#given their respective Everything the table probably catches fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ikindamissbeingphysical · 4 years ago

Text

5 Times Musa wore Riven’s clothes

Read here or on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376804

The Alfea Games is a bullshit annual tradition. It's an exam masquerading as a tournament, just a way for the teachers and high rankers of the Kingdom to see who they want to pluck out of the Academy and take for their army, or task force, or some other random position Riven could really not care less about.

Still, he's competitive, and if there's one thing he likes doing, it's beating Sky.

He slashes, a dagger in each fist, at the Burned One projection and it falls to its knees shrieking.

The stands are full of students cheering, and Riven gets a rush at their applause.

"Show off." Sky pants from beside him, as Riven's tally flicks up to 7, and Sky's stays stubbornly at 4.

"Jealous, much?" Riven grins; relieved when the half-time bell chimes because his legs are sore, and the late afternoon sun still burns as it begins to dip out of the sky. He and the other Specialists head over to the shade and he rifles through his rucksack for some water as Sky goes to kiss Bloom, who's leaning over the rail; red tresses swaying in the breeze.

"You were amazing!" Bloom gushes, and Sky beams at her, and Riven mimes throwing up.

Someone laughs.

He turns to see Musa, headphones around her neck, hair in pigtails, and-and-

In his jacket.

She's wearing his jacket. His leather jacket. It's draped over her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, because she's wearing some strapless, form-fitting purple dress, and Riven's coat, she's wearing Riven's-

"You okay, man?" Sky asks, and Riven realises they're all looking at him, and he's still looking at Musa, and her big, brown eyes are lit up a sort of hazel in the red setting sun.

He nods, waving them off, and chugs more of his water, trying to temper his heartbeat.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Musa asks, more quietly, her irises flaring purple. Her eyebrows stitch together worriedly. "You're like- really anxious. It's just a game."

"Stay out of my head." He hisses furiously, petrified that she might be able to see, might be able to tell-

She leans away from him, scowling. "Fine. Whatever."

He's grateful when the bell rings again, but his winning streak is gone. As the flood-lights turn on and the sun disappears, he misses target after target. He keeps getting pinned by fucking rookies and everyone else's tally continues to jump up as his dies on a plateau.

He can see her, in his peripheral, wearing his jacket and she probably doesn't even know it's his. She probably doesn't know how she looks in that leather swamping her frame, the collar resting at her neck, where the skin looks so soft that-

"Fuck, dude," Sky curses, hauling Riven off his ass. "Pull yourself together."

"She's wearing my jacket." He snaps, and Sky looks at him blankly for a moment, before he groans.

"Dude, I know you're like, against sharing, but she was freezing and it was just lying there. I'd have given her mine, but Bloom had already-"

"It's fine, just-" Riven tries to shake it off, "I'm focused."

He can't help a final glance over his shoulder, to see Musa leaning sleepily against the railings, headphones now secured over her ears, resting her chin on her arms. On his jacket sleeves. She's lit by the silver floodlights, and her eyes are half-closed, and he wonders what she's listening to. He wonders-

The Burned One knocks him to the ground, and the buzzer blares.

The next day, traces of her perfume linger on his jacket, swirling around him the way she does, always, in his thoughts.

It's sweet, like honey and vanilla, like home-spun sugar and toffee.

He'd found his jacket right on the bench where he'd left it after the game: the stands empty, the game over. It had been folded neatly and left just beside his things and he'd slid it on and tried not to replay their interaction in his head.

Today's a new day.

As part of Sky's new scheme to become the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, they've been sitting with the Winx Suite most lunch times. It's not exactly Riven's idea of a good time. He feels some horrid mix of guilt and irritation whenever he looks at Terra, and Aisha glowers at him like his very proximity will end in her getting a suspension. He spends most of the time arguing with Stella, and trying (failing) not to look at Musa while Sky and Bloom stray the line between PDA and go get a room.

When he gets to the cafeteria and heads for the table, he's surprised, and maybe a little thrilled, to see that it's just Musa at the table.

She stands up as soon as she seems him.

"Good, the others just left. They wanted to have lunch out by the lake. Bloom has apparently ‘found a place’. C'mon, we can catch up."

He has no option but to follow her, and sure enough, half-way across the field is the whole merry-fucking-gang. Riven doesn't know how to feel. Sky could've texted, if his brain was capable of fathoming anything other than Bloom when she was nearby. Were they even going to invite him? Was he going to get to the cafeteria to see an empty table? They probably wouldn't have missed him anyway, he thinks bitterly.

And yet- Musa was there. Waiting.

He looks at her thoughtfully, and her eyes flash purple when she catches him. She winces. "It wasn't like that." She says, "they were caught up in the idea of going there. They weren't purposely trying to leave you behind."

Jesus Christ, can't she just-

"I'm sorry," she barrels on, as they fall into the same steps, almost caught up to the others. "I'm trying to respect your privacy and everything, I'm working on it- my control isn't great at the moment."

"You should work on that." He mutters.

Her shoulders slump dejectedly. "I know."

Well, fuck, he didn't mean to- he swallows hard. "I'm tanking my field training." He says, trying to ignore her look of surprise at this freely-offered information. "Great at everything else, but camouflage? The element of surprise? I'm struggling. It's hard. I also fucking hate it, so there's that."

She huffs out a small laugh. "I bet you just like the thrill of attacking someone face to face. None of that 'sneaking up on you' bullshit."

He grins before he can check himself, and she catches it, and smiles too.

"There you are!" Bloom calls excitedly, "c'mon, we're gonna use Stella's ring."

Riven hates to give Bloom props for anything- and it isn't because he doesn't like her, or anything like that- he's just reluctant to acknowledge anybody's good traits since they all seem so loathe to see any in him- but the lake is nice.

Large and leafy green, surrounded by trees and over-hung by the clear blue sky. There's a sunbeaten deck strutting proudly into the middle, and Aisha strips out of her clothes to reveal a swim suit, and in three great strides, dives in like a dolphin.

The rest of them stare after her in awe.

"Are you always wearing that under your clothes?" Riven asks, toeing off his shoes, watching as Aisha tumble turns and glides through the water like a dolphin. She smiles at him from the water, and he's surprised by the look of it on her face. For the first time, she looks relaxed. Stress-free. Content.

Bloom and Stella change into their swim suits, as he and Sky just strip down to their boxers. Bloom wolf-whistles, and Sky blushes.

Riven puffs his chest out, winking at Stella who scoffs at him. He turns to find Musa. She's shrugged off her coat and shoes, and is rifling through her bag in confusion. She's too pre-occupied to notice his abs. Riven tries not to take offence.

"I can't find my- oh shit." Musa groans, thumping her head. "I left it back in the fire circle."

"Oh! Don't worry, Musa," Terra says brightly, as she sits, fully-dressed, on the mossy bank, with a stack of books beside her. "You can sit this one out with me!"

Musa turns to her with a smile (that to Riven, looks fucking forced) just as Bloom and Sky jump in. They scream, splashing Stella who cannon-balls in after them. Riven watches Musa's face, can see the hidden longing in her eyes.

A part of him wants to tease her, entice her in by saying how much he wouldn't mind if they decided to go skinny-dipping instead, but he knows it ultimately wouldn't work. Instead, he reaches for his discarded black tee, and tosses it to her.

"Should be long enough to preserve your modesty," he says, going for casual and heading for the dock. "Considering you're such a short-arse."

Musa sticks her tongue out at him, but she eagerly turns to get changed and Riven plunges into the lake to resist the urge to watch.

The water is warm and licks at his skin as the sun beats down onto his shoulders. It's deep and he can't quite graze the bottom, and he's suddenly, a little stupidly, grateful for knowing Sky. Grateful that he gets to be here. He floats on his back, staring up at the sky and letting himself just bask in the moment. As the water laps in his ears, he can hear the others laughing, Aisha swimming, Stella screaming, and the sun warms red spots onto his eye lids, marvellous colours in the dark- so he opens them.

Just in time to see Musa standing on the dock.

Suddenly, all his attention is on her. Her long, tan legs on display, his tee, his t-shirt, tickling down past her hips, and she jumps.

Okay. Turns out it's not a leather jacket thing. Anything that's his looks good on her. He could look good on her.

He watches for her when she re-surfaces, as she joins in splashing Stella, and he waits, waits, waits, until- victory.

She swims over to him. A little way away from the group, to where he's treading water alone. The t-shirt clings to her and he wants to touch her and-

"Hey," she says, with wet hair and water droplets on her eyelashes. "Thanks for the tee."

He shrugs. "I'd rather you'd jumped in without anything on."

She hits him, but finally, finally, he gets her eyes on him. They linger, as the water rivets roll down the breadth of his shoulders, his chest, down to- her eyes flicker away, cheeks red.

"Don't be shy," he purrs, "I'm hot. It's not a sin to look. You're hot too. Dancer’s body. Bet you're flexible."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She murmurs, before her eyes flash purple. He tries not to let it irritate him. He hates the violation of his privacy, but he knows she can't control it- but she turns away from him, and he follows her gaze to Terra, sitting balefully alone. "If I do what I'm gonna do," she whispers, and his heart trips up a little, at her whispering to him over the water, pulling him in closer. A secret just for the two of them. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

Riven grins. "I'm great with secrets."

Musa takes a breath, before she stares at Terra, face tense with concentration, eyes shimmering purple.

Riven turns to look at Terra expectantly. "You're mind-controlling her?"

"No." Musa mutters, still focused, "I'm just trying to increase her confidence, trying to-"

Terra looks up suddenly, and Musa hurriedly grabs Riven's arm to move behind him.

"The water does look good!" Terra calls, "is it warm?"

"Oh, it's lovely, Terra!" Musa hollers back, "you should come in!"

"Yes! Join us!" Bloom sings, from her position perched on Sky's shoulders.

Terra wavers. Riven can feel Musa's hand curled around his arm, her body against his back. "I don't have my costume!" She yells.

"You're wearing like five layers," Stella calls, "you can spare one."

Terra chews on her bottom lip, and Riven turns his head to whisper: "can't you boost it anymore?"

"I'm trying." Musa insists quietly, "I can't manufacture it. I can only enhance what's already there."

"Terra," Riven yells, startling her, "if you come in, I'll let you dunk me."

Sky bursts out laughing, and Terra giggles.

"Well, I can't resist that!" She says, getting to her feet. Riven turns away, looking down at Musa who's beaming up at him.

"Wow." She says, pressing her lips together to hide the glee in her tone. "That was very sweet."

"Fuck off." Riven mutters, but his eyes are on the collar of his wet tee as it clings to her skin. "I only did it because that was bloody painful to watch. By the way, is there anything else you can do with your powers that I should watch out for?"

Musa tips her head contemplatively. "Actually, yes." She lifts her hands and cups his face. He startles a little, at her fingertips against his jaw, before he sees her eyes purple and shimmer, and then suddenly, a weird emotion clouds into his head. It's familiar yet foreign, it's-

gratitude?

"It's meant to be gratitude." Musa says, when her eyes are back to normal and she's panting a little, "I'm not great at-"

"I got it." He reassures her, “I felt it."

She smiles, pleased, pushing away from him to swim further to the centre of the lake.

He watches her go, mind reeling. More powerful than he thought, though he's not sure why he's surprised. He can still feel her hands on his face. He wants to swim after her, but Terra and Sky corner him, eager to see him dunked.

It marks a turning point for the group as a whole.

The afternoon at the lake has softened grudges, strengthened bonds, and Terra talks to him more over lunch. Aisha doesn't bore him so much, not now he can see her for more than a stuck-up rule-follower. He and Stella get along as well as they usually do, but their barbs seem less sharp than before. Bloom has always been pretty accepting, and Musa-

Well, she's Musa.

She's making him lose all sense of normalcy, of sanity, because that's the only reason he'd agree to this fucking slumber party.

"No, I think it was better over there." Sky says, changing his mind for the fourth time, as Riven struggles under the weight of the mattress. The entire floor is covered with pillows and cushions and Sky needs to make up his mind before Riven kills him. "No, no, you were right- put it back."

"Jesus," Riven groans, setting it down and spotting the stack of Disney Princess movies. "We're two guys about to sleep with five girls, and you're suggesting we watch Pocahontas?"

"They won the coin toss," Sky shrugs, "besides, I always liked the little hummingbird."

The girls arrive after Laurie, the RI for the floor, has done her final rounds. They shuffle into the room on tiptoes, and Riven closes it behind them, meeting Musa's eyes. Her hair's down and loose around her shoulders, and he's never seen it like that before. In her soft looking, cotton pyjamas, some rainbow sweater, she's more enticing than usual so he busies himself with the popcorn as Sky sets out the rest of the snacks.

"This is a nice set-up, guys," Bloom grins, getting comfy right in the middle. Sky joins her, and soon, the lights are off- bar Stella's glowing little ball- and everyone's shuffling into place.

Bloom and Sky are cosied up to one another, and Aisha and Terra are tucked neatly into one corner. Stella fancies herself above the ground, and lies on Sky's bed, half her attention on her phone.

Musa settles in the other corner, leaning against a mountain of cushions, and Riven debates for about half a second before he joins her.

"Hi," she whispers, sounding pleased, "wanna hear a sad story?"

Their thighs are touching. Her fleece pants are warm against his bare leg, and the cushions are ridiculously comfortable, and she looks so different with her hair down, her face almost obscured from him. "Sure," he whispers back.

She points are her bare feet. "I forgot my socks."

He snorts. "If that's your idea of a sad story-" he breaks off into a hiss when she cruelly presses her toes onto his shin. "Jesus, they're fucking ice." He complains, and she laughs, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it perfectly between her teeth.

He reaches over her, feels her entire body stiffen and does his best to ignore it, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a pair of mis-matched socks.

She takes them gleefully, leaning down to pull them on. Her shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of her lower back, and when she sits up- she catches him. Their eyes dart away from each other, and the first hour of Pocahontas is a stiff, awkward affair. The darkness seems to electrify the space between them and Riven's too afraid to move. Musa seems to be feeling the same way, but then Terra starts singing along with the song, and the the air relaxes a little.

Then, somehow, in Little Mermaid 2, Riven's oddly invested in Melody and her pull to the sea, when Musa sighs, sinking back further into the cushions, resting her body weight on Riven, looking completely content.

"You comfortable?" He teases, and she smiles lazily up at him, wiggling her toes in his socks.

"Very comfortable." She says, and he isn't thinking when he says:

"You're insufferably cute, you know that?"

He regrets it immediately, but it's slipped out, and Musa barely seems to notice his panic. She just yawns, and then she- she- rests her head on his shoulder, and her hair fans down over him, and tickles his arm.

