.

“Hey,” he says again. “Thanks for today, Lan Zhan. Really. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Lan Wangji says nothing, but the hand resting on the sheets beside his curls into a fist. His face is impassive as always, but there is a twitch in the muscles of his sharp jaw that gives away the extent of his displeasure. Wei Wuxian shifts around, adjusting his position in bed and winces at the discomfort in his shoulder still dulled by the effects of the anaesthetic. Being the subject of Lan Wangji’s disapproval has never been a pleasant experience, but it feels different this time.

He stretches his index finger and taps the knuckles of the fist resting beside him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t be upset, Lan Zhan. I’m fine. Look!”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepens and the corners of his mouth turn down imperceptibly as he drops his gaze to the bed.

“You should not have done it,” he says stiffly. Unhappily. “You were the target, you should have stayed behind me—”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says with a click of his tongue. “I couldn’t stand back and do nothing, could I? You could have been shot!”

“And now you’ve been shot!” The force behind his words startle Wei Wuxian into silence. “Wei-xiansheng. I am your bodyguard. My job is to protect you. Not the other way around.”

Wei Wuxian gnaws on the inside of his cheek and looks up at the ceiling. The tiles are plain and white, as sterile as the rest of the room. It makes his skin crawl.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he says finally. “Not for me.”

“That is my job,” Lan Wangji reminds him. He sighs, frustrated. “Wei-xiansheng, we’ve been over this. Your personal safety should be at the forefront of your concerns.”

“Your brother tells me to leave the worrying to you,” Wei Wuxian says with a wry grin. “That as long as you’re here, I’ll be in safe hands. Or is that not true?”

It is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Lan Wangji’s knuckles turn white and the sheets crumple and twist beneath his fingers. He’s shaking so hard the bed begins to trembling, just slightly, but enough for Wei Wuxian to feel it rattle. He opens his mouth, ready to placate him, but Lan Wangji is faster.

“We cannot protect you if you do not protect yourself first,” he bites out through gritted teeth. “You keep—throwing yourself into dangerous situations without thinking. It was pure luck that you weren’t hurt, or killed any of those times before—”

“Well, not just luck. You’re just really good at your job,” Wei Wuxian interjects. He shrinks under Lan Wangji’s glare, chastened. “Sorry, please continue.”

Lan Wangji exhales and relaxes his grip on the bedsheets.

“I’m doing the best I can to protect you,” he says in a small, defeated tone that weighs heavily on Wei Wuxian’s chest. “But I can’t always be there. I-I can’t always help you when you’re in trouble, Wei Ying.”

Oh. Realisation hits him like a tonne of bricks and he lays there, craning his neck against the terrible pillows, looking at Lan Wangji. His shoulders are slumped, his head bowed; there are dark circles under his eyes and the faint hint of stubble along his jaw, a far cry from his usual crisp, professional demeanour. Wei Wuxian grimaces as a wave of nausea hits him, although he’s not sure if it’s due to the anaesthetic or the guilt churning in his stomach.

Lan Wangji is there immediately, the hurt on his face replaced by concern. 

“Is the wound hurting?” he asks. “I will call Wen-daifu—”

“No, no don’t,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, grabbing onto his hand before he can leave. He feels Lan Wangji’s hand jerk beneath his as if to pull away, and is grateful when he doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”

He chances a look at Lan Wangji and finds his honey-coloured eyes wide and his mouth soft and open with surprise as he stares down at him. It lasts only a second before it disappears behind a mask again, but it’s enough to send his heart tripping over itself and blood rushing to his cheeks. He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he continues, staring determinedly at the railing on the other side of the bed. “I just…I didn’t even realise I was moving until I was, you know? I saw the gun pointed at you and my body just…reacted.”

He laughs, blinking back sudden wetness in his eyes.

“I just didn’t want to see you hurt,” he finishes quietly.

He doesn’t dare look at Lan Wangji to gauge his reaction, but he hears the sharp intake of breath and feels the hand in his shift. It turns over and returns his grip, engulfing his hand in a warm, gentle grip.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathes. “Wei Ying, look at me?”

His eyes are warm and gentle, tinged with sadness. He lifts Wei Wuxian’s hand and clasps it in both of his, bringing it to his cheek and brushing his lips over the knuckles. The brief contact sends tingles rushing down Wei Wuxian’s arms and his heart does an involuntary little flip. And then Lan Wangji smiles, no more than a tiny little quirk at the corner of his lips, but it is enough to send his heart rate skyrocketing—which is embarrassingly reflected in the sudden spike on the ECG machine still beeping away merrily by his bed.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, the words ghosting over his fingers. “I don’t want to see you hurt either.”

The matter-of-factness in his tone fills Wei Wuxian with a warm, fuzzy feeling he’s quite sure does not relate to the anaesthetic. He offers him a sheepish little smile and strokes his thumb over the back of Lan Wangji’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice. “I won’t do it again.”

Lan Wangji huffs.

“Yes you will,” he says with a hint of fondness in his voice. “But thank you.”

Notes:

xiansheng (先生) - Mr

daifu (大夫) - Doctor, nowadays used mostly as a title suffixed to a doctor’s name, rather than referring to a doctor in general (which is yisheng 医生)

This is set in my old Bodyguard AU verse from that prompt list that went around a while back. Uhhh...set somewhere between #2 and #3 probably. But you don’t really have to read them to understand it?

// buy me a ko-fi //

[goldandlights]

of cherries and dandelions

aka lil virgin!Jas biting off more than he can chew when he propositions Geralt shortly after Posada :(

rating: explicit pairing: geraskier (pre-relationship? it could be read as casual sex) tags: top!Geralt, bottom!Jaskier, first time, sex toys, communication failure, angst and fluff

------------

It’s summer in Lyria, a mild and pleasant evening, when Jaskier leans over to Geralt and croons some saucy verse about fucking in his ear. There are no other patrons to entertain in the tavern and the young bard honestly expects nothing but the usual glaring and growling from his sourly companion. Even 2 months into their shared travels, the Witcher seems to barely tolerate his presence. Pity... but hey, Jaskier is working on it.

Geralt is as fine a specimen as he has ever seen; tall, broad and strong , with thick arms and even thicker thighs that make the bardling’s mouth water when he imagines sinking down between them. (And the hair! The eyes! -oh, his eyes… )

Between the power to crush the bones in a human’s body, reflexes so fast he can cut an arrow out of the air and senses so acute they can pick up on a mouse rustling through the underbrush half a mile away, the white-haired Witcher was undoubtedly created to be a finely-tuned killing-machine. But Jaskier can find no trace of fear within himself.

In their time together, Geralt has shown himself to be noble and quietly compassionate above all else, avoiding confrontation and violence to the point where he’d rather leave an inn, meal unfinished and bed paid-for but unused, than defend himself against those who hurl abuse (and sometimes sharp objects) at him.

It’s just not fair and so Jaskier has sworn to do anything in his power to improve the situation.

It also makes the sizzling attraction all the worse.

Not only is Geralt stupidly hot, but he’s also kind and oddly charming and it messes with the poor bard quite terribly. He can’t stop sending winks and overt, suggestive glances Geralt’s way. Can’t stop spewing flirtatious remarks and innuendo. The young man has yet to learn how to be anything other than obvious about his desire but he does already know that confidence is the name of the game.

Still, Geralt is Geralt. Tough and experienced and probably entirely straight .

So even if the mental image of all that juicy bulk pressing him down into the sheets makes Jaskier’s prick twitch and leak, he does not expect his actions to incite a response in the other man at all.

That’s his first misjudgement.

Because when faced with the 5th overt come-on in as many hours, for the 6th week in a row, Geralt huffs, rolls his eyes and- stands up?

“Come on, then,” He says gruffly, already turning towards the stairs and Jaskier’s brain grinds to a sudden, jarring halt.

Wait, what.

He stands frozen, gaping unattractively until Geralt notices his hesitation and turns around with a raised eyebrow.

“Or are you all bark and no bite after all?”

Well.

Barely 18 and still rather fresh out of Oxenfurt, Jaskier has been with a whole lot of three women and sucked cock exactly once . -under the watchful eyes of those that still knew him as Julian there hadn’t been many opportunities to experiment.

Still, the bard had his fingers, fantasies and a lovely little toy pulled from a heap of bits and bobs at a novelty shop in Vizima.

It was maybe 6 inches long with a conveniently flared base and a lovely bulge on the upper half. Add just a bit of oil and it slides in easily, the comfortable stretch setting every nerve alight. Jaskier enjoys having it in, even when he’s not hard or trying to get off, and plays with it whenever he can. It’s just so nice to be full, to clench around it, to dream of his body giving a lover pleasure this way.

Is this the opportunity he’d been waiting for? Possibly. If it is though, it’s fast slipping through his fingers. With a grunt as if to say I knew it , Geralt turns and continues his way up the stairs. Shit.

Gathering all his courage, Jaskier shakes himself out of his stupor and stumbles forwards.

When the door to their room falls shut behind him, the bard is already fully hard, blushing furiously at his own over-eagerness when Geralt takes one look at the tent in his breeches and raises a perfectly shaped brow.

Jaskier knows he mustn’t let the nervous energy twisting in his gut bubble over. The Witcher can smell emotion, at least basic ones like joy or fear, and he’ll notice any uncertainty the bard projects. How would he react? Surely Geralt has no use for an inexperienced bed-partner.

Really, Jaskier feels quite out of his depth. In their tiny room, the burly Witcher is doubly imposing and the bard has no frame of reference for how such things between men are carried out. Deciding it’s best not to lose momentum, he puts his lute down against the wall and steps up to where Geralt is standing next to the bed.

Confidence, Jaskier.

He pushes right into the man’s space and kisses him, forcefully, hands going up to grab at the broad chest he’s been staring at lustily for weeks. Immediately, Geralt is kissing back, huge hands settling on Jaskier’s waist.

Biting and sucking on soft, plush lips, he forces Jaskier back a step, then another, curbing any attempt to crowd the Witcher towards the mattress. The young man, however, is too distracted to worry about the shifting power balance. He has two handfuls of Geralt’s thick, bulging pecs to bind his attention and, oh, they’re tensing deliciously as a growl rumbles from the Witcher’s throat.

“I’m not one of your milk-maids, Jas,” he bites out and the bard finds himself picked up and damn near thrown onto the bed as though he weighs nothing at all.

After two months of yearning and awkward boners, the youthful bardling finally gets his wish of being buried alive under 200 pounds of excitable Witcher, keening and whining as he’s absolutely ravished . Either Geralt also has some sexual frustration to burn through or he’s always that intense -at least it leaves no room for nervousness.

Within minutes, Jaskier’s doublet and undershirt have been shoved off and the Witcher’s face is buried in the hair on his chest, breathing him in, sword-calloused fingers pulling and pinching at the bard’s nipples. Pain transforms into tingling pleasure and Jaskier barely contains a cry.

He had never thought to play with his chest this way; a most grievous oversight. When Geralt’s mouth latches onto one of the stiff little nubs, licking and sucking, eager little mewls start spilling from Jaskier’s mouth. Sweet Melitele . If anything, he seems to be the milk-maid in this scenario.

There’s nothing soft about the body atop of him, nothing that gives to the frenzied clutch of his hands. Geralt has divested himself of his shirt as well and Jaskier runs his hands mindlessly over the skin he can reach, drinking in the unfamiliar sensations of coarse hair and scarring under his fingertips.

The urge to spread his legs like a 3 ducat whore is a bit embarrassing but undeniable. And it’s really not fair when life rewards his shamelessness with a Witcher’s hard belly pushing down onto his prick. Jaskier nearly spills then and there from the friction. He’s so fucking hard and they haven’t even done anything yet.

If Geralt notices the wet spot at the front of his trousers, he doesn’t say anything -which is a rather small mercy overall, considering the thoughtful look the older man levels at Jaskier when he draws back, sitting up between wantonly splayed thighs to examine the young body underneath him.

“Sensitive, are you?” Geralt murmurs, drawing his calloused palms down the length of Jaskier’s quivering body.

They’re warm, so warm as they run along his vulnerable belly and sides. A gentle, soothing pressure which brings momentary respite from the urgent throbbing between Jaskier’s legs. Goosebumps prickle over his skin.

