#the way these brave men were so prepared and did such a good job

[the-golden-vanity]

#the entire british public when the ross antarctic expedition went just fine (via @even-in-arcadia)

so weird reading about polar explorers who returned from their expeditions and had a long life and successful career afterwards… don’t you know you were supposed to die tragically?

[deathbyday]

-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ MOUTHWASHING ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

“How could we end up here..?”

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

!Reader is implied to be female, but anyone can read this. I apologize if I use she/her pronouns! (so please correct me if you see any mistakes regarding that<3)

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Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

————

You were screwed right from the beginning.

The way everyone acted was so.. strange. But of course, you didn’t think anything of it because you ultimately assumed it was just their quirky personalities. You weren’t taught to make fun of anyone, which was hard knowing that everyone else had the privilege of making fun of you. You just couldn’t do anything back.

You sighed, swallowing your saliva that had built up while you stared at the room’s ceiling. You knew you weren’t a good fit for the job, you knew almost nothing about space.

You felt yourself start to sweat, causing you to lean down, bending your knees as you practically press your face into the small bag you’ve brought with you on this journey. You start fumbling with the bag, searching for the one thing you've ended up forgetting to bring. Deodorant.

“Shit..” You groan weakly, mentally smacking yourself in the face. How did you forget to bring something that important? You sit down crisscrossed on the hard floor beneath you, not prepared to ask anyone for help with your small issue. You had two choices; end up stinking for the rest of the journey, or work up the courage to ask someone else on board for deodorant.

You decided to go with the second option. You really didn’t want to make an impression as someone who’s stupid enough to forget about simple hygiene, but staying stinky would’ve been even worse. You stood up and walked towards your single room’s door, knowing who to go to. Anya. She was the only other female on the whole space freighter. If you went to any of the men, they probably would’ve laughed in your face for how stupid you were acting.

You briefly talked to Anya as you boarded this morning, but you didn’t think you would have to ask her for anything. But she seemed nice enough. You worked up the courage as you walked around, making sure to stay out of anyone’s sight.

You swallowed your saliva once again, weakly knocking on the woman’s door. You didn’t even know if she was in her room or not. You waited a few seconds before you heard a small, “Come in!” from the other side. You could’ve just ran back to your room and locked yourself inside, but you decided to be brave for once and open the door.

“Anya?” You let the door swing open before stepping inside, taking a look at her bedroom. It wasn’t too dirty, but definitely wasn’t neat either. You shrugged it off and glanced in her direction, fidgeting with your fingers while doing so.

She turned towards you, her eye bags clear as day. ‘Maybe she didn’t get a lot of sleep last night..’ In all honesty, you didn’t get much rest either. You were fearing for your life while attempting to pack your bag. She tilted her head, waiting for your question.

“Do you have any deodorant I can borrow?” You whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear your conversation. This was already embarrassing enough, you didn’t need anyone else knowing. She slightly nods, giving you a soft smile as she turned towards her bag and opening the front pocket, taking out a travel-sized bottle of jel deodorant. “You can just keep it, I brought more.” She states.

She turned back towards you and held out her arm, deodorant in hand. In your eyes held a small a glimpse of hope as you took it out of her hand, quickly thanking her before speed walking back to your own room. Shutting the door, you took the cap off the jelly substance and let it roll underneath your arms. You sighed happily, grateful someone was kind enough to lend you a hand.

————

You sit up against the headboard of your bed, staring into space once again. You couldn’t sleep and you were already bored, seeing as all you had to keep you occupied was the job and sleep.

You didn’t really see an effort to make any friends, especially with that Jimmy guy. He seemed stressed out and you didn’t want to make him angry. The captain barely spoke to anyone, which was understandable, so you haven’t see him very often.

Anya seems nice enough, though. She gave you gentle smiles as she passed by you today. You really need to talk to her more. Attempting to talk to Swansea was.. challenging to say the least. He always has that weird expression on his face, which scares you in a way. But you still said your greetings as you made your way to the kitchen to make yourself a drink earlier that day.

There was another guy right beside him, too. Daisuke, his name is. He gave you a quick wave before turning back to his boss. You bite your bottom lip, shifting your body to let your head lay against the softness of your pillow and your body rest against the sheets.

You didn’t even know if the sheets were clean, but you were grateful you even got your own bed. Let alone your own room. You lean over and grab the thin tan blanket before covering your body in attempt to shield yourself from the cold. You peak at the digital clock on the bedside table, checking the time.

1:32am

Really..? Your eyes widen a bit in disbelief before you immediately shut your eyes, tussling with the blanket as you try to get into a comfortable position. How dumb could you be to fall asleep this late at night? You need to be up by 6:30.

You snuggled against the sheets, ignoring the pain in your chest. Your face muscles relax as you drift off to sleep, eventually taking you from reality. You felt calm for the first time in a while.. it’s sad it didn’t last very long, though.

You almost scream as you get woken up by a loud bang on your door. You gasp as you sit up right, your hand gripping your chest. Small drips of sweat form from your forehead as you turn your head to the door. “Y/N? Time for breakfast!” Daisuke’s voice echoed from the other side.

Hearing him call for you made a chuckle escape your throat as you rub the sleep away from your eyes. You groan softly, quickly standing up and getting changed into your uniform. It was a bit loose, but you didn’t mind it much. You look in the small mirror on the wall beside the door, making sure you looked at least a little presentable before walking out.

You opened the door and made your way towards where everyone else sat, a soft expression filling your face after only a few steps out of your room. You didn’t know your way around yet, but you ended up in the right path in just a few minutes.

You walked in the room seeing Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke sitting at the lounge table, bowls filled with cereal. You stepped up to them, giving them a short-lived wave before sitting down beside the black haired woman. Swansea looked towards you and started speaking.

“So, how’d your first night go in that godforsaken bed?” He grumbles softly, taking a bite of his breakfast. The brunette haired male seated beside him suddenly pouted, turning his head to look at the older man. “You didn’t ask me that..” He whispered before getting kicked from underneath the table. “Yeah, well, I didn’t care.” Swansea retorted.

You raise a brow but decide not to question it. “I think it went alright. The blanket is a bit thin and the bed feels like it’s made of rocks, but I’ll manage.” You give a not-so-confident nod, taking the cereal box out of Anya’s hands as she held it towards you. Swansea gives you an understanding shrug before going back to his food.

You turned your attention to Daisuke, asking him the same question Swansea asked you. “What about you? Did you sleep well?” You shook the box, pouring the cereal into your bowl. You were informed that the only new recruits in the Tulpar was just you and Daisuke, so you didn’t need to ask Anya or Swansea.

Daisuke looked up from his own dish, his words coming out muffled as he chewed on his cereal. You let your lips curve upwards into a smile as your head nods along, attempting to understand his words. You grabbed the milk and poured it into your breakfast, staring at it in satisfaction as the cereal soaked the white liquid up.

You couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes watching you all from across the room. Naturally, you turned your head to see the dark haired brunette who frowned as he stared directly at you. ‘Jimmy.’ You gulped down your cereal before giving him a smile, attempting to be friendly.

Although you tried to be sympathetic, the expression on his face didn’t change. His arms remained by his sides as he walked towards the four of you. You avoided eye contact, feeling too awkward to continue staring. You go back to eating, careful not to slurp the milk that laid on the spoon.

‘Could’ve been worse..’ You thought, grateful that you weren’t stupid enough to actually call out to the man and say hello. It was obvious he wasn’t in the mood, and you could tell by his facial expression.

“When did everyone wake up?” He asks, breaking the unbearable silence. Swansea raised a brow as everyone turned their head to look up at Jimmy. “Why does it matter? We’re up and ready.” He ignores the question, taking another bite of his breakfast.

You look between the two males, confused why it seems like an argument is about to break out between them. You lift your head up and watch Jimmy’s brows furrow. Anya watches carefully, eyeing him with a fearful gaze. Daisuke continues eating, almost like he was enjoying this.

“You were supposed to be up at 6:30. Anya, what time is it now?” You turn your attention over towards the black haired female, wondering what time it was as well. You thought that Daisuke had woken you up around the time everyone was supposed to be awake at, but you guess you were wrong.

Anya adverts her eyes to the clock that sat on the wall of the kitchen before sighing and turning her head back towards Jimmy. “7:12.” She replied, her voice quiet. It seemed like she was afraid of something, but you didn’t know what. Jimmy nodded before slamming his left hand down onto the table, causing the box of cereal to get knocked over.

You flinch, not understanding why the man was so upset with you all getting up a few minutes after you were supposed to. It didn’t make sense. “That’s right. That means you four got up after the time you were expected to be awake and ready.” Swansea opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“It’s not a big deal. Don’t be so upset over us getting up a few minutes after 6:30. I’m pretty sure i was woken up at 6:35!” You argue back, not wanting this to escalate into anything it doesn’t need to be. Jimmy stared down at you like he wanted to kill, making you back off in fear of getting yelled at.

You glanced at Daisuke, wondering if he could help the argument calm down. You were lucky enough to catch his eye. He seemed to know what you were thinking because when he looked up at Jimmy and spoke, his voice was calm.

“You don’t need to get mad at us for a little mistake. Besides, it’s the first day! Chill out, man.” Although Jimmy was clearly upset by his words, Daisuke didn’t back down like you did. You gave him a smile, your eyes filled with gratitude.

He felt your gaze linger on his face, making him turn his head towards you. He gave you a soft smile, appreciative that you’re grateful for his backup.

Maybe this place won’t be as bad as you thought.. as long as you have them around, anyway.

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author’s note

first chapter done!! hopefully this isn’t too bad. I haven’t written fan fiction in a while, so I may be a little rusty. next chapter is already being written, though!

as I’m writing this, half of the second chapter is done, so I’ll get that posted in a few days. bye for now!!<33

(not proofread, but skimmed over.)

[1d1195]

Protection V

You can read the rest of Protection here

A little shorter of an update. Probably another update on the shorter side after this. I promise there's a point to all this.

Warnings: bit of angst, descriptions of blood

4.8k words.

But when she did stuff like this it was hard to believe that she liked him in any sort of way. It just made him mad, and he thought that all that time he spent building this relationship with her was a waste.

Her mom was stubborn. Everyone thought it was from her dad because a top political official had to have a certain amount of discipline. A certain amount of stamina and determination to get what he wanted. To achieve the success that he had. But it was her mom that taught her to believe in whatever she wanted but she needed to believe it proudly.

Her mom was the one who cared for her attention to science. She cultivated her love of experimenting and hypothesizing like she was a garden of food. She was the one that made her believe in all the good the world had to offer, all the good people. When she was scared or sad about the things on TV, she reminded her to look for the people that helped because there were always people that helped—even in the gravest of situations. It was heartwarming to have such belief in humanity. She thought about her mom every day and she hoped her mom would be proud of her for sticking to her guns and believing in the good and more importantly herself.

She was endlessly grateful for her mom’s stubbornness for so many reasons she couldn’t begin to explain. She was bold and brave. It was the reason an entire division of grown men and women feared her just by walking in a room. The reason she was academically successful and worked so hard. Her mom was her everything and she was so glad she taught her to be independent.

Except for right now.

Because sometimes, her stubbornness got her into downright stupid situations, and she was left with no one to blame but herself. She pulled her jacket collar closer around her neck and sighed. If her mom could see her now, she wondered if she would be mad. Maybe she would laugh at her determined daughter seeing her on the bench in the middle of the park. It was raining, freezing cold rain, and her ankle was too swollen to move—she had barely made it to the bench.

Harry was going to kill her.

But for a few moments, she would have a pity party for herself while she waited for her phone to charge enough to turn on in her purse. At least she came prepared with a portable charger this time. She hoped Harry would see it that way. Each time his curly brown hair and his green eyes popped into her mind; she felt a pang of disappointment in herself. Harry was so nice. He was so gentle with her even when she was a bitch, and she knew it.

It was probably extremely against protocol for her to be in love with him.

Her phone began vibrating about a hundred times in one minute and even though it seemed excessive, she was glad he was worried. Even if it was just for his job. She didn’t bother reading the worried text messages. She didn’t listen to his angry voicemails.

If he were my boyfriend this would be so controlling, I would be out of there in two seconds flat. Why am I liking all this?

If she thought for longer than two seconds, it was because she knew that despite his job, he was worried about her. But she couldn’t think like that. Harry didn’t like her like that, he couldn’t like her like that. He had his whole bit about protocol and this...relationship...they had.

He wasn’t in love with her, she decided.

She put the phone to her ear after tapping Harry’s name. She wasn’t sure it rang long enough for even one ring to go through but naturally, he answered.

“I’m in the park,” she said before he started yelling at her. “I’m fine,” she added. Although she felt he probably didn’t care at that point. If it were her, she’d probably say something like “not for long.” Harry, though, despite how annoyed he got with her, how angry he got, never said things like that. Even as a joke. Maybe it was protocol, but she definitely knew others wished her dead behind her back.

She heard him rattling off a list of questions into her ear, angry swears dotting his phrases and questions. But she ignored it all and found comfort in just the tone in his voice.

“I’m in the park, I won’t move,” she didn’t think telling him she couldn’t move was necessary. She hung up before he started yelling again.

*

Every time Harry thought he was making progress with her, it felt like they went right back to square one. The night’s adventure led her through a bathroom window once more. Harry swore he was going to put a tracking device on all her clothes, and he was going to tell her as soon as he found her.

After all that, he wondered why she felt the need to leave through the window. Like he wouldn’t happily follow her without question. The guy seemed nice. Despite the fact they were in a seafood restaurant that she didn’t like. He held her seat out, he asked questions about her and her studies. When he left, he kissed her cheek. She told Harry she just wanted to run to the bathroom first and then poof.

