#stone opens it and gets a nosebleed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingjourney · 6 months ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 || 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

He has become a steady presence in her life, the extent of their feelings an unspoken bond that thrums like magic between them. It is easier to feel than to speak the words themselves, to face the unknown that lies ahead. Or: About a bloody nose, almost kisses and a dance with death itself.

pairing: Emmrich x fem!Rook || Rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 16.5k words, POV third person, mourn watch mage!rook, pining, slow romance, hurt/comfort, minor injury/blood, mild angst, age gap, wingman!Manfred, lots of fluff, love confessions, smut (v fingering, piv sex, sex in a coffin, softdom!emm)

Masterlist – Ao3 link

“You, Beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Missiles are flying in every direction around her, a spectacle of colours, her other senses occupied with laboured grunting, the clash of steel against steel, arrows swishing past her ears. Rook dodges, left and right, back to the left. The chaos of battle feels like home now, her body alert, strung tight like a bow. It is a practiced dance, though she is new to who she is dancing with today.

When the missile hits her it is entirely unexpected, an enemy she somehow overlooked hitting her from outside her field of view. Before she can locate them she loses her footing, the ground suddenly approaching her face and then it crashes into her. Or, is she falling? The pain is a sudden beast, spreading from her nose to her teeth and into her eyes. Her ears ring and she loses her orientation, unfocused swimming in a restless sea.

Instinctively Rook rolls to her side, avoiding another blow. As her vision clears, she feels the warmth of blood pooling from her face, its metallic taste landing on her lips, a wetness that spreads into her hair, her clothes underneath her light armour. She shoots at the enemy before they can strike again, effectively sending them backwards. It gives her enough time to overwhelm them and dominate the fight once again.

Quiet settles in the aftermath, pierced by the occasional grunt of pain as the life leaves some of the wounded. Rook stares at her hands, blood-stained, wet dirt and sand added to the mix. Her head hurts so she carefully sits down, trying to calm her breathing.

“Rook!” It is Lucanis, sprinting towards where she’s perched on the very stone that slashed her face. “Is it yours?”

“I think it might be,” she says, wiping at her cheeks.

“Nosebleed?” he asks.

No, she can feel the blood oozing from the wound. “A cut, I think. Or maybe it’s both, considering.”

“Wow, you look rough,” Taash says as they finally catch up, their own body smeared with blood that is definitely not their own.

“Let’s get you back to the Lighthouse,” Lucanis says. “I already know someone who will give me a stern talking to about this later.”

“What do you mean?” Rook asks, wiping her hands at her already ruined armour.

Lucanis chuckles at her attempt to stand, ignoring her question. “You sway like a drunk.”

“I feel like one. Though I wish the reason were your Antivan wines and not… face-planting on the stony beaches of Rivain.”

“You did a good job,” he says softly.

She allows him to help her up, not agreeing nor disagreeing. Her sense of balance returns the longer she stands, though the way to the Eluvian still feels like a journey through the entirety of Thedas. Perhaps, for once, she’ll be able to get some proper rest tonight.

✦ ✧ ✦

Her nose is swollen to twice its size by the time they reach the Lighthouse. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, and every time Rook thinks the cut stopped bleeding she manages to tear it back open again. Ideally, she would have loved to avoid any of the others’ attention in order to clean herself first, get rid of the evidence of what happened. She knows she must make a ghoulish sight, blood-covered face, sticky hair that’s glued to her just as blood-soaked clothing, her voice so nasal that she’s hard to understand.

She doesn’t factor in that the others might have gathered in the library. When they reach the top of the stairs, slow step after slow step, she is first met by Harding’s curious gaze. Her eyes widen as she jumps up from her spot on the sofa.

“Rook!” she calls out.

Everything happens all at once. Rook hears more than she sees, feet on hard stone floor, voices talking above each other, layered sounds that make her panic briefly since she is still a little dizzy and sensitive. She’s guided into her chair and someone sits down on the table in the middle of the room. Once she is safely in one spot her eyes find back into focus and she sees Emmrich perched in front of her.

“Rook, dear,” he says calmly. “What happened? Where is all this blood coming from?”

“Uh, my nose? It’s not as bad as it looks.”

His intense focus hardens the lines on his face and she thinks he looks not just concerned but almost angry. It is an odd look on his usually so gentle features, betraying the gravity with which he perceives the situation. Suddenly she feels like a bother, not the leader of this team who should be in control of the situation.

“Let me examine it, then,” he suggests. “May I?”

She nods and he gives orders to Bellara, might she fetch a wet cloth, this and that tincture from his desk? Then he tells everyone to give them some privacy which finally takes the pressure off her lungs. Rook feels uncomfortable being fussed over, especially when they have so many more important things to do. Emmrich, in particular, is always so enthralled by his research and his work with Manfred.

“I must stink,” she says. “Perhaps I should bathe before we–”

“No, dear, I must determine whether your injury requires any more advanced healing spells or potions. Do not fret about it, please. Now, you must hold very still, I do not wish to hurt you.”

She does as told, leaning back so she can keep her head steady. Emmrich cautiously reaches out, pressing down close to her nose, retracting his hand when she gives any signs of pain, then moving to another spot. Bellara reappears and he begins to gently clean her skin, careful taps with a warm cloth around her nose before he wipes away the blood from the rest of her face.

“Thankfully, the bone does not appear to be fractured,” he says. “However, the swelling is severe and the cut, which caused most of the bleeding, might leave a rather nasty scar since we did not treat it immediately.”

His tone suggests that he is quite unhappy about this, about not being there as it happened. Rook keeps still as he further cleans the wound, sensing the healing magic that radiates from his hand and into her skin. He looks lovely in its glow and she feels better right away, though he cannot mend it perfectly without consulting a practiced healer.

“I leave you at the lighthouse for once and immediately come back injured.” She smiles weakly, trying to dissolve the tension. “This is why I usually ask you to come with me.”

“Do you find this amusing, Rook?”

“I find it amusing that you act like I almost died when in reality I just stumbled after an unfortunate hit,” she quips and, at his rather stern gaze, she adds. “You always look out for me, is what I was trying to say.”

His expression softens, a mild smile tugging at his lips. “I do because you are important.”

“To the team? Or to the Gods? Because I don’t think either of them cares about a disfigured nose.”

“Tsk.” He removes his hand, leaning back to inspect his work. “To me.”

Her heart speeds up, pulse throbbing against her painful nose. Emmrich seems satisfied with his progress and she wonders if he can see how her cheeks are heating up, not in pain or frustration this time. If he notices he does not let on, turning away to open whatever phial he had Bellara bring to patch her back up. The liquid feels cool, soothing the remaining pain for the time being.

“There,” he says. “The rest will heal on its own in due time. If you make sure to get sufficient rest, that is.”

He raises one eyebrow, the unspoken accusation that he notices her lack of respite. And of course he does, he notices everything about everyone. He said a similar thing to Bellara, it truly does not signify anything more than friendly affection.

Rook smiles, trying to hide the sting of pain that reaches into her heart this time. “I will. Thank you, Emmrich.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She can’t remember the last time she slept through so many hours. Rook wakes to the squeaky noise of the door hinges, then a loud but friendly hiss to announce the arrival of her skeletal friend. She blinks into the candles in front of her, then carefully sits up, as always with a hint of lingering back pain from resting on the uncomfortable sofa. Or perhaps her whole body is aching now that it’s recovering, remnants of the poorly executed fight yesterday.

Manfred is standing in the doorway, waiting for her to allow him to step inside. Emerald eyes sparkling in the glow of the aquarium, he holds out a tray to her.

“Oh, hello, Manfred,” she says, smiling at his delighted hiss when she speaks his name. “What do we have here?”

He chatters again as he walks up to her, placing the tray on the green leather with surprisingly steady hands. A pleasant smell of herbs and spices floods her nose, so welcome that it feels almost soothing to the pain that’s still haunting her face.

“Tea and a hot meal?” she asks, her stomach grumbling at the sight of fresh bread, cheese, a bowl of stew and some cut fruit. “Did Emmrich send you?”

Manfred gives a sound of confirmation and Rook feels her heart warming, thinking about Emmrich in the kitchen, preparing a meal just for her. But perhaps he did not, perhaps this is just what everyone is having right now. She slept so long that it might well be time for lunch already.

“You know, Manfred, he is a really good man,” Rook says, feeling the warmth of freshly-brewed tea in her hand as she picks up the cup. “He always looks out for everyone. Makes sure we eat and rest, shares his vast knowledge with us. We’re lucky to have him.”

Manfred chirps happily, no doubt agreeing, and Rook slowly and carefully eats her food, every movement of her mouth sending bolts of pain through her nose. It was Emmrich’s Corpse Whispering that left the strongest impression on her initially, something she had only ever heard of before, but he has been such a calming and steady presence ever since. She feels like she can be herself around him and they get lost in their conversations on necromancy on more occasions than she can count. Most importantly, though, they work well together on missions, somehow attuned to each other, to the magic they share, their culture. It is why she feels quite lost without him. So lost, apparently, that she slammed her head into a rock.

Belly full and limbs warmed, she offers to accompany Manfred back to the kitchen. He seems displeased at the notion, wanting to finish his task on his own, so she only follows him as far as the washroom. Another warm bath to soothe her aching muscles has to wait until later, though, and she soon finds her steps carrying her to the Eluvian.

Travelling so seamlessly has been a luxury, one that Rook would not want to miss. She still does not feel quite comfortable enough to go back to Nevarra on her own, though she would much prefer the flora in its gardens for what she has in mind. With Emmrich it is easier, a man so respected that his mere presence smooths out the waters.

Arlathan Forest, however, is beautiful in its own right. Rook greets the veil jumpers as she passes their camp, stops by the merchant to see if they have anything of interest, but remains empty-handed as she strolls into the woods. Leaves crunch underneath her feet, forced to take it slow as she is, and she can hear the animals faintly in the distance as they go about their own routines, the song of a bird here, a rustle in the foliage there. Every breath she takes is clean, her bruised nose eagerly absorbing the smell of moss and wood and magic.

It takes her a while to find what she is looking for. The plants have taken over the ruins, leaves so large that she could wrap them around herself like a blanket, roots protruding upwards to her knees. It is perpetually sunny, the air thrumming with magic, and the flowers she picks tickle her fingertips when she reaches out.

On her way back to the Eluvian she once against stops by the merchant, picking up a vase she eyed earlier. It is the colour of freshly cut lavender, matching the white and purple flowers she collected. The sweet smell of pollen spreads in the air when she places them inside, curving her lips into a smile at the simple beauty of it. He will enjoy them, she is quite sure of it.

“Someone special?” the merchant asks, cradling the gold in their hand.

Rook smiles. “Indeed. Thank you for the trade.”

The merchant hands her back one of the coins, a generous discount. “You’re more than welcome, Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She pauses just shy of the door, hands trembling under tight-strung nerves. He could read this gesture in a myriad of ways, of course. Rook is aware that she could be misreading him as well, that her interest might not be welcome and his politeness obscuring any distaste he might have for her advances. It is, perhaps, the one risk that takes her the most courage to face.

She knocks and he bids her to enter right away, as he always does, recognising her by the unique way in which her knuckle kiss the door. As so often before she finds him bent over his desk, quill in hand, working on his correspondence, his diary or any one of his research papers.

“Ah, Rook! I was wondering when you’d feel well enough to pay me a visit. Tell me, has your nose improved at all? And–” He stops as he notes her standing there, awkwardly hovering by the door, flowers in hand. “Oh, darling Rook, are they for me?”

The words have her stomach flip, her increased heart rate aggravating the pain in her nose. She flinches a little, her face doing all sorts of acrobatics. “Ah, yes. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me– my nose, I mean.”

“But– Oh, please don’t tell me you went out to fetch these all by your lonesome? Dear Rook, you are recovering from an injury. A severe hit to the head could lead to all sorts of lingering after effects. I must insist that you ask someone to accompany you on such pursuits, no matter how noble the cause.”

“It was just a short trip to Arlathan, Emmrich, really. I feel quite well again.” She places the vase on one of the few free spots on his cluttered desk, books and documents covering most of its surface. “I am admittedly not much of a botanist but…”

“They are as lovely as the person who picked them,” he says rather smoothly, standing from his chair to make more room on the table. “Lilac is my favorite colour, how did you know?”

“Oh, I just thought they were pretty, to be quite honest.” If she did not know any better she would think her face is inflamed, considering how much hotter it feels with every passing second. “What I was trying to say… Thank you for having Manfred bring me some food earlier, for taking care of me. It was most welcome… and a little unexpected.”

“I thought you might need some sustenance after all the exhaustion,” he says. “I am glad to hear that it was to your liking, Rook. The cheese in particular is a favourite of mine, I had the chance to sample it when we were visiting the market in Treviso.”

“Emmrich, I–” Her voice breaks, then, and it must be her over-eager pulse or perhaps the room around her suddenly starts spinning. One moment she looks into his kind eyes and the next she has to slam her hand onto the table, just barely missing the vase she so carefully set down.

Emmrich is on her side of the desk within seconds, slotting his hands underneath her arms to keep her upright. Pain fizzles behind her eyes like a thousand blinking stars, an agonised little moan breaking from her throat.

“Oh, darling, you overexerted yourself,” he states. “Perhaps it is a concussion, after all. Can you hold onto me, Rook?”

She tries, she really does, but her body seems incapable of following the demands of her mind. Emmrich guides her to his chair, preventing the worst of a fall, and promptly takes her wrist, long fingers pressed to her pulse. She sighs, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Oh my,” he whispers. “Your heart rate is abnormally high, Rook. Are you in pain?”

“Not more than when I woke up.”

“Can you locate it for me, please? Where does it hurt?”

“Ugh, everywhere. I am sore, my nose–”

Emmrich’s lips press together tightly, his moustache twitching as he holds back a reply. Instead he stabilises her neck, one hand tilting her head back, the other sending a pleasantly warm energy through her sternum that soon spreads in her whole body.

“I know, I should have rested,” she admits, eyes closed. “But… Emmrich, what I was trying to say–”

“Rook,” he interrupts and she blinks to meet his gaze. “I am acutely aware that your own safety is at the very back of your priorities. But I feel that I must broach this topic now. Simply put, your health and safety are paramount, not just to the success of this mission but–” He trails off, his gaze melting into one of affectionate concern. “When you came back, covered in blood…”

“You seemed really calm,” she says.

He chuckles but his expression remains serious. “It was required of me, considering that none of us knew how gravely wounded you truly were. But I will freely admit that I was anything but calm on the inside. I could live very well without repeating this experience ever again, so if you could do me the favour and promise me– promise me– to better look after yourself.”

His words are tinged with such genuine care that she finds herself trying to nod, though his hand prevents her from moving her head. “I promise,” she whispers instead, allowing him to finish relieving her pain, the green glow of his magic separating their faces like a veil made of light. His hand is only hovering above her breast bone and yet it feels as though her heart is trying to leap out of her chest and land in his palm.

“Now, what is it that you were trying to tell me, dear?”

Her throat is dry and blocked up, the moment stretching out so long that a reply becomes superfluous. Emmrich does not seem to mind, not when when he is so focused on his task. When he eventually removes his hands, waving away his connection to the fade under a faint choir of jingling bracelets, she has already forgotten what she was trying to say.

“Do you like the flowers?” she asks, eventually.

“I adore them,” he replies, a hand gently placed on her forearm and his expression is so tender that she could weep with how much he means to her. “You know that no gifts or thank yous are ever required when I help you, don’t you, dear? Though I much appreciate the kind gesture.”

“You love flowers,” she just states.

“I do quite enjoy them,” he agrees.

They are not speaking of flowers, Rook knows this, and yet as he gently leans in she thinks she must be dreaming. This time, she is light-headed for all the right reasons, closing her eyes and sensing him, the faint smell of burnt candles and soap, his fingers curling around her arm, thumb pressed to her pulse even now. The air between them tastes like the calm before a storm, charged, electric, and he takes his time as she waits for him to close the gap.

A knock breaks the silence. “Professor? Do you have a moment?”

Rook blinks her eyes open but Emmrich has already withdrawn, moving to stand and brush the dust off his knees. He nervously sways from left to right, tugging at his sleeve, his vest.

“One moment, Harding!” he calls back.

“I should go and get some more sleep,” Rook says. “Just like the professor ordered.”

Emmrich smiles, holding out his hand for her. “Quite right. Can you stand?”

“I think so, yes.”

She feels steadier on her feet, his magic having cleared most of her sudden unbalance, and she avoids taking his hand if only so she doesn’t faint again. When she passes Harding in the hallway she ignores her curious gaze. It takes her a while to fall back asleep, the faint taste of iron lingering on her tongue.

✦ ✧ ✦

The air is potent with the smell of food and spices, though dust and debris seem to never quite settle as they make their way through cobbled, beaten streets. Minrathous is still recovering from the attack but life has, somehow, returned to a vague sense of normal. Neve navigates them through food stalls, street vendors, makeshift tents and shops, anything so people can offer their wares in exchange for much needed coin. Rook is filling every plate she can see, some coins here, some coins there, and she catches Emmrich doing the same, adding a little more each time he passes. He buys some crystals he doesn’t really need, a newspaper, some new gloves for Manfred.

They have been trying to gather information on the Venatori, meeting with Neve’s contacts, and decided to spend more time in the city after that. It’s risky, to a degree, since they are definitely on their radar now, but they have not had the chance to go out in a while.

“Back to the Swan?” Neve asks. “I could use a drink.”

“I don’t see why not,” Emmrich says. “Rook, what do you think?”

It’s the last thing she hears before a deafening groan vibrates in the air and the top half of the house in front of them comes sliding down, the ground shaking underneath their feet. The building crumbles into the sea below, dust and sea foam spreading like fog to cloud their vision. People shout, hurrying away from the scene, and Rook feels a hand tugging at her sleeve, trying to hold on as the earth continues to quake.

“Venatori!” Neve calls out.

They lose her amongst the ruckus. Rook grabs the arm that clings to her, running into the opening of a narrow alley she saw just seconds ago. The air clears with every step and she finally concludes that she’s dragging Emmrich behind her who grasps her arm so tightly that she fears it might bruise. They hide in a crevice between two doorways, just obscured enough by the walls around them.

“I am relieved I did not lose you,” he says, so deep in her personal space that she can feel his breath on her hair. “Are you alright, Rook?”

“I’m fine but we should wait until they’re further away.”

“I agree.”

Rook’s heart rate stays on a dangerously high level, a lightheadedness taking hold of her. Emmrich is so close that she can feel his warmth radiating off of him and when she glances up she directly faces his mouth. His lips are pressed together, though his skin carries some of the fine dust from the collapse. She fights the urge to reach out.

“Incidentally,” he says after a while, and she observes his lips as they form the word. “Now that I see you from up close I must ask, how is your nose? Is it still tender?”

“A little,” she admits, instinctively reaching for it but retracting her hand before impact with the bruising. “It’s more of a dull ache now, like I have a weight resting on it that makes it hard to breathe.”

“The swelling has gone down significantly. If you allow me, I can–” He pauses, his hand hovering in mid air. “Inspect it, again.”

“Please.”

He removes his gloves, tilting her chin up with a slightly sweaty finger. It is hard to focus on anything but his face, his freckles, the little twitch of his moustache as he focuses on the task at hand, his brow furrowed to bring out the usually so gentle lines on his forehead. Only when he lifts his other hand, the one that usually jingles with gold when he moves, does she manage to avert her gaze.

At first, the contact barely registers, but as he gently presses against the bridge of her nose, Rook hisses. It is a sound of surprise, not as much of pain, even though the sensation is rather unpleasant.

“Forgive me,” Emmrich murmurs, and, entirely unnecessary, follows the line underneath her eye, then back to her nose and again on the other side. “It is healing well on its own, I must say. I don’t think I have to use any more spells to speed up the process.”

She smiles, watches as he so patiently traces the soft skin over her cheekbone. “So, this is just an excuse to touch me?”

His eyes widen, finger retreating, but he quickly recovers and moves back to her nose. “Oh, of course not, it is your well-being that is of priority.” Then, after a short pause he adds: “However, I will admit it is a pleasant side effect. Unless– I do not wish to overstep–”

“Emmrich,” she interrupts. “I like it when you touch me.”

He pauses for but a moment, noting the way she has drawn into herself, speaking the words with confidence but still fearing for his reaction. “Dear, you did not have to risk breaking your nose to tempt me, you could have simply asked.”

She furrows her brow before realising that this is his attempt at a joke. Or... at flirting? A delighted smile spreads despite the pain, the relief of realising that her feelings aren’t unwelcome after all. “I felt that you were too polite to admit that you’d want to, so I had to give you an opportunity.”

“You think your teasing has gone unnoticed, then?” he whispers. “Or your compliments?”

“I was wondering about it since you seemed so hesitant to take another step towards me.”

“Ah.” His smile falters and he glances away briefly. “It is not that I did not have the desire to do so, my dear, but there is still a matter that rather occupies me.”

“What matter would that be?”

“Flattery is certainly one thing, amusing and invigorating. I quite enjoy these playful moments,” he elaborates. “And I do feel flattered by your attentions, very much so, I am merely wondering if they go beyond shallow adulation.”

“I genuinely like you, Emmrich,” Rook confesses, somehow feeling more confident out here, in her armour, hidden away from the world. “Our situation is perhaps not the most fertile grounds for romance. But I do mean every word I say, I would like to get to know you better, Emmrich, see where it takes us.”

His hand unfolds against her cheek, large enough to cover the whole side of her head, his thumb caressing her cheekbone with featherlight touches. “I am delighted to hear that you feel the same way, Rook.”

Gentle fingers comb through her hair, brushing away the dust that has gathered between messy strands. She’s not sure what do with her own hands, wanting to touch but also not wanting to move, not to startle him into stopping.

“I do not enjoy seeing you bruised, my dear,” he whispers.

“I know, I still look quite beaten up.”

“You look lovely, even with your purple nose.”

It’s like his words alone drag the corners of her mouth upwards until her cheeks hurt. Somehow the little distance between them shrinks to a mere blink, the tip of his nose almost tickling hers. And then he leans in and his lips brush her cheek, softly at first, then firmer until she really feels their softness, feels the tickle of his moustache against her skin. Her chest is warm, stomach restless and she smells the faint scent of incense in his hair.

“Beautiful flushed cheeks,” he whispers, voice deeper than usual. “How warm they feel to the touch. Are you shy, darling?”

She could burst right then and there, her heart drumming against her ribcage. Considering it was her who started initiating their sweet talk, she finds herself quite out of words now that he has suddenly kicked his own flattery into gear. Her hands are so sweaty in her gloves that she wishes she had taken them off as well. If she stepped on her tiptoes now she is certain their mouths would touch.

“Rook? Emmrich?” Neve’s footsteps echo in the alleyway. Flushed cheeks and caught expressions, they step out into the open. “Hey, they’re gone. Apparently they knew the building was unsalvageable, tried to gently break it apart but lost control. We found no casualties.”

“What a relief!” Emmrich says.

“Perhaps we should get that drink at the Lighthouse,” Rook remarks.

They wordlessly agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, you and Emmrich?”

Rook looks up from her precariously full plate, eyeing Harding as she sinks her teeth into her ham and jam slam with sides of fresh fruit and cheese. She sat down not before she made Rook her own version of the sandwich and, as so often since the two crossed paths, they like to spend their meals chatting. Usually they fall into easy banter about the different customs between Nevarran and dwarven culture, old stories about their lives before they came here, people they used to know. Rook, so used to these safe topics, chokes on her bread at the sudden change.

“What about us?”

“Well, you know, it’s kind of hard to miss, really, with how you keep whispering and giggling and hanging out all the time...”

“We haven’t even–” Rook says. “It’s not–”

“Oh, no, I don’t want any of those details, if you know what I mean. It’s just… it must be odd, to be with someone who is so much older, right?”

Rook eyes Harding, gauging whether she’s simply curious or opposed. Her friend seems genuine enough, though she can never be quite certain as to her intentions. “Not really? So far it hasn’t been an issue.”

“That’s good! He said a similar thing when I talked to him about it but he was quick to change the subject.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, you know, we all just want you guys to be happy.”

Rook gives a smile, though she’s not sure that she means it. It has been on her mind, of course, whether it’s a good idea to flirt with an older man, to fall for an older man. But it’s not like she had a choice, not when he exists around her like he was always meant to be in her life. Emmrich sparked into her world like the moon lights up the night sky, a bright star in the middle of all-consuming darkness, beautiful and comforting, life-giving. It is ironic, considering his profession, how she hasn’t felt this alive since leaving Nevarra. He has a way of centering her, making her feel connected to the culture she was so scared to lose, all while he treats her like she’s the most special person in the world. Falling for him was never a choice, it was an inevitable outcome.

The rest of dinner is spent in relative silence, the tension of their conversation followed by a distinct lack of energy to talk. Rook’s day hasn’t gone particularly well, even by current standards, and the exhaustion is settling in her bones like lead. They spent most of it dispelling a band of dark spawn in the Hossberg Wetlands, a task that Davrin and Assan carried if she’s being honest. It took her two hours to scrub off the grime that came with it, her skin still raw and her muscles aching from treading the wet, swampy muck for so long.