He feels, suddenly, the rather vicious urge to protect her. He's on high-alert, for some reason, for any intruder, because she's here, half-asleep, resting against him. So trusting. So vulnerable, and-

The DVD menu chimes on repeat, and when Riven looks up he realises that everyone else is asleep, and Stella's orb of light has vanished into darkness, and that it's well past midnight.

Slowly, gently, he rests his cheek on Musa's head, feels the way they're tucked in together, and he closes his eyes.

He's not sure how it happened.

How they can go one minute from a group of friends binging Disney movies, to out here, in the woods, watching Bloom's fucking fire wings and surrounded on all sides by Burned Ones. Real ones. Not projections.

The girls are all glowing, eyes burning, and there's splashes of water, tangling ivy, shooting flames, blinding light and Musa: shouting locations as she tracks them.

"Try to project lethargy!" Aisha screams, clutching one arm, as Sky slashes a Burned One along the chest.

Riven jams two sharp jabs into the torso of another, and growls over his shoulder. "She's already fucking tracking them, Aisha! Why don't you just water-board them some more?"

Musa doesn't mediate their bickering, just whirls and points and says "Another three over there, I can sense them. They want Bloom!"

Sky and Terra immediately run over to Bloom, who has fire burning along her shoulders, and it's so arresting a sight that Riven doesn't even notice when the Burned One crumbles into ash beneath him.

He doesn't notice when another hisses just to his left. He can't get his blade out in time, and it has one deformed hand around his throat, claws pricking into his skin when Musa's suddenly shoving him away, taking his place, and he just has time to notice, to scream- when she lunges forward, and stabs the monster in the chest. It howls, and she yells out in unison, her voice shaking with agony, a sound that'll haunt him.

The Burned One crumples, and Musa with it.

"Musa!" Stella cries, racing over, trying to get closer, but Riven blocks her, taking Musa's chin in his hands, tilting her face up. There are tears stained along her cheeks, and her eyes are still rimmed purple.

"I felt it," she gasps, clutching Riven's arms, still shaking, "I felt it die, I felt it-"

"It's okay." Stella insists, voice shaky, rubbing Musa's back. "You did amazing, you did so great."

Musa clenches her eyes shut. "I've gotta- I can feel more of them."

"Take a minute." Riven pleads, trying to catch his breath, feeling blood move sluggishly down his own neck. "Take a minute, you just fucking saved my life, you're allowed a goddamn minute."

His entire being seems to light up at the small, strained smile she gives him. Stella sees the smile too, so she shoots Riven a look that says keep going, moron.

He doesn't need her prompting. "And what a sexy knife move. Where'd you get that blade?"

This earns more of a laugh from her. Relieved and a little hysterical sounding, but a laugh nonetheless. She holds the blade up, and its blue handle glints in the moonlight. "Stole it from you." She says, and he wants to tell her it isn't the only thing she's stolen from him. She has everything he is in the palm of her hand, and she saved his life. She hands the dagger back to him, and he shakes his head.

"Keep it. You look hot with a knife in your hand."

Musa laughs again, still a little choked up, and the two of them help her to her feet. He doesn't want to let go for her, but she sniffles, nodding, so Riven just sticks close by the rest of the night.

They defeat the burned ones with minimal injuries. Aisha's leg is broken, and Terra's bandaged it as best she can, as they limp back to the school. Dowling and Silva meet them half way, overflowing with worry and gratitude, and at their insistence, Riven collapses into a bed in the infirmary as they tend to his neck.

They put Musa in the bed beside him, and he sees claw marks on her ribs, and it's a good thing the Burned Ones are dead, because it's the only thing stopping him from marching right out into that forest to have their heads.

He's on his way back from the drinks table, two glasses in his hands, when he notices that Musa isn't there anymore.

Terra points to the back door. "She needed to step out. Mind fairy thing."

Riven nods, setting down the drinks and heading for the exit.

It's a warm summer night, and the air is humid, and Musa's standing out on the grass, gazing up at the stars.

She must feel his mental presence, because she turns and smiles.

He heads over to her, and she steps easily into the circle of his arms, and he holds her tightly.

Here they are. At the Alfea Ball, dating. Their three month anniversary is coming up soon, and Riven has something in mind. He's excited to see her reaction. But right now, he just basks in having her in his arms. She's a vision, in a lace-sleeved, indigo dress, her hair up the way he likes, and heels that mean she doesn't need to tiptoe to kiss him.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "got a little loud in there."

"I don't mind," he reassures, dropping a kiss onto her head. He feels her shiver, so he shrugs out of his tux jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. As pulls it around her, she looks up at him, soft and smiling, and his throat goes a little dry. "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, "you just look very dapper in your tux. I'm feeling it." Her hands slide up onto the plane of his chest, and he grins, nipping at her nose.

"Shall we get out of here, then?"

She hums in agreement, but tangles her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. As usual, the heat flares down to his stomach, and he pulls her tighter to his body.

"We should get out of here," he insists, kissing at her jaw, "or we'll definitely get suspended."

Musa laughs, and she leads the way back to the dorms.

Once there, he whispers, low and greedy into her ear, to take off everything but his jacket.

"Is this some sort of kink?" She asks delightedly, once his tux suit is the only thing on her gorgeous body, and she's straddling him, thighs spread over his, her fingers dragging through his hair.

"I don't know," he admits, even though he knows it's only a thing for him when she's involved. "I think I just look really good on you."

She bites his neck and scratches his down his back, and it hurts and he loves it, and she looks down at the marks like a satisfied kitten with tiger claws. "I look good on you too." She whispers, and he kisses her again.

And again.

#rivusa #riven x musa #fate: the winx saga #mutual pining #fic

179 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack. general, for now.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch. tags are hard. :(

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~3400

part i.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 10 November, 2019. 2:13 AM.

It’s 2:13 AM when Jeon Jungkook finally finds a match, the familiar in-game sound dragging his attention away from the illuminated screen of his iPhone to the monitor before him. He studies the SR - 3779 and 3761, respectively - and skims burning eyes across the members on each team. Four rocks, including himself, and two Masters.

One of them has a strange name - BIGMELON - that he stares at until he's zoning out, trying to make sense of it. Was his teammate a pervert or just hilarious?

"Good luck and have fun, everyone!"

Your cheer filters through his headphones crystal clear but he's somehow still surprised, head tilting curiously to the side. He hadn't expected a girl to be playing Overwatch at quarter past two in the morning.

When there's no response - he notices no one else is in the voice chat, an oddity for such a high ranking game - he takes it upon himself to keep you company. His username lights up as his finger glides across the ALT key, sleep-worn words breaking the silence.

"Thanks, you too."

Nothing follows until BIGMELON appears once again in the upper left-hand corner of his screen. You have a nice voice, he thinks. "Are you sticking with Widow?"

Jungkook takes in the team comp: Sigma, Hog, Genji, and Lucio. A little unconventional but not wholly un-doable. They're on King's Row, too, which is one of his favourite maps. Balanced enough that people aren't too salty when they get headshot but with enough coverage that he can get clear picks.

"Should I?"

"If you want." A pause and your hero slot is filled with Mercy's portrait. "I can damage boost."

He thinks he can hear the teasing. It's soft and sweet and a little rough - like you'd just woken up.

"Who says I need it?" Comes his immediate response, question chased out of his mouth by a laugh he can't help. It echoes, filling the quiet of his bedroom. He hopes you don't take it the wrong way.

"O—kay, Widow main. We'll see if you get anything from me."

It's an empty threat because you're giggling along with him. It's distracting in the strangest way. The sound bounces around in his ears and he can't help but focus on it, realizing belatedly that he's still sitting in spawn as the timer runs down for setting up defence.

"Are you going to join us?" You quip, emoting right beside his stationary sniper. "I didn't queue just to have someone go AFK."

Mischief colours your words and he laughs again, snorting as he finally presses W. Two sets of footsteps echo in game and he presses SHIFT once he's hit point - and with just a few seconds left to spare - launching Widowmaker's body onto the balcony overwatching it. Mercy follows, Guardian Angel carrying her into the air to alight behind the blue-skinned hero.

As the timer hits 0:01, Jungkook right-clicks, scoping in on the second-floor spawn door.

BOOM.

The kill feed reads DDEOKKOOKI x STRIKER007.

"I guess you didn't need the damage boost."

He can't help the sound he makes - a marriage between a witch's shriek and a pig's snort. It leaps out of his mouth, louder than he intends, and he feels equally bad for you and his hyungs. He's definitely going to get an earful in the morning - or any minute now, when one of them bursts into his room to berate him for being so loud. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah." The way you speak has him grinning from ear to ear, nose scrunching in amusement. Mercy is flying across the map, healing stream trained on Genji as the cyborg ninja just narrowly misses an errant Hanzo arrow and dashes back to point. "I'm gonna take care of the rest of our team. Let me know if you need anything, O' Headshot God."

You're clowning him hard but he knows it's all in good fun. Still, he likes the nickname and decides to keep it, effectively picking off the attacking team's stealthily half-hidden Junkrat and Ana right after.

"Show-off!"

Then he's dinked in the head - health dropping to 30 from the partially-charged shot. He needs heals like yesterday.

Unfortunately, Lucio is up at choke with the tanks, skating circles around the base of the statue as they hold point. Jungkook doesn't see you immediately - he’s scanning his screen for your witch skin (of course) - only realizing you've appeared at his side when his health bar begins to climb. "Try to stay alive, yeah?"

"My bad," he drawls, scoping in the same instant the kill feed announces two more enemy deaths.

There are only a critical Reinhardt and protected Zarya left. The former falls the moment he drops shield and her bubble doesn't reset in time; the Russian tank dies in the next instant, his charged shot firing the moment it hits 100%.

"Thanks for the damage boost."

"Any time."

Then you're gone, off to support the rest of your team again while he grapples onto a different ledge and continues his oppressive gameplay. He feels a little bad when the opposing team goes double shield tank and swaps their Junkrat for a Pharah. He feels less so when he's slept out of nowhere. Four seconds feels like an eternity when he’s out in the open - vulnerable as a baby lamb in a den of lions.

"Looks like you're really making them mad." You'd been relatively quiet when not tending to him - likely because it was only the two of you in voice chat - and he startles when your comment breaks the quiet lofi he has going in the background.

"I don't know why. I'm just having fun." He's lying. You're laughing.

"Too much fun, I think."

"Maybe they should be better." Jungkook says this like he's commenting on the weather or the colour of the sky - offhand and nonchalant. It makes your giggles come harder. He can hear the scratch of your mic as if you've doubled over and it's now pressed into cotton clothing. He can't help but pat himself on the back.

"Please don't tell me you're going to 'gg ez' them when we're done."

Now he's feigned offense, gasping at the mere thought. "Of course not. I'm not that rude!"

"Well, you never know." You're right. People could be the worst when it came to online gaming, spewing vitriol and hurling insults the moment their egos were bruised (or inflated).

"I promise I'm not an asshole." He's not really sure why he feels the need to make this abundantly clear. After all, he'd probably never play with you again. Korea's density of players was just too great - you were just one in hundreds, thousands, millions.

Still, he smiles when you reassure him you don't think he is. "I'm just teasing. You seem nice."

"I am nice." Spoken in the same instance he lands two consecutive headshots - one on the bouncing, wall-riding enemy Lucio and the other on the momentarily grounded Pharah. You must see that, because you're mocking him in that dulcet tone of yours, caramel coating words and turning them soft like toffee.

"Not according to them." And not that you mind, it seems, because you're damage boosting him as he catches their out-of-position Rein in his sight. He whoops in triumph, eliciting another bemused sound from you.

"You know they're going to do everything to counter you when we go on attack." Which was in sub-one minute, the timer counting down the last thirty seconds of your team's defense.

"Who says I'm going Widow again?"

You're scandalized. "You mean you're not just a filthy Widow main?"

For a moment, Jungkook wonders if this is how his older members feel when he (and Jimin and Taehyung) mercilessly rib them. He thinks it must be and oh, how the tables have turned. He decides he doesn't really mind, though. It's all innocent fun and it's keeping him awake, aided by the cold brew he'd chugged at midnight.

"Woah - says the Mercy player?"

"Mercy is a respectable support, okay!"

"Sure, e-girl."

"Take that back!" How the words explode out of his headphones makes him momentarily worry he might've overstepped but by the way your laughter chases it forward, he knows he hasn't. You can take it just as well as you can dish it.

"Okay, okay. You're a not bad healer." Because he hasn't died yet and last he checked, neither had your tanks. Genji had once or twice - to be expected, given his playstyle - and you had, but that was still pretty respectable.

He can practically hear you rolling your eyes. "Oh, thanks."

"Any time, BigMelon."

"That's ‘daebak’ to you, pal." Had he heard you wrong?

"What'd you say?"

There's a long pause - he's not sure whether it's for comedic purpose or something else. You sound muffled on the other end, as if you're repressing sound. "Because watermelon? Su-bak? So big melon is dae-bak?" Whatever you had stifled earlier disappears, torn away by the pride that shines bright yellow and boisterous in your peals of laughter.

It's such a bad joke that Jungkook feels like he's about to have an aneurysm. Were you Jin moonlighting as a Master support player?

"You're kidding me." He wonders if you hear him above your own glee, giggles making it hard for him to hear himself think. "What're you - a dad?"

You scoff now, parroting his words back to him. "What're you - the pun police?"

Another one?

He briefly considers ALT + F4-ing his way out of this match and away from your corniness. Considers it but ultimately decides against it, instead remaining stoically silent and choosing McCree when the hero selection screen slides into place. His silence will surely speak volumes.

"You know that was funny!" By the way he can practically hear your pout - it's endearing, much to his chagrin - he thinks you know where he stands.

"Not the word I'd use."

"You just have bad taste, McCree." You say it scathingly yet full of mirth, a sniff punctuating the end of your rebuttal.

"Do not!" He returns, just as quickly.

"Prove it. Laugh at my joke!" You're shameless, confident, reassured - it makes him chuckle.

You take it as his surrender though, your own laughter blending seamlessly with his. It goes on for longer than is strictly speaking necessary, crowding like cotton balls in his ears as you leave sprays of your hero - Ana this time - across the spawn walls. He wrecks every one of yours with his own, BAMF displayed in 1440p.

"Hey - stop that!" It doesn't matter that the round is about to start - you're spamming your melee button into him. He immediately does it back, toggling between that and his voice line.

The rest of your team is probably wondering what the hell you're both doing.