Harry wondered if he cramped her style. Part of him hoped that was the case, honestly. Harry wasn’t sure how he would like the whole dating scene when there was someone constantly hovering near by worried about his safety. But by now she had to know this was his job, that he took very seriously, and after the other really bad night, he wanted her to know that he would keep her safe. Even if he wasn’t part of DSS he believed he would try and keep her safe, he liked her a lot. It was bad how much he liked her. When he wasn’t around her, he thought about what she was doing. If she was giving the agents a hard time. He refrained from messaging her all day even though it was the only thing on his mind. He wished her luck for her classes—especially when she had a quiz. But other than that, he tried not to think about her.

It was next to impossible. She invaded his every thought. Like a little flower, a wildflower, poking through the cracks of his brain and growing where it shouldn’t.

Even if it was beautiful and lovely where it grew.

But when she did stuff like this it was hard to believe that she liked him in any sort of way. It just made him mad, and he thought that all that time he spent building this relationship with her was a waste.

He pulled his jacket collar around his neck snuggly. A new burst of anger surged through him because she was out in this terrible weather anyway. If she wasn’t in the park, he was going to lose his mind.

Fortunately, his mind would stay intact. He saw her vibrant red raincoat across the way, even through the pouring rain. She was sitting on a bench. No doubt drenched through and through.

Was she just enjoying a good rainstorm? She made him so angry he could spit. He hustled through the rain, not caring that he was getting soaked either.

“What is your problem?” He snapped when he was within earshot. She didn’t look at him, which made him madder. “I don’t care if y’don’t like me,” Harry knew that was a lie. He wanted her to like him so badly. “I don’t understand. One minute we can watch movies and another you’re leaving me in the dust,” she imagined if they were in her apartment he would be pacing back and forth. But it was raining, so he didn’t. “Y’don’t have t’like me, but I don’t like being unemployed. Every time they ask if I want t’be reassigned I ask if y’don’t want me anymore. They tell me y’don’t want t’fire me so I jus’ don’t get it,” he was so frustrated. She wondered why tonight was the breaking point for him. Because there were at least ten other grievances that Harry could have faulted her for before tonight, but it seemed like today was the worst. “Why would y’run away like that? S’not like I haven’t been kind t’your needs and all the things y’want t’do. Why would—why are y’sitting in the rain?” His tone of voice changed from his rant. Like he only just realized where they were and that it was raining. “S’freezing cold? Where is your date?”

She didn’t speak for a moment and Harry wanted to shake her. He thought she was annoying, but this was so agitating he wanted to throw his phone across the park. Then maybe shake her. “They ask if you want to be reassigned?” She wondered. He ignored her question.

“Why are y’sitting, alone, in the park, love?” His gentleness was back.

Another beat of silence. “Why don’t they like me?” She whispered, barely. Harry almost didn’t hear her over the rain.

“What?”

She sniffled and looked up at Harry.

All the anger left his body. He didn’t care about his job, if he was unemployed, he didn’t care if the ground opened up below his feet and sucked him down to the core. All that mattered were the tears in her beautifully sad eyes. The fact they were soaked to the bone didn’t matter.

She was okay, that much was clear—at least, she was mostly okay.

“I told him about you. Pointed to where you were sitting. He told me to ditch you, so we could be alone. I don’t know why I did it, Harry. I’m sorry. I know I could have asked you, but I just...” she shook her head, disappointed in herself as much as Harry seemed to be. Her mom would be disappointed too, she was sure. Letting a guy dictate what to do. It was nearly against her religion. “We were cutting through the park, and I twisted my ankle on the edge of the sidewalk. I barely made it to this bench and he...” she felt so stupid. “He made some...lie. I don’t know. Said he would be back...left me here and that's when I called you,” she finished. “Why don’t boys like me?” She asked. “I’m...” she sniffled. “I know I don’t need them,” she told Harry. “But I’m so alone all the time. I want one. I want someone to love me,” her voice was so sad Harry wanted to scream. He was heartbroken, he could even tell the difference between her tears and the rain falling down her cheeks.

He didn’t want to tell her that he probably loved her—well he actually probably did want to tell her such. (He was in fact, sure he loved her, but he thought if he pretended that he didn’t, he wouldn’t ruin his job, or cause her to think he was insane.) Harry sighed and crouched a bit toward her. Other than the time she hugged him to thwart the flirting of the guy outside the bar back in August, he hadn’t ever really touched her. But in the past few weeks, it seemed to be the only thing he did. Cradling her was becoming dangerously like second nature. More so he did it so effortlessly, he was used to how she felt held to his chest. Her cheeks warmed because she remembered the conversation she had with him before about her minor insecurity of him sweeping her up in his arms like this. Even if he said her weight wasn’t on his mind, she imagined it wasn’t easy for him to carry a full-grown adult.

Still, he cradled her, pausing briefly to assure she was firmly in his grasp. They were drenched in rainwater and Harry worried she was going to catch a cold. He was going to insist she shower—or maybe take a bath if she couldn’t stand on her ankle. He would make her tea while she did.

He began walking back to the SUV. He released a long, almost irritated sigh as he answered. “You’re finding boys not men, love.”

She didn’t say anything in response and tried not to think about how nice it felt to be held by Harry. With her arms looped gently around his neck, she got a good view of his profile. She tried not to stare but Harry was beautiful. It was hard to look anywhere else. Even with rain pouring down his face and his hair matting to his forehead, he looked like a model for umbrellas.

He was so kind to her, even when she was awful and did stupid things like she did tonight. It was hard for her to keep up this façade that she was angry all the time around him. He broke that the very first moment he arrived outside her door, took her snide smile with ease, and just let her be. Or maybe she was finally tired of it all and Harry was just...easier.

She decided right then and there she shouldn’t torture him anymore—couldn’t torture him. It wasn’t fair to him. This was...so much more than he probably ever expected and he was so nice about it. Her other agents would have fallen through the cracks. Like a hydra, three more people sent to take their spot at this point, but poor Harry continued to stay. He didn’t deserve her being a brat. “D’you need t’go to the hospital?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she answered quietly. “Sorry,” she murmured and rested her head against her arm that looped around him.

“Y’need t’find someone better than these tools y’running around with love,” he muttered.

She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood so she wouldn’t ask if he could be the someone better.

*

She was grateful no one was around to see Harry carrying her through her apartment building like a bride. She didn’t want comments and they were still soaking wet. He carefully placed her on the couch and began running around her apartment immediately. In a flash he had gotten her a change of clothes to put in the bathroom, medicine for the pain (pain that she didn’t even feel over the ache of her lonely heart), and turned on the shower to heat up. He took her shoe off and inspected her ankle.

“Do y’think y’sprained it?” He asked. She shook her head.

“No...it should be okay by tomorrow, maybe the day after at latest,” she murmured. “I went down so gracefully to keep from really spraining it,” she explained with a smirk indicating that it definitely wasn’t graceful. It was the first sign of happiness on her face.

Harry wished he was there when it happened because he was sure he would have thrown himself in her path to keep from falling in the grass. Harry was going to make a note on the guy’s file that he was a douchebag and not to be trusted.

“Of course y'did, Miss Wildflower," she shook his head with a smirk. "Do y’think y’can stand in the shower?” He asked.

She nodded looking anywhere but his face. “Can you just...carry me in there? Clothes and all? I’ll handle it from there,” she promised, cheeks reddening.

He would gladly undress her with the utmost respect if it would help her. But he kept that to himself. He grabbed her up again, once more at ease with how natural it felt and placed her in the shower. The water soaked her clothes even more. He was glad she was wearing easy things to get off. A pair of leggings, a long blouse. He thought it was deplorable of the guy to leave such a pretty girl hurt and alone in the rain. “Please, jus’ shout if y’need help. A little embarrassment isn’t worth getting more hurt,” he said gently. She nodded awkwardly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Course, love.”

“Do you have to do paperwork for this?”

“I think y’know the answer t’that.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Really, truly, so horribly sorry.”

“S’okay, love,” he smiled weakly and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“I’m not going to do it anymore,” she looked at Harry through her lashes and his heart melted. “I promise.”

Harry reminded himself that every time she promised, she meant it. So, he was a little surprised by her sudden vow. Wondering why tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Okay,” he nodded. “I believe you...shout if y’need something,” he reminded her and left her alone in the bathroom.

*

Harry took the fastest shower in the world. He didn’t have spare clothes here, he should have. It was stupid he didn’t. But she managed to find a pair of basketball shorts she had from an ex-boyfriend that she never gave back. She liked the mauve colored fabric and thought if he was going to kiss other girls while dating her, she deserved a pair of shorts in return. She found an oversized sweatshirt she bought from her college—she always found buying in the men’s section led to the comfiest hoodies—took the taking your boyfriend’s hoodie to a whole new level. Harry threw his actual clothes in the dryer.

“Think m’stuck here for a bit,” he smiled at her as he brought tea to her. She already knew that though. He had called in the car that he didn’t need his relief; it wasn’t uncommon. She was out and about, and it didn’t make sense for someone to switch out if he had it under control and it would just cause trouble.

She was setting up the next movie on their list on the TV. She tossed a blanket onto the other couch, but Harry sat beside her, pulling medical tape from the pocket of his shorts. He collected her foot in his lap and very gently pushed it into a flexed position. “S’that hurt?” He asked.

She shook her head. He was so gentle she was certain if it was broken, she wouldn’t be in pain. He looped the tape around her ankle several times, ripping off strips and making sure it was stable. It felt better already. He got up once more, hurried to the kitchen and back, before sitting beside her again. He placed a throw pillow atop his lap and placed a bag of frozen peas on her taped foot. She shivered at the chill, and he reached for the blanket on the end of the other couch to toss over the rest of her leg. “How do you know how to tape an ankle?” She asked.

He smiled. “I used t’be an EMT,” he told her. She blinked. It occurred to her she knew nothing about Harry. “Then I was private investigator,” he added to her surprise. “I didn’t really want t’be a police officer because I didn’t want t’have t’go through all the training. I actually hate carrying a gun,” he admitted. She glanced at the gun on her dining table. She never felt worried about it or about Harry having one, in fact she often forgot he even carried one. “But I had t’take a class or whatever...wanted t’make sure I knew what t’do if I needed to,” he pressed play on their movie. He turned to her surprised face. She was staring at him, not the screen. “What?” He asked.

“What’s your favorite color?” She asked.

“Orange.”

“Favorite food?”

He thought for a moment. Paused the opening credits. “Tacos...or Brussel sprouts.”

“Favorite animal?”

“Turtle.”

“Board game?”

“Scrabble.”

“Store?”

“The bookstore, I think. Maybe Target.”

She pursed her lips. “Favorite Beatle?”

He smirked. “Paul.”

“Do you like olives?”

“Hate ‘em,” he nodded. She liked them. So, there was that; the olive theory would apply to them. “Anything else?” He wondered as she thought over his answer.

“Season?”

“Spring...oh did y’mean like spice? Cause that’s curry.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Okay, that’s it for now.”

He smiled, enjoying her laughter. He enjoyed the carefree way she sounded when she wasn’t focused on hiding her feelings or pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll ask more later.”

“Sure, love. I’d like t’know some answers myself,” he said, shifting slightly to keeping the peas firmly on her injury. He didn’t seem to mind how cold it was, although she was sure his fingertips had to be numb from it because her foot was freezing.

Eventually, she fell asleep and Harry did everything he could to make her bed comfy before bringing her in. “Night, Harry,” she mumbled as he slowly closed the door.

“Night, love,” he smiled.

*

Her ankle made a full recovery by day three, as she had predicted. Once more, she proved that her promised word meant something. She didn’t escape, she listened when Harry politely asked her to leave a restaurant or store, and she didn’t fight him on any protocol. Harry hadn’t done paperwork in almost two weeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to be reassigned?” His supervisor asked again.

“Does she not want me anymore?” Harry repeated the same question he always did. With a shake of his head, Harry answered the same way he always did. “I’ll stay.”

They continued with their normal routines. Except now she asked him all kinds of questions about his favorites. She asked them all the time. “I...I thought I’d make tacos, if you want some,” she was so gentle now. Harry wondered if this was what she was like before her mum...before her dad. While her vulnerable self was definitely one of his top five favorite versions of her, he thought it was this version of her that took the number one spot. Her soft demeanor, her kind smile. She was...

Don’t go there. The little nagging voice in his head was turning into a voice with a megaphone trying to remind him about protocol and professionalism and how falling in love with the person he was supposed to protect was messy.

Not to mention frowned upon.

“Sounds good love, d’you need any help?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded, sitting at his computer and running through his email, the list of events for the month. Harry was supposed to head back to England for New Year’s. He would celebrate Christmas late with his mum and sister. He would sleep late, go to the bakery he worked at as a teen, and crochet with his family on the porch while they sipped hot chocolate.

He hadn’t mentioned his vacation to her yet. He was beyond excited to see his family, but he knew he was going to miss the girl cutting up an avocado in the kitchen. He didn’t know how to bring it up either. Every method seemed like a bad idea. If he mentioned Christmas, he might have to talk about her dad. Which was definitely a subject he enjoyed avoiding. Bringing up his mum was also a sensitive topic.