After a short break in front of the fire Rook feels drawn to the quiet cold of the library. She sinks into the sofa, grabbing the book she left on the round table earlier, bound in dark green cloth. Quite a while ago Emmrich offered her to borrow any books from his personal collection she deems interesting and she makes use of it as often as time allows. Lately, she’s kept the same book close to her, rereading parts of it, tracing the simple but beautiful cover.

“Rook! I thought I heard you come in, darling.”

Emmrich descends the stairs, alone for once, and she sets the book down, scoots to make room for him. “I just had dinner with Harding. She showed me the recipe she adjusted for you.”

“The yam and jam slam?”

Rook giggles as she nods, such odd words from his usually so polished mouth. “I enjoyed it, the combination is quite unusual.”

Emmrich smiles as he sits down, amused by her reaction. He doesn’t touch, still holding back, still waiting until he can see that she is comfortable with his proximity.

“Did I interrupt your reading, dear?” he inquires.

“I might be too tired, either way. My eyes feel heavier than ever.”

“Might I read to you, then?”

Rook glances up, admiring his side profile, catching his eyes as she realises that she hasn’t relied to him. “That would be lovely, Emmrich.”

He seems delighted, leaning forward to reach for her book. His hand caresses the cover, then his eyes widen. “Oh, but that is one of my very own monographs, dear! It is an introductory work, you’ll find it quite redundant to what you already know. Might I suggest Tretenhoff’s work instead? He has a few compositions that should greatly appeal to your particular interests, something to indulge in for these long evenings.”

“It is not so much about absorbing new information,” she says, running her hand over the gold-foiled lettering on the book’s cover. Professor Emmrich Volkarin. “While I do find your work interesting it is also… a comfort. Knowing that you wrote the words, finding the familiarity in your tone, I can almost hear you speak them to me, your voice, your intonation…”

His expression melts into one of gentle surprise. “My darling, I never knew–”

“I’m so sorry. You must think it silly–”

“But not at all,” he interrupts. “I find it rather flattering, my dear. I must admit that I had no idea that you were in need – or want – of my comfort.”

“I don’t like to admit it.” She avoids his gaze, though he gently takes her hand to stop her from picking at the book, placing it on his thigh. “I am used to juggling everything by myself and that’s how it should be, I take responsibility for what I do so I can hardly go cry about it. I cannot… cannot unload my own concerns or regrets on the team, on you. That would not be right.”

“Rook, might I politely disagree?”

She can’t bring herself to look up, though she knows he expects her to and it would be the polite thing to do. But if she did he might see the tears coating her eyes, gathering at their corners, emotions she’s been burying for weeks.

“How could I, Emmrich?” she says instead. “You see the way Neve looks at me, that she can never forgive me. I have to make impossible choices every day and I have to live with the pain and regret that it brings. If I don’t, who else will?”

“Darling,” he whispers and his fingers curl underneath her jaw, gently tilting her head up. “How long have you been carrying this without saying a word to anyone?”

She need not reply, he knows the answer.

“You carry a burden, Rook, and you carry it gracefully.” A smile curves his lips, filled with all the faith he has in her, with all the pride swells in his chest. “But that does not mean the load won’t be too heavy, at times. I can lend you a hand, if you let me.”

“I think I would like that,” she mumbles, though she feels entirely unworthy, undeserving of what he’s offering to her. “I think for now I would just like you to read to me.”

“Very good. While I do so, I want you to let go of these thoughts, sit and listen, breathe deeply, in and out, slow and steady.” He opens the book and she does as told, leaning back and following the rhythm he dictates. She watches his nimble fingers as they turn the page, the low rustling sound gently interrupting the quiet of the room. “I must admit, I have not picked up any of my introductory works in quite some time. I hope it still holds up.”

“It does,” she assures him. “I’ve read it twice now.”

He releases a sound somewhere between a hum and a chuckle. “Very well, then. I trust a fellow Watcher’s judgement.”

For a while, she follows along as he reads, her eyes tracing the shapes on the page. His voice is always mesmerising, especially when he speaks on topics that have sparked his particular interest, but to hear him reading his very own thoughts, his own theories and ideas and explanations, it brings her more peace than she has felt in months. Instead of the usual excitement his voice bears a calmness this time, though upon discovery of his favourite parts his pitch changes. On occasion he slips, adding revisions, explaining to her what he would word differently now, what insights he has won since then.

Rook rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, and lets his voice carry her away from her worries. Her hand is still laying on his thigh and after a moment she lets her fingers climb down his forearm, fingertips counting the many gold bracelets until she reaches the end. Her fingers press to his wrist, measuring his steady pulse underneath his skin, caressing him until his voice stutters and he has to restart his sentence. When she opens her eyes she sees a thin trail of goosebumps peeking out of his cuff. Her fingers slide further down, resting in the small space between his palm and the edge of the book. He is warm, softer than expected, and she decides to stay there now, feeling the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat against the ball of her hand.

As Emmrich continues to read she closes her eyes again, thinks about kissing the dimple on his chin, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the dip where it meets the delicate skin of his neck. Everything about him calls to her and even though she’s grateful for how considerate he is she finds it hard to hold back. At first she turns her head until her nose brushes against his skin, then she leans up until her lips meet the spot right below his ear. It is a featherlight touch and yet she can feel him vibrating as a shiver runs through him, ever more goosebumps appearing on his skin.

Emmrich stops, takes a deep breath, and she notes that he’s glancing at her. “Darling–”

“Too much?” she asks.

“No, not at all,” he whispers. “In fact, it doesn’t feel sufficient in the slightest.”

His fingers uncurl from the book and slip between hers until he is comfortably holding her hand. Rook has to smile, painfully wide, his fingers so long that they make her hand look tiny when he squeezes. She can feel his rings, too, warmed from his own body heat. It feels right to press another kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling a slight stubble against her lips. This time she is more daring, lingering for a moment longer.

“Are you even listening, dear?” he asks softly.

“Here and there,” she whispers.

For a while they stay exactly like that, Emmrich reading and Rook dozing on his shoulder, soft kisses and heavy sighs, shivers and squeezes. He must have finished the first chapter by the time they’re interrupted by a displeased hiss. Manfred walks into their field of view and Rook reluctantly lifts her head.

“Oh, I quite forget the time, Manfred, you must forgive me,” Emmrich says. “Perhaps you could serve the tea here instead? I wish to stay a little longer.”

“You could join us,” Rook offers. “I think we’ll reach the section on wisps soon.”

“So you are listening!”

Manfred hisses happily and departs to fetch the tea. Rook pulls her legs up onto the sofa, settling more snuggly against Emmrich’s side with their hands now resting in her lap and the book in his. When she rests her head back on his shoulder she can feel a rumble of a laugh spreading through him, warming her very heart.

“Are you quite comfortable, dearest?” he asks, so beautifully amused.

Rook hums and closes her eyes. “I have never been more comfortable in my life.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She has been staring off into the distance for a while now, seated on the balcony with her legs dangling off the edge. Her elbow propped on the plinth of the statue of Mythal, she rests her head in her palm, contemplative. Even from here it is hard to imagine infinity. With the Fade stretching out in front of her, an endless expanse right before her eyes, the impossibility of it should dissolve in her mind. However, Rook finds that the contrary is true. The more she sees of it, the more she learns, the less she feels she knows, leading to an encroaching sense that her perception of it is but a weak attempt at true understanding. Despite being confronted with the Fade for most of her life at the Necropolis, despite pulling from it to use her magic, it never quite loses its mystery. The Fade has a way of surprising her again and again the more she finds out, the more is revealed to her through Solas’s memories, the clues he’s scattered around his domain.

Emmrich has been helping her make sense of it, though the reality is that whenever they spend time together she finds it harder and harder to use her brain for research. He’s much better at staying on topic and she enjoys simply listening to him while he draws connections, figures out solutions to her questions, flipping pages in his books to find the exact passage she off-handedly reminded him of. To her delight and despite his interest in the subject matter she finds it easier to distract him as well, though, often without trying. Sitting next to each other reading has turned into her dozing half in his lap, where he forgets to turn the page because his hand is too occupied combing through her hair or brushing along the curve of her knees, sentences interrupted because they can’t help but get lost in the other’s gaze, shy smiles across the room that pull him from conversations with the others.

“Ah, I thought those were your legs dangling so precariously over the balcony.”

She looks up startled, though she can’t imagine how she failed to hear his steps, his bangles jingling as he approaches. Emmrich carries a small wooden bowl in his hand and she wonders if he came up the stairs below her, how lost in thought she must have been to miss him.

“Have you been looking for me?” she asks, scooting away from the edge to face him.

“I thought I would go ahead and cut up some fruit for you, darling. I could not help but notice that you weren’t present during our last meal,” he explains. “With some regret, might I add, since Lucanis took such care preparing your favourite.”

“It’s very sweet of you to think of me,” she says, noting the subtle smile on his lips. “I just– Well, I fell asleep for a few hours after we came back from Treviso which was honestly great since I have not been sleeping well.”

“I must say that I am not surprised, considering that you seem to fall asleep on me the moment I open a book.” His tone is mildly teasing as he sits down next to her, leaning back against the nearby pillar, and Rook knows that he won’t be leaving anytime soon. “Do you know why sleep is trying to elude you?”

“Well, not everyone has a feather pillow,” she jokes, though his concern is welcome, as is the bowl he hands over. Since their conversation about her worries he has been even more attentive as to her whereabouts, her well-being. It is a blessing and a curse, making her fall for him so much faster than she’s used to.

“Your current accommodations aren’t to your satisfaction, then? They seem comfortable enough when I visit.”

Rook feels a familiar heat creep into her cheeks. They haven’t gone very far as to the physical nature of their relationship, though she feels that he knows her more intimately than anyone else. Emmrich is romancing her in the truest sense of the word, carrying her off to the Necropolis for walks through the Memorial Gardens, showcasing his magic to plan elaborate dinners, cooks and skeleton musicians, Manfred preparing tea for them in the familiarity of his quarters while they talk about whatever comes to mind, unhurried, getting lost in their shared interests. He begun to visit her in the meditation room after dinner now, reading to her as he did on the sofa that first time. When he holds her close like that she feels the weight of the day melt away, the only time she can truly let go of her responsibilities in order to rest, and she has a suspicion that’s exactly why he does it.

Rook appreciates that he takes his time with her, that he gets to know the real her. His soft touches reach under her skin, when he holds her hand in his larger one, the press of his lips to her cheek always accompanied by a light tickle of his moustache, his fingers protectively spread on the small of her back, occasionally curling around her to pull her closer. A warm palm on her knee when she settles beside him, fingers drawing slow circles over the bone that nip at her heart. It leaves her aching for him, for more of his touch, though perhaps he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing. Even now he seems perplexed, at times, when his attentions bear fruit, when she blushes for him, stutters at unexpected compliments or openly flirts back, when she melts into his touch, bestowing him with kisses of her own. He is a confident man who knows of his appeal, and yet it is as though he struggles to fathom that she truly means it.

“You’re very far away, darling,” he notes. “Physically as well as mentally, I suspect.”

“Sorry,” Rook says, remembering the bowl he placed in her hand. Neat wedges of apple, berries and some melon, half a banana that he cut into even slices. Her diet has become much richer in variety since they gained access to so many regions, so many recipes her friends share with her.

“I am not disturbing you am I? If it is solitude you seek–”

“No, not at all.” She shakes herself awake, pops a berry into her mouth that splits into sour juice and tart skin, the barest hint of sweetness. For a while she eats, trying the different flavours together, berries and banana, the apples some of the best they’ve had in a while. When she offers to share Emmrich only accepts a few berries. Her heart feels warm, not because of the food but because of the gesture, the feeling of being taken care of by this wonderful man who watches her eat like it brings him just as much joy. “Thank you for this, Emmrich. It’s very sweet of you to look after me.”

“Oh but of course, darling. If you are ready for a proper meal I’m sure Lucanis can heat up some of the leftovers.”

“Perhaps later, I’m enjoying your company too much right now,” she says and he lifts his eyebrow, still waiting for her to come to him.

She only scoots a little closer before he grabs her legs and swings them over his, one hand settling on her hips while the other adjusts her knees. When he sits up straighter he gives a pained little grunt and she’s acutely aware that they’ve been sitting on the hard floor for a while.

“We can move inside if your back isn’t happy,” she whispers.

He gives a tsk, like he wants to let her know what utter nonsense that is, and she can’t help but smile a little at that. Once he’s settled he holds onto her tightly, squeezing at the flesh of her hips, pulling her ever closer. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re sitting alone out here, dearest?”

She has to look up to meet his eyes, his scent flooding her nose, his warmth spreading through her limbs, and with him so close it’s hard to remember what occupied her mind all day. “A feeble attempt at… escaping everything, I suppose.”

“Escaping?”

“I slept but… it’s not the kind of sleep that makes you less tired, that takes you away from the world so you can rest. Solas– It seems I can’t escape for even a few hours and when he’s not there I dream– if I manage to fall asleep at all, instead of wasting hours with the attempt.”

Emmrich’s hand begins to stroke along her upper thigh, fingertips pressing into the tightness of the muscle. It grounds her, as does the gentle, understanding nod he gives her. “What is it that you’re mulling over in your head? That won’t let you sleep?”

“Fears, concerns, just… so many thoughts that tear me in every direction. I toss and turn but I can’t seem to get comfortable, not with my mind racing like that. I just wish Varric– I don’t want to disappoint him. Or any of you, for that matter. I feel like I have to solve all of these problems in my head, like I’m wasting time if I don’t at least think about them.”

“Rook, darling, you are exceptional at solving problems, at finding ways out of impossible situations, not while you rest but ad hock, as they arise. I have never met another person who is such a quick-thinker.”

“That is… kind of the issue.” She takes his free hand in hers, fiddling with the rings on his finger and watching as the light catches in the stones. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to know. I wish I could just breathe… and feel. Just once, just for a short while.”

Emmrich doesn’t reply. When she glances back up compassion fills his eyes and he regards her with such care and affection that she’d feel undeserving, if it weren’t for him reminding her of the contrary every so often. She holds his gaze for a while, slowly sliding her fingers between his, and his grip on her thigh tightens. His brows relax, then, and his eyes flicker to her mouth.

“I am certain there are ways… to take your mind off of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a low whisper. His fingers untangle from hers and soon his palm finds her cheek instead, cradling her head in a way that has her blood rushing to her face. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Thumb pushing her chin up, he leans in slowly, and as her eyes close Rook only feels the warmth of his breath against her skin. His mouth descends on hers, then, careful, a light brush of his lips against hers. He breaks away after a moment, eyelids drooping, lust-heavy, lashes fluttering open just enough to see if she’s alright. Without thinking she finds herself reaching up for more, utterly lost to the sensation, and he immediately presses in more firmly at her insistence. Rook’s hand finds purchase on his chest, fingers fanned out over his heart, then sliding upwards to his neck to pull him impossibly closer, only briefly getting caught on his pin. Emmrich sighs into it, curling his fingers around her head, angling her to his liking as he deepens the kiss. The taste of berries lingers on his tongue and she can feel his moustache prickling at her cupid’s bow. By now her whole body is tingling, nerves alight. His other hand has wandered up to her waist, slotting neatly into the valley above her hip to draw her in until their upper bodies are almost flush.

A whine escapes her at the feeling of him so close, a new kind of need trickling into her belly, and she forgets about the bowl in her lap until she tries to move and it slides to the floor next to them. The sound penetrates the tiny space they made for themselves but it doesn’t burst. Emmrich pulls back, not once glancing away from her, his eyes so set on her lips that they never fully open. She keeps close as well, breaths mingling and noses touching. Right when she thinks he’ll lean in again his eyes flick up to hers, searching for her expression.

“How do you feel now, dearest?” he asks, thumb caressing her cheekbone.

Rook can’t help but laugh against the sudden rush of affection, the giddy sensation below her breastbone. “Like you’re the only person in the world, like I never want to stop doing this.”

He joins in, a low chuckle that he exhales against her neck, lips placed just below her ear. When he kisses her there the feeling travels from her chest to her stomach. “Mhm, I think we can do even more for you, darling. If you just hold still…”

Her gaze blurs and she closes her eyes to the sensation, the world around her finally quiet with his mouth on her skin. Fingers combing through his hair she feels him hum from somewhere deep in his throat and for the first time in weeks it’s easy to let go, no other thought strong enough to push past the intensity with which he occupies her every sense. She briefly thinks that it’s reckless to let herself fall so completely, but as with the endless Fade around them there are things bigger than her, uncontrollable, and all she can do is surrender.

✦ ✧ ✦

Emmrich watches her as she reads, perched on a chair in front of the fire. His book, still. Or again, rather. She doesn’t seem to get tired of it, of him, even though they spend so much time together now that he’s surprised she just lets him keep talking and talking until he has to reign it in himself. The first time he caught her tracing his name on the cover he felt like he could sweep her of her feet, pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. He finds himself thinking about similar scenarios more often now that he can allow himself to indulge.

“The ground herbs now, Manfred,” he orders.

Manfred gives a hiss that he’d place more on the side of confused than understanding. Unusual, since they have been working on these types of healing potions multiple times a week now. He should be more than familiar with the procedure.

“The herbs, please,” Emmrich repeats, but his eyes are back on Rook, turning the page, her legs crossed with one foot bobbing up and down. Just earlier he had her in his lap in the exact same chair, eager for his kisses, giggling when he nosed down her neck, something he has become quite addicted to. Neck kisses, it turns out, are a particular weakness of hers.

Suddenly, an alarmed hiss. Emmrich’s startled out of his fantasy not just by Manfred but by the reagent exploding right in front of his face. Just in time he ducks to avoid the splashes landing on his skin, disgruntled when he notices a dark green stain on his pristine white sleeve. The potion he’s been working on for the past hour has turned black, fuming angrily at his mistake. Though not dangerous it is a silly error, one that was entirely preventable had he just paid more attention. This has not happened to him since he attended his first few alchemy classes way back then.

“Are you okay?” he hears Rook’s voice, though his vision is obstructed by plumes of a particularly foul-smelling fog.

“Oh, we are fine, dearest,” Emmrich calls out. Manfred gives a displeased noise at this half-lie, wiping at the spills on the table just like he’d shown him a while ago, cautious to protect himself against any potential contact to acids or other dangerous substances.

“Is it meant to smoke like that?”

Manfred hisses again as the gurgling sounds increase and Emmrich has no time to answer as he quickly adds a neutralising ingredient to save the potion from utter ruin. The smoke dissipates, the smell slowly turning into a more pleasant aroma and the colour shifts back to light green.

“The temperature has not gone down enough,” Emmrich says and Manfred chitters in his best impression of an I-told-you-so. “Ah come now, you still added them.”

The next hiss is quieter as though he’s grumbling into an imaginary beard and Emmrich gives a defeated sigh, relenting that he was at fault after all. Rook has reached his side by then, snaking an arm around his waist as she takes in the situation.

“I did alchemy classes for a while,” she says. “What happened? Didn’t you say you can brew this one in your sleep?”

“I was… distracted,” Emmrich admits, tugging her closer to his side. “It could have used another minute or two more before adding the herbs.”

“Mhm. Distracted by… ?”

The teasing smile on her face is enough to lighten his mood but with Manfred present he doesn’t want to give in yet. She’s smiling at him like she’s just waiting for him to be done and if he’s quite honest with himself he could use a break. They’ve restocked their potion supplies quite well, so this final batch should last them for a while. Time to clean up and allow his focus to shift to where it truly wishes to be.

“Let me finish here, darling, and then we can discuss the finer details of… potion brewing, hm?”

She tiptoes up to press a kiss to his cheek, mouth curved into a barely suppressed grin, then retreats to her chair to give him space. Emmrich still feels her lips on his skin when Manfred comes back with a fresh dish of ground herbs and this time they wait long enough before adding them. As he carefully bottles the potion Manfred disappears to clean the rest of their supplies. Only then does he allow his gaze to return to Rook by the fire.

“So, how did you enjoy those alchemy lessons, darling?”

“Oh, they were fun, though I never pursued any advanced classes on the matter.” She closes the book, setting it down on the chair with careful fingers. His gaze follows the gentle sway of her hips as she walks up to help him cork the bottles. “Perhaps I should. I’d like to go back to my studies at some point.”

“What a splendid idea! It is never too late, darling.” Emmrich hands her the labels and she dutifully glues them to the bottles. With a hint of pride he watches how she makes sure they’re straight and centered, just like he showed her a while ago. “As a matter of fact you might find enrolling for advanced courses that pertain to your interests quite stimulating. You are an intelligent young woman, a fast-learner with practical experience. I’m certain my colleagues would be delighted to have you in class. And even beyond, what we experience here in the Fade, everything we have learned… it practically begs for thorough scientific appraisal.”

“I’m not sure they would even accept me after what happened. And besides, would that not be a conflict of interest?”

“Oh, you would not be taking any of my classes, dear. It would not be a good look if I favoured you or helped you into any higher positions under my influence.”

She furrows her brow. “But even your colleagues would know who I am.”

“There are plenty of areas you could branch out to, within or outside of my area of expertise, and I know of a few colleagues who share our… distaste for parts of the nobility, who might be willing to overlook any past transgressions. My advice is that you must find a path to whatever calls to you, my darling, and not make it dependant on my work.”

She takes a deep breath, evidently not convinced. “I just hope I can go back at all.”

“My dear, I should think that saving the world makes for quite an impressive addition to your resume.”

“I’m not… Ugh. Emmrich, I’m not talking about work or my studies, there is enough that needs to be done around the Necropolis. I just think if we want to…” She looks up at him, almost shyly, reluctant to tell the truth. “If we want to build a future and half the Necropolis hates me–”

“Half the Necropolis?” He chuckles. “You exaggerate, dearest.”

Her confused expression tells him that she took note of how he avoided the first part of her statement, not quite deliberately. “What I’m trying to say is that what I care most about is being with you, after all of this is over. Returning to the Mourn Watch, yes, but also making sure we get to be together and finally find some peace.”

Emmrich can’t help the sigh that escapes him, his thoughts returning to a place he has been trying to avoid as of late. “Darling, while I appreciate your enthusiasm on the matter, I do not wish to see you sacrificing your potential for me.”

“That’s not what it is, though, Emmrich. I’m telling you that I’m… that I’m ready to commit to a future with you. I really want to make this work.”

A distant throbbing in his temple, his breath speeding up just the tiniest bit as the old fear comes creeping in. He’s so much older than her, so much closer to not having much of a future left, and here is this bright young woman so enamoured with him that she can’t see how she’s not just going to spend the next few decades loving him but potentially taking care of him as his health declines, ultimately losing him to his own mortality. All he can think of is how she doesn’t realise what she’s agreeing to, that perhaps he was too lax, allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of this union without the proper precautions.

“It is easy to forget,” he says, “just how young you are.”

His gaze is still trained on the bottles and he notices how her hands still.

At her lack of a response he looks up. “Rook–”

Something in her expression changes then, irrevocably, tightened lips, the tense heat of humiliation, and he knows instantly that he misstepped, his silence on the very matter she needed reassurance on painfully noted. “So it’s Rook again now? That’s it?”

“Do you even realise what kind of commitment you are speaking of?” He can’t keep his voice steady, betraying that he is not as calm as he’d wish to appear. “The sacrifices, the eventual loss? I would not impress this upon you if it was not necessary, Rook, but you need to understand what it means if we truly, irrevocably, fall into this. I remember, at your age, I was–”

“Wait, hold on. Let me make sure I understand what we are really talking about.” Her hands fly to her hips, defiantly, the same fire he’d admire on any other day, words leaving her mouth before she can even think to let him finish. “You trust me to make all the right calls to save the world, to keep our team safe, to defeat two ancient Elven Gods, but you don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship?”

His jaw falls open. “Darling–”

“What are you really scared of? That you could actually love me? Or is it that I don’t fit into your life back home?”

Emmrich pales at the implication, his tongue not catching up fast enough to form the right words. ”No, dear, this is not at all what I’m trying to say.“

She’s already shut him out, then, retreating into herself, and he regrets that he ever mentioned such a thing. “Well, at least now I know where we’re at.”

“Darling–”

“I’ll carry these to the stash.”

She’s gone before he can recover, glass bottles rattling as she rushes past. You don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship? He closes his eyes for a moment, hand holding on tightly to the edge of the table as a wave of regret washes over him. It was not what he meant to imply, though it starts to dawn on him how she came to the conclusion. He went about this the wrong way, not a subject matter for such spontaneous discussion, at least not after she admitted that she wishes to share her precious future with him.

A deep sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He let his fear get the better of him, again, to the detriment of the person he’s starting to care most about. Minutes later, when Manfred reappears, he is still standing still, confused chatters at the sight of him in front of the table where he now places the cleaned potion utensils.