"Stop distracting me!" He barks into his mic, deep dimples on full display, nose scrunched adorably. He doesn't really mind - it's clear by his hyena cackles that follow - and he likes when your chorus of shut up's pitch and leap with your giggling.

As he navigates McCree out behind your tanks, he can't help but wish - maybe a little selfishly - that they'll lose this round and go into a best of three. When the opposing team's healers both die - one to Ashe's dynamite and the other to Zarya's high-charged beam - he knows that's not going to happen. Your team's going to cap point and then you're going to be gone - off to the next game and never to be matched with again.

"We did it, McCree." You sound deeply pleased as the last of the defenders fall, leaving point uncontested. The Lucio on your team lingers by the choke, ready to boop any last minute hoodlums; Echo hovers just above the enemy’s spawn, dealing damage the moment any hero comes in view. One of your tanks is already emoting.

VICTORY flashes across his screen.

"We sure did, BigMelon."

The cards come next - they're all for your team, though he isn't surprised. You'd gotten 37 defensive assists whereas he had 27% Infra-Sight uptime. He's sure you both vote for each other, the remaining four going to your other support's Sound Barrier casts.

"Thanks for the carry." He doesn't mean it facetiously. This is some of the most fun he's had in-game in ages.

"You're welcome," you chirp. He thinks you'll leave right after.

Instead, you both sit in voice chat in silence, watching the timer in the upper right-hand corner.

"Do you want to duo?" You ask in the same instance he does, breaking the both of you into a fit of laughter. It's more distracting than he realizes, the FINDING MATCH countdown replacing the end game statistics while you’re both still cackling.

Luckily, you invite him to a group right as he removes himself from queue.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Tuesday, 24 December, 2019. 11 PM.

It’s six weeks and a good three dozen games later - a feat for him, considering how much of his time is eaten up by literally every other obligation he has - when he asks for your name, not realizing the consequences of his action.

“Most people call me Jinny.” He thinks it fits you, bright and pretty and punchy. “What’s your name?”

Jungkook's unprepared for the question, though he shouldn’t be. Of course you’d want to know. Anyone would, if they’d already given their own answer.

He's silent for the longest time, quiet stretching on and on over group voice chat. He applauds you for your patience, how you don't press him on it when the hesitation has descended from appropriate to downright awkward.

"Uh." The word drops like a weight, crashing through the tentative friendship you've built over the past weeks.

"You don't have to tell me," you supply as softly as he's ever heard you. It's the first time you've seemed uncertain - and it bothers him that he's the reason. "I get that we haven't known each other that long."

As if that's actually the issue. He would've told you the night you spent four hours together, taking wins left and right, filling the time in between matches with silly banter that had his jaw aching from laughter. He would’ve told you on that random Thursday, when you’d listened to him talk about his busy day, effortlessly keeping him occupied - and amused - while your SR nearly descended below 3500. He would’ve even told you yesterday, when you’d said you were going to bed, only to be roped into another six games by Jungkook’s eagerness.

It has absolutely nothing to do with time - or the lack thereof.

But he can't say that - can't tell you who he really is - so he improvises as best he can. "My friends call me Jay."

"Jay, huh?" You turn the sound over on your tongue, like you're tasting it for the first time, trying to decide whether you love it or hate it. He hopes you don’t hate it. "Then I guess we're the best J-duo to ever exist."

"Woah, we?" He's only doing it to rile you up, finding it cute when you huff and puff and threaten to let him die in-game. You never make good on the threat anyway; you just like to see him sweat, watching as his health bar drops to measly single digits. "I don't think I agreed to that."

It's your turn to mock him, that same edge turning your words into sour candy. "Fine. You can find yourself a new healer. We'll see how your SR likes that, Bronzie boy!"

Neither of you really take the game that seriously but he gasps like he's been shot.

"No! Don't leave me with them!" The way he howls the plea is enough to return you both to your rightful place - one filled with boisterous laughter and things he never thought would see the light of day.

Because somehow, he's found somewhere he feels safe - a place he feels like himself, with no pretenses or expectations. It’s where he can rant and rave, bouncing from topic to topic like an energizer bunny with no end in sight. It’s, oddly enough, with you.

Connected through voice chat and built by an endless stream of communication - sometimes productive, other times not - the space you’ve carved out together has come to feel like a third home. It isn’t quite what he has with his family or his members but it’s just as nice.

Different, but nice.

"Fine. You're forgiven." You sniff in that peculiar way of yours and he snickers loudly. "How was your day?"

And this is why it is - because it's ordinary. It’s where Jungkook can rest his head and drift for a while without worry of what’s over the horizon, ready to swallow him whole the moment he takes his eyes off the calm blue sea. He's not raised on a pedestal with you, all the weight of his choices resting on his shoulders. He's just a normal guy playing games.

It might not make up for all the years of normalcy he's missed out on - the movies after school, the street markets on weekends, the holiday parties with classmates - but it's enough.

He eats it up like he's been starved of it.

"Busy. Really busy. I had dance practice all afternoon and forgot to eat so I'm dying now." There'd been a time - about three weeks in - when he'd chosen his words more carefully. He'd been worried he might let something slip but he's found what feels like the sweet spot now, where he can tell you about his day without thinking he’ll suddenly shatter the image you have of him.

It's not always easy - he has to remember to never mention names or intimate details - but it's better than nothing. He can finally tell someone about his day like he wants - all of the good and the bad, too.

"You should make something to eat!"

He's used to your reprimands but he still laughs, crossing his long legs beneath him as he readjusts in his computer chair. "But we're in queue."

"Jay!" It comes out devoid of static, clear as the waning sunshine that filters through his blinds and reflects particles of dust that drift lazily through his bedroom.

"I'll make something after we win." He knows what you're thinking - that he's gone and jinxed your whole night. You’re weirdly superstitious, something he's learned only recently.

As if right on cue: "Shut up!"

Your words sweep his expression up with glee and giddiness, like a kid on Christmas morning; lines dig themselves into the bridge of his nose and the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Jungkook tells himself it’s the usual pre-game jitters but he knows it’s more than that.

It’s you and that infectious giggle that careens through his headphones, making him see everything in a pretty haze of warmth.

He’s not sure when you’d started having this particular effect on him - maybe since the beginning? - but he feels it now, clearer than ever. Every tinkling laugh makes his heart speed up, thump around his chest like a baseball missing its mark. The sight of you logging in elicits the biggest, possibly dorkiest smile, all slightly too-big front teeth and deep dimples. You have him rushing through his post-practice showers and devouring dinner in half the time he usually would just to get online a minute more quickly.

There's just something about you.

And sure - a part of him wonders whether it's all in his head (as if it could be anywhere else). Wonders if he's seeing you through rose-tinted glasses, doing to you what so many do to him. Was he in over his head, praying to a deity that didn't even know he existed?

Sometimes it felt that way - a little out of reach, like childhood crushes and summer love and wishing upon a star. Certainly far too much for a blossoming friendship of just a month and a half.

But then you laugh and it's Pop Rocks fizzling in his stomach and he knows that no - it's there and it's real.

Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

notes. i love overwatch and i love jeon jeongguk. what more can i say? :)

1K notes · View notes

dameronology · 4 years ago

Text

tea and whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 6

summary: despite his best efforts, it appears as though you're completely slipping through jack's fingers. it appears as though he has no choice but to put everything out on the table in a last ditch attempt to keep you by his side. {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of death

this one's a bit of a rollercoaster, but i promise it's fun <3

- jazz xx

You'd told Jack that things between you were fine.

They didn't feel as much.

You had meant it when you'd said it - it was just that the more you thought about it and the more you pondered on your concerns, the more worried you became. Did you even know Jack Daniels at all? His mysteriousness had been attractive at first but the closer you got to him, the more you found yourself wanting to hold him at an arm's length until you had your answers. When the situation between you had been a co-workers-with-benefits affair, it hadn't mattered so much. But now, you'd agreed it was something more intense, something more meaningful. Was it unfair to think that you deserved to know a little more? To get a more substance than just it's fine, trust me?

Whilst you hadn't wanted it to get in the ways of things, you couldn't help it. It hadn't changed anything the first few days after your conversation about where you stood, or about his seeming vendetta against Ginger, but the more you thought about it, the more it got to you. It had been almost 2 weeks since then, and you'd spent most of the second one lying to him. Telling him you had to call Eggsy, or your mum, or that you had to work late to get some paperwork done for Merlin.

Tonight had been no different - it was a Friday, the last six of which you had spent at Jack's. You'd given him some ridiculous waffle about timezones and reporting to the Kingsman. He had seemed to believe it; if he didn't, he'd chosen not to comment on it.

You were sat in your shared office, heels kicked to one side and feet propped up on the table. There was a glass of wine in one hand and your phone in the other (you were exchanging memes with Eggsy), and an episode of the The Crown playing on your computer. It was a nice way of getting your mind off of the situation with Jack, and the fact that you had a mountain of Calahan-related paperwork.

"So, this is the important meeting that you ditched me for?"

You froze at the sound of Jack's voice. He was leant against the doorway, arms folded over his chest and a look on his face that didn't seem too far off of pissed. Your first instinct was to lie, but the urge quickly faded. What was the point? He'd already caught you in one. Might as well just rip it off like a band-aid.

"I lied."

"That's clear as fucking day." Jack shot back. "Am I boring you all of a sudden?"

"Jack." You sighed. "I just needed some space to think."

"I thought we were good?" His brown eyes fell to the floor. "What's with all the lying? I admire your brutal honesty."

"I was only brutally honest with people I didn't mind hurting." You paused your laptop, pulling your feet down from the desk. "I care about you and I don't want to hurt you-"

"- I have pretty thick skin." He cut you off. "Be honest - you have my blessing."

"I thought I was okay with how intense things were getting," you began. "But the more, I think about it, the more I'm not sure."

Jack's face fell. "That's why you've suddenly been distant these past two weeks, huh?"

"Yeah." You nodded.

"What brought this on?"

You were silent.

"I know." Jack sighed. "It's the thing with Ginger, isn't it?"

"Not just that." You said. "You asked me to trust you and I agreed to, but I'm not sure I do."

"What have I ever done to make you not trust me?"

"Nothing, but that's my problem." You replied. "This is all on me."

"It sure as hell is." He sniffed. "If you want space, I'll give you space. Just don't count on me to be here when you get back."

The tension in Champ's office the following morning was almost fucking suffocating.

The poor man had no idea what had gone down between the two of you. Heck, even you were struggling to understand it. You'd got yourself into situations before with your tendency to overthink, but this one might have taken the cake. Relationships - or whatever the hell you and Jack had going on - had never been your area of expertise, and you had no idea how to navigate your situation. It had seemed like a good idea to act on your doubt and be honest with him, but now you were just worried that you'd ruined it.

"You two are making excellent progress with your mission to get Calahan." Champ said.

"Thank you, sir." Jack nodded.

"We need to discuss the matter of when you catch him."

"I appreciate your faith in us, but if we catch him, rather than when we catch him might be a little more realistic." You replied.

"I'm not certain of many things, but I am absolutely sure that you and Jack have this in the bag." Champ shot back. "And when you do, I'm afraid there is only room for one name on the arrest forms."

You sat up in your seat. "What do you mean?"

"I know that you two have made a completely join effort in this matter." He began. "But as far as Interpol, and every international agency has seen it, only one person's name can be on the paperwork."

"But we can both take credit, right?" You urged. "Surely, they can recognise us both for our work."

"I'm afraid not, Percy." Champ sighed. "The paperwork can only be processed under one name-"

"- why?" Jack cut him off. "I mean, why, sir?"

"Traditionally, only one agent would go into the field, to keep the casualties as low as possible." He explained. "Things have changed in practice but on paper, things still stand."

"So what are we meant to do?" You asked.

"You'll have to decide between yourselves who gets that recognition." He replied.

"Right." You murmured and stood up. "Thank you, sir."

Champ gave you a nod. "And you, agent. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

Me too, you thought.

You stalked out of Champ's office, Jack hot on your heels. If things had been a little tense before, they were going to be strangling now. The cowboy was already hurt by your revelation from the night before, and now, that was only going to get worst, because there was no way in hell that you were about to give the reins over to him. You'd make it clear from day one that your job came first, so that shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone.

Heels clicking loudly against the floor, you sped up slightly in an attempt to lose him. It had been foolish, though, because before you could sprint into the ladies' room, Jack grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to the side.

"Lying to me and running away from me?" He asked. "You're breaking my fucking heart, baby."

You swatted his hand away and puffed out your chest. "I'm taking credit for Calahan."

Jack thinned his eyes at you. "We should talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." You said. "I chased his ass all the across the Atlanic and I've been working on this project longer than you. Personal feelings aside, it makes sense."

"It sounds like you're saying you've done most the work."

"That is what I'm saying."

"I've done most the physical work." He shot back. "The chasing, the jumping over walls, the field work."

"None of which you could have done without me."

"Is this because of what I said last night? Are you mad?" He asked.

"No, I'm mad because you know how much this means to me!" You shoved him. "A win like this is all I've ever wanted. You know that!"

"It means a lot to me too!"

"I am putting my name on those papers." You snapped. "I've spent my whole life living in the fucking shadows at Kingsman and I'm tired of it. This is my win."

"With an attitude like that, I don't blame the damn redcoats for wanting to keep you in the shadows."

Your mouth fell open. If that had come from anyone else, you could have dealt with it. But Jack? The man who had always encouraged and loved your fire? The man you'd opened up to about how suffocated you felt at Kingsman? It was though he'd thrown your trust right back in your face.

"Wait, I didn't mean that-"

"- fuck you, Jack."

Drinking was, essentially, the thing that had gotten you into this whole situation in the first place. It was this very bar, in fact.

It was beyond you why you'd gone to Jack's favourite cowboy bar to simmer; probably because it was the closest thing you could get to actually being in his presence right now. Which was quite funny, because if you were in his presence, you no doubt would have decked him right there and then. His stupid fucking words were playing on a loop in your head, and it felt like a punch to your gut every time they circled back around your pre-fontal cortex.

You could have called Eggsy and vented to him, but that would involve recounting the whole story to him. He'd want to whoop Jack's ass for going near you in the first place, and eject him into outer space entirely for his petty jab. God, you missed your best friend.

Despite your anger, you hadn't even drank that much. Maybe a beer, or three - way below the amount you needed to even get tipsy. Drunken rage barely did you favours at the best of times, and right now was definitely the worst of times. It was just that sitting in a bar was a much better alternative to wallowing in your pity, alone in your larger-than-life apartment.