He also worried that he would tell her he planned on getting her a gift because he didn’t think he should—she loved her birthday gift and she insisted he tell her his birthday so she could reciprocate and if she missed it, she was going to give him an extra birthday. He declined to tell her at first, but she scowled at him and refused to play the movie, put the remote down her shirt until he told her it was the first of February. He managed to keep the idea that he would gladly follow the path of the remote to—

“Harry!” She gasped loudly and he heard something clink on her tiled kitchen floor. Harry knocked his computer off the table. It clattered to the floor beside the overturned chair as he rushed to her side in the kitchen.

“What happened?!” He asked alarm ringing in his voice, reaching for her shoulders as she nearly folded herself in half clutching her left hand in a fist and placed her right hand over top it.

“Oh, my fucking God,” she hissed. “Ow, Oh my God, I’m so stupid. Ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered.

“Love, let me see,” he said nervously, encouragingly.

“I sliced my hand so bad,” she croaked. “Fuck,” she moaned. “I’m so dumb.”

“Hey, s’okay,” he said soothingly seeing the blood seep over the back of her hand. “Jus’ lemme see, love. S’okay,” he steered her toward the sink. He guided her hands over the basin and turned the water on. She slowly released her hand. It wasn’t necessarily gushing, but hand wounds always seemed to bleed profusely. He stuck her hand beneath the stream, and she flinched with a sharp intake of breath.

“It hurts,” she whined.

He nodded. “I know, love, m’sorry,” he mumbled eyeing the gash she created just below the first knuckle of her index finger right before nicking the small web of skin between her thumb and forefinger. It looked like a massive paper cut.

“Does it need stitches?” She asked nervously. “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she frowned.

He shook his head. “No, s’not that deep,” he began opening cabinets looking for her first aid kit.

“It’s on top of the fridge,” she told him. He really liked the way she knew what he was looking for without having to say it.

“Harry,” she whined as he got the bandages he wanted out of the kit. “It hurts,” she repeated.

“I know, love. M’sorry. Hold on jus’ a second,” he tried to work quickly grabbing a paper towel to dry her hand. He switched the water off and covered the cut immediately. Drying the area. She winced at the contact of the towel and watched as it became sodden with blood. He frowned, put her hand under water once more while he grabbed more paper towels folding it into a little rectangle. He repeated the process, pulling her hand from the water, drying and then placed the little rectangle on her hand. He brought her right hand over top of it, then squeezed her hand tightly over the towels. “Hold your hand above your heart,” he said shifting her arm for her. “Keep pressure on it,” he quickly got the bandages and ointment ready on the counter beside them.

“Harry, it hurts,” she complained again, her voice catching.

“I know it does, love, m’sorry,” he frowned and turned to her again. “M’gonna try t’make it better, okay?”

She nodded and tapped her foot impatiently as he pulled the towels off and quickly slathered the area with the anti-bacterial cream the bleeding seeming to stop a good amount with the jelly-like substance keeping the blood from pouring out as quickly. “Harry,” she grumbled miserably as he continued to work diligently on her cut.

“I know, honey, m’sorry,” he repeated almost exasperated. Not with her, with the situation. He felt terrible she was in any kind of physical pain. “Jus’ another minute,” he promised and quickly laid gauze over top of the cream. She seemed to sigh with relief at that and then it was silent while he placed the tape over the bandage and skin.

Now that the pain had dissipated from her mind, it occurred to her he called her honey. It made her weak. Felt like her organs were 300 degrees hotter than they were supposed to be. She was certain if she looked up at Harry her pupils would have turned into little hearts.

He smoothed the bandages over a few times, inspecting his work and making sure it was of top quality and wasn’t bleeding any longer. She was sure stitches couldn’t have healed it faster after Harry was done with it. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and stared at it for a moment. Time seemed to stand still as he held her hand in both of his.

Without thinking he brought it closer to his face and dropped a kiss over the top of the bandages. Somehow, through two layers of tape, gauze, and the ointment, she swore the kiss cured it. It took every ounce of her self-control to not sigh like a sappy, lovesick teen girl. The hearts in her eyes surely had Harry’s initials flashing in them.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry released her hand. His cheeks turned this adorable shade of pink as he offered an uncomfortable smile. “I’ll finish the tacos,” he suggested.

She nodded. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Course, love. Sorry y’hurt yourself.”

She hoped he didn’t see the hearts in her eyes with everything in her.

Harry swore her pupils were the size of her eyes. He could have spent forever staring at her. He would kiss her hand a thousand times. All he wanted to do was stand in this kitchen and look at her for the rest of his life.

--

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[xxx-sir-pentious-xxx]

Watching over a little Army

Wholesome, heaven, children, chill af.

Everyone had a job to do regardless how seemingly insignificant. Pentious couldnt make his usual crafts so he made something that everyone could agree was a positive.

A little boy sat on his work bench as he prepared a few molds. The childs caretaker asked him to make some army men for their little boy.

The little frog child almost looked like Pentious in a way, but they were born a hundred years after his own death.

The child played with a tool as he waited, talking about his life, which wasnt much, he happily talked about getting a rubix cube when he was 6. He described the way he peeled the stickers off and put them back in the right places. To Pentious' slowly returned humor since his death, he chuckled at the idea of cheating on a puzzle.

Pentious looked to the little boy who asked him out of the blue,

"Did you fight in a war mister? You look like my papa, all serious and stuff. Not to be rude dude I just gotta know."

The kid was trying to be cool. It endeared Pentious just enough to get him to spill.

"Ah yes I fought in a few wars... I actually fought in one recently. But... I dont think you wanna hear about all that."

Pentious said this with shut eyes before subtly peeking to gauge the kids interest.

The little boy looked absolutely stoked and begged to know more,

"Oh my Gosh pleeeaaase tell me Sir! I wanna know! That's totally too cool to not hear about!!"

Pentious smirked and after filling some toy molds and safely setting them aside began.

"I was in Hell, and despite popular belief we had good people that needed defending. The extermination was pushed forward on us and they planned to kill us permanently."

Pentious spoke with bravado and really hammed it up for the kid who's shaking with excitement.

"Of course my good friend Charlotte, Princess of Hell, and her dearest Vagatha had planned to fight the attack. I opted to lead as a General as that's my strongest trait."

Pentious continues with even more passion,

"We fought hard as I made sure to keep an eye on the battle grounds and sky looking for openings. And I noticed we couldnt get through with Adam the first man standing in the way."

Pentious looked at the boy who was practically on the edge of his seat. Pentious continued and began to get lost in the story,

"I thought fast. I arranged for my personal soldier eggs to get in my air ship... before I boarded I gave the woman of my dreams a kiss... feels selfish a bit now..."

Pentious now remembering his death began to get a bit worked up,

"I ran to my air ship... I wanted to be remembered... my soldiers readied the canons firing them up just enough... when it was time I told them to fire..."

Pentious paused and looked to the toy molds, his little soldiers...

"I... my soldiers were hellborn.... they didnt make it like I had to heaven... we were destroyed... sometimes I almost feel like just a little it wasnt the right thing... but I know my boys were born to fight and die in battle. It's all they ever wanted to do. To fight."

Pentious leaned on a wall as the memories flooded and assaulted his senses, he only snapped out of it feeling the child hug his tail tight. He looked at the sweet boy who was crying with sympathy, he recognized this feeling from his own father. The grief and regrets one feels from war are horrible. Especially when it's all your fault someone you cared about died.

Pentious slowly calmed himself down and covered his face some to get his face back to masking a positive face.

"Its okay Sir...", the boy said.

The molded toy soldiers were finished and he had to paint them after priming them and drying them again.

Pentious worked up his brave tone again,

"Ahem... will you promise to protect these little soldiers? You'll be their General from the moment I give them to you little one."

The boy chuckled at being called little one,

"You sound like grandpa... I will Sir. I promise."

The boy saluted him and that warmed his heart,

"Good kid."

The rest of the day flew by and the boy would return tomorrow for the toys.... and the day after... and each day after. He was a good egg afterall.

[formula-1-otp]

Of wrist pain and stubbornness

Summary: Lance racing in Bahrain in 2023 with two broken wrists but he powers through and Fernando comes to the rescue!

A/N: this is a request from @shentanheng, I hope I did your request justice and if you don’t like it let me know and I can write you something different! I hope you all enjoy it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had to do this. He had to do this. He needed to be there for the team, but Lance couldn’t lie his wrists were already throbbing and he hadn’t even sat in the car yet. He somehow managed to practice and qualify.

He was on a lot of Tylenol and ibuprofen as most of the other pain meds he can take he can’t drive on. Lance was sitting in his driver's room icing his black and purple wrists, they did not approve of his driving this weekend but he refused to let the team down. So he would put on a brave face and pretend like nothing was wrong.

Fernando was also getting ready for his race. He felt prepared the team had been working hard for the first race of the year and it showed. Qualifying 5th and Lance qualifying 8th he felt the team had a shot this year. As the older man went over to his teammate's driver's room he knocked slightly.

“Lance? Can I come in?” Fernando asked before he heard a soft yes come from the other side of the door. Fernando opened the door to the sight. Fernando didn’t say a word about it though he knew better. He had been injured before and had put a brave face on. He knew if Lance wanted to race he would. Fernando had seen all the specialized training Lance had gone to in the few short weeks before Bahrain, he knew the younger man was determined.

“Hey Nando, you ready?” Lance tried to give his best smile but it wasn’t easy and with every small jerk he made the ice moved and slightly hurt his wrists.

“Ready as ever! And you?” Fernando returned the smile helping Lance remove the ice so they could get ready they didn’t have long before they had to get in the car.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Lance knew he wasn’t ready his wrists told him that the first practice but he refused to give in. He had to be better, the media already thought of him only as daddy’s money maybe this would help show that he is more than that.

The two men headed down to their separate garages to get ready. Lance made it into the car managed to put his gloves on and was ready to start. As the lights counted up the engines roared before the lights were out and cars were racing to turn 1.

Lance knew the adrenaline was kicking in somehow he managed to keep the car on the track albeit he had to change his way of steering a bit not able to twist his wrist, that aside he brought the car home in one piece finishing 6th, while Fernando finished on the podium in 3rd.

As the Canadian pulled into the pits he realized just how much pain he was in. Now that the race adrenaline was wearing off the immense amount of pain was kicking in.

“I can’t get out,” he muttered to his mechanics as they helped lift him from the car. The slight movement of his hands sent him wincing and whimpering in pain.

Lawrence Stroll was ecstatic, a 3rd place finish for the first race of the season was amazing! He immediately went and congratulated the team and Fernando. He caught a glimpse of Lance out of the corner of his eye he saw the mechanics lift his son from the car as Lance tried to keep his wrists bone still.

“Good Job Nando!” Lawrence hugged the driver. “I’ll be right back okay,” he smiled at the other man before heading to the garage to check on his son.

“Lance you okay?” Lawrence could see his son's helmet still on sitting in a chair with his hands flat on his lap.

“I’m gonna take your helmet off okay?” Lawrence waited for his son to nod before undoing the buckle and gently lifting it off his son. The face he was met with broke his heart. He could tell Lance was holding back tears, but at some point, he had been crying eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he looked exhausted dark circles under his eyes.

“They hurt so much,” Lance whispered to his dad trying to stay strong he knew there were lots of cameras around ready to get the perfect shot of him at his worst.

“Go up to your driver's room, I’ll send Micheal to bring you some ice and your painkillers,” Lawrence gave his son a sad look before continuing. “I’m proud of you,” Lawrence smiled at his son before going to find Micheal to give him the update before heading to watch the podium ceremony.

Lance made it to his driver's room with Micheal, he sat on the massage table, he began slowly undoing his bandages to see his wrists were an even darker colour than they were yesterday, apparently three days of driving a Formula 1 car with hurt wrists just makes them worse. Micheal came back with the ice giving Lance a small sympathetic smile.

“You know what you did was crazy?” Micheal finally spoke, the entire time he hadn’t said anything and it was starting to freak Lance out.

“Oh I’m well aware, but I couldn’t let the team down,” Lance replied closing his eyes slightly as his left wrist throbbed for a second.

“They would’ve understood,” Micheal came and sat beside the driver they just sat in silence for a bit as Lance contemplated his words. Lance quickly glanced at the clock before he realized it.

“Oh shit I’ve got to do media,” Lance went to stand forgetting the ice was still pressed on his wrists and the movement from him and the ice shifting sent him sitting back down instantly whimpering.

“You’re day said no media, you are to relax and then when the team goes for celebrations I am to take you back to the hotel,” Micheal told Lance the plan and the younger boy couldn’t help but sigh in relief, he didn’t want to go answer a bunch of questions and try to keep his composure. He felt seconds away from tears but he was just trying to hold them back long enough till he could get back to the privacy of his hotel room.

The team finally finished media duties before they headed back to the hotel. The team was ecstatic and excited to celebrate. Fernando couldn’t help but question where his younger teammate was.

“Hey, Rosa?” Fernando turned to their PR manager who was sitting beside him in the car.

She looked up to him as if waiting for him to continue. “Where’s Lance?”

“Oh his wrists were sore so Lawrence got him out of media duties and they’ve taken him to rest,” Fernando processed the words coming from her mouth. He knew the younger boy should’ve never raced, hell he should’ve never been cleared to race.

Lance made it to his room, before Micheal bid him farewell and said he would check on the younger man later. Lance struggled to get his hotel door open but somehow managed with a small cry before booking it inside. As the door shut behind him with his back to the door he slid down and let the tears come. He couldn’t help it he was in immense pain the pain medicine did nothing. The pain was almost as bad as when the injury happened. Lance just sat there and cried for an unknown amount of time he didn’t bother to look at the clock.