Jaskier moans breathlessly, arching his back as Geralt rubs his thumb over the soft little bump below his navel. It is answer enough.

To distract and discourage further questioning, Jaskier catches one of the Witcher’s thick wrists in one hand and makes grabby motions with the other. Even when not pitted against a Witcher’s heightened senses, Jaskier is a terrible liar. He worries if Geralt starts asking questions, the truth about his previous experience -or lack thereof- will slip out.

He’s in luck though; Geralt looks surprised but simply obliges the wordless demand.

Happily buried under a mountain of Witcher again, Jaskier seeks out his slightly chapped lips for another lovely kiss. It’s addictive. Their mouths meet languidly, and he relishes in the opportunity to card his fingers through the other man’s beautiful white hair.

Geralt, surprisingly, does not protest and does not, for the moment, make any motions towards getting on with the programme. He actually seems quite happy to stay in that position for a bit, simply enjoying the warmth and closeness of their bodies as Jaskier works to calm his racing heart.

--------

“I want to see you suck my cock.”

Spoken softly into the unexpectedly peaceful silence, Geralt’s murmur is carefully undemanding. His hungrily roaming hands, however, give away the desire hidden underneath. Nodding to the unspoken request, Jaskier lets go of the Witcher’s soft tresses to watch him undress.

That’s when Jaskier realises his second misjudgement of the night.

He knows himself to be quite average in length and girth. With his little glass toy being similarly sized, Jaskier had thus felt quite safe in the belief that, whatever his first proper male conquest was packing, he’d be able to handle it just fine.

Except that nothing about Geralt was ever average. Not his appearance, not his strength and not, apparently, his fucking dick.

>>>>> read the rest on ao3

[goldenraeofsun]

in my defense, I have none

A redo of the first installment of this verse!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky at the makeshift welcome desk a hesitant smile.

She beams back. “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed. 

He passes a couple of his old classmates - he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures, excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in years! I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can't name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face. 

“Clarence!”

Make that two. 

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting. 

When Castiel took his current job at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t skulk.” Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool,” Castiel says diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Oh well, some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired drinks, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man at the end of the drinks line.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. In tightening the budget, he cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures. Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies. 

Castiel tried to explain it was for his lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory. 

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember him,” Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t dead. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin in the beginning of their senior year. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see Dean. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he doesn’t think about when Dean would do his damndest to distract Castiel from tutoring and tease him to lighten up. Instead, Castiel remembers Dean’s flushed cheeks and grasping fingers the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with an answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel has been - well, he wouldn’t say looking forward to this reunion - but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Castiel promised himself, ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, to go to their next reunion and formally apologize.

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man’s belt unbuckles, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves just as the sounds of a clearly painful bowel movement start up behind him. 

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival school, after all.

He’s here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal.”

“Come on, Clarence,” Meg says, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as she takes in his conflicted expression. “Or should I say, what did you do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons festooning the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

Meg interrupts him loudly, “Anything except work.” 

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Did you not hear my comment about the porn and murder?”

“If anyone did, I hardly think they’d advertise it at their class reunion.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says hollowly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Castiel seizes his chance.

Meg lets him go with a half-mocking, half-supportive, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips up his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and somehow doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel waits for Dean to see him, staring hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean’s eyes go round, and he almost drops his cup of beer. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better - if he learned anything from their tutoring sessions and later hookups, Dean always had at least one surprise up his sleeve.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * * 

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for him. How in the world did Castiel get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans. 

 “I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly welcome him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” he stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got sued over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone.

“The parents who paid for those uniforms definitely didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her ideas for Edlund.”

“She’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her?” Dean explains, “She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel gives another headshake, eyes narrowing.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the only person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters a while ago.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from that.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“I haven’t heard great stuff about Morning Star,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to smite something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ��no’ on both counts.”

“I - I had thought so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says,slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to put the rest of his thoughts into words, “I should have kept our interactions to our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean further. He feels like he’s been dumped out at sea while only knowing how to doggy paddle. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean’s tense shoulders sag. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters. 

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if I didn’t tell him and Sammy didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved away. My mother has too many connections here, with the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait one measly summer for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and four years of long distance. I knew you had… feelings,” Castiel doesn’t pause at Dean’s wince at the word, “for me, but I had already taken so much from you. Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath. 

Castiel inhales a deep breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” Castiel chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking wink.

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want - we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. As Castiel fails to come up with any sensible reason, and Dean’s foot tapping becomes audible in its intensity and speed, Castiel has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.” 

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean grins. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car. 

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant instinct he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean braces both elbows on the Impala’s roof, his face serious. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam allows them to go to war and vote, but I sure as shit don’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.” 

Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “Figures you remember that part.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light.

“I forget very little when it comes to you,” Castiel finishes placidly.

Dean shakes his head as the light turns green. “Christ,” he says, his eyes flitting briefly to Castiel’s face before settling back on the road. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. It seems they got into this whole mess precisely because Castiel refused to say exactly what he thought about Dean Winchester.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. A ruddy flush crawls up his neck and face, just visible in the darkened car interior.

Castiel runs a disbelieving hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. “I never thought I’d be in the Impala again.” 

“You were the one who wanted to wait,” Dean rolls his eyes, “I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch20

I’ve been a little quiet for a bit because illness hit me hard (although thankfully not for too long).  I’m back though and I bring another chapter of the beast that keeps on growing.

Extra thanks to @willow-salix who had to deal with my post-fog writing going back a few stages and who helped beat this into some sort of coherency.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Twenty

The mood in the plane was buoyant and the air was charged with testosterone and bravado.  The transport flight was filled with Air Force personnel and their destination was Fort Hood, Texas.  Scott hummed absently, his fingers drumming out a little beat on his knee, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, normally being a passenger on a flight made him agitated as he itched to be in the pilot’s seat but today was different.  

The Army was the designated host of this year’s United States inter-service sports tournament and Fort Hood was the location where, for the next few days those selected to represent their respective services would compete in their chosen sports.  

The tournament was supposed to be a friendly coming together of the various United States forces plus the various World Security Patrol branches, and for the most part it was friendly although it would be a lie to suggest there wasn’t a certain amount of posturing and goading underneath the surface.  For those taking part it was a chance to uphold the honour of their chosen service and score some one-upmanship,  for those like Scott who had been selected before it was also a chance to settle old scores.  

For Scott it would be a blessed interlude between missions; after his last assignment he was in desperate need of some R&R but with taking leave off the cards this came a close second for allowing him to decompress and see the good side of military life. It would be a chance to indulge in some physical activity that he didn't have to think too hard about, recently his life had been nothing but one exhaustive mission after another. For once he was happy to be free from the burden of command for a while, his primary mission now was to run fast, fight hard and add as many points as possible to the Air Force tally. 

His thoughts turned to last year’s competition; he’d done well and never placed lower than fifth in any of his events despite one Seaman Jeffries of the World Navy tripping him in 1500m, an action that by rights should have seen the man disqualified.  Unfortunately the rankings were upheld with Jeffries placing second while he had struggled to regain ground and claim fifth.  The injustice still rankled and he wondered if he would have to face the nefarious Jeffries again this year.

“Sir,” Scott called across to the Major who had been designated at team captain and was in charge of the Air Force contingent, “do you have a copy of the events list I can take a look at?” 

“Sure Tracy, I brought some spares just in case” Major Ellis replied, passing a sheaf of papers across the aisle.  “You’re up on the Wednesday afternoon for your track events and then Thursday afternoon for the martial arts.  See any familiar names?”

“One or two” Scott replied as he checked out the list of competitors.  “The US Army have put Moran in the hurdles again.  I’d love to beat him this time and wipe that smug smile off his face.  I’ve never met anyone so gloating.”

Having scrutinized the running order and competitors for his own events, no Jeffries, thank God, Scott began idly flicking through the rest of the programme.  As he scanned the lists he spotted a familiar name, wanting confirmation of his suspicions he pulled out his phone and sent a message. 

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

About 40 minutes came the response.  This was quickly followed by How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you.  I wanted it to be a surprise.  If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list.  See you soon.

Scott let out an involuntary chuckle knowing Gordon would be mad at giving himself away and thus depriving himself of the element of surprise in any pranks he had planned. 

“What’s tickled your funny bone?” asked Ellis.

“It looks like you’re going to get to meet my kid brother.”

“Really?” Ellis asked curiously, opening up his own copy of the events list.  “Is he on the other flight?”

“No, Gordon isn’t Air Force, he joined WASP.”

“You’ve got a brother in WASP?  That’s a bit of a polar opposite to the Air Force.  I bet that didn’t go down too well at home.”  Scott had worked hard to build his own reputation but it was still well known who his father was and the Air Force pedigree he was following.  “Is he another sprinter like you?”

“Dad took a little persuading” a frown furrowed his brow at the memory of Gordon’s journey into WASP; ‘a little persuading’ really didn’t do it justice but he wasn’t going to have the family’s dirty laundry aired in public, “but WASP was the natural choice really, Gordon’s a swimmer.”

Major Ellis found the relevant page and looked over the listings.  The name Ensign G. Tracy leapt off the page again and again within the WASP entries.

“He’s all over the pool like a rash!  Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket.  Is he really that good?”

“You evidently don’t follow swimming that much.  I should’ve realised WASP would jump at the chance to put him on the squad.  It’s not often anyone gets to field an Olympic medallist.”  He couldn’t help the smile that split his face at the thought of seeing his brother swim again for the first time since the Games.  Gordon had dedicated so many years to his sport and had achieved glittering success that gave Scott a rush of pride at the memories.   

In the confined space of the plane their conversation was beginning to attract attention.

“What’s that about an Olympic medallist?”

“Dunno, ask Tracy.”

“Hey, Tracy, who’s got a medal?”

“My brother, Gordon.”

“You’re kidding!”

While Scott’s own unit might have been well versed in his sibling’s success story the competitors were pulled from across the Air Force, most of them complete strangers before boarding the flight.  There was a flurry of movement as a couple of people pulled out their phones and plugged the name into a search engine.  By now most of the plane was taking an interest.  It didn’t take long for someone to dig out one of the news reports; Gordon’s Olympic win had taken place less than two years previously and coverage was easy to find.

“Here, listen to this.”

Team USA continue their race to the top of the medals table with a successful day in the pool.  The crowning glory came from Gordon Tracy, a rising star in the swimming world, who not only achieved gold in the 200m butterfly but set a new world record in the process.  This achievement is made more remarkable in that Tracy is just 17 years old.

“That’s your brother!  And now he is on the WASP team?  Heck Tracy, can’t you do something like hide his trunks so the rest of us stand a chance?” one of the Air Force’s own swimmers exclaimed.

“No can do.  There is no way I’m sabotaging my own brother and don’t any of you think of trying anything either.  If you had ever met Gordon you would know that wouldn’t work anyway, he would probably just do the race butt naked.” 

xoxoxox

Gordon gazed listlessly out of the window of his own transport flight, the clouds forming an unbroken blanket below them, the vista bland and uninspiring.  After 4 fours in the air he was feeling bored, cramped and fed up.  He’d started the flight all keyed up at the thought of competing again but the long hours in the company of strangers was starting to wear thin.  For one thing there was too much trash talking for his liking, he’d never gone in for the verbal sparring side of sport but it seemed his companions very much viewed the other services as the enemy at this event.  It wasn’t an attitude he had encountered elsewhere in WASP and he hoped the bad mouthing would be constrained to these few days, it also wasn’t behaviour he could join in with in good conscious and so he had stayed quiet and kept himself to himself, trying to get back into competition mode after so long off the elite circuit.  A vibration in his pocket startled him and he pulled out his phone.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

Without thinking he typed About 40 minutes and hit the send button.  Only when it was too late did it register who had sent the original message and he realised his mistake.  He had wanted to surprise his oldest brother, the one who was hardest to meet up with due to their differing military commitments.  He’d been able to tell the wider family about his selection during his period of leave over Alan’s birthday but with Scott away on his mission he’d been able to keep the news secret from his eldest sibling.  

