#While not getting to time or space travel until much later than most companions

[thelesbianthespianposts]

The first seasons of the third doctor are so funny. You have a show with an easy format: space man and earth girl time travel (or space travel) in box and they fight new quirky bad guys (or occasionally the same bad guy). And they were like, no, his box is broken so there’s no time travel or space travel, we will have the same freak as the villain every episode. The Doctor works for the government now.

[taki-yaki]

What if Tav is a fey from feywild, or part fey? I don't have a particular race in mind, just wanted to see Astarion and fey Tav to be chaotic gremlins together

Love stuff to do with the fey, Tav from the fey wilds would create so much chaos together with Astarion. Although in usual D&D terms, the closest to part fey would most likely be a Hexblood. So I’ll be doing a Hexblood Tav who was mainly raised in the fey wilds for most of their life.

Hexblood Fey Tav Headcanons

You began your life as a creature of the fey before a deal gone south with a hag forced you out of your plane to the realm of Torri.

Of course, you would try to get by in this realm with your usual fey antics, of course not too long after, whilst on the road to your next performance, you get abducted by the nautiloid. 

Making you curse the chaotic whims that fate throws at you.

Upon meeting your new travelling buddies for the first time, you try to keep your distance from them at first, in fear that they might try to offer you something, believing it to be a trap, binding you to them, forced to do their bidding. You even give them a fake name, instead of telling your real name, taking any precautions from being enslaved any further.

However after the third night of attempting to cook for yourself, you eventually cave after the sweet savoury smells of Gale’s cooking plague you, giving in to the temptation and never looking back since.

Most members of the group saw you as too carefree at times, rather choosing to do what you like at random times. It isn’t until you reach the swamp and finally meet Auntie Ethel, that you seemly completely switch, tearing into the hag with a sense of rage, trying to reenact your revenge upon the kind who stripped you of your home.

Most of your companions are initially taken aback, stating how you could have gone about a less brutal way of defeating the hag, but what’s done is done. Astarion though, just watches over the scene with joy, seeing your victory as a sign of strength. power. 

Later that night Astarion approaches you with the offer for a romp in the woods, this makes you hesitate for a second before he says that it’s a fair offer after you gave him some of your blood. At first, you mainly see your relationship as transactional, in fear of being permanently indebted to him, but it isn’t until over time you both start to see your relationship as less transactional. At first, it feels weird to you not to do anything in return for him at times, but you quickly get used to it.

“So I don’t have to sing you a song and dance before receiving a kiss?”

“Well no, but if you want to, then I’m more than happy to watch you flap around like a headless chicken.”

During most of your early travels with Astarion, he would be in awe over how much colour there is during the day, but you state how it seems drab compared to the bright wonders that the fey wild had to offer.

Throughout your travels to Baldur’s Gate, whenever someone approaches you with a request to solve an issue or problem they are having, you’d usually reply with a, “What’s in it for me”, then proceed to go about solving the issue either destructively or chaotically.

A rat infestation? Well, a large fireball in such an enclosed space will make it quick and easy.

Need to clear out the nearby goblin camp? A few powdered keys should do.

Aside from your destructive tendencies, you also love to play tricks on others, whether they deserve it or not, it doesn’t matter. With you and Astation being a tag team duo, while you would create a crowd to distract people with a song or dance, Astarion would sneak around attempting to pickpocket as many people as he could. 

Other antics would include trading for weird items, such as attempting to purchase a sword or magical artefact, you would cast an illusion on some nearby rocks to give them the appearance of gold pieces. Followed by having to run from the now enraged shopkeeper, whilst Astarion is in hysterics.  

Despite most of your fey traits mainly giving other members of the group grief, one condition you hated was your weakness to iron, even if a ring was placed on your finger for a few seconds, it would leave a slight burn mark in its place. 

This came especially apparent one time, during a fight in which you were surrounded by bandits each brandishing an iron dagger or blade, ready to strike at you. 

As soon as the first blade makes contact with your flesh, you let out a loud shriek of pain as the tip of the blade leaves a large burn mark on your skin. Alerted by your cry Astarion rushes to your side, quickly taking out the rest of the bandits, before carrying you to safety.

Back at camp, he’d tend to your wound, and whilst holding you close to him he’d softly chastise you mainly out of concern. 

“Be lucky that this is only a small wound, just next time stay by my side and don’t rush out like that next time.”

After the fall of the netherbrain, realising how much this realm had to offer to you, Astarion suggests going around exploring more of faerun as hunters, maybe even finding the hag that cursed you and enacting your revenge. After all you did free him from his tyrannical ex-master. Over the 6 months the two of you spend travelling all across faerun, you eventually learn to bask in the wonders that this plane has to offer.

One late night, whilst lying in your shared tent, you turn to face Astarion, feeling as if you have a heavy weight to lift from your chest, you speak “I have something to tell you.” He’d look at you with slight surprise, were you going to break up with him after all this time, “It’s about my name” you spoke sheepishly 

“What about it my love, I think it’s a nice name.” 

“Well, I may have given you a fake name, I was worried you would use it as leverage to bind me into a contract of sorts”

He laughs a bit upon hearing this, and you swiftly reply with “Well it may not seem like much to you but it’s a big deal to us fey.”

“Alright, would you do the honours of telling me your name my love?” whilst trying to do a small bow motion while lying down. Leaning closer, you whisper into his ear in your native tongue of Sylvan, your true name, before leaning back waiting for his response. He looks at you for a while before the expression on his face goes soft “Well I think it’s a beautiful name, regardless of what it is, you will always be my darling.”

[corysmiles]

G/t bloodweave HC’s because I am obsessed with them

T!Gale/g!Astarion

Early on Astarion messes with Gale all the time. He’ll sneak up on him and grab him out of nowhere to scare him. Eventually Gale gets used to it, so Astarion starts to be more aggressive with it- snatching him up and tossing him around a little before putting him back down to try to get a rise out of Gale. However, Gale gets used to that too once he realizes Astarion wouldn’t actually hurt him, and the one time Astarion almost accidentally drops Gale, the vampire seems even more upset than him.

Astarion will pick up Gale while he’s sleeping so that the tiny human will sleep on him instead. For the longest time he thinks Gale is just a heavy sleeper and doesn’t notice that he’s been moved to the elf’s chest, until later when Gale admits he knew it was happening but just let Astarion do it anyways.

Astarion pretends he doesn’t care what happens to Gale and will even say things to him about just keeping him around as an emergency blood bag, but the first time Gale gets injured in a fight Astarion is the most distressed of the entire group. After that, Gale is stuck in Astarion’s pocket whenever they go places so that the vampire can assure that the tiny wizard is safe and unnoticed by anyone else

When they see the brain the first time Astarion wraps his hands tightly around Gale in his pocket, so he can’t see it. The last thing he wants is for his favorite tiny companion to blow himself up, and he thinks that if he never sees it he won’t know to do so. Gale realizes what is happening, but decides not to go through with his plan anyways. He’s pretty shocked that the vampire would try to stop him at all after so many weeks of bickering, but he’s grateful to be cared for since Mystra never really did care.

Whenever other people comment on Gale Astarion gets extremely possessive. He’ll hold the tiny even tighter and try to slip away from whoever had noticed Gale. He’s so used to the things he loves being taken from him that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. This even applies to the other companions if Astarion is having a bad day- he wants the tiny all to himself.

G!Gale/t!Astarion

Early on the two bond over books. Astarion hasn’t had many chances to read since being turned and the wizard has so many books at the ready. Gale will read slowly with Astarion on his shoulder so that the tiny vampire can read along. He doesn’t even mind that it takes twice as long to get through the text since it means he gets to have company around.

Since Astarion is relatively adverse to touch at first Gale never tries to hold him unless he has to or the vampire asks first (which rarely happens). Instead if the tiny needs help getting to something, Gale will place himself somewhere where the vampire could easily climb him to get to it. Astarion will try to do so sneakily to make sure Gale doesn’t know that he needed help, and while Gale does notice he never says anything about it. It hurts him that Astarion won’t directly ask, but even so he’s glad he can help.

Astarion doesn’t like being in confined spaces, which makes travelling with him or fighting dangerous since he refuses to stay in a pocket. Instead, Gale offers for him to stay on his shoulder with a mage hand at the ready to grab him if something goes wrong. Astarion still doesn’t love when the massive spectral hand wraps around him, but it’s much better than the closed confines of a pocket.

When Astarion starts to become more comfortable and trusting of Gale, he’ll come and sit on the man while he’s relaxing in his tent. He won’t do it anywhere the others can see out of embarrassment, but whenever they’re alone he’ll perch himself on the man’s legs or chest since he’s so warm. Gale loves it so much that as long as the vampire is there he won’t move for almost anything.

The first time Astarion willingly lets Gale hold him the wizard is so nervous about something going wrong. He constantly asks if it’s okay and forgets to breathe while trying to stay as still as possible. Astarion finds it funny when the human finally takes a gasping breath, and reassures him that a little movement won’t scare him away. It takes a while for Gale to fully relax with the vampire in his hands, but when he does he gently rubs his fingers over the tiny in a way that Astarion can’t help but lean into. That night Astarion falls into his trance on Gale’s chest, tucked underneath the wizard’s warm hand.

[princessanneftw]

A rare insight into the usually unreported work of Princess Royal

Visiting military graves of unsung heroes was fitting appointment for perhaps the hardest working member of Royal family

By Victoria Ward for The Telegraph

Of the many war heroes buried in the windswept Dover chalk grassland is one Sgt Maj Charles Wooden, who was awarded the Victoria Cross after saving a fellow soldier’s life under heavy fire during the Battle of Balaclava.

The Princess Royal studied his grave closely as she was told he was “a bit of a drunkard” who had unfortunately met a sad demise.

Suffering from excruciating toothache, he had tried to dislodge the offending tooth with his gun, only to blow his brains out. “The ultimate pain killer,” the Princess, 72, observed drily, with the wry humour that is never in short supply.

Another, Gunner Andrew McDowell, had been blown to bits as he sat with two other soldiers in Dover harbour out of sight but directly in the firing line of a new 42-pound cannon.

The firing party thought someone said “fire” and duly fired. Gunner McDowell’s arm was found in the local town. The Princess peered closely at his newly restored grave, decorated with a cannon. “It’s almost adding insult to injury putting a gun on there, isn’t it?” she remarked.

The Princess, patron of The Remembrance Trust, was at St James’s cemetery, in Dover, Kent, to inspect its latest work restoring the military graves and memorials of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

It was the second engagement of at least four on her itinerary, but as a royal who opts to get on with her work under the radar, most of it – as always – will go unreported.

However, on Tuesday, The Telegraph was invited to join the Princess as she travelled to Kent for an update on the work of the Trust, of which she became patron in 2021.

Engaged and unguarded, she delighted the small band of charity trustees and council dignitaries with her easy humour and obvious interest. “You can’t fake that kind of fascination,” one observer said later. “She’s great fun and you can talk to her like a normal human being.”

The Princess, accompanied by her husband Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, 68, made a point of chatting to each member of the small gang of around 15 that was on hand to greet her.

Introduced to charity trustee and “tomb expert” Dr Roger Bowdler, she joked: “See tomb, will travel.”

Darren Solley, head of parks and open spaces at Dover District Council, told the Princess he was trialling a new approach to managing the cemetery land by leaving much of it to grow wild, improving biodiversity.

“It’s quite a difficult balance, rewilding,” she commented. “Actually, you do look after it but it doesn’t look like it.”

Warming to the theme, she continued: “You do have to cut it but it’s when you cut it that’s key – and what you do with the leftovers.”

Former corporal Steve Davies, a military grave restorer who has worked with the trust since its inception and preserved six of the seven graves on the Princess’s one-hour tour, proved an enthusiastic and informative guide.

The Restoration Trust returns graves to their former glory while at the same time creating a database spanning more than 200 years.

Founded and chaired by North Sea oil pioneer and former Grenadier Guards officer Algy Cluff, 83, it has a vast remit covering an undefined period up until 1914. He was motivated to help future generations understand the nation’s military past after working on the graves of British troops killed abroad.

Those killed from 1914 onwards have their graves kept by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, funded by the Commonwealth governments, but those killed earlier fall through the cracks, their headstones left to fall to ruin.

One of those whose grave has been lovingly restored is Maj Gen William Sutton, who received the Second China War medal and Companion of the Order of the Bath but who requested none of the usual pomp and circumstance at his funeral and asked to be buried in a common grave alongside soldiers of other ranks.

It was fortuitous then, that of all the well-known faces to visit his resting place almost 160 years after his death aged 56 was the Princess Royal, that least showy and no-nonsense member of the Royal family.

“It doesn’t say who he served with,” the Princess commented as she studied his headstone. “56? I’m surprised he lasted so long.”

Mr Davies ushered her along. “We’ve got to hit the hill now, ma’am,” he said. “Don’t worry, I live on the side of a hill,” came the reply as the Princess ploughed on, stopping to study several other graves along the way.

“Oh, it’s a Sherwood Forester, well, well well,” she said, pausing by one that she was keen to point out to her husband.

When Mr Davies told the Princess that he had queued for 14 hours to see her late mother, Elizabeth II, lying in rest, it prompted a discussion about the merits of certain footwear.

The Princess admitted that the boots that form part of the Blues and Royals uniform were none too comfortable. “Which is why I didn’t volunteer to walk after the Coronation, I was riding,” she laughed.

Later, the Princess and Sir Tim retired for a private lunch at Dover Castle before moving on to the next engagement.

Meanwhile, those who had enjoyed her company that morning were unanimous in their praise.

“She’s got common sense running through her like Brighton Rock,” one said. “But she’s enormous fun and absolutely interested and engaged. One couldn’t hope for a better patron.”

[purplekoop]

A bit later than intended, but here's day 9 of updating the Darkworld Showdown lineup, this time with the first character created from scratch this month, and the first clone character of the cast: the seeking spirit Cassandra!

Cassandra is Evelyn's mother, who in life gave everything she could to give her daughter a decent life, even in their shared final moments. However, in death, she somehow drifted far away from the mansion where she died. Parted by time and space, her spirit now wanders an unfamiliar world, unable to rest until she finds her daughter again.

This'll be a quicker breakdown, because like daughter like mother, Cassandra and Evelyn share many mechanical traits and most of their movesets. However, their key difference is that Cassandra lacks Duster or any equivalent companion. To compensate, her damage and range on her attacks is slightly stronger across the board than Evelyn's. This is generally at no cost to speed, save for her side special Spirit Twister, which has more startup but travels farther. She's also slightly harder to launch, but is likewise a bigger target, and is still on the lighter end of the roster overall. Aside from that, their general attributes are mostly identical, making Cassandra a great choice for players who enjoy Evelyn's movement and attacks, but aren't interested in the extra complexity Duster requires to operate in order to get the most out of the duo.

While her normals are largely the same, most of Cassandra's specials are either slightly changed or are entirely different to account for the lack of Duster.