Fernando was enjoying the celebrations, the team, drinks and good food, but it was getting late and Fernando didn’t party like he used to. When no one was watching he slipped out of the party, he was gonna go straight to his room but as he was walking he heard a slight crying coming from the neighbouring hotel room. He glanced at the room number to realize it was Lance's room number.

“Lance, are you okay?” Fernando gave a soft knock at the door. He heard some shuffling before the door slightly opened before it fell shut. Before the handle jiggled again and Fernando helped push the door to see Lance on the ground wrists up, Fernando could see the black and blue colours they were. He could see the tears coming down Lance’s face.

“Not really no,” Lance had finally admitted it. He tried so hard to be independent but with two broken wrists, it was impossible. Fernando helped the younger man to his feet and shuffled him to the bed. He could see Lance was still in his jeans and clothes from the track.

“Where are your sweatpants?” Fernando asked the Canadian boy before going to fetch them and another shirt for the boy.

Fernando lifted Lance's shirt over his head carefully avoiding his wrists before putting the new shirt on him.

“I won’t look,” Fernando said before motioning to the younger boy's jeans and Lance just gave him a nod. Lance wouldn’t lie his jeans were uncomfortable and there no way was he would get the button undone on his own after today so he just let Fernando help him. He wouldn’t lie he was grateful the older man stopped by and not Micheal he didn’t want to explain to his trainer that he was right, even though Micheal was right and he shouldn’t have driven the car but it was too late now the damage was done and Lance would have to live with consequences.

Once the younger man was in his sweatpants Fernando went and got him some ice before setting him up in bed with ice on both wrists pillows under making sure Lance was tucked in. The Canadian was all sorts of shades of red. He was embarrassed he couldn’t remember the last time he had been coddled like this but it was nice.

“There you go, all set, do you think you’ll be okay tonight?” That was the dreaded question, wasn’t it? Lance wanted Fernando to stay but were they really on a level Lance could ask that not really no. Maybe it was the painkillers maybe it was the adrenaline crash or the exhaustion.

“Can you stay?” Lance quietly asked hoping Fernando would hear him but avoiding his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could handle the rejection right now but he didn’t want to be alone.

“Of course, I’ll be here the whole time,” Fernando went and made himself comfy on the bed beside Lance before starting to watch the movie he had put on for the Canadian.

“Thank you Nando,” Lance was falling asleep the day coming to an end, he was so thankful for his team and his teammate, the pain was starting to dull, but he knew he would be okay. He didn’t miss Fernando placing a small kiss on his forehead he was sure his cheeks were bright red but he didn’t care. He was comforted as he fell into a deep sleep for the first time since his surgery.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Frayed Ties - Chapter 15 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Now that they were alone, Danya reached out and snagged Simon's jacket.

Time to actually get it cleaned up.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Simon said.

"No, I want to. It's..." Danya pulled at the blood and the fresh stains came out easily. "Familiar. A little bit of normalcy."

"Fair enough." Simon stood up. "I'll go see about getting us some of that food."

Danya almost objected, insisted upon doing it himself but then he remembered that things were different now.

They were... equals?

Or maybe such comparative terms didn't apply here, even to indicate parity.

They were just two individuals whose worth didn't need to be judged or measured against one another.

"Thank you," Danya said instead.

Compared to healing, cleaning work was easy.

Especially on fresh stains like these.

By the time Simon came back a few minutes later, Danya was already halfway done.

He reluctantly set the jacket aside to accept the bowl of thick soup Simon handed him.

"So, how are you holding up?" Simon asked as he sat back down next to Danya. "I mean, with what almost happened, and then seeing me kill those two men..."

"I'm... okay, I think?" Danya stirred his spoon through the soup. "I think I'm still processing everything, honestly. The whole course of my life was permanently altered today. I'm not sure how I feel about anything yet."

Simon swallowed a mouthful of soup.

"Hopefully better, once everything settles."

"How about you?" Danya asked. "You had to kill those men."

"I don't regret it. The plan involved them dying either way. But... I've never killed another human before. It's a strange feeling."

"If you would like to avoid such situations in the future, I'm sure Noni would understand. It's a lot to ask of you."

"No," Simon said quickly. "I can deal with it. It's just, I guess... It was so easy. I'm used to fighting vampires. They're so strong and so fast. Compared to that, two guards without much combat training were just... nothing. A human life is disturbingly fragile."

"Thank you for protecting me and I'm sorry you had to. I wasn't thinking and I made a mistake. If I hadn't told him I was a virgin, he probably wouldn't have attempted such an intimate inspection."

Simon's eyes darted up to meet Danya's and his brow pinched together.

"No, don't blame yourself for that. It was a terrible situation, and one I'm glad you haven't had to endure the relevant life experience to prepare you for. It makes me angry enough just knowing that they used to make you strip so that creeps could inspect you."

Danya smiled down at his soup.

He didn't really know why.

Simon was genuinely upset about this but... it felt good that he cared.

"Are you happy about this? I mean... that we're here?"

Danya blinked, caught off guard.

He hadn't really thought about it.

"I don't know, honestly. I think I will be. It's just... different. A lot to adjust to."

"You're doing amazing, you know?"

"Oh," Danya said, startled by the rare praise. "I mean, I already made a mistake..."

Simon gave a firm shake of his head.

"You went in there when you didn't have to and you kept things together and did your job even after things went wrong."

"So did you. Well, you didn't volunteer, but I think you would have if you'd been given the choice."

"I'm trained for this. You're trained for... very different things. I know you're not always comfortable with this side of yourself and I suppose I understand why now, but you don't have to hide anymore. You can be strong and brave and powerful, and you can be proud of yourself for it. I'm proud of you."

Danya couldn't help but smile, though his insides felt all mixed up.

"Thank you. I know I'm supposed to be detaching myself from you, but it still feels good to hear it."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that before. I didn't think..." He shook his head. "I didn't think. I tried to give you freedom by treating you like you weren't a slave but I'm starting to think all I did was make you feel afraid and vulnerable and uncared for."

Danya swallowed.

He wanted to reassure Simon but yes, that was exactly how it had made him feel.

"I know you didn't mean to. I always knew that."

"Well, things will be different now. You don't have to put up with my shit anymore."

No, he didn't have to.

But what if he wanted to?

Ten minutes later, Gaira returned.

"You guys ready to sleep? I made up a spot for you."

Simon swallowed down the rest of his soup and gave Danya a questioning look.

It took Danya a moment to realise his input on the question was desired.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you."

"Right," Gaira said. "Follow me."

Unlike the main cabin, this smaller cabin was far from empty.

The whole room was filled with stacks of supplies.

Gaira led them down a twisting passage until they reached a pile of bedding in a far corner of the room.

"You two can bed up here," she told them. "Figured you might prefer a bit of quiet after all you've had going on."

Simon looked at Danya, as though he expected he might object.

"Thank you," Danya told Gaira instead.

She waved as she left.

"'Night." Simon looked down at the bedding, then back up at Danya.

"Do you still prefer to share a bed with me?"

"Oh."

Something sunk in Danya's gut.

He couldn't meet Simon's gaze.

"Well, can we just for tonight, at least? Tomorrow, maybe... maybe someone else..."

"Hey, it's okay," Simon said and Danya realised he'd been starting to get worked up.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to for whatever reason. I'm not trying to force you away."

Danya rolled his shoulders to relax some of the tension out of them and took a shaky breath.

"Sorry. I guess I just don't have much to hold onto right now."

"No, I get it. Or... I'm trying to, anyway."

Simon pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the corner.

"Things have been pretty non-stop for you for a while now, huh?"

Danya's eyes skimmed the contours of Simon's chest.

His broad shoulders, his firm muscles, the dark circles of his nipples...

Danya abruptly realised that he was being rude and looked away.

Nudity was not quite so casual a thing to Simon and staring like that made him too obvious besides.

Danya pulled his robe off over his head, leaving him in only the thin cotton shorts he wore underneath.

Tonight he needed some skin against skin.

"Oh," Simon said. "Your tattoo's back. Looks like the magic wore off."

Danya looked down and his tattoo was indeed back.

He'd forgotten all about Delton's illusion the second Simon had started stabbing people and he hadn't given it a thought since.

Danya stroked his fingers over the silvery outline of the lion.

It was nice to have it back.

It was part of him now.

"We could probably find some way to get it removed," Simon mused. "Or at least cover it up."

"No. It's fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, it might take us a while to find somewhere to get it done, given our current circumstances but you shouldn't have to just live with being branded forever."

"I... kind of like it?" Danya focussed his attention on neatly folding his robe. "As you said earlier, if it doesn't mean I'm your property anymore then it must mean we're connected in other ways."

"What I said to Sharn? Danya, I was just talking shit because I wanted you to have my knife if anything happened to me. The tattoo has nothing to do with any of that."

Danya set his folded robe down in the corner, and then picked Simon's shirt up and started folding that too.

"I never knew my parents. I'll probably never see any of the boys I grew up with again. So it makes me feel like... I don't know. Like I'm part of something. But you didn't have any say in your crest being stamped on my body, so I suppose that's silly."

"No, I think I understand."

Simon leant back against a stack of crates.

"I was never very close to any of my family. Especially my father, who I inherited the crest from. But having it on my knife, on my armour... I feel proud of that. If you want that to be yours as well, I'm not going to forbid it. I'd be honoured to share my crest with you."

Danya bit down on a grin as he stared down at Simon's crest.

At his crest, tattooed on him in brilliant silver ink.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Simon started taking off his pants. "Honestly, seeing it in that light makes me feel a lot better about it too."

[missymurphy1985]

The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.

[dinjrex]

Prompt: "Look, I know you're a hardass, but can you play with my hair? It will help."

     The transports were finishing the fueling process as you stood at your former master's side. Plo Koon had been discussing battle strategies with his commander while you helped the rest of the Wolfpack. You had joined him when you had finished.

     "We're all set," you told him, your eyes focused on the datapad in your hands. Master Plo nodded, raising an eyebrow as he nudged your shoulder with his as he left to make final preparations.

     You rolled your eyes as you smiled to yourself. Of course Plo knew about your relationship with his commander.

     "I can tell you don't agree with the mission," you remarked as Wolffe crossed his arms, a frown plastered across his features. He only huffed in response.

     Placing the datapad on one of the crates, you gestured for him to follow you. Throwing a glance over your shoulder at the rest of the Wolfpack, you slid behind the transport, Wolffe on your heels.

     The ship cast a dark shadow, making it hard to see the commander's face clearly. You slid against the wall, and Wolffe did the same. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sighed.

      "I don't like it either," you offered," but, someone still needs to do it, and let's be honest, Master Plo doesn't fit the requirements." You felt Wolffe exhale harshly.

     "I understand, I do, but it's always you volunteering to throw yourself into reckless situations and coming back injured and half head."

     You could feel your temper rise and you tried your best to keep your head.

      "We both promised we would always put the mission first," you countered, sitting up to face him," That's what I intend to do!"

     Wolffe's impression in the force was irritated, and he was growing frustrated.

     "But why can't you let others make the rash decisions for once!" You stood up, balling your fists.

     "Because I don't have time to wait for other people to do the job I can do just as well, unlike some people!" Your voice was rising and Wolffe gritted his teeth.

     "I don't like what you're implying," he hissed, his voice dangerously low.

     "You never do!" You stormed off, leaving Wolffe behind the transport.

     The Wolfpack seemed to sense your decline in mood and watched as you growled to yourself, trying desperately to clear your head. Sinker was the only one brave enough to approach you.

     "General?" You threw a glance over your shoulder as you grumbled to yourself.

     "What is it Sinker?"

     He sensed your irritation and swallowed nervously.

      "We...er...are ready for takeoff. We just need the Commander and General Plo," he explained, scratching the back of his neck.

     "Good luck finding them," you growled harsher than you had meant to. He nodded vigorously before retreating back to the rest of the men. They had never seen you so angry.

     Wolffe stalked towards his men who were standing together, unsure of what to do.

     "What are you all just standing here for?!" Boost looked at him, shrugging his shoulders.

     "General __ had to go find General Plo, and we didn't know where you were," he filled Wolffe in.

     "We're always waiting on her," he muttered to himself.

      "Sir?" Wolffe waved off Boost, and gestured for them to board the transport when he saw his two generals making their way across the hangar.

     ___ had a frown across her lips and he shook his head. It was her fault, he convinced himself.  As he boarded the ship, he picked up on their conversation.

     "I'm going to kill him," __ groaned.

     "You're not murdering anyone on my watch, __," General Plo mused.

     "Then look away!" They both chuckled, but __ soon grew serious.

     "I don't know what more he expects," she complained. There was a moments silence while Plo Koon though of his response.

      "He has got a point," the Kel dor admitted. Wolffe smirked, of course he was right!

      "See! I knew you would side with him!"

     Wolffe strode to the other side of the transport as the two Jedi boarded. The doors closed behind them, and the rumble of the engines rang in his ears.

      Plo Koon turned on the datapad, and cleared his throat. You glued your eyes to a fixed point behind Comet's head, refusing to look anywhere in Commander Wolffe's direction.

     "Lothal is in dire need of a relief mission." The men groaned at Plo's words.

     Wolffe had told you of the Wolfpack's frustrations with being unable to get back on the frontlines. You sneered. Serves him right, you thought to yourself.

     "We've been sent to Lothal to supply relief supplies, as well as to  to gather intel on the rumored separatist forces gathered on the planet," Plo continued," Commander Wolffe and I will be standing by as General __ goes undercover as Senator Cyra Nym." You could feel Wolffe's aggravation growing through the force.