“Thank you, Manfred,” Emmrich finally says. “You have to excuse me for a moment, I must go and talk to Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Grand Necropolis swallows her in the way she’s always felt as a comforting embrace. To walk amongst the spirits brings a peace that is hard to find elsewhere, wisps following along as she traverses the ever shifting rooms, the sands of time crunching underneath her feet, wails of long forgotten souls crying to be heard, seeking the peace and comfort only a watcher can offer.

Rook feels the weight of missing her home, the increasing sense that she’s almost a stranger now, but losing it is only one of many things that have uprooted her.

It is easy to forget just how young you are.

He’d said it almost casually dismissive and she was so taken aback by it that her breath caught, the unexpected pain so heavy in her chest that she’s not sure she’s recovered from it even now. She’s always felt the gap between their ages only as a steady, reassuring thing that enabled him to a deeper understanding, not less. He is so much more settled than anyone she’s been with before, so assured in what he wants, reliable, supportive, experienced, the very antidote to her anxieties and restlessness. The words of her companions come to mind, their concerns at how fast they’re moving, and then, distantly, the idea that perhaps his infatuation with her wore off after all, the novelty of whatever drew him to her.

Then he called her Rook and the name almost hurt more than his previous words, as though he confirmed her worst fears by falling back on it, dropping the words of affection. It is easy to get swept up in the overwhelming intoxication of fresh love, she knew her attentions always flattered him, that he’s not in the habit of dating people so much younger, in fact hasn’t been this close with anyone in quite some time. It’s entirely possible that their argument burst their idealist bubble, that he suddenly realised it’s not what he wants after all. That she is not what he wants.

The Memorial Gardens are quiet, though the odd spirit senses her presence and comes to greet her on her way. It brings a smile to her tear-stained face, the first honest one in quite some time. The ghost of a memory keeps haunting her with every step, the first time Emmrich brought her here, after she’s missed her home for so long that it must have been obvious for him how she was longing to reconnect with it. If nothing else, he gave her that, the courage to come back even if only for a short visit.

Rook takes her time gathering flowers, making sure to add specks of lilac, to bind a bouquet she knows he would approve of. Seeing the graves of his parents sends that same painful stake through her heart as it did the first time he told her, as if him letting her in on this vulnerable thing has her carrying a part of his grief as well. Rupert and Elannora. She told him they’d want him to him to be with someone who cares about him but she wanted to say more, someone who loves him, adores every part of him, treasures the sweet, caring man that he truly is.

Back then she was so confident that she could be that person.

She fills a vase with flowers and places it between the graves, then sits down on the grass in front of them. A wisp settles by her side, perhaps a spirit of compassion, perhaps some other emotion she can’t identify it being drawn to. So many things go through her head that it is hard to make sense of the nuance of her feelings but spirits are better at this than humans anyway.

She wonders if anything she said hurt him, if it brought up his fear of his own mortality to a degree that made him withdraw from her. Their future is more than uncertain but Emmrich seems so intent on the fact that he’ll die first, that he can’t let her shoulder what it means to be with an older man. But she does, she’s aware of all that comes with it, and yet none of it would ever make her flinch back. The essence of what she wants from her future, if she’s granted the privilege of ever seeing it, is to be with someone who loves her like she knows he is capable of.

As she stares at the names on the gravestone she thinks that Emmrich more than anyone should know that death does not discriminate between young and old.

Suddenly the wisp flies up and dances around. She turns and then there he is, as if conjured by her thoughts. The wisp must have sensed what upset her because it flies over to Emmrich and circles him, excitement in each movement, encouragement for him to walk faster. He looks rougher than she left him a few hours ago, his hair unusually messy, expression frantic, and he’s quick-stepped as he approaches. Fear settles in her belly, paralysing her in her spot, the possibility that this is not the reunion she hopes for but an end to whatever it is they had.

When he reaches her the wisp settles back by her side, almost protective. She sees Manfred, then, somewhere in the distance, unsure if his presence is a good or a bad sign. Her legs still won’t move and she’s sure that she looks utterly terrified.

“Darling,” Emmrich breathes, the word more of a relieved sigh than a greeting. “I am so glad I found you. No, actually it is Manfred who suspected you might be here. When you weren’t to be found at the Lighthouse–” He stops himself, takes a deep breath. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

For a moment she’s taken aback – at how pained his voice sounds, at the red-framed eyes that look down to her. She can feel her limbs shaking and has to glance away, back to the graves. “I wasn’t sure who else to talk to, I don’t have any graves to visit of my own. I hope you don’t mind that I came here.”

“Of course not, dearest.”

She holds her hand out for the wisp to settle on, a comforting energy spreading into her palm. “I don’t want the others to see me like this. But here… the spirits are gentle with me. I find comfort in the memory of those who time carried away.”

“Please, stand up, darling,” he prompts and when she looks up she sees the tremor that runs through him in his extended hand. She allows him to pull her to her feet, though she can’t quite bring herself to fully close the gap and embrace him how she wants to.

“I brought them flowers.”

“I know,” he whispers, the subtlest sheen of tears glistening at his waterline. “Thank you, my sweet girl.”

Emmrich never lets go of her hand, pulls it to his heart where he keeps it trapped. The wisp floats around their bodies now that they’re close enough and soon a second wisp joins in, then a third, energised by the unspoken emotions whirring between them. She can feel Emmrich’s heartbeat, mirroring the rapid thrumming of her own.

“I–”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Soft music carries over to where they stand and the wisps begin to dance to its rhythm. More spirits join in, slow-dancing with each other between the graves and statues. Looking around she spots Manfred running towards them.

“Where is the music coming from?” Rook asks but then she finally sees the three skeletons following slowly behind Manfred, each holding a different instrument that they play with profound excellence even as they move. The song is romantic, lap harp and violin harmonising with the fairytale like sounds of clear crystal bells.

“Ah, well, I– They are a little early,” Emmrich says, cheeks tinted with a hint of bashfulness. “I was planning for them to arrive after I talked to you. Admittedly, I was in quite a rush with this spell once I knew you were here, even though it is rather simple…”

Manfred has reached them, effectively redirecting their attention, and his hand slides into Rook’s with the excitement of a little boy, pulling her away from Emmrich. He hisses happily as he spins her around, a little clumsily at first but with the right intentions, mirroring the wisps around them. More and more spirits appear in the gardens, drawn by the music, and soon it feels as though they’re attending a dance. Rook does her best to keep up but it’s hard to focus, the sheer wonder at what she’s witnessing clouding her mind.

“This is marvellous,” she says and the fear and melancholy fade from her heart for the first time since she came here, making way for almost childlike amazement.

Manfred spins her around once more, the song transitioning into a different tune, and then he guides her back, placing her hand in Emmrich’s. He hisses, rattling their now joined hands to get them to move, and Rook can’t help but look up at him with hope plainly written across her unguarded features.

“May I have this dance?” Emmrich asks who so far has been watching the scene without joining in, his own eyes sparkling when they meets hers.

She merely manages to nod, the words caught in her throat at the feeling of his arms circling her, finally pulling her close. Gentle fingers guide her into slow movement, his hands on her hips while she loosely wraps hers around his neck. The moment freezes, all Rook can focus on is the way he feels, the way his eyes soften, not once glancing away, the music and the sounds of their steps, the gentle jingling of his jewellery. Limbs move on their own accord, following an invisible rhythm. They dance for so long that they hardly notice the way the spirits begin to mimic their movement, not until Rook sneaks a glance at Manfred who is following along with another wisp.

Emmrich’s hands squeeze her hips, then, and he leans in, pressing his cheek to hers. She can feel his chest trembling, the mild scratching of shaved skin against hers, his lips ghosting along her ear.

“Forgive me, darling,” he whispers. “I was a fool.”

“Emmrich–”

He stops, pulls her closer without moving now, hugging her so tight that he presses the very air from her lungs. They stay in this embrace for along time, relief closing Rook’s eyes, the notion that she was wrong, that he might have felt just as awful after she left his rooms. His warmth mends the wounds his words left and how could she not forgive him, when he made all this possible just to reach her?

“I have a condition,” she says after a while. It has him breaking away just enough to meet her gaze, brows pulling together. “When we’re trying to have a serious conversation, I don’t want you to bring up my age to invalidate my point.”

He gives a firm nod, a hand travelling up to cradle her jaw. “It is a promise I gladly make, dearest. But I have to express a condition as well. Don’t…” His thumb swipes across her cheek, indenting it just enough to stress his point. “Don’t leave me after we’ve had an argument. When I could not find you– My darling, I cannot do it again, the thought of you wandering around, hurting because of me–”

“I won’t,” she says. “Though experiencing this was more than worth it.”

“It is quite marvellous, is it not?” He smiles, leans in to rest his forehead against hers. “I thought you might enjoy it. Nothing is quite so comforting as the presence of music.”

“Perhaps you can show me the spell one day.”

“Oh, I would love to, dearest.”

She brushes her nose against his, her fingers sliding into his hair, spreading over the nape of his neck. He sighs, not quite closing the gap but he can’t stop his fingers from pressing harder against her cheek.

“Tell me there is a future for us,” she says, returning to the conversation they left so many hours ago. “You and I, Manfred, a life here with all of this, for as long as we get. Is this not what you want?”

“There is nothing I want more, darling,” he says, trying to pull away without success.

“I know there is a version of the future you gave up on, a life with someone who loves you, a family of your own. But we can have all that and more. Don’t you think that would be enough?”

“It would be more than enough. It would be everything I could hope for.”

“So, do you trust me? Enough that you can accept my choice to be with you, even if it scares you?”

He swallows against her thumb, bending his neck backwards to see more of her face. His eyes are glistening but there is a hint of a smile in his features. “Darling, I would lay my beating heart into your hands,” he says, “trusting that you’ll breathe life into it for as long as we are together.”

A smile of her own and before she can reply he’s pressing his mouth to hers, a breathless sort of kiss, ingesting her sound of surprise. Behind them the music changes, the quiet song transitioning into a happier tune. When they break away the spirits are even livelier than before and forget to take note of them as they circle the statues, dance around each other.

“Might I suggest we move to a quiet spot, darling?” Emmrich asks, linking their hands between their bodies. “I think I know just the place.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She doesn’t have much time to take in the magnificent stonework, a sarcophagus like many she’s seen around the Necropolis but on the more spacious side, ornate etchings, cushioned in purple velvet. Green lights illuminate the nook it’s nestled in, long shadows dancing across the wall when Emmrich pushes her up against the edge of the stone coffin. His hands on her hips divert her attention back to him, nose nuzzling her cheek, trailing down to her jaw. Eager lips press to the side of her neck and he hugs her close, the insistent pressure in his fingertips betraying how much he wants her no matter how hard he tries to be polite.

“I didn’t know this was here,” she whispers. “The ornamentations are beautiful.”

“It is rather pleasant here, is it not?” he asks, all soft, his voice low and his face unguarded, eyes drawn to her every feature, as if he can’t drink her in enough. It’s the exact way he looks at her whenever he’s about to kiss her.

There’s not much of a gap to close, their bodies melting together, his mouth smouldering, a deep sigh he releases from the very depths of his ribcage. He’s taking charge, a confidence that only comes with experience, but he never loses the slow softness in his touch, the sensual press of his lips that renders her utterly defenceless.

“Do you feel ready for this, dear heart?” he whispers, every word tickling her lips with the ghost of his breath. “For me to touch you? Taste you? Pleasure you?”

His hands trail down, slotting into the perfect bend just above her thighs. His thumbs press into the soft tissue, so close to where she needs him, and she can’t help how her hips buck, tilting into his touch. He strokes her there, sensing how sensitive she is already, and her whole body shivers.

“Please,” she hears herself whisper, as though her voice is coming from somewhere outside of herself. Emmrich hums, lips trailing the shape of her face. Her eyes flutter closed when his mouth applies more pressure, sucking gingerly at the spot where her pulse beats a merciless rhythm against her skin. She doesn’t notice his hand moving until it cups her, two fingers pressing between her legs, a gasp following when he rubs them back and forth. “Emm–”

“Oh, darling,” he breathes, voice trembling at the last syllable. “How delightfully wet you already are for me.”

She thinks the world is blurring around her, her hands somewhat loosely wrapped around his shoulders now sliding down his back, briefly catching at the buckle of his vest before she finally feels the rougher fabric of his pants, desperately pulling him against her. Emmrich falters, hand slipping to her thigh, swallowing a breathy sound of surprise as his hips slot forward. She can feel him, half-hard against her abdomen, a breathy whimper, their bodies coming together in full evidence of the desire they share.

“Please,” she whispers again, though all she wants is for it to last forever. Not tonight though, no. Her body is already too wound up, the sheer intensity of the day amplifying every little sensation, the fears that carried her to the Necropolis still palpable, only fully receding at the breathtaking relief of finding him still wanting her so desperately, so evidently. And she wants to forget them, the silly argument, the insecurities, uncertainties, all so very meaningless when his mouth is on hers. His body is attuned to hers now, his attentions sharply focused, and every fibre of her being aches to feel him deeper, closer.

Emmrich is meticulous at the way he undresses, so practiced she doesn’t notice he’s opened his vest and shirt until he breaks away to assess her state. She never bothered to put on full armour either, a little reckless but it did not feel right to visit his parents under defensive measures. Emmrich opens her belt so easily that she’s surprised when the sound of it falling reverberates in the stone chamber. Then the clasps on her shirt come undone, surprisingly steady hands that even if they don’t weave magic seem to move in an almost musical rhythm. His bangles jingle and she thinks she doesn’t want him to be without them, though perhaps one day she’d like to see him in nothing but gold and gemstones all over.

His body is lithe underneath the fabric, athletic in the way of regular movement and a conscious diet but softened with age, specks of grey hair on a boney chest with prominent ribs, giving way to a less defined belly where the hair is lighter until it eventually darkens again at the apex of his legs. Rook can’t help but reach out, fingertips cautiously climbing up from his belly button to his collarbone. Emmrich pauses as she does it, fumbling with the last clasp, and she can see his Addam’s apple bobbing up and down. Encouraged, she flattens her hand, pushing his shirt open wider, a second hand following to really feel him now, explore him, every bone that sticks out, every tense muscle, every soft pillow of flesh she presses against. He’s gone limp, though his breathing quickens, and when her thumbs brush his nipples his forehead falls against hers.

“Dearest,” he whispers, a shudder running through him.

“You’re lovely,” she says. “All of you, I am– Emmrich, I feel so lucky to have you.”

He gives a quivering breath, a sound that has his chest deflating against her palm. Then he kisses her so deeply, so tenderly, that her eyes close, a hand cradling her face in the way he only ever cradles his most precious books or skulls.

“I want all of you,” Rook whispers. “And I want to give you all of me. I am not afraid of what that means, Emmrich. My love. I need you.”

He smiles, an air of relief in the way he exhales against her lips. “Then I shall be glad to fulfil every single one of those desires, my darling. Your trust is the most precious thing I have ever held in my two hands.”

A soft muffled sound as her shirt hits the floor, boots kicked aside, her pants sliding down. Emmrich is more methodical, making sure they won’t wake to wrinkled shirts or kinks in their leathers. His hair has fallen into his face, covering his forehead as he unlaces himself, and every single aspect of the sight of him half-naked, disheveled, taken apart, makes her want him more and more. She knows how vulnerable it makes him feel, how hard he works to keep up his appearance, the respect it earns him, a sense of control and dignity he clings to. When he moves to take off his jewellery she stops him, toying with the gold.

“Keep those on,” she says.

“Not the rings, dearest,” he replies. “I do want those fingers inside of you without worrying about contamination.”

He helps her over the ledge, hands on her thighs, and the cushioned fabric soothes her skin, soft against her back. Once he has her pinned beneath him his eyes darken, gaze as thick as the velvet beneath. Her heart is racing, thumping against her ribcage to the rhythmic aching between her thighs. Emmrich spreads her legs, one hand on her bare skin, fingers squeezing at her as he settles there, on his knees. He pulls her up into a sitting position, legs on either side of him.

“May I take this off?” he inquires, one finger sliding beneath the laces of her smallclothes, the ones that strain to cover her breasts.

“Please do.”

He tugs, the piece of fabric coming apart to reveal her fully. Emmrich keeps his eyes on hers, as if to make sure she is alright, that she truly wants this, and when he finds no objection he finally takes her in. At first he is cautious, cupping one of her breasts with his long hand as if to weigh it, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple until goosebumps spread all over her skin and the electric bolt of pleasure shoots to her core. He continues softly, both hands now, stimulating her with scientific caution, watching out for every gasp, every closing of her eyelids, the way she leans into his touch, her hands on his bare thighs that are covered with dark grey hair, angled inwards to push her breasts together.

Emmrich leans in, tempted by the parting of her lips as she sighs into every little tug off her nipples, giving her a kiss that shakes her out of her stupor. But he’s not resting there, instead he meanders down, wet-lipped, tongue tasting her skin until his mouth closes over one breast. The other one he still cradles in his hand, rolling her peak between thumb and forefinger, and her core clenches at every pinch, at every flick of his tongue, the way he oh so gently sucks at her soft flesh with such a warm and eager mouth.

“Emmrich,” she sighs, her hand moving into his hair, forgetting of how neatly he keeps it, fingers tugging at the back of his head until he moans so headily into her skin that her whole lower body shifts forward, unbidden. “I can’t– Please.”

He removes himself, urges her to lay back again, and for a moment he just looks at her, already close to a mess, her hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and red, nipples puffy and erect as the slick gathers between her legs in a wet patch. He roams her body, a hand caressing the softness of her belly, adoringly but with evident of arousal that has his eyelids drooping and mouth parted with heavy exhales. Still on his knees, he moves on to her thighs, those long arms bending, testing how far he can spread her, how sensitive she is to his touch. His lips press to the inside of her knee and all Rook can do to distract herself from falling apart untouched is to busy herself with her breasts, fingers clenching with every kiss he peppers along the inside of her thigh now.

“Emmrich.” The word is more of a gasp, her hips stuttering upwards with every beat of her pulse. “Please, love, I am aching.”

“Are you, my heart?” He pushes his thumb right against her core, the fabric all but drenched, stroking up and down to gather more of her arousal. “I had hoped to take my time with you here tonight and perhaps I will, later. I can’t possible keep you waiting any longer, not when you’re begging so beautifully, my love.”

He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband, tugging at her underclothes to slide them off her legs. It would not have occurred to her to be bashful, to be shy, if it were anyone else. But with Emmrich things are different, her insides all gooey, heart stuttering, the blood that has not gathered between her legs now rushing to her cheeks. She realises that this is the feeling she has been hoping to find at some point in her life, the desperate need to be one with someone else, not just for pleasure, but for the soul, to come together in a way that expands your very self to make room for a connection unlike any other.

“Are you alright, darling?” Emmrich asks, no doubt seeing the change in her expression, the tears of overwhelm gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I am,” she says. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

Emmrich leans forward, propped on one elbow, and his other hand slides between her legs. He probes at her, moaning at the wetness he finds, his mouth connecting with hers right as two of his fingers slide into her. She accommodates him, as though her whole body has been waiting to finally feel him, and only when he sees that she’s comfortable does he start to gently crook them, moving them against the softness of her inner wall.

Incoherent words leave her mouth, prayers she hasn’t spoken in quite some time, his name over and over, and his heat shapes her like molten gold, as though he could mould her into a shape to fit his own body, his heat encompassing her. Eyes fluttered close she can only sense him, his fingers in an increasingly deep rhythm, long and untiring, until she feels herself floating outside of herself.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he urges. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She obeys, blinking up at him right as she peaks, her legs trembling on either side of him, clenched tightly around his digits. It is pleasure the likes she hasn’t experienced in some time, perhaps never quite like this, with the added weight of feelings that are entirely new to her in their depth.

He coaxes another tremor from her, fingers crooking, stroking her insides, then he withdraws with an almost wistful sigh. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle kiss to her cheek. “So very good. Now, do you think you’re ready to receive me, hm?”

Rook can only nod, words still eluding her, his satisfied smile almost making her want to laugh. He kisses her once again, tongue-deep, hungry, like he can taste the pleasure in her mouth. The hair on his upper lip leaves her with the delicious tickle she’s grown so fond of and then he’s shifting, wriggling and, within seconds she can feel him bare and hard between her thighs.

Instinctively, her hips roll inward, angling higher to receive him but Emmrich hovers. When she glances down she can see him curved in his hand, dark hair, neatly trimmed, framing him. He is long, rather slender, unlike the pale rest of his body already red-tipped and blood-swollen. With a few pumps of a desperate hands, bangles producing the ever-present jingle, Emmrich spreads her slick over the tight skin. His tip presses forward between her folds, skin retracting, his bare head pressing against her swollen clit. With a plethora of needy little sounds he slides back and forth, gathering the evidence of her earlier peak, the stimulation of her burning nerves almost enough to make her come again.

Emmrich looks up at her then and her breath catches. He looks utterly ruined already, unusually sweaty, hair clinging to his forehead, his pupils dilated under heavy eyelids, mouth red and glistening. He heaves a breath, more a sign of his constraint than any exhaustion as he tries to prepare her, make all of this a painfree, enjoyable experience for her before ever considering his own needs. She can see the precise moment his patience snaps, just after their eyes meet, fire crackling between them, and he pushes into her with a sound that is unrestrained pleasure.

“Darling,” he breathes. “My sweet, sweet darling.”

Their bodies fall into an easy rhythm, his hips rocking into hers, shallow at first, stretching her further, then a deeper grind until she keens with every roll of his pelvis. Emmrich keeps one hand on her chin, making sure her head stays angled so he can look at her, eye contact never breaking even as they both struggle to stay present. Rook can feel him so deep inside of her. But it’s not just a physical depth, it’s the feelings she has for him that trickle into every pulse of pleasure, every gasp, every squeeze of his biceps, every tug at his hair, every clenching of her muscles, fingers. The words tumble from her lips then, moving past her throat too quickly to be caught.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, Emmrich.”

At first he stutters, eyes opening wider, the sheer surprise of hearing the words. But then his gaze softens, expression melting into the gentlest affection, a smile, that glimmer in his eyes that speaks of such intimate fondness. “And I love you, my darling.”

She smiles back and then his mouth meets her desperately, the kiss a painful force that will leave her lips bruised, all while his thrust become harder, more unrestrained, as if the words are untying a knot deep inside of him that finally allows him to let go. Emmrich grabs her ass with his free hand, angles her hip upwards, and he sheathes himself even deeper, swollen head sliding against her inner wall to graze the most sensitive spot there. Rook lets out a mewl, the pleasure so sudden and intense that she feels herself clenching around him again and then her head lols to the side, his hand not there to support her now, and with her eyes closed she locks her legs behind his back to draw him ever deeper, impossibly so, not close enough even now.

“Darling,” he chides, his hand back to tilt her chin, angle her gaze to his. “No glancing away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gripping his wrist, thumb just above his rapid pulse.

He smiles, grunts at his efforts, thrusts harder as his own body begins to tense, thighs shaking as they slam against her. The crypt enhances every sound they make, their union a choir of jangling gold, throaty groans, skin meeting skin, and the green light flickers as the lanterns take a breath that is as deep as theirs.

“I am not sure how long I can last, dearest,” he says. “I do not… do not think I have ever felt anything quite so intense before.”

“’s okay, Emmrich, me too,” Rook whispers between gasps. “It’s perfect, it’s everything”

He closes the gap again for a kiss but he’s lost his momentum, teeth and lips and bone colliding, messy but needed, that connection that tethers them together. They exist only in the tiny space inside the coffin, its walls protecting them, sheltering them in its intimacy, and it’s the comfort of knowing that the world outside fades into nothingness for these precious moments, that no one else needs her, that she is allowed to focus simply on breathing, on feeling. And what she feels is all-encompassing, pleasure and love and fulfilment, her body treasured and shared, the way Emmrich consumes her whole being with every breath, the very air that fills her lungs.

It’s only then, lost in his body, in his love, that she can fully let go.