Her most defining special is her neutral special, Willing Wisp, where she gently tosses a ball of spectral flame that slowly floats forwards. While it does weak damage and hitstun upon hitting an enemy, the wisp will then linger above the target. Hitting an enemy with moves that use a distinct ghostly energy will cause all attached wisps to perform a followup attack, which does more hitstun and launches the enemy upwards, with multiple wisps attacking after another after minor delays. Up to three wisps can be attached to an enemy at a time. If the enemy hits Cassandra, then one of the wisps attached to them will vanish. Cassandra's variants of Ghost Shriek and Peek-a-Vanish don't stun as much as Evelyn's versions, but both will trigger any attached wisps, making them good combo starters or stock enders if you have enough Wisps attached. Cassandra's Up Smash, Rapid Jab finisher, and all of her throws will also trigger the wisps.

Cassandra's down special is her anti-projectile move in place of Haunt, as she's not small enough to fit inside them like Evelyn is. With Polterguard, she raises her hands to surround herself in a field of paranormal power, which grabs all nearby projectiles and wills them to float around herself indefinitely until she is launched. You can extend the duration of this field by holding the special button, though this leaves you more vulnerable to non-projectile attacks. The field also grabs any Wisps floating on nearby enemies, though cannot be used to remove any wisps stuck to her by an opposing Cassandra. While she has projectiles stored, she can then press the move again to send them all out as a rapid-fire barrage, with wisps specifically flying out at high speed and doing basic damage as if detonated. Alternatively, using Ghost Shriek with stored projectiles will cause the range and power of the attack to be increased relative to the total damage of the stored projectiles. The item-grabbing part of the move itself has no hitbox, but does provide a few frames of intangibility at the start of the move and greatly slows Cassandra's fall in midair.

Cassandra is a simpler character than her daughter, but her moveset isn't lacking complexity either, and not needing to split her player's focus lets them instead utilize her distinct floaty movement, decent range and combos, and entirely unique Wisp mechanic to execute her gameplan to the fullest. While not the absolute lightest character, and still possessing an excellent recovery, she can still be KO'd quite early from a stray strong hit, and is punished even harder when getting hit means losing potential momentum from her Wisps or stored Polterguard projectiles. But on the other side of that same coin, that momentum can be converted into some devastating combos or kill confirms. Using your wisps wisely and using your opponent's projectiles against them is what gives Cassandra a spot of her own, even if her overall flow as a single character is otherwise familiar.

So that's the freshly named and moveset-ified Cassandra! Honestly not 100% set on much here yet (the design is definitely a bit... self indulgent and the name may not stick), but I do really like the idea of offering an alternative to Evelyn for people who like how she plays in all respects but having to also manage Duster to play optimally, while having a new dynamic mechanic in his place. Admittedly, the idea came about when I was tempted to more substantially redesign Evelyn to not be a kid, but I think everyone I asked about that possibility agreed that it'd be losing a lot of charm, plus I figured the roster needed some more small characters. I still liked the potential design of an adult ghost though, and figured it'd help round out Evelyn's personal storyline in a nice way. I also thought about puppet characters in other fighting games I've played, and despite liking some aspects of their playstyle, I couldn't quite get their actual gimmick down to a satisfying degree, and wished there was a version of them that was balanced around just the main character. Cassandra is intended to be my preemptive fix for anyone who might feel that way about Evelyn. Though this did leave a character without any interesting unique mechanic, which wouldn't do in this cast even for a clone character. I have some rough ideas for more clones, but they all either need to subvert the base character's gimmick in a satisfying way, or take that established moveset and feel and instead give it a new gimmick to interact with. No promises there'll be any more clones this month though, as after all this extended ghost gab there's not too many fighters left for now! The hard part now is just deciding who I feel like drawing next, I've been putting off all the harder ones again...

[mnemosyne-xiv]

Sometime during Urianger's lecture, Remia had wandered off. Zero hadn't noticed until Thancred had called it a night and said something about preparing for tomorrow's trip across the sea. That's when she saw the empty space beside the gunbreaker, Remia apparently having disappeared over an hour ago.

Making her way down the dirt path, the memoriate followed the lingering trail of warped aether her companion left behind. It was easy enough to follow. Light and dark twisted and knotted, the two opposing aspects refusing to blend. Like oil and water, never to find a true balance as their struggle for dominance wages on.

Zero's gaze shifted to a tree nearest the cliffside overlooking the harbor. "There," she murmured under her breath, the grass flattening under her heavy footsteps as she walked through the flower field.

Peering around the large trunk, she found Remia fast asleep, curled up and hugging her knees while she slept. The past week the miqo'te had done nothing but travel all across Eorzea to talk with her acquaintances. From those in Werlyt to her home in Namai to even those on the Bozjan Southern Front and back to the Thirteenth, Remia has never stopped quietly helping those she's met regardless of how the world views her. Even Talkingway spoke highly of her after all of the time and energy she invested into the Dreaming Workshop. Zero never would have imagined so many would come to depend on someone so cold.

Her gaze softened. Kneeling beside her companion, Zero couldn't help herself as she reached over to lightly brush down Remia's hair, careful to not press too hard on her ear.

Cold, Zero now understood, wasn't the right word to describe Remia. She wasn't cold. Far from it, actually. But there was so much to this woman that most would never come to learn—and Remia didn't make it easy for others to get close in the first place so she could hardly blame everyone for denouncing her partner. It's warranted. And perhaps they're right.

After placing her sword and shield with Remia's to rest against the tree, Zero sat down beside her. She gently wrapped an arm around Remia’s shoulders, pulling her closer so she could lie back with her head against the top of her chest. All the while the miqo'te didn't stir. Far too exhausted to be woken up any earlier than before their ship arrives later that morning.

Zero rested her cheek against Remia’s hair. The snow continued to dance along the cold wind, her eyes growing heavy at the calming sight. Couple the snow with the soft, even breaths Remia exhaled and Zero could feel herself growing tired.

Perhaps the world was right to hate the woman she was holding. Remia herself will admit to being a monster that deserves to burn in the deepest pits hell has to offer... And yet, Zero didn't care. She hardly gave a damn about the woman's past let alone whatever vile nonsense strangers had to say.

She had seen the lengths Remia was willing to go to to save her. To save her sister. To save even Azdaja and help all of the acquaintances she's made over the years by continuously checking in with them despite the glares and disgusting remarks she receives. There was no such thing as pure evil in this world. Remia isn't evil, just as she herself isn't good.

They're different, and that's okay. They'll brave their shared future together regardless of what history remembers them as.

"Where you go, I'll follow..." Zero murmured before letting out a faint yawn, her eyes falling shut. "Where I go, you'll...follow..."

Under the tree overlooking the Scholar's Harbor, the two women slept peacefully through the night. Not even the biting chill in the air was enough to wake them from their tranquil slumber. Only once the sun broke over the horizon would they awaken to a new dawn with a new trail to walk. Together.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Poseidon

Fishy fishy fishy… I honestly could write 100 more things for Poseidon MC and Levi. I just love the dynamic between an insecure, otaku shut-in and a chill California surfer dead set on becoming his friend.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon 

For anyone unaware, Poseidon is also the god of horses. I know it's a weird combo, but I didn't write the mythos.

Lucifer

…..

They came out of the portal….

On a horse….

They brought the mortal down to the Devildom…

On a goddamn horse….

There's a demigod on a live horse brandishing a weapon and doing laps around the Student Council Room…

Congratulations, he already wants to pull his hair out!!

Honestly, it would have been preferable to pluck them out of the sea. At least then they'd just need a towel! What the hell were they going to do with an entire horse!?

And his nightmare didn't stop there. Poseidon is a notoriously mercurial god, prone to bouts of anger and spitefulness for reasons far less grievous than kidnapping his children… 

Their apology was swift and (seemingly) effective, though the tide waters around the Devildom did rise by several feet for some time…

As for the MC… uh… Well, they're an energetic one to say the least…

Lucifer hasn't met a more active individual since Mammon. They horseback ride, swim, surf, skateboard, and probably do ten other things - the point is, they Hardly. Keep. Still! 

They're also annoyingly easygoing… He can't count the number of times they've told him to, "Just chill out," or, "Hang loose…" What does that even mean??

Between having to order a stable made for their horse and just trying to keep up with them, Lucifer already thinks this mortal has caused him more trouble than they're worth… At least they keep Mammon busy...

Mammon

Upon first meeting them atop their horse, Sunset, his first thought was of course:

"I wonder if I sell that...?"

After that, they nearly fed him to sharks for trying to take their beloved steed on same night. Safe to say, he never touched a hair on its head again…

These two had a rocky start, but their relationship mended fairly quickly. As it turns out, the MC is literally one of those "go with the flow" types. You can say it was water under the bridge soon enough.

Mammon actually thinks the MC is a hell of a lot of fun, even if they're super laid-back. Most of the time, they won’t take his drive for money (or fear of his bills) all that seriously and tell him that he’s worrying too much, but they’ll still lend a hand if its on their way.

He finds their ability to control water pretty cool as well. Levi has it to some extent, but the MC can make a whole-ass whirlpool or use water like a whip! 

He once begged them to call up some rare fish for him to sell, but they got all pseudo-philosophical on him about how “trading life for material wealth” is “not cool, dude...”

He also made the mistake of challenging them to a splash fight only once…. They managed to drench the whole family with a single wave….

The only thing that bothers him is their weird insistence on being Levi's "Best Buddy…" Why would someone like them even bother with a shut in??

Is it the water? … Probably water. Levi, that lucky bastard…

Leviathan 

Thinks they're a big normie, no scratch that, a HUGE normie! The biggest normie he's ever met!! They skateboard and horseback ride for Devil's sake!!

...But they’re also, undoubtedly, the best friend he could've ever asked for.

To be fair to Levi, their friendship was sort of forced upon him. The MC took one look at him, his aquatic-themed room, and his pet goldfish then declared their new friendship status at that moment. 

Unfortunately for him, though, they're energetic, extroverted, and generally have little understanding of personal space… aka, an introvert's worst nightmare…

The next month could accurately be described as the MC doing everything in their power to make their stubborn "senpai" like them.

They would drag him out to the aquarium, beach, or pool; they befriended Henry so he could put in a good word for them; and they'd even bring him little gifts or trinkets they'd find on the ocean floor. Pretty shells and stuff like a cat bringing its master a dead mouse.

After he finally began to accept them as a persistent fixture in his life, he introduced them to gaming and anime and started accepting them little by little...

By the end of their stay, these two were practically inseparable. Not just because they like spending time together, but because they figured out they could have a telepathic link due to Levi being part sea serpent. 

No matter how far they are, they can always have a chat! (That no one else can hear so people think they’re just crazy...)

Satan

Satan honestly isn't the MC's biggest fan, he generally finds them too loud and gregarious for his liking. But their horse…?

He never really thought that he'd be a horse man... Yet it didn’t really take long for Satan to adore Sunset, their beautiful golden-maned mare. Apparently she's not their only horse, but by far their favorite traveling companion.

Sunset is a wonderful horse - brave, strong, and well-trained. It only took a few weeks before he was regularly sneaking out to the stables to brush her fur or feed her apples...

After the MC taught him how to ride, that was it. All other forms of transportation were inferior to him now.

Satan would ride Sunset everywhere and he looked damn good doing it! It takes all that fairytale Prince Charming thing he has going on and puts it through the roof.

It's a good thing too, because when I say everywhere, I do mean everywhere. Lucifer had to put seals on the House doors to keep Satan from riding Sunset through the hallways...

Of course, he’ll always let the MC have Sunset back when they need her!... with a little complaining but nothing terrible.

The MC doesn't mind much because Sunset likes him and they know he takes good care of her, but the rest of the House is slightly unnerved at how quickly he went horse crazy… What if they brought a giant crab instead?? No one wants to deal with crab-Satan...

Asmodeus 

Their body is just scrumptious. Oh, how he could look at their swimsuit-clad figure all day!! 😩

Between the swimming and the fighting, their form is toned to all hell and he can't get enough of it! Yes baby, yes!! Take those clothes off again!!! He'll help~! 😘

When he's not staring at them “totally respectfully,” then he's inviting them out to pool parties or begging them to take him riding...

There are parts of horseback riding he doesn’t like, the smell and the jostling specifically, but there is a kind of… romance to it, no?

He loves having the chance to snuggle up to the MC as they trot around the Devildom! It's so romantic, like they’re his knight in shining armor! (Or his demigod in a damp swimsuit, either works. 😏)

His Devilgram is just full of selfies of him and MC riding on the back of Sunset or sitting by the edge of the pool or them in the middle of a swim meet…

Yeah his Devilgram is now a one part him and one part MC-Appreciation account.

After the pact he'll eventually cool down some and stop staring at them like a sex-object, but even then he'll be at every swim meet. Don't you worry~

Beelzebub 

He actually really likes them! It's great to finally have another athlete in the House. 😊

The MC joined the RAD swim team just as soon the coach was able to convince Diavolo that having the child of a water god wasn't completely cheating... 

Since swim and fangol practice ends at about the same time, they walk home together a lot and complain about... sports things... (Forgive me, I don’t know sports. Uhm... Rival teams? Coaches? That one drill everyone hates? Stuff like that.)

Beel also can surf, skate, and snowboard so the two have a healthy competition going. They're about on equal footing so they tie often (except in surfing but Beel doesn't think that should count cause they’re probably cheating).

The only thing that he has to watch out for is Sunset… As in, he has to watch himself around Sunset because he absolutely could eat her on accident… 

Look, he doesn't want to and he doesn't even like horse meat that much, but even he has to admit there are times he gets hungry enough to consider it…

Of course, he knows that if he ever did Satan would rip him limb from limb then the MC would drown the rest so he really, really tries to control himself… but still… She’s a very healthy horse...

At least he didn’t try to sell her like Mammon. The MC hung him over a shark tank for that stunt… He’d feel bad, but Mammon kind of had it coming.

Belphegor 

The first time they met, the MC smelled like beach water and called him "dude-bro…" He didn't like his prospects.

For a while, he genuinely thought that they had a lump of sand where their brain was. They were just too chill!! Here he was saying that he's being held captive and they were like, "Well that sucks, man… I'll help ya, but I've got practice tomorrow. You can wait, right?"

It's not like he expected them to jump on top of it, but some urgency would have been nice…

When they eventually got around to helping him, he was actually looking forward to choking the life out of them for the extra wait. Unfortunately, they apparently had a horse…

Yeah, Belphie found out just a bit too late that the MC could summon their steed to them whenever they wanted and ended up with Sunset's hooves firmly bucking into his back for his trouble…

What followed was Belphegor running circles around the attic from the weapon-totting MC riding their terrifying murder horse until Lucifer finally intervened....

Thank the gods he wasn’t near any water….

As it would turn out later, as long as he's not being held captive in an attic Belphie kind of vibes with their laid-backness… They say they approach life "one wave at a time" or something.

He could care less about what that actually means, but what it translates to is "Stop stressing out and just keep chill" which he's all about.

Everybody should just chill out!... dude…. Nah, he'll let them stick to the “dude”-thing, it feels weird...

[djarinsbeskar]

PREQUEL ARC: PART 3 - THE BOUNTY

A/N: Part 3 of Stitches has arrived! This chapter was difficult to write, I'll be honest. And I'd really appreciate any feedback if it doesn't read as well as the first two chapters or doesn't make sense or is boring etc. etc.