     The Wolfpack all exchanged looks and nods as Plo Koon fell silent, glancing between you and Wolffe with a shake of his head.

The sun beat down on Wolffe's neck as he walked alongside General Plo. The crackling of the grass was the only thing to break the silence.

Wolffe could picture you dressed as the senator, ready to make decisions based solely on impulse and rash thinking.

He could also see your body lain across the ground, bloody and bruised. He could hear your groans of pain and could see the tears rolling down your face as you clenched your teeth.

He didn't have to imagine it. He had seen it all before.

General Plo seemed to have sensed Wolffe's thoughts, because he lightly gripped the commander's shoulder as they walked.

"She'll be ok, son," Plo assured him," She's quick and smart, she'll find a way." Wolffe nodded, feeling a little relief at Plo's words.

"I'm in position, Master," ___'s voice crackled through Plo Koon's comlink as if on cue.

"We're following your lead, ____." There was silence once more and Wolffe was trying his best to keep a level and clear head.

He was trained for every battle scenario, but he was unequipped for the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw you. He was also unequipped to handle the heavy silence that came with so many of the missions with you.

Would his words in the hangar be the last you ever heard? If something went wrong, would he make it to you in time? Questions swirled around his brain, making it impossible to focus on the task at hand.

Wolffe began to pace, anxious to find something to occupy him for the time being.

"Sir, the relief supplies have been properly administered to the locals," Sinker informed him, his voice cutting in and out over the communicator.

"That's good," Wolffe responded, grateful for the distraction," See if there is anything else you can assist with, and be ready if I call for reinforcements."

"Yes Sir!"

It seemed like hours had passed since the last status update from ___ and Wolffe was growing distressed. He was aware of every small noise around him.

The wind rustling through the grass, the mocking calls of the birds hidden in the trees, Plo Koon drumming his fingers against a rock. He was on the edge, ready to snap at any time.

"Master Plo, there are separatist droids—kriff! They've seen me!" Wolffe jumped up at your cry. He had to do something. Plo raised a hand.

"___, you need to get out of there. You're greatly outnumbered, and you need to regroup with the squad," Plo ordered.

"Master Plo, they have the intel that the Republic needs! I'm going in." Your voice cut out leaving only static.

"___! Can you hear me? ___! Do you copy?" General ___'s silence pierced through Wolffe.

"Gather your men, Commander," Plo shouted over his shoulder as he ran toward the senatorial building.

Wolffe didn't hesitate.

The bullet hadn't killed you. That you were sure of, but you were certain the amount of blood you had lost was unhealthy. You hissed, pressing your hands against your abdomen, attempting to slow down the bleeding.

"Wolffe was right," you growled to yourself, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Your vision was blurring and the room began to tilt. Was this how you would go out?

      A gunshot over your head made you flinch. Had the droids gained reinforcements? Was the Wolfpack desperately fighting due to your miscalculations? The heavy thud of a battle droid gave you a little satisfaction. You hadn't noticed it wasn't completely destroyed.

     "___, you better kriffing stay alive!"

     Your eyes darted to the armored man above you.

    "Yessir," You slurred, reaching out to him feebly. He grasped your hand in his and knelt down beside you, taking notice of the bullet wounds.

     "We need medical attention," Wolffe ordered into his comlink," The General is down." He gently placed his hands against your abdomen.

     "I told you this would happen," he growled, throwing a pointed glance at you.

     "Is this really when you want to discuss this?!"

      He scoffed.

     "Sir?" Commander Wolffe looked over his shoulder at Comet.

     "Don't just stand there," Wolffe shouted as he stepped back to give Comet room to work. Comet harshly plunged a syringe into the wound causing you to yelp in pain.

     "Easy," Wolffe growled.

     "Sorry Commander. I've never done this,"Comet apologized. Wolffe muttered under his breath.

     "The stim injection will keep you stable for right now," Comet addressed you," but I need to get the rest of the medical supplies from General Plo."

     You nodded as he stood, leaving you alone with the moody Commander once again.

     With a sigh, Wolffe knelt down beside you, observing Comet's work.

     "I'm glad I offered to teach him basic medical procedures," you laughed. Wolffe rolled his eyes.

     "So, what if we wouldn't have made it here in time? What if you had died? When is it finally going to be enough for you?"

     You made an attempt to sit up, only to be be overcome with stabbing pains and a throbbing in your head.

     "For Kriffs sake, ___! Lay still!"

     "But my head hurts," you complained wincing as Wolffe slid his legs under your head.

     "Better?"

     "Not really, but it's a sweet gesture coming from you," you offered, the cool plastoid armor causing your headache to only worsen.

     Wolffe seemed deep in thought as you glanced up at him.

     "Look, I know your a hardass," you uttered softly," but could you play with my hair? It will help."

     Wolffe cracked a rare grin as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

     "I don't want to lose you," he admitted, not meeting your eye.

     You closed your eyes with a small grin.

     "I don't plan on going anywhere, al'verde."

Al'verde: Mando'a for Commander

     The transports were finishing the fueling process as you stood at your former master's side. Plo Koon had been discussing battle strategies with his commander while you helped the rest of the Wolfpack. You had joined him when you had finished.

     "We're all set," you told him, your eyes focused on the datapad in your hands. Master Plo nodded, raising an eyebrow as he nudged your shoulder with his as he left to make final preparations.

     You rolled your eyes as you smiled to yourself. Of course Plo knew about your relationship with his commander.

     "I can tell you don't agree with the mission," you remarked as Wolffe crossed his arms, a frown plastered across his features. He only huffed in response.

     Placing the datapad on one of the crates, you gestured for him to follow you. Throwing a glance over your shoulder at the rest of the Wolfpack, you slid behind the transport, Wolffe on your heels.

     The ship cast a dark shadow, making it hard to see the commander's face clearly. You slid against the wall, and Wolffe did the same. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sighed.

      "I don't like it either," you offered," but, someone still needs to do it, and let's be honest, Master Plo doesn't fit the requirements." You felt Wolffe exhale harshly.

     "I understand, I do, but it's always you volunteering to throw yourself into reckless situations and coming back injured and half head."

     You could feel your temper rise and you tried your best to keep your head.

      "We both promised we would always put the mission first," you countered, sitting up to face him," That's what I intend to do!"

     Wolffe's impression in the force was irritated, and he was growing frustrated.

     "But why can't you let others make the rash decisions for once!" You stood up, balling your fists.

     "Because I don't have time to wait for other people to do the job I can do just as well, unlike some people!" Your voice was rising and Wolffe gritted his teeth.

     "I don't like what you're implying," he hissed, his voice dangerously low.

     "You never do!" You stormed off, leaving Wolffe behind the transport.

     The Wolfpack seemed to sense your decline in mood and watched as you growled to yourself, trying desperately to clear your head. Sinker was the only one brave enough to approach you.

     "General?" You threw a glance over your shoulder as you grumbled to yourself.

     "What is it Sinker?"

     He sensed your irritation and swallowed nervously.

      "We...er...are ready for takeoff. We just need the Commander and General Plo," he explained, scratching the back of his neck.

     "Good luck finding them," you growled harsher than you had meant to. He nodded vigorously before retreating back to the rest of the men. They had never seen you so angry.

     Wolffe stalked towards his men who were standing together, unsure of what to do.

     "What are you all just standing here for?!" Boost looked at him, shrugging his shoulders.

     "General __ had to go find General Plo, and we didn't know where you were," he filled Wolffe in.

     "We're always waiting on her," he muttered to himself.

      "Sir?" Wolffe waved off Boost, and gestured for them to board the transport when he saw his two generals making their way across the hangar.

     ___ had a frown across her lips and he shook his head. It was her fault, he convinced himself.  As he boarded the ship, he picked up on their conversation.

     "I'm going to kill him," __ groaned.

     "You're not murdering anyone on my watch, __," General Plo mused.

     "Then look away!" They both chuckled, but __ soon grew serious.

     "I don't know what more he expects," she complained. There was a moments silence while Plo Koon though of his response.

      "He has got a point," the Kel dor admitted. Wolffe smirked, of course he was right!

      "See! I knew you would side with him!"

     Wolffe strode to the other side of the transport as the two Jedi boarded. The doors closed behind them, and the rumble of the engines rang in his ears.

      Plo Koon turned on the datapad, and cleared his throat. You glued your eyes to a fixed point behind Comet's head, refusing to look anywhere in Commander Wolffe's direction.

     "Lothal is in dire need of a relief mission." The men groaned at Plo's words.

     Wolffe had told you of the Wolfpack's frustrations with being unable to get back on the frontlines. You sneered. Serves him right, you thought to yourself.

     "We've been sent to Lothal to supply relief supplies, as well as to  to gather intel on the rumored separatist forces gathered on the planet," Plo continued," Commander Wolffe and I will be standing by as General __ goes undercover as Senator Cyra Nym." You could feel Wolffe's aggravation growing through the force.

     The Wolfpack all exchanged looks and nods as Plo Koon fell silent, glancing between you and Wolffe with a shake of his head.

The sun beat down on Wolffe's neck as he walked alongside General Plo. The crackling of the grass was the only thing to break the silence.

Wolffe could picture you dressed as the senator, ready to make decisions based solely on impulse and rash thinking.

He could also see your body lain across the ground, bloody and bruised. He could hear your groans of pain and could see the tears rolling down your face as you clenched your teeth.

He didn't have to imagine it. He had seen it all before.

General Plo seemed to have sensed Wolffe's thoughts, because he lightly gripped the commander's shoulder as they walked.

"She'll be ok, son," Plo assured him," She's quick and smart, she'll find a way." Wolffe nodded, feeling a little relief at Plo's words.

"I'm in position, Master," ___'s voice crackled through Plo Koon's comlink as if on cue.

"We're following your lead, ____." There was silence once more and Wolffe was trying his best to keep a level and clear head.

He was trained for every battle scenario, but he was unequipped for the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw you. He was also unequipped to handle the heavy silence that came with so many of the missions with you.

Would his words in the hangar be the last you ever heard? If something went wrong, would he make it to you in time? Questions swirled around his brain, making it impossible to focus on the task at hand.

Wolffe began to pace, anxious to find something to occupy him for the time being.

"Sir, the relief supplies have been properly administered to the locals," Sinker informed him, his voice cutting in and out over the communicator.

"That's good," Wolffe responded, grateful for the distraction," See if there is anything else you can assist with, and be ready if I call for reinforcements."

"Yes Sir!"

It seemed like hours had passed since the last status update from ___ and Wolffe was growing distressed. He was aware of every small noise around him.

The wind rustling through the grass, the mocking calls of the birds hidden in the trees, Plo Koon drumming his fingers against a rock. He was on the edge, ready to snap at any time.

"Master Plo, there are separatist droids—kriff! They've seen me!" Wolffe jumped up at your cry. He had to do something. Plo raised a hand.

"___, you need to get out of there. You're greatly outnumbered, and you need to regroup with the squad," Plo ordered.

"Master Plo, they have the intel that the Republic needs! I'm going in." Your voice cut out leaving only static.

"___! Can you hear me? ___! Do you copy?" General ___'s silence pierced through Wolffe.

"Gather your men, Commander," Plo shouted over his shoulder as he ran toward the senatorial building.

Wolffe didn't hesitate.

The bullet hadn't killed you. That you were sure of, but you were certain the amount of blood you had lost was unhealthy. You hissed, pressing your hands against your abdomen, attempting to slow down the bleeding.

"Wolffe was right," you growled to yourself, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Your vision was blurring and the room began to tilt. Was this how you would go out?

      A gunshot over your head made you flinch. Had the droids gained reinforcements? Was the Wolfpack desperately fighting due to your miscalculations? The heavy thud of a battle droid gave you a little satisfaction. You hadn't noticed it wasn't completely destroyed.

     "___, you better kriffing stay alive!"

     Your eyes darted to the armored man above you.

    "Yessir," You slurred, reaching out to him feebly. He grasped your hand in his and knelt down beside you, taking notice of the bullet wounds.

     "We need medical attention," Wolffe ordered into his comlink," The General is down." He gently placed his hands against your abdomen.

     "I told you this would happen," he growled, throwing a pointed glance at you.

     "Is this really when you want to discuss this?!"

      He scoffed.

     "Sir?" Commander Wolffe looked over his shoulder at Comet.

     "Don't just stand there," Wolffe shouted as he stepped back to give Comet room to work. Comet harshly plunged a syringe into the wound causing you to yelp in pain.

     "Easy," Wolffe growled.

     "Sorry Commander. I've never done this,"Comet apologized. Wolffe muttered under his breath.

     "The stim injection will keep you stable for right now," Comet addressed you," but I need to get the rest of the medical supplies from General Plo."

     You nodded as he stood, leaving you alone with the moody Commander once again.

     With a sigh, Wolffe knelt down beside you, observing Comet's work.

     "I'm glad I offered to teach him basic medical procedures," you laughed. Wolffe rolled his eyes.

     "So, what if we wouldn't have made it here in time? What if you had died? When is it finally going to be enough for you?"

     You made an attempt to sit up, only to be be overcome with stabbing pains and a throbbing in your head.

     "For Kriffs sake, ___! Lay still!"

     "But my head hurts," you complained wincing as Wolffe slid his legs under your head.

     "Better?"

     "Not really, but it's a sweet gesture coming from you," you offered, the cool plastoid armor causing your headache to only worsen.

     Wolffe seemed deep in thought as you glanced up at him.

     "Look, I know your a hardass," you uttered softly," but could you play with my hair? It will help."

     Wolffe cracked a rare grin as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

     "I don't want to lose you," he admitted, not meeting your eye.