You sighed and took another sip of your drink, glancing over at your phone. There were three texts from Jack; a please call me, a I'll explain everything and a I fucked up, I know. You couldn't help but snort - what reason did he even have for talking to you that way?

With a twenty tossed on the bar and an empty glass, you shrugged your jacket on and began the walk back to your apartment. The air was cold and everyone was rushing around you to get back to their own respective homes. You had never wanted more in your life to go back to yours - your home in London. The one filled with pictures of you and your family, with memories of dumb sleepovers with Eggsy and late nights with your favourite films.

"So you're stalking me now?"

You could't muster up any other words when you saw Jack waiting by your door. Apparently his ignored texts and calls hadn't been a big enough sign.

"I didn't know where you were." Jack murmured.

"I was out." You shoved your way past him. "You can go now."

"We need to talk."

"Not right now." You groaned. "I'm tired, no thanks to you."

"I don't like when things are like this." He continued, following you inside as you unlocked the door. "I can't stand the idea of you being mad at me."

"So why do you do shit that makes me mad?" You shot back.

Jack sighed, leaning against your kitchen earlier. "I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. I was hurt-"

"- you were hurt?!" You snorted in disbelief.

"It fucking killed me when you said that you didn't trust me, sugar." He admitted. "I get why. I've been holding a lot of stuff back from you and I...I don't think it'll excuse my behaviour, but it might at least give you a reason."

"Okay." You murmured.

"I've barely told anyone this, but I trust you." He reached out and took your hands in his. "It's a lot."

"Jack, you don't have to-"

"- I used to be married." He cut you off. You froze at his words. "Her name was Georgia, and we'd been in love since high-school."

"I..." you trailed off. "Used to be?"

"She was killed in a shoot-out during a robbery." Jack's voice wavered slightly. "She was pregnant at the time. I lost two people that day."

"Shit." You murmured. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"It's fine." He replied. "Not your fault, sweetheart."

"Who else knows?"

"Ginger." He said. "She was a friend of mine, long before we were at Statesman. Georgia's best friend, too."

"You're trying to protect her, aren't you?" You glanced up, eyes meeting. "By keeping her out the field?"

"It's a shitty excuse." He half-heartedly shrugged. "She's all I have left of Georgia. The only person who really shares my pain."

Jack was right -- it hadn't been an excuse, but it was an explanation. You couldn't even begin to get your head around the kind of pain he must have felt then, or even the kind he felt now. You'd had weeks worth of deep conversations and late-night talks but he had never, ever even remotely mentioned Georgia, or his unborn child. You couldn't blame him for that. Not in the slightest.

You were struggling to find the words, really. A thousand new layers had just been added to a man you were already struggling to understand.

"That must be a real weight on your shoulders."

"It is." Jack nodded. "But it lifts slightly when I'm with you."

"Really?" You asked quietly.

"Completely." He countered. "That's all I've wanted my entire life -- to feel again, and I do with you."

"That's deep." You tried to crack a joke, to lighten the mood.

"Even if this ends when you go back to London, I'm still grateful." He continued. "You gave me that, so I should give you what you've always wanted."

"A real-life Batmobile?"

Jack snorted, despite the emotional atmosphere. "Your name will have to go on those papers. It should never have even been a question."

"Jack, I-"

"- that's all there is to say." He shook his head. "There'll be other arrests and missions, but I'll never find someone like you."

Without anything to say, you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. That in itself said everything you needed to- thank you, I'm sorry, maybe you don't suck that much, etc. The entire conversation marked a definitive shift in your relationship, and even though it was one that neither of you could quite work out, that didn't matter. You'd thrown yourself back into the deep end, even though you'd been so hell-bent on breaking to the surface just hours earlier.

There was no doubt that it would only complicated the whole let's not fall in love promise you'd made -- but that was something to worry about later, right?

taglist: @b0nnyzz @xremember-me-notx @somenerdyuser @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @javisjeanjacket @phoenixhalliwell @no-droids-on-sunday @paintballkid711 @waatermelon-sugaar @hepburnwritess @haileyybird @xjaywritesx @jabbajambler @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @welcometothepedroverse @wickedmuse

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character headcanons #agent whiskey #kingsman imagines

65 notes · View notes

goodlucktai · 4 years ago

Text

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen ning #wen qing #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #it was only a matter of time fellas #the ship sways

96 notes · View notes

ssajj · 4 years ago

Text

Alright

You forget to take care of yourself while battling through medical school. Spencer tries to help. 1.6k, f!reader

Warnings: mentions of poor self care, very vague description of fainting.

A/N: literally wrote this in an hour, so I hope it's okay lol

"You're still up?" Spencer asks, opening the door to your shared apartment.

You rise onto your feet, ignoring the black dots that spot your vision. "I thought you weren't getting back for another hour or two," you say, wrapping your arms around him and laying your head on his chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "JJ got done with the sheriff earlier than she thought. How come you're still up?"

"Homework," you groan.

You're in your second year of medical school, and if you're being honest, it's kicking your ass. Most of your studying is done when your boyfriend is at work. He used to try and help, although you put an end to that. He was just so smart, so quick to memorize the material you've been agonizing over, that sometimes it'd send you into a tailspin. You never wanted to tell him that, though. Not when he was being such a wonderful boyfriend. Lately, he's been worrying too much and usually tries to pull you away from your textbooks and notes. It's terribly hypocritical of him. You're both a lot better at taking care of each other than yourselves.

"It's three in the morning, bub," he chides gently. "Let's go to bed."

Violently, you shake your head. "I have an exam soon!"

"The brain stops working correctly once someone is overtired."

"I know."

"And you're overtired."

You sigh. "I know."

Before you can protest more, he bends a little and sweeps an arm under your knees, using his other arm to wrap around your upper body. You squeal, your arms going around his neck. "When did you get so buff?!"

He laughs, shifting you around so you're settled more comfortably. "I told you, Morgan and JJ keep making me work out with them."

"Remind me to thank them," you say, getting another laugh out of him. It's cliche, you know, but his laugh is your favorite sound in the world.

It doesn't take him long to carry you to the bedroom. Gently, he deposits you on the bed, kissing you again on the forehead. "I'm going to go clean up your books and then come back, okay? Get ready for bed."

You're asleep before he's even out of the room. When he comes back, he pulls the blankets over your body, changes into pajamas, and crawls in after you, pulling your body against him.

When you wake up, it's to the fire alarm going off.

"Everything is fine!" Spencer yells from the kitchen. You blink a few times, adjusting to whatever the hell is happening. Even in your sleepy state, everything does not seem fine.

You get out of bed, putting on your slippers before making your way into the kitchen. There, you can see Spencer batting at a cloud of smoke coming from the stove top. "Spence, what's happening?"

"I burned the eggs," he says, sounding so genuinely upset about it that it confuses you. "I was trying to make you eggs."

You help him clean up the eggs, wincing at just how burnt they are. It's hard to say how Spencer even managed to do that, but you don't mock him for it. He's been worrying about you, so you know he was just trying to make you feel better.

"Come back to bed with me?" You ask, one of his hands in yours.

He's terrible at saying no to you, so he doesn't try. Instead, he follows you, curling against you once you're in bed. Frankly, he's just glad that you want to sleep. "I love you."

"Love you more."

"Impossible."

The next day, he's called away again. You're a little surprised. As chaotic as his schedule is, you usually get him for a few days after a case.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" You tell him, kissing him softly.

He nods. "You too. Please."

"You seem distracted, kid. What's going on?" Morgan asks, sitting next to Spencer on the jet. Even during their debriefing, he only seemed half aware of his surroundings. Morgan didn't understand his brain, not in the intimate way you did, but he had a good idea of how easy it was for Spencer to get lost in his thoughts.

"Hm?" Spencer hums, looking up at Morgan. "Oh. Just thinking about Y/N."

Morgan snorts. "Shocker."

"I'm serious!" Spencer protests. "She's so stressed out about medical school. I'm worried about her not taking care of herself when I'm gone. She just puts an unhealthy amount of pressure on her shoulders."

"That reminds me of someone I know."

Spencer looks confused for a second before catching a look at Morgan's raised eyebrow. "Shut up. I just- I don't know how to help her. I'm gone too often to encourage her to rest, or to put down the textbooks, or tell her that I think she's amazing when I see her doubting her ability."

"She'll be okay," Morgan reassures. "And you'll be able to check in with her once the case is over. For now, though, we need that big brain of yours focused on the case. Okay?"

"Okay."

Back at the apartment, you've spread all of your study materials on the floor, having given up on keeping it contained on the coffee table. Your back is aching and you've been on the verge of tears all day. Focusing is difficult, especially since all you want is for your boyfriend to hold you and make everything better.

But that isn't how you operate, so you take a deep breath and get back to work. By two in the morning, your body feels heavy and your mind feels full. You also forgot to respond to Spencer's nightly text, which just makes a wave of guilt crash into you. It's too late to text him now, so you set a reminder in your phone to text him when you wake up.

This time, Spencer is gone for a week and a half. Four times, you forget to say goodnight to him. Twice, you're so distracted that you don't answer your phone when it rings. Your entire life has become your textbooks, especially after you bomb a pop quiz on Wednesday. That sends you into a downward spiral, one you aren't recovered from by the time your boyfriend comes back.

"How was the case?" You ask him, ignoring the way your mind feels fuzzy. It's probably been too long since you got a proper night's sleep.

He's peering at you. "It was okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N," he sighs, kneeling in front of you where you're sitting on the couch. He's holding your hands. "Please take a break. When's the last time you've been outside?"

You frown. "You hate going outside."

"I prefer to be indoors, but I understand and respect the benefits of spending time outdoors." He pulls you to your feet. Somehow, you don't stumble. "Come on. Let's go walk around the block."

He grabs your shoes for you, and you have to sit down again to put them on. Once you're outside, you do have to admit that the fresh air feels amazing on your face.

"You're really quiet today," you say as you walk.

He nods. "I'm worried about you and I'm not sure how to help."

"You don't need to-"

"Y/N," he interrupts you. "You...you help me all the time. I don't even think you realize how much you help me. You always listen to me when I go off on a topic you probably aren't even interested. And you come up with excellent questions and responses. I feel more comfortable with physical touch than I ever have, because you're always so gentle and kind and respectful of my boundaries. You make me feel good about myself. When something is wrong, all I can think about is how I know seeing you will make me feel better. My mom adores you. But I know you're struggling and I can't-" he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. "I want to help you the way you help me."

And in a fantastic bit of timing, your vision goes black as you fall to the ground.

You wake up in a hospital bed. "Spencer?"

He startles, rising from where he was slumped over in a chair. "How are you feeling? I need to call a nurse. But. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you mumble. "What happened?"

"You fainted. The doctors said you were overly exhausted and suffering from mild dehydration." Spencer's tense all over, his hands flexing at his sides.

Ah, shit. You fucked up.

After that, you try harder. You let Spencer help you. When he's gone, he sends you reminders on when to start and stop studying, when to go to sleep, and reminders to drink water. They're all things you already know, but someone checking in on you helps you actually follow through, helping you hold yourself responsible. When he's with you, he peppers you with kisses when he knows you need to relax, picking you up and carrying you around the apartment to make you laugh. Since he has a habit of burning food and you hate cooking, you two get a lot of takeout.

"Hey," you say one day, closing your textbooks and going over to him. "You know how much I love you, right?"

He smiles and buries his face in your hair. "Yeah. And you know I love you too."

Spencer can't fix everything for you, nor can he fix the hell that's med school. But he helps. Knowing he's always here for you helps.

Being loved helps.

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #Spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds reader insert #dorothywrites #this might be me projecting but shhhhh

187 notes · View notes

drowningbydegrees · 3 years ago

Text

In The Small Hours

Fandom: The Untamed Pairing: Wangxian Rating: T Wordcount: 1202

This is the part where he shakes Wei Ying awake. This is the part where Lan Zahn waits for his roommate to sheepishly shuffle off to bed. This is… Lan Zahn steps around the coffee table and reaches for the blanket on the back of the couch, gently draping it over Wei Ying.

Read on AO3

Everything leading to this moment is distilled down to impressions. A haunting melody rising above the clash of iron. His own feet, frozen, while the tune carries on. The unnatural, frantic swirl of darkness like strangling vines around a robed figure. Mirthless laughter, verging on hysteria until it becomes tears. They’re snapshots of strange details leading here where the despair is so palpable he can feel it as surely as the hand in his, with only Lan Zahn’s stubborn grip holding their demise at bay.

Lan Zahn

Let me go

He knows that voice. He knows that voice and everything turns on its ear. The sketched out world around him comes to life, all lurching into terrible focus. Lan Zahn’s mind fills in the details, as if he’s stuck in a memory and not some terrible dream.

Dream. Memory. The nature of this is immaterial. It ends the way it always does, grief squeezing around his heart, saving no one. Lan Zahn only recognizes the gravity of his failure as he watches everything that matters fall and fall and fall.

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Zahn wakes with a gasp, a familiar name wrenching its way free as the world returns to him. Not that he can make any sense of it. Wei Ying is just his friend.

Who is he kidding? As if Wei Ying could ever be just anything. Wei Ying is boundless energy, a mesmerising force of nature. He’s effortlessly charming, like it’s as easy as breathing. The place he’s carved out for himself in Lan Zahn’s life has probably been inevitable from the first time their paths crossed.

He’s something Lan Zahn carefully does not look at too closely, but that isn’t the point. The the point is that Wei Ying is here and now in the little downtown apartment they share. He’s not teetering on the knife edge of catastrophe. He’s not caught up in whatever story spun out while Lan Zahn slept.

As Lan Zahn catches his breath, the darkness crowds in, a soothing balm for the fire and fury of his nightmares. The cacophony of battle gives way to the quiet of an empty bedroom, silent save for his own heaving breaths. Where there had been blood and pain, he only finds the unblemished skin of his arm. There should be comfort in the absence.

There isn’t.

He’s had this dream a hundred times, but never in such sharp relief. The world around him is blurred as if seen through frosted glass. It’s muffled as if he were listening underwater. The face of the person he clings to over the abyss has never been more than an impression. And yet, Lan Zahn knows with every fiber of his being that these were the truths that were always there.

Sleep stubbornly dodges his efforts to reclaim it until Lan Zahn concedes defeat for the moment. He slips out of bed for… for his mind to settle, a glass of water perhaps. He doesn’t know really, but he knows he won’t find it wrapped up in the blankets.

Even before he opens the door, light glows in from underneath. It’s muted, probably from the living room. Were it anyone else, Lan Zahn would be relatively certain they weren’t awake at three in the morning, but there’s really no telling where Lan Zahn is concerned.