This is the penultimate prologue chapter, with the story very much shifting to surround the dynamic and growth of the readers relationship with Din so if you can hold out for me just a bit longer, I promise, I'll make it worth the wait. You know what I'm talking about friends.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: None

Summary: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

9 ABY, on the Hydian Way.

Din prided himself on the strength of his principles. An unwavering certainty in everything he did that gave him a modicum of peace as he wandered throughout the galaxy amidst wars, rebellions and the chaos that ensued in their aftermath.

He was certain when he took the Creed, when he sacrificed a future for himself in service of the covert; something he had never regretted to this day. He had never regretted any bounty taken; unmoved by pleas, promises or threats. Neither tears nor anger could sway his resolve.

Truly, he could count on one hand the things he regretted in life; the job on Alzoc III, challenging a fully grown Mandalorian to a fight while still a hot blooded, angry teenager, and not trying to pull his parents into the bunker where they had hidden him from Separatist droids as Aq Vertina was invaded.

In his line of work, there was seldom room for self-doubt. Inner conflict led to hesitation, which could be a death sentence for a bounty hunter.

And yet, as he came out of hyperspace, that unfamiliar gnawing presence in the pit of his stomach began to rear its’ head again. The job he had accepted was… dubious, to say the least.

Din snorted in self-deprecation; most of his jobs were dubious in nature.

What brought on this unnatural doubt, however, was that this was a job for Imperial remnants. Din wasn’t a fool; he knew half the jobs he had taken in the past could have been traced to the Imps if he cared enough to look, but taking a job from them personally… well, he didn’t know how to feel about that just yet.

He pondered the feeling in his stomach again and frowned. Was it doubt… or instinct? Instinct was his most trusted companion as he travelled through space alone. A tickle at the back of his neck, a wary step forward, even a flash of electricity down his spine; those were only some of the ways that instinct spoke to him. And he always listened.

An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach though? Never that.

If it was instinct, then he was going against his very nature in ignoring it. If it was doubt, based on some misguided sense of morality in dealing with the empire… that he could deal with. He could smother doubt with control and consistency; going through the motions of a job brought security and familiarity. Sooner or later, that doubt would make way for a stoic acceptance, a state that had gotten Din through some of his roughest years.

His eyes were drawn to his shoulder, where the glint of newly crafted beskar shone in the gentle lights of the cockpit.

A down-payment…

“Makers Helmet…” he groaned, running a gloved thumb and forefinger across his tired eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on as the pressure at the back of his skull increased due to the loop his thoughts were going in.

A job was a job. He circled back to his original thought that had led him to accept the clients offer. A job with a bounty greater than anything he could have ever hoped to receive in his lifetime, let alone in one go. It was mere sentimentality and conscience getting in the way of good business. That beskar could not only provide him with armor to reaffirm his loyalty to the covert, but assistance and support to the foundlings and those who raised them.

His resolved steeled. He had never regretted putting the covert before himself, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Turning his attention back to the navicomputer, he scanned the co-ordinates that his most recent lead had pointed to. He had hunted the trail of his latest bounty to the general direction of a vast area of space that straddled the outer reaches of the Outer Rim and halted as it reached Wild Space. There was nothing to stop the bounty from being in those unexplored parts of the galaxy, and if the tracking beacon led him that far, he would have to be ready. With no spaceport on any of the planets he had seen dotting the area on the navicomputer, he thought it wise to refuel and gather provisions should he be there for any prolonged period.

As he lazily assessed which planet to land on, his eyes were drawn to a familiar name. A memory brushed against his thoughts. Not necessarily a pleasant one, but not entirely unpleasant either. For the sake of fairness, Din scanned the planets surrounding the one he pondered; some were equally as well equipped for his needs but the majority he had not been on in years if ever. Somewhere he knew, even briefly, gave him more comfort than the unknown.

At least, that was what Din told himself as he punched in the co-ordinates of Dandoran, the flicker of warmth the memory brought him was something equally as unnatural as the doubt coiled in his stomach.

Bantha balls, maybe he had been poisoned again...

Din tossed a few credits to the human female who received the Razor Crest into the hanger she was managing.

“She needs to be refueled.” Was all he said as he made his way out of the hanger and into the not unfamiliar streets of Mynock. It didn’t look like much had changed in the several months since he was here last; the place was still crawling with a mixture of criminals, bounty hunters and people who just didn’t want to be found. All in all, a good example of most Outer Rim cities.

Mynock had two main pedestrian streets that ran for over two klicks and intersected at the middle. From what he could tell, all legitimate business ran from those two streets, the further into the alleyways and twisted lanes that branched off those two streets one ventured, the seedier the business.

From what he knew, the practice you worked at was on one of these main streets. He paused, causing a few disgruntled pedestrians to have to jerk to a halt and make their way around his imposing frame. He was not here socially. He was never anywhere socially. He shook his head; between self-doubt and sentimentality, the tight leash he usually kept himself on was looser than he remembered and he had no idea just when it had started to slack.

That could not continue. But being aware of a problem allowed him to deal with it. So, with a greater sense of fortitude, he mentally choked any distracting feelings beyond the determination to collect this bounty. That included the somewhat interesting possibility of seeing you again.

Thankfully, Din only needed to stick to the main streets. The road was flanked by stall upon stall of foodstuffs, clothing, trinkets, ammunition and what looked to be a husbandry of Massiff dogs. The large, reflective eyes turned to the Mandalorian; all bared fangs and hostile snarls. An understandable response by most non-sentients when a Mandalorian had no real physical cues they could read, being as covered as they were. Until he lifted his hand for the one closest to sniff, they could only assume he was a threat.

A sniff was usually all it took however, before the snarling stopped. Din brushed a hand over the scaly head as he continued on his way to collect what he came here for.

An hour later, and Din was feeling much more at ease as he picked up the last of the supplies he thought he may need; ration packs, bactapads, generic ammunition that he liked to keep well stocked on the ship and so on. He was once more mentally compiling the information he had gathered on the location of the bounty, running through various routes in his mind that would cover the most planets in the parsec in the shortest amount of time.

He nodded his thanks at the change the Rhodian merchant returned to him and began to make his way back to the Razor Crest. If it hadn’t been for the long flick of your hair in the tie you kept it up in when you turned your head to look at someone at a stall across the central walkway of the street, Din was certain he’d have walked on none the wiser. But alas, that same higher power that had gifted him with a keep perception of his surroundings cursed him in the same fell swoop as the movement attracted his attention.

He came up short, running a mental check on himself immediately. No, no injuries. His shoulder still ached on occasion from being dislocated six months earlier, but it was a phantom pain at most these days. He was fit as a mythosaur and he wasn’t about to have that good streak ruined by getting injured in your presence… again.

Din wondered if he could escape to his ship without you noticing; he didn’t want to tempt fate anymore than he already had. Plus, awkward interactions that left him feeling frustrated both mentally and physically were not high on the list of things he enjoyed, thank you very much.

As a Mandalorian, Din expected attention wherever he went. It was just something he chalked down to being a necessary evil to live by his Creed but he had never wanted to be more invisible than he did in that moment, thinking that at any moment he would be trip into a sarlacc pit or something equally unpleasant.

But you hadn’t seen him, thankfully; much more invested in the choices at the fishmonger’s stall.

Despite his better judgement however, he paused from slipping back to his ship silently.

He was taken by the slight pink flush that rose to your cheeks at something the woman behind the stall said, intrigued by the color and what caused it. Din tilted his head slightly. He had noticed you getting flushed in frustration or annoyance both times you had treated him. It was fascinating to see your cheeks flush for a reason other than irritation and anger.

That particular thought touched a dangerous part of Din’s mind, a part that made him wander into the realm of curiosity to ponder what else might make you blush like that.

Oh, but it was a delightful color on you, and he watched longer than he ought to, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. The image of domesticity as you adjusted the parcels of food already in your arms to accept the fish was so foreign to his eyes and certainly not one he ever associated with you until now. It spoke to a part of him that still slumbered but began to fidget in its sleep, on the verge of consciousness.

That tentative smile that he had unwittingly been giving into as he indulged his senses by watching you, dropped the moment three males approached you. The Twi’lek was standing too close for you to be comfortable and by the rigidity of your spine, he knew you were not.

You had taken a step away from the men easily, your body language read cautious but not fearful and he knew better than to underestimate your abilities to wrangle men into whatever position you wanted them in. He had first-hand experience in that department and honestly, it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded in his head.

Din relaxed the grip he had unknowingly tightened on the blaster at his hip when you made to leave the stall, away from the three. He shook his head at himself; you had lived here for years. You knew how to handle yourself perfectly fine.

Letting out a breath, he was about to continue back to the ship when that same cursed perception caught the Twi’leks arm shoot out to grip your upper arm tightly, preventing your exit.

Din was behind you before he even realized he had moved.

You examined the range of fish on offer, eyes skeptically crossing off anything that looked like it had been sitting out too long or anything with more than four eyes. You weren’t squeamish by nature, but the fewer dead eyes that were staring at you while you prepared dinner, the better.

One of the few perks of Mynock, was its proximity to the Great Basin of Dandoran that opened out to one of the many oceans to cover the planet. Fresh seafood was a staple in the city and after years of ration packs between the Rebellion and Klatooine, eating fresh was a luxury you would never take for granted again. Your own home planet was mostly covered in water too; the greater population spread over countless clusters of islands where seafood was also the meal of choice for most. It was a tenuous connection but being able to cook dishes somewhat like the ones your mother made when you and your brothers were younger made it feel like you weren’t so far away.

You smiled to yourself at the thought as you pointed to the light blue colored Berbersian crabs, knowing the trawlers had come in only this morning that carried them. The claws were meaty with the slightest sweetness to their flavor that complimented most dishes. Not to mention that when cooked, they turned the most vibrant blue that their shells alone could be used for decoration and craft.

You chatted aimlessly with the fishmonger as she cleaned and prepared the translucent peachy pink fish you had also chosen for good measure.

“Busy at Biran’s?”

“When are we not busy?”

“It’s all them fights between the gangs. Folk say since the Hutts were chased out that things are better but it’s even more dangerous with the others tryin’ to take their place.”

You only gave a non-committal hum to that; you didn’t get involved in politics of any kind. Gang or otherwise.

The mindless chatter continued on nonetheless to more safe topics.

“Did I tell ye, Drea had her baby not three days ago. Another girl.”

“Poor Nej will have his hands full when they all get older.”

“I’m sure they’re dying for a boy at this point. Great excuse to keep sowin’ the crops though, ain’t it?”

“I’m sure they don’t need any excu—”

“Ever think of havin’ any of yer own? Yer well into that time of yer life, I’d say no?”

You blinked, nearly missing the bag of produce as she handed it across the stall to you. You could feel your face heat up at the direction this conversation had turned, and you definitely never thought you would be discussing your biological clock with a fishmonger over Berbersian crab.

“Well I---”

Movement from the corner of your eye stole your attention from that progressively awkward conversation and the no doubt insufficient answer you would have given as three males came to stand at the same stall, facing you. Your eyes scanned the trio sideways, not prepared to give them your attention unless it became unavoidable. There were two humans and a Twi’lek and given the way the humans flanked the large blue male; you had a fair idea about who was in charge as he sneered at you in what you assumed was meant to be a disarming smile.

The blasters at each of their hips and the emerald green coloring on the right sleeve of their jackets told you they belonged to one of the gangs the fishmonger had been complaining about not a few minutes earlier. This gang in particular, the Quai-Kisu or Emerald Dagger in Basic, were a faction that splintered off from the main Hutt crime syndicate once their influence in Dandoran lessened. Their trademark was spice smuggling but anyone with two braincells knew that they accepted the lesser charge to hide the true wealth of their criminal activity, flesh trafficking.

Suffice to say, you didn’t want anything to do with them and you most certainly didn’t want them to want anything to do with you.

“Can I help you?” You kept your eyes on them as you handed the fishmonger what you owed her when it was clear they weren’t going to leave; the woman wisely remaining quiet as she accepted the credits.

None of them responded immediately, and you wondered if this was a new scare tactic they were employing to make people anxious. The crimson hue of the Twi’leks eyes glinted as he contemplated you, running down your figure lazily before meeting your eyes again when you frowned,

“Ol’ man Biran available for a house call?” He rumbled, the sun catching the points of the filed canines as he spoke.

“I’m afraid Biran doesn’t make house calls anymore. Besides, he’s been under the weather for the last few days unfortunately.”

You reeled the lie off effortlessly, having learned over the years who Biran would tend to and who he would rather see succumb to whatever ailed them. It was a steep and difficult learning curve for you, your initial training taught you that you must do your utmost to save every life. Biran had laughed in derision, saying that that mindset wouldn’t serve you well out here. These were gangs, not the flyboys of Corellia. Saving one of their lives might condemn countless others. So while you struggled, you accepted that it was his practice and he made the rules and after over two years on Dandoran, you had seen enough victims of the gang warfare to not feel any pity when one of them suffered an injury.

“C’mon beautiful. One of our pals was injured in a… terrible, terrible accident.” The taller of the two human males, a lanky man with a neck that looked much too long and eyes that took way too much liberty in running over your body.

“There are other doctors in Mynock.” You replied steadily, “I’m sure one of them can help.”

To humor them any longer would be to encourage trouble, so you cut the conversation short and turned quite deliberately to make the point that the conversation was over, flashing the fishmonger a wan smile before turning back the way you came.

“We weren’t done talkin’ to you.”

Your eyes widened marginally when an iron grip closed around your upper arm, your free hand dropping the items in your arm immediately to click the safety off your blaster and lift it in the time it took for the Twi’lek to yank you into facing him again.

“Did I say you could lay a hand on me?” You hissed, the blaster pointing upward from where you held it close to your body towards the underside of the Twi’lek’s chin.

“Quite the little spitfire, ain’t she lads?” He crowed, amused by your action. His laughter was like shattered glass on your ears, making you want to wince, but you kept your hand steady even as your heart pounded. You received as much training as anyone when they joined the Rebellion, but your experience in actual combat beyond treating people on the front line was limited. You knew your own limitations, and that there was no way you would be able to take on all three of them.

The hand around your arm squeezed painfully and you clocked the blaster, lifting it closer to sit under the Twi’lek’s chin, “Release me. Now.”

And like most men of his ilk, he ignored you in favor of his own voice,

“From what we’ve seen, you work with the good doctor. Shouldn’t be a bother for you to fix him up. Nicer to look at too, eh fellas?” He tossed over his shoulder to the snickers of his lackeys.

“Then you can go back to target practice with your toy gun.” He chuckled darkly, leaning in where the pungent smell of his breath made you turn your head away in distaste, “That is, if we let you go at all.”

You swallowed thickly at the threat, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your mind scrambled to come up with a solution, a way out, something. You felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of your eyes when each avenue came up blank. You couldn’t think of anything and suddenly, you felt so terribly alone in this shithole of a town on a faraway planet far from anyone who gave a bantha crap who would actually be able to help you.

Their laughter only grated on your already frayed nerves and pissed you off even more. You had fought too hard and suffered too much to let these assholes take the one thing you owned, your freedom. Your eyes flashed with anger and snapped back to the Twi’lek, ready to pull the trigger because if you were going out, it would be on your terms.