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#i said i'd post the whole fic so might as well even though it's late #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich volkarin x rook #emmrich volkarin x female rook #emmrich fanfiction #datv fanfiction #dragon age the veilguard fanfiction #emmrich volkarin fanfiction

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whumpetywhump · 8 months ago

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Century Of Love (2024)

San

01:

– Flashback: Punched and kicked during a fight, shot in the arm, bleeding, on the run, dizzy, stumbling, collapses, passes out, carried to safety, passes out again, has the bullet removed with magic, writhing, screaming in pain, wakes up with his arm bandaged

– Witnesses his girl’s death, grieving, sobbing, slams his head into the floor until it bleeds

– Performing a magic ritual, writhing and screaming in pain, passes out

– Chest pain, stumbling, trips and falls

– Flashback: Catches a knife, cuts his palm, bleeding, magically heals himself

– Still suffering from chest pain, writhing and screaming in pain, wounds opening on his chest and back

02:

– Chest pain, collapses, writhing and screaming in pain

– Slashed across the gut with a knife, magically heals himself

03:

– Chest pain, falls to his knees, screaming, collapses

– Chest pain, collapses, gasping and writhing, screaming, refusing help, still in pain for 12 hours, collapses and passes out

– Grabs a knife, cuts his palm, shot twice in the back while shielding his guy, shot again in the gut, stabbed repeatedly, magically heals himself

04:

– Screaming in pain, writhing, wounds opening on his torso, gasping for breath, comforted, cradled while he sleeps

06:

– Nightmare, wakes in a panic, gasping

07:

– Collapses, writhing and screaming in pain, needs support to stand, given medication, crying, refusing help, tries to stand, falls into his guy’s arms, collapses and passes out, unconscious in bed, healed with magic

– Punched in the face, bloody lip

– Found unconscious on the ground

08:

– In bed after last episode, unconscious, trembling, healed with magic

– Shoved to the ground, chest pain, crying out, needs support to walk, carried to his healer, knees buckling, wakes up in bed

– Chest pain, collapses, cradled, gasping for breath, unconscious in bed, writhing, healed with magic

– Nightmare, dreams of his boyfriend dying in his arms, twitching in his sleep, wakes in a panic, experiencing chest pain when he stands

09:

– Shot in both legs, collapses, kicked repeatedly in the gut, shot in the palm, healed with magic

– Shot in the back, instantly heals himself

– Chest pain, “I’m fine”, nosebleed

– Chest pain, hiding it from his boyfriend, gasping, stumbling, vomiting blood, medicated through an IV, coughing up more blood

10:

– Chest pain, gasping, medicated through an IV, needs help to drink, coughing

– Getting weaker, needs help to walk, coughing up blood, says goodbye to his loved ones

– Spitting more blood, chest pain, collapses, screaming and writhing in pain, cradled, force-fed a magical stone, convulsing, wounds opening on his torso, passes out, stops breathing, revived

Vee

02:

– Beaten up, bloody lip

– Punched in the face

03:

– Punched during a fistfight, kicked to the ground

– Shot in the arm, collapses into his guy’s arms

04:

– Stabbed in the gut, collapses, bleeding out, left for dead, passes out

05:

– Still unconscious on the ground from last episode, rushed to hospital, given oxygen, recovering in bed, taken care of

07:

– Emotional breakdown, sobbing, restrained, screaming

– Learns his mother is dying, sobbing, screaming, restrained

08:

– Bleeding from the gut in someone else’s dream, dies in their arms

09:

– Manhandled at gunpoint, restrained, injures his leg, limping, needs support to walk, trips and falls, crying out in pain, struggling to stand

– Taken hostage at gunpoint, shot in the leg, screaming in pain, falls to his knees, shot in the chest, collapses into his boyfriend’s arms, cradled, passes out, healed with magic, recovering in hospital

– Nightmare, wakes in a panic x2

– Grieving, sobbing, comforted

10:

– Still grieving, crying

#century of love #thai drama #whump #thai whump #whump list #daou pittaya #offroad kantapon

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pinkisthenewangst · 11 months ago

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°`🍨: Yuta Okkotsu x GN! Reader

°`🍨: You were only the third choice

! Spoilers for the newest chapters

Your eyes were focused on the sky. The rain, that is falling from the grey clouds, landed on your face, feeling cool on your warm skin. Your body shuddering at the contact but you couldn't even feel your fingers at the moment. Your mind was blank, no thoughts behind your eyes. Somehow you felt like your brain was actually fried, not being able to think about anything or do something. Slowly, your tongue strokes over your upper lip, tasting a metal like liquid. You had a nosebleed. Ah yes, you started to remember how it all happened. You only wanted to help, using your domain, a family secret, more than just well-kept, since it is able to kill the user, but you over did it. You closed your eyes. Everything hurts but also felt so numb. Your heart started to beat in your ears as if you were listening to music through earphones. Your breath was steady but starting to get quiet until someone needs to feel your breath against their skin to be able to announce you still didn't die. You were wondering where he was. Your first love and probably last one if nobody finds you in your critical state. Slowly you see a figure in front of your eyes. Black hair that once looked a little wild, dark blue eyes shining like the ocean on a quiet beach night and his rosy lips, that used to be bitten quite a lot. Slowly you stretch your hand out, slowly and trembling, trying to touch the man in front of you but it wasn't the real one. Your hand touched the air and then fell to the ground as if the man chose to step back. You didn't feel the stones poking your skin. Everything was numb. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You were not really sure if it's because of your condition or your realization. You loved Yuta but he will never look at you. You knew he loves Rika and you would never want him to stop but you also would never be bis second choice. In front of your eyes you see a tall girl with a high ponytail. Glasses shining in the sun, that slowly hides itself behind the tall trees of the forest. You would never be a second choice because Maki is right there. Staying strong beside him what you could never do. You were a weal sorcerer. Your whole family knew it but they wanted you to have friends with similar conditions. That makes you chuckle. Oh now blood starts to escape from your parted lips too. You were an outcast with normal people and people like them. They were strong and didn't need people to rescue them every time. They also didn't need to fear to just die when over using their technics and their technics, if they had any, could actually do something. But you could never understand the feeling to be useful.

Your technic can heal people but you would take over their wounds what would be very critical for yourself. You knew it and you still did it in a frustrated and scared panic, to lose them all. Now you were there, bleeding, in pain and slowly dying. Hoping that they are in a much better condition you are, after encountering a dangerous cursed spirit on a mission. It should have been an easy one, you were there so it needed to be easy. You didn't understand why all second years were with you, but it didn't matter anymore. They probably already exorcist it and are searching for you. Right ? Or did they already leave ? Letting you die in a forest, that slowly became a dark place after the sun disappeared. You don't even remember why you were there. Did you run away ? Did you hide here ? You can't remember and thinking is still very hard. It was silent until you started to close your eyes. They got heavy and dry. Just a little bit you thought. Then you will open them again and see your friends. Friends that never saw you as their friends. Maybe you will see Yuta for the last time. A boy you fell in love after meeting him in your first year. He became a dear friend to you. As if he sees you as a friend as well. Fell in love with his personality, his passion and his will to learn more. To become stronger to protect what he loves. Are you also someone he loves ? It's weird how many questions you suddenly ask yourself. But slowly you start to care less. Breathing becomes hard, it feels like choking on liquid. Opening your eyes didn't happen like you said. But then you felt it. Your body gets lifted and suddenly you are able to look into eyes. You hoped you would look in those dark blue eyes, that make you feel butterflies, that would never look at you for a long time since he already has his two choices. You didn't even look into eyes. They were hidden behind a black fabric. It was your teacher, maybe a man that believed you would grow stronger and that you only disappointed each time. He is biting his lip but you couldn't really read his expression. He must feel sorry for the others that he send me on this mission only to be a klutz for them. Sorry teacher, I also hoped to become a partner they needed. You heard footsteps, they are hectic and chaotic is if they are running in a high speed. You wanted to see who they are but you couldn't anymore. "Teacher, my body hurts …", you quietly say while your voice is cracking. It was silent before he whispers to you like you would do to a child: "Shh, it will get better, please rest". And you did, you think you heard Yuta's voice calling your name, but you didn't care. Resting sounded so much better than staying awake and being in pain. After letting the darkness consume you, your head slid slowly to the side. You stopped breathing.

When Yuta closed his eyes, laying on a metal table, he saw your smiling face. How he missed that sweet scene. Even if your face was a little bit blurry, he was somehow proud he didn't forget how eyes shined looking at him. Even if you voice didn't sound like he remembered it, his heart beat a little bit faster when he imagines you calling his name. He will change bodies with his teacher and even if he isn't able to bring the king of curses down, he will meet you and Rika again. He always imagined that you and Rika would be waiting for him on a field full of flowers. Waiting to lay a flower crown on his head and take his hands to run around like children. He smiled and took a deep breath. And if he survives, he will lay down a big bouquet on both gravestones like he always does.

°`🍨: Finally able to post it 🥹 Some Yuta Angst because there isn't enough!!

°`🍨: REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!

#jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu angst

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taexual · 2 years ago

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sleepwalking ● 13 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: ANGST, mentions of blood (nosebleed), alcohol consumption, suggestive themes & strong language

words: 10.5k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 13 ► when the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

“So, how come—” Jungkook started to say before tossing a peanut into his mouth as he sat on the bed in your hotel room. Swallowing, he finished the question, “how come you’d never dated?”

It had been two days since you’d left your room or spoken to anyone outside. His hair was still wet from the shower the two of you had just taken and he felt like he was living here now.

“How about I answer that,” you said, tightening the towel on your chest as you picked up the neglected coal-black menu from the bedside table, “after we order room service. I can’t remember the last time we had a proper meal.”

You both knew that this would end tomorrow—Jungkook would have rehearsals, soundchecks, and a performance the next night. That was why you’d locked yourselves in your hotel room for two days straight, and spent the short break between Rated Riot’s concerts in your bed. And in the shower. And on the floor of your room.

It was the highlight of the tour for you so far, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. But you were afraid of what would happen when you opened the door of your hotel room tomorrow morning.

Your phone had been on the whole time, no one had called you in these past two days—which made sense, because everyone was resting. But they might have questions tomorrow. And you would not have any answers.

There was also Nick to consider, although Reconnaissance was the last thing on your mind. The last few days with Jungkook seemed to reaffirm what you’d already decided – you loved Rated Riot too much to leave.

And maybe you loved Jungkook too much to leave, too.

But two days was not enough time to get used to each other all over again, and it was certainly not enough for the “so, what are we?” conversation, let alone the “logically, we can’t do this” conversation. That was something you and Jungkook deliberately chose not to talk about. At least not now.

But time was running out, and the first heavy stones of anxiety began to settle in your stomach as you skimmed over the menu.

You rested on the edge of the bed and Jungkook leaned over your shoulder to look at the food listing, commenting, “I actually didn’t realise how hungry I was until you mentioned it.”

“It's because you stuffed yourself with peanuts,” you pointed out and shifted the menu to the side so he could see it better. “What would you like?”

“You,” he replied, letting his inner teenager loose.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “I meant to eat.”

“Still yo—”

“Okay, quit your games for a second,” you ordered with enough humour to make him snicker. “Just pick something from the menu.”

“Fine,” he mumbled and pointed at seemingly the first thing he saw. “I guess a chicken burger will be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll have pasta, I guess. They recommend ravioli,” you said, scanning the list. “Do you want dessert? They have limoncello meringue, which sounds fancier than it probably is, but I also see Tiramisu, and—”

Immediately, Jungkook interjected, “there are better desserts I can think of—”

“Tiramisu and ice cream sounds perfect, I’m glad you agree,” you cut him off as he threw himself back on the bed, laughing—as always, he was thoroughly entertained to see you flustered.

You went over to the other side of the bed and placed the order with a very pleasant lady on the hotel telephone.

As soon as you hung up—he was waiting for it—Jungkook reminded you, “you didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed and returned to your spot on the bed, readjusting your towel before sitting down.

“I dated,” you said as a way of answering. It was a stretch since you had been on exactly four dates in the last four years. You supposed you chose to be faithful to your job instead, and in any case, managing Rated Riot didn’t leave you much free time. You added, “it just didn’t develop into any relationships.”

“Why not?” Jungkook asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t let people in easily. And I already have enough people that I love as it is.”

Despite your apparent nonchalance as you said this, he felt the gravity of your words – and all that they encompassed: the single-mother household and the care of a child that you didn’t have, the never-ending letdowns from every father figure in your life, and, ultimately, the family you found in Rated Riot.

“Hm,” he pondered the best approach. Deciding that you would probably resist and change the subject if he delved deeper, he cleared his throat, moved his hand behind his head as he rested on the pillow and asked—about as casually as he could, “so, am I the only boyfriend you’ve had?”

You looked up and noticed the smirk on his lips. His posture was deliberately designed to emphasise the immaturity of the question.

“As if I’ll answer that,” you said.

“Oh, come on,” he huffed. “Why not?”

“Your ego is way too big as it is,” you said. “I won’t be the one to stroke it more.”

You regretted your choice of words as soon as they were out of your mouth, but Jungkook still managed to speak up before you could stop him, “there’s something else you can—”

“Jungkook! What the fuck?” You were laughing now, unable to help yourself. “What’s with you? You’re acting like a frat boy.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he said simply, “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just happy.”

The warmth in your chest at the very simple word must have shown on your face because his smile suddenly widened.

“So am I?” he pushed. “The only boyfriend you’d had?”

You groaned, knowing that he wouldn’t drop this unless you answered.

“You are,” you said—he looked outrageously thrilled, so you added quickly, “regrettably.”

The grin disappeared from his face. Offended as if you had insulted his entire family, he repeated, “regrettably?!”

“I’m not known for my good taste in men,” you clarified.

He scoffed, sitting up on the bed.

“Hell yeah, you’re not,” he asserted. “You’re known for your excellent taste in men, considering I’m the only man you’ve been in a relationship with.”

You shook your head at his enthusiastic attempt to lift himself up.

“Well, what about you?” you asked then.

“What about me?”

“I know you dated,” you said. “So, what number am I on your list of girlfriends?”

Jungkook gave you a long, almost disappointed look.

He wouldn’t have called what he did dating. He would have called it meeting people and searching for you in every single one of them.

He thought you’d be able to guess that.

“Respectfully,” he started, “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. What number do you think you are?”

You lowered your gaze—because it was difficult to prevent your instinctive reaction from showing on your face when he looked at you like that—and Jungkook felt his excitement return.

“Well, anyway,” you said. His grin grew wider. “Uh, I was also going to ask what you wanted to do after your concert tomorrow.”

He was fully expecting the change of topic. And he felt delighted, because usually, you would have disagreed with him. You’d have insisted he didn’t know what he was talking about.

With you, the change of topic felt like a win.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you took me out to ride bicycles,” you replied. “Let me do something for you while we’re still in Amsterdam.”

Smirking, he remarked, “we did a lot more than just riding bikes in Amsterdam.”

You clicked your tongue, unable to argue because he’d made a solid point.

“What if that’s what I want to do, no matter what city we’re in?” he asked, the suggestive question only strengthened by the glint in his eye.

“Well,” you started and looked away, because his glittering eyes made him look like he belonged on a billboard and not on the bed in your hotel room, clad in a cheap robe. “That could be arranged.”

Chuckling, he scooted closer to you on the bed. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” He was so close to you that you could feel the refreshing minty scent of the hotel shampoo in his hair. “But I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Your schedule,” he said, leaning his forehead against yours, “better have my name under every single day. In capital letters.”

“Ah, but don’t I get the weekends off?” you teased. Your lips brushed against his with every syllable and Jungkook closed his eyes so he wouldn’t go insane.

“No,” he breathed. “I need you every day of the week.”

He finally leaned in to connect your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When he felt your tongue meet his as the kiss deepened, he realised just how much he’d meant what he’d just said. He would have cancelled all of his plans—all of them, for the rest of his life—to stay on this bed with you.

He kissed you and you tasted like last night and the night before that. Like every night he’d dreamt of kissing you for the past four years. You tasted like the rest of his life.

And suddenly, a painful, near-fatal realisation struck him.

He couldn’t ask you to get back together. He couldn’t ask you to never leave him again.

Because he hadn’t proved to you that he deserved it. Because you were still afraid of what everyone else would think. Because Sid was still on tour with him, and you still didn’t know about the bet.

You felt his body twitch next to yours and he pulled away, his eyes wide.

You watched him in shocked silence for a minute before asking, “w-what’s wrong?”

“I—” He blinked, overwhelmed by all the thoughts that rushed to the surface of his mind. “I have—there’s something—”

There was a knock on the door that forced you both to flinch in surprise. Jungkook looked like the knock came from a pack of hellhounds who had arrived to drag him straight to hell.

“It’s probably the food,” you said, your eyes not leaving his face. “Can this wait, or—or do you want to—is there something you have to say?”

Jungkook still looked like a wild animal, trapped in the blinding brightness of headlights, but he felt himself shake his head. Asking you to wait and listen would have only added to the significance of what he had to say.

“No,” he said, swallowing. “This can—it can wait.”

In the end, Jungkook lost his nerve and you didn’t have any of the conversations that you both had feared: neither about the bet, nor about what the past two days were supposed to mean.

You didn’t even pursue the topic, choosing to ignore the unadulterated fear on his face that you’d seen in your hotel room.

Really, you felt almost relieved that you hadn’t had a chance to have a serious discussion—for once, you just wanted to see what would happen next. Not to mention, you had other things to worry about with Rated Riot’s performance on the next night.

But Jungkook was a spectacle of discomfort, fear, and pain.

Naturally, Sid could immediately tell that something must have happened between you because he hadn’t seen Jungkook in days and now he was looking awfully pale as he had breakfast at the hotel restaurant on the morning of the concert.

Jungkook sensed Sid’s presence. Jude was with him, but Minjun wasn’t, and he realised that he felt intimidated—challenged—when the two of them were here and there was no one on his side.

Determined to ignore them as much as possible, he concentrated on the food in front of him.

“Hey there. Been a while,” Sid said, his grin serpentine. He took a seat at Jungkook’s table, and Jude followed beside him.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his plate. “Has it?”

“I have to ask, man,” Sid continued, completely ignoring his dismissive question. “What was the point of getting so riled up about our bet the other day? It clearly seems like I might lose after all. I’m not going to lie to you, I didn’t expect that.”

Jungkook saw the smiles exchanged between the two boys through his peripherals—as if they knew something he didn’t. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was; Sid would never willingly admit defeat. He just wanted Jungkook to regain his initial motivation regarding the bet.

“I’m not talking about it,” Jungkook said. He was done. There was nothing they could say that would bring him back into this mess.

Laughing thunderously—because he knew no other way—Sid patted Jungkook on the back in what was supposed to be a friendly gesture, but Jungkook nearly dropped his plate from the force and whipped around to look at him.

“Get your hands—”

“Oh, relax, would you?” Sid interrupted with an unimpressed grin. “Look, I know you want to keep the bike. But you can only keep it if you can actually prove that you’re back together.”

“I’m not proving anything to you,” Jungkook said, enunciating every word as if he were talking to a toddler who could not understand why he was not allowed to drink the undoubtedly appetising-looking dish soap.

“Well, you have six days to change your mind, or the Katana is mine,” Sid said and received a back-handed slap on the stomach from Jude. He corrected himself irritably, “it’s ours.”

Jungkook took one last bite of his waffle, his eyes fixed on the table.

This was what the bet was about for Sid—forcing Jungkook to lose the one tangible thing he was proud to own. Jungkook knew this from the very start, on a subconscious level at least, but the more Sid brought up the bike, the more obvious it became.

Reacting to his silence, Sid leaned in and added in a cunning whisper, “six days.”

He pulled back, but still lingered with the same smug grin from before, seemingly waiting for Jungkook to say or do something.

“I have a show tonight,” was what he said. “So I can’t fuck around with you guys. But have fun.”

“We’re renting out some bikes in Tilburg for a race tomorrow,” Sid continued, not bothered by his scornful tone. “I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Check the fucking groupchat.”

Just as Sid reached out to give another strong pat on his shoulder, Jungkook surprised him by standing up and evading his touch.

He walked away without a word, his plate still full of fruit he hadn’t even looked at. He didn’t feel very hungry anymore.

As Sid watched Jungkook leave the restaurant, he had to admit that he was impressed with this resistance—there was something foreign there. In the past, if Jungkook tried to oppose him, Sid still wound up winning in the end. Always.

But now it seemed like Jungkook wasn’t going to be that easy to push over. Despite teasing him for years, only now it dawned on Sid that Jungkook must have really had feelings for you. These feelings were the reason he refused to play along. The reason he became such an insufferable bore.

Well, Sid thought with a satisfied grin, that’s his loss.

After the concert finished, you had one last night in the hotel in Amsterdam before you left for Tilburg in the morning.

Hoseok took full advantage of this and decided to organise a farewell party in his hotel room—to commemorate the “wonderful time” they had had in Amsterdam, as he told you. You didn’t dare question him out of fear that he’d actually elaborate.

Technically, he shouldn’t have had so many people in his room, but if you wouldn’t stop him—you wouldn’t—then neither would anyone else.

The hotel staff knew this was happening. They had to know. Who else brought two dozen bottles of wine, fifteen six-packs of beer, and five bottles of vodka to their hotel room? This list could have been endless; God knows what else Hoseok bought in the supermarket outside the concert hall while you were on the phone with the promoters.

But the hotel staff also knew that your team occupied the entire tenth floor, so there were no other guests who could have complained. Additionally, one of the producers – likely Namjoon, given his experience with Hoseok’s last-minute parties – paid a little extra cash for any complaints that might have come.

Even though they were musicians, the Rated Riot members – and their crew as well – knew how to leave a place as they found it. That was why you didn’t bother to protest against the party much.

You got ready for it in your own room a few doors down. Jungkook was here, too—which, honestly, surprised you.

Despite the past few days where the two of you were practically attached to each other, you still didn’t expect him to choose to hang out here while he waited for you. His usual routine before parties involved pregaming with Sid, Jude, and Minjun. You thought you saw the three of them lingering backstage after the show, but perhaps you confused them with some local knobheads.

In any case, Jungkook was here. He hadn’t bothered much with his outfit after the show. All he did was take a quick shower and change into a different shirt. The stage make-up mostly endured the one-and-a-half-hour gig and the freezing shower, so he still looked like he was about to perform instead of already having done that.

It was very easy to despise how effortlessly beautiful he was. But he was sitting on the edge of the tub in the bathroom of your hotel room, playing the new Bring Me The Horizon song for you, and telling you about his plans for Rated Riot’s performance tomorrow night while you put mascara on in front of the mirror – and you realised it was very easy to love him, too.

Just as you saw your reflection in the mirror begin to smile, you felt a familiar, unpleasant warmth under your nose. It happened quickly this time – you watched droplets of blood fall into the white sink below.

“Shit,” you muttered as you reached for a tissue on the counter across from you before you stained your clothes with blood.

Jungkook lifted his head. “What happ—shit, you’re bleeding.”

He was on his feet in a heartbeat. Before you could reassure him that this wasn’t serious, he was already guiding you to the bathtub where he sat you down in his previous spot and brought over the box of tissues.

“It’s not a big deal,” you insisted, pressing the tissue to your nose while he squatted in front of you, concern drawn all over his features. “Your legs will go numb if you—”

“How is it not a big deal?” he argued, pulling out a new tissue and handing it to you. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a nosebleed,” you said, reaching for the trash can. He noticed and kicked it closer to you. He was very determined to limit your movements. “You know I used to get them all the time.”

“Yeah, years ago,” he said. “I thought we were past that.”

You refrained from commenting on his use of pronouns—as if getting nosebleeds was a group activity—but remained firm in your response.

“It’s nothing dangerous,” you said. “I got one just the other day. I’m fine.”

Jungkook wobbled a little, his legs uncertain as panic visibly grew in his eyes. “Wait, what do you—this happened before? Recently?”

“Yeah, it was literally just one—”

“Well, this is another one!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

Your gaze followed him, and you instinctively leaned your head back. He noticed this and cringed into himself for making you move.

“Shit, don’t—stay still,” he said and sat down next to you on the edge of the tub. His voice was much more collected when he continued, “you’re burnt out. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not burnt out,” you insisted, very uncomfortable to find yourself as the reason for someone else’s concern. “Seriously, Jungkook. This could be seasonal. Or, I don’t know, weather-related.”

“Okay. Well, the same thing happened to you six years ago and you ended up at the hospital,” he reminded you. You were worried that he would, and the mention of it immediately made you avert your gaze. “It clearly wasn’t weather-related back then.”

You switched to a fresh tissue, your eyes fixed on the white floor tiles under your feet.

That particular hospital stay, much like everything else in your relationship with Jungkook, was an untouchable subject. A subject you couldn’t discuss without discomfort and blatant contempt, no matter how many years passed.

“You were the one who called the ambulance—which I'll never forgive you for, by the way,” you said. “What a waste of everyone’s time and effort. Even the doctors said this probably wasn’t anything serious—”

“They said probably,” he retorted, agitated again. “And what else did you expect me to do?! I found you passed out in the hallway outside of your dorm.”

“You could have waited for a minute until I regained consciousness,” you said. “I would have told you—”

“That you’re fine,” he finished with a roll of his eyes. “You weren’t fine.”

“I was stressed about finals.”

“Everyone was stressed about finals,” he argued. “But not everyone put so much pressure on themselves that they started to experience fainting spells. That their body started to shut down—”

You were the one to roll your eyes this time as you cut him off, “now you’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? Really?” he countered, sliding away from you to be able to get a better look at you. You proceeded to avoid his gaze.

“Thank you for, at least, not telling my mum about it that time,” you said, diverting the topic. “I might have really killed you if you had.”

“Yeah, well.” Jungkook sniffled. “If she found out I didn’t tell her, she’d be the one to kill me.”

You weren’t worried about that. “She won’t find out.”

He looked at you. “What about this?”

“What about it?”

Frustrated, he ripped out another tissue and handed it to you. “You are literally bleeding right now.”

You took the tissue without looking up and mumbled, “the blood would have stopped if you weren’t making me anxious.”

“I’m the one making you—okay.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry. This just… this reminds me of that day.”

Your free hand fiddled with the plaster covering the outer edge of the tub. “I know.”