Lan Zahn braces himself for the possibility of questions about what has him so unsettled, but it turns out there’s no need. Wei Ying is still in the living room, but it appears that’s only the case because he fell asleep there, building something Lan Zahn is much too tired to work out.

It’s not the first time Lan Zahn has found him like this, a haphazard sprawl of limbs on the couch, all the odds and ends of his most recent project scattered across the coffee table. It’s a bit rude, honestly, when Wei Ying has a perfectly serviceable bedroom that is not the space they share, but Lan Zahn has long since given up scolding his roommate about it. The point remains that it ought to be irritating.

Lan Zahn.

Let me go.

Lan Zahn stands frozen in the doorway to the living room, watching from the shadows. His gaze tracks the steady rise and fall of Wei Ying’s chest. He traces the outline of Wei Ying’s peaceful expression, unblemished by blood or anguish. Finally, the awful, coiling thing behind Lan Zahn’s breastbone begins to loosen.

He lingers too long. There’s an errant lock of hair in Wei Ying’s face that Lan Zahn wants very much to tuck behind his ear. It would be inappropriate, an unearned intimacy no matter how inexplicably looking at Wei Ying feels like being called home. At first Lan Zahn reluctantly stifles the urge to touch, busying himself tucking the blanket around Wei Ying’s shoulders.

By all rights, their companionship should be calamitous no matter the nature of it. Lan Zahn clings to some sense of restraint, but Wei Ying moves through the world like a tempest only barely contained in human skin. Lan Zahn respects order and stability, with no sense of irony. Wei Ying learns the rules, but only so that he can break them with gleeful intent. They’re a kite and a string, an island in a stormy ocean, calm and commotion. Somehow, there’s nothing more he wants than to be caught up in the chaos.

Wei Ying stirs in his sleep, murmuring Lan Zahn’s name. It’s barely more than a whisper, punctuated by the soft edges of a smile, as if Lan Zahn is so much a fixture in Wei Ying’s life that even in sleep his presence is no intrusion. Unthinking, Lan Zahn caves to an impulse he’s sure is new, it must be, though it feels impossibly ancient.

“Sleep.” Lan Zahn whispers. Almost of their own accord, his knuckles brush along Wei Ying’s jaw as if to memorize the exact curve of it. His thumb drags over the swell of a cheekbone. Lan Zahn tucks the stray strands of hair in Wei Ying’s face behind his ear after all. He remembers himself eventually, retreating to turn off the light.

Irrationally, some part of him yearns to stay, to stand guard, to protect Wei Ying from his own half remembered nightmare. But it is one thing to recognize the fierceness of his own affection in the small hours of the morning, with moonlight still spilling in through the open window. It’s another entirely to face the enormity of it in the light of day.

Only as he crawls back into bed does Lan Zahn realize the nightmare has slipped away like an outgoing tide. The horror he’d fled doesn’t creep back in as he settles under the covers. All that lingers as he drifts off is a crooked, sleep addled smile, a soft murmur of his name calling him home.

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #theuntameddaily #my fic

20 notes · View notes

gladerwolfstarkimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Azula x female reader series: Part 4

Azula hatches a plan to keep you closer to home than Ozai intended and disrupts her friends lives in the process. Initially happy with her plan as time goes on Azula grows more and more frustrated at what it means for the two of you.

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Part Five here

Part Six here

Tagged: @saucy-sapphic @justastranger-passing @azulasprincess @888-rising

@sighsam

-----

Your POV

You were stood in the dining room watching as the royal family and Mai ate their dinner in uncomfortable silence. Your last few hours as Azula’s maid would end tonight and you wondered when Azula would announce who she had assigned you to. As if reading you mind Azula put her cutlery down and sat up "Ive made my decision father". Your breath caught even though you knew this had been coming. You thought back to the conversation you’d had with Azula after you’d accepted her offer to share her bed when she told you her plan and your part in. You understood the reasoning behind who Azula wanted to assign you to but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ozai looked towards Azula with a small frown, probably annoyed she would bring this up when guests like Mai were present, even though Mai was hardly a guest by now. "What decision?" Zuko asked but his father ignored him looking to Azula "Very well...close to the dealine too". You saw Zuko and Mai look at Ozai confused and several of the servants too risked a confused glance with one another. You knew Azula would need you to act like you hadn’t planned this so too put on a mask of open confusion and stared at Azula with the others. Azula ignored Ozai’s snarky comment and smiled aware the whole room was watching "although y/n’s skills are not needed by me I can think of someone who needs it, Zuko". You felt the atmosiphere in the room turn and you pretended to look at Azula shocked. Azula smirked at Zuko who looked as shocked as you, he stared at Azula and then looked to Mai. You followed his eye and couldn’t see any change in Mai’s face but never could anyway. "What..why?"? Zuko asked. "Father said i could choose who to send y/n to and I choose you brother, lets face it you need the most help being kept up to standard and y/n’s one of the best so y/n is your new maid". Zuko glanced to where you stood behind Azula and then to his father as if seeing if this would be allowed, women maids were not often allowed to serve male masters so closely and when they did it was always surrounded by rumours and gossip. Ozai didn’t really seem to care he just sighed "don’t argue Zuko, Azula recommends her, your sister is helping you". Zuko went to argue and Ozai slammed his fists down "I will not waste time arguing over the help at my own dinner table” he yelled glaring at Zuko “y/n is your maid now, fire her if you care that much". You could tell by Zuko’s reaction he would not be doing that, he lowered his head in defeat and Azula smiled catching your eye. Her plan to have you spy on Zuko was now in motion.

As soon as it was possible to be dismissed Zuko and Mai stood to leave and reluctantly you stood up too. Mai glared openly as you followed but Zuko ignored you. You looked back to Azula aware this could be the last time you’d see her for a while as her and Zuko largely avoided each other. Azula looked down as you left and you just wished she’d look back up. You’d do as she asked and spy on Zuko but you couldn’t get the night you’d spent together out of your head or deny how it made you feel. You’d told yourself Azula had given you this mission because it gave her an assoication with you, a reason to keep in contact with you, because she cared...but as you walked out of the room she didn’t even look up. This deal was just buisness that’s all.

You followed Mai and Zuko a respectful distance away. They headed towards the royal wing before stopping near the exit for Mai’s house. You hung back so she and zuko could say goodnight and lowered your eyes blending in like you’d been taught. Mai turned and walked towards you glaring right at you, she barged your shoulder as she passed and disappeared out of the palace. You righted yourself and followed Zuko. He reached his room and allowed you inside after him but was clearly uncomfortable. The door closed and he looked at you and then away again unsure what to say or do. He kept going to speak and then stopping so you took over "Prince Zuko shall i help you prepare for the night?". Zuko coughed blushing "Well I can do that myself". “It’s my job” you told him "I am your maid now”. Zuko rolled his eyes “thanks to Azula, this is all part of her plan to screw with me I know it”. You didn’t react or comment on Zuko’s speculation you just stared at him. “Still that’s not your fault” Zuko shrugged and you looked away. Silence fell again and you hated the tension so tried to make it less awkward “Shall I do what I usually do and tell me if there’s anything you wish to change?". Zuko nodded and you readied the room as you would any room and then turned to him. "Is there anything else you require Prince Zuko?". He shook his head looking at his room "no thank you y/n you are dismissed". You bowed "goodnight Prince Zuko I will return in the morning" and left the room.

Azula's POV

It had been 3 days since Azula had assigned you to Zuko on your mission and four more days before the date you’d agreed to meet to discuss what you had found but Azula was growing impatient. Azula had felt uneasy since you’d left with Zuko and she hadn’t seen you since, it was as if her brother was hiding you, she thought bitterly. Azula had thought assigning you to Zuko was a clever plan, she trusted you and now had a spy in her brother own staff who would report on anything and everything she wanted. It was a good plan so why did she feel so restless? Azula pretended maybe it was because after having you serve on her for years you were gone and it was just the change in scenery that disturbed her but she knew it wasn’t, it was specifically because you were gone. In the deepest parts of her mind Azula acknowledged a care or fondness for you but Azula figured all she felt for you came from physical attraction. Sure you’d been nice and kind to her but Azula had felt an attraction to you long before she trusted you so it must just be a physical fondness. Azula had been aware of her growing want and attraction of you that’s why she gave you the offer to share her bed on your last night. She thought one night with you would satisfy her curiosity and solve all her problems surrounding you. She figured afterwards, her thoughts and ideas finally fulfilled, she’d send you on your mission and no longer think about or admire you, the fun chase of the unknown would be over and so she’d no longer have a want or need of you. She had it all planned and it should have worked but why didn’t it? Why did she still want you around?

"Azula!" Ozai snapped and she jumped "what? Im listening"? "You weren’t!” Ozai spat and Azula gulped. She’d been thinking about you again for what felt like the 100th time today but this time in the middle of Ozai’s war meeting. The fact she hadn’t been able to think of anything apart from you since you’d left her company drove Azula crazy, how could it be physical if even after spending an amazing night with you Azula still wanted more?

The door opened saving Azula from another rant from Ozai who noticed her staring off again as Zuko came into the room. "Sorry I’m late" he said bowing and Azula shot up in her seat as if zapped by lightning. You were there behind Zuko, head down eyes low like you’d been taught but Azula desperately wanted you to look up, to look at her. But instead you followed Zuko and came to stand at the back of the room with the other servants. Azula felt a twinge of anger as you stood obediently near Zuko and not near her as you used to, just another reminder you were his now and not hers. Azula knew this was her own fault, she'd assigned you to Zuko and failed to see this potential problem but Azula never admitted when she was wrong and she wasn’t going to start now. Her plan to have you spy on Zuko gave her a good advantage and besides she could hardly undo it now, she’d just have to see it through and endure the anger she felt seeing you follow Zuko around. She just had to remind herself no matter who you “served” you were still hers, you still reported to her! You were still working for her, zuko was just a cover nothing more. Azula told herself this and found it brought her some comfort and appeased her anger. Azula glanced to where you stood and an idea formed in her head. She would come see you tonight, your meeting wasn’t due yet but so what? She was in charge, if she wanted to push the date forward she could. This way she could assess you and Zuko and use the excuse to see you again, see how she felt in your presence and if it made her feel better...if it did, well she’d take it from there. Yes she would do that, comforted she say back and began to finally listen to what Ozai was saying.

Your POV

You were woken up by someone shaking your arm. You groaned opening your eyes and jolted to see it was Azula. "Princess" you gasped flushing, the Princess was here in your room. She had come here in the middle of the night to see you. You were furious at yourself for not tidying your room before you’d gone to sleep or for wearing better quality night clothes but Azula didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and sat next to you on the edge of your bed "yes it’s me y/n, have you forgotten what I look like already?". "Of course not" you replied and she smiled again "good, i came to see how your time with zu zu is going?". You felt disappointed, that’s why she was here but what else did you expect? Just because your mind hadn’t left Azula since the moment you’d been seperated didn’t mean hers hadn’t either. You frowned and answered her question "it’s going as you said it would, he is very awkward at the moment but polite and kind I suppose". "Does he trust you yet?". You shook your head "no I think it will take more time". Azula frowned but then nodded "yes that is to be expected..but I’m sure considering it is you it will not take long". You frowned unsure if this was a compliment “may I ask why you think that?” you asked seeming to catch Azula of guard. She looked up at you before shooting her eyes away, she looked conflicted. “Well my brother has shown preference for you before, he chose to flirt with you at the Ember Islands over anyone else, there was a whole room full of potential girls but he chose you to make Mai jealous”. You paused as many argument sprung up in your head to counter Azula’s claim but then stopped noticing Azula seemed angry, she spat the statement Zuko liked you and was glaring at the floor. Even if she was wrong about Zuko liking you that didn’t mean she knew that, she honestly believed he liked you and that angered her. It was ridiculous but you wondered if that belief was why Azula chose you to assign to Zuko. “Azula you told me you wanted me to get close to Zuko how close?” you asked warily. Her eyes narrowed and she wringed her own hands at the comment “I’m not sure y/n” she admitted “for you to learn his secrets I need him to trust you, to be fond of you and to let you in” she explained and you nodded “I understand Princess”. “But the two of you will be nothing like how our relationship is” Azula said fiercely and you smiled slightly. “Or was I suppose” Azula trailed off and you frowned. “How have you been?” you asked “I have wanted to enquire about you to the other servants but didn’t want to ruin my cover”. Azula smiled slightly “I am fine, your replacement is a complete idiot however” Azula cried “she has no idea of my schedule or how important is it for me to be punctual! She gets my food orders wrong and booked my training rooms for the complete wrong days! And she doesn’t arrange my room the way you did!” Azula carried on and you grinned. Azula blushed and looked down “I suppose you can say I’ve noted your absence”. You smiled sadly and hardly thinking place your hand on top of hers “I’ve missed you too Azula”. You expected her to yell at you for touching her or for insinuating she missed you but she did neither. She shifted and you moved your hand away but Azula didn’t move away “If you have missed me as you put it” she said looking down “you may like my proposal”. You watched Azula waiting for her to continue and nodded when she looked up “I am listening”. “The last night you were my servant...the deal I offered you”. You sat up now fully alert and stared at Azula noticing the slight blush on her cheeks. "I know I said it was a one time thing but..." Azula trailed off and you stared at her, willing her to continue with what she was saying but she seemd to need encouragement. "Pri...I mean Azula...". Azula looked up as you corrected yourself and she smiled. "Azula" you carried on "if you wish to do what we did again, I wouldn’t object". "You enjoyed it?" Azula asked smirking smugly, her nerves now apparently gone and her voice alone sent shivers up your neck. "Of course" you nodded "I haven’t stopped thinking about it honestly". Azula felt excitment but also intrigued, you hadn’t been able to get her out of your head either? She shook away the leaping thoughts and smirked "so really I’d be helping you focus on your duties? If I did this you’d stop daydreaming about me and do your work?" She asked tilting her head to one side as she leant backwards on her arms. You looked up at her and saw how cocky she was, she oozed confidence and ease and you loved it. "Yes princess" you gulped out of habit and she tutted "Azula" she corrected you before kissing you. The sensation was soon becoming familiar and you smiled as azula pushed you to lay down, if this became a regular thing like Azula said you’d be the happiest servant alive,who cares if you got caught?