     You closed your eyes with a small grin.

     "I don't plan on going anywhere, al'verde."

Al'verde: Mando'a for Commander

[clairecrive]

can u make a nikolai x reader based on the song mr perfectly fine by taylor swift?

Mr Perfectly fine

A/n: Ahh, thank to you friend, I've been jamming to this song every day lmao Hope I've done it justice x Also, I've left out some parts of the lyrics to make it better fit the story.

(if you want, you can add yourself to my taglist here)

for my other masterlists, you can find them on my navigation page

Word count: more than 7K (ikik it took a life of his own, what can I say)

Warnings: bit of fluff, angst (like a lot), character's death, spoiler if you haven't read Siege and Storm

Tagging: @jupiterandbutterflies (Thank you so much for your comment! I saw it and it made my day✨)

(I don't remember where I took this from so if you know pls lmk)

Most people knew of Nikolai Lanstov. He was a prince, the second born and the most charming. Most people knew him thanks to the countless rumours that went around at court: supposedly he was not of royal blood. "Sobachka" was what they called him.

No matter how though, everyone knew of the last Lanstov prince. But very little knew him.

Meeting him wasn't difficult. Since he had been of age, Nikolai had always been out of the Grand Palace and among people. He’d also volunteered to enlist in the first army, refusing any kind of special treatment and fought beside his brothers in arms in the infantry. That was part of the reason why everyone outside the court loved him so much.

Being Grisha meant that fighting in the Second Army was mandatory. Not that you minded. There was nothing you wanted more for your people than to finally be free. Also, that Shadow Fold needed to go and as the Darkling has always said, all efforts are necessary.

That’s how you met Nikolai the first time. Generally, the First and the Second Army were stationed in different parts of the campsite. Numerous quarrels between oprichniki and Grisha had rendered the separation necessary. However, you never liked crowds much and living in the Little Palace meant that you were always surrounded by people. So, every chance you had to draw away and be by yourself for a while, you took it. Also, being a Healer meant that you’d spent more time in your assigned tent taking care of soldiers than among them.

Word had gone around that everyone in need could come to you. Usually, you had been instructed by the Darkling that your powers were reserved for Grisha. However, what good was it to have the ability to cure people and only take care of a selected few that very rarely got seriously injured? Meanwhile, soldiers of the First Army often suffered from severe injuries, fatal gunshots or knife wounds. You could help them and possibly save their lives so why shouldn’t you?

That was why Nikolai found you one night. Sure at that point it was just another nameless soldier to you. He had never been in your tent before so you had never seen his face before. The boy whose arm he had draped on his shoulders though, was a usual visitor of yours.

“Oh, Petyr, what happened this time?” gesturing to his blond friend to lay him down on the table, you started gathering everything you needed. Not that you needed much but you had found out that Petyr was absolutely incapable of bearing having his bones or injuries in general repaired without having some kind of pain reliever before.

After a few tries, you came up with a herbal composition that dulled the pain but didn’t make him unconscious. Using kvas would mean that Petyr would be knocked out for a couple of hours. That would put him in trouble with his superiors.

“He’s a fool, that’s what happened.” The explanation came from his friend after he put him down gently. Despite his words, you could hear in his tone worry and guilt?

“If saving your life makes me a fool then go ahead and call me one,” Petyr huffed in pain.

“Who knew you were so brave, uh?” After quickly shredding the herbs you needed, you poured hot water on it and brought the cup to Petyr’s lips while helping him keep his head up.

“He’s the bravest of us all,”

“If I knew it took a bullet wound to make you hand out compliments so easily, I would have done it sooner.” Scoffed Petyr after sending you a thankful look.

“See? What did I tell you? A fool,” his friend said dramatically and you smiled amused at their playful banter.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” You said out loud to warn both Petyr and his friend. Letting them know what was about to happen was best, your experience taught you. Both for the person on the table that could brace themselves for what was about to happen and for the person with him that was filled with worry and cautiousness. Oprichniki didn’t trust Grisha that much.

After assessing the damage, you let out a relieved sigh as the bullet had gotten through and it had not hit any major artery. It had already got infected though, so you knew it would be a painful one to treat.

“So, did you receive any letters lately, Pety?” You ask, suggestively wiggling your eyebrows while your hands cover the wound. You had your eyes closed to better focus but you were sure that he had rolled his eyes.

“Only from my mum.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t write her back,” you said, opening your eye just in time to send him a glare.

“Ugh, not this again, y/n, please. Have mercy on me, I’m bleeding all over the table.” Petyr moaned making his friend snicker.

“You’re not bleeding all over the table and if you didn’t notice, I’m already taking care of you, am I not? That doesn’t excuse you for being an idiot, though.”

“Are you two in cahoots or something? It’s not fair. Wounded man over here.”

“Oh shut up.” Both you and his blond friend said at the same time. Petyr moaned once again and you sent a little amused smile to the blondie.

“Should I leave you with a cool battle scar? Maybe acting like a war hero will give you the balls to write to her.” You harmlessly threatened him but your hands were already reconnecting the tissue of his skin without letting it scar.

“I’ve told you, y/n. She deserves better than what I can give her. I am, who knows if I even make it home? I’d be only stringing her along.” Now Petyr was dead serious. It was true, you had talked about this often since he was a regular you got to know him better and he had soon told you about his sweet Katia.

While his friend chanted “fool” like a mantra in the background, you took his bloodied hand in yours, his wound fully healed.

“Petyr, how do you think she’s gonna react when she learns that there hasn’t been any delay to her letters but you’re just ignoring her? Besides, you should let her make this decision too. Who knows, she’ll surprise you.” Squeezing his hand you turned to let your words settle and to put away your utensils. You knew you had given him so much food for thought so you didn’t address the subject anymore. His friend helped him off the table and that’s when you noticed that he was injured too. He had a pretty nasty cut on his lower lip and there was already a bruise forming on his temple.

“Petyr, you can sit on my chair while I take care of your friend. You should be fine but for at least a while don’t stress your body.”

Mentally making a list of the things you need to tend to this kind of wound and where you kept them, you started collecting before heading back to them.

Petyr had sat down but his friend was still standing.

“You don’t have to lie down if you don’t want to, but unless you don’t want me to go take a ladder or something, it would be best if you sat on the table.” You gave him your best reassuring smile as you mixed the healing paste. Sometimes, men didn’t like to put themselves in a vulnerable position with someone they didn’t know and had learned to fear. He wasn’t that badly hurt and it would only take a couple of seconds to fix but not every oprichniki was comfortable with being healed by Grisha power. So the paste would do your job for you. It would take longer, sure and it would also sting a lot more but at least he’d be healed at last.

After looking at you for a little while, the blond man did as you instructed, giving you a dazzling smile in return when you settled between his legs to fix his cut.

“The name is Nikolai or handsome if you prefer.” It was not the first time a wounded soldier tried to flirt with you. IT didn’t bother you, you found them amusing more than anything and you knew it was the allure of someone taking care of them speaking more than any real interest.

“Let’s hope you won’t be around here much for me to learn your name.”

“I’ll have to find another way to make myself unforgettable then.” He winked at you before hopping off the table.

You didn’t address his words, only gave them the paste you had prepared. It would prevent any wound from being infected and would be able to cure small cuts and bruises if applied for a couple of days. With that, you sent them both on their way. Petyr waving you goodbye while Nikolai sent you another wink.

And so this was how it all started.

Mr. "Perfect face"

Mr. "Here to stay"

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

Everything was right

Despite your fellow Grisha, military life could be a bit alienating. Which sounded like a paradox, sure, but everyone had their own way of processing trauma and emotions and of course there were plenty of those during the war. If the best way to come to terms with everything that happened was to distance yourself from others and try to find the solution in solitude, it could get to the point where you’d feel alone in a room full of people.

To get a little respite, you’d usually go on a long walk or resort to stargaze. Sometimes, depending on where you were posted, it wasn’t safe to leave the campsite. So, that’s how Nikolai found you one night. Even he had to take a breather once in a while. Being a different version of yourself based on who you’re interlocutor was must be exhausting. Of course, you didn’t know this. You knew nothing about Nikolai at that point if not that he was Petyr’s friend and a socialite, according to other soldiers.

He seemed to be at the centre of gossip no matter what group of people you found yourself with and there also seemed to be a consensus about him. Everyone liked him. Even if it was rare for some Grisha to appreciate oprichniki, you knew they somewhat respected him because if they didn’t praise him out loud, they didn’t speak ill of him either.

“Not a fan of crowds, are you?” he announced his presence before sitting down beside you.

“I love them, I really do. It’s just that sometimes it gets too much.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.”

“You do? Everyone seems to think you’re a socialite.”

“It’s what I want them to think but alas, I enjoy being more complex and multifaceted than that.” He lightly bumped your shoulder with his, eyes aflame with mischief.

“I bet.” you simply smirked. Despite how everyone seemed to think they knew him, you got the peculiar vibe from him, like there was a lot more to him than what he let everyone see.

“No one seems to know much about you.”

“Maybe you’ve talked to the wrong people.”

“Well, then I guess it’s better if I got straight to the source, don’t you think?”

“That will surely be a better start. Not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for though.”

“We’ll see.”

That night had been the first of many. It had become a sort of an unspoken arrangement between the two of you. While it didn’t last long, you sensed that you got to know him better than everyone. There was something about late nights meetings under the stars that prompted deep and meaningful conversations. It wasn’t hard to form a solid bond with him after a few nights.

The conversations weren’t always personal in the conventional sense. You’d often stray and talk about the most bizarre things. Like why something had the name it had or how cool it’d be if it was possible to pass through surfaces, which led to imagine all the uncomfortable situations one could find themselves in if they were to simply go into a room through its wall.

Nikolai was witty, overly confident and ambitious and he knew a lot of things. You always wondered how he had learned them since he was so young and been in the army for a couple of years already. But Nikolai was never too forward on certain topics, his family and childhood being some of those. You understood, those were sore subjects for you too. So you never insisted. It was much more interesting to listen to him rumble about impossible future projects of his, like a flying ship.

"When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable." He’d say whenever you’d point it out to him. Somehow, despite the absolute absurdity of them, the sheer confidence that he seemed to constantly exude, made you consider the possibility of his success.

You got the distinct feeling that there was nothing this man couldn’t do.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart"

Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

But, alas, as all things do, these encounters of yours also got to an end. You knew it would happen, you were both soldiers so your lives were both heavily characterised by uncertainty after all. However, you were not prepared for it to end so abruptly though. And without an apparent reason. Because Nikolai’s unit hadn’t been posted elsewhere and he hadn’t been fatally wounded. You would have heard of it were that the case. But it wasn’t.

You thought that he had come to cherish your nightly encounters too. Some of those had been full of his promises. How he’d love for you to be around when he’d eventually find the time to work on his ideas. How you had been a nice surprise, a most interesting person among so many dull idiots you were surrounded by every day. How he’d come to value your opinions and presence in his life and that he was going to find a way to make sure that that would never change. Promises that turned to be empty.

You had never allowed yourself to fully believe him. It wasn’t the first time that a boy had made the same kind of promises but Nikolai looked sincere. Honest enough to be believable. But, of course, you had been wrong.

You didn’t realise just how much you had come to rely on him until he was gone. You tried to keep your mind off him and luckily the perfect distraction came your way. The Darkling had scheduled an attack on the enemy’s army and had posted you to be on the field to take care of everyone promptly. You had never been more grateful to the man, even after he had given her a home and a purpose.

Ever since your first encounter with Nikolai, you had thought it had been a blessing. However, you had soon changed your mind and now considered a curse more than anything. Why? Because as soon as you got to the field you couldn’t help but scour the troops for a familiar mop of blond hair. Many looked like him and being this far you couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t one of them but you certainly despised the leap your heart made every time though. That was a distraction you couldn’t afford. Besides, it wasn’t smart to let your heart get involved in times of war.

The battle began, Inferni and Squallers were working together to impair the enemy’s visual so they couldn’t shoot or use their cannons while the First Army marched after them to swap in as soon as the air cleared to catch the enemy by surprise. While your role wasn’t active per se, you were a Corporalki after all, and even if you had been specifically trained as Healer, you had also got one of your friends to teach you the basics of an Heartrender’s work. You weren’t a powerful one but you could hold your ground in a fight. Especially since they weren’t expecting you. And you were still far from any real threat.

The battle dragged on and soon there were wounded soldiers that needed your attention. You hated this kind of work, it was messy and dirty and had to be quick because spending too much time on one soldier could mean dooming another to death. You were accustomed to it by now and soon found a rhythm focusing on ensuring everyone’s survival and not bothering with the aesthetic side of healing. That could be taken care of later if they wanted to.

As soon as your eyes fell onto a crouched figure you sprinted towards them. It was dirty and you didn’t recognize them but you got the feeling it was a life or death situation. Oh, how you wanted to be wrong.

The person crouching turned out to be Nikolai and he wasn’t alone. He was kneeling beside someone, Petyr.

“Where are you hurt?” you hurriedly asked as you tried to assess the damage. His uniform was dirty and full of blood but you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Trying to answer you, Petyr opened his mouth only to let out the most gruesome gurgling sound as his respiratory tract was flooded by blood.

“He got shot in the gut.” Nikolai offered.

“Is the bullet still inside?” Opening his uniform jacket you tore a piece from his shirt to use it to put pressure on the wound.

“It’s too late,” Nikolai uttered.

“No.” You strongly refused as you removed the cloth and focused on the wound. His heart was straightening and he had already lost a lot of blood. If the bullet was still inside that it was going to be a problem, if it wasn’t then you still had a fighting chance.