Their laughter suddenly ceased then, and you blinked. Had they copped that you planned to take at least one, maybe two of them out with you? Before you could figure it out, your arm was shoved away. You raised your now free hand to steady the blaster as you aimed it at them, but they were backing away, eyes averted.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You growled, hiding the waver in your voice.

They said nothing in reply as the Twi’lek bared his teeth and made towards you again. One of the humans grabbed his arm and hissed something to him. You couldn’t make it all out, but you swore you heard a name you never thought you’d hear again.

Teff.

With one last growl and glare, the Twi’lek conceded to the advice of the humans and all three of them melted back into the crowds of Mynock leaving you to release a heavy breath as you lowered your weapon, replacing the safety with ease as your eyes continued to scan the street. You wanted to be certain they had really left.

“Huh, maybe they were smart after all.” You muttered to yourself, proud that you had dealt with the situation somewhat and holstered your blaster against your hip again, “Still got it girl.” You commended yourself as you stooped to pick up your dropped groceries.

A snorted, “I beg to differ” had you blinking up over your shoulder at the familiar, cocksure figure of the Mandalorian; a hand only grazing the blaster at his hip as he stood casually behind you, his head tilted down to look at you and a resounding sigh leaving his helmet when you smiled.

“Mando?”

An incline of his head was the only greeting you received before he crossed his arms across the wise expanse of his armored chest.

“One sec.”

You got back to your feet and, as if by instinct, ran your eyes over his body, “You didn’t poison yourself again, did you?” You teased lightly, realizing that you were seeing him uninjured for the first time. Well, the second time. But walking into a cantina to do battle with a Houk didn’t could in your estimation.

It gave you pause to notice things about him that you didn’t usually; the way he stood, leaning his weight back on his left foot that gave him an air of lazy arrogance that wouldn’t be misplaced in a loth-wolf relaxing in the winter sun. The strength of his thighs seems to be accentuated by the posture; one hand placed securely at his blaster. If you didn’t know any better, his stance was like an open challenge to every male around him; submit or suffer. But you did know him somewhat, and you knew that he didn’t need to lay down any challenge. He had already won the second he stepped off his ship. The wide breadth of space given to him by passers-by only highlighted that fact.

Even with every patch of skin covered, you could feel the raw power rolling off of him, or was it testosterone? Whatever it was, it tugged at a more primal instinct and ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you that made you both embarrassed and intrigued.

Okay, so you were attracted to the way the man stood. That was fine, that was acceptable. You were a warm-blooded woman in her prime who knew her desires and embraced them. Finding how a Mandalorian… stood, was just another interesting thing to add to your list of things you found attractive.

Along with a raspy baritone and penchant for trouble…

You know what, it was probably just a fantastic indication that you hadn’t been laid in a while, so you made a mental note to deal with that particular issue later.

“I never poisoned myself.” That same low, gruff voice rose to your bait so easily and you had to bite your lip not to laugh, his hand fisting at his side before he unclenched it. Probably thinking about strangling you, honestly. Now there was a thought, for later. Nope, it was definitely the recent dry spell that had you like this. And the sun. The sun always had a part to play in these delusions.

Mando seemed to figure out your game of teasing him however, when you couldn’t fully mask your smile and responded in kind,

“You’re welcome, by the way.” His voice rumbled and you were certain that if you were only a few inches closer, you would be able to feel the vibrations brush against you.

“For what?” You laughed in disbelief, “I had everything under control before you decided to strut into the fray.”

You tried to prevent the frown from creasing between your brows when you thought a little more on the situation. You had a blaster literally pointed to the neck of one of those thugs and they didn’t care. It didn’t even seem like Mando had drawn his weapon and all three had scarpered? Was there any fairness in the galaxy? Obviously not.

The unpainted helmet tilted, the impassive T-visor giving away nothing of its wearers feelings beyond the sigh that left him, “What did you plan to do? Shoot the son of a mudscuffer and have an entire gang out for blood in less than an hour? Yeah, that’s smart.” He snorted.

Your mouth fell open in incredulity, “Talk about the Jawa calling the Ewok short, you’d have done the exact same thing!” You cursed your short temper, especially when it came to the stubborn mule of a man in front of you. The fact that his voice never once rose frustrated you. It remained gravelly but soft, like the sound of pebbles and stones being pushed and pulled by the ocean you could hear from your bedroom as a child.

You were a mature person; you were proud of how you dealt with most things. But in this instance, you allowed your immature side to rear her head momentarily as you began to stalk back to the practice. A piss poor option since the Mandalorian scoffed and kept up with you easily, obviously not content with you having the last word.

“But I wouldn’t be so reckless to not think it through before shooting them.” He tipped his helmet back a little, as if he dared to look down his nose at you. Frustration simmered in your blood as your eyes narrowed at him sideways.

“I was wrong, you obviously are injured. A blow to the head this time was it, Mando? Must be hidden under that kettle you call a helmet” You let out an exasperated breath, shaking your head, “I’ve no cure for that unfortunately.”

You could have sworn you heard a soft noise that sounded remarkably like a chuckle, but it was so quiet and the streets so noisy that you were certain you were wrong.

When the door to the practice-come-living quarters for yourself and Biran came into view, you stopped short. How did you get back here so quickly? Looking over your shoulder, you realized you had led the Mandalorian on a merry chase to nowhere he needed to be. He didn’t look particularly fazed, but the small voice of guilt that sounded an awful lot like your mother had you opening your mouth before you could think twice,

“Do you want to come in?”

What possessed you to invite him in?

It was obvious from both the stilted way you asked and the drawn out, deeply awkward silence that followed. You were about to tuck tail and run inside, slam the door, and pretend you weren’t as mortified as you knew you were when he cocked his head. The movement made you pause in your escape, opening your mouth to tell him to forget about it before the words got lodged in your throat.

“Sure.” Was all he said, and that was how you found yourself staring at a fully armed Mandalorian taking up two thirds of the small settee in the living room to the back of the practice, his hands placed on each thigh as they spread a bit when he sat.

Biran, bless him, took up the last third of the same settee, unfazed by the type of man in his living room and chatting merrily about the last Mandalorian he had met over fifteen years ago.

“And that wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“Ah maybe someone you know then!”

“Maybe.”

Mando’s conversation skills were abysmal.

You didn’t have very high expectations in the first place, but watching it without being a participant, was downright comical. You hid your smile behind the glass of water you had fetched for yourself but the slight tilt of his helmet in your direction told you he had caught your amusement. For someone whose face you couldn’t see, you could practically feel his eyes narrow at you. It made the giddiness from being equal parts anxious and entertained from watching Mando try make nice with the elderly Mirialan rise again and you had to physically bite your lip to stop.

Mando wasn’t listening to Biran anymore, that much was obvious. He wasn’t even looking in his direction, more comfortable blatantly glaring at you instead. Biran was unfazed. Truly, the Mirialan didn’t need a response to have a conversation. A listening ear was sometimes all he wanted. It was a characteristic that endeared you to the him in the first place. The elderly were so often overlooked and written off, but when one only cared enough to listen, they would find themselves enriched with experiences no history book could ever compete with.

“…So how do you two know each other?”

Your attention was dragged back into the conversation so fast you might have given yourself whiplash. You blinked a few times as the Mirialan watched Mando with a clueless smile on his face, completely ignorant to the stiff body beside him.

“Coercive medical attention.” You choked a bit on the sip of water you had taken to buy yourself some time to think; coercive? That rotten---

“Ah, you were a difficult patient, were you?” Biran chuckled, knowing your methods well, “Sweet as pie if you do as your told, but the minute you resist she’ll go for you like a sand panther. I can’t imagine there was much room for bedside manners in the Rebellion, but thankfully that attitude works well in cities like Mynock.” You spluttered again, putting the glass down since it was out to get you too apparently.

Of all the treacherous--, why were you so nice to this old sod again? You would show him a sand panther when you ‘forget’ to buy his favorite tea next time you went shopping.

You seethed to yourself, leaning back in the armchair you had perched yourself on earlier, flyaway hairs from the breeze outside falling into your face which you blew away with a frustrated breath.

“Hm, a panther?” Your eyes rose as the low baritone filled the air after Biran had finished having his laugh at your expense. Mando cocked his head pensively to the side as he looked at you briefly, “More like a kitten, I’d say.” And with that, he looked away.

He didn’t bother saying anything else after that, content with letting Biran’s laughter fill the room and smother the tense silence the two of you were sitting in.

You could feel your cheeks heating up once more as you glared daggers at the tin can in front of you. Why did it feel like you were being simultaneously insulted and flirted with? You couldn’t make the distinction, so you didn’t know how to respond.

Instead, you decided to poke at a different part of the conversation.

“For someone who was coerced, you sure do find yourself on my table quick enough when you need treatment.” Your eyes ran up and down the length of his body candidly when he looked back at you, “and when you don’t need treatment, evidently.”

You smirked when the Mandalorian clenched a fist on his thigh, the third occupant in the room seemingly forgotten as Mando hissed,

“I never asked for your help.”

You scoffed and decided not to deign that with a response.

“Besides, I only stopped over for supplies and fuel.” He admitted and a treacherous part of you sunk a bit at the honesty in his voice. Seeing you was just a coincidence, like always. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air and you fought the twinge of sadness that chased you because of them.

Biran looked between the two of you before standing shakily and patting the Mandalorian on the shoulder with no hesitation, “Allow us to provide you with something extra for your travels then.” He turned his wrinkled face towards you with a smile, the deep groves of his crow’s feet increasing as he nodded to the bags of forgotten groceries, “I think our guest should try the crab. Knowing you, you bought too much as usual.”

You flushed at being caught out, were you really that predicable?

“There’s no need. I got what I came for so, I’ll be going now.” Mando stood fluidly despite his armor, and you were once again struck with how different it was seeing him injured as opposed to healthy. You felt you needed to get used to his presence all over again, with how much it filled the room.

“Thank you, for your hospitality.” He tipped his helmet towards Biran, his voice still rather gruff but laced with a polite softness uncharacteristic to him. Biran waved him off and started making his way back out to the practice when he heard the binary from his medi-droid welcoming a new patient.

That left the two of you standing in a room that suddenly felt much too small for the tension that hung around you both like a blanket. You moved into the kitchen to separate the food you would keep and the food you would give to Mando on one of the countertops, tying the bag tightly by the straps so that it stayed clean and fresh when you were done. You couldn’t hear him move, but you could feel the slight disturbance of the air when he leaned his shoulder casually against the doorframe, arms crossed enticingly once more as he watched you.

“So… what did he call you again? A sand… kitten, was it?”

“Oh, shut up.” You growled over your shoulder at him before turning and shoving the bag with two of the Berbersian crabs and some herbs you knew went well with them, into his hands.

“I don’t need these.” He held the bag out, straightening his stance as he pushed himself from the doorframe. You wisely ignored him.

“All you need is a pan. And water. And heat. Boil them and actually give your body some proper nutrients, would you?”

You explained as you began leading him out towards the private entrance of the residence, through the small kitchen and out into an alleyway that gave you an immediate sense of déjà vu the moment Mando stepped outside. The sun was still beating down and it glinted across the helmet that was becoming as recognizable as a face to you.

“In case you didn’t realize, I’m perfectly healthy.” He replied smoothly, getting his bearings as he examined the alleyway and noted the sounds from the nearby street as the direction he needed to go.

“That’d be a first.” You griped at him, but there was no venom in your words, and he knew it.

You knew he was about to leave, and the suddenness of his departure was as jarring as his arrival. You didn’t know why you felt the need to stall, and you pushed that urge down rapidly in the face of the warrior when he looked back at you from assessing the street not a few feet away.

You sighed and let out a chuckle, wondering again how this man constantly came barreling into your life, disrupting the precarious peace you had brokered while here. You might have said it was a nuisance, but deep down, you knew that he brought a breath of life back into yours every time he crossed your path, reinvigorated the aimless routine you found yourself in. It was unsettling, the way this man had wormed his way into being such a… significant presence in your life. Even after only meeting him three times and always under less than pleasant circumstances.

Part of you wanted to tell him he could stay longer if he wanted; but you knew he would refuse.

Part of you wanted to tell him to be safe; but you knew he wouldn’t be.

Part of you wanted to tell him that you would see him around; but you knew that you probably wouldn’t.

So you settled on a lackluster, “good luck on your hunt” with a small smile as a peace offering for the fraught bickering you always seemed to fall into with him. A peace offering, he seemed to accept as he lifted the bag silently and looked inside,

“Pan. Water. Heat. Right?” His own attempt made your smile grow as you chuckled and nodded,

“You got it, sunshine.”

He nodded once in affirmation while you moved around him back towards the door of the practice. For some reason, you didn’t want to watch him walk away this time. It was easier for you to leave instead. A rumble of your name from the Mandalorian had you looking over your shoulder at him questioningly, the blush that had risen to your cheeks at the sound of your name on his lips not lost on Mando. He had turned back towards you when you moved and after a beat, spoke again.

“See you next time.”

And just like that, your chest hollowed, and a warmth filled you. The weight of his words were like an embrace, a reassurance you didn’t know you needed. Had needed, for longer than you probably knew. It was something secure and encouraging in these times of change and uncertainty, and you felt yourself cling to those words like a lifeline.

The placid nod you offered him with a gentle smile was all he stuck around for. Spinning on his heels, he took off towards the streets of Mynock once more, disappearing in a flash of beskar and steel and for once, you didn’t ponder about possibly seeing him again. You knew you would.

Din settled back into the pilots’ chair of the Razor Crest twenty minutes later, running through the familiar process of flying the ship out of the atmosphere and into the comfort of space, eager to escape into hyperdrive as soon as he was clear enough from Dandoran.

See you next time?

He groaned leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the cockpit, his brows drawn low over his eyes as he frowned. What possessed him to offer that promise, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the way your eyes had dimmed slightly when he was about to leave, or when you had wished him luck on a job he was still so uncertain about. Maybe it was the way you blushed when he said your name.

Or maybe it was just because he wanted to see you again too.

And that was the most troubling reason of all.

Din didn’t do friends, he had acquaintances and colleagues even if the term was tenuous. He had the covert and the foundlings, but he didn’t have people he actually wished to see. Never trusted anyone beyond what they could each offer one another. You hadn’t looked for anything from him, and it was unsettling. He didn’t know if he could trust you, years of training and experience told him otherwise. But from the old memories of you pressing Raquor’daan poison from his wound to the teasing friendship you displayed with the old Mirialan, his resolve softened a little.

His eyes flicked to the rapidly shrinking planet he was leaving.

Trust was too strong a word right now, but respect… he could admit that he respected you. And that alone put you on a very short list of people, one he was sure you would never truly understand the importance of.

And he was right.

You would never know the significance of being on that very short list of people, but in that moment, Din’s grudging respect for you set both of your lives on a very different course than either of you ever anticipated; one that revolved around a very special, very small, green child.

Once Dandoran had faded sufficiently behind the Razor Crest, he keyed in the co-ordinates to the far reaches of the Outer Rim and entered hyperspace and after several days of travel, he finally struck beskar when the tracking fob starting beeping as he coasted through space. He smirked behind his helmet as he changed direction and noted the closest planet on his navicomputer where his bounty was hidden.