Afterwards you both lay recovering in comfortable silence before Azula spoke. “Your room needs redecorating” Azula commented and you looked to where she lay beside you staring up at your ceiling. You were still in a daze and weren’t sure you heard her right “I’m sorry?”. Azula sat up and smiled at you over her shoulder ”Your room, It is plain and ugly”. You shrugged “It’s the same as all the servants rooms” you replied and Azula smiled “yes but you are not just any servant are you? You are my servant” making you blush. Azula smiled and continued “and if I am to be spending more time here I would have it look nice”. You paused as Azula surveyed the room “I think some nicer drapes, new furniture and of course some softer bedding” she smiled making you blush. “I will see what I can find..” you started and Azula shook her head “No i will have it all sorted” she told you getting back dressed “I will show you the plans before I do anything of course but I am sure you will like my taste”. You redenned again but smiled “whatever you wish”. The room had never bothered you before, you didn’t care if Azula changed it, if it meant Azula would be visiting more you’d install a hole in the ceiling. Azula nodded “I will have it all ready by my next visit, now I must be leaving”. You nodded and rushed to stand, it was stupid you just done things that definitely went against the formalities required of a servant but now out of the moment you were back to formal mode and the thought of Azula showing herself out was preposterous. Azula seemed the find it amusing too and smirked as you rushed to escort her to the door “this was most enjoyable” Azula told you stroking your cheek “you thought so too?” she asked. “Definitely” you nodded “you are welcome any time”. Azula’s smirk wavered and was replaced with a genuine smile and her eyes softenned “thank you y/n” she said quietly and you smiled, making sure not to make a big deal of this and scare her off. Azula coughed looking down and removed her hand from your cheek “I will see you again in 2 days time, same place and time”. “I look forward to it” you smiled and Azula smirked “good night y/n” and exited your room.

You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed it but you thought both you and Azula changed after that night. When you saw Azula in the throne room or the coridoors of the palace her gaze always lingered on you when nobody was watching and when you looked at her she’d smile slightly. Just a twinge of her cheeks but you knew Azula well enough to read those minute movements all her family didn’t notice. You were sure you were actually making Azula happy and not like how winning a war or humilating a person made her happy but purely happy, innocently happy. All you had to do was trick Zuko into trusting you, cover up Azula’s visits to your room, avoid the suspicion of Mai, Ozai and your fellow servants all while doing your daily jobs! Shouldn’t be too hard.

----

I know it’s over used but I had to play on the jealousy between Azula and Zuko, I think Zuko defo brings out her jealous side more than anyone and would make her finally realise her emotions for the reader. I kind of felt like this was a awkward part storywise as it didn’t really advance too much but I tried to make the relationships Azula and Zuko have with the reader progress naturally. I’m planning on only making two more parts so don’t worry the story will esculate and be much more fast paced from now on!

254 notes · View notes

potionsprefect · 4 years ago

Text

The Familiar Face (Chapter 3)

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x Victoria Clarke

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Victoria and Sienna meet up for lunch and a catch up

Rating: General Audiences

Category: Fluff, series

Previous chapter here

Chapter Three: A Catch Up

Victoria was up early the next morning. Not 6am early but 8am early. Ethan liked to let her sleep in when he wasn’t working but now they were both at home this week, they were both sleeping past their alarm clocks.

Victoria was sat at the kitchen table, looking at the news on her laptop. She knew she shouldn’t be looking at it but she couldn’t help herself. There were several articles covering Ed Farrugia’s visit to Edenbrook.

Nominee Ed visits local hospital

Rallying the locals - Republican Ed visits Bloom Edenbrook who saved his life years ago

Start as you mean to go on - Farrugia gains support and respect for hospital visit

Victoria rolled her eyes at the article headlines. But the one that talked about saving his life was half true. Yes they did manage to successfully find out what was wrong with him but when disaster struck, he just ran away and left others to clean up his mess. Victoria just hoped Massachusetts had some sense to not vote for him.

“What are you looking at?” Ethan entered the kitchen.

“Just some articles on Ed’s visit yesterday. Seems like there’s a lot of the media on his side. Maybe people will be glad seeing someone from their state running for office.” Victoria sighed.

“And if that’s the case then there’s nothing we can do about it. Remember, control what you can control.” Ethan said wrapping his arms around Victoria from behind and pressing lazy kisses to her neck.

“Maybe you’re right. Are the twins not up yet?”

“No, which is unusual. I’ll go wake them up.” Ethan planted one last kiss on Victoria’s head and headed out the kitchen.

As Victoria continued to scroll through the articles, she saw a text message from Sienna pop up on her phone.

Fancy a catch up at lunch, 12pm? My treat x

Victoria smiled at her phone. If there was anyone who would help lift her mood, it was Sienna. Victoria fired back a quick yes before heading upstairs.

“I’m going to meet Sienna for lunch.” Victoria called out as she saw Ethan in Luke’s room.

“That’s good, if anyone can make you smile it’s Sienna.”

“And you of course.” Victoria laughed.

“Well I don’t want to toot my own horn.” Ethan laughed back.

Victoria walked into her and Ethan’s room and sat down at the vanity and began to get ready. It only took her 20 minutes to do her make up, opting for a simple look before she picked out a purple top and some jeans to wear.

It wasn’t long before she was leaving the house and heading towards the coffee shop she and Sienna frequently hung out in.

“Hey Sienna!” Victoria smiled as Sienna approached her.

“Hey Vic! I’m glad I got away on time. We had a major trauma this morning.” Sienna gave her a hug before they entered the coffee shop.

“What happened?” Victoria asked.

“Some sort of explosion in a science class. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt. Just minor burns.” Sienna replied.

The two women ordered lunch and brought it over to one of the empty tables by the window.

“So how are my two favourite godchildren?” Sienna beamed.

“Driving Ethan and I mad.” Victoria laughed a little. She got out her phone and showed her some latest pictures.

“Oh em gee they’re so cute! I miss cuddles with them.”

“They miss Aunt Sienna too.”

“And how are you and Ethan enjoying your week off?” Sienna asked.

“I’m not gonna lie it feels strange. Especially with Ethan being around more. I’ve never really realised how much I miss him when he’s not around.” Victoria replied.

“You deserve the time off.”

“So tell me, what really happened at the hospital when Ed came to visit? And don’t skirt around anything. I want the full story.”

Sienna explained how the hospital were briefed only 15 minutes before Ed turned up that he would be visiting, although she didn’t realise he was in the hospital until she saw the news coverage and how Leland Bloom had approached her when she rushed downstairs to see if it was true and asked her to give Ed a tour of the hospital. Ed Farrugia hadn’t even given her a glance and she did most of the talking whilst Ed just nodded and had an assistant write out some notes on their notepad.

“So he didn’t even acknowledge you? Didn’t make any small talk or ask any questions?” Victoria asked.

“None whatsoever. It was incredibly annoying. I thought I made fair comments about him all those years ago. I gave a constructive opinion on him. And remember all those tweets about me that praised my honesty? I was labelled a hero!”

“There’s no way he’d forget Edenbrook. Maybe he’s only acting in front of the media. Deep down, I reckon he would crack if anyone of us asked him about what happened that day.” Victoria said.

“That’s what I thought as well. Plus he said he never wanted to see or hear from us ever again. I reckon he didn’t want to pay a visit but he knew it would be good for support.” Sienna replied.

“When did he say that?” Victoria asked.

“That day.” Sienna looked down. Victoria reached over to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, urging her to continue when she was ready. “Ethan and I found him hiding in a supply closet. When I agreed to sing his praises to the media he said that would be the last time we ever saw each other.”

“I think he meant that. He was just playing to the media’s advantages by attending the hospital and acting like he was just paying a normal visit. He was probably wishing he was anywhere else.”

The two women then opted away from discussing Ed Farrugia and went on to chat about everything else.

It wasn’t long before Victoria was heading home, as she turned the key in the lock and opened the door she was surprised to be greeted with silence. Normally, Luke and Lily ran to greet her at the door but this time they didn’t.

Victoria took her shoes off and walked into the living room. It was empty. She then made her way to the kitchen where she found who was looking for.

“Mommy!” Luke and Lily beamed when they saw Victoria. They were covered in cake mixture.

“What have you been up to?” Victoria laughed as she looked at Ethan.

“We made a cake!” Luke said.

“Did you? It looks like you’re wearing most of it.”

“It’s never been a simple task.” Ethan laughed.

“But it tastes so good Daddy.” Lily looked up at Ethan.

“It’ll taste even better when it’s cooked. But now it looks like we’re going to have to hose you down.” Ethan ushered the kids out the kitchen, instructing them to go up the stairs and to not touch the walls.

“Did you have fun?” Victoria asked smirking.

“We thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

“Everything you do is a nice surprise for me.” Victoria leant up to press a kiss to Ethan’s jaw.

“I’m glad you think so. Now let’s see how long it will take us to shower them before they turn into cake monsters.” Ethan took Victoria’s hand.

“Lead the way.” Victoria smiled.

— — — — —

Took a break to write another chapter of this!

Let me know if you would like to be tagged

Tag list:

@ohchoices @openheartfan @queencarb @genevievemd @iemcpbchoices @choicesaddict5 @schnitzelbutterfingers @alina-yol-ramsey @stygianflood @malakemads-blog @gryffindordaughterofathena @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor @openheartfanfics @rookie-ramsey @sophxwithers @caseyvalentineramsey @romewritingshop @ethansramsey @codykosuckmytoe @mrsethanfreakingramsey @coffeeheartaddict @mm2305 @nikki-2406 @maurine07 @nishas-paradise @replayfootsteps @mainstreetreader @anntoldst0ries

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #Ethan Ramsey x Victoria Clarke #Ethan x Victoria #open heart fanfiction #choices: open heart #playchoices #series #fluff #fanfic

36 notes · View notes

alrisklightvale · 3 years ago

Text

Lean on Me | Day6 Anniversary Prompt #1

Full anniversary countdown challenge

D-13 : Lean on me

Genre: DAY6 x reader : siblings au // a bit fluff?

Description: After an exhausting class, an unexpected rainfall and a pile of homeworks and responsibilities given to you from the school, you feel sick. You don't want you brothers to know not until Sungjin told you to lean on them when you need it no matter what.

Word Count: 1,413 words

Rain is pouring hard. Forgot to bring your umbrella, you rush on the road towards your house and you open the front door while catching your breath.

Silence greeted you and the lights are off. That means your brothers are not home yet.

You quickly change your clothes and open your laptop that is on your study table. You didn't mind taking a bath and didn't care if you will catch a cold. Your school tasks are more important.

You are the president of your class and due to your school's annual festival coming, you are assigned to do several things for your section. Plus homework that is due tomorrow, you can't help but finish all of these quickly.

An hour later, you feel cold so you touch your neck.

Shoot. You reach your thermometer and monitor your body temperature. You're sick. Great.

But you didn't mind, You should finish the pile of works first.

You keep on working without a break until 11:30 pm. The surroundings are getting colder so you wear your jacket and your glasses because your eyes are sore. When you feel that your body wants to surrender you decided to drink water downstairs.

"Y/N? You're still awake?"

You jumped, and almost spill your drink. You turned and saw your brother, Sungjin along with your older brothers putting their instruments in the living room.

"Umm.. yes, that's why you see me here right?"

You are the youngest of the group. Jae the oldest, followed by Sungjin, Younghyun, Wonpil, Dowoon then you. Your brothers are a group of talented musicians. Each of them can play their respective instruments. You even told them that you are talentless and can't play but you didn't know that Jae and Wonpil saw you playing their guitar and piano alone in the living room a long ago. So they can say you have the skill too.

"But you're supposed to be in your room and sleeping tight right?" Younghyun said. "It's past your curfew."

"No, I woke up because I'm thirsty," Of course it's a lie. You are rushing to finish your homework so you can plan about the tasks given by your teacher for your school's annual festival. Plus you are sick! What an unfortunate event!

Due to their hectic and stressful schedules and they have problems with their upcoming album, you didn't tell them about what happened to your school and yourself lately. You did not want to cause more problems for them.

You have no plan of telling this condition you have right now either. So you decided to keep it by yourself.

You forced a smile and wave as you put your glass on the table and walk towards the stairs, "I'll go back to sleep, good night!"

Before you could reach the first staircase, Someone grip your left arm turns out its Dowoon.

"But can I ask if-- wait you're hot! Are you sick?" Oh no.

"N-no!"

Your sight is blurry, because of your condition. Among the group, you have a weak immune system than them. But you tried to hold on.

That's when Sungjin took his steps and stop towards you with his concerned look. He touches your forehead. "Yah Y/N! Wh--"

Before he can continue you collapse on the floor. You tried to keep awake, but the darkness swallowed you.

You flutter your eyes open and feel the coldness on your forehead. It was Wonpil who applies a wet cloth to your head.

"Oh Y/N-shii, why did you lie?"

You are in your room. Wonpil is beside you. You also noticed that Younghyun is in his serious look on your study table, reading your science textbook while glancing at the homework on your laptop.

"You should go back to sleep," he put the cloth on a basin of water and squeezed it so the water will come out, and put it back on your head.

"N-no I should take care of the homework first."

"Y/N I think you should rest first," At last Younghyun took off his eyes on the textbook and look in your direction. "Take it too slow okay? You should rest, I'll take care of your homework."

Now you feel guilty. They are already stressed about their work, in producing music. Then you are sick-- You can't help but tell the truth on how you catch this fever and apologize. If you bought your umbrella, you shouldn't end up here. But everything happened in a blink of an eye.

"I-"

Wonpil glance from Younghyun to you, "Hmm?"

"I'm s-sorry. If I bought my umbrella and didn't overwork myself, this didn't happen..."

"No, it's not your fault, don't apologize," Dowoon entered the scene with medicine and water, "I think we should blame the rain for what they did to you."

You can't help but chuckle. Dowoon didn't fail to make you smile despite your sick, but his look turns serious and walks towards you as you tried to sit while Wonpil assisting you, "But why lie?"

But your brothers couldn't believe it that you lied for the first time in front of them. You always tell the truth because all of you promised not to keep secrets. Or it seems.

But you have your valid reason... Sometimes it's better to lie...

"Y-you knows, I'm just worried... All of you are so busy with your work. And here I am causing trouble.." The rest looked at you but you look down and proceed, "...But here you guys are, taking care of me."

Jae also entered the scene and took a glance at you before walking forward. When he walked closer you noticed your favorite food on your signature plate.

"Because we care for you!" Both Wonpil and Dowoon replied in unison.

"That's how family works right?" Wonpil added. "You are our youngest! Of course, you are deserved to be cared for and loved."

"Tchh. cheesy," Jae muttered that only you and he can only hear. The younger darted a glare at the latter before looking back to you.