Six years ago, the nosebleeds had been a warning. It was your body telling you that you were exhausted and needed to rest. You’d ignored it, of course. You had finals to study for, never mind the dizziness and the brief moments of complete darkness if you stood up too quickly.

And then you ended up fainting after completing your last exam.

Really, you had almost made it back to your dorm room when you started feeling dizzy, so you were convinced that you would have been okay even if Jungkook hadn’t found you. You would have regained consciousness and made it back to your bed—it was right there. And with the Christmas holidays coming up, you would have been able to get the rest that the doctors said you needed anyway.

Jungkook had told you that he was on his way to see you when he found you on the floor. It had seemed a little too convenient, but you never got the chance to ask why he was really at your dorm that day. You’d regained full consciousness in the ambulance about a minute or two later, and the realisation of what was happening was too mortifying for you to ask about how Jungkook found you. You felt too uncomfortable to inconvenience the paramedics for something so insignificant.

Nevertheless, the doctors kept you in the hospital for three days, tethered to the bed with an IV drip. Your blood test led to the unofficial diagnosis of a simple “burnout”. You’d done your research – it wasn’t even a recognised medical condition at the time. But the hospital was on the edge of campus—the doctors had to deal with this almost every day. Your prescribed treatment included rest, fluids, and stress avoidance.

And, really, you did diligently drink water after this.

Arguments with Jungkook had kept you company in the hospital: he accused you of caring about things too much—you passed all of your finals with flying colours, so you still thought it was worth it—and you accused him of not caring enough.

Right now, however, in the hotel bathroom, as you clutched the tissue to your nose, you felt worried. Not about your condition—you knew you’d be fine in a minute—but about Jungkook’s reaction to it.

Confirming your fears, he spoke up—softly, like it was a secret that had escaped from his chest before he could control it, “I wish I didn’t remember that day as clearly as I do. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I remember, too,” you admitted. Then, to lighten the mood, you added, “I also remember that you found out you failed your Social Psychology exam the next day.”

Jungkook leaned to one side and rested his head against the wall as he remained on the other side of the tub.

“You always do this. Always focus on the wrong thing,” he spoke. His voice no longer sounded angry, only tired. “You slept for three days straight in that hospital, and you spent every waking moment scolding me for not studying.”

“Well, you really didn’t study, so—”

He inhaled deeply and the sharp sound cut you off. The song by Bring Me The Horizon looped on his phone.

“Shouldn’t you put some ice on your nose to stop the bleeding?” Jungkook said in a straining attempt to control his emotions. “Or maybe cold water—”

“It’ll probably go away on its’ own in a minute,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he said through gritted teeth. The cursed word that you kept repeating sounded so ridiculous that he feared he might actually lose his mind. “Um, well, the last time this happened… The doctors warned us that it could happen again if you were under extreme stress. Wh-why are you stressed?”

You grabbed a new tissue, relieved to see that the bleeding had finally slowed.

“I’m not under extreme stress,” you said. “I’m just stressed. It stopped being extreme years ago.”

He didn’t think this was any better and immediately felt a new surge of anxiety in his stomach. “Okay, well, you can’t keep going like this.”

Right away, you began to reassure him again, “this is nothing—”

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“Jungkook, I’m literally just—”

“I need you,” he stated—firm and loud and desperate. “So, slow down a little. Please.”

Your eyes finally met his for a single, charged moment before you looked away again.

You felt very strange. No longer uncomfortable, but rather surprised. You thought you’d mastered the art of sounding convincing when you said you were fine, but Jungkook repeatedly proved you wrong.

“Okay,” you finally said. “I’ll—I will be careful.”

He didn’t appear very relieved when he heard this.

“Maybe we should skip the party,” he suggested, “and just—”

“Oh, no, no, no.” You stood up before he could react. “I have you. I don’t need more people treating me like I’m sick. We’re going.”

He wanted to argue, but you were standing over him while he stayed seated, and the confidence in your posture nearly convinced him that you were truly okay.

“Alright,” he said, still tentative. “But you’re not leaving my side.”

You hummed in response and turned away to toss out the tissue.

“I mean it,” he emphasised, needing verbal confirmation from you. He knew you wouldn’t give in and let him take care of you unless he pestered you until you lost patience. “You’re staying with me the whole night.”

“Okay, okay. Relax,” you said with a forced laugh. “Is this how you feel when I micro-manage you?”

He wanted to believe the playful grin on your lips when you turned to look at him again, but it was difficult when he saw your glossy eyes. You weren’t okay, but you were determined to be.

“Not at all,” he replied, attempting to return the smile but only managing to slightly lift the corners of his mouth. “I never resist you this much.”

“Sure you don’t,” you teased, returning to the sink to wash your hands and face before you tried to fix your make-up.

Jungkook did not say anything else. The song on his phone kept playing on a loop, and neither of you bothered to change it.

But twenty minutes later, the music suddenly became overwhelming. It failed to cover up the silence between you, and you became increasingly aware of it with each passing minute.

You glanced at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror—his shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the floor—and you knew he was still remembering that day six years ago.

“Well,” you finally spoke, “it seems like I lost all my jewellery.”

You weren’t honestly bothered by this very much. Most of the jewellery you’d brought on this tour wasn’t particularly valuable. You just wanted to fill the silence with something other than the uncomfortable memory in his head.

“I’m sure I still had a necklace in Copenhagen—the one with the cross pendant?—but I must have left it on the bus.” You aimlessly rummaged through your accessory bag. “Or maybe I lost it at one of the venues, or somewhere else... that we went...”

You could not find the end to your sentence, nervous all of a sudden. But Jungkook raised his head to listen to you. The expression on his face was dazed as if your voice had startled him awake from a slumber he didn’t realise he had fallen into.

He placed the box of tissues on the floor and stood up.

“You can have mine,” he said, reaching behind his neck to remove his shimmering silver chain with a pearl dangling from the clasp.

“Hm?” You turned around. “Oh, I was just saying things, you don’t really have to—”

“No.” He extended his palm with the necklace. “Here.”

“Oh—”

“Actually, let me put it on you,” he asked. He gently touched your shoulder to turn you around, so you were facing the mirror again.

“Okay.” You hoped the goosebumps on your skin weren’t visible when he stopped behind you and placed the necklace around your neck. “Thank you.”

He clasped it and looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were all sorts of odd sensations coursing back and forth in his blood as he still grappled with his memories while looking at you in your all-black outfit. His silver necklace around your neck stood out against the dark colour of your blouse.

Not even realising that he was speaking out loud, he whispered, “you look beautiful.”

The lightness of his breath against your cheek made your head spin a little as you glanced at yourself in the mirror.

You didn’t have time to fix your make-up properly after the concert and then the nosebleed made your eyes water, causing your eyeliner to smudge in a particularly dramatic way. You tried to do damage control but only made it worse, so you simply gave up. You were going to a party with musicians anyway; you could have messy eye make-up and still blend in with the crowd.

“Yeah?” you teased. “A bit like a wasted panda at a punk concert, no?”

Jungkook laughed—finally—and leaned his face into your shoulder. The scent of your perfume brought back the fluttering wings in his stomach.

He exhaled and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was pressed firmly against his chest.

He placed a lingering kiss on the side of your neck, then exhaled. “That’s just my type.”

Smiling, too, you ran one of your hands over his intertwined fingers on your waist. Your other hand instinctively touched the silver chain around your neck as you watched the reflection of the two of you in the mirror. You tried to control your breathing while he closed his eyes and hummed an unintelligible melody into your ear.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “Should we—um, should we go?”

Jungkook nodded but did not move or let go of you. Another minute later, he seemed to remember something and opened his eyes.

“Oh, let me get you water first,” he said. And quickly—because you were about to object—he added, “and then we’ll go. I promise.”

You sighed and nodded, allowing him to detach himself from you.

He returned to the bathroom less than a minute later with a water bottle from the mini-fridge. After you took a sip—and then four more or he threatened to keep you in the bathroom all night—he finally felt himself exhale in a way that wasn’t completely relieving, but it was close enough.

“Alright.” You placed the water bottle on the counter next to the sink. Feeling childish, you asked, “can we go now?”

He nodded and immediately extended his hand for you to take. But as soon as he did, he realised he probably shouldn’t do that. Despite everything that had happened between you in this hotel room, he couldn’t leave while holding your hand.

It was almost comical how awkward the two of you got right after that: he acted like he hadn’t reached for you. You acted like you hadn’t seen him reach for you. He acted like he hadn’t seen you see him.

Nodding yet again before the discomfort crushed you both, Jungkook stepped aside and allowed you to leave the bathroom first.

He followed after you, nudging his piercing with his teeth and tongue as he realised that he might not be entirely fine with others not knowing about you.

He wanted to hold your hand and for people not to stare at it.

He wanted to spend the night with you, away from the party, and not have people question where you were.

He wanted to keep you safe, to be the person you turned to when you weren’t feeling well, and he wanted you not to feel guilty about it.

He wanted this to be common knowledge, something that everyone would expect from the two of you.

He wanted—actually, no.

He didn’t really care about others.

What he really wanted was for you not to care, either.

When you and Jungkook arrived at the party, there was already a large crowd there. It was very hard to breathe with so many people packed into a space that wasn’t meant to hold them all. You were starting to wish you hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt.

And yet, being here also felt oddly comforting—because these were your people.

As soon as you came inside, you noticed a small group of Rated Riot’s staff members gathered around Luna. Despite her usual dislike for being the centre of attention, she had a very easy-going and approachable demeanour that always put others at ease. She seemed to get along with almost everyone here—including Jimin, who was laughing at something Luna had said and patting Taehyung on the back with excessive force, which earned him a glare from the bassist.

You smiled at the scene and glanced at the window where Seokjin was leaning against the windowsill with a few other staff members. You could hear him recount how he nearly tripped over a cable while setting the stage up for tonight’s performance. He was telling the story in a way so lively that he nearly knocked over a floor lamp with his hand. On the couch next to Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon were sharing a pair of earphones and listening to something on Yoongi’s phone.

Despite the room being so crowded that you could hardly take a step without knocking into someone’s shoulder or back, you still felt incredibly cosy. This was also helped, of course, by the fact that Jungkook was right beside you, his fingers brushing against yours every few seconds in a deliberate accident.

You realised suddenly that another reason why you felt so comfortable here was the absence of his friends. Either they skipped this party altogether, or no one had bothered to invite them.

Puzzled, you looked at Jungkook. He returned your gaze right away and, most unfortunately, smiled at you, effectively diverting your attention from whatever you had just been wondering about.

Perhaps that was all the better. You didn’t want to talk about Sid anyway.

“Drinks?” Jungkook suggested. Before you could respond, his eyes suddenly widened, “shit, maybe you shouldn’t drink? I can get you some water—”

“I can drink,” you insisted, although, reasonably, you probably should have abstained from alcohol. “A glass or two is fine.”

He nodded, but lingered by your side, feeling a little awkward.

Quietly, so no one would accidentally overhear, he said, “I, uh—I have to go find the drinks. Will you be okay here?”

There was an amused smile on your lips. “I promise not to pass out from longing while you’re gone.”

Jungkook gave you a wry look.

“My little comedian,” he bit. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

You snickered and Jungkook recoiled like he had in your bathroom—he was already leaning in to kiss your cheek when he caught himself. Nodding in realisation, he turned on his axis and headed towards the small kitchenette in the back of the room.

In the meantime, you looked back at the rest of the people here and locked eyes with Luna. She nodded at you, wordlessly inviting you to join her.

Out of everyone in the room, there were only three girls—including you. And once you approached and greeted Luna with a hug (Maggie was occupied with finishing her glass of beer before Jimin could finish his), all three of you were in the same group of people.

The lack of female crew on tour was not intentional. A lot of Rated Riot’s creative team members and some of the label’s executive producers were women—bless them—but, unfortunately, they did not travel with the band on this tour. You were happy to at least have your friends with you.

Finally, Maggie set her empty glass down on the ground and high-fived you. She wasn’t drunk enough for hugs just yet, so this was her usual way of saying hello. Then, she filled you in on their conversation: apparently, there was a stray cat outside the venue that almost everyone had the chance to pet and take pictures of, until it attacked Taehyung and scratched his pants and ankles.

This explained Jimin’s unstoppable laughter and Taehyung’s subsequent glare—and also why Taehyung was uncomfortably stomping his feet in a borrowed pair of skinny jeans.

“As soon as Luna tried to get the cat off of him—because, you know—Taehyung wouldn’t—stop turning in circles—and—screaming,” Jimin took over the story, clearly excited about the opportunity to retell it, even though he laughed every two words, “the cat relaxed completely—and even started to purr in her arms.”

“Cats can probably tell when people like them,” you teased.

Taehyung shook his head.

“I have nothing against cats,” he insisted. “I just prefer dogs. And I wasn’t screaming.”

He directed that last part at Jimin, who suffered another wave of childish delight and made you chuckle as well, simply because of how infectious the sound of his laughter was.

“You know what the real highlight of this trip to Amsterdam was?” Taehyung said, suddenly smug. “Jimin being too short for some of the rides at Efteling.”

You recognised the name of the amusement park—it featured in a lot of messages on your groupchat with the girls—and Jimin’s laughter abruptly ceased.

“Hey!” he objected. “I decided not to go on those rides. My height had nothing to do with it.”

“After you said five times in a row how much you wanted to go on them?”

“I changed my mind.”

You, Maggie, and Luna exchanged knowing looks. Taehyung and Jimin could bicker for weeks before getting distracted by a common target – usually Namjoon, whom they teamed up to tease together.

Before you started to work with Rated Riot, you’d never met a band that was as connected to their crew as the four members of Rated Riot, who treated everyone on tour like family.

And family noticed peculiar things about each other sometimes—like how Taehyung noticed that when Jungkook joined you, he handed you a paper cup of wine and whispered something in your ear. And how you turned to him as you listened, and suddenly the necklace around your neck reflected the light from the ceiling.

Taehyung recognised the necklace.

Really, he only noticed it because earlier in the day, he had mentioned to Jungkook how pretty the pearl on the clasp was.

Without saying anything, Taehyung turned to his girlfriend. Sensing his gaze on her, Luna looked back at him. Quickly, he glanced at you, then back at her again. She understood what he wanted right away.

She observed you for a minute—you were too distracted by Maggie, Jungkook, and Jimin who forced you to referee as they argued about which of them could chug their drink faster, so you didn’t notice Luna’s staring—but she couldn’t figure out what exactly Taehyung was implying.

He had to lean in closer and whisper to her, “she’s wearing Jungkook’s necklace.”

Immediately, Luna turned back to you with a massive grin.

Finally, as you took a sip of your wine, you caught her watching you. You raised your eyebrows questioningly, but just as you did, Jungkook leaned in to tell you something else, and Luna’s grin widened while your attention wavered.

Taehyung watched this with a slight furrow in his brow. Initially, he was a little bothered by Luna’s reaction—he could tell that she knew something more about this, given her complete lack of surprise to see you and Jungkook so close. But then he thought that was fair. You two were friends. Friends had secrets that their boyfriends couldn’t know.

This worried Taehyung, however. He waited for Luna to look back at him, hoping for some reassurance—“she’s your band’s manager, this is nothing, they’re just friends like everyone else here” would have been very nice—but it didn’t come. When his girlfriend finally met his eye, all she did was smile and squeeze his hand while shaking her head.

Oh, he realised. You and Jungkook were not just friends.

Meanwhile, Jungkook informed you that Hoseok had a box of unopened champagne bottles in the bathroom—in case you wanted something other than wine.

You did. Whatever was in your cup tasted more like artificial, bitter berry juice, with only a vague hint of grape flavour, rather than wine.

So, you glanced at Luna again—she kept on grinning at you suggestively—and then allowed Jungkook to lead you, subtly enough, towards the bathroom.

Everyone in your group was already discussing something else; namely, Seokjin’s stumble before Rated Riot’s set, which was another highlight of the day. No one really paid much attention to the two of you.

But Luna and Taehyung watched you leave.

Luna had figured out what happened between you on the bus. She could imagine where you’d been for the past two days. And she knew whose accessories you’d borrowed. And if she was aware of all this, then Taehyung would find out sooner or later. He could easily deduce things just by looking at her—their minds always seemed to be on the exact same wavelength.

But while Luna was excited, viewing the situation from the perspective of your closest friend, Taehyung was nervous. His perspective was different; he was the member of the band that you managed.

And he wasn’t sure what your disappearance into the bathroom with Jungkook was supposed to mean.

Really, what this meant for you was that you wanted a different drink. Unfortunately, you and Jungkook were challenged with the task of opening the champagne bottle quietly, because you suspected there was a reason why Hoseok chose to keep it in the bathroom. You felt better pretending he’d simply forgotten to bring it to the main room, though.

“Maybe I should close the door,” you wondered aloud, “and wait on the other side while you open it? That way, I wouldn’t actually be aiding and abetting.”

Jungkook snorted. “You’re not getting out of this. And this isn’t a crime. The champagne is here. We’re here. That means we can drink it. Do you happen to have a knife?”

You raised your eyebrows. “A knife?”

“Yeah.” He waved the bottle around, then realised and clutched it tighter as if that would prevent the sparkling drink from pouring out once the bottle opened. “I can open it faster with a knife.”

“You don’t need a knife. You just hold the cork with one hand while you rotate the bottle back and forth with your other hand,” you explained, miming the gestures. “And it pops.”

Jungkook knew that much as he removed the foil from the neck of the bottle.

“But that’s so anticlimactic,” he complained. “No dramatics, nothing. It’s boring.”

“We’re trying to keep it quiet here,” you reminded him.

“Fine, I guess,” he relented, untangling the metal cage. “We’ll do it your way.”

It took him several minutes to get a proper hold on the cork. When he finally popped it—which was louder than either of you expected—he had already shaken the bottle too much, and the champagne immediately sprayed out on both of you despite his best attempts to prevent that from happening.

He cursed, dropping the cork in surprise from the force of its recoil as champagne poured over his fingers. You were both laughing and trying to shush each other as you leapt away from the puddle forming on the bathroom floor.

“Well.” He grabbed your paper cup to catch the champagne that was pouring out. Giving you a meaningful look, he added, “this has never happened to me before.”

You pushed his shoulder at the double-entendre and made him chuckle even harder.

You knew you were making quite a lot of noise, and you’d left the door open, too, but no one came to check on the two of you. Granted, the entrance to the bathroom was inside of a small hallway near the door of the hotel room, and it was partially hidden by a large Ficus plant. You couldn’t really be seen from the inside of Hoseok’s room. But just to be safe, you avoided turning on the light and used the flashlight on your phone instead.

However, since most of the champagne had spilt on the floor and you didn’t want to return to the party in case Hoseok noticed you were drinking the sacred Bathroom Champagne, you and Jungkook had to come up with an alternative spot to hang out in.

And you did—it was easy enough to find it.

Giggling like a pair of kindergartners, the two of you climbed into the bathtub and sat down with your backs turned at the door of the room, your shoulder touching his and your knees against your chest.

The space was cramped and uncomfortable for your limbs, but every few minutes the two of you would start laughing again, and being here didn’t really feel too bad.

“This has to be,” you said as you took a sip of the drink in your cup, “the weirdest place I’ve ever had champagne.”

“This is very romantic, actually,” Jungkook disagreed. “I mean, we have candlelight.” He lifted your phone, meaning the flashlight. “We have champagne.” He clinked his paper cup against yours and then paused while you snickered. “And it��s just the two of us here. I have everything I want right in this bathtub.”

He saw you resisting and failing as an involuntary smile spread across your lips, and he felt his own expression mirroring yours.

You watched each other and listened to the music and the chatter of your friends outside the bathroom—so far away from where you were.

And then he leaned in.

It was risky—he knew that much; he could see the open bathroom door through his peripherals—and he would have stopped immediately if he sensed your hesitation or lack of consent. But you closed your eyes instead, dizzy from how close he was and how much you wanted him to be even closer.

He heard you inhale shakily and waited until you were the one to press your lips to his. He kissed you back immediately, savouring the addictive softness of your lips and tasting the bubbles on your tongue.

He was just reaching to touch your cheek when his hand slipped and he smacked his elbow into the unexpectedly sharp edge of the tub. Hissing into the kiss, he pulled away, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“No, you’re right,” you said. “This is definitely very romantic.”

“Oh, no, this is all part of the experience,” he insisted, clutching his arm. “Why bother with romantic dinners and restaurants—honestly, why even travel to Paris, when you can have champagne and the thrill of possibly breaking a bone right in your own bathtub? The lights on The Eiffel Tower can’t compare to the millions of sparkles that I feel in my elbow right now. And this tiled wall is a delightful sight as well, especially that questionable stain right there.”

The more you laughed, the more grandiose his voice became. And when you leaned into his arm, overcome with amusement, it occurred to him that he was feeling the happiest he had felt in a very long time.

This happiness nearly overwhelmed him. And he suddenly felt very unworthy of it.

There was guilt in the back of his mind. Despite his efforts not to let it seep into his consciousness, he could still remember the bet. He felt as if he was enjoying these moments with you on borrowed time. On stolen time. On time that didn’t really belong to him.

But he couldn’t say anything.

You were tired and overworked. But here with him, you finally seemed relaxed.

And when you raised your head, gripping his arm for support, you smiled as you plotted to replace the champagne before Hoseok discovered it was gone.

The look in your eyes was warm and soft and happy, and he was going to drown in this bathtub without any water whatsoever if he didn’t kiss you again right now.

You’d asked him before if that conversation could wait.

Perhaps it could—just a little more.

Of course, you couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Eventually, someone would need to use it or notice you two were missing. You had to rejoin the rest of your friends as if you hadn’t just finished two bottles of champagne by yourselves (the second one opened much more easily because, despite Jungkook’s complaints, you were the one who popped the cork).

When you returned to the party, you tried to persuade Jungkook to avoid each other for a little while. Even though you promised not to leave this party without finding him first, he was still reluctant to let you out of his sight. However, he agreed to split up after locking eyes with Seokjin’s raised eyebrows.

Seokjin wasn’t suspicious. He just needed your assistance. The second you glanced at him, he grabbed you and pulled you aside to help mediate an argument he was having with Namjoon.

Jungkook lingered somewhere in the middle of the room, smiling to himself like a lunatic on his first journey to the planet Earth.

“Hey,” a voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. Jungkook didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but he turned to find Taehyung behind him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Worry was evident on his friend’s face and Jungkook instinctively looked around. Luna appeared to be fine, she was looking through something on Maggie’s camera. Tipsy, Jungkook wasn’t able to come up with another reason why Taehyung would worry.

“Uh—” he turned to his bandmate again. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Outside maybe,” Taehyung said.

Blinking because the champagne and your kisses had really slowed his mind down, Jungkook asked, “outside where? In the hallway?”

The older member shrugged, not particularly concerned about the specific location as long as it was away from everyone else. “Sure.”

Jungkook nodded, confused, but not yet alarmed. “Alright.”

He followed Taehyung out of the room and looked back once more to find you in the crowd of people. Just as you smiled at him, Taehyung shut the door with a lot more force than Jungkook thought was necessary.

The hallway was empty, except for the two of them. Jungkook arched his eyebrows and turned to look at the older boy.

“Okay, listen,” Taehyung said awkwardly. “To be honest, I don’t really know where to begin, so I’m not sure how this will go.”

He stared at the carpeted floors as he walked further away from Jungkook. The younger boy leaned his back against the wall next to Hoseok’s door.

“Take your time,” he encouraged calmly.

The peace in his voice was enough to irritate Taehyung, and he asked right away, “are you back together?”

He didn’t dare to mention you by name, but he didn’t have to. He could tell that Jungkook understood from the way his eyes lit up with something.

“No,” Jungkook replied, cautious now that he realised what this conversation was going to be about. “We’re not.”

“Look…” Taehyung started, then stopped again. Not only did he witness you both going to the bathroom together, but he also saw you emerge almost an hour later, giddy and trying very hard to pretend to be hanging out with everyone but each other. He went on, “I admit that I’m not as close to her as you are. And I don’t know the full details of your, uh—relationship. But she—neither of you look like you know what you’re doing right now. Maybe she’s too polite to say anything to you. You shouldn’t take advantage of that.”

Jungkook was surprised. Then appalled. He was expecting to maybe get scolded. He wasn’t expecting an accusation—or whatever this was supposed to be, because it certainly sounded like Taehyung was blaming him for using you.

“I don’t—I’m not taking advantage of her,” he said. “I’m not doing anything that she would—nothing that would seem like—it’s all been—”

The older boy listened to him stutter for a minute and then finally interjected.

“All I’m asking,” he said, “is if you’re serious about this. Or if you see it as a casual hook-up. Something you can get away with because we’re in Europe.”

Jungkook tightened his grip on his cup. There was still some champagne left, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift it to his lips and swallow right now, even though his throat was dry.

“It’s not a casual hook-up,” he said.

“So, you’re serious,” Taehyung concluded. His face seemed to relax a little at this—if this was serious, he would have had no problem with it. “That’s—”

“To be fair,” Jungkook cut in. “I actually—I don’t know what we are.”