Arvala-7.

Gotcha.

Stitches Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel​ @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209​ @nova646 @pychedelic-rainbow

[valdomarxxx]

There was only one bed? Well, @whataboutthebard, I know just the story. Forgive me if it's one you've heard before.

~

We are invited to court, and begged to perform. Some cousin of a cousin of the king, a far-flung royal offshoot with more money than he knows what to do with and more pretension than he’s earnt. In truth, he’s hired more than just the two bards who orbit the centre of this story; musicians and dancers and an orchestra, singers from far-flung climes to demonstrate how worldly and knowledgeable he is.

(It does not matter that the cousin-of-a-cousin has never stepped foot out of Verden. It is the appearance that counts.)

He has chosen us, he claims, because we are the most recent and second-most-recent winners of the Oxenfurt Bardic Competition. This will demonstrate how entrenched he is in the community, and how much he supports the arts.

We are led upstairs to the less fine wing of the keep, and I realise that he could have supported the arts more effectively by paying us a good wage, and - more to the point - supplying us with decent sleeping accommodations.

There is only one bed.

We look at each other. We look at the servant who has escorted us here.

“There appears to be some mistake,” I say, just as you speak - “And where is the other room?”

The servant raises her eyebrows at us. “No mistake,” she says. “You can take it or leave it. He won’t be granting you better.” She pauses, watching us, weighing us up. “Count yourselves lucky,” she says. “The flutist from Ebbing is sleeping on the floor with the servants. The group from Vicovaro are in the barn. The only place not teeming with musicians is the pig sty. But by all means, feel free to take it up with his Lordship if it displeases you.”

I peer at you. It could displease me more. It’s been some time since friendship became something slightly spikier, since those long sleepless nights at the academy. But I hesitate to call us rivals or enemies; the animosity between us is all for show.

At least, I think it is all for show.

(Later, I cannot be so sure.)

And… I look away from you, looking to the floor, looking to the single bed placed in the centre of the room like a steel-jawed trap. There are worse places to be.

Like the pig sty, for example. We thank the servant, who purses her lips and leaves.

“So,” you say. You throw your things to the bed.

“So.” I agree. I place my things beside yours.

It promises to be a long night.

The performance goes well. Even the most boorish employer can be tolerated when you have a captive audience and talented accompaniment, and it’s clear that the musicians gathered for the event are of the highest calibre. It’s been some time since we performed together, and we slip into the duet surprisingly easily, sliding back into two harmonising halves of a whole.

We close our set to applause and cheering, and - to both of our surprise - are led into a side chamber where we are given the real payment for our labours: food and wine. It is by no means as fine as the feast currently being served in the adjacent hall, but it’s better than I can expect in the Academy or you can expect on the road, and we settle into a long evening celebrating a successful performance.

That damned bed settles in the back of my mind like a ghost, like an itch I cannot scratch. Even when we laugh over old memories or bicker over which bottle to open next, I am thinking about what awaits us up the flight of servants’ stairs.

I am catastrophizing, I know. It is just a bed. Two nights - for we have been asked to perform tomorrow, too - and sweet sleep. Or not so sweet: as I have already mentioned, you snore, and I am not relishing the idea of those snorting grunts pressed so closely against my ear.

Yet—

No. I push down the thought, and return to the celebration, all the while waiting for the world to quietly end.

And it does, eventually. The food cleared away and the wine passed along to the next group of troubadours, we make our way up the stairs towards the room. Towards our room. We shuffle inside in silence, and before the door has shut you’re already stripping from your performance finery. You don’t even hesitate, and I suppose this is what travelling with a companion for so many years does to you; although you were never shy about your body in the same way I am.

I tug away my doublet hastily yet carefully, followed by my breeches - together they cost more than the pay we’re due to receive for tonight’s work. You are already in the bed, and for a moment I hesitate. I could sleep on the floor. It would not be a comfortable night, but the wine has made my bones feel soft and I have, after all, slept in worse places. It would be no hardship to pillow my clothes, however expensive they are, beneath my head and lie upon the wooden boards to—

“Valdo.” Your voice is sure in the dark. “Get in the bed.”

I do as you ask. The sheets are already body-warm, the mattress sagging where you lay just half a foot away. I lower myself to the edge, opening the space between us, muscles stiffening as I petrify, my body melding into immovable stone.

But not immovable enough. I feel you twist beside me, hear you sigh, can tell that even now you’re rolling your eyes at me. My senses, already heightened, light up, and then—

Your hand on my arm. You do not pull me closer, you do not tug or claw or grab or demand. You barely brush my skin. But still I move, still I follow that touch, still I turn onto my side until I’m facing you. You’re facing me, too.

“You get used to sharing a bed on the road,” you say, like we were halfway through another conversation. “It barely feels odd anymore when I and—”

“Please.” I cut you off. I try to sound biting instead of sad. “I do not need to hear about your witcher this evening.”

“No,” you reply. “I… I don’t think I want to talk about him, either.”

You move closer. Our ankles touch, of all things, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My heartbeat quickens; I pray for it to still and quieten. You yawn, and the gape cracks into a sleepy smile.

It’s easier, suddenly. Your hand is still upon my arm, and your skin is warm, and the bed is soft despite the cramped space. I turn onto my back, and feel your arm snake its way across my chest, towards my shoulder. I pull you close; I couldn’t do anything else but wrap my arms around you.

I expect to lie awake for hours, the lavender and chamomile scent of your hair filling my nose, muddling my mind. But you're warm, and soft, and gentle, and soon I feel myself drifting away, the pressure of your head against my chest making me painfully aware of every breath I take.

I sleep, and dream of—

I dream of you.

The next morning we wake slowly, dress slowly, eat slowly. We perform quick and fast and turbulent, garnering even louder applause, even greater accolades. It passes in a blur.

That night, we fall back into our shared bed. That night, we do not sleep at all.

[paimon-rambles]

Alphabet Fluff

Characters: Aether

A gift to my sister cause she never stops thirsting 😒 @katsukiibug

Doing all of them ;-;

Icon credit: Leheia

-

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Aether is opened to any activities his partner throws at him. He's not very picky.

But he does enjoy some dinner dates and strolls around the city, wheater it is Liyue or Mondstadt. He pays for all meals and snacks with the Mora he got from his travels.

Be warned, however, cause Paimon ain't gonna shut up about the food. Regardless it's comforting, followed by a nice walk through the city basked in moonlight.

Aether also in general likes to travel with you, other than Paimon you're his companion. He likes to take you to the forest to pick berries or other essential resources, beneficial for future endeavors.

Stories from his travels? Aether could ramble about for hours. Describing the little mishaps and mischief he and his sister found themselves in. Though he gets really sad whenever his sister is brought up.....oofles

He's traveled from world to world was introduced to many hobbies and games of variety, he's happy to introduce you to some of them if your willing to try something new out.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Your patience

Aether has a bit of a packed schedule; assisting with commissions and dealing with hilichrul attacks. Not to mention his mind is set on finding the 7 archons in the hope to find his sister. He's incredibly busy most of the times

He doesn't ignore you on purpose, but he's dragged everywhere. Poor guy:(

But he admires that you don't fuss about it and always hold patience. Of course, Aether will find a way to make it up to you eventually. He tends to send small souvenirs from his travels as a form of apology.

Your comfort

He recently lost his sister and is overhwaled by all these tasks placed on his heavy and tired shoulders. He leans on you when he needs that moment of peace or comfort.

He loves that you try to soothe him whenever he's in his worst moments. With your words or simple touches of comfort, he adores it all.

Your eyes

Aether loves to stare into your eyes. He finds them really beautiful and finds himself smiling whenever looking in your eyes.

He's memorized by how they lightly sparkle or glimmer depending on your emotions. Or how they light up whenever you laugh or smile.

He finds it soothing to just lean your foreheads against each other and stare endlessly at your eyes, his worries and concerns being carried away.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He's a brother and understands when his partner is under stress or feeling down. Similar to how he notices the small gestures Lumine has that show her emotions are swirling in her head.

He picks up on the small hints and notices right away the shift in your behavior. You can say you're fine but he ain't falling for it, he's seen the signs.

But Aether does give the space you want. He recognizes its benefits and understands it himself; He's lost his kin, there are times Aether wants to push everyone away.

So patient, he's not pushing you into anything instead he's letting you describe what's bothering you at your pace. You can break down sobbing and he would wait while comfortably drawing stars on your back. He even has his shoulder to cry on if you want, softly running his hand through her hair in comforting motions.

He tries his best to give advice from his own experience. He makes a promise to cheer you later. He's just trying to make you happy again cause he hurting inside if you're not :(

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Aether pictures the future from time to time. Mainly thinking about finding his sibling. He pictures two outcomes the good now and the one he dreads dearly.

Of course, since you are his s/o, you do play role in some of the scenarios he plays on his head.

He wonders what will be of the relationship after he finds his sibling, would they continue to travel worlds as they had done previously?

It was his sister and himself life's work of jumping planet to planet and learning of the different kingdoms and such.

Teyvat is your home, you have all your plans for the future in this world, he couldn't force you to leave.

So he rather hears of your views on the future instead, listening closely as you explain everything you have planned while his heart slowly aches as he debates for his future.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He sees you as his equal. Nothing less or more- though he looks to up you a lot

He doesn't let any status you may hold hinder the relationship, and he wishes the same. He may be a traveler from another world, praised for his achievements, and his reputation in the nation's placed his name high. But Aether doesn't want that to affect his relationship with his lover.

So yee equals =

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He hates fighting :(

Soft boy can't handle arguing with his s/o. It breaks his heart every time. Instantly feels guilty, even if he wasn't in the wrong.

Because of this arguments are incredibly rare. He's not an angry person in general and tends to stay positive most of the time. It will only occur if he's incredibly pent up about a situation. He'd bottle up those emotions before the string being pulled and he snaps.

Easy to forgive, the moment he notices he's angry he's apologizing for lashing out. Poor boy can't handle you being scared, upset, and disappointed with him.

After a fight, he gives you the space needed before checking on you and asking if you're alright. Aether would pull you into a hug, and probably sob depending on how bad the fight was. Cuddles until your both happy again or unless you really don't want to be in his presence at the moment.

If the fight was really bad he gives you some space to think for a bit and try to get it off his head. Afterward, he goes to apologize to you, to where you either sob together or things go back to normal right after

Apologizes repeatedly to you, you could say you've forgiven him but he's gonna continue apologizing for another hour or so.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Incredibly grateful for every little act his s/o does for him. Ever since losing his sister, he's been in a void and his s/o has been the light helping him back to his feet. Cheesy I know-

But he truly appreciates everything you do for him, it always brings a smile to his face whenever his s/o does the most simple little acts that go a long way for him. He acknowledges even the smallest of things

Simple acts such as setting up his stuff before he goes to complete commissions or cooking him some food. It always makes his day better.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Aether tells his partner pretty much everything, he dislikes keeping you in the dark. He would be really upset and heartbroken if he found out his s/o was hiding anything from him

He relies on you a lot, he tells you everything because you always put him at ease.

However, there are a few things that he would hide for a short time. He would tell his partner eventually but needs some time to plan out how to tell them. But those moments are rare and in between.

If he did find out that his s/o was hiding something from him, he'd be so torn :< feels betrayed a in way that you hid something from him.

Of course, he would listen to your reasoning as to why you kept secrets, but he starts to distance himself for a bit.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Aether works harder for you. In other words, he's constantly trying to impress you. He tries to act heroically around you to make you smile and all.

He learned to not always feel so down because of his sister and take time to be happy as well

He for sure helps you overcome any problems or barriers that have been holding you back, taking one step at a time. You work it out together and he's patient with the process

He's always inspired by you, he works harder for you and tries to complete his commissions at a faster rate so he can spend the rest of the day work you.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Can go both ways. On one hand, Aether isn't really one to get jealous, as he has complete trust in his partner but on the other hand, there are times when he gets insecure or jealous over somethings

But for the most part he isn't jealous, there are moments where he's scared to lose you like he lost his sister, to be left alone again :<<

In the moments where he is jealous, he would tell his s/o that he's feeling envious. Getting it off his chest and hoping his S/o would help calm down his worries

If he's feeling really envious, which are incredibly rare, he would avoid you for a bit trying to let his jealousy die away before confronting you

He'd feel really bad if he accidentally made you feel jealous instead. He would remind you that all his love is reserved for you and only you.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Something like that done here

An average kisser, a bit inexperienced when it comes to kissing, you're his first boyfriend/girlfriend but he caught on really fast.

But because of this, your first kiss ended up being really awkward and Aether got incredibly flustered cause he believed he did something wrong

He's still really shy whenever he kisses you, he grows flustered whenever you intimate the kiss.

His kisses are really gentle, pressing his lips against yours softly. Each kiss is filled with emotions, all his love into each one. Very gentle boi

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

A mess

Poor boi is stuttering and fumbling over his words. He a nervous wreck but he's trying his best.

He planned everything out but when the moment came he tripped over his words.

He invites you over for a nice dinner, nothing too fancy and nothing too cheap, just right. He pays for food, slowly bringing the conversation to an idea of a relationship. Of course, he's hella flustered and trying not to show(which he does) it.

Then he kinda blurts out that he has a crush on you and wants to try out a relationship

If you say yes he's gonna have a huge smile on his face for the rest day, it's really adorable TwT

If you say no, however, he freezes in place for a while, the whole thing repeating in his head up to the point where you rejected him. He apologizes and excuses himself. You don't see him for a couple of days, since aether is avoiding you, he's really embarrassed to talk to you. Oh and congratulations you get a nasty nickname from Paimon :D

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He thought about it at least once when your relationship was growing. Similar to dreams, he had different scenarios in this head for the future and how they could play out.

He would like to get married one day, yes, but it isn't something he sees doing anytime soon as his primary goal is to find his sister, afterward however he will look into it more and suggest the idea to his s/o.

In terms of how he proposes, he takes you on a little adventure that highlights some your adventures you had together near the beginning of your friendship, before getting on one knee and popping the question.

Kind of that nostalgic feeling you get as you reminisce on some of the old memories you created together

The both of you plan the ceremony and incorporate your ideas into one. It's gonna be a big wedding though since pretty much all of Mondstadt, Liyue, and other nations that are yet to be explored will be attending.

Of course, if you wish for a smaller wedding, he doesn't mind at all and will plan out something smaller. He personally likes a small wedding too :)

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Aether isn't too keen on nicknames for his s/o but he does have a few. But for the most part, he calls you y/n, especially in public

He calls you sometimes a shorter version of your name. Or a flower that reminds him of you.

Really depends on your personality as well and which flower it associates with, or he might have a silly nickname for you that he called you once and it stuck with him. However, those types of nicknames are used rarely depending on the circumstance.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Blush blush blush blush

He might be a little oblivious to it since your his first, he doesn't realize it until someone cough venti cough points out to him.