"Oh and Sungjin said that you are not going to school tomorrow," Jae put your food on the table beside Wonpil. "He already told your teacher, and you better get well first."

"But--"

"So stubborn," You heard Dowoon whisper who is now sitting beside Younghyun.

You thanked them for the food and started eating, moments later Younghyun finally finished your homework and decided to sit near you and talk about the things that happened while they are making their songs.

Sungjin finally entered your room minutes later. He was carrying a paper with music notes probably a music sheet. You insist on them to sleep but they don't want to because they want to monitor you due to your weak immune system.

You woke up and you don't feel sick anymore. You are the only one in your and glance at the clock on your table. 6:02 AM.

Wait, Sunrise!

Since childhood, you love sunrise and sunsets. It fascinates you how the yellow ball of fire, also known as the sun, slowly going up to the sky (or going down the horizon)

You find yourself rushing towards the rooftop. And to your surprise, Your brothers are there sitting on the long chair. When you close the door, it creates a loud thug that made them look at you.

"As expected," Younghyun smiled as you walk towards them.

"You guys have work right?"

"Yep but we will go there by afternoon," Sungjin answered as you sit between them.

Silence takes over the scene as you don't know what to say or start a conversation.

But Sungjin broke the silence first by calling your name.

"Y/N."

You turned to him with a questioning look but turn into a smile after you heard what he said.

"I hope that you don't hesitate to tell the truth next time. We also appreciate why you didn't tell us what happened to you."

"And you can lean to us and rest if you need it," Jae added. "I know you are independent but in the time when you need us the most, just say it."

"And don't lie," Younghyun said. "That's the golden rule of the house."

"And don't worry we are right behind you!" Wonpil smiled as he looks back at the rising sun.

You love peaceful moments like this. And from now on, you won't lie to them ever again.

-Eunhee-shii

#day6 #day6 ot5 #sungjin #jae #young k #wonpil #dowoon #day6 fluff #day6 sibling au #day6 x reader

14 notes · View notes

littledrummeraussie · 4 years ago

Photo

At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 4

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 5843 words tags/warnings: past: departures and reunions. mistletoe kisses. another second of angst. feelings are coming out. bashful flirting and teasing. obviously there is only one bed. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia. smut. oral sex (male and female both receiving). dirty talk. sex without protection (they are married obviously). blink-and-you’ll-miss-it breeding kink. talks about pregnancy. Forever thankful for @mymindwide for being my everything while I worked out this story. Thanks for anyone who stuck with me until the very end, even if I sucked big time with posting the last chapter. You are the real champions! All my love for you! Feedback is appreciated and welcomed if you feel like dropping a line or two.

“Stop staring at my ass,” Ashton groaned as he crouched in front of the fireplace, your giggles making him blush. “It’s hard enough to focus like this.”

“I’ve thought you were hard enough,” you teased him, wrapping your arms around his back and hooking your chin over his shoulder. “And I like staring at your ass, just sayin’…”

“Do you have permission to do that?” he quirked an eyebrow at you as he looked back, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I do have a marriage certificate tucked away with your signature on it,” you tapped your lips with a finger, grinning. “Sure that counts.”

“You’re a minx,” he pressed a kiss on your cheek, pulling your arms over his shoulders as he stood up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him. “Guess the fire is ready. What now?”

“You wanted some couch make outs if I remember correctly,” you nipped at the shell of his ear, making Ashton groan again. “And maybe I could take care of that problem for you too…”

“Hope this time we’re not getting interrupted,” he put you down on the couch until he could sit down as well, pulling you back into his lap, lips already pressed against yours. “I just really need some proper quality time with you, especially on our anniversary.”

“We’re way too familiar with interruptions by now,” you giggled against his cheek, peppering it with tiny kisses until you could kiss him, palms cupping his jaw. “So how do you feel about an early-Christmas-present-slash-anniversary-gift?”

*****

The airport was once again bustling with people carrying bags and suitcases, ushering small children to empty seats or counters to start their check-ins, awaiting in-laws and friends at gates when a plane touched down. Your fingers were nervously tapping against a table, the coffee shop you’ve visited on the night of first meeting Ashton now packed with people buying food and drinks before their departures. You took one last look at the alert on your phone, the details of your flight making you chew on your lips – you really didn’t want to go home. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not without Ashton.

The morning found the two of you tangled together in your sheets, bodies and lips pressed close, lazily making out while your hands roamed the other’s skin, tugging away blankets to feel more. You could still hear Ashton’s moans in your ear as you followed a path down on his chest, his fingers running through your hair as you licked the V-shape of his hips, ready to properly wake him up. But then both of your phones started going off, messages and emails popping up on the screens about the airport opening and your flights being scheduled to leave that day. The moment was gone as you only had a few more hours together, and as much as you wanted to finish what you’ve started you needed to pack your bags and check out of your hotel room if you both wanted to catch your respective flights back home.

A cup of coffee was set in front of you followed by a sandwich, then you felt Ashton reaching for your hand and tangling your fingers together, stopping your nervous tapping. He pressed a long kiss on your cheek which finally made you smile, but he didn’t stop, only when his light nuzzling made you giggle.

“That’s what I like to hear,” his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, smiling back at you. “I know this is not breakfast in bed, but it’s still breakfast together.”

“It’s perfect,” you let your head rest against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment. “Thank you.”

“I really wish we could do more, but this wasn’t how I imagined today will go,” his cheek rested on the top of your head, and you hummed in agreement.

“What did you have in mind?” your voice was flirty mixed with a good amount of teasing, and Ashton chuckled, his own voice turning low against your ear.

“Do you really have to ask?”

You quietly talked as you ate your sandwiches, taking bites of the other’s just to hear them giggle, your legs tangled together under the table. Your own flight was leaving an hour or two before Ashton’s, and the time to board the plane was drawing closer by the minute – something you’ve tried to forget just to spend a little more time with him. It felt like Ashton was thinking the same as he asked for ‘just 5 more minutes’ with you at least three times before you really needed to go and check in.

He pulled you against his chest, face buried in your hair as he mumbled encouraging words in your ear, trying to convince you (and probably himself as well) that the next 10 days will be over in a blink of an eye and that you will be able to see each other back in Los Angeles in no time. You wrapped your arms around his middle, melting against him and trying to memorize the feeling – how solid and warm he was, how he always smelled like sunshine, how much he felt like home. His fingers played with the scarf around your neck, pulling on it until he could see the hickey he left on your skin the previous night, then adjusting it against so no one else would see it; it was only for his eyes to see, only for his lips to kiss. How much you’ve wished he would kiss you there again.

“It’s only 10 days,” he whispered again, foreheads knocked together, both of you lost in your little world that was the other. “Just 10 days and we will see each other again.”

“Funny how I went all these years without you, and now 10 more days feels like forever,” you tugged on the lapels of his jacket, a blush colouring your cheeks. “Ash…?”

“Yeah?” he gave a squeeze to your hips, letting you know that he was listening.

You wanted to tell him how going home didn’t feel like that anymore – how the idea of home changed in the last few days: it wasn’t a place, but more like a person. To you Ashton was home now.

“Did you charge your phone?” you asked instead with a smile, feeling like your thoughts would be too much too soon.

“I did, yeah,” he chuckled, his cheeks turning red too. “Why? Are you scared some other pretty girl will offer me her charger while I wait for my flight to take off?”

“No!” you laughed, shaking your head. “Just making sure you don’t have another meltdown.”

“How thoughtful,” he rolled his eyes with a smile, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek. “And anyway, you are my pretty girl. No one else.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” you let your nose nuzzle against his as he nudged his closer to yours. “I think it’s time for me to go…”

“Wait a second!”

Ashton pulled back from you, reaching into his pocket and slowly fishing out a small bouquet of mistletoe. A cheeky smile played at the corner of his mouth as he lifted it above your head, making the both of you laugh.

“Where’d you get it from?” your eyes travelled between the mistletoe and his face, and he gave you a shrug, still grinning.

“Stole it from Starbucks. I missed my first chance and I couldn’t let you leave without making up for it and actually kissing you under the mistletoe.”

“Well then, hurry up, Irwin,” you cupped his face in your hands. “Before someone else takes that chance.”

“Can’t let that happen,” he curled his other arm around you, finally pressing his lips against your lips.

The kiss was sweet but hard, taking your breath away, and you would have given anything to stay in that moment with Ashton, everything else be forgotten around you. His eyelashes tickled your skin, noses nuzzled close, lips moving against each other like they were created for this reason only. Ashton pecked your forehead, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips again, fingers cradling your jaw as he was looking at you with sparkling eyes.

“I’ll see you in 10 days, beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick with emotions, something you were so familiar with by now.

“Text me when you arrive?”

“Only if you do the same,” he squeezed your elbow as you pulled away, tucking his hands in his pocket. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Ash. See you at home.”

*****

“Fuck, you’re such a tease,” Ashton threw his head back, fingers digging into your ass as you licked another line up his throat, sucking on his earlobe.

“Oh, but you like it, don’t you?” you giggled while grinding against his hard cock, and Ashton let out another moan, now trying to stop your moving hips.

“It’s gonna be over way too soon if you keep this up,” he pulled your lips back onto his, nipping on the bottom one. “And I much prefer going all the way.”

“Think you’re ready for that blowjob, hot stuff?” you slipped your hand between your bodies, palming his cock through his boxers.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N,” he wiggled under you to get comfortable but also to push more against your touch. “Please, baby?”

You pressed one more kiss onto his pouty lips before slipping off his lap and kneeling between his legs, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Pushing his shirt out of the way you nuzzled against his stomach, kissing the soft skin just above the band of his boxers, making his fingers twitch next to his body, wanting to touch you too. You let your fingers curl into the fabric of his shorts, tugging them down on his legs, his hard cock slapping against his stomach the moment it got free from its confines.

“Beautiful,” you sent him a wink before leaning forward and licking the underside of his cock, closing your lips around the tip to lightly suck on it.

Ashton ran his fingers through his hair as he watched you slowly working your way down on his shaft, taking more and more of his length into your mouth, your eyes locked on each other. You bobbed your head up and down, lazily sucking his dick, letting the tip rest against your bottom lip or your tongue as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. He stroked your cheek as he mumbled his praises, making you moan around his cock, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine.

“Fuck, babe, fuck,” he pushed his hips up and you relaxed a little, letting him fuck into your mouth. “Can I? Please?”

His fingers brushed through your hair and you nuzzled against his palm, letting him guide your movements as you picked up the pace, licking and sucking him until you heard his breath hitching, pulling back from his dick. Ashton whined lowly, eyes hooded as he looked at you through his lashes, and you wrapped your fingers around his cock, slowly pumping it as you licked the precum off the tip, giving him a cheeky smile.

“How do you enjoy your present, naughty boy?” you giggled, gently sucking on the tip again.

“Wish it was Christmas every day,” he groaned, thumbing over your bottom lip and you pressed a kiss on the pad of his finger. “God, I love you so damn much.”

“I love you too,” you sat back on your heels, lightly stroking your palms up and down on his thighs.

Ashton reached for your hands, tangling your fingers together for a moment and squeezing them before leaning forward, curling his arms around you and tugging you back into his lap, kissing you deeply. You moaned into his mouth, playing with the soft curls between your fingers as he pulled you more and more against himself. He cupped your jaw, pecking your lips and nose, eyes dark and full of lust, and you felt your heart thumping against your chest.

“I know it technically wasn’t Christmas anymore when you’ve first done this, but God, do I love Christmas blowjobs from my hot mama,” he grinned at you, and you giggled too, knocking your foreheads together.

“It was more like a ‘welcome home!’ blowjob, but I needed to make up for that first failed attempt.”

“You waiting for me at the airport was Christmas all over again,” he pressed a series of kisses against your knuckles, finishing with a long one on your ring. “And now to give you your present, sweetie.”

*****

The following days were spent in a flurry of text messages and phone calls scheduled for the strangest times of the day, speaking in hushed voices as you’ve tried not waking your families, stifling giggles in pillows or against sweaters whenever you couldn’t hide your laughs anymore. Ashton made sure to send you a picture with Indie every day, always attaching it to a little message that let you know that he was counting back the days until he will travel back to LA. Your own pictures usually included some kind of Christmas treat, wishing you could share it with him once again. His pouty selfies ended up being the best part of your days.

With January finally came the day of his arrival as well, a fact that suddenly made you nervous. He sent you a message about when his plane will take off, and how he only needs to count back a few more hours to be in the same place as you. You’ve spent the better half of your morning opening and closing your browser, your curiosity finally winning and making you check the exact details of Ashton’s flight, already knowing that you will wait for him there. You felt silly for being so worried – after all, it was Ashton. Your Ashton. The man who’s been sending you little videos of his adventures back in Sydney, who called you even just for a few minutes to wish you sweet dreams, who wished he could dance with you whenever he heard the song you’ve played in your hotel room at Christmas.

But still, you were a little unsure. You’ve only known each other for a short time, and there was a chance that those feelings you’ve had for him were only part of the Christmas magic, that once you meet each other back in your real lives it will disappear, and that reality will be much uglier. They say every miracle lasts for 3 days – who knows, maybe your 3 days was already up, gone with the flight you took back to LA.

Wrapping your arms around yourself you bounced on your toes, waiting for the gate to open and reveal the mass of people who arrived from Sydney, Ashton included. You’ve arrived an hour earlier, not being able to stay at home and count back the minutes anymore – you just wanted to see him again, to know if whatever this was between the two of you was real or just a casual fling that will go on for a few more weeks before you both move onto other people and forget about each other. Even if that was the case, you still have the memories for the rest of your life.

Then the gate opened and people started to flood into the airport, going for the cabs outside or to friends and family members waiting for them. You felt your breath catch in your throat when you saw the familiar leather jacket, the wide shoulders and the messy curly hair, his head down as he tried to be one of the crowd, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. You weren’t sure if he would see you, so instead you quickly dialled his number, hoping he would pick it up. Ashton reached for his pocket a moment later, his posture changing when he looked at the phone and suddenly his voice was in your ear.

“Y/N?”

“Look up,” you whispered, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“What are you talking about?” he furrowed his eyebrows, gaze quickly sweeping through the airport until it landed on you.

You gave him a tentative little wave, lips forming a silent ‘hello’ as you looked at each other. A smile spread across Ashton’s face as he picked up his bag again, taking three long strides and stopping in front of you, eyes sparkling like stars.

“What are you doing here?” he reached for you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, and you felt a blush colour your cheeks. “I’ve thought I won’t be able to see you until tomorrow.”