How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you.  I wanted it to be a surprise.  If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list.  See you soon.

Well, he supposed Scott would have found out in a few hours anyway and at least this way they would both be looking out for each other.  He wasn’t quite sure of the format of the event or how easy it would be to break away and hunt down a member of one of the other services.

xoxoxox

Gordon wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from competition or from Fort Hood but it looked like finding Scott wasn’t going to be easy.  Outside of their own events the personnel were able to watch the competition but there was very little free time beyond that.  Even if he could get away, finding his brother was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack; the different services were billeted all over the base and by the end of the first day all he knew was that WASP was sharing a dorm block with the Coastguard Service and a mess hall with the US Navy.  

Not that he had much time to brood, the swimming was taking place on the first day of the competition proper and after a hurried breakfast Gordon found himself hustled towards the pool.

He was looking forward to the chance of some competitive swimming again.  The specialist training on the Merlin had been intensive and the extended time beneath the waves had ignited a passion for marine biology but the cramped space of a submarine had hardly been conducive to physical exercise.  This competition would give him the opportunity to indulge in his first passion, he just hoped he was up to the task having been entered into far more events and across a wider range of disciplines that he was used to.

Aside from his trunks lacking the Team USA branding the competition was much like any other Gordon had attended.  A fair crowd had filled the viewing gallery but Gordon couldn’t tell if Scott was amongst those in dark blue.  Events were called, heats were swum (and usually won) and Tracy was once again a name to be reckoned with in the pool.  It felt good to be cleaving through the water again.  Despite not being in peak condition for swimming he was still in fine physical form over all and the muscle memory from all those races past carried him along to victory time and again.  The main difference to his usual style of competition was the lack of medal ceremony at the end and at the conclusion of his last race Gordon was able to wend his weary way back to the changing rooms where he flopped down on a bench. 

Pressing his shoulders against the cold tiles, eyes closed and head tipped back, the last of his energy was spent.  It had been a long time since he’d pushed himself to those lengths in the water and normally his race card was rather more sparse, one elite athlete among many, each responsible for their own specialisms.  The problem was, despite the high physical standards demanded by the military, elite athletes were in short supply and his pool times had placed him as primary candidate across more events than he was really comfortable taking on but he hadn’t felt able to say no to his superiors this early in his WASP career.

He concentrated on his breathing, listening to the hum and chatter of the other competitors around him, a cluster of WASPs gloating about their healthy position in the league table were his nearest companions.  He knew he ought to be getting dry, knew he ought to be digging out the tracksuit he’d been issued for the event, but his limbs felt leaden.  He wanted to be collapsed on his bunk but that involved moving and right now moving felt an impossible task.

“Gordon, eat something.”

He sensed a dimming of the light levels through his eyelids as a figure stepped between him and the harsh lights of the changing room.  The voice was commanding but his eyes stayed firmly shut and his body refused to obey. 

The figure in front of him was causing quite a stir but then that was typical of Scott.  He tended to exude an attitude as though he owned a place and this evidently wasn’t going down well with the WASPs around him who bristled with resentment at the young figure in Air Force blue invading their section of the changing rooms.  There were muttered jibes, reminiscent of those from the flight over, but the intruder wasn’t giving the WASP delegation the rise they so clearly desired.  Having failed in their goading one of his team mates decided to square up to the man they evidently viewed as the opposition.

“And who the hell are you to order us around, flyboy?”  

Scott’s eyes glittered at the challenge, a warning look that Gordon would have recognised from his own childhood had he been fully cognizant of the situation, Scott was not in any mood to be pushed. 

“That’s Captain to you” there was a pause as he took in the insignia worn by the other man, neither were in traditional uniform but the competition sports kit still had a place for rank slides; after all, the military thrived on hierarchy “Chief Petty Officer, although I accept you may not be familiar with the rank structures of the other services”  

Scott turned his attention back to his brother, ignoring the WASP who was now brisling after being firmly put in his place.  He was well aware of the animosity being directed towards him but his focus was his sibling, not some jumped up sardine with a chip on his shoulder.  He’d been concerned at the amount of events Gordon had pulled, and now, seeing his brother in the aftermath, he knew that concern had been justified.  The figure in front of him was breathing a little too shallowly for comfort and hadn’t moved from the moment Scott had spied him from across the changing room.  It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother swim himself to this level of stupor, years of competing had made Gordon pretty well attuned to his bodily needs, but evidently today he had neglected his post-race routine. 

Gordon had gotten as far as taking off his swim cap but no further, water dripped down his torso from the flattened hair that was still slick from the showers.  Even accounting for his time under the waves his skin was far paler than Scott was used to seeing.  He’d come down with the intention of congratulating his brother on his success in the water but now his primary concern had turned to Gordon’s basic wellbeing.  

Scott knew he had to get his blood sugars back up again.  He grabbed his brother’s kit bag and rooted around in the end pocket.  He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as his fingers closed around the packet of glucose tablets it appeared his brother still had the sense to carry.  He extracted two tablets from the tube and, crouching down in front of his brother, placed them in Gordon’s palm before closing the lax fingers over them.

“Gords, you still with me?  You need to get these into you.”

He paused while Gordon’s body processed the order, then let out a little breath of relief as the arm jerked up and Gordon began to suck on the tablets.  

He hadn’t seen his brother crash this bad since he was about twelve.  An early promotion to senior squad had seen the pre-teen eager to please his new coach while trying not to show anything that could be construed as weakness by his new and much older team mates and so the kid had forgone his post-race refuel.  The result then had been Gordon turning a grim shade of grey and falling off the medal podium in a dead faint.  

With the glucose tablets administered Scott turned his attention back to Gordon’s kit bag and pulled out a celery crunch bar, a firm favourite for the swimmer.  He opened it and placed it in Gordon’s now empty hand.  This was evidently an imposition too far for the WASP already disgruntled at being put in his place by the young captain.

“With all due respect Sir” there was a distinct sneer behind the formality “there’s no eating allowed in the changing rooms.”

If Scott’s eyes had glittered before, now they blazed with anger and contempt.  Rising from his crouch in front of Gordon, he drew himself up to his full height and positively loomed over the belligerent WASP.

“With all due respect I would have thought you would rather your team mate got his blood sugars up, or does your first aid training not cover hypoglycaemia?” He took a step towards the WASP, encroaching into the man’s personal space in a clear display of dominance.  “Not that you seem to be acting as a team right now.  Would half of you even be here if it wasn’t for the relay events, or maybe you tried to enter him for all four legs of that at well?”

With the glucose hitting his blood stream Gordon became more aware of the increasing commotion around him.  Voices that had once been jubilant now had a dangerous and angry edge and…yes...most of the anger seemed to be coming from Scott. 

Something tripped blearily in his brain; what on Earth was Scott doing here and why did he suddenly feel so cold?  Amber eyes cracked open and he forced his head open off the wall.  The movement was clocked by Scott who was back in front of him in an instant. 

“Hey Fish, you back with me?”  All traces of anger had gone as he turned his attention back to his Gordon, the Air Force Captain replaced by the brother of old; the caregiver with the ready supply of band aids, ice packs and gentle admonishment as he presented yet another injury for inspection.  

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good.”  He looked down in confusion at the crunch bar in his hand, not entirely sure how it had got there, but took a bite anyway.  “Guess I should have known better than to skip refuel.”

“Yeah, you should” 

Yup, that was the Scott he knew from Kansas.  Gordon felt like he was 9 years old again, being told off for being an idiot in the same ‘I told you so’ tone that had made it quite clear that of course jumping off the shed roof or using the frayed rope swing had been a bad idea. 

“Yeah, thanks for that” A snort, an eye roll, and a re-emergence of the same attitude common to his past nine year old self. 

“You’re okay now though, right?  You’ll finish your bar and get dressed?  Glucose tabs are back in the end pocket if you need more.”

“I’m fine, honest.”  Okay, the slight whine was a little too much like a kid but he was tired and there was something about Scott’s familiar care that had him regressing 10 years.  He forced protesting muscles to obey and hauled his back off the wall, rolling his shoulders to try and loosen the muscles that were rapidly seizing up.  He tried to suppress a groan at the exertion, he wasn’t quite ready to try standing until after the crunch bar was finished but he also knew Scott would not be pacified until he saw some sort of response.  The skeptical look he was given showed that Scott still wasn’t entirely convinced.  Mustering up his remaining energy he returned the look with a grin which seemed to appease the elder Tracy.

“Hmm”, Scott didn't sound like he believed him but couldn't argue it, “well, get dry and get your kit on.  You did good out there.  I’ll be on the track tomorrow afternoon; I’ll see you there.”  Without waiting for an answer Scott turned and exited the changing rooms.

The departure of the Air Force officer was followed with an outburst of grumbling from the WASP delegation.  

“Asshole.  Who the hell does he think he is, ordering us around?”

Gordon still hadn’t found his footing among the other swimmers, or the wider WASP delegation.  He might be the highest ranking of those at the pool but he was also by far the youngest and with the shortest amount of service under his belt by a country mile.  Rank structures overall seemed to be treated differently during the competition and these particular team mates seemed to have little regard for authority.  He was conscious that a wrong move now could make life distinctly unpleasant for him, he might never see these men again after the competition was over but he still had to get through several more days in their company.  He decided to play it for what it was; Scott being an irritating older brother.

“That was Scott.  I think he got the whole older brother thing hard wired in at birth.”

“You’re related to that?” There was a contemptuous sneer aimed at Scott’s retreating form that set Gordon’s hackles raising but he knew sniping back would be an error.

“Yup.  Of course, I got blessed with the good looks while he got the height.”  He flashed a grin, trying to diffuse the tensions.

“Is he always such a jerk?” a Seaman sat to his right piped up, finding his voice now the imposing Captain was no longer practically standing on his toes. 

Gordon shrugged; evidently the tensions were still there.  “Only when he needs to be.  I should’a thought to  grab the glucose tabs myself after that many races.  It’s been a while since I hit the pool competitively.”

There was a slight shuffling from the other swimmers, signs of guilt at not looking out for the young Ensign that had carried the team.  Scott’s words about the rest of them only being there to make up the numbers for the relay, while not wholly accurate, weren’t far off the truth.  They were all back in their dry kit while Gordon was still in his trunks, his skin still pale from the exertion even if his eyes had regained some brightness.

“Anyway,” he scruffed at his hair before drying off the rest of his body ready for dressing, “I need some real food after that and then I need to find out where the track events are being held.”

A snort.  “Well we’ll be watching the shooting tomorrow.  You can join us, or are you really going to do what big brother tells you?”  

There was a challenge in the tone but Gordon was feeling more alive again and less tolerant of their needling.  “I’m not going because he told me to, I’m going because he’s my brother and I want to.  In my family we support each other and Scott, well, he’s done a lot for me.”

Decision made and allegiances stated he swung his kit bag over his shoulder and headed out to find some food.  

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part twelve)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

I’m on the bus with no WiFi, so I’ll add a read more and put the links in when I get home

Word count: 2317

——————————

“You WHAT?!”

Isabella winced at Catalina’s shrill tone, ruffling her feathers in agitation. Today, she was dressed in a long, flowing copper dress with onyxes embedded into the fabric around the train and bust. Ruby rings clicked against the arms of her throne as she tapped her fingers in annoyance.

“Child, please,” The queen said, rubbing her temples. “Lower your voice. You are being terribly noisy and it’s starting to give me a headache.”

“You work for HENRY?!” Catalina yelped loudly, ignoring her mother’s words. “Wh-why?!”

“Support, of course.” Isabella answered as if that should have been obvious to her daughter. “And power. And treasure.” She examined her shiny rings with a crooked smile. “The deal was that if we let Henry fight and take shelter on our land, he would pay us handsomely. And pay he did.”

Ferdinand grinned toothily at her side, running his fingers over the golden chains hanging around his neck.

“When did this happen?” Catalina asked.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Why does it matter to you? You ran away. This is hardly your home anymore after you left us.”

Catalina winced, but Katherine could see phoenix gold feathers bristling out of the back of her tunic.

“Regardless of if it’s my home or not, I will not let it fall beneath Henry.” Catalina said. “You can’t keep this deal up. Henry is awful. His soldiers tortured Ilam, who you GAVE TO THEM! They ripped his wings out!”