He's in denial at first, swirling over his words while his face reveals the truth. He's crushing hard

Aether tries to mask his little crush from you and he does pretty well minus a few moments where he's got off guard, que flustering soft boi

But when he's in love, he has a smile on his whenever speaking to the person that makes his heart skip a beat. It's pretty prominent to others once you notice the behavior shift from someone random to you.

He expresses his love in a little of everything; kisses and little hugs along with serenading you in words or perhaps gifting you something. A little mix of all of them

His favorite way to express his love is to have his hand intertwine with yours. It's simple but it comforts him knowing you're close. He loves it whenever you give him a slight squeeze of reassurance; it never fails to put a smile on his face

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Shy boy gets flustered in private, he gets really flustered showing PDA in public.

Don't get me wrong he loves showering you in affection but he gets easily flushed at the idea of people watching him kiss his s/o or giving them a comforting hug.

His PDA is average, he's open to hand-holding in public because it comforts him without having to do anything too affectionate in the public eye

He doesn't brag either, most people already know the existence of your relationship.

Although for the most part, he's trying to keep it a secret because of the Fatui and the threat it could place on you. You don't want La Signora chasing after you.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

Paimon is usual around Aether meaning that whenever your feeling hungry, Paimon can point out the best places to sit down and have a delicious meal

An expert treasure hunter is in your area, and you're dating him! He knows where to find hints and little clues for treasures and can open any lock or seal. Many fortunes

He has so many stories to tell from his previous travels. It helps you connect more as you listen to him tell you every memory he can remember from the worlds he visited. You never get bored by his stories either.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He's can be really creative in his antic when it comes to making his s/o happy, but he also sticks to some more cliche methods as well

As mentioned previously he's visited many worlds and has seen the various ways people would do to cheer up their partners.

He uses that to his advantage when trying something to get that smile he loves dearly on your face

But the also likes to take some classic routes, little gifts, or acts of affection to make you happy

Perhaps a rose banquet one day and something new and really imaginative the next. He can be a wild card when deciding

One time he jokingly asked Paimon for advice, of course, she suggested having sticky honey roast as a nice evening lunch date. Which he ended up taking you to that afternoon

He's willing to do anything-within reasonable terms- to make his s/o happy. If just point something out or specify on what would make you really happy; chances are he's going to do it for you

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

100% support in you

He wants to see your goals accomplished as well. Just like your helping him find his sister, he helps you achieve your goal

If you allow him, he's willing to put aside some of his commissions to help you plan and get a better roadmap to obtain your goal

Aether helps keep you motivated whenever you're feeling down, reminding you of what you have accomplished so far. Cooking you food or bringing you some water to get your brain flowing again. As well as some encouragement from Paimon, although she tends to over exaggerate most of the time

He is also sure to help you take breaks whenever you're pushing yourself too much. He takes you outside to pick plants or berries, but it's really soothing and distracting

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

It's an adventure every day with Aether

At the beginning of the relationship, he tried to follow a more classical relationship routine. Since he was so new to affection, e mimicked what he saw other couples do thinking it was the correct way to go. But after spending more time with you he strayed away from that, adding his own ideas along with yours

He's constantly traveling the world, meeting archons and other powerful beings. There always a battle to be fought or a harbinger to run from. A lot can happen in one day

And you're his trusty and equal companion, he likes to bring you along through the chaos that is Teyvat

In other words, there is always a thrill in your relationship, plus Aether is always open to trying something new occasionally. Never a dull moment except for that one lazy Sunday where you cuddle all day, but it's really wholesome

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Aether picks up on the little things that signal a behavior shift within you. With these notices he acts quickly to be sure your alright and accesses if he needs to shower you in more affection in order to make you happy >:0

He tries to sympathize with his partner, trying to understand the emotions they're going through. He understands grief and anger, as he had experienced it with the loss of his kin, and knows how to help alleviate his s/o

But he does try his best to help cheer you up regardless of the emotions you are feeling. Paimon is even there to cheer you with her own words

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Aether's relationship with you is something he holds close to his heart. It's incredibly important to him, and he is sure to voice how important you are to him.

His s/o is that last speck of hope and happiness in his life after being filled with pain for so long. He'd be devastated without you

Unfortunately, his sister is his first priority, his family comes close. Lumine is the only kin he has. But your also really important to him, and so he tries to shower you with affection daily

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Your Paimon's close friend, you get to hear her ramble about food- a lot. But she's also really supportive of your relationship, she's noticed how much happier Aether had become since then.

Aether likes it whenever you braid his hair. Finding it soothing as your fingers gently comb through his golden locks

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

A shy boy wanting to shower his s/o in affection. He's not the most affectionate person out there but he does try to be romantic and such

He adores hugs more than kisses, he finds it further comforting to hold his partner close and reassured that there beside him. He wishes he could cuddle with you for hours however commissions among other tasks that always pull him back

He also likes kisses, there always gentle and soft and he mainly kisses you on the cheek, forehead, or lips.

So overall he is pretty affectionate and he tries his best to make you feel loved

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He can handle it for a few days, he has trust in you and your abilities. But he does think about you whenever you have to leave, wishing he could go with you. He's already missing your presence the moment you kissed him goodbye before venturing off to whatever.

Then he starts to become worried, his head is racing even though you're fine. He's trying to stay calm in the situation, which he does pretty well but it's clear something is troubling the traveler from another world. Nonetheless, he doesn't act out that worry

He starts to take up more commissions in hopes it will put his mind off It, overworking himself just a tad too much until he finds himself exhausted and turns in to rest for the night.

He refrains from any thoughts involving you being in a dangerous circumstance, he's trying to stay positive and counting down the days until your arrival back to Mondstadt or Liyue. But he has had that one thought or two, dreading over his shoulders

When you do return, the moment he spots your familiar figure; his mind is washed with relief as he makes his way towards you. He approaches with a soft, kind smile as he engulfs you into a hug. He asks you how the journey or task went and if you hit any roadblocks or difficulties.

He takes you to dinner that afternoon to talk some more, he misses you dearly :(

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

As mentioned before Aether tries his best to make you happy, he'll try somethings out but he won't cross any unnecessary lines or ones that shouldn't be crossed

Listen- he's stolen a Gods Lyre, angered the cryo God, fought a Harbinger, and almost destroyed a nation- oh and he's a garden thief. He's willing to go to some extra lengths to make you happy-he just doesn't want to add on to the list of chaos that had occurred already

But as mentioned previously, his main goal is finding his sister and he tries not to stray from it too much. But yes, he does care about your relationship and he is sure to remind you that you always hold a special place in his heart :)

-

I'm done omg, yay

[ephemerlskies]

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments. 

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you. 

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his. 

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing. 

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride. 

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly. 

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow. 

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook. 

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing. 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right. 

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away. 

“I suppose you hate everything I love.” 

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.” 

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question. 

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight. 

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now. 

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear. 

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly. 

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear. 

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall. 

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours. 

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability. 

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him. 

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents. 

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh. 

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder. 

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter. 

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you. 

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed. 

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray. 

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning. 

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him. 

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning. 

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you. 

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that. 

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now. 

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.” 

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?” 

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened. 

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded. 

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan. 

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt. 

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder. 

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them. 

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!” 

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?” 

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity. 

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you. 

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep. 

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself. 

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.” 

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head. 

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her. 

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you. 

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete. 

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing. 

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.” 

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook. 

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday. 

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter. 

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon. 

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him. 

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily. 

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him. 

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.” 

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him. 

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant. 

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.” 

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.” 

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination. 

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train. 

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.” 

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could. 

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked. 

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder. 

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement. 

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available. 

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot. 

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia. 

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook. 

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.” 

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way. 

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…” 

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon. 

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift. 

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.” 

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital. 

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with. 

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart. 

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air. 

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it. 

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing. 

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon. 

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.” 

[jamespotterthefirst]

At Last (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K Warning: N/A Premise: It’s the day after gala and they’re not hiding anymore.

A/N: Just MC and Ethan being disgustingly cute publicly. Told through three different POVs

I.

Rosa quickened her steps as she trekked through the parking lot, her numb fingers tugging her coat closer around her shoulders. She was in a rush to get inside the hospital, partly because of the piercing cold of the bleak morning but also because of the fresh wave of gossip that awaited her. Now more than ever, she kicked herself for skipping out on the gala, having thought of herself as just a tired, overworked nurse who was not important enough to bring in any donations.

By the way her phone blew up throughout the night with notifications, she had missed the revelation of the century. Apparently, irritable and reserved Dr. Ramsey had kissed charming and vivacious Dr. Allende for everyone to see.

And if the many accounts were to be believed, it had been one hell of a kiss.

Said accounts varied wildly depending on who recounted them. Roxanne, for example, claimed they fully made out in the middle of the dance floor while the residents cheered them on. Marlene, on the other hand, swore Dr. Ramsey professed his feelings for the unsuspecting young doctor in a grand gesture before he dipped her back and kissed her as the music swelled around them.

Rosa didn't have an opportunity to decide which version she believed because just then, she heard the unmistakable baritone voice of Dr. Ramsey from a few parked cars away.

“The gossip in there is going to be insufferable.”

Rosa halted, realizing a second later that he stood several feet away, easily towering over the parked cars. Once convinced she was well out of sight, she craned her neck to take a better look. Both subjects of the new Edenbrook gossip stood by Dr. Ramsey’s luxury car, the space between them so minimal that it left no doubt that they were indeed together. If their proximity was not enough to convince anyone of this fact, the way Dr. Ramsey caressed every inch of her face with his gaze would be more than enough proof.

“So it'll be just like any other day,” Dr. Allende laughed, circling her arms around his neck and closing the small space between them. “Might I remind you that you're the one who decided to kiss me in front of the whole hospital?”

To Rosa's utter shock, Dr. Ramsey grinned down at his companion. The sight was so rare from the usually reticent doctor that Rosa mindlessly leaned forward to take a better look.

“Is that a complaint, Allende?”

“Hardly.”

Their words were playful but quiet, as though uttered from under a hazy spell. Effortlessly, Dr. Allende raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him, not that she needed to because Dr. Ramsey leaned down at once to meet her. It was a brief kiss that still managed to be so much more, their small sighs getting lost in the other's lips.

When they broke apart, Dr. Ramsey looked troubled, his mouth slanting thoughtfully.

“What is it?”

“I don't regret what I did,” he began after a short pause. “But it doesn't change the fact that I acted impulsively last night and I didn't stop to think how it might affect you.” His fingers gently brushed away a wayward strand of hair away from her face. “Unfortunately, in these situations, it is always the woman who endures the most criticism. If anyone even dares—”

An affectionate smile had been growing on Dr. Allende's lips until it culminated in another quick kiss.

“I don't care,” she told him solemnly.

Dr. Ramsey opened his mouth to argue but the poor man looked to be having a difficult time with that, looking thoroughly distracted by the pretty, radiant smile before him.

“Ethan, I'm serious. Having you completely, like this—it's all I ever wanted. Besides, I'm here to do a job that I do damn well. If anyone has a problem with me, they can say it straight to my face.”

Dr. Ramsey regarded her with devoted admiration. Even Rosa felt a surge of approval toward the fierce doctor.

“That's so goddamn attractive.”

Dr. Allende let out a small, startled laugh. “Me being feisty?”

He nodded, already hovering close to her lips. “You did it to me often, especially last year. It was entirely too… distracting.”

The tortured way he confessed that left no doubt that this was far more than a fling or superficial office gossip. Dr. Allende realized that too because her smile was adoring, eyes alight with unmistakable happiness.

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What I should've done every damn time.”

And he leaned down to kiss her.

---------

II.

Ines was certain that Zaid wasn't fully listening, his every effort invested in sending a glare at a gaggle of gossiping interns.

“You would think they had jobs to do,” he grumbled once they passed them in the hall. “If they spent as much time studying their cases as they do discussing senseless gossip, then they'd be half decent at their jobs.”

As usual, Ines offered him a fond smile, rolling her eyes in amusement. “You can't blame them, Z. Even you have to admit Dr. Ramsey and Lilac dating is a huge deal.”

Zaid let out an unconvincing scoff.

Restraining a laugh, Ines allowed a small silence to follow. Just as she knew he would, he dropped the stern facade and said, “I wonder if it's serious.”

“I hope so,” she confessed in a giddy whisper. Something about last night's events made Ines feel insurmountably happy for both doctors. “They make an adorable couple.”

Ines found confirmation to both of her statements hours later as she strolled into the packed coffeehouse. The plan had been to get a caramel latte for herself and a black coffee for Zaid during her afternoon break. But she'd be lucky to make it through the line before her next meeting.

In the end, she decided to stay. The prospect of her latte with a mountain of whipped cream was worth the line. She was trying to convince herself that the rare, grateful smile she would receive from Zaid in exchange for his coffee had nothing to do with it when she heard a familiar voice.

“There's not enough coffee in the world to get me through this day.”

Dr. Ramsey and Lilac sat at a table by one of the windows. The way they huddled together gave Ines the impression that they were enjoying a small respite from the whirlwind taking root at Edenbrook, both because of their relationship and because of the lawsuit.

Lilac reached across the table to clasp his hand firmly in hers. “You have me,” she told him earnestly, her thumb sweeping small trails across his skin. “We'll get through it together.”

Dr. Ramsey looked down at their joined hands and then back up at Lilac. It was almost as if every doubt and every hardship melted at the sight of her quiet smile. With a small nod, he raised their hands to kiss hers with such adoration, Ines felt as though she was intruding by just looking.

“You're right,” he told her. “I also have the promise of dinner together to get me through.”

At that, Lilac sent him a coy smile that made a slight blush appear on his cheeks. She leaned in and whispered something against his ear, the words lost against the cacophony  of blenders, music, and conversation around them. By the time she leaned away, her smile was downright wicked while Dr. Ramsey looked stunned and pleased all at once, his face redder than before.

“Order for Ethan,” the barista called from the counter, saving him from spluttering a response.

As Dr. Ramsey approached the front to collect their drinks, his eyes fell on Ines, who couldn't help but grin sheepishly.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Delarosa,” he greeted with a nod.

“Hi Dr. Ramsey,” she returned cheerfully from her place in line. “I had to swing by to get good coffee. There are days when the cafeteria coffee just won't do.”

Dr. Ramsey grimaced in solidarity at the mention of the Edenbrook coffee. Aside from the small gesture, he didn't offer much more of a response, but he didn't move to walk away either. At the same time, both of their eyes moved to Lilac, too invested in her phone as she waited for Dr. Ramsey's return.

Something like panic flitted across Dr. Ramsey's face, before he relaxed, probably remembering he didn't have to hide anymore. With a defeated exhale, he asked, “So how bad is it?”

“Hmm?”

“The gossip. How vicious is it?” His voice sounded detached, purposely casual. Ines could tell, however, that the answer mattered more to him than he was willing to admit.

“Oh, it's not—” she started, still caught off guard.

“Because if anyone is suggesting anything untrue about Lilac or her place in my now disbanded team, I'll personally see that their job at Edenbrook is cut short, shorter than the rest of us.”

Ines couldn't help but smile broadly at that impassioned proclamation. Lilac was, without a doubt, lucky to have someone like Dr. Ramsey in her corner.