The older boy frowned again. “How can you not know?”

“We haven’t—we didn’t talk about it.”

Taehyung pressed his index finger to his forehead in a sign of growing frustration. It wasn’t a scratch or a rub, he just touched a spot there—as if pressing the ‘off’ button—and took a breath.

“Jungkook,” he said, unsettling the younger boy with his tranquil tone. “You can do your thing. That’s fine because you’re still really good at your job. It’s all great. But whatever the two of you are? Whatever you haven’t talked about? That could affect all of us. The whole band. Not just the band, actually, but everyone in that room.”

He pointed at Hoseok’s door as he spoke. The gesture was unnecessary, yet it amplified the significance of his words. Jungkook already felt like a rock had started to weigh him down the second Taehyung mentioned you. Not to mention, he couldn’t find a proper way to defend himself as the bassist seemed to think that he was just playing with you.

Struggling, Jungkook tried to clarify, “I’m not—okay, look, you can’t—no one can—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Taehyung said, somehow understanding his primary concern. “I’m just talking to you. Or asking, actually. What are you doing?”

“I-I—okay.” Jungkook closed his eyes for a second. He felt like he had to tell him everything right here and now. There was no other way to answer his questions, after all. And, to be fair, Jungkook was a little concerned that Taehyung would approach you about this if he found his answers unsatisfactory. “There’s, uh... something else. But you absolutely cannot mention this to anyone.”

“Alright. What is it?”

“I made a bet with Sid,” Jungkook said. “And Jude.”

Cautious, Taehyung asked, “a bet? What kind of bet?”

Jungkook inhaled deeply and stole a glimpse at his friend before looking down again. “About me and—okay, before you react—because I can tell that you’re seething—”

Taehyung shook his head at the interjection. He couldn’t control his reactions and he didn’t bother trying.

“Just tell me what the bet is about,” he said. It sounded like an order—which, coming from Taehyung, also sounded like a threat.

“They said I couldn’t get back together with her,” Jungkook said.

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t really need to say anything else. Taehyung put the pieces together in his mind.

He concluded, “and you said you would.”

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest. “Right.”

“Mmhmm.” The veins on Taehyung’s neck protruded dangerously as he looked around the hallway before fixing his gaze on Jungkook again. “And?”

“A-and I tried to get out of this,” Jungkook said, “but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Taehyung questioned. “What do you lose if you don’t win the bet?”

“The Katana. But that’s not—”

The older member widened his eyes in evident disbelief. “You’re scared to lose your motorcycle?!”

The way he said it was as if “motorcycle” was a synonym for a “used napkin.” Jungkook felt himself shrink into the wall.

“No, that’s what I’m saying—I’m—I mean, I don’t want to lose it, because this makes no sense, it’s just a stupid bet,” he tried to explain, tripping over his words. He wasn’t sure if he was making any sense—judging from Taehyung’s expression, he wasn’t—but he still added, “but what I’m really scared to lose is her.”

“So, you’re back together?” Taehyung clarified.

“No.”

The older boy paused, trying very hard to comprehend and rationalise this as his mind refused to grasp the nonsensical information.

“And, of course, she doesn’t know about the bet?” he asked again.

Jungkook felt like a failing student. “One condition of the bet was that we wouldn’t tell her.”

“There were conditions to this bet,” Taehyung said with a sarcastic laugh. “Of course.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. He had thought that things weren’t going well for him, considering his incessant doubts and fears. But now, in retrospect, he realised that he had managed to live in denial quite successfully until now.

“Yeah, so—” he started to say, but Taehyung cut him off by lifting his hand as he still struggled to make sense of this mess.

“And why does Sid even want your bike?” the older member asked. “Doesn’t he have money pouring out of his ears?”

He had a valid point, of course, but Jungkook was already feeling very uncomfortable, so he mumbled childishly, “I don’t know.”

“Hmm. Well, let me make a wild guess here,” Taehyung said before he made a very accurate guess. “He knows it’s important to you. That’s the only reason why he wants it.”

Jungkook gritted his teeth. “Mmhmm. Probably.”

With his hands on his hips in a hopeless attempt to remain calm, Taehyung asked, “do you have a time limit for this exciting bet? Or will it continue until the tour ends?”

“No, it’s—two weeks,” Jungkook replied, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “I have about six days left.”

“Right. Six days left,” Taehyung repeated with a certain derision that made Jungkook tighten his grip around himself.

He was aware of the hole he’d dug for himself, and he was also aware that he had willingly jumped into it. But seeing Taehyung’s almost hostile stance scared him a little. If his friend reacted like this, how would you react?

Hesitantly, Jungkook admitted, “I, uh—to be honest, I don’t know what to do.”

Taehyung blinked at him like he’d never heard a more ignorant thing in his whole life.

“I see,” he said with relative serenity, considering all that he was about to unleash on the younger member. “I don’t know who dropped you on your head when you were a baby, but you’re acting like a complete fucking idiot right now. What the hell do you mean, you don’t know what to do?! You tell her about the fucking bet, that’s what you do!”

If there was one distinct thing about Taehyung—besides his fashion taste and the way cats tended to dislike him for some reason—it was that he didn’t curse. This was odd for a rock musician perhaps, but Jungkook winced at the swear words, even more so when the echo reverberated through the empty hallway.

In a panicked tone, he said, “okay, don’t yell—”

“How can I not yell when you’re about to—okay,” Taehyung stopped. He didn’t yell a lot, either, unless the situation called for it. And this one did very much call for it. But he knew that you were in the room right behind this door. You didn’t know about the bet, and this wasn’t the way you should have found out about it.

Taehyung took a breath and then spoke up in a more composed manner, “it’s one thing to sabotage the whole band. But her feelings are a completely different matter. You’re going to hurt her.”

Somehow, Jungkook seemed to lean even more heavily against the wall—as if it could absorb him if he concentrated hard enough.

“I’m—I don’t want that,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “I’m not trying to do that.”

“You have to tell her. I don’t know what else to say to you,” Taehyung finished. “You have to tell her before the time for your bet is up.”

Jungkook was quiet. He’d made the bet over a week ago, but now was the first time he found himself truly dreading the potential consequences of his decision. Now was the first time these consequences felt so real, so inevitable.

And the longer he wasted time not telling you about it—despite convincing himself that he should, that there was no other way—the more terrified he became to lose all that he had built with you. All that he had rebuilt. Especially during the past few days in Amsterdam.

Taehyung suddenly broke the silence by adding, “or I will.”

Jungkook raised his head. “What?”

“You tell her,” Taehyung said, “or I will.”

“I just asked you to—fuck.” The younger member pushed himself off the wall and turned to face it so he wouldn’t have to look at Taehyung. “I know that I have to—fuck. Fuck. Okay, I just—I’ll tell her.”

Softer now, because Jungkook’s decision was laced with unmistakable fear and pain, Taehyung said, “she deserves to know. You can’t play with people like that.”

“I know.” Jungkook kept his forehead pressed against the wall as he stared at the carpet. “This wasn’t supposed to get serious.”

Taehyung couldn’t help scoffing.

“Be reasonable,” he said. “How could it not get serious? You made a bet out of your relationship.”

“Technically, I made a bet out of going on a date with her,” Jungkook explained, but even he could tell that this was hardly better. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Those assholes wouldn’t let me off. They forced me into this—”

“Forced you into it?” Taehyung cut him off, mocking. “An adult who has legs and can stand up and just fucking leave? How exactly did they force you?”

Cringing again, Jungkook raised his head just so he could shake it.

“You don’t get it,” he said. Sighing, he turned around to look at Taehyung. “You’ve never—”

“I do get it,” he disagreed, taking a step closer and pointing a finger at Jungkook. Everything about his posture indicated that this wasn’t a concerned warning anymore. Now it really was a threat. “You made a mistake. Fix it.”

As soon as Jungkook lowered his eyes in miserable defeat, Taehyung pulled back and returned to the door. He gave Jungkook one more look before opening it and walking inside.

Jungkook simmered in self-hate—and a dash of self-pity—for another minute as he finished his champagne. It had been sitting in his cup for too long, and tasted dry and stale and nothing like you.

He wondered in a brief moment of intense despair, if this was how he would always feel once he lost you.

The unpleasant taste still lingered in his mouth when he went back inside. It only seemed to get worse when he noticed you on the armrest of the couch next to the rest of his bandmates.

For the first time in Jungkook’s life, the sight of your smile when you saw him didn’t excite him. It didn’t draw him closer.

It was the reason he stopped breathing. The reason he looked away and walked in the opposite direction.

He’d tell you. He’d have to.

But not tonight. Not in Amsterdam.

He wanted to have one good memory before he tore it all down.

chapter title credits: bad omens, “the death of peace of mind”

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook rockstar au #bts rockstar au #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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gamerbot-22 · 17 days ago

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🥀Submission🍭

Contains: Vashwood of a sort, between episodes (Ep 9 MILLIONS KNIVES & Ep 10 Humanity), sacrificial lamb allegory, Wolfwood is bullying Vash, wrestling, fighting, nosebleed (non-sexual), guilt, Livio haunts the narrative and Nicholas, me being pretentious about what I call Wolfwood in any given line, hurt/some comfort.

Word Count: 3,376

A/N: Hiii I'm still writing! Promise! I wrote this as a submission for the Final Frontier Vashwood zine and while I didn't get accepted as a main writer, I did get on as a spot writer! And I'm proud of myself for applying in the first place! It also gave me an excuse to finally write these two properly, which like... I've shockingly never done before despite Trigun being my personality since I watched the show. I spent a lot of time working on this, trying to hit a vibe, and I have. A lot of thoughts about what went into it but you've heard me ramble for long enough lol-- Maybe I'll find the time to write something more chipper for Pride Month

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! Buy me a Ko-Fi here!

The dividers in this post were made by @/strangergraphics ☆

Never in Nicholas' life has he seen a pair of tomas run so fast. Maybe he's feeling it especially because he could only keep one hand on the reins -- damn Punisher was too big to be tied down to anything so there goes one hand -- but the ride is about as rough as it got, charging over sand and stone under the cloak of night. The birds keep their heads as low as they can as their wide feet pound the sand beneath them, beating the loose grains into submission before pushing off just as fast, propelling through the freezing desert night like two bullets shot from the same gun, heading for the same target.

Nicholas hadn't doubted Brad when he said Vash was tough before they packed up and left — not when he's seen shadows of that resolve firsthand just a handful of hours ago — but the side of Vash he's riding with now is different than the ones from before. He has his head just about as low as the tomas he's riding, focused on the horizon as they make the insane race to JuLai. It's a foreign look in his usually soft blue eyes, but he still manages to carry that stubborn resolve. There's no stopping him from going right into The Eye of Michael's trap.

It was an underhanded trick to get Meryl and Roberto swept up in this, and even crueler to have Zazie and their swarm pluck them from that SHIP’s garden, but Nicholas isn’t surprised. The innocent always make good targets when you want people to fall in line. That’s why they’re The Eye’s favorite. There’s no clearer way to get the sacrificial lamb to slaughter than to send its friends ahead.

And a part of Nicholas, the part that just wants this goddamn road trip to be over and done with, knows that this is supposed to be a victory. He had been told to lead this lamb to slaughter and not only was it going willingly, it was running full speed towards it. He's quite literally hours away from the bag, and then Nicholas can be free of this hell of a “greater calling” he's been thrown into.

But of course, the other side of him has to chime in, too, all quiet and empathetic and worst of all -- right. The only reason this lamb is running is because it thinks it has a chance at a Tomorrow. Maybe not its own tomorrow -- Heaven knows Vash doesn't care about that– but the tomorrows of two people he's crazy enough to consider friends. Hell, and even if those nosy reporters weren't his friends, Vash would still be moving this fast. Just yesterday, he threw his own neck on the line to save a town full of strangers just because they were in danger, and before that, he was willing to die at the hands of a monster just because he felt guilty about a promise he shouldn't have made in the first place.

Brad said Vash was tough, sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that he's also soft as hell. Even though he's smart enough to know this whole thing is a trap to get him in JuLai, he's still throwing himself into it.

And goddamnit, Nicholas just can't stand to let it be this easy.

"Will you slow it down?!" Wolfwood shouts, just loud enough to be heard clearly over the sound of the tomas' footsteps on the sand.

Vash doesn't even acknowledge him.

He growls, then shouts louder. "Hey, d'you hear me, Spikey?!"

Not even a twitch in his neck. Vash and his tomas just keep rushing forwards, leaving Nicholas trailing behind in the dust. Fine. He's tired of being nice.

"This is a dumb plan, Needle-Noggin'!" He tightens his hold on his tomas' reins, squeezing the bird's body between his thighs in a ploy to keep from going ass-over-tea-kettle into the desert. "You know this is just what your brother wants!"

Lambs shouldn't go to the slaughter this quietly. They're supposed to tug and pull at the lead around their neck, bleating and begging.

"You know, Good Ol' Drunkle and the little lady are probably dead by now!"

A loud memory, a new memory, tugs at Wolfwood's mind. He shoves it aside to keep shouting.

"Or, you know, they could just be waiting to kill them in front of you! Once they've served their purpose!"

Vash is no help. He's still staring dead ahead at a city that's lights are barely becoming a speck on the horizon. Clearly, he's not going to let himself be reasoned with, so it's back on Nicholas to keep his mind on something other than that empty hole in his chest.

The smell of blood, the sound of an echoing gunshot. He holds onto the leather straps wrapped around his weapon, less praying for and more demanding that the image of familiar eyes going blank would come back and haunt him later.

Nicholas tries to summon up something, but before he can even get the wisps of smoke for some new train of thought, he's jolted. He suddenly notices the shallow rattle echoing from beneath the tomas' masks. They can't pant, but they're trying to, and he can see now that they're beginning to raise their feathers, flaring out in a desperate attempt to cool their bodies down without stopping. They've been running at full speed for what has to have been hours at this point. If they go on like this for much longer, they'll--

That’s it.

Wolfwood takes a deep breath in, not caring how the sharp night air cuts into his lungs before hollering out in one last attempt to get Vash to even just look back.

" WILL YOU STOP, NEEDLE-NOGGIN'?! YOU'RE GONNA KILL THAT TOMAS! "

Vash pulls the reins back so far, he almost has the tomas' head against his chest as it comes to a screeching halt. He didn't even think about it, it was just pure instinct, the moment he heard that word.

The stop is so sudden that Wolfwood almost comes barreling into his back, but he manages to steer his bird aside at the very last second, guiding it forward a few strides before it comes to a stop. And the moment his tomas is still enough, Nicholas is off his saddle, letting both Punisher and mount collapse into the sand in exhaustion while rider marches back unimpeded.

Vash is still on his mount’s back, rigid as a statue while his bird is bow-legged and huffing under his weight, head hanging low as Vash keeps his gaze turned to the horizon. He doesn't notice Nicholas' approach until the undertaker has him by the back of his jacket. Then, in one swift motion, Vash is tossed to the ground, thrown as easily from his saddle as if he was nothing but a rag doll.

Wolfwood quickly stands over him, cast in pure shadow against the night sky, blocking out the stars. He lets out a harsh breath, the resulting cloud of fog drifting away into nothing just as quickly as it came. The sight doesn't scare Vash, it only makes him pause before he tries to right himself.

"Stay down."

"No." Vash makes it from his back to his side, propping himself up on his prosthetic so he can get his legs ready to push up. Their mounts might be spent, but he's got the energy, as well as the experience. Running the rest of the way will be nothing to him.

He feels Wolfwood's shoe against his lower back, pushing down just enough to cause pressure, a threat of more force if he doesn't obey. "I said, stay down, Spikey. "

Vash stills, but it's not in submission. No, Wolfwood knows better than that. He can see the tension in this so-called lamb's shoulders, his muscles tight under all that fleece he likes to hide himself under. Still, a lamb's a lamb. He can pout and fight all he wants about having to wait for the slaughterhouse, but Wolfwood won't let him go without a fight.

He can't have another dull pair of eyes haunting him. Not so soon, at least. Vash could beat him, if he tries.

"We have to get to JuLai," Vash nearly whispers, voice tight as a noose around the both of them. "There's still a chance."

"You and what mount?" Nicholas shoves a hand into his jacket pocket, fishing out a cigarette bent from the rough ride. He sticks it between his lips as he goes for his lighter, gesturing it towards the two tomases. His own is still laying sideways in the sand, ribs rising and falling with each breath as the other drags itself to rest beside it, only half-tucking its long legs beneath its blue-green feathers. Wolfwood’s eyes linger on the two familiar birds for a moment, then flicker to his lighter, already pinched between his forefinger and thumb in preparation for that trick he made up God knows how long ago.

Goddamnit.

He shoves his lighter back in his pocket, leaving the cigarette in his mouth unlit while he pushes more of his weight onto Vash's back. "They've been running for hours. They're not machines. And neither are you."

Nicholas had expected Vash to do what he always did in the face of such harshness. He'll just roll over and show his stomach -- for real this time -- and lay there with that same soft, sad look in his eyes that he gets when he feels guilty.

What happens instead is that when Vash rolls, it's much faster, and when his face is turned skyward, meeting Wolfwood's gaze, the undertaker isn't greeted with that tender look onboard the sand steamer but the rage from after the fight with Monev at the Windmill Village. Rage that's been honed down to a singular point as the glass-like fingers of Vash’s prosthetic grab hold of Wolfwood's ankle and pull hard, hauling the undertaker into the sand alongside him before Vash makes another mad dash to try and get to his feet. Nicholas is quick too, though, and before Vash can even get up off of one knee, Nicholas has his arms around Vash's center, hauling him back down to the ground in a heap of red.

"I said, stay down! " He braces as Vash starts to try and wrestle free, unwieldy as he’s all gangly legs and strong arms, rolling this way and that in the coarse sand.

"The tomas can rest! I can make it the rest of the way on my own!" Vash tries to jam his fingers under Wolfwood's hand, trying to pry him off of his stomach, but to no avail, even with the strength of his prosthetic.

Wolfwood drags himself higher onto Vash's back, the both of them kicking up loose sand in some desperate attempt at finding a foothold before the other one could. Just one solid thing would be enough to turn the tides, but No Man's Land will never be that easy.

"Did you hit your head when I threw you down?" He grits out, finally letting his busted-up cigarette fall away, disappearing in the shuffle. "You'll just drop dead instead, and then where would you be?"

Vash gives up on a foothold or trying to pry Wolfwood off of him. He writhes like an insect, using every segment of his body to reach for the dunes ahead of him. "There's still a chance to save them all! Even if I have to drag myself all the way there!" He clutches at the loose ground beneath him, and through sheer force of will, he manages to drag both him and his unwilling cargo maybe a foot forwards.

"You're insane! Why do you even care?!" Wolfwood almost growls. He can feel Vash already running out of steam, although it's happening a lot faster than he thought it might. "They knew what they were signing up for when they decided to haul around 'The Humanoid Typhoon!'"

Vash claws at the sand, raking through each loose grain as he fights for each breath. "They're my friends! My family! I can't just let them destroy each other!" The stars on the horizon are starting to blur for him now, and the extra weight on his back is doing nothing for the tight feeling inside his chest.

"Your family? " Nicholas has to fight back a laugh. "Those reporters are just collateral to your brother! And you're so goddamn gun shy, what are you gonna do when you get there and they're already dead? Cry at him? "

"You don't know if they're dead!"

"They're as good as it!" Wolfwood lunges, laying flat on Vash's back now to get a grasp on his wrist, holding him in a near crushing grasp. This is it. This is the fight he's looking for, even if it's not the reason he wants out of this lamb.

And damn, does he fight. The moment Wolfwood's fingers close around Vash's wrist, he rolls again, swiftly pinning the undertaker down on his back in a ploy to turn the tables. It almost works, but Nicholas has wrestled bigger, meaner rams than the cotton ball cloud in his arms. Vash can't even take the breath to prepare himself to break free with how tightly Wolfwood is holding onto him.

"That's what you said about the orphanage! On the Steamer--" Vash can feel the same sting in his eyes and chest now, like ice piercing his heart as he fights for air, for a chance to fix this before it's too late. "That there was no other way--"

"That was one time! " Wolfwood snarled. "One time it worked! Even the chances of getting them out at a million to one!"

"I have to try! " Vash rolls onto his stomach, trying to shake Wolfwood off, but he fails.

"No, you don’t! " Wolfwood digs his knees into the ground, crushing his weight down onto Vash. The noise that’s forced out is a desperate bleat, half a sob and half a cry for air.

"Yes, I do--!" the lamb gasps, painfully aware that an agonizing end of some kind is waiting for him on the horizon regardless of the outcome. He'll fight against it and hope, because it's all he can do, but pinned here in the sand, he can't ignore the risk as easily as he usually can. "I have to save them! All of them--!"

" Why, Vash?! " Wolfwood barks out his final demand, the one at the foundation of all of this. "Even if Meryl and Roberto are still alive, why do you want to save all of them?! It was your brother that did this! That took them away! How do you know he can be saved?!"

"I don't!" Vash raises his head from the ground in one last attempt at defiance, the back of his skull crashing into Wolfwood's hooked nose as he cries out. " But what kind of a brother am I if I don't try?! "

Nicholas groans, letting go of Vash to hold his nose. The sudden strike is enough to make his ears ring, echoing throughout his bones like the old bell that hung over the Hopeland Orphanage. The reverberations carry memories to his mind, coming straight from the deepest recesses of his mind, the ones he's been trying so hard to ignore now that the person he shared them with is... gone. Laying on his back here, staring at the sky... he can almost feel the weight of Livio's head on his stomach, with his little hands balled up in Nico's shirt, holding onto him so tight even in his dreams. It's like Nico could just reach down and feel his brother's soft hair, simple as that. Maybe, if he’d been able to fight as hard as Vash is now…

Wolfwood is pretty sure his nose is bleeding.

Vash takes his first breath of air since Wolfwood tackled him, the tears that had gathered in his eyes finally falling down his cheeks and then disappearing, drying out from the shock of what he's done. He stares, like an animal in headlights, as Nicholas' thick eyebrows tighten, knitting agony and anger and grief into his face.

Vash pushes onto his knees, scrambling to Wolfwood's side with his hands out, ready to do... something, anything, to help, the fight entirely forgotten. He reaches to lift Nicholas' head, but hesitates, stopping just short of cupping his dark hair in his hands.

Every single time Vash has tried to save someone, they get hurt. No matter what he tries to do, there's always pain, following him around like a ghost just to taint every person he dares to even look at, let alone get close to. It's the case with Tonis and the people of Jeneora Rock, to Rollo in the Windmill Village, to... Rem, and the other researchers onboard the ship, as well as all of their sisters...

And now it was happening to Meryl and Roberto… and even Wolfwood.

Still, if Vash can't help others, he surely can't help himself.

"Are you okay...?" All of the furious passion is gone from him, replaced by that timid, even sheepish tone he normally speaks in.

Wolfwood growls back, but nods, eyes still squeezed shut.

"I'm sorry, Wolfwood, I didn't mean t--"

"Save it, Needle-Noggin'." Sure enough, when Wolfwood pulls his hand away to point at Vash, there's blood running from one of his nostrils. "Don't apologize for finally showing some goddamn spine."

Vash sighs, offering a hint of a smile to match the hint of a compliment inside that biting remark.

Nicholas keeps his head tilted back, remembering from somewhere that that's what you're supposed to do when your nose is bleeding. He could just fix it, heal it in an instant, but... it feels like a waste. And it's his own damn fault for bullying a ram like Vash and thinking he’d walk away unhurt.

Without anything easy to say, the two men turn their gaze to the sky, looking up at the distant stars as they twinkle and shine, cold and unfeeling to what's happening beneath them but still so beautiful. It's a waste to have a sky like that on a night like this, when they're both too in pain to enjoy it.

The urge to make a break for JuLai hasn't left Vash -- in fact, it's only gotten worse now that he and Wolfwood have been sitting in silence for this long -- but he remains still, gaze shifting from the stars to Nicholas and back, running over every possible plan he can think of for how to get Meryl and Roberto out of there, and how he can get through to his brother. He's thinking so loud that it's not even surprising when Wolfwood speaks again.

"Tomas... are hardy birds," Wolfwood says, head still tilted back. He gestures towards where he thinks the tomas are, and sure enough, in the vague direction Wolfwood is pointing, the both of them have caught their breath and are sitting by the Punisher, which will never get the luxury. "They'll be ready to run in a little while. 'Till then... catch your own damn breath. And keep your head on right. We're gonna need it."

Vash blinks. "We... You're still coming with me to JuLai?"

"Only to make sure you get there in one piece," he grumbles, and finally some of the muscles in his shoulders relax. "Maybe see the little lady and Drunkle out once you're on your way up to see your brother." Then his job will be over.

Vash's heart swells in his chest, almost big enough to steal his breath away as he gazes down at Wolfwood, still aching in the sand but a little less now that he’s had time and space. It'll hurt more now to lead such a good lamb to die, but... at least Wolfwood knows why he's being so good about it now. It's all for his family. For Roberto, and Meryl, and even for his brother. That part he can understand.