“That was his own fault,” Isabella said breezily. “He shouldn’t have been getting involved in the troops anyway.”

“He’s one of our PEOPLE! YOUR people! You’re his queen and you--”

“Hush up!” Isabella roared. “I will not allow you to speak to me this way any longer!”

“I think what Catalina is just trying to say is,” Katherine said, stepping in calmly, “that Henry shouldn’t be trusted and she’s worried over the safety of you and the other people here.”

“Shut your mouth, Dagger-Head.” Isabella snapped. “Stay out of this.”

At her side, Catalina’s expression contorted with pure rage, fury flashing in her eyes. Feathers bristled up further as she yelled, “You will NOT speak to my sister that way!”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared: the guards, looking from between the princess to the queen in bewilderment; Ferdinand, blinking; Katherine, pleasantly surprised at being called Catalina’s sister; Catalina, seething; Isabella, glaring.

And then, Isabella snorted.

“Your sister?” The queen snorted again. “Don’t you want to know where your REAL sister is?”

Catalina went silent.

A minute later, Katherine and Catalina were being led down a side hallway by Isabella. They were taken into a room built around an oasis pool, which seemed to be steaming with warm water. Bristling aloe vera plants were bunched in the spaces between white-clothed beds, and sandstone shelves were neatly packed full of vials and plants with healing remedies. Two Aasimar nurses were inside, one with dark skin and one with greenish-grey skin. There was only one patient in the bed, a small Aasimar with faintly tangerine tanned skin and wings the color of goldfish scales.

“Izzy!!”

Catalina raced across the space, startling one nurse into nearly toppling into the pool. She dropped to her knees and clasped one of her unconscious little sister’s hands in both of hers.

Katherine walked over, and realized just how young Izzy really was. She was only slightly older than Joan, maybe sixteen or barely seventeen. Her face was youthful and round, with sprinkles of dark freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Bandages were bright white against her orangey skin, wrapped tightly around her chest, left leg, and right wing. A fresh scratch was across her throat, but didn’t look deep enough to do any real damage.

“The other side did this to your precious little sister,” Isabella said, looming over the bed. There wasn’t an ounce of concern in her eyes when she looked down at her youngest child. “And it was Henry’s troops that brought her back here instead of leaving her out in the sun to die. They definitely sound very cruel.”

“When did this happen?” Catalina asked softly, squeezing Izzy’s hand.

“A week ago,” Isabella answered. “I’m disappointed to find that she has yet to get up. I didn’t realize there was so much weakness in my bloodline. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She touched the medallions around her neck and chuckled lowly.

Catalina growled softly, gritting her teeth in a flash of rage. Katherine knelt beside her and set a hand on her back for support.

“Has she woken up at all?” Katherine asked the nurses.

“She has,” The dark-skinned one said. “But she’s still very weak.”

“She may have to relearn how to fly,” Said the other. “The gash across it was bad. But it’s healing well.”

Katherine heard Catalina take several deep breaths to try and calm herself and she rubbed her back. “She’s going to be okay, Lina,” She whispered to her friend. “She’ll be alright.”

Isabella scoffed lightly, and Katherine glared at her fiercely. Isabella quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Do you have something to say, elf?” The queen said. “Let’s hear it.”

“When did Izzy start fighting in the war?” Catalina asked, stopping Katherine from snapping at her mother. “She isn’t a fighter.”

“Clearly,” Isabella said. “She joined a year ago. I’m quite surprised she even lasted this long.”

Catalina looked absolutely devastated. She ran her thumbs over Izzy’s knuckles, whispering things to her in a Celestial language that Katherine couldn’t understand.

“Don’t you see, child?” Isabella said. “Henry’s forces are good. He is treating us very well. And it was the other side of the war that hurt poor little Isabella II. They sure do sound like saints.”

Catalina shook her head. “I’ve seen what Henry can do. He kills people. Innocent people. He can’t be trusted, Mother.”

Isabella stared down at Catalina. “Hm.” She said, and then took out her hidden curved knife and began slicing through the bending membrane of Izzy’s right wing.

“NO!!” Catalina shrieked, throwing herself at her mother. At the same moment, Izzy jerked awake and began screaming in pain. “Don’t hurt her!!”

But it was too late. A long, jagged gash had been cut from the base of the wing, across the patagium, and all the way to the wrist, severing muscles and tendons in the process. Dark red blood rapidly began engulfing goldfish orange feathers until it looked like Izzy had actually been born with one orange wing and one red wing. After a moment of spasming in pure agony, Izzy went limp on the bed and Catalina lunged back to her, shaking her frantically.

“Izzy?! Izzy!!” The princess cried. Her little sister’s blood dripped down onto her trousers, staining them in dark, grueling patches.

“I’m not sure why you’re panicking so much,” Isabella said calmly. She wiped her knife clean on a bloodless area of Izzy’s bedsheets. “We aren’t losing anything. The stronghold you and your little leaf-licking, oozebait companion destroyed was going to be delivering medical supplies that would help her. Not anymore, though. Might as well put her out of her misery.”

Catalina shook her head furiously. She looked at Katherine, tears brimming brightly in her eyes, and begged, “Help her. Please, help her.”

Katherine nodded and quickly got to work, joined by the other two nurses. Isabella rolled her eyes and walked out like nothing had happened.

Katherine and the green-skinned nurse began applying heated towels to the wound on Izzy’s wing, pressing down when the blood kept bubbling out. The dark-skinned nursed prepared aloe vera and gauze to wrap the cut with. In the middle of the procedure, Izzy stirred and her dark amber eyes cracked open.

“Wha…?” She slurred.

“Izzy,” Catalina perked up at her side. She cupped her little sister’s cheek to make her look at her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“L-Lina…?” Izzy’s cloudy eyes widened. “You’re…you’re back! You’re home!”

Catalina smiled shakily. “Yeah, I’m home. I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Izzy whispered hoarsely, leaning her head into Catalina’s palm. “I missed you so much…”

Catalina sniffled, fighting tears. “I missed you, too, sweetheart. I heard you’re fighting now. I’m so proud of you! That takes so much strength.”

Izzy beamed at that, despite the pain she had to have been in. “R-really? I was scared, but…I’m glad you think I’m strong.” She then winced, letting out a soft whine. “L-Lina? M-my wing hurts. R-really bad.”

“Shh, shh,” Catalina caressed Izzy’s cheek. “I know, honey, I know. But the nurses and my friend are gonna take good care of you. You’ll feel better in no time.” Trying to distract her little sister, she took one of her hands and pressed it against her belly. “Guess what? You’re going to be an auntie soon!”

Izzy’s eyes lit up as she looked at the baby bump. “Woah! Really?”

“Really,” Catalina smiled. “You’re gonna be the best auntie ever, right?”

“Right!” Izzy grinned weakly. “I’m gonna-- I’m gonna…” Her head lolled to the side and Catalina went ridge, the color draining from her face.

“I-Izzy? Izzy?!”

Katherine darted to Catalina’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to ground her in her panic. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. She’s just unconscious. She’s still here.”

Catalina took several shaky breaths, teetering on the edges of full blown hysteria. “W-will she be okay?”

“We’ll do everything we can, princess,” The green-skinned nurse said.

And they did. They really did. But the tendons and muscles in Izzy’s wing had been badly damaged. The nurses began to worry that she would never fly again.

“She’ll live,” The dark-skinned nurse said in a hushed whisper, glancing at Izzy in her bed. Her wing was wrapped up thoroughly, with stitches lying beneath the thick bandages. Catalina was no longer in the room, she had rushed out in tears a long time ago to be alone, but they all still spoke quietly to avoid waking the patient up. “But her wing… I’m worried it won’t be functional, even after it heals.”

Katherine frowned. “I see…” She said. “I’m going to go see Catalina. Thank you for your help.”

The nurses dipped their heads.

Katherine spent a few minutes looking for Catalina, but couldn’t find her anywhere. And then a pair of guards whistled to her and nodded towards a staircase that led up to a balcony. When Katherine walked up, she found an area that she could use to climb onto the roof of the palace, so she did.

There, sitting near the edge with her knees pulled close to her chest, was Catalina, her wings open and out.

Her wings were absolutely magnificent. They were the color of phoenix feathers, and the sunset beaming down on them seemed to set the plumage ablaze with glistening fire-like light. Deep golden yellow bled down into candlelight and dusky orange and turned to gradients of ruby red with veins of copper-gold streaking through them.

Katherine had never seen them out before.

Katherine sat down next to Catalina, and felt the soft feathers brush against her arm.

“Is she okay?” Catalina whispered.

“Yes, she is.” Katherine told her. “She’ll be fine. She’ll recover, she just--” She faltered, but had to break the news: “She may not fly again.”

Catalina sobbed softly. “Maybe I should rip my own wings off, then.”

“No.” Katherine said instantly. “Do not do that. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Catalina looked at her, and her dark eyes held so much grief. “It’s what I deserve. I couldn’t protect her, even when the danger was right there in front of me. I couldn’t stop Mother fast enough.” She tentatively touched her stomach, then ripped her hand away, like she thought she may hurt the baby inside of her. She sobbed. “Kat, if I can’t even protect my sister, how could I possibly protect my own child?”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Katherine murmured, wiping Catalina’s tears away with her thumbs. “It’s not your fault, Lina.”

“It is!” Catalina cried, fresh tears exploding from her eyes. “It is, Kat! I can’t protect ANYONE!” She buried her face in her hands and shook her head miserably. “Do you know what Mother did after Maria died?” She peeked out and looked at Kat, despair written all over her expression. “She put her head on the Bull statue’s horn as a symbol for what happened when she was challenged. As a sign of her dominance. And she left it there until it turned into a skull. Izzy and I had to watch our big sister’s decapitated fucking head rot out in the sun for weeks, getting her eyes pecked out and eaten by birds and her skin decaying right in front of us every day. We couldn’t even bury her with her head! Mother restricted us from taking it for the burial even though we BEGGED and PLEADED!” Her voice cracked and broke from her outburst and she sobbed. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. But now, with Izzy, I could have saved her from Mother and I DIDN’T!”

“Oh, Lina,” Katherine murmured, realizing how scarred her dear friend was. “Oh, honey… Come here. Come here.”

Catalina collapsed into Katherine’s arms, sobbing. Katherine held her protectively against her chest, rubbing up and down her back. She could feel Catalina’s wings twitch around her, soft and warm to the touch.

“It’s not your fault, Lina, it isn’t.” Katherine said. “You stayed with Izzy, didn’t you? You were there with her when she woke up. Did you see how happy she was to see you?”

Catalina sniffled against her collarbone, whimpering.

“You’re a wonderful sister, honey.” Katherine went on. “And you’re going to be an amazing mother. I know you are.”

Catalina said something watery in response.

“Shh, shh,” Katherine soothed. “It’s okay. Go ahead and cry. I’ll be right here until you’re ready to talk. I’ll always be here.”

[chestnut-b]

Himawari - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of a Kimetsu no Yaiba-verse AU

“This place really stinks, sensei. Can we please get out of here already!”

Kakashi, Iruka and Naruto stood before a small wisteria grove. To Kakashi’s surprise, Iruka had been the one to suggest this little detour. Perhaps their conversation last week had sparked some sense of urgency.

He glanced at the boy who was pinching his nose, whining while tugging on his guardian’s sleeve. The fact that Naruto’s only reaction for now was just plain annoyance and disgust bode well for them.

He’d seen Kushina have a much stronger reaction in the presence of these flowers, and that was before the morning sickness had kicked in. Minato had to carry her out on his back that night.

He turned his attention to Iruka, who was looking decidedly relieved. He placed a hand on Naruto’s head, ruffling his hair apologetically. “Sorry, Naruto. I’ll need a few minutes, you can stand further away with Kakashi-san if you want.” Kakashi had to stifle a chuckle when the boy merely side-eyed him before turning back and stating “I’m gonna wait here, but hurry up!”

So Iruka did. Swiftly, he made his way up one of the smaller trees. Using a kunai, he started gathering some of the wisteria blossoms into a pouch he’d brought along. It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of Naruto again.