“It's okay, Dr. Ramsey,” she assured him. “That won't be necessary. Most of the staff is just shocked that you two kissed last night. So everyone's been mostly telling and retelling that story so much it's changed. The most outrageous one I've heard is a version where you took the microphone from the band and used it to dedicate Isn't She Lovely? to Lilac.”

“I don't think I'd ever—”

But he stopped himself abruptly, his eyes falling on Lilac at a distance. The small smile that tugged at his lips said everything he would never say to Ines in words: he'd do anything for Lilac.

It was most as if he was realizing that himself too because he couldn't bring himself to look away from her.

“I'm happy for you both, Dr. Ramsey,” Ines said sincerely.

Dr. Ramsey looked at Ines with an unreadable expression. She shifted on her feet, suddenly anxious she had overstepped. But Dr. Ramsey offered her a rare smile that made him look years younger.

“Thank you, Dr. Delarosa.” His eyes traveled back to Lilac. “I'm happy, too.”

---------

III.

It was no surprise that Naveen felt exhausted by the end of the day, as though every step drilled exhaustion further into his sore muscles. It was true that he was getting old but dealing with a malpractice lawsuit while desperately trying to keep a hospital afloat would wear out even the youngest and most resilient of doctors.

It seemed fitting that at the end of that thought, he found himself outside of Ethan's old office. The door, Naveen noticed, was halfway open and the voices of the office's occupants drifted out to the empty hall.

“...pointless to set up an office for only a month,” Ethan was saying.

Naveen drew closer to the door, never one to resist the prospect of a good conversation. Inside, Ethan and Lilac stood by the desk, unpacking a box of belongings and placing a few items around the otherwise bare room.

“Is this everything?” Lilac asked as she peered into the box.

“I've never been into frivolous office décor,” Ethan admitted with a shrug. “Particularly if it doesn't serve a purpose. It easily becomes clutter otherwise.”

Naveen almost chuckled at that, remembering the many times he teased and urged his protégé to have at least one personal item on his desk—anything to indicate a small semblance of his personality. In the end, Ethan agreed to a small succulent plant, refusing to add anything else.

Seeming to remember something, Ethan reached into his coat pocket and produced what looked like a small photograph.

“Is that the one they took last night at the gala?” Lilac asked, taking it from his hand to take a close look. “We look damn good.”

Ethan laughed, the sound almost foreign to Naveen.

“Most of the credit goes to you.” He finalized the words by giving her a sweet kiss on the forehead. Lilac did not seem to be satisfied with such a chaste kiss because she pulled him back down to her, their lips meeting.

Their kiss was short, breaking off into small sips that neither could stop. Foreheads pressed together, they shared a giddy string of laughter, looking much like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.

Ethan took the photo back from her. “I'll frame it and keep it at my desk.”

Lilac visibly froze at that, taking a second too long to recover with a signature taunting smile. Even from a distance, however, the old doctor could tell she was genuinely touched. Naveen, too, was pleasantly surprised. Back when he coerced Ethan into decorating his office, he had refused to add any framed photos.

“I don't have anyone I care enough about,” Ethan had begrudgingly explained back then.  

“Will I be the only framed photo in your office, Dr. Ramsey? I am honored.”

Lilac's teasing smirk disappeared when Ethan drew closer to her, his hand easily finding their place at her hips. He kissed a soft trail from her cheek up to her ear before whispering, “You'll be the first, too.”

She pulled back briefly to study his face, perhaps expecting to see traces of dishonesty. When she saw none, she placed her hands at either side of his face and pulled him into a fiery kiss. She kissed him with such desperation, that they clumsily sent the empty box flying off the desk as Ethan walked her backwards.

That was Naveen's cue.

He cleared his throat.

They sprang apart, Lilac almost falling off the desk to meet the box as Ethan heartily stepped away.

Naveen chuckled as he entered the office. “Don't bother on my account,” he assured them. “After last night's display, no one in this hospital would expect anything less.”

“Eavesdropping again, old man?”

“You make it far too easy by leaving the door ajar. For someone who dedicates his life to solving mysteries, you're not very good at being one yourself.”

Lilac laughed, the sound infecting even Ethan. He allowed a grin as he drew her close, pressing her back against his chest and wrapping his arms securely around her.

Naveen couldn't help the knowing smile that spread across his face as he watched them.

Ethan, on the other hand, made a show of rolling his eyes. “Go on, then. Say it. I know you want to gloat.”

“Ah, you know me quite well.”

Lilac looked over her shoulder at Ethan and then at Naveen. “Gloat? Gloat about what?”

“About being right when regarding you two,” Naveen explained simply. “Even as I was slowly dying last year, I could tell you had caught Ethan's eye. In all my years knowing him, I had never seen him that way.”

Lilac all but squealed. “You liked me?”

In response, Ethan groaned, well aware he was outnumbered. “I thought that was obvious.”

“It wasn't.”

Both Lilac and Naveen laughed out loud while Ethan did a poor job at looking annoyed, all traces of this weak performance disappearing when she swiveled in his arms to press a kiss on his cheek. Naveen, for his part, felt his chest swell with pride, overcome with emotion at finally seeing Ethan unconditionally happy.

---------

A/N: Babies, are we okay after that chapter? Because I’m not!

Thank you for making it this far! Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading and helping me out!

_____

(Sorry if I forgot anyone)

tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself,  @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @mrsramseyy, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie​, @nikki-2406​, @lilypills​, @chasingrobbie​, @nooruleman​, @angela8756​, @lonely-mxxnlight​, @ruinedbypixels​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​, @tsrookie​, @mvalentine​, @professorkingslay​, @drakewalkerfantasy​, @casey-v​, @helloblueeyedcat​, @mysticaurathings​, @blossomanarchy​, @thegreentwin​, @togetherwearerapture​, @rookieoh​, @ramseysno1rookie​, @rookiemarsswiftie​, @natashajaniphil​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​, @hatescapsicum​, @choices-lurker​, @kiara-36​, @junehiratas​, @danijimenezv​, @macy-ray85​, @adrex04​, @canigetanawwjunk​, @sanchita012​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​ , @scorpiochick8​, @skylarklyon​, @starrystarrytrouble​, @mercury84choices​, @drariellevalentine​, @ethanrcmsey​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​, @kaavyaethanramsey​ , @udishaman​

[kantrips]

Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly. 

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.   

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days. 

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.  

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

[dhwty-writes]

A Touchy One

Is this incredibly self-indulgent? Yes. Am I posting this anyways? Also yes! I dug this up somewhere in my WIP folder and decided this deserves to be finished.

This is the first thing I've posted in forever, and I know (and am sorry) that it's no OWBABH update (that will come, too, I promise), but take this in the meantime. I am finally feeling like writing again, so here's to hoping I won't take as long next time. Have fun reading!

Summary:  The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

Or: how two people, who do not like being touched learn to enjoy each other's closeness, featuring a sex-repulsed Jaskier and our resident grumpy witcher.

Warnings: none, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

It has been scarcely more than a brush of his fingertips across his forearm, but still Geralt did jump and scoot away as if burned. He even faintly remembers growling quietly, although he's not quite sure if that was a later addition of his mind. He distinctly remembers the surprised, and slightly hurt expression on Jaskier's face, though.

After that, there has been no touching for quite some time. Until one night, when Geralt returned from a contract too tired to rid himself of his armour and simply flopped face down onto the bed in the inn they were staying at. Jaskier drew close, hesitantly hovering at his side, one hand extended. "May I?" he asked quietly.

The bard patiently waited for his grunt of approval, before hauling him upright, deftly unbuckling his armour and putting it away. Geralt was half asleep during the whole process, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's shoulder, while fighting the urge to pull him close.

The bard is a touchy one, and although that seemed odd and startled Geralt in the beginning, it now is the most natural thing in the world. Because the thing is, the bard isn't necessarily a touchy one. He is a spacey one. Comes with the profession, he guesses.

Wherever Jaskier goes, he brings a stage with him, announcing his presence with loud songs and colours as well as grand gestures, uncaring for other people's opinions. It is only natural, that with every other spread of his arms he brushes against someone. And it's also mostly natural that, as his travelling companion, those touches mostly reach Geralt.

Just as natural as touching him in return. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world. There is seldom a moment when the bard isn't touching him, be it a hand on his forearm, an elbow nudging his side, or his dirty feet in his lap. And it isn't as if the bard is the only one to initiate that kind of intimacy. Geralt delights in throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder, steadying him with a reassuring hand on his back after he had too much to drink, or wrestling him into a river. He especially delights in waking up cuddled close to his bard, their limbs and scents intertwining, both of them too lazy to start the day.

He can't remember when that had started, if he's quite honest. He thinks it was maybe five years after they first met, that they arrived at an inn tired and battered, as well as soaking wet from the thunderstorm outside only to discover that there was only one bed left.

After tucking the witcher into bed, the bard threatened to slip from his grasp. "Jaskier," Geralt slurred after a failed attempt to grab his wrist.

"Yes, dear witcher?"

"C'me 'ere." Geralt doesn't quite remember the motion accompanied by his words, too much asleep for that already, but according to Jaskier he made 'grabby hands'. Despite that embarrassing escapade, the bard beamed and indulged him, slipping into the single bed next to him and cradling him tight to his chest. Geralt never slept so soundly in his entire life.

 He thought that he would mind, if he is honest. He never liked anyone invading his space before, and Jaskier is nothing if not invading. It took them a bit to establish some boundaries, to find out what made the other snarl and pull back or vanish come morning. Geralt doesn't like his potions to be messed with and Jaskier is very protective of his notebook. Geralt prefers to be cuddled instead of doing the cuddling part and Jaskier allows no hands from his hips to his knees, although he doesn't mind waking up with Geralt draped over him from chest to toe.

Other taboos soon soften until they are abandoned completely. Like the bag-sharing ban, for example, or clothes. In the first few months of cuddles and touches, Jaskier enacted his strict shirts-and-pants-required-policy with vigour, only to be the one to ultimately forego it. Geralt still smiles at the memory.

It was an especially hot summer, maybe a decade into their acquaintance and Geralt just wrestled the bard into a clear creek. They were sodding wet, Jaskier huffing indignantly, in nothing but their smallclothes, too lazy to dry off if the sun was about to do the work anyways. Seeing him standing there, shaking his wet hair, his hands on his hips, did something funny to Geralt's stomach. As if it dropped and lifted at the same time.

Before knew what he was doing, he tossed Jaskier his clothes. "Get dressed," he ordered gruffly and spread his arms, "and come here."

Jaskier looked at the garments in his hands and sneered. "Oh, fuck no," he spat out. "You want a hug, Geralt of Rivia?" He threw the dirty clothes back at him and spread his arms. "Come and get it."

Geralt let them hit him. Although that also might have been the shock of Jaskier so readily abolishing his most adamant requirement. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure, you daft witcher. Now come here before I dry and start melting again."

Geralt has never been so quick to comply to a request. He lunged to tackle Jaskier to the ground, happily sprawling across him until they were both sweaty again. He was shoved off unceremoniously and then coerced into another bath in the river.

That night they didn't bother to get dressed either. Not when setting up their camp next to the creek, not when Jaskier got out his lute, not when Geralt started cooking their dinner. Certainly not when going to sleep.

Maybe it ought to feel weird. It's a weird thing to embrace your friend like a lover, is it not? It didn't, though. It doesn't. In fact, it feels like most natural thing in the world.

The bard is a touchy one. But that is not the reason why he is odd. The reason why he is odd, is his reaction to being touched in turn. He often startles and pulls away, just like Geralt has.

They are lying in bed one evening, entangled like they always are, Jaskier on Geralt's chest (the bard insisted they swap for once), Geralt carding his fingers through his bard's hair. There was a performance, earlier that day, and Jaskier made the acquaintance of a nice-looking gentleman. Geralt resigned himself already to the fact that he would go to bed alone that night.

But then, the man reached out to place a hand on Jaskier's knee. The bard froze up and a moment later he was plastered against his witcher's side, insisting they go to bed. It is a strange behaviour, although not the first time he has seen Jaskier react that way. The question burns on his tongue and, of course, Jaskier notices.

"What is it?"

Geralt tenses beneath him. Fifteen years and still not brave enough to ask. "Hm."

"Don't be daft," the bard chides, "we both know something's on your mind. Out with it."

There's no evading a determined bard, Geralt discovered that a long time ago. "You... don't like to be touched," he notices. Which is an odd thing to say to the half-naked man sprawled across his chest, with his ankles hooked around his calves. But they are odd people and an odd pair, so that's neither here nor there.

He is quiet for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that Geralt feels the need to check with a quiet "Jaskier?" if he hasn't fallen asleep.

"Hm," the bard replies quietly. "That's not strictly true."

"Not strictly untrue either."

Jaskier sighs with a resignation of a man who knows he cannot hide, but doesn't particularly want too either. Still, it takes him a long time to reply: "I don't mind the touching. I... am not a great fan of what comes after."

Geralt freezes, his fingers tangled in Jaskier's hair, trying and failing to decipher that statement. "What comes after?"

"Oh, you know..." Jaskier makes a very illustrative gesture.

"Ah." Yes, he knows what comes after. He is, in fact, a great fan of what comes after. "You mean you don't like men?"

"Oh no, don't get me wrong. I like men and women well enough, just... not in my bed."

He frowns and looks down again at the man sprawled across his chest who must surely notice his heart beating rapidly. "Jaskier..."

"Hm?"

"I'm in your bed."

"Yes, I know, but that's different. I don't like them naked in my bed."

"Jaskier," he says again, glancing down at their almost naked bodies pressed together.

"Oh, shut up, you great oaf," he hisses and grins. "You know what I mean. And you're... different."

"Hm. Why?"

"I don't know." Jaskier sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. "You just are. Never tried to shove your dick into me, for starters. Or tried to coax me to shove my dick into you."

He shrugs. "Never thought you'd be interested."

"I'm not. Are you?"

He shrugs again. "Does it matter, if you aren't?"

"I guess it doesn't. Still, are you?"

"Jaskier," he chides softly and does his best not to squirm under his inquisitive gaze. But the bard is unrelenting. Geralt sighs and raises his eyebrows as he answers. "You... are a very attractive man. I would gladly suck your cock, or let you suck mine, if you were so inclined. Seeing as you aren't... I would rather refrain from it, if it's all the same to you." He smiled and splayed his fingers over Jaskier's shoulder. "I assure you, not the most proficient cocksucking in the world could grant me greater bliss than I am in right now. There is nothing in the world that could persuade me to give up what we have, especially not something as insignificant as a roll in the hay."

"Oh." Jaskier's shoulders sag and for a moment Geralt fears he's said something wrong. But then a bright smile spreads on his bard's face that is mirrored by his own a moment later. "That's a relief. And thank you. I guess."

Geralt snorts, amused. "You're welcome." After a moment of silence, he adds: "Jaskier? You're different for me, too."

"I am?" The bard beams at him. "How so?"

He has to be exhausted. Or drunk. Or both. There is no other explanation for the next words that leave his mouth. "Because I love you," he hears himself say, to his own mortification.