“I– couldn’t wait anymore,” you stared at your shoes, the toes of his boots slowly touching yours as he stepped closer. “I’m sorry; I’m too forward, I just…”

“Hey,” you felt his palm cup your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him, a soft, sweet smile on his face. “I missed you too.”

And suddenly all your worries were gone; Ashton dropped his bag to pull you into his embrace, tucking your head under his chin as he held you close, lips pressing kisses all over your hair. Your fingers tangled into the back of his jacket, holding onto him as you were finally reunited – you never wanted to lose this sense of home again, the way Ashton made you feel in that moment.

“I’ve brought you something,” you mumbled against his shoulder, and he hummed in return, still not letting you go.

“More than your wonderful self?” his lips brushed against your forehead, tilting your chin up to look at him. “What did you bring me, beautiful?”

You slowly pulled out a paper bag, the logo on it already giving away its content, but Ashton still reached inside and took out a chocolate chip cookie, the treat making him smile.

“You remembered,” he chuckled, and you nodded, lightly bouncing on your toes.

“I know it’s not Christmas anymore, or well, yet, but you’ve told me you’re gonna share a cookie with me once we’re both back in LA. And now that you’re back home…”

“Speaking of home…” Ashton tangled your fingers together, lightly swinging your hands as he bit his bottom lip, eyes searching you. “Would you like to… would you like to come home with me? Truth is that I’m just really, really tired, but I don’t think I can wait anymore. I just want to be with you again.”

“I mean, if you really want me to,” you squeezed his fingers, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I would love to go home with you.”

“But there’s one thing…” Ashton stepped closer, curling his arms around your waist and you mirrored him, giving him a curious look. “There’s only one bed.”

“It’s okay,” you let out a giggle, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “I can take the couch if you prefer the bed.”

“The hell you will,” he suddenly picked you up and you laughed holding onto his shoulders. “We’ve got really good at sharing, and the bed is huge. Plenty of space for pretty girls like you.”

“Do you sleep on the same side as you did in London?” you let your fingers tangle into his hair at the back of his head, knocking your forehead against his, making Ashton smile and press his lips against yours in a short kiss.

“Sure there are sides anymore, beautiful?”

*****

“That tickles!”

“Oh, but you like it, don’t you?” Ashton gave you a toothy grin, quickly licking over your nipple.

You giggled as he nuzzled his scruffy cheek against the soft skin of your breast again, closing his teeth around your other nipple to gently bite it. Somehow you both ended up on the fluffy carpet in front of the fireplace, clothes thrown over the couch as Ashton hovered above you, kissing his way down on your body. You tugged on his curls, making him moan against your skin and smear sloppy kisses wherever he could reach you, every little touch making you even more aroused.

“Did you put that mistletoe above us so you could do this?” you giggled again as you caught sight of the little bouquet hanging above the two of you, and Ashton stifled his chuckle against your skin.

“I might have planned this, yeah,” he pressed a kiss on your belly button before looking up at you. “Can’t say no to Christmas traditions, right?”

“Traditions need to be followed, especially when they include a mistletoe,” you hummed in agreement, letting out a needy sigh as Ashton made his way lower, lips pressing kisses on your inner thighs. “Fuck, Ash, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, babe,” he pressed his nose against your mound, tongue slowly licking between your wet folds. “Best fucking Christmas present I get to share with you.”

“Too much talk and not enough licking,” you bit your lip as he swirled his tongue around your clit. “Mmhh, right there.”

Ashton chuckled again before spreading your pussy lips and going back to eating you out, your fingers tangling back into his hair to keep him between your legs. He lapped at your juices, sucking your sensitive clit between his lips and making your thighs shake as he teased all the spots he knew would make you shiver. You needed to put a hand over your mouth as he slipped two fingers into you, fingertips rubbing at your sweet spot while he still licked and sucked you.

“Wanna cum, baby?” he pressed a soft kiss on your clit before licking over it again, and you shook your head, reaching for his free hand until he interlocked your fingers.

“Wanna cum with you,” you squeezed his hand, giving him a pleading look. “Come back up and make love to me?”

“That’s all I want, beautiful,” Ashton pushed himself back up, sealing his lips with yours.

He knocked his forehead against yours, hands curled around your hips as you both found a comfortable position, then he swiped the tip of his cock between your folds, collecting your wetness on it before slowly pushing in. You cupped his jaw, rubbing his scruffy cheeks with your thumbs as you took him, your moans hidden in the other’s neck until he bottomed out. Ashton pressed kisses on your neck and behind your ear, softly whispering as he slowly pulled out just to push back in with a little more force, and your eyes rolled back from the pleasure.

“Still so goddamn hot,” he bit your bottom lip, sucking it gently as his hips picked up the pace, his cock stretching you and dragging against all the spots that made you clench even more around him. “Beautiful and sweet and the best mama, and still the hottest woman in town. How did I get so lucky, huh?”

“Must have been your own charm, hot daddy,” you held onto his biceps, fingers digging into his skin. “Always fucking me so good. But I wanna ride you.”

“Fuck, Y/N, please,” he growled in your ear, pulling out quickly.

He rolled onto his back, already pulling you up over him, and you let your pussy lips rub against his cock as you leaned down to kiss him, making Ashton whine into your mouth at the sensation. Your fingers trailed down his sides, tickling him lightly before reaching for his cock, tapping the head against your clit a few times before sinking down on him, already circling your hips as you adjusted around him. Ashton’s hands found their place back on your ass, holding onto you as you rocked back and forth on his dick, his lips parted and eyes dark as he watched you.

“That’s it baby, ride me, just like that,” his hands slid up to your breasts, cupping them in his palms and tweaking your nipples. “Show me how good your pussy takes my cock.”

“Keep doing that, Ash,” you moaned at his words, his dirty talk always being a weakness of yours.

“Oh, you want that?” he suddenly sat up, quickly adjusting you in his lap as he fucked up into you, making you hold onto his shoulders tightly, lips closing around your earlobe as he hotly whispered against your skin. “Want me to tell you how much I love it when your hot little pussy clenches around me? How I love it when you soak my dick when you finally cum on it. How much I love filling you up with my cum, making you my hot mama again and again. God, I would love to have another baby with you.”

“Ashton, please, please,” you weren’t sure what you were really asking for, but it seemed like he knew exactly what to give you.

His hips snapped into you quickly, one arm curled around your back to hold you close to his chest, his fingers slipping between your legs to thumb your clit. Your forehead knocked against his, eyes staring at each other as you felt your orgasm finally reach you, and he stifled your moans and whines with his kisses, hungrily swallowing them. Fingers brushed through his curls as you kissed him back, fisting them as you still worked your hips against his, sensitive but so satisfied with your pleasure. Ashton’s breath was hitching against your skin, his own hips stuttering as he still fucked into you. You squeezed around his cock a few times, making him groan and finally let go, thrusting into you as he came deep inside you.

Ashton cupped your face in his palms, kissing you long and soft as you melted against each other, wanting to feel the other’s warm skin and kiss-swollen lips, tugging on curls and rubbing against sensitive patches of skin, drawing out quiet moans and shivers. He pressed a kiss against your temple before slowly lying back down on the carpet, pulling you with him and wrapping you in his arms, both of you panting after your shared pleasure.

“I don’t wanna move,” Ashton groaned lightly, fingers combing through your hair.

“Me neither,” you pressed a kiss onto his collarbone, his throat, his lips. “But I also don’t want to get caught by curious little munchkins when they wake up.”

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” Ashton chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss. “Let’s get cleaned up and back to bed before they find it empty and we get busted for being Santa.”

*****

You ended up stopping to get some takeout before going back to Ashton’s, sitting at the kitchen counter as you shared your dinner, not even pretending anymore that the other eating your food is bothering you. Ashton rested his cheek on the top of your head, arm wrapped around your waist as you both got lost in the feeling of the other being there again, something you’ve got so used to during your time in London.

Half an hour later he was showered, wearing a pair of boxers and a tank top as he crawled into his bed, already pulling you against him from your place where you were perched at the end of the mattress. He didn’t need to ask you twice to stay with him during the next few days, so you just changed into one of the shirts he gave to you before waiting for him to come back. Light was still filtering through the curtains, but Ashton was ready to drop any minute, tired from the long flight and the excitements of the day. He nuzzled against his pillow, arms curling around your waist as he pulled you to his chest, spooning you from behind. You let your fingers tangle together, snuggling back to him, both of you content in your shared little blanket cocoon.

“I missed you from my bed,” he mumbled against your ear, brushing away the stray curls to lightly kiss it. “I just– missed you.”

“Missed you too, Ash,” you turned back a little to kiss the tip of his nose, making him giggle silently. “I finally feel like I’m home again.”

“Yeah, me too,” he looked at you through his lashes, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “The last few days made me realize that I feel most at home when I’m with you – let it be a crowded airport in London or a shared bed in LA. The place doesn’t matter; you are home to me.”

“When I came back to LA… it didn’t feel like coming home. Not with leaving you behind,” you finally confessed, and a small smile pulled at Ashton’s lips. “Even then you have felt like home.”

“Guess we both actually made it home for Christmas,” Ashton let out a happy sigh as he wrapped you even more tightly to himself, kissing the top of your head and getting ready to finally catch up on some much needed sleep. “One way or the other.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you closed your eyes resting against Ashton’s chest, and he squeezed your shoulder one more time.

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

“Welcome home, Ash.”

*****

“They are still sleeping,” you stepped into the bedroom where Ashton was already snuggled up in bed, his arms open and waiting for you to crawl between them.

You gave yourselves a minute or two before picking up your discarded clothes and taking a quick shower, not wanting to ruin the mystery and surprise of Christmas for your sons. On your way to your room you’ve checked on the kids and Bailey, all three of them lightly snoring and dreaming. You felt so much love for them that you felt like your heart’s going to burst, and you needed to take a few deep breaths if you didn’t want to start crying.

Ashton wrapped his arms around you, tugging the blanket over your shoulders and kissing your lips as he let you get comfortable against him. It was almost 6 in the morning, and you both planned on taking a quick nap before your two little firecrackers woke up, demanding your attention.

“That’s not gonna last too long,” Ashton chuckled, fingers brushing through your hair.

“They are your sons,” you gave him a pointed look, and he rolled his eyes, tapping your nose.

“They are your sons too,” he reminded you which made you giggle. “Those pouts? They definitely come from you and not me.”

“Might have something to do with them,” you shrugged, caressing Ashton’s side as he did the same to you. “But you love the pout.”

“I fell in love with that pout. Could never say no to it,” he rubbed his nose against yours, pecking your lips. “Y/N?”

“Yes, love?”

“What I’ve said while we were having sex… I meant it,” Ashton cupped your jaw, knocking his forehead against yours. “I would love to have another baby with you. That is, if you want that too.”

“I actually couldn’t stop thinking about it since then,” you felt your cheeks heat up, voice turning into a whisper. “I would love to try for one more. I feel like– I feel like I’m ready to have another one. They would complete our little family.”

“Another little baby Irwin wreaking havoc around here,” Ashton giggled while pressing his lips on yours, and you lightly moaned, melting against him. “Are we really gonna do this?”

“I would like to think you’ve already done your part today,” you squeezed his hips, giving him a flirty smile. “That doesn’t mean we can’t try again later tonight…”

“God, babe, I love you,” he quietly groaned, smearing kisses on your lips and cheek.

“Love you too, baby daddy,” you bit your lip, ready to tug him close for another quick make out session.

But before you could grab Ashton’s shirt you’ve heard a thump down from the hallway, soon turning into a pair of footsteps coming closer and closer to your bedroom, the sound of paws on the hardwood floor quickly following. You shared a look with each other, a smile pulling at both of your lips.

“Mommy?” you’ve heard Tyler’s sleepy voice from the doorway and you sat up, already opening your arms for him.

“Hey baby, come here,” you motioned for him and Tyler quickly crossed the room to the bed, letting you pick him up and pull him into your lap. “Good morning, munchkin. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Mommy,” he snuggled up to you, pressing a tiny kiss on your cheek while hugging his plush dog. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

“And to you, Tyler,” Ashton leaned over to kiss his chubby cheek, nuzzling against his warm skin for a second. “How about I bring Henry over too and after that we could see if Santa stopped by last night? See if you were good boys and got some presents, huh?”

Tyler nodded against your chest and Ashton winked at him, slipping off the bed to look for your younger son. Bailey has already found his place in front of the door, knowing all too well that he shouldn’t cross the threshold into the bedroom. A minute later Ashton came back with a half-asleep Henry curled against his chest, his tiny fists holding onto his shirt as he rested his head on his dad’s shoulder. You saw that he was ready to say something, but then he caught sight of Tyler who was already back to sleep, snuggled against your side. Ashton settled down, holding onto Henry as he found his place back under the blankets, kissing his blond little head before caressing Tyler’s cheek who was resting between the two of you.

“And I ended up with a bed full of my boys,” you smiled up at Ashton as he mirrored you, fingers lightly running through your hair. “How lucky am I.”

“We are the lucky ones to have you as our mama,” he beamed, adjusting Henry in his arms as he too fell back to sleep. “That I have you as my friend and lover and my wife. The mom of our little Irwins. And our future baby Irwin.”

“Stop making me emotional,” you mumbled, quickly rubbing your eyes to hide your tears, and Ashton leaned forward carefully, pressing a kiss against your lips.

“I love you. Thank you for being my home, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, all of you,” you rubbed your thumb against his palm, tanging your fingers together, your rings lightly knocking against each other as you held hands.

Henry shuffled a little in his sleep as he snuggled against Ashton again, and Tyler let out tiny sleepy sounds too while holding onto his stuffed dog plush. You felt your eyes slowly closing too, ready to take that quick nap you’ve planned before the guys took over your bed.

“It’s okay, go to sleep,” Ashton’s voice was a whisper, soft and warm and full of love.

“Really love you, Ash,” you mumbled, a smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks for not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, baby,” he chuckled, pressing another kiss on your forehead. “Thank you for not letting me.”

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

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin smut #dad!ashton #afic: at christmas all the roads lead home #series: at christmas #fiction time

85 notes · View notes

mechawaka · 4 years ago

Text

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate.

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes.

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression.

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance.

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random.

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations.

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him.

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent.

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty.

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild -

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed.

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection.

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out.

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned?

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them.

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move.

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation.

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick.

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded.

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here.

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck.

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light.

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky.

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably.

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -”

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory.

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in.

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink.

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face.

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

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

#mega writes #fe3h #claudeleth #images are free to use and sourced from pexels pixabay and unsplash

71 notes · View notes