“How are you feeling? I need you to tell me if you feel anything unusual, ok?”

“I’m fine! What I don’t get is how you two can stand the smell of this stuff.”

With his own heightened sense of smell, Kakashi could relate, if only a little. He certainly didn’t find the same grievances with it that Naruto did. The fragrance of the Wisteria could be overwhelming, but for any slayer, it was a smell associated only with safety and relief.

“Let’s get going then.” Iruka led the way to the seal they’d used to enter this grove, carved into the trunk of an ancient tree.

“They perform the same function as paper seals, but the ground’s energy keeps these ones active indefinitely, at least until they’re destroyed by force.” He had explained one afternoon. Kakashi had seen the map on one of Iruka’s more obliging days. Like the facets of a skilfully cut jewel, the locations of seals placed throughout the bounded field surrounding the school, for entry and escape.

It allowed them to cover a remarkable distance in a short time, but anyone caught in the labyrinth would be driven mad with disorientation.

He didn’t want to imagine the amount of work it had taken to build the routes.

It was also probably a good thing that the school had been set up in what was colloquially known as “The Forest of Death”. Demons were not the only things humans had to be wary of. Kakashi had been lucky not to run into the more monstrous residents so far, but that did not mean he was deaf to the bellows and howls that reached his ears from time to time.

Even the children were familiar with the dangers that lurked outside the walls. He’d heard Naruto regale his classmates with the account of the monster chicken that had broken into his room and tore up Iruka’s bed with its sickle-like claws one night. Apparently Iruka had been feeling particularly merciful that day, and allowed it to escape with its life barely intact.

The threesome soon found themselves out of the grove much to Naruto’s relief. He busied himself by comically sucking in more palatable air, while Iruka scanned their surroundings.

“We’ve got some distance to cover before we get to town, but this will help.” He retrieved a paper seal from the sleeve of his sea-blue haori, and placed it on the trunk of another large tree. Stepping close, he laid a single finger in the middle before closing his eyes, eyebrows knitted close in concentration, lips moving in a silent incantation. Ink-like tendrils began to emerge from the spot under his finger, and soon the paper was marked.

“Would I be able to do that?”

If Iruka was surprised at all, he did a good job of hiding it. Kakashi had moved up just beside him for a better view.

“I’m not sure how much of an advantage this would be in a fight, Kakashi-san.” He’d let out a little cough to distract from his reddening face. “If you don’t have a clear picture of your destination when you do this, the results could be...unfortunate.”

“You sound like you know this from experience.” Kakashi teased.

“One doesn’t learn before failing a few times.” The teacher dead-panned. “It’s also why we never base an exit point on the ground.”

Oh...that would certainly be unfortunate.

Having wrongly assumed Kakashi’s curiosity was satiated (or having chosen to ignore it altogether), Iruka turned his attention to the boy behind them.

“Naruto! We’re going!”

“Hey, don’t leave me behind!” He cried, running up to them.

Iruka smiled fondly, and offered a hand to the boy, who grabbed it without hesitation. He then turned to Kakashi, offering the same. Naruto’s expression soured immediately, which he found endlessly amusing.

“We need to be in contact when we go through, sorry, Kakashi-san.”

“Oh sensei, I thought you’d never ask.” Kakashi beamed, placing his hand atop Iruka’s before squeezing it gently. It prompted a flush and a wave of indignant noises, just as planned.

“Try not to let go unless you don’t mind losing a limb or two.”

Kakashi felt the warm hand grasp his just a bit tighter as they stepped forward.

---------------------------------------

It took two more hours of travelling before they finally reached their destination, a bustling town near one of the major cross roads leading to the capital city. Naruto’s eyes wandered, taking in the sheer amount of people with a sense of awe. Iruka led them through a few market streets before stopping in front of a building that smelled strongly of medicinal herbs. Kakashi knew it as one housing a slayer-affiliated apothecary.

“Naruto and I will be here for a while, feel free to take a walk.”

“I gotta go in too?” Naruto asked. Iruka merely nodded, and motioned him through the curtains.

It was just after midday and the town was abuzz with activity. His nose twitched at the smell of grilled fish, but Kakashi decided to wait till the pair were done before suggesting they break for lunch. He continued down the street, stopping to pick up some dried meat for the pack.

“Hey mister! We got some lovely glass from the Uzumaki islands, beautiful pieces! If you’re looking for something for the lady here, there’s plenty to pick from!” Across the street, a vendor was entertaining a young couple who had stopped to admire his wares. Kakashi ambled past, but not before taking a quick glance at the goods before moving on.

By the time he made it back to where he left his companions, Naruto was sitting on a bench in front of the building, swinging his legs while watching the people walk by. Kakashi took a seat beside him, expecting some kind of protest in response, but found none. Now that he looked closer, the boy was looking unusually glum.

“Iruka still inside?”

“Yeah…hey, Kakashi-sensei.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. Usually it was something more like “Bakashi-sensei” or “Karashi-sensei”.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone at school thinks I’m sick, but I feel totally fine. Is there something wrong with me?”

“Not as far as I can see. But I haven’t known you very long have I?”

“I guess…” Naruto paused and looked to the entrance of the building.

Kakashi sensed the boy’s unease. Even though he kept it to himself, Iruka was obviously weighing heavily on his mind. The boy must have seen the state of Iruka’s health throughout the years, children were surprisingly observant when they wanted to be.

The Hashira had been unceremoniously shaken awake from his morning nap by the teacher, informing him they’d be dropping into town today. At the gate, Izumo had jokingly asked for a souvenir on their way back from Naruto’s visit to the doctor. It seemed these trips were routine. It wasn’t difficult to guess for whom these trips were actually for.

“If I was as strong as you, he wouldn’t have to worry so much.”

“You’re doing just fine, Naruto.” He really was. Today’s showing at the wisteria grove wasn’t just to Iruka’s relief.

Naruto didn’t say anything, but leapt to his feet when Iruka, looking a little worn, stepped out of the curtains, his bag looking a little fuller than when they came.

“The boy is perfectly healthy. It’s you I’m worried about. Take care of yourself, Iruka-kun.” It was soft; an aged voice tinged with worry. Kakashi barely caught it all.

Iruka turned around to bow gratefully, thanking the proprietor before joining the pair waiting for him.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Iruka-nii, are you okay?”

“Naruto...I told you to call me ‘sensei’ in public didn’t I?”

“What does it matter? There’s no one else around!”

Iruka ruffled his hair with a sigh. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset, not with that smile on his face.

“You guys must be hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

Iruka looked at Kakashi and beamed. It made something in his stomach do a flip. Having spent nearly a month with the teacher, and having been on the receiving end of a whole repertoire of these, Kakashi knew this smile in particular meant trouble for him.

“Naruto, because you did so well today, Kakashi-san’s treating us to ramen!”

What? Said who?

“Ramen?! Really?” The boy was now looking at him with a disturbingly starry-eyed gaze.

Sigh.

He still hadn’t let the bed thing go? They’d already spent an afternoon sewing that thing back together. Iruka could be so petty sometimes.

“Yeeaaah. I am.”  

Kakashi couldn’t pretend to be annoyed, not with that look on Iruka’s face.

---------------------------------------

The smell of boiling soup stock and roasting meat had reached Kakashi’s nose far earlier than he’d seen the noodle stand. Ramen was a heavier meal than he would have liked in this weather, but if the two with him were going to be so excited about it, he wasn’t going to say anything. It did smell very good.

“Oh! If it ain’t Iruka and Naruto!” An obviously fond voice bellowed from behind the counter.

“Welcome back sensei! It’s been a while!”

“Teuchi-san, Ayame-san, we’re back!” Iruka returned, with just as much enthusiasm.

There were only three empty seats at the counter, and Naruto had placed himself squarely in the middle. Kakashi couldn’t help but roll his eyes when Naruto stuck his tongue out at him before settling in this seat.

Iruka gave Kakashi a quick introduction before ordering for the three. Soon enough, they had heaping bowls of piping hot noodles placed in front of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Kakashi spied Naruto staring at him with an expectant look. He yelped in surprise when Iruka flicked his head in admonishment.

“Manners, Naruto.” That was all he said before placing his palms together.

The three said their thanks for the meal, and dug in.

---------------------------------------

“Looks like rain, Kakashi-san. We best hurry back while there’s light out.”

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the entry point of the bounded field, and the dark clouds that they’d seen on the horizon had moved to greet them. They’d just passed the third barrier, and now they stood at the remains of what was probably once a large pine. All that was left was a broken, blackened stump.

“This is bad. This one’s been destroyed.”

“What could have done it?” Kakashi asked.

“It’s hard to say. Could be monsters, could be lightning. It’s a recent one too. Nobody’s reported it yet. We have to use another route.”

The crack of thunder that followed was ominous, made worse by the wave of rain that descended upon them. Iruka wasted no time in activating another paper seal, and soon they found themselves taking shelter in a cave overlooking a gushing, swelling ravine.

“Iruka-nii?” It was soft, but Naruto’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and into the darkness. Kakashi didn’t know how deep the cave system was, but if he had any luck at all, he wouldn’t have to find out. The smell wafting from the depths didn’t sit well with him.

He was distracted from his thoughts when his ears picked up the sound of laboured breathing.

The teacher was leaning against the wall, a hand braced to prop himself up. Kakashi could only see his back, but he recognised the struggle for what it was. He barely made it to him before Iruka crumpled into a heap against his chest.

“Iruka-sensei!”

A struggle for breath, followed by a series of chest-wracking coughs. Kakashi placed a hand to his forehead; a little warm, but not to the point of a fever, not yet. Naruto was crouched beside them, worry plastered on his small face.

“Overdoing it as usual, Iruka.” Kakashi sighed. Removing his haori, he folded it up and placed it under his head.

“Sorry.” It was all he could manage in between breaths.

Covering these large distances with two people in tow. It couldn’t have been easy.

It took a few more minutes before Iruka spoke again, raising a hand to brush Naruto’s cheek.

“I’m fine, Naruto. Sorry for scaring you. These seals take up quite a bit of energy.” He tried his best to steady his voice, but came up short. Naruto’s expression said he wasn’t quite satisfied with the explanation, but he kept silent, merely nodding.

“We can’t afford to wait here too long, Iruka-sensei. I could carry you, but I don’t think either of us would prefer that.” Kakashi drawled, leaning over just enough to make eye contact with the invalid, eyebrows wiggling for added effect.The slayer looked up at him with a painfully annoyed stare. Beside him, Naruto was attempting to dig his elbow into his ribs.

“The next barrier isn’t far. Give me half an hour...some water, and we’ll be...back in time for dinner.” He was struggling by the last phrase, and that made it a little less convincing than it normally would have been.

“Naruto finished the last of it, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll go get it!”

“Not happening. You’ll be watching Iruka-sensei.”

Kakashi stood up and headed for the mouth of the cave. Thankfully, the rain outside seemed to have let up.

“Be careful.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“One “yeah” is sufficient, Kakashi-san.” A true teacher-line if he’d ever heard one, but one that felt a little odd coming from one as young as Iruka. Well, if he was well enough to joke around, it could only be a good thing.

“Take care of him, Naruto.”

“You don’t have to tell me!”

---------------------------------------

Kakashi realised that his luck probably ran out a long, long, time ago.

Coming back to an empty cave, with only the haori he left behind and Iruka’s pack there to greet him was a grim reminder.

If he listened closely, he could hear the last echoes of Naruto’s screams of outrage.

Preparing to descend into the waiting abyss, Kakashi let out a deep sigh.

Should have just carried Iruka back after all.

---------------------------------------

End of Chapter 4

Thanks for reading! Also posted on A03 here

[zoryany]

(Loyalty & Royalty) Luke cringed when he saw that look on his sister's face. He knew she'd asked him into the palace gardens (:P) for a reason. "My opinion on your... companion... may have changed, Luke," she said. "But the situation... has not. What are you going to do with him? Are he and Chewbacca going to live in the palace? Or are... or will he leave?" *And,* he thought he heard, distantly, *will you go too if he does?*

Royal Imperial Skywalker AU (parts 1-5)

Send me things!! (always accepting, for this or any other verse, just… slow)

They returned to the Palace with the sense of an enormous weight being lifted from their shoulders. The tension that had been stretching to its breaking point since Luke’s return seemed to be easing, somewhat, and he could not be more relieved. He was able to maintain pleasant conversations with both Han and Leia all through their walk, and the two of them even managed a few civil exchanges.