"Thank you, Wolfwood." The lamb's voice is as soft as it's ever been.

"Quit thanking me, too." The undertaker wipes what's left of building tears away. "It won't do you any good."

#Rosie Writes #Vash the Stampede #Nicholas D. Wolfwood #Vashwood #of a sort #Trigun #Trigun Stampede #Trigun Stampede fanfic #Trigun fanfic #Ao3 #Ao3 Writer

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vennywrites · 1 month ago

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The Fallen

Part I

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Erwin Smith x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: You’ve followed them into hell and back. What’s one more round, what’s one last push? So, when the final order comes, when Levi makes the impossible choice and Erwin’s dream lies shattered in it’s wake, you press a kiss to their lips and tell them you’re right where you need to be. It’s a good ending, a clean one. Your lives for the truth. Only that you wake hours later in the ruins of a battlefield. Your own personal hell - but your heart still beats.

Warnings: Canon Divergence, Return to Shiganshina Arc, Canon-typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Injury, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Denial, Established Relationship

a/n: Here's part I. I'll post a chapter each Sunday, the tumblr post is just delayed bc I was on vacation. Thanks so much for reading!

Ao3

-♦-

Day 1 after the Battle of Shiganshina - 850 - Inside Wall Maria

The first sense to come back to you is your hearing and with it the utter silence surrounding you.

No wind, no birds, no screams or cries - nothing.

The second thing you notice are the smell and taste of blood. Iron sits heavy in your mouth, the stench of it lingering in the air around you. Your limbs are stiff and unmoving and when you finally find the strength to open your eyes, blood clumps your lashes together, turning the blue sky overhead a streaky red.

As you try to move again, something weights you down, so heavy and unmoving that you wonder if the stone that hit you still rests on top of you. You blink as best you can, try your hardest to make sense of yourself and the space around you.

Turning your head, you find death all around you.

Horses and comrades, stone and blood and blades all scattered across the fields where you lie, you’re surrounded by a self-imposed massacre.

Levi was right - Erwin led you straight into hell. You never expected it to be so quiet.

Who knows how long you lay there, staring at the sky above, waiting for the devil to claim you. But nothing happens. Silence reigns.

So when you find it in yourself to at least attempt to move, to sit up, you find not a bolder, but your horse collapsed atop of you, hear massive body, bloody and blown to bits, trapping half your body beneath.

You try your best not to remember your last moments.

So you sit up, only to find your left arm a bloody mess, crushed and twisted, pinkish bone sticking out in several places. Your head swims, your vision dizzy as you try to detach yourself from the very sight before you, from your very body that flares back to live with all it’s pains and all it’s horror.

You throw up before you even know what’s happening, bile rising so quickly that you spill your guts out into the trampled grass until you’re out of breath and wheezing, choking on your own spit and vomit.

A gust of wind gently blows across the fields, strands of loose hair, stringy with blood, stick to your forehead, Clover’s mane gently swaying in the breeze.

All around you, there’s only death.

Pushing at your horses corpse proves futile. Your whole body is shaking and weak, only one arm any use as you try to wriggle and scoot your way out from beneath her. You get a nosebleed somewhere along the way, spit blood every once in a while as you ever so slowly make progress in shifting out from under your dead horse.

You’re used to pain, used to the aches and the bruises and the broken bones from your missions. You’ve fallen before, bruising your whole body in the progress. Once, you got tangled in a stray cable, almost decapitating yourself in the process, the skin on your neck never fully recovering from the strain, still darkened and visible. You’ve been grabbed before too, a giant hand snatching you out of the air like a fly, squeezing enough to make your ribs crack like twigs. You’re used to the raw lines on your body where the harness sits, used to the bruising and the swollen redness that follows and lingers for weeks after a mission.

But this, this is death, it must be. While your arm is far beyond any feeling, immobile and so utterly ruined that you cannot even feel it anymore, the rest of your body makes up for it with a pain so ever-present and all-consuming that the slightest movement threatens to push you back into unconscious bliss.

Despite it all, you fight on. You’re a scout, you remind yourself. Not just that, but a senior member, one of the last remaining ones in your push to reclaim Shiganshina. You’re respected. And not only that, you’re loved. So loved.

Loved by two men who were willing to break protocol to ensure your survival.

Before your inner eye, everything in streaky red as if even your brain is bleeding, you see them both before you, Erwin with his easy smile, his handsome face and bright eyes. Levi, guarded and serious, but with hands that always linger, a voice that only softened when you were alone.

The thought of them is enough to make you fight on, to struggle against the carcass that weights you down and as a scream rips from your lips, you manage to get one leg free. Instant relief is something you weren’t sure you were capable to feel, yet with a leg free, you manage to free the other before collapsing back on the ground, grunting and spluttering from exertion.

Above you, small clouds drift by, unbothered by the carnage.

For a long while, you only lay there and shuffle the pain around, try to cope as best as you can. When you finally start moving, you roll slowly onto your belly before pushing yourself to a sit, you turn enough to spot the line of titans in the distance. You truly where one of the first to fall.

Where titans had stood steadfast and looming, now there’s only steam and crumbled bodies where Levi tore through them. In their midst, the giant ape lies defeated, enough steam rising to hide the horizon in a wavering cloud of smoke.

Pride warms your chest as you stare at the bodies. It wasn’t for nothing. Levi succeeded. You can only hope he made it back up the wall, joining Hange in her effort to stop Braun and Hoover.

Which leaves you with another task altogether.

Gritting your teeth, you push yourself up, bend your trembling legs to stand and feel the dizziness wash over you with a vengeance as you rise, vision blurring once more, nothing to hold onto as you fight for balance. You’re more than lucky - you’re aware - your ankles and knees, your legs overall still intact and unbroken. At your hips, your ODM gear hangs busted and broken, the metal casing bent, the device on your back lost somewhere along your downfall. You fumble with the straps, unclasp the buckles until the blade casings clatter to the ground, your body immediately lighter without the gear dragging you down.

When you lift your hand to your brow, the blood is dark and thick, coating your fingers like molten wax. You stain your dirty jacket in an effort to clean your face, to wipe the blood from your eyes, grimacing all the while as the fabric scraps over wounds.

Then, there’s only one thing on your mind. Somewhere in this field of death, Erwin lies. And you’re set on finding him.

With Titus being one of the only horses with a white coat, you know your best chance lies in finding the horse and not it’s rider, yet you catch yourself double-checking every blond soldier you find as you weakly stumble across the battlefield.

Remembering is a struggle. Everything blurs together in a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and brain fog, chunks of memory missing as you try to scrap together the past few hours. Figments of Erwin’s speech, the anxious shift of your horse beneath you. The click of your gun as you fire the first and last smoke signal. Levis lips pressed against yours, Erwin’s head resting against your lower belly. The flaring pain as a rock swipes Clover’s feet from under her and your world shifts upside down.

Everybody is dead.

Every last one of them.

[Read the whole chapter on Ao3]

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #erwin smith x reader #levi x reader #aot #snk

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bloodstcinedblonde · 18 days ago

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sophie thatcher . cis-female . she/her . * | look, there goes fiadh sullivan ! they're the twenty-five year old i was telling you about … you know the libra ? it's their fifth case with the crew — when she set her sleeve on fire mid-seance while gesturing dramatically with a lit candle … originally from donegal, ireland, let's hope their hand stitched pocket shrine is enough to protect them from being trapped in confined spaces. most people know them as protective and intuitive, but don't be surprised if their superstitious side slips out when the lights flicker. this time around, they're signed on as the exorcist, which makes sense considering they spend most of their time gardening like their life depends on it. if you ever need them, try picturing the last sliver of moon behind clouds, nettles blooming through cracked stone, the smell of the earth after it rains, a whispered prayer, sea glass arranged in a crescent on the windowsill or whispering fi into the walkie. but beware — if they don't answer, something else might. | penned by ev . 24 . gmt +1 . she/her .

BASICS.

full name: fiadh (fee-a) margaret rose sullivan

nickname(s): fi (fee) , fiadhín (fee-een, by her parents), never fifi

age: twenty-five

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

date & place of birth: october 18th in donegel, ireland

faceclaim: sophie thatcher

traits: superstitious, intuitive, protective, wry, sharp tongued, ritualistic, quietly brave, haunted, self reliant

aesthetics: last sliver of moon behind clouds, nettles blooming through cracked stone, the smell of the earth after it rains, a whispered prayer, sea glass arranged in a crescent on the windowsill

HEADCANONS.

grew up in a small, rural coastal village in donegal. her father was a fisherman quiet, strong, dependable. until one night he vanished in a storm, swallowed by the unforgiving atlantic. the village never stopped murmuring about curses or bad luck tied to that night, though no one dared say it aloud.

her mother is referred to as the woman with the cure in her area. she blends herbs, old prayers, and ancient rituals inherited from generations past. watching her mother at work, fiadh learned early how to read the signs others missed, to feel the presence of things unseen, and what to use to push back the darkness.

she wasn’t trained so much as raised into it. whispers passed down from mother to daughter. no certificates. just instinct, tradition, and the kind of learning that happens when no one else will do it.

fiadh’s spiritual practice is a bit of a patchwork quilt woven from equal parts catholicism and paganism. fiadh’s catholicism is mostly cultural stuff handed down like an old family recipe she didn’t ask for but can’t quite ignore. a mix of tradition and superstition, but she navigates it on her own terms.

when she was a kid, she wandered into a ring of hawthorn trees in a field by her house, a known fairy fort. it was as if the field had turned into a maze but she could no longer find the opening in the hedge to get out. felt like she had been stuck for minutes but when she finally arrived home it has been hours

she gets nosebleeds after intense cleansings. not dramatic just a slow trickle, like something’s been knocked loose inside her.

leaves offerings bits of bread, coins, even shiny buttons near old trees or stones.

she can tell when something’s wrong in a house the moment she crosses the threshold like tasting iron on her tongue.

EXTRAS.

pinterest . spotify

#ptv.intro #i wanted to get something up before i went to bed!#wcs to come tomorrow

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hellyesbro · 1 year ago

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since you're getting nosebleed pic asks already i dont feel as awkward saying this but when you posted that my first thought was 'ah yes power is in fact my coolest mutual'

ehehehe like. Its crazy I walked away from that fight adrenalined out of my mind and then had the most INSANE moodswings of my life when I came back down but now I'm kind of a (more paranoid) baseline as in I feel normal at home and noided outside but I used to feel noided outside all the time so I'm also stoned as hell because I've been smoking less weed so I forgot my tolerance is waaaayyy lower but its 2am so thats like, fun instead of stressful.Oh yeah I was saying I'm noided as fuck when I'm outside but I used to be SUPER noided as a teen bc dudes were like. always sexually harassing me. So its something i'm well aware I can heal from so I'm kind of zen about that. I owe my roommate like 5 dollars because I accidentally made her butane can explode everywhere like 20 times because I'm dumb as rocks and forgot how to refill a butane lighter. you gotta press the nozzle in like CRAZY hard. SO at first I was convinced her lighter was just broken, so I went to the illegal corner weed store (philadelphia is a wonderful place, there are many stores like this but most are subtle abt it. These guys are SO open about it and they get shut down and reopen like every other week) to get a new lighter and it looks like a grenade (I'll edit this post on app and add a vid later, too lazy to upload this to my pc (i'm on my pc because im dumb as rocks and couldnt figure out how to privately answer asks on mobile so I thought I could figure it out on pc but I still cant)) and used that to operate my roommates dab rig and smoke my other roommates dabs. I wasn't stealing I asked permission. I used to steal a lot but theyd always get pissed off which was jarring to me because I've only ever lived with partners so I'm really used to just us stealing shit from eachother and nobody bats an eye except we called it "sharing". but then it ran out of butane and I couldnt get it refilled either and I went full panic mode and wasted a fuckload and then i suddenly remembered how to refill it correctly so I refilled both lighters and they both worked so I did not need to spend $8 on a novelty lighter but the girl at the register was cuuuuuuute, Also we got snax on the way home at this super cheap corner store that also illegally sells weed and loosies so we got 24oz bottles of soda for $1.25 each and they have 75 cent plastic wrapped pastries and 99c cotton candy its fucking junk food heaven im incapable of gaining weight but my teeth want to kill me and i think im at risk for developing diabetes (dw im like really happy these days) but I digress. Thanks for checking in!!!!

#jesus CHRIST I am high #I think this might be my ulysses #a cockstuck doorhinge #Did you know my friends used to say I reminded them of dave strider

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xf-cases-solved · 11 months ago

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S1E10: Fallen Angel

Case: A meteor crashes outside of Townsend, Wisconsin. Or maybe it was a downed Libyan fighter jet. Or maaaaybe it was a... dun dun... UFO? (It was a UFO)(Probably) Mulder goes to investigate without clearance, a plan, or his partner/carrier of his only brain cell, and ends up captured, leading to Scully picking him up from jail for the second time in five episodes. Before that, though, he meets Max—a nomadic UFO fanatic who may be suffering from psychosis or possibly the effects of being repeatedly abducted without his knowledge, and is the only part of this episode I care about. Mulder wants to prove the crash was a UFO before the government erases all the evidence, meanwhile Scully wants desperately for Mulder not to lose his fucking job. Will things all work out in the end? (no) Will they get the answers they seek? (also no) And will the audience be any closer to unraveling the mystery being spun? (absolutely not)

Does someone die in the cold open: Yes. All we see, as the man screams in agony while losing his life, is a giant flash of light, leaving me to assume that he was killed by the LED headlights on some asshole's pickup truck.

Does Mulder present a slideshow: No, this was one of those "my informant sent me here with very little context and I kind of just do whatever I'm told bc at this point I'm desperate for any crumb of information" episodes.

Does the evidence survive the investigation: There never was any evidence, and if you don't want to be sent to the reeducation center in Area 51 you'll agree with me.

Whodunit: -vague gesturing toward the government or mb aliens-

Convictions: I'm pretty sure Mulder had to have broken at least a couple laws, not just Bureau policy, and technically he was arrested, but afaik he wasn't charged with anything, so. Nah.

Did they solve it: No, but they leveled up in experience points and added Max to their inventory.

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Fisheye lenses. Is your character having supernatural flashbacks, being chased by an invisible alien, and/or is maybe having a psychotic break? Are you filming from the perspective of A Creature? Do you need to indicate that things are Wonky and Weird but it's the 90s and you're on a first season budget? Look no further than fisheye lenses!

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 3

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, it's me" phone calls: 1

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 4 (in her defense, i was barely watching either)

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 2 (not upping the stat because i don't think they ever really planned to kill him, and the fisheyed alien ghost wanted Max, not him)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 3

Total Number of Sexually Charged and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 5 (Scully was too gd annoyed with Mulder to do any flirting)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 1 (though she did get to play doctor—in a literal way, not sexy roleplay way—and that's always fun. maybe i'll make that a stat)

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 1 (if i missed any before this episode, no i didn't)

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 5 (though it was technically a flashback, but it was a flashback to something we'd never seen so)

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 1 (i sat here for a while trying to remember if anyone else had said it before Max, and i am almost certain they haven't. if i'm wrong, then idk, stone me to death or something)

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 2

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 3 (yeah, not even an inkling of an idea of where this was until i looked it up)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 2 (i had spent so much time worrying about Space that I forgot about Fallen Angel. this episode was both boring AND fucking confusing, so yeah, wikipedia answered a lot of the above)

#txf cases solved #s1e10: fallen angel #this episode might be better than i made it seem #i was just not in the mood for a conspiracy ep when i watched it #the later max eps are better tho #anyway #msr #txf #the x-files

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moondane-lovers · 9 months ago

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SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 - DAY 1

confession | night. -Spandam

Spandam tries to explain something to Pluto about the way they treat him. Pluto mourns the loss of a visual nighttime on Enies Lobby.

CW for momentary ideation mention, very brief.

He was surprised to see her up on the roof at this hour, but why? She was the type to hide in her quarters all night long and reappear for her shift. Then again…

Spandam fiddled with the collar of his shirt, breaking into a light sweat. He was not ready for this, this was a cruel and unusual punishment, as though dealing with Jabra’s incessant prodding was enough! He was at the point where speaking to her alone was not something he was capable of without stumbling over his words, as well as his- his feet. Oh, it was happening again.

He had just tripped over his own feet and fell facedown onto the hard stone flooring of the roof, inches away from having a tumble down the stairs as a cruel bonus. He could feel a nosebleed coming on and impact aches were setting in fast.

“Oh uh- Security Chief!! You okay? Hold on, I'm coming!” He was doomed, they had heard him fall and was hurrying over to give him a hand, her voice filled with genuine concern. Genuine... ah yes, that was what bothered him so much.

The next few minutes were a blur as Spandam found himself riding out a nosebleed with a tissue stuffed up his nose, staring up at the bright sky with a janitor next to him. He was semi-paralyzed due to his proximity to them, barely able to force the words out.

“S-so…” Spandam stuttered.

“Huh?”

“What were you doing up here so late, hm? Something to- to hide perhaps?!”

He would always do this, throw an accusation or project something silly onto Pluto to get out of navigating a proper conversation with them. He couldn’t handle it, it was too much for his… emotions? Something horrifying like that. It was routine for her answers to be reasonable, just like her calm handling of his unique behavior.

“No, nothing like that, I’d rather not risk my life that way. I couldn’t sleep and I missed the night sky so… I guess that’s why I come up here.” She looked up, exhaustion evident.

“Eh?” He tilted his head, the gears turning in his mind.

“Theres- the sky is bright at all hours no matter what you do! What does coming up here do to… to change how you feel?!” He crossed his arms, trying to appear as if he didn’t care.

“I don’t know. It’s just… surreal that past a certain distance, the sun stops defying logic and there’s a transitional wall of false day and true night.” They shrugged. “You?”

He let out a squeak and went rigid, trying to find an acceptable answer while processing the strangeness she was spouting. “I-I was just getting some fresh air!” He wasn’t lying, making his panic even dumber.

“Ah, cool.”

“…yes.”

An awkward silence followed as they stared up at the sky for a few minutes. Then, there was a little something trying to force its way out of his throat and into the open.

“I er… would like to say that I appreciate your dedication to your duties with…” He trailed off, gripping the railing.

“Oh, thanks, whatever it is. I try.” Pluto’s slight smile and surprised acknowledgment of praise only made him more anxious.

“With… your… t-tolerance of my…” He looked like he was about to pass out. “M-my… recurring mishaps.” He exhaled.

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re both people, getting hurt is a painful experience and everyone deserves support when-” Pluto had blinked and he had vanished, bolting off with a quick “wellihavetogetbacktomyreports!” before she could finish speaking.

Alone again, she returned to staring up at the endless daylight, questioning if it was all worth it.

Thankfully, Spandam did not trip on his way down the stairs this time.

#finally doing these!#selfshiptober 2024 #writing #s/i #selfship art #selfship writing #my stuff #selfshiptober #👑Gilded Wastebasket🧹

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autistic-parker · 2 years ago

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CHAINS

With a shove, I tripped face-first into the cell, squeaking as I felt my nose crunch on the cold stone. Behind me the door slammed and the lock clicked into place. I listened carefully, eyes closed, bleeding onto the ground, until I heard the jailer's footsteps move away.

I shifted onto my side with a rattling noise (which was far too loud in the circumstances) and waited longer until I heard the door away from the cells open and then slam shut once again.

I almost hate to say that I understood why this had been the punishment. It certainly put a damper on my plans of escape. For now. The shackles wouldn't stay on forever.

I winced as I finally sat up, not really wanting to but also not especially wanting to cut off my circulation to my arms or lie down on my back and risk choking on my own blood.

It was getting towards evening and the light mostly ended up in the cells on the other side. The light that reached my little cell was significantly dimmer at that point, diffused as it was along with the late evening coming on. Might be diner soon.

Provided the screws thought the shackles were sufficient punishment and didn't also decide to withhold any meals. Just what I'd fucking need, I'm sure. The nosebleed and bruised ribs should go into their calculations too. I just had to hope that would be enough. I'd certainly be in a lot of pain for quite a while. Even more so it the shackles started to chafe and blister my ankles.

I spat blood onto the floor and leaned a little more forward. The blood gleamed a slightly sinister orange in the evening light. Times like these I wished the other cages had occupants. Even just to stare at. People watching was always interesting, even if they weren't doing anything. (Or at least it something interesting, and even with the pain I found myself dreadfully bored.) (It's horrifying, sometimes, the things one can get used to.) (If only I wasn't too damn freaked out to shout at myself.)

(I tried that a few days ago and nearly scared myself to death. It felt like I was having a heart attack. I had ended up sobbing very very quietly, mouth closed, and the guard who'd eventually come down gave me a strange look. Pitying instead of hateful.)

#october writing #october writing 2023

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fightclubgayporn · 2 years ago

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Rubbing Alcohol

Summary: An exploration of Kan and Vernon's friend-ish-ship, through the lens of Kan being an alcoholic. 2nd person, Kan's perspective. uh cw for alcoholism obvs and also Vernon makes like one suicide joke

“Get up.”

Bleary, you look up from prone position and meet the cold blue eyes of Vernon Valentine. The asphalt crushing your face has notes of nosebleed and wet stone.

You mumble incoherently into the pavement, allowing the rain water to soak your shirt. You’re already wet, so who cares?

“Kan,” Vernon sighs. It’s one of the bad sighs, a sharp one that means he’s annoyed with you. “Get up already. I’m serious. I wanna go home.”

You want to go home, too. It’s cold, for early September, at least, and you’re craving the comfort of your bedframeless mattress. You kick your toe against the pebbled ground. You tripped on the loose gravel on your way to wrap your arms around his neck. He never hugs you, you’re always the initiator. It’s become a sort of game of yours, to see how much intimacy you can get away with before he pushes back.

It’s stupid, and you know that, but you can’t get rid of your desire to weigh him down, drag him to your level. He’s so above it all, and you’re so…not.

You’re taller than him, by a fair bit, but it never feels that way. Especially when you’re facedown, looking up at him like he’s your god-king. At this moment, he looks more like a disappointed parent.

“Help me…” you mumble, weakly squeezing the air, grasping for Vernon’s hand. It’s always been this way; you’re the one who fucks up and he’s the one to put you back together.

He sighs, but you feel his cold hand grasp yours, and soon you’re back on your feet. You’re not a light guy, but Vernon lets you sling an arm around his neck, shouldering your weight like a champ.

“Alright, big guy. Let’s get you home.”

When you blink up at him, he’s smiling, all soft and nurturing. He likes you, that’s why he puts up with you and your mistakes. Or, mutters a voice of self-doubt, he just likes the control.

You’re lucky to have him. So lucky. You say so, pouring the words into the gap between his sweatshirt and his skin.

“I know,” he murmurs. It’s so soft, you almost don’t hear it, so gentle that the warm alcohol in your stomach starts feeling like something akin to love.

You could cry, and you will when you’re back in your bed, when Vernon goes back to his room, and you’re alone. Sometimes you wish he would open the door, crawl under the covers with you, share his body heat, though you know he never will.

It doesn’t hurt to hope.

You wake up late. There’s a pounding sea between your ears and a soreness behind your ribs. You hug your pillow closer, trying to blot out the deafening light coming through your tiny window.

You can hear Vernon in the kitchen, and your stomach growls. You haven’t eaten since last night, and besides, a bag of corn nuts and four shots of vodka isn’t exactly a meal.

Fighting your sluggish muscles, you manage to make it out of your room.

“Morning, sleeping beauty” Vernon greets you, pushing a glass of water across the table.

You take a sip, mostly just to see the approval wash across his face. You feel more lonely than hungover.

“You want something to eat?” Vernon asks, except he’s not asking, so it comes out more as a statement. You want something to eat. You do. Period. End of sentence.

You make a noncommittal hum. He’ll do what he wants. It doesn’t matter what you say.

“How’s your head?” he asks, sliding a piece of bread into the toaster with practiced efficiency. With his other hand, he takes a battered stick of butter out of the fridge, smacking it a few times to warm it up.

“You know. Bad.” you shrug, leaning your elbows on the table. “I’ve had worse, though. I’ll survive.”

Vernon chuckles, punctuated by the bread popping out of the toaster. “Most psychiatrists would call you an alcoholic.”

It’s a joke. He says it like one, at least. But you’re not an alcoholic. You don’t think.

“I’m fun when I drink,” you reason. It’s true, you are. Everyone likes to watch someone make a fool of themselves, everyone prefers the manic to the depressive. You’re no fun when you’re holed up in your room, smelling like smoke and fermentation, wasting away.

“Sure,” He says, scratching butter across the toast. You hate the sound. It means he left the bread in the toaster for too long.

“I’m not an alcoholic.” You say firmly. Vernon raises his eyebrows at you, and, okay, that might have sounded a little defensive. “Really,” you insist. Really.

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I was just saying.”

Lighten up.

He slides you the toast, looking at the microwave clock instead of you.

9:38

“Shit,” He mutters, shoving a ring of keys into his pocket and still not looking at you. You take a bite of the toast. It’s burnt.