“I removed it earlier.” So that was why he had lost so much blood. Nodding your head to show that you had heard him, you set out to stop the internal bleeding. Slowing his heartbeat so that it was pumping less blood and thus eased your endeavour. You were still in the middle of the field and while you were keeping up with the warfare but in the back of your mind, you registered the sounds of screaming and of gunshots getting closer. A bullet hit you in the shoulder propelling you forward over Petyr’s body. Grisha’s kefta were bulletproof so you weren’t worried for your incolumity but for the harsh movement you had made.

Leaning back, you heard Nikolai calling for you but your eyes were trained on Petyr. You tried to listen for his heartbeat but could only hear two instead of three. Nikolai, who had never left your side, immediately understood what had happened by the fall of your shoulders and the tensing of your hands.

He kept calling for you but the only thing you could focus on was that you had let your friend down. Now there will be one more family crying for a loss, another girl mourning a lost loved one. And it was all your fault. It was because of you that Petyr wouldn’t live to see another day, to write another letter or to fight another battle. It was on you.

The details of what happened next were a bit blurred. Someway you must have found your way back to the campsite. Whether you did on your own after tending to everyone else, you didn’t know. Your memories picked up after you woke up in your tent. Someone was calling your name, saying that the Darkling wanted to see you.

Mechanically you raised and made your way to the Darkling’s tent but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts were plagued by Petyr’s face, by that godforsaken sound he made when he tried to speak. The realisation that he was gone hit you like a wall of brick that would have made you stumble if you weren't’ sat in front of the Darkling’s desk. Whether he was speaking and stopped after seeing the forlorn look in your eyes or he hadn’t been speaking at all, you didn’t realize. You did hear him say that you were going to be posted somewhere. Under different circumstances you have said something, anything to not let him send you away. Your mind immediately went to Nikolai. You’d be leaving him behind along with the campsite.

However, you now realised that you had already lost him. Losing Petyr had been the last thing that had completely severed your bond. There was no turning back now and part of you was grateful.

Hello Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breaking mine?

I've been Miss "Misery" since your goodbye

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

You couldn’t know, of course, but Nikolai had left not long after you did. Albeit for a different reason. He had finally earned the Major rank and as such, he took a step back from military life deciding that his skill would be better suited for a life on the sea. Assuring Ravka the supply she needed but in ways that weren’t exactly suitable for a prince but worked just fine for a privateer. And thus Sturmhond came to life.

As for you, you kept doing your job at your new post but were relieved when a letter came from the Darkling instructing that you were needed at the Little Palace. Part of you had relegated Nikolai to that part of your mind where the unmentionable was, however, a traitor thought whispered that maybe there was a chance that you could see him at the royal grounds. Sure, the possibilities were close to zero but it was still possible, right?

No.

You already were ashamed of the fact that you’re still suffering because of him. And yes, you missed him but you weren’t going to indulge the pathetic hope of seeing him again.

He doesn’t want to see you. If he did, he would have already found you. Or write you a letter if he couldn’t, but he didn’t.

You were right. You knew you were, nonetheless, the thought only brought you a bittersweet feeling.

You found the Little Palace just how you’d left it and yet it seemed changed in a way. The insane amount of work you found there waiting for you helped you drown the feeling that it was you that had changed.

Months passed this way, sometimes the Darkling would post you with him or outside the Little Palace. All in all, you’ve kept busy. When news of the little prince leaving the Palace reached you, you let it wash over you. It wasn’t like it mattered much, whether he was a few feet away or in another nation, Nikolai wasn’t part of your life either way.

When the whole expansion of the Fold happened, you were stationed at the Little Palace. Chaos and terror ensued as soon as the news reached the capital making most of the Grisha flee. Most of them went looking for the Darkling while others simply ran away and hid. You were amongst the first group.

Soon, your life was radically changed. The shift in the Darkling was palpable and it didn’t have anything to do with the scars on his face. You had tried your best to heal them and Genya to tailor them away but somehow, they could not be removed. It was an unsettling thing to realize that they didn’t take away his beauty. One could even say that they enhanced his attractiveness.

He was certainly more powerful. None of you knew what had happened in the Fold that day, just that the Sun Summoner had fled and that there were no survivors apart from him. However, as your journey in pursuit of Alina dragged on, you were soon witnesses of his newfound power.

The nichevo’ya, he called them.

He had always been immensely powerful. One of a kind. But this- this was different. And as dread settled among your group as you watched them in action, realisation sat heavily on your shoulders.

He soon found a trail and traced Alina in Novyi Zem and set out to reach the island by hiring Sturmhond’s crew. He was a famous pirate after all and despite his unreliability, the Darkling was sure that as long as he got his money, he wouldn't be a problem.

In the round trip, you didn’t see much of the captain anyway. Some members of his crew were amiable enough, particularly the Yul-Baatar twins. You had even asked Tamar to spar with you from time to time. Your lessons with Botnik were a distant memory and you knew that mastering combat training skills could increase your chance at survival.

When Alina and Mal were held captive though, that’s when Sturmhond made an appearance. He looked younger than you’d thought and there was something oddly familiar in the way he held himself. Still, you didn't talk with him much. Your job was to take care of Alina and so you spent most of your time in her room.

It wasn’t until the Darkling asked Mal to track Rusalye and consequently spent more time with Alina that you had a chance to talk with him. It was during one of your night shifts when he approached you, the Darkling had wanted some of his to always be patrolling the ship.

“What could possibly make a little thing like you be amidst this wretched company?”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.”

“The thrill of adventure?”

“There’s plenty of it everywhere you go if you’re Grisha, even if you just go on a stroll.”

“Is that why you follow him?”

“I owe everything to him.”

“I’m sure you realize your role in this.”

“Of course I do. I’m not some naive girl who has a crush on her general.”

“Ah, so who, pray tell, do you have a crush on then, beautiful lady?”

“You’re certainly noisy for a pirate.”

“Privateer,” he corrected you, “there’s not much to do around here is it?”

“Not if you have everyone taking care of it, no.”

“Amuse me.”

“It isn’t wise to let the heart get involved in times of war.” That was all you were willing to share. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, the twinkle in his eyes was oddly familiar but he was a stranger. A dangerous one.

“Those sound like words spoken from experience.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’d say it’s no fun to only think about war. Life is so much more.”

“Believe me, if I could, it’d be the last thing on my mind. But, alas, l don’t have the privilege to do so.”

You had already lost too much time speaking with him. If someone were to see you or tell the Darkling you’d be in trouble. And you had made it your goal to never put yourself on the path of the Darkling’s anger. So you excused yourself and went back to your rounds.

If only you had stayed and talked to him more maybe you would have understood what was about to happen. Maybe you would have had an enkindling of Sturmhond’s plans. Instead, you were taken by surprise, just like everyone in your group, when Rusalye was spot and a shot was fired. You had found yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to fight against people you had grown to like.

“I don’t want to hurt you, y/n,” Tamar warned you as you stood face to face on the sinking ship dock. Her trusted axes in her hands while your hands were raised ready to attack.

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Then you don’t have to. Come with us.” Her proposition made you gasp.

“That would be treason,” you whispered hoping that the Darkling wasn’t around to hear you. A shiver ran through you as you thought of the punishment he’d give you for even thinking about leaving his side.

“Then you leave me no choice.” She said lowering her arms. Was that guilt you heard in her voice?

Before you could voice your question though, she shouted for her brother and not even a second later, you felt your body grow still. Your eyebrows faltered as you felt your heartbeat slow down.

They were Grisha.

They must have seen you realise because you heard Tamar apologize before everything went black.

Mr. "Never told me why"

He goes about his day

Forgets he ever even heard my name

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same

You didn’t stay out for long though. As soon as Sturmhond’s crew had left the Darkling’s ship and had safely made it onto the Volkvolny, the privateer had asked for you to be awakened.

There wasn’t enough light for you to realize you were on another ship, what alerted you of your new situation were your hands. They had bound them behind your back. Immediately you started to struggle, hoping to wiggle out of the restraints. To no avail though. Huffing out in frustration, you settled for looking around you and see if there was something you could use. That’s when you noticed him.

“Release me- this instant, or else-”

“Or what? You’re a Healer. Not exactly a violent job, is it?” Sturmhond interrupted you, a smirk on his face since he had the upper hand.

“I don’t need my powers to kick you in the ass, do I?” He laughed but didn’t look remotely threatened. Rather amused, actually.

“Please, you have to let me go. He’ll kill me if-” Panic started to build as you realized that there was no way you could successfully escape.

“He won’t touch you.” A solemn glow took over his eyes. “He won’t ever hurt you again, you have my word.” He promised, looking subtly at your left shoulder. You winced as you realized that he must have seen your scars. The ones left by the Darkling’s niche’voya.

“How can I know if you’re trustworthy? You don’t exactly have a good score, you know?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough. Don’t worry.”

Of course, he didn’t bother offering further explanations. He’d left it at that. You weren’t a captive per se but he left your hands bound, only freeing them when you needed to eat or relieve yourself.

Fruitless were your efforts in making you tell more. He often ate with you and would check in at least twice a day but that was it.

It wasn’t until after you had landed after that forsaken vehicle of his had gotten you through the Fold that you understood. His coming out as Nikolai Lanstov, prince and second in line for the Ravkan throne, had shaken you all to your core. However, you doubted that it had sent a pang to the others’ hearts as it did with yours.

Nikolai Lantsov. The man you had been dreaming about, the one that had left you behind without any sort of explanations, the one you missed so dearly, had been by your side all this time.

You weren’t sure how you felt. It made sense now why his eyes looked familiar and his posture. You then connected that the vehicle you had used in the Fold had been one of the many projects he used to geek about with you. It tasted a lot like betrayal. Not because he had lied to you about his name but because he had tried to get close to you again and had managed to somehow break that growing bond again.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her

So dignified in your well-pressed suit

So strategized, all the eyes on you

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins"

So far above me in every sense

So far above feeling anything

Even if his secret had been outed thus causing some shift in the dynamics between Nikolai and the two new members of his crew - you suspected Mal was closer to punching him every second that passed- not much had changed for you.

On the outside, you pretty much looked like a prisoner. Albeit a very clean one. You rode with them, hands still bound, scowl ever-present on your face.

Nikolai had not come to see you ever since that night after the Fold. And now it had been almost a week since you had started your journey back to the capital. Whether this was all part of his plan to make you look the part of the captive even more or he was just gutless, you didn't know. It was working either way though.

You liked to think that his reason was simply that he didn't care. He had far too much on his plate right now as it was. Going back to court after years of absence while also making claims to the throne and trying to sway the Sun Summoner your way. It was no easy feat. But hadn't he always liked to say that impossible often meant improbable? A lot of things had changed since that night but even so, you'd still pose your bet on him that he'd be able to achieve anything he set his mind to.

It wasn't exactly that thinking this way brought you actual comfort. Of course, not. But it was better than foolishly hoping for him to still care about you the way you did for him. After all, he had sent plenty of signals that pointed in the other direction.

But then why did he kidnap you? Why take you with him? You weren't that close to the Darkling to be of any use to Nikolai in that way. And, as a matter of fact, no one had come to interrogate you regarding his plans or whereabouts. Then why?

You still couldn't figure it out.

Some days your anger shifted more to frustration and you were ounces away from asking for him yourself. Almost as if he had heard you though, he gave you the final push.

It was the usual day, Nikolai and Alina were riding in the carriage, stopping in every village we passed to meet with the locals. However, this time, before climbing back into the carriage, they kissed.

You were too far to figure out who started it and the details. The gist of it was enough though.

You most certainly were a fool. Still thinking about a guy who didn't give two shits about you, who had kidnapped you putting you in a dangerous situation and you were still wondering whether he felt something for you or not? Pathetic.

You had to do something about your situation and quickly too. Officially, you were a traitor. You had fled and joined the Darkling, that wouldn't make you look good in front of the king. He was a lousy bastard anyway and will probably sentence you to death to set an example. You hadn't survived so much shit to end up at the end of a rope.

So, even though you had initially thought against it since you were so close to home, you decided to escape. You were already headed towards certain death so what was the worst that could happen?

Your hands were left unbound when you were in your tent. One less problem to solve. Closing your eyes, you focused on listening for any nearby heartbeats. You heard two, those of the guards posted outside your tent. Maybe you could find an excuse to call them inside, put them to sleep and then slip away.

That was not exactly what your powers were for but you were desperate. You had to at least try.

And so you did. You called them in and immediately set out to slow their heartbeats. You had almost succeeded in putting them under when someone else slipped in. The last person you wanted to see.

"Am I that bad of a host?"

You didn't meet his ruse though, you knew it would make you lose focus.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to release my soldiers." As soon as he said it though, they fell unconscious at last. Your chest was heaving by now, using so much power in such a different way was costing you. But you couldn't back down now. It was one on one and you were Grisha and a woman scorned. He stood no chance.

"Move out of my way, your highness."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You can or I can make you. Your choice." The venom in your voice was unmistakable and it took him by surprise. He gave you a curious look tilting his head to the side like he was seeing you for the first time over again.

"I didn't realize ruthlessness was one of your personality traits."

"You know nothing about me," you seethed. The tip of your fingers flexed, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife and you were already weary.

"It may have been a while y/n, but I like to think I know a good deal about you."

"And I would like to completely erase this last year but you don't hear me yap about how shitty it has been, do you?"

"You never did like opening up much."