A newfound sense of hope was forming within him. Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work out after all.

On the way back, Han had commed Chewie, letting him know he’d be given a room next to Han’s, and he could bring the Falcon to one of the Palace’s smaller hangar bays. Luke couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of his father seeing the Corellian freighter. He’d known from the start the ship would horrify someone who took ships as seriously as Darth Vader, and the thought of him reeling back at the sight of it was definitely amusing. The chuckle quickly died in his throat, though, since there was little chance that rust bucket would endear Han to his father, who remained wary of him as it was.

Sighing to himself, Luke decided to leave that thought for later. He would be able to bring peace between them eventually. He knew his father. He knew how to appeal to him. It would just take a little bit of time and effort.

Chewie greeted them as they strode in through the hangar doors. Luke had learned a little bit of Shyriiwook in his time with the Wookiee, so he understood bits and pieces of Chewie’s enthused growling, but Han still had to fill in the gaps.

“Yeah, yeah, we missed ya too, pal.” He turned to Leia. “Highness, meet Chewbacca, my co-pilot. Chewie? This is Her Worship, the Royal Princess Leia”

She rolled her eyes at the introduction, but extended a hand, which was quickly engulfed in the massive furry one that reached out to meet her offer. “It’s my pleasure. And I truly look forward to becoming better acquainted, Chewbacca.” She’d reverted instantly to royal formality and poise. “However, I will have to ask for some time with my brother while we wait for Mother and Father to conclude their business. In the meantime, Threepio will show you to your room so you can get settled in. Luke and I will be in the gardens if you really require something from one of us, but I do ask that you approach the protocol droid with any of your needs, first.”

Before any of them had a chance to respond, Luke was being whisked out of the hangar and pulled towards the gardens.

When they had been children, Luke and Leia would spend hours of their summers exploring the gardens, darting between leaves, hiding behind masses of colourful blossoms, clambering up trees… There was a certain magic in the plants that Luke later learned to associate with the Force. He trained saber techniques and combat abilities with his father, but the twins had spent much time with Ahsoka learning to shield, meditating, and finding ways to connect with the world around them. The Force flows through everything, and feeling life through the Force had helped Luke connect far better with the people and galaxy around him. He felt it made him a better prince, better suited to serve his people, as he knew was his duty. Coming home and returning here… It felt right. He could sense the life that surrounded him, and he was instantly at ease when he settled in next to Leia at their favourite spot in the centre of the gardens.

“I missed this.”

His arm was draped over her back, her head resting on his shoulder, his head resting on hers. She was warm against him, and she seemed content to just share the moment for a while. Often, they could be found sitting like this, a comfortable silence passing between them as they just held each other. Sharing tender moments with his sister always made him feel somehow more whole, and he was grateful for this time with her and her alone.

“I missed this too,” she murmured. “It was really nice getting out into the city, today. Going to the Starburst Café again. It was even bearable to have Captain Solo along. I just… missed this.” She remained in her position for a little bit longer. Then, with a bit of reluctance, she shifted. He dropped his hand and turned to face her. She was pressing her lips together to form a thin line, and there was tension in her jaw.

Luke cringed when he saw that look on Leia’s face. He knew his sister had asked him to the palace gardens for a reason.

“My opinion on your… companion… may have changed, Luke, she said. “But the situation… has not.” She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. She had to work to find the right words, and she was displaying a level of vulnerability she kept deeply hidden away. It spoke volumes to how close the twins were and how much their separation had affected her. “Are he and Chewbacca going to live in the Palace? Or are – or will he leave?”

And, he thought he heard, distantly, will you go with him if he does?

Sighing and running his fingers through his hair (Leia was right, it really had gotten long), Luke leaned back against the stone wall of the alcove they were perched in. “I don’t know, Leia. There are a lot of unanswered questions, here. A lot of things that… admittedly, I haven’t thought through.”

She leaned back as well, resting her head on the wall and turning her gaze skywards. “I should’ve expected that. I mean I’ve always known how impulsive you are. We all do. Mother says you get it from Father.” She chuckled dryly. “Father neither confirms nor denies that accusation, but he likes to point out some of Mother’s more reckless actions, particularly when she was a senator.”

Luke found himself grinning. “They’re just as bad as each other. No wonder we turned out the way we did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was mock offense in Leia’s voice.

“Running off when we get bored, breaking into abandoned buildings just because we can, stomping on the feet of Grand Moffs for being rude…”

“Hey! That was one time!”

“No, that was one Moff,” Luke corrected, now laughing brightly. “You stomped on his feet five times. And kept hiding his datapads. And stole four of his left shoes.”

Leia was defensive when she spoke, but a smirk was twisting at her lips. “Yeah, well, Tarkin was an ass anyways.”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

Next to him, his sister chuckled one last time then sighed. “What has your impulsivity gotten us into, Luke? What’s it gotten you into?”

That sobered his attitude quickly, and he leaned his own head back as well. “That’s the billion-credit question, isn’t it?”

She was silent for a moment that stretched on for ages, gathering tension and weight and significance. And then – “Are you serious? About him? About Han?” She sucked in a breath, held it for a second, then puffed it out. “I mean, I know you like him. You’ve made that clear.” She smirked and snickered. “Bringing someone home to meet Mother and Father doesn’t happen to just anyone, after all. But… I guess I’m just…” She trailed off, gaze fixed on the flagstones her feet were dangling over.

“Lei…” Luke grasped her hands within his – heart warming at the way they seemed to just slide into place as though they were two pieces of the same puzzle, soaring at the electric connection they shared as her earthy eyes flicked back up to meet his – and he could feel his every emotion etching itself into his expression. It was more complicated than simply love, affection or care, and truly there would come more trials in the near future, but that warmth was undeniable, and he would trade it for nothing. “I have no plans to leave you, Leia. Not again. Not you or Mother or Father. Cutting ties is unthinkable, and I could never truly remove myself from the family. Not when I love you all so much.”

Wetness gleamed in his sister’s eyes, pooling in a way that he knew would not spill over, but rather allowed them to glisten in a manner that reflected the stars he’d spent his whole life dreaming of. “That’s a little bit sappy there, brother.”

“Yeah, well…” Luke shrugged. “What can I say? I’m sentimental.”

Unweaving her fingers from his, Leia sighed again and shook her head, eyes fixing themselves on a particularly bright blossom about ten metres from where they sat. “I never expected you’d be the one out of the two of us to find someone first,” she joked. “I mean, you made friends in an instant, sure, but you were always so clueless.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Peals of laughter mingled with the chirps of the birds who frequented the gardens, and Leia displayed more genuine mirth than Luke had seen in a long time. “You’ve always been hopeless at recognizing crushes, either ones you had or ones others had on you.” He raised a brow at her and tilted his head to the side, which was met with another genuine bark of laughter. “Luke, remember when you convinced Father to let you attend the Academy on Carida on a part-time basis? And you met that one farmer from Tatooine? Darklighter?”

“Yeah… What about him?” Biggs had been nice, and they spent many free moments together. How could he possibly forget him?

“Do you remember the way you talked about him, whenever you commed us or came home?”

“Uh… no?”

Leia laughed again, and Luke would deny that he was pouting, but he did cross his arms over his chest and scowl at her reaction.

“Oh, Luke, you practically gushed about him! His sense of style, his flight capabilities – though he never did manage to beat any of your scores, did he? – how he just seemed so… genuine?” She paused for a moment, as if expecting him to catch onto something. When she was met with silence, Leia rolled her eyes and continued, still grinning from ear to ear. “You had such a crush on him, and you can’t even admit it now, three years later! And then you talked about the way he spoke to you – oh, and don’t forget about Antilles! You adored him, too, and he returned the favour, I’m sure. Then there was that noble last year, who kept trying to – ”

“Okay!” Luke interjected, not wanting to hear any more. “I get the point. So I’m a little bit clueless.”

“I’d say naïve, personally.”

“If you insist. The point is… Well, whatever I felt with the others, or whatever they felt towards me, I can’t deny that it existed, but it wasn’t… well. I guess Han’s the only one who was able to help me realize what it was I was feeling.” He took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered shut. Admitting what he was about to admit would make things all the more real. “I really, really like him, Leia. I might even… love him.” He hadn’t said that out loud, yet. He’d been thinking it for days, now, but saying it out loud was… different. “I don’t know what it is about Han specifically. I might have been able to love any of the others, too, given the chance, I don’t know, but he – what we have right now – it’s special. And I don’t want to give it up.”

His sister was wearing a funny look as she stared at him, seeming to consider those words. “That is serious…” She considered him for a long moment, their eyes locked on to each other, and after a while, Leia grasped Luke’s face and touched her forehead to his. “I’m happy for you, little brother, I am.”

“I’m older,” he whispered, reflexively.

She carried on, unfazed. “But… we’re young, still. Twenty seems like we should be able to take on the universe, but we can’t. And Han? He’s so much older. I worry that he might be… well – Luke, I just don’t want to see you hurt.” Or taken advantage of.

He sighed, weaving his fingers through her elaborately braided hair and pressing their foreheads even closer as their breathing fell into sync. “I appreciate your worry, sis. I do. I love you so, so much, Leia. You’re the other half of my soul. But that’s exactly why I need you to trust me.”

It was her turn to sigh, and after keeping their tender contact for a moment longer, she broke it in favour of a tight embrace. Squeezing her body against his, Leia brought the two twins into a position that had always felt as though they were two pieces of a puzzle, perfectly slotting into place. “Okay, Luke, I’ll trust you. I’m still mad at you for leaving like you did. But I can’t be too mad about seeing you happy.”

They stayed that way for several more minutes. There was no need for words, no need for anything else, but a newfound understanding between the two would serve to solidify their bond, moving forward. As far as Luke was concerned, that was about as good as he could get, and he was definitely glad he’d had this chance with his sister.

All that remained to be seen was how Han and Chewie had fared in the Palace without him…

[kurtty-drabbles]

Justicar Verse (Final Part)

N/A: Oh yes, the final part is here. Brian and Kurt want redemption...they´ll have to work to get it...Brian and Kurt won´t get Scott-free just claiming ignorance. I get it, they didn´t know and are naive...but they will have to work to achieve this.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @everykurt @muninandhugin

The streets are crowded with people freely about their daily life- some are preparing a big celebration, while others are mourning the death of Magneto and Prof X- and some ladies are looking at the indigo man walking with his head down and dragging his feet ignoring the looks- or maybe, pretending to be that clueless- and as some ladies are baiting her eyelashes at the indigo figure, ignoring their male companion, causing them to take an attitude- as his golden eyes are gazing at two men not happy with such indigo man.

"Hey, creature! This is a street for normal humans and mutants. You´re not allowed" one of them said transmitting a fuming look to the indigo man and his date- still seem very impressed by his body-and the indigo man´s eyes wide at this and looks at the two men with a somewhat deadpan expression. "Everyone is free to walk here...there´s no law impeding"

And one of them sneers as if waiting for his cue. "According to Lady Psylocke, you´re no longer allowed...unless you want to be cured" and how the conversation escalated to a fight is up in the air and Kurt- he makes a point to introduce himself as he beats them up- is more than enough to face two jealous men.

The fight is now escalating to a dangerous degree and Kurt is not sure if he can face everyone, perhaps, Kurt Wagner being well-trained thanks to the Justicar- a cruel irony now- could continue fighting...even if some people joining the fight are Justicar. They didn´t reconize Kurt...without his uniform and make no desire to know.

I wanted to be a hero. "It was for us to help the mutants and humans...not the be ...this" Kurt screams letting his feelings out and see no problem in breaking one of the helmets of his ex-compatriots. "We´re not heroes. I´m not a hero" and looking at the destruction he made- in self-defense or in pure angry?- he teleports away.

"Congratulations! You saw the truth" a feminine voice mocks him and Kurt looks up to see Shadowcat floating over him with her typical smile. "Fight with Justicar?"