Vernon works at the diner around the corner. He’s a waiter, which always struck you as odd. It’s hard to picture Vernon serving anyone.

You’re not complaining, though. It’s not like you’re employed. You’re so utterly reliant on Vernon that you wouldn’t care what he did for a living, even if he was a hired killer. He takes care of you. That’s all that matters.

You’re lucky, you really are.

It’s boring, waiting for Vernon to come home. You guess it’s pathetic that he’s the center of your universe, that you’d fall out of orbit if he ever left. Then you see him again, and you don’t care anymore. You’re fine with being pathetic.

Most people would say that you’re in love with him. You guess it’s true. You’d fuck him if he asked. You’d do anything if he asked.

You can’t picture being boyfriends, though. The two of you aren’t lacey red valentines and sweet nothings and pillow talk, you’re cranberry liqueur and cheap takeout and codependent coexistence.

Not quite love. Love-adjacent, maybe. Infatuation.

The hours pass. You stay in bed, watching reality shows and waiting for Vernon to come back. You make yourself microwave rice. You take a nap. You wake up. You force yourself to leave the beer in the fridge. You wait.

At 7:03, the front door slams open and you hear Vernon throw his keys onto the counter.

You wait a full four seconds before coming out to meet him. You don’t want to appear too desperate, like some sort of 50s housewife. Honey, I’m home!

You snort. The image is absurd. Vernon isn’t giving you a kiss on the cheek, he’s muttering angrily under his breath.

You see his face and your stomach sinks. Bad mood, tread lightly.

“Uh, did something…happen?”

Vernon smiles, mean and sharp. “Did some—” he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Kan, something happened.”

You deserve that. It’s a habit that’s always annoyed him, how you state the obvious. Can’t just be comfortable in silence, can you?

“Do you need anyth—”

“It’s just so frustrating! A customer breaks a plate and I get blamed? Fucking fascists, all of them!” You know by now that when Vernon gets like this, it’s not because he’s mad at you. You’re just the nearest person. You’re just a body. “And I can’t even quit, cause you’re never gonna get a job! Your only two settings are depressed and drunk, and only one of those is halfway tolerable!”

The words hit you like a slice in the gut. It’s a joke, or he says it like one, but you can read between the lines.

You’re only fun when you’re wasted.

“Hey,” your voice comes out weak and shaky, like a newborn calf trying to walk.

Vernon raises an eyebrow at you. “What? I’m just saying.”

Lighten up.

“Okay.” What are you supposed to say? How are you supposed to fix this?

“Hey, don’t be like that.” His expression softens and any amount of contempt you held for him instantly melts away. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You know. You know he didn’t. He’s a saint for putting up with you, you can’t stay mad. You can’t even stay hurt.

“I can…try to look for a job. If you want.” You really don’t want to. But it’s Vernon. You have to try for Vernon.

His eyebrows shoot up, then he bursts out laughing. “Ha! Oh my god, Kan, you do not have to do that. Oh my god.” He smiles up at you, and yes, you’re taller than him, but when he laughs like that, you feel like a child. “Listen, I love you, man, but we both know you’re cut out for that kind of thing.”

Huh?

“Huh?”

Vernon’s lips quirk up, condescending. “Um. Kan. Come on.” There’s a pause. “You’re just kind of… no offense, but you’re, like, a total screw-up.”

Your heart feels like it’s been doused in ice water. He’s right, of course, he always is. You’re always the first to admit that you’re a failure. It feels different when he says it, though. Like your stomach is trying to throw itself up. How does it always end up with him comforting you?

“Like, I feel like you’d work one shift and then hang yourself, you know?” He laughs, but you’re not in on the joke. “Just let me take care of the hard stuff, ‘kay?”

He throws an arm around your shoulders and squeezes, the kind of hug that guys who don’t hug give.

At least he’s touching you.

#i wrote this for class which is why vernon's only referred to with he/him rather than he/they #but. yeah. cute guy in my creative writing class said he's excited to read it so we are WINNING #fcgp writing #sdau #vernon valentine #kan komarov #high and mighty

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running-in-the-dark · 2 days ago

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I've thought about this some more and I realised why this makes me so anxious.

It's specifically because it's my mother/her cat. I wouldn't be this anxious if my cats had diarrhea and/or vomited for a day. I'd just monitor them and deal with it if it didn't go away.

But when it's my mother and her pets, it freaks me out. Because this is how she handles everything. She just kinda doesn't. This is how she handled almost all medical problems we ever had when we were kids, too.

Like the time I fell off a table and passed out, so I guess I probably had a concussion. I was like 5. And they just did nothing 🤷 Put me in bed and left me there while my head hurt like crazy and I was super nauseous.

Or when I started getting nosebleeds constantly and also sneezing all the time, also when I was like 4 or 5. No one ever cared or did anything except they made me smell vinegar each time I had a nosebleed (it did nothing), and took me to the homeopath (obviously that did nothing either). I didn't know I'm allergic to dust until I was in my 20s and finally realised you could get an allergy test done (my parents didn't believe in allergies), and that's why I was always sneezing and getting nosebleeds.

I didn't know I needed glasses until my 20s either. Even though I couldn't really read anything on the blackboard in school from when I was 13 or 14 at most, probably way younger. Because no one cared!

I don't know! It just makes me very anxious! It's all over now and I can deal with my own medical issues but like, it still pisses me off that no one ever took any of this shit seriously! And those were just the fairly obvious physical things, I won't even talk about me probably being autistic and having ADHD. Or the anxiety!! I've been anxious about EVERYTHING as far back as I can't remember and they only ever made jokes about it.

Oh and the time my brother fell out of a ground floor window when he was about 1 and hit is head on some stones but they didn't take him to the doctor either. That's a funny story she still loves to tell (it's just hilarious to leave a 1 year old and a 2 year old sitting on the window sill of an open window, alone, haha so hilarious).

So like, I just know I cannot trust my mother to take care of her pets, and it scares me because they can't do anything about it themselves and I'm not there.

My mother has owned cats for at least 30 years and still she just asked me what to do because one of her cats has diarrhea. Okay, um, I've had my cats for two years? And they've never had diarrhea? 😭

Anyway her idea was to feed the cat carrots. So now I've sent her money and instructed her to drive to the pet store and get some liquid snack type food that the cat might like and that should be easier to digest?? I don't know, my cats are young and healthy and if they had anything serious I'd take them to the vet (or at least call and ask what I should do) 😭 But she won't do that (because she can't afford it, and she won't call because "they'll just tell me to come in") so I figured it would be best if the cat at least has something easier to eat than kibble over the weekend?! I feel very incompetent 😭

#she won't even go to the doctor when she herself has something! so why would she do it for anyone else #it's all just very stressful and I get so anxious thinking about it #also just having to deal with her general incompetence is so frustrating. she's lived in the same place for 30 years and the pet store is #literally a 10 minute drive from there (a very easy drive. it's not in a city or anything.)#and she still did not know how to get there and then had to call me when she got there because she couldn't handle being there #like what the fuck dude. I have such bad anxiety and even I would manage to do this on my own.#pretty sure she also has anxiety but she's always said she isn't scared of any of it so. what do I know. ugh #anyway she's home now and she gave the cat a little bit of liquid food and she ate it and is fine so far so that's good.#dealing with difficult things is fine. dealing with HER dealing with difficult things is my own personal hell.#personal #oh and: going to the doctor is free here (for humans I mean. the vet isn't free of course). so money had nothing to do with her/them not #taking us to the doctor.

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megalony · 2 years ago

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Soft Spot- Part 2

This is the next art of my new dark! Mob! Chris Evans series, I hope you will all like it, feedback would be lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps

Masterlist

Summary: Chris has his hands full with his club, his boys and his wife who he dotes on. Things get harder when (Y/n)’s pregnant but she’s barely gotten over losing their little girl.

Enjoy.

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(Y/n) felt like stomping her foot on the ground to make the automatic doors register her presence and open to her like the gates of Hell opening up. It wasn't as if she was too light for the sensor to register her and she was stood as close as possible but the doors to the gym were on their last legs. Chris was havnig them replaced next week, finally.

When the doors finally opened, (Y/n) was hit like a wave of that smell which lingered with her wherever she went. It smelt of bleach and metal and if she took a big deep breath, sometimes Chris's smell wafted in through the air too.

She dragged her feet through to reception and tried to keep a straight, tall composure but it was getting hard. Her body felt like it needed to collapse, her legs were hard as stone and her arms were barely able to move at her sides. She had felt too unwell to drive today and was thankful the gym was only a fifteen minute walk from their home.

Scanning her fingers through her pockets, (Y/n) tried to find her keycard. Only Chris, (Y/n) and Sebastian had the master keycards that opened every and any door in the gym, even the 'dark room' where people got put back in line and sometimes fights happened under the radar.

Her hands moved to her bag hanging on her shoulder to scan through for her keycard but nothing was going her way. Her purse rattled around in her bag, her pack of paracetamol clinked against the few mints and sweets she had in there for the boys and her keys jumped like they were wild frogs. She would have to rampage through her bag to find her key and she just didn't have the energy for that.

She wanted to scream. (Y/n) wanted to scream and shout and collapse down on her knees until Chris came and found her. But all she could do was stand and stare at the desk in front of her. There were three people in reception hanging around like they were having a casual chat which wasn’t the most normal sight in the club but their conversations died out immediately when their eyes landed on (Y/n).

"Jack, buzz me through please." (Y/n) leaned her arm on the reception desk and tried to smile at the older man sitting behind the desk before she glanced at the two men stood near the door.

They were trying to smile at her but they couldn't seem to be able to. Usually everyone was cool and calm around her, they flocked to talk to her and make sure she was alright because having a conversation with Chris was hard. He was the boss, anything they said or did was noted and remembered and it made people anxious. The only person who could joke with Chris and not fear the consequences, was Sebastian.

"Yeah, um... (Y/n)..."

Jack lifted his hand and slowly pointed to his nose as his smile faded and a look of concern washed over him.

(Y/n) felt a flash of worry in her stomach and she swiped her hand beneath her nose to find she was having a nosebleed.

Great. That was just what she needed today.

"Here," Dean, who had been standing by the door, swiftly held out a hankerchief which (Y/n) took gratefully.

The sound of the door buzzing made relief bubble in her chest and (Y/n) nodded at the men before she tried to hurry through the doors but she didn't feel well. She hadn't eaten anything for about two days which was making her feel limp and lifeless. All she did was throw up when she ate anything, no matter what time of day it was so she had decided abstenance was going to be her friend for the next day or two. Even water was coming back up with vengence. And now with blood gushing through the handkerchief and onto her fingers, her head was feeling woozy.

She could barely see to walk past the equipment room and trudge down to the corridor at the back. (Y/n) let most of her weight lean on the wall and she shuffled down until she reached Chris's office.

There was no energy left in (Y/n) to try and look through her bag for the key to the office. She let herself slide down until she was sat on the floor and her forehead rested against the office door with the hankerchief glued to her nose and mouth.

(Y/n) didn't know how long she sat there for. It may have been a few seconds, it could have been half an hour, she wasn't sure. All she knew was she must have blacked out because when she opened her eyes, the blood on her hand was dried and crusted and she had started to sweat. The door was as cold as ice and it felt soothing against her burning skin so she leaned her head on it a little more before her eyes fell closed again.

"Shit!"

A tremor of fear trickled down Sebastian's spine when he turned the corner and glanced down the corridor. He could feel a hand clenching round his lungs when he realised it was (Y/n) slumped on the floor with blood on her hands.

Oh God, what had happened to her? Why hadn't anyone seen her or come to get him or Chris?

Chris was going to hit the roof when he came here.

Sebastian jogged down the corridor and crouched in front of (Y/n). He was careful when he reached over and gently cupped (Y/n)'s face in his hands so he could turn her head to face him. The relief he felt almost knocked him off balance when he realised she had had a nose bleed. As long as no one had tried to punch or attack her and nothing was wrong with the baby, then this wouldn't be too bad. He could call Chris without fearing that his boss would hit the roof or explode.

One time Sebastian had seen someone smack (Y/n)'s bum when she passed and safe to say, Chris broke the man's wrist. He didn't know what Chris would do if someone dared to punch or frisk or attack (Y/n). He would likely murder someone for doing that to his wife.

"Hey, (Y/n), you with me?"

Moving his hand, Sebastian pressed the back of his hand against her temple before he sighed and pursed his lips. She had a fever.

It took a lot of effort for (Y/n) to try and move and in the end she gave up, settling for resting her hand on Sebastian's wrist to acknowledge him. It was hard enough keeping her eyes on him, let alone trying to move from where she was uncomfortably tucked into the corner of the doorway.

Fumbling around on his trousers, he grabbed the small radio clipped onto his belt. It was easier to contact everyone around the gym on a radio than trying to search for them or ring them. Every worker had one.

"Chris, can you come to the office, (Y/n)'s here." Sebastian was the only one who was allowed to call Chris by his name. Everyone else who worked for him was demoted to calling him 'boss' or 'sir'. And he couldn't go telling everyone on the radio what state (Y/n) was in, he didn't want everyone flocking down to see what was going on. It wouldn't be fair on her.

"What have you been doing?" He muttered quietly to himself before he took the hankerchief from her hand and tried to wipe beneath her nose and mouth. The less blood Chris saw, the calmer he would be when he got here.

"Seb... what're you doing?"

Chris's head tipped at an odd angle and his shoulders hunched up and tensed as he walked slowly down the corridor. He didn't like the look of his right-hand man crouched down on the floor, hiding (Y/n) from sight. He brushed his hands over his trousers to try and smudge some of the blood from his hands but he could feel the dried blood caked beneath his fingernails and he couldn't scrub his knuckles well, lest he wanted to scrub off the scabs starting to form. Chris knew his wife hated to see blood on his hands so he always washed up before he saw her.

If he knew she was coming to the club this early he would have washed up way before now.

When he got up close to the pair of them, he could feel his blood running cold and tingling down to his fingertips. (Y/n), his precious girl, was curled up on the floor like she was cowering away from them. Her eyes were barely open, streaks of blood were smeared across her nose and down her lips and chin and he could see the blood on her hands. And the bloody hankerchief Sebastian was gripping like it was his lifeline.

Why was his wife barely conscious on the floor, smeared in blood? How had she got this far and no one had noticed or told him?

"What the fuck happened to her?"

"I don't know, she was here when I came down."

When Sebastian shuffled back, Chris went down on his knees and cupped (Y/n)'s face so she was looking at him. He saw the moment she realised he was there because her eyes seemed to brighten and a lopsided smile graced her red lips and the look made his heart jump.

"Baby, baby look at me. What happened?" Chris's voice was oddly gentle and soft around the edges like he was slowly melting on the inside from loving her. But he couldn't quite hide the concern from reaching his hardened features, he wanted to know what happened and he wanted to make sure if someone hurt her, they would pay for it.

"I had a nosebleed," (Y/n) could feel her senses slowly coming back to her now and with Chris's fingers splayed across her neck and his thumbs slowly rubbing over her cheeks, she felt like she was waking up from anaesthetic.

"No one's hurt you, then?"

"No, baby. I- I think I blacked out though,"

She couldn't help but smile. The concern was evident in his eyes and the wary tone of his voice and it made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat. She hadn't meant to scare him or any of the workers but she didn't want to stay home alone when she felt unwell. The best place to be was with Chris but she also didn't want to interrupt when he was working and if he thought she hadn't noticed the blood on his hands, he was mistaken.

"You've got a fever babygirl. Come on, let's get you sat in the office."

Moving his hands, Chris wrapped his arms around (Y/n)'s waist and quietly counted to three before he stood up and pulled her to her feet. The way (Y/n) lazily smiled up at him and rubbed her hands over his shoulders made him playfully roll his eyes and sigh.

"Hi," She whispered quietly into his neck, muttering a quiet 'oh' when her legs wobbled and her weight fell onto his chest. It was a good job he had been expecting it, he took all her weight in his arms without faltering or stumbling back. And he kept her leaned against his chest with one arm so his other hand could cradle the back of her head while Sebastian unlocked the office door.

"Come on," He muttered quietly against her hair as he guided her into the office but after a few steps, Chris gave up.

He moved his arms once again and effortlessly scooped (Y/n) up like she was one of the boys he was carrying to bed. He felt her squeak of surprise against his neck but she made no protest. She looped her arms around his neck and let him carry her through to the sofa, surprised when Chris sat down and perched her on his lap.

"It's a good job we're going to the hospital today," He whispered the words quietly in her ear as he sat back and slouched against the sofa, letting (Y/n) lean back into his chest.

They were going to the hospital for a scan today and Chris couldn't be more relieved. He needed to tell the midwife (Y/n) wasn't eating and was barely drinking anything because she kept being sick. She couldn't keep carrying on like this without any help, they needed a doctor's advice and someone to look her over and make sure she was okay. As much as Chris loved having (Y/n) at the office, he couldn't have her turning up and blacking out when she got here, it was too dangerous.

What if the next time she felt ill she didn't make it to the gym and she collapsed in the street?

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A fond look washed over Chris's face and he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his lips when he glanced across at his girl. For the past few minutes, he had felt (Y/n) brushing her fingers across his bruised knuckles but now she had his hand held up to her face so she could kiss his knuckles.

With how many fights he got into, his hands scarcely managed to heal before the old wounds were cut open again and his hands were usually always large and swollen. His knuckles and the back of his hands were discoloured with red and white streaks across them from scars that were continuously re-opened.

"How do you feel?" He asked quietly before he scuffed his chair a bit closer to the bed she was lying on.

"Better," Both of them knew it was a lie and (Y/n) knew better than to lie to Chris when he could always tell, but he dropped the matter and stayed quiet with a small smile gracing his lips.

He knew she wasn't feeling better. Her temperature had gone down a bit but she was still pale and looked sickly. Deep down, Chris had an unsettling feeling that (Y/n) was going to be admitted to the hospital and if that happened, he would need all the strength and help he could get.

He knew (Y/n) wouldn't stay here without him.

After losing Evelyn, (Y/n) hadn't been eating or drinking and got admitted to hospital. Chris had left her on the ward for all of two hours before the hospital nurse had rang him, begging for him to come back because (Y/n) had ripped out her IV, almost hit a nurse and tried to leave without being discharged. He had to fight with her to get her back in bed and wait for someone to sedate her so she could rest.

"Good afternoon Mrs Evans, how are you today?" (Y/n) sat up a bit straighter and forced a smile when the midwife walked in.

"I'm okay-"

"Baby," There was a warning tone to Chris's deep voice that made (Y/n) wince and when she dared to look over at him, the smile had fallen from his lips and his brows were raised. She could be on death's door sick to her stomach and she would still try and convince everyone she was fine. It was something that always upset Chris, no matter how ill (Y/n) was she never wanted to make a fuss or have people worry about her. But she couldn't always act like she was fine when she really wasn't.

"I haven't been feeling so good today,"

A groan left his lips and he hung his head in his hands, scraping his fingers over his beard before he dared to look up at the midwife standing across the bed from him.

"She's not been eating properly for over a week and she blacked out this morning after a nosebleed. You're not fine."

"Okay, when was the last time you ate and managed to keep it down?"

(Y/n) slowly spun the ring round on Chris's finger that seemed to have stollen her attention for the meantime. When she dared to look at Chris who was looking the other way, she felt a shiver creeping up her neck. He wasn't going to be happy when he found out she had lied to him.

"I- I haven't kept anything down so I haven't really eaten for nearly three days, I guess."

She could feel the way Chris tightened his hand around hers until she could barely feel her fingers anymore. His head snapped to look at her and a gleam crossed his eyes.

"What about fluids?"

"Water won't even stay down,"

"I'll need to take some blood for testing but if you can't keep any fluids down, I'd like to admit you to hospital. You'll need an IV of nutrients and some anti-sickness medication. Let's take a look at little one first though."

(Y/n)'s hands started to shake but she tried her best to steady them as she rolled up her shirt to expose her stomach. She was only just over three months along so her stomach wasn't shaped or round yet but she couldn't wait for it to be.

When her eyes darted over to Chris, for a dreaded moment (Y/n) thought he was going to walk out when he rose to his feet. Her mind raced, panicking that she had riled him up by not telling him how bad she had been feeling, but she felt her heart jump when he moved closer instead of away. He stood by the side of the bed, one arm sneaking around her shoulders while his other hand held hers again.

The look in his eyes told her they would be talking about this later, but for now he was still excited. It didn't matter that this was their fourth pregnancy, it always felt like the first and Chris had gathered a collection of scan photos in his top bedside drawer.

"Alrighty, if you look at the screen here," the midwife turned the monitor towards the couple before she began to point. "Oh, congratulations are in order. There's baby A, and there's baby B."

(Y/n) could feel the shudder that rattled through Chris before tremoring through her too.

Twins.

Two babies to feed during the night and watch over and change and settle when they cried bloody murder. Two children to try and decifer and get confused. What if they got muddled which was which?

Two chances of losing a baby. Two babies at the same time was harder than looking after one. (Y/n) could miss any telltale signs that one of them wasn't okay and she could lose another child. nothing had been wrong with Evelyn until she stopped breathing. The last time (Y/n) held her, she had been cold and heavy, an awful weight in (Y/n)'s arms when she didn't wriggle or whimper or blow raspberries.

She couldn't lose another baby- she couldn't lose two more babies.

(Y/n) didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until she felt Chris kissing her temple whispering 'breathe' against her flushed skin. His arm moved to rest across her chest and she clung tightly to his arm, digging her nails into his skin to try and ground herself to him as she sat forward.

"The boys will be happy," Chris kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head, smiling to himself when she nuzzled up against his bicep. He could practically hear her worries floating around in his head and despite his own worries and concerns, his excitement was overriding everything else.

Two more babies.

He couldn't think of anything better and he couldn't dare to think of the few worries in his head. He couldn't think of how (Y/n) might panic or lose her senses when she had two babies to worry about losing because what happened to Evelyn was a one in a million chance. If they tried to think and feel the same emotions they had with the boys, if they focused on their babies and didn't think too much of Evelyn, it would be alright.

Chris couldn't dare think what would happen if they had a girl or two girls. He didn't want to imagine replacing Evelyn or having two girls and either worry about losing them or feel cheated if they didn't and wonder why only Evelyn had to die. He couldn't even dare to think about another baby girl in his arms or the fact that he'd always wanted a little princess to spoil.

They would cross that bridge in two months when they found out what they were having.

"(Y/n), I'd like to take some blood now, then I'll made a few calls so you can be admitted to the ward."

(Y/n) didn't have the will or the energy to fight it. She might not have to stay overnight or more than one night and they were already in the maternity unit of the hospital so she wouldn't have far to go. Right now, her head was spinning and her skin was prickling with heat and all she wanted to do was sleep.

She waited for the midwife to go retrieve a vile and needle before she held her arm out. Her eyes closed and she buried her face deeper into Chris's bicep. She didn't like needles.

Chris on the other hand, was fascinated with them. Blood and gore was his speciality, he could skillfully slice someone open and knew where would inflict the most pain. He could cut someone from their elbow vertically down to their wrist and know it was the quickest way for them to bleed out and die. His eyes watched in curiosity as a band was strapped tight around (Y/n)'s upper arm before the needle was punctured into the crease of her elbow.

The midwife took to viles of blood which she labelled and set in a basket on her desk before she turned back to face them.

"If you could wait back in the waiting room, someone will come and direct you when I've let the doctor know."

"Thank you,"

(Y/n) could feel her hands shaking when she cleaned her stomach. Taking blood always made her woozy and with how uneasy she felt already, now she felt horrid. Her head was swimming, she couldn't feel her fingers or even her hands anymore and she realised that she was trembling.

"Baby, are you alright?"

Chris held his hands out to steady (Y/n) when she stood on wobbling legs and seemed to stop. Her eyes had a faraway look like she was looking into a whole other world but he didn't like the way she was shaking and the colour seemed to drain from her completely. He had been with her the first time she had her bloods done and she threw up and passed out at the same time. Every time after that she either went lightheaded or she had to lie down because it made her feel sick.

Everything started to spin.

"Help," Just as the word spluttered past her chapped lips, (Y/n) felt the room turn on its axis and she suddenly became weightless.

Chris groaned when (Y/n)'s head bashed into his shoulder and momentairely jarred his arm before he tried to gain back composure. He locked his arms around her hips and pulled her into his lower abdomen before she had chance to hit the ground. He couldn't have her hurting herself, not when she was weakened and rather ill already.

Spinning (Y/n) around, Chris hoisted her up bridal style, making sure her head was on his shoulder and not hanging back so she didn't hurt her neck.

"Lay her back on the bed,"

He did as he was told and slowly eased (Y/n) back down on the bed before he held her hand and gently carded his fingers through her hair. His eyes watched the midwife intently as she checked (Y/n)'s pulse and placed a thermometer between her lips.

"She's got a high temperature, I'll go get her admitted on a ward."

"Oh baby, what am I gonna do with you?"

#Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #chris x reader #dad! chris #imagine #dark chris evans #pregnancy #pregnant! reader #soft spot

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