But Jaskier just smiles and closes his eyes. "Oh," he breathes and languidly squirms closer, like a cat basking in the sun. Then, after a mortifying moment that feels like an eternity, with Geralt's heart thundering in his chest, he replies: "I love you, too, Geralt of Rivia."

He breathes out, relieved, and opts for holding his bard tighter. That's always a good option. It just feels right to share their space and share their silence. Natural. 

He's not sure how long the quiet lasts before, for once, he's the one to break it: "Are we lovers?" Geralt asks suddenly, the question that has been occupying his mind for the past few minutes.

Jaskier sleepily blinks up at him. "Do you want us to be? I'm sure you could find a person better—"

"No, I don't think so," he interrupts him without hesitating.

Jaskier smiles again and it's a sweet expression, one that makes his heart speed up and his face go soft. "If we were lovers, Geralt...," he says after a while, "what would that mean for us?"

"You mean, what would change?"

"Yes."

"Hm." He gives him a long glance. "You said you are averse to naked people in your bed."

"I am," Jaskier confirms. 

"Are you also averse to clothed people kissing you?"

Geralt feels stupid while asking it. Apparently, it is very stupid, for Jaskier immediately starts laughing. "No, my dear," he replies after having calmed down, "I am not averse to clothed people kissing me."

"In that case, I would like to kiss you from time to time."

"Like when?" Jaskier props himself up on an elbow and his lips curl into a different smile, one that's more teasing, more flirtatious than the soft expression before.

"Like now," he says before he can change his mind. 

Jaskier hums and reaches out slowly, so that he cups Geralt's face with his hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. Then, he leans in, just as slowly, and presses his lips to the witcher's in a sweet kiss. 

"Good?" Geralt asks when he pulls away.

"Good," Jaskier confirms. 

"Good." He allows himself to smile as well, bright and unguarded like his bard taught him, and pulls him against his chest again. Once they're settled, he says, feeling a little silly: "I suppose I would also like a love poem or two, master poet."

"Oh, Geralt." Jaskier smooths a hand down his side and feels around until he finds Geralt's hand and can interlace their fingers. "Are you so daft as not to realise that each and every one of my poems for you's a love poem?" he mumbles and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Warmth spreads in his chest again and he smiles. "I had hoped," he replies and returns the gesture, "but I did not dare to presume." After a moment he adds: "Thank you."

"Always, love," Jaskier replies. "Now go to sleep. I'm knackered."

Feeling relieved and relaxed, holding his bard—his lover!— close, Geralt does.

The bard is a touchy one. And an odd one, although not for his relationship to touches. He's an odd one for loving a witcher. But said witcher is an odd and touchy one as well, so it's alright. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world.

[filmmakerdreamst]

Gabrielle, Xena, and their wlw legacy 25 years later

“Before I met you, no one saw me for who I was. I felt invisible. You saw all the things that I could be. You saved me, Xena.” – Gabrielle, “The Ides of March”

The story of Xena is remembered as many different things. A heroic saga, a tale of redemption, a campy romp. It’s a series that truly had it all, and that’s why it remains iconic a quarter of a century later. Yet it is perhaps best remembered for the series-long slow burn subtextual love affair between Xena and her “traveling companion” Gabrielle.

While Xena and Gabrielle never became a canonical couple throughout the show’s run, producer Liz Friedman was (and is) an out lesbian and she, along with many of the writers, are on record as having worked to push queer themes throughout the series. Though studio executives refused to allow an openly queer relationship to flourish in late 1990s all-ages programming, looking back, they got away with a lot. While the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle remains the most talked about element of the show with good reason, something that stands out during a rewatch is that Gabrielle’s story is a queer narrative from the very start.

In the pilot episode, Gabrielle and her fellow villagers are taken hostage by henchmen of the villainous Draco. Despite being “only a bard,” Gabrielle is a brave young woman, and tries to stand up for the others, but to no avail. She is, after all, a storyteller, not a warrior. At that fortuitous moment, Xena arrives and defeats the warlords effortlessly, and it changes Gabrielle’s life forever. Not only is her life spared, she has found a new purpose – Xena.

Gabrielle is immediately smitten and attempts to follow Xena out of town when the other villagers, knowing her reputation as a ruthless killer, demand that she move on. Xena is jaded and prefers to travel alone, but Gabrielle trails her. She is committed to proving to Xena that they need each other. She even saves Xena’s life by thinking on her feet and keeping her cool under pressure so that Xena finally, grudgingly feels compelled to hear her out. When Xena threatens to send her back home, Gabrielle immediately replies, “I won’t stay there,” and makes an impassioned plea to Xena to allow her to accompany her on adventures.

“Gabrielle doesn’t elaborate on the details of her alienation, but any queer viewer would be able to relate.”

Even from the very first episode, Gabrielle knows she does not belong in her hometown. She knows she does not fit in, and the heteronormative plan that has been laid out for her by the people in her life seems akin to torture. She doesn’t elaborate on the details of her alienation, but any queer viewer would be able to relate. Xena is moved by this, and she finally agrees to accept Gabrielle into her life. For both of them, this proves to be the most important decision either of them would ever make.

This is all within the very first of the one hundred thirty-four episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess, and it truly set the standard for what we would see going forward. Gabrielle would have some romantic interests outside of Xena over the course of the series, but there is no questioning that her life revolved around the Warrior Princess from the moment she met her. Xena struggles with myriad romantic attachments throughout the show, conflicted over her past loves like Marcus, and the god of war, Ares, who sees the bond between her and Gabrielle as a threat and consistently attempts to break them up. For Gabrielle, she is briefly married, but her husband is little more than a plot device who is then almost immediately killed. She is trailed after by Joxer, but has no interest in him. In contrast, she is dedicated to Xena, and rarely questions the strength of their connection. Though it isn’t always explicit, by the end of the series, it’s difficult to view their relationship as anything but a love story.

Looking back, what was mandated a platonic relationship by censorship comes across more like a highly successful polyamorous relationship, in which the two grant each other space and understanding while remaining fully committed to one another. By the end of the story, they appear to be in a more monogamous arrangement, with Xena ultimately choosing Gabrielle as her one true partner, but it’s important that they allowed each other to express outside interests without anger as they grew together.

Indeed, though Xena’s affairs are many, Gabrielle’s strongest outside interest is with the Amazons. This, of course, is not without its own subtext. In the episode “Hooves & Harlots”, Xena focuses on trying to solve a murder mystery while Gabrielle trains and bonds with the Amazons. The Amazons emphasize sisterhood and they give Gabrielle a greater understanding of who she is as an entity separate from Xena. In “The Quest,” we learn that if Xena were to perish, Gabrielle would go to live with the Amazons rather than rejoining her old village or even pursuing her career as a bard. Though the Amazons are also never confirmed as queer despite the obvious queer elements of their story, Gabrielle’s emphasis on surrounding herself with a community of other queer people is important. In the Amazon episodes, the Gabrielle-specific subtext is as strong as it ever gets. In “To Helicon and Back,” Gabrielle politely notes that Xena will have to leave because a pending ceremony is Amazon-only, and Xena graciously agrees with only a trace of apprehension, quipping, “Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.” Xena supports Gabrielle and encourages her to form close bonds with other women, but they always come back to each other.

In “The Ides of March,” the villainous Callisto teams up with Xena’s cruel ex Caesar to usurp rulership of Rome from its tenuous democracy. Xena has seen a prophecy warning her to never set foot within Rome lest she risk her own death, but when Gabrielle is captured, she feels she has no choice. They nearly escape, but she is paralyzed by Callisto in the middle of a fight to free Caesar’s prisoners. Gabrielle spent much of the last season on a quest for peace, but when she sees Xena fall, she does not hesitate to unleash her full rage on the Roman guards. She fights valiantly while Xena begs her not to, fearing the cost to Gabrielle’s spirit. After they are both captured, they are imprisoned together and sentenced to death. When Xena weakly apologizes to Gabrielle, asking her forgiveness for making her break her vow of non-violence, Gabrielle insists that it’s meaningless, as nothing has ever mattered to her besides her life with Xena. The two of them are crucified together, and they die gazing into each other’s eyes. Though they return to life in the next season, we see that even in death, their souls were just as intertwined as their lives had become.

Gabrielle’s struggle with violence and the inner peace she ultimately achieves in concern to it is generally what people focus on when talking about the importance of her story, but that all happens alongside her journey to acceptance of herself as a queer person. She and Xena are not an immediate item but rather a slow burn love story in which they both must prove their love and devotion while struggling with their own inner demons. Yet still, at any time throughout the series when the two become separated, Gabrielle is not well until she is reunited with her partner. Xena, for her part, grows to depend on Gabrielle in a way that is, at first, completely alien to her. Though Xena has had many loves, none of them went to the lengths that Gabrielle went to in order to be with her. Leading up to her catastrophic death in the final episodes, her commitment to Gabrielle is agonizingly apparent. Even in death, the two of them will never be separated.

Without Gabrielle’s queer subplot, textual or not, Xena would not have been the show it was. Xena’s story involves a lot of conflicting feelings and ends with her making amends for who she was before ultimately letting go of it all and finding her own peace. Gabrielle’s story is about holding on to her faith and her kindness regardless of what she goes through. Together, these stories combined to be one of the greatest love stories in television history. Though the comics would later portray their relationship as openly queer, the fact that it didn’t need to be canonical within the show to be as important as it is to queer audiences only further proves the impact of the series, the vitality of Gabrielle’s story, and the poetic beauty of her complicated, but all-encompassing, love for Xena.

- Gabrielle, Xena, and their wlw legacy 25 years later by Sara Century

[septicace-writes]

For the made up title do dah: completely feral

Completely Feral

First of all thank you so much for sending this in, it is highly appreciated! I hope you’ll like it :) 

Summary: Geralt comes home from a hunt and gets a little jealous. 

Genre: smut

Warnings: explicit content

author’s note: I started this without a real direction except “jealous Geralt goes feral” and it was an interesting challenge to flesh that out on the fly. 

1.2k words

There’s two things that led to Geralt all but dragging you into your bedroom that day. One of them is that he had been gone for a few weeks off on a hunt and he missed you. He hates being apart from you for such long stretches of time, despite knowing full well that you can handle yourself. He misses your touch, your warmth, your love when he’s gone. And he misses watching you. Whether you’re working or reading or relaxing he doesn’t care, he just enjoys watching you. Taking in your presence and seeing how intimidated most men were by it. You’ve pulled many a smirk from his lips by shutting down unwanted advances in mere seconds. The unfortunate chap usually running rom the vicinity with his tail tucked.

And this is the second thing that led to you being pulled by your arm up the stairs and through the door and into his body. When Geralt returned, you were busy tending to your horse, having just come back from a ride. A ride you clearly hadn’t taken alone if the guy grooming his horse beside you was anything to go by. Geralt could see the two of you from quite a while away, across the field, but Roach was tired from travelling through the night and so he let her slowly trot towards his homestead rather than giving in to his desire and rushing.

Geralt learned a long time ago that he needn’t be jealous with you. He learned he could trust you and that you would always be his. Exclusively. Yet seeing you with this stranger right after he’d been gone for so long sparked that old familiar fire in him. The closer he got, the more he could see that the stranger clearly fancied you. Your laugher drifted over to him when you released the horses onto the field. And it is not the stranger’s hand on your shoulder that pushes Geralt over the edge. No, it’s the fact that you don’t recoil and push it off. It’s the way you just continue laughing at something he said. Geralt kicks Roach into a last gallop, suddenly no longer able to restrain himself.

You turn at the thunder of hooves behind you, the biggest grin forming on your face when you recognise your lover. The man beside you, he was a good fellow, new in town so you’d gone on a couple of rides together to show him around. And apparently, he was completely oblivious to the fact that you were spoken for. And you had been until now oblivious to the fact that he was flirting with you. Realisation struck you when he stepped up to you and put a hand around your waist looking at the oncoming rider.

You didn’t get time to twist out of his embrace, because next thing you know, Geralt has jumped off Roach and pushed him aside.

“Geralt!” you exclaim surprised, but that’s as far as you get before his lips crash onto yours, one hand on your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to his body. You instinctively meld into him, Geralt moving his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses down to your neck. You let out an uncontrolled moan when he bites into the soft skin.

“Ahem.” Your riding companion cleared his throat, which brings you momentarily back to earth. You let go of Geralt, pushing off him and straightening yourself.

“Right, I should probably introduce you two. Geralt, this is-“

“I don’t care!” Geralt’s voice is more a growl than anything else. He shoots the stranger a menacing glare.

“You should probably leave.” You say, giving the guy an apologetic look, but he doesn’t seem to understand.

“Will you be al-“ That’s as far as he gets before Geralt cuts him off.

“She’s mine! Now scram.” A shiver runs down your back at the threat in his voice. You trust him, but when his voice gets like this it strikes a little fear even into you. It speaks for the stranger’s courage that he doesn’t immediately drop everything and run.

“I do think, sir, that Y/N and I have spent some amiable time together over the past weeks while I have not seen you at all since coming here. Who are you to her?” You’re impressed, there’s only a small quiver in his voice.

You can feel Geralt seething behind you, he’s probably clenching his jaw in order to not tear into this guy right here and now you think.

“Listen, Ben, I don’t know what you thought, but we were only ever going to be friends. I’ve been off the market for a long time. I thought you knew. And you really should leave now, for your own good.” You nod towards the road back to Ben’s place, but don’t get to see whether or not he actually leaves because the next moment Geralt grabs your arms and drags you into the house.

Up in the bedroom, Geralt pulls you into him again, enveloping you in a passionate kiss while his hands roam over your body to free you from your clothes.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, panting, when the White Wolf pushes your naked body onto the bed. You watch him get out of his shirt and trousers, feasting your eyes on the body you had missed more than anything over the past weeks.

“You.” Geralt growls in response, caging you under him. “You need to remember you’re mine.” He kisses you again, one hand groping your heaving breasts. Your hands roam his back, clawing and scratching and trying to pull him closer. Geralt’s hand moves down your body, leaving a burning trail on your skin. He swallows your moan when two of his thick fingers enter you.

“I’ll never leave you for so long again.” He growls into your ear. “Not if it makes you forget that it’s only me who gets to make you feel like this.”

Whines and whimpers escape your lips as he speeds up his pace. Your hips move back against his hand in a frantic rhythm.

“Geralt.” You gasp out when he adds another finger. He’s hovering above you still, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, your panting form, blissed out on his fingers, god you drive him to madness.

“You make me go feral, pet” he growls, before withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. You let out a sound so sweet and needy, it makes Geralt lose the last ounce of control.

“Completely.” He enters you in one stroke. “Fucking.” He draws out to leave just the tip in. “Feral.” And with that he starts a punishing space, ramming into you. You dig your fingers into his forearms, letting out moans and yelps with each thrust.

“Geralt, I need to-“ you scream at one specifically aimed thrust, looking up at your lover with begging eyes, hoping he understands. And he does, one of his hands moves between you and rubs circles on your clit. They match the rhythm of his hips perfectly and within seconds, your release crashes over you like a drowning wave. Your back arches and your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut so so tightly. Moments later, the hips pounding into you stutter and Geralt’s release washes into you.

He collapses onto you, still slightly panting and trapping you under his bodyweight.