"We´re not heroes...Shadowcat, we´re not heroes...Are you here to kill me?"

"That would be too easy" she lands on the floor gracefully and Kurt can see the grass getting wild and wilder as if they´re on the different time. "Do you want to die or do you want to redemption?"

"Redemption!" ____________________________________________________________________________________________

Brian Braddock is a man with a degree in engineering and thought Justicar was the hope for humanity, however, the way to hell is paved with good intentions and Brian can see this now. "For what´s worth...I´m sorry. The Justicars were to protect...not hurt" and Gloriana is preparing herself for the big day. She watches Brian carefully.

"I know you feel sorry. I know you feel regret...but, I can´t pardon for your ignorance nor I have this power to do so. If you want to be the hero you so wanted to be...prove it and help us" Gloriana states and concludes in a soft tone. "and for what´s worth, I don´t hate you, Brian...I can´t"

________________________________________________________________________________________

Psylocke is foreseeing this moment, however, not in this way. She wanted to kill Gloriana a long time but never expect her armies would be that strong and never expect Shadowcat to attack so viciously. She´s forced to be secluded in her own tower. Her strength and her only weakness now. "I need to focus...and use the spell" she clunch the Medalion- Merlin is a croak old man and a pretty face can open many doors- slowly recites the spell causing the kinetic butterfly energy to grow and she is trying to control the rebellion.

She frowns as everyone is chanting protective spells...spells that belong to one person. "Scarlet Witch! Should have killed her!" and tries to think something better to do, something painfully to attack her enemies, yet, as Gloriana and Shadowcat arrived in the tower and don´t plan to talk...the rebellion ends on their favor.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Brian assumed Justicar and revealed the awful truth to everyone, apologies are the bare minimum right now and he wants to do better, he and Kurt share this view. "The Justicar is no more. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and the price is not worth" he states and Kurt, not shapeshifting, agrees and speaks about how ignorance and naivete are equally dangerous as cruelty.

Redemption is a long way for them, but, they won´t give up. And the world is slowly changing for the better. Some mutants that were changed are happier as humans now - Toad can admit this as much is painful and opens a new door of possibility for him- while others want their powers back.

Shadowcat and Magik devise a machine-power by Magik´s magic- that can restore the powers without any pain- and Ororo Monroe, the Future Queen Wakanda was present to witness the change.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Epilogo:

Excalibur arrives at this dimension and Nightcrawler witnesses a Shadowcat, wearing the same outfit as his Shadowcat giving orders to Meggan with short hair and to add the confusion a human version of Nightcrawler raises his sword at him. "Who are you?" and adds. "Katzchen, do you want to handle this, or can I?"

"Well, he´s fuzzy like you...but he could be different  from you"

Kurt Wagner from Excalibur is confused and a bit jealousy as this Kurt seems to be way closer to his Kitty.

[turingtestr]

mobile post of all my information for the anon who wanted a mobile rules / bio. i could make a google docs but i’m burnt out. please also note, i haven’t even GLANCED at my bio i wrote for elijah since 2018, so uh... i should probably do that. sorry if it’s bad.

ONE. due to the nature of my roleplaying style, there will absolutely be mature themes here and there on this blog. all and any mature themes that involve sexual topics of the nsfw variety will only be written with muses that are 18+. as for those people that are 18+ that follow me, i fully understand if you do not want to write any nsfw content, and if any threads lead to that we can fade to black. just ask me, i’m fairly easy going and more than happy to make people feel welcome. it is not a requirement to rp nsfw content with me and i will never force anyone to do that. !

TWO. this is a selective/private blog. i really only roleplay with mutuals, however you’re more than welcome to reply to any of my open starters if i specify that you can but just know i might not reply because i (1) don’t know your muse, (2) have zero muse for the reply and will get to it later, (3) have no interest in the thread, or (4) am uncomfortable with something on your blog. roleplaying is also a HOBBY for me. i work full time and sometimes i genuinely cannot reply fast. if you hassle me to reply to things, i will not want to roleplay with you and it will turn me off from roleplaying with you completely. in fact, if you harrass me to reply to threads, i will automatically unfollow you because i’m not about that life of being pushed to reply to things. if you spam my follow button to try and get my attention, that will result in a soft block on your behalf. please don’t test my patience. if you do not have your ooc name on your page i will not follow you, due to me thinking hiding your ooc alias is shady and sketchy af.

THREE. i love shipping and i love roleplaying so much. this is not a single ship blog and none of the ships i portray are at the same time (unless further discussed with muns, of course).MY PRIMARY CHLOE SHIPPING PARTNER IS @TURINGTESTEE, which means that if kamski mentions chloe in a verse, he's most likely talking about this chloe. if there are any verses that kamski is going to have one single ship, i will make sure to let people know that in the verse description section once i make it. otherwise, my muse is a free for all. if i do have mains, which will be listed, they are just the people i will reply to the most, however, i won't actually limit myself to only roleplaying with them and i hope my mains respect and are comfortable with that.

FOUR. tagging triggers is something that means a lot to me as i am not comfortable with NEEDLES OR PUPPETS on my dashboard so i blacklist needles tw and puppets tw. i know it’s weird but hey, we all have our things. please let me know if you need anything tagged- even if i don’t personally follow you. you deserve a clean and safe dashboard to roleplay in. WARNING.

FIVE.anon hate will be deleted on the spot. no exceptions. i don’t care about your petty feelings and i won’t tolerate them in the slightest. i’m not here to entertain horrible people’s opinions of myself. constructive criticisms are allowed, but at the respect of myself reblogging a meme asking for it specifically.

SIX. mutuals are allowed to ask for my wire or discord, since i use both and would love to rp on both. i also play dead by daylight on ps4, so if you’d be down to game as well, feel free to hit me up there too! overwatch on ps4 is ITSGEOFFREY so you can add me there too.

SEVEN. i very rarely will send in passwords, as i do not require it and i should not have to be tested on your blog to be allowed to roleplay with someone. usually if you have a password, i genuinely just didn’t think to look for it and i apologize if this upsets you but you probably won’t see any from me.

EIGHT. please take into consideration while dealing with kamski that he has high signs of NPD & a huge god complex.

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BIOGRAPHY

NAME: Elijah Dean Kamski ALIASES: Eli, Lij, Boss, Kamski GENDER: Male AFFILIATION: Cyberlife Technologies, currently retired AGE: 36

THE START

there's many days where the kamski family would have a bit of struggles, as elijah grew up. he never knew much about his father, seeing as his father passed when he was a very young boy — no more than six. he'd never grown to know too much about him, and his mother didn't overly want to share about him, so it was safe to say the woman had a reason for not telling elijah and that was that.

growing up with a single mother who had severe epilepsy, elijah tried his very hardest to make his mother's life as easy as possible. school days would be very short considering he'd go straight home from school in order to watch after his mother. some days with his mother, depending on the medication the doctors had recommended her, would be better than others. she always appreciated her son's committment to being with her and he was determined to make life easy on the two of them. using the money she got from the state, she'd try to urge her son go into extra cirricular activiies he wanted to do, however he only dismissed the ideas, claiming that he'd rather be home. he'd use the money to spend on textbooks, wanting to develop his own version of a Vagus nerve stimulation device. one that would make sure to surge with electrical pulses before his mother even remotely had to move herself to activate the device. computer engineering was his goal, and he'd stop at nothing to get through that.

as life continued on, elijah continued to shove his head into books and continuously study. he pushed through high school faster than anyone had expected, at age ELEVEN he had shown his studies to multipile colleges, showing his theories on how to better create medical devices.

THE CHANGE

the university of colbridge had been a struggle for elijah, being the youngest student there. studying medical engineering was easy, and he had decided to double major in computer engineering as well, to perhaps attempt to integrate the two. though school was difficult, the hardest part was being away from his mother. the school had refused to let him travel back and forth, saying that freshmen had to stay on campus as apart of regulations and requirements from the state. when he started college, his mother had decidded upon asking the state for a caregiver- on the off chance that something did happen. with the VNS that was already implanted in her, she was able to have a job during the day, but the caretaker was supposed to just oversee her during the nights. it settled eli's anxiety about his mother a little bit. four months into his freshman year, eli had woken up to a call from the san antonio police, letting him know that his mother had been rushed to the hospital after having a grand mal seizure and hitting her head on their marble counters. apparently the caretaker assigned to look after his mother hadn't even shown up that night. he quickly rushed home, terrified what had happened.

something, however that night had turned elijah into a bitter person. into someone against humanity. though his mother had survived the seizure, things weren't the same for either of them. after knowing his mother's caretaker had ABANDONED her, elijah had fully decided to go more into engineering to create a way for humans to be more reliable. what was more reliable than humanity? MACHINES. something that would always obey. obedient machines that had a purpose and a task and would see it through. dropping fully out of medical engineering, elijah settled for computer science and engeineering instead. the utter drive to create a better human than humans themselves was so strong that by the age sixteen, elijah had worked together with a team of classmates to create the first medical assistant androids. REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER model 100, or RK for short. RK100 was born and tested on his mother, who seeemed quite uneasy, but only wanted to support her son.

ENTER CYBERLIFE

though it wasn't perfect, the ark series took off. mainly piquing interest in san diego, california. the backbones of the mega-billion dollar company that would be founded by elijah kamski and his cohorts suddenly had at least three hundred backers trying to support the small business after seeing what a success the RK100 was at being not only a companion for his mother, but also how helpful the RK was at it's job. the medical caretakers were able to do so much, and suddenly with the money that was being thrown at the group, elijah became more than enthused with power. hungry for it, almost.

making more medical related androids were being highly requested, and the team set out to create diffrent functions for androids, trying to perfect everything.

taking into consideration his mother — his finest mentor and most trusted support, and what she thought of the androids, he sought out to consult with his old AI professor, Amanda Stern, on how to make the androids a bit more lifelike. It was hard, at least for what his mother admitted, for a human to trust a machine that looked like a machine to help themselves out through life. upon her advice, eli threw himself into work, the team of cyberlife growing into a business, and then a wide scale company alongside elijah's work. no matter what, the man was the front of the company, having done the majority of the coding and research in what brought the androids to life. the company sought after targeting the cheapest land developments in the united states in order to make their headquarters and warehouses, bringing CYBERLIFE to DETROIT, MICHIGAN where it currently resides.

it takes kamski four years after founding cyberlife to come out with a brand new appearance for his androids. something human like after struggling and struggling to engineer the perfect components to theorize biological functions. this equiptment created became biocompotenents, but it still wasn't enough to make thes he was creating look HUMAN. but after all the struggles and finally figuring out a way to regulate something akin to blood into the android's system, elijah kamski in the year 2022 releases the RT REVOLUTIONARY TURING model; a personal assistant to elijah kamski that uses the alias ' CHLOE '. Cyberlife has been thurst into the spotlight and once again Elijah Kamski realizes that these advancements in the world have honestly made people envious. the public demands the rights to these androids and while he still is bitter over humanity and the lack of reliabilty that humans provide for the world, he obliges. Cyberlife goes public with their androids and the public are now able to put a price tag on androids.

THE REVOLUTION

the world that assumes elijah kamski is nothing but a greedy, power-hungry boss of a CEO for cyberlife overlooks one important fact: he still wants revenge on the world. his mother passes on at the age 43, a few years before his greatest mentor amanda stern passes. the loss of both role models awakens a vengeful force in elijah kamski. one that wants to remind the world that mortality is relevant for all. cyberlife has created over thousands of models, all for different functions and he looks upon his kingdom with hopeful eyes as well as bitterness. humanity has become less reliant. they've become lazier. androids have become the working force, for the most part, and while elijah sees that as a positive note because it is moving forward away from the laziness and unreliability of humanity — the CEO is fully aware that his androids are becoming more and more human like the more and more they develop. the deviant base code is never once touched. always overlooked by cyberlife developers who dare not touch the work of the first working android made by elijah kamski himself. while he's aware he, himself, is mortal just like the rest of humanity, seeing his creations become sentient, to rise up against the laziness and unreliable humanity that he lives among has been his goal. he just awaits the REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER 200 to actually get pushed to the brink of going through his code.

now it's just a game of waiting to see who pushes who, and who comes up on top. it's always a delight to play god.

THE SIBLING ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

i'm not going to be writing a brand new biography for the gavin / elijah brothers universe, but i need to work out how they can be related with my current bio, or i might just go off of a gavin's biography. shrug emote.

[granddaughterogg]

First time with the Horsemen part 2 - Death

This shit got extra long because I love my man so much, okay? Feel free to leave me nice comments, because I am pooped after writing this. The poem in question is by one Fyodor Tyutchev.

You never felt as courageous – and as stupid – as the night when you told him.

That...thing that you two had going on. It was for real, no second thoughts about it. But what was it that you had, exactly?

A friendship? Sure. But do all friends casually doze off in one bed, only to find themselves firmly embraced by their silent companion in the morning? Somehow you doubted it. (Death seldom slept at all. Time after time you’d wake up and look straight into that piercing stare of his. He had eyes like burning embers. You’d almost choke on your breath, while he’d simply unfurl his arms, letting you go. And then turn away and rise from the bed as if nothing really happened. You’d have to sit still for a long while and wait until your heart stops pounding. You never talked about this.)

More than friendship, then. A flirt? The Pale Rider was as apt in the frivolous art of romance as you were useful on the battlefield. Which means: not really.

Sure, you two exchanged a lot of playful banter. Also, there were times when he went out of his way to make you know that you’re appreciated. A kind note, tapering the usual wry edge in his voice. A firm hug (which always took you by surprise.) A long, thoughtful stare whenever you told him something personal. He would ruffle your hair or graze the small of your back while passing by. He made you tea. And his tea was nothing to wrinkle your nose at. Only Azrael brew better.

And yeah, there were also those brief, crazy moments after the hug...when you didn’t feel like breaking contact just yet. Being so close to him made your head swirl. So you kept embracing him, breathless, and he would trace your lower lip with the tip of his finger and then he would bend down and kiss you -

OK, maybe those were not so brief.

The kiss lingered every time it happened. Death was shockingly restrained in that matter. His lips covered yours with silent urgence that set your blood aflame, but he never did anything...wild.

Even though you wanted him to.

You yearned for his touch more and more with every passing day. Your fervent imagination produced would-be’s, one more outlandish than the last. Death tearing your top off, burying his sharp features in your cleavage. Death restraining both of your wrists with one hand, pinning you to the wall and covering your neck with bruising kisses. Knocking you down and ravishing you there and then…

Yeah.

I have to tell him, you reasoned with yourself while lying in bed back to back with the object of your deliberations. His pointy, protruding spine pleasantly grazed your own.

I really should. It’s not fair for him to not know.

But if he does...he might not even want me anymore.

He might shrug and say something to the effect of „that is not my problem.”

„Ugh. Seriously? What are you, like, fifteen?”

„Nah, you might get clingy afterwards.”

„I don’t want a virgin.”

You’ve heard this all before. You’ve been made to feel like a failure. Like somehow you’re less of a woman. As if your lack of sexual experience was an unwanted burden.

But then again...none of them arseholes literally went to Hell and back with you.

None of them protected you from hordes of savage demons. Time after time again. Heck, those dudes were so squeamish that sight of a used tampon made them whimper.

None of them were impressive, nigh-immortal entities well versed in carnage and caustic wit. Not like Death.

„Hey D”, you said with a strained voice. „You asleep yet?”

„I’m not.” How you loved that deep, raspy timbre of his. Everything he said sounded so purposeful.

And sexy as hell, yeah. That too.

„Can we talk?”

You expected one of those long, deep sighs. But when no one else was around, Death really toned down that aloof act of his. The bedsheets rustled as he turned to face you. It was almost dark in there (that lone candle that you left on flickered weakly by the window), but you could still make out the outline of his features. And his glowing eyes.

Darkness was not an obstacle for this one.

„What is it, girl?”

Girl. Death almost never used your name. He saved it for the most extreme circumstances. Like that one time when you were gravely injured and about to die. Or when he was about to die.

Be brave, you admonished yourself. He’s not gonna make it any easier for you.

You took a deep breath.

„Death. I want you to have me.”

He tilted his head. Those long black strands of hair moved ever so slightly.

„I mean, I want you to make love to me.”

Geez, that came out sounding pompous. Like a line from some romance novel.

„This could be arranged.” Was there a smile lacing his words? Yes, there was.

You exhaled abruptly and went on headfirst:

„The problem is, I haven’t had my cherry popped yet.”

„...cherry?”

You grunted. „Unused, brand new. Mint condition. You know. And I don’t have much of an idea how it’s supposed to go, you see, so this can be a problem and…

„Wait a moment.” His long, cool finger brushed your lips. „If you’ve never been with a man before, which is what I believe you’re trying to tell me… (you nodded vigorously), then how can you know that you want to do it with me?”

Urk, Death, this really ain’t the time to be logical, you thought.

„Well, for one, I think you’re sex on legs.”

He let out a chortle.

„What makes you feel that way is beyond me. And the first time is no trifle. You could really do much better, you know.”

Oh, here we fucking go.

„But I love you”, you blundered.

He inhaled sharply - and went quiet for what felt like forever. You bit your lip and endured the silence.

„I am...honoured”, he said softly. You waited for the inevitable „but” with bated breath.

Instead, he just added: „I had no idea that this was the case.”

„Well...you know now, dumbass.” You tried your damnedest to sound plucky, even though your voice was breaking.

Death must’ve heard that because his hand gently rested on your cheek. You pressed your face against it, eager for his touch.

He leaned in so close that his sharp nose grazed yours.

„Are you sure about this?”

„I am. There’s no one else in the whole world that I’d rather do it with.”

„Right now?”

„Yeah! I’m...I’m so done with waiting.”

„So be it.” That was nothing more than a tender whisper.

He held your face in his palms and kissed you. Gently - at first. You shut your eyes and weaved your fingers in his raven hair, tugging urgently at the nape of his neck. Death answered with a low grunt and went in with almost bruising force. You felt as if caught on a rollercoaster ride. His administrations sent a jolt down your spine, inflaming your soft, wanting insides.

He just kissed you on the lips, but your whole body lit up.

Then he kissed the soft skin under your jaw. Then your shoulder. Then the hollow of your neck. Then - that taut spot just below your collarbone.

You let out a weirdly high-pitched, tremulous sound.

He stopped what he was doing and shot you an alert glare.

„Are you all right?”

„Yeah...” You held his cheek with a slightly trembling hand. „I’m, like, really good here. Just...excited!”

His lips curled up with a smug expression.

„I appreciate that.”

Hi tugged tentatively on the collar of that old, stretched T-shirt that you always slept in. „That thing is in my way,” he murmured. You got goosebumps.

„Take it off me”, you gasped.

He did – in one swift movement. Suddenly you were naked under Death’s smouldering glare. He supported himself on an elbow and took all of you in. All the curves. All those little and not-so-little imperfections that you spent hours of your life agonising over.

Somehow it didn’t matter. For there was no disapproval in his eyes.

You’ve remembered that old Russian poem called The Dull Flame of Desire and finally understood exactly what that means. Death’s sight went somewhat darker while still being fiery.

He covered your body with kisses; on your breasts, on your soft stomach, on the taut skin of the hip. You could tell where this was going, but his deliberate lack of rush made your blood boil.

„D, don’t taunt me like that. I can’t take it”, you pleaded.

He let out a little laugh and sucked on your nipples, one after another – and then grazed them with his teeth. Hard. You almost cried out of this strange sensation; pain mixed with sharp arousal. It was as if he tugged at some string hid deep inside you. Your nether regions got wet.

Like, wetter than before.

Death must’ve had eyes at the back of his head too because he noticed. He lifted you up and sat you on the bedsheets. One of his long arms curled possessively around you, moving up your back. The other one crept down, oh, so very down and started to play with your yearning entrance. He applied just the right amount of force, massaging your sweet spot and sliding two fingers up and down through your inner folds. You let out a shivering, helpless moan and felt utterly embarrassed. But the thought of stifling it left your mind once you looked up and noticed your lover’s expression.

He enjoyed your arousal. Judging from the half-lidded stare and that little smirk curling his lips, he savoured it. And that riled you up even more.

Death positioned himself just behind you so that you were sitting between his legs, his torso pressed tightly to your back. All this while not breaking pace. With his body so close, his lips caressing your neck and his knowing fingers entwined in your dripping pussy, both your mind and your body started to unravel.

„Wait,” you gasped. „Oh, wait, I’m gonna come...”

„Which was the purpose all along,” he murmured in your ear.

„Death, you stop right now and listen to me.”

He did. You turned your head and looked him in the eye with as much resolve as you could muster while being a quivering, breathless, horny mess. You wanted him so much that it hurt.

„I want you so much that it hurts. But not like that. I want to lose my virginity properly. All the way. Like, on a dick.”

„You do realize that there is no such thing as a proper way, right?” Death tilted his head, lift his tainted hand to his lips and licked it – almost absentmindedly. His eyes flickered. „What do you know. You’re tasty.”

„Thanks. I do know that there is no proper way”, you said. „But I don’t care. I just...just take me already!...”

„This is going to hurt.”

You all but shrugged.

„Yeah, I reckon.”

Death shook his head – his black hair flipped - and let out a small, amused sigh.

„I honestly don’t know what to admire more; your utter recklessness or your sex drive”, he said with a playful snicker.

„It’s easy for you because you’re like, all calm and detached!” you snapped.

Death’s grip closed around your waist and flipped you on your back. It took him about two seconds tops to pin you to the mattress. Your breath hitched. Suddenly you were immobile, covered with that large, muscular body of his, which smelled like dead leaves under November rain. Mixed with a sharp tinge of arousal.

You could feel how hard he was, pressing urgently against your wetness. Oh god.

You moaned.

„I. Am. Not. Calm.” Each word was like a bark, his eyes wide, burning with something feral. „Neither. Am I. Detached.”

You laughed breathlessly, gripped at his neck and pulled him into a vehement kiss. Your tongues entwined and your hips started a dance of their own, grinding on his.

He didn’t ask any more. Just took you as you wished to be taken.

You gave out a sharp cry. Death must’ve got only a few inches in, and you already knew what he was talking about. Nothing in the whole world could prepare you for this sensation. You felt as if your whole body is fighting against his, clenching around him so hard that it must have hurt.

„Breathe, girl” he whispered, looking at your strained expression with a mix of lust and worry; the strangest combination. „Just breathe deeply. Nose in, mouth out. Come on.” His fingers went between your bodies and started to circle slowly around your clit.

You breathed spasmodically as if your life depended on it. That vicious knot in your insides finally loosened up.

„There.” Death smiled. „Ready for more of that fun?”

„Ah-hah.”

The next thrust was long and fluid. Almost elegant. You could tell that he buried himself to the hilt in you.

You cried out again, but softer. You felt - stretched. Filled to the brim with his hardness, that indomitable presence that hurt you, but also kinda set you on fire. Discomfort and pleasure intertwined really closely here. You weren’t sure what that means.

„You’re all right?” Death leaned in, his thick black eyebrows knitted. What kind of self-restraint must this man possess to even care while he…

While he fucked you.

„I love you”, you gasped, feeling tears forming in your eyes. „I love you. Go on. Possess me.”

„Ah, so you like pain. How interesting.”

He moved back and forth, back and forth until all the pain faded away and there was only pleasure left. A strange, unknown kind of pleasure, so harsh and feral, different from everything that you’ve ever experienced while playing with yourself. But a pleasure nonetheless. It grew in leaps and bounds until you moaned so much that your throat got hoarse. You could get used to this.

Death knew. He swayed you in a calm, steady rhythm while covering your mouth and neck with kisses. He breathed a little heavier than usual, but not one uncontrolled sound has left his lips. You wondered if that’s how he always is.

You wondered what it takes to make this man cry from pleasure.

Cause you were wailing.

„Don’t stop this time, okay?..” you gasped between the moans, pressing your chapped lips to his ear. That stare that he shot you was debauchery incarnate.

„I don’t intend to,” he whispered. „Go on. Come for me.”

The wave of delight came crushing over and sunk your mind with its sticky sweetness. But before you went there, you heard Death say your name.

­