"I'm well past the point of sentimentalism, Nikolai. It is coming far too late anyway. And whatever my feelings for you may be, I won't let you put my life on the line." Your posture straightened, stance ready for battle.

His eyes flashed, jaw clenched. His hands closed in fists and he almost looked hurt. But why would he?

"Is that what you think all of this is?" Nikolai always acted aloof. He was always composed and dignified. You had thought it was for his insane amount of self-confidence but now you understood it was for how he was raised. But you recognised the pout on his lips. It was the expression he’d always have whenever he tried to get something from getting to him. To prevent himself from showing emotions.

"You're holding me captive while you go around Ravka parading your latest conquest, flashing your return everywhere. I don't know why you're doing this but I don't care. I've stopped waiting around for you and I certainly won't let your father put me to death."

"You think I'd let him?"

"So you want to do this?" you threw your hands up in exasperation, "Fine. You really want to know what I think?"

"Be my guest."

"I think that the Nikolai I knew would have left out of the blue without so much as a letter. I think that the Nikolai I knew was ready to go to any length to achieve what he believed in. However, I thought that the Nikolai I knew cared about me and what we had but look at me now. So maybe, I know nothing at all."

"You certainly do seem to know a lot of things. But you’re not wrong."

"If this is the way you care about me," I gesture to my tent, "then I'm not sure I want this Nikolai to care for me."

“This,” he said, emulating your gesture, “is to keep you safe. This is my way to ensure that if the Darkling got news of your whereabouts, he’d be sure not to think you willingly left his side and betrayed him.”

“That’s because I didn’t!” You raised your voice in outrage. The nerve of this man.

“Spare me your indignation. I know you hate being at his beck and call, to do his dirty work and be constantly surrounded by warfare.”

“Do not presume to speak for me.” You snapped. You knew it was best to keep a cool head but his cockiness was getting on your nerves.

“Didn’t you? Hate it, I mean.”

“We’re at war, Nikolai. Being away or close to the Darkling won’t change that. At least with him, I was safe.”

“You can’t be that delusional to think that he was protecting you.” He scoffed at your words as if they were the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

“And you can’t be that delusional to think that bringing me back won’t result in your father killing me.” You fired back shifting on your feet. He winced as if you had physically hurt him.

“You have so little faith in me?” His voice was just above a whisper and you knew that your words had struck a chord.

“How can I have any, Nikolai?” your voice softened a bit. “One day you’re telling me how much you value my opinion, you promise me a future where I’d be the first to see your project come to life and then you left. You just left, Nikolai.” And when I was starting to make my peace with it that’s when you come back? Also, let’s not forget about my abduction and your flirting with Alina.”

“So yes, I don’t trust you.” You concluded, crossing your arms on your chest with finality. He just stared at you for the longest time. If someone would come in now, they’d think you were in the middle of a staring contest. Then he sighed and started talking.

“I had to go away. I had already pushed my parents’ limits when I said I wanted to be part of the infantry. So, one day I got a letter written by my father personally and I knew that my time was up. I had been Nikolai for too long, now I had to start being a Lantsov prince.” His eyes were on the ground now, shame making her way in his words.

“So that’s what I did,” he went as he started pacing,”I went to Kerch to study, just like my father wanted. I did what he asked, he couldn’t reproach me anything now. I could never stay too still though, a life of adventure was calling me and I could not ignore it. It was only then that I realized that I could do so much more than sitting in a class, to realistically help Ravka.”

“I couldn’t take you with me. You had such a larger role to play in the army and besides, there wasn’t much I could offer you. So yes, I left. I left thinking that I would find my way back to you eventually.” He had stopped by now, regret was swirling in his shining orbs as he looked at you.

“You could have told me.” You contestated, taken back by all the information he gave you. “I would have waited for you.” A whispered promise for something that would never be now.

“I was afraid, y/n. That’s not my best moment, I know and no number of apologies could ever make it right. But I was afraid of your answer. I knew I’d be asking for a lot and let’s be honest-” the desperation in his tone was evident now, he had unconsciously started to lean towards you but you knew what he was about to say.

“You weren’t sure if the future you were offering me would just end up with me being your mistress, am I right?” Your tone hardened but despite the insulting implication of what you said, you weren’t made at him.

“I’m a prince, y/n. We do not marry for love and this country cannot afford to disregard the advantages that a political union could bring.”

His honesty was as refreshing as it was unsettling. He was right. As soon as you had learned he was a prince, you realized just what kind of future you could have with him. But then he left and that problem did not exist anymore. Neither of you spoke, both of you were seizing the other. You had laid it all out, defences were down putting you both in a vulnerable position.

And someday maybe you'll miss me

“You should have talked to me, Nikolai. We could have figured it out together. If it came to being your mistress to stay with you, then that was my decision to make.” You said softly after a while. It pained for you to say this, you would have never thought that getting closure would hurt this much.

Tears streamed on both of your faces, in front of you had been laid what your future could have looked like. It was everything you had wanted, you could still do your job and have the man of your dreams. You were surprised to find that you wouldn’t mind sharing him with his supposed wife. You had been at court for enough time to know how most marriages went. If he assured you it was only a diplomatic affair but that his heart was yours, that would have been enough. Who knows, maybe she’ll get a lover too.

But now… now you didn’t know if you could ignore everything that happened. You did not trust him nor could you ignore how hurt you were by his lack of communication and thus of trust in you.

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

[katsubiatch]

Distant Shores-2

Summary: The heathens came to raid every year, stealing treasures and killing along the way. Your father was the King of Wessex and wanted to strike a deal with the heathens. The heathens and their ruthless numbers in exchange for some lands to farm, riches... and you. You are the Christian princess that is now to marry the Heathen King, a man that you're sure would rather kill you than marry you. This is going to be a miserable marriage.

A Viking!BakugouxReader fic.

The boat ride back to where the Vikings lived was a long one. As exciting as being on the open water was, to see so much open space it got old quickly. The water would spray at you, soaking you to your bones and causing you to shiver. There also wasn’t much to look at other than the deep blue of the ocean, white fluffy clouds in the sky, the other Viking ships floating nearby. 

You also couldn’t really speak to anyone, you did not know their language at all nor they yours. The only one who seemed to know anything was the man that was to be your husband, however he didn’t seem interested in talking. At least not to you. From what you could tell he was grumpy, rude, unpredictable and overall unpleasant. You wondered why these people followed him, weather or not they had a choice in the matter or not. Back home no matter what anyone thought of your father they had to follow, he was King after all. You weren’t quite sure how it worked here but you couldn’t ask either. 

You huffed, drawing the fur closer around your body, the same one that had been placed on you near the start of your journey. He had to have a nice bone somewhere in his body, right? If he gave you this fur, then again maybe he just hadn’t wanted to hear you complain. It felt like you had been on the sea forever, and there was a constant chill to you that you couldn’t shake. You had no idea how some of these men were shirtless, though you supposed it would be easy to work up a sweat rowing as they did. You hadn’t ever thought of that, that there were people who did such a job. You hadn’t been on one of your fathers ships and even if you had you wouldn’t have seen the men working so hard to row.  One of the men must have noticed your staring because he gestured to you and then to the oar that he was holding, laughing and joking with the men beside him. However you stood up, giving the man a smile. At this point you’d do anything to warm up and help. You felt useless this entire time, the only person who hadn’t taken a turn to row. The man looked shocked at you as you stood up, gently touching the oar. You weren’t quite sure how to do this, that much was obvious but the man did his best to instruct you without actually speaking. You figured you got the gist of it and it only took you a minute or so to get in sync with the other men rowing. You laughed softly to yourself before starting to feel the burn in your arms. This was a workout, but judging by the men near you and their large arms this was something they were used to. A few of the men near you let out little snickers and chuckles, shaking their heads. They hadn’t expected such a prim and proper lady to do such a thing. You on the other hand, found things like this interesting and wanted to try it all. 

It did not last long however until you felt a strong hand wrapping around your upper arm and dragging you up, causing you to drop the oar and gasp slightly. Bakugou was barking angrily at the man that had gotten up from his position while gripping tightly on your arm. You couldn’t understand what he was saying but he sounded angry and you instantly regretted your decision. “It is my fault.. not his.” You managed to get out, your own hand touching Bakugou’s arm.  “Quiet you, you are meant to sit here until we get back.” Bakugou growled as he looked down at you, almost snarling as he deposited you back to where you had originally been seated. You grumbled for a few moments, looking up at Bakugou with narrowed eyes, obviously upset that he had pulled you away from your task. 

The two of you were sharing a very long, intense stare. A few of the men around you admired your braveness and said as much, not that you could understand what they were saying to begin with. Soon a spray of ocean water broke your gaze as it came crashing right next to you and you had to move to get out of it’s way. “You sit here, and do not say anything the rest of the way.” Bakugou grumbled as he moved you to a spot where there wasn’t too much spray and threw another fur over you. 

His mood was hard to understand, he could be somewhat kind as you’d witnessed before, but he was also surly and rude. To be married to someone like that for the rest of your life, always having to guess at what emotion he had and walking on eggshells. That was not something that you wanted to deal with, however you didn’t have much choice in the matter. Running away? Well you were in the middle of the ocean and once you got back to land your odds weren’t much better. In a foreign land where you didn’t speak the language? Yeah that wouldn’t be good. So at this point you were stuck, with no much choice other than to marry a man you didn’t know or love. 

It was a day or so later that seagulls were seen flying above and you saw the men getting excited, so you figured that you must be getting closer to home. Well their home, your new prison. Moments later a small town came into view, huts and longhouses, docks and a beautiful beach. You stayed put where you were however, instead of going to get a closer look. You really didn’t want to anger your future any further. 

Soon the men were docking, women waiting with children at the docks smiling happily and waving at what you presumed were their husbands. They were all so happy to see their families some jumped off the boats before they were properly docked and unloaded. You wondered what it was like, to have such a family. You figured you’d never know. Your parents weren’t exactly the loving type, always more concerned with their country and duty. You smiled at watching them reunite, happy for them. Children climbed on their fathers shoulders, heavily pregnant women eagerly hugged their husbands. 

You were roughly pulled from your seated position, a calloused hand gripping your upper arm tightly and hauling you towards the docks. You did your best to fall into step beside him, tripping over your own feet as his pace was quick. “Keep up.” He grumbled as he looked back angerly at you before stopping once they had got to the red head you often saw Bakugou hanging around with. He was huddled close to a beautiful, bubbly woman holding a a newborn baby wrapped in furs. The two were cooing over the little thing before Bakugou walked over to them.  “Look at how beautiful she is, you really outdid yourself Mina.” 

“Well you had a hand in it as well you know.”  You heard the woman giggle but you had no idea what they were saying so you just stayed put, catching your breath from that walk. Bakugou stayed put, looking down at the baby and you could have sworn you saw a light smile gracing his lips. However whatever was there was gone just as quick.  “She is beautiful.” Bakugou agreed and looked at the two. “Congratulations. A new child is a wonderful thing.” “Who is she?” Mina asked, peeking around Kirishima to get a better look at the woman Bakugou was holding onto so tightly.  “Oh don’t worry about her, I’ll explain later.” Kirishima whispered to her before Bakugou drug her along and she stumbled to keep up. You didn’t dare speak up, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of people you didn’t know. It took a bit but soon you made it to a very big long house where many people seemed to be convening and all were smiling at Bakugou, saying words that you didn’t understand and clapping him on the back. You were sure they were all congratulating and thanking him for a raid well done. You got many curious looks as well, however Bakugou didn’t divulge that information to anyway.  There was a large feast prepared, everyone sat in the great hall laughing and feasting. You were set next to Bakugou, picking at your food because you were just too nervous to do much else. Of course you felt out of place, you didn’t understand any of the conversations going on and the only person who you could speak to seemed much more interested in other things. However a bit after this feast started Bakugou stood up and everyone silenced, even the children were quiet in the presence of their earl.  “We are gathered here to celebrate our great raid!” Bakugou yelled out into the crowd, even if it was quiet he felt the need for such celebration. Everyone yelled out, taking drinks and laughing amongst themselves. “We had a very succesful raid and we shall make it through the winter, if not longer! We did strike a deal with the King of Wessexs. He offered us riches and land in exchange for our army should he need it. We also have his daughter, who I am to marry.” He didn’t say the last part quite happily but it was what it was. He was to marry this girl and that was that. “Now weather or not we uphold our part of the deal is to remain seen. After all if he is going to drag us into a lengthy and pointless war we will not participate, and deal with those repercussions later.” At that the men laughed. “Now eat, drink, celebrate our return and our new riches!” 

You hadn’t understood anything that he’d said but you assumed that it had something to do with being back and some kind of pep talk you were sure. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Although while the men and women drank, celebrated and got a touch too feely with each other than you were used to you awkwardly sat and watched the festivities. Children running and playing, wives draping themselves over their husbands and some doing everything they could to welcome them back, men sitting around and talking with each other. Your husband to be was doing just that, drinking and talking with a few of the other men you’d seen him around often. 

You felt out of place some eyes staring at you and definitely giving you the cold shoulder. You were an outsider, a stranger to their otherwise seemingly close knit unit. Even those who seemed to be servants ignored and moved around you. It had been a very long journey and an even longer night. You felt yourself falling asleep sitting up, while you had no idea where you are supposed to sleep. “Get up.” A gruff voice next to you grumbled and gripped your arm, hauling you up from your seated position. Your eyes opened as you stood and looked up at Bakugou. “You can’t fall asleep at the table. Come.” He commanded as he made his way towards a curtained off area. Once you got past the curtains there was an area with a bed, trunks, spare furs and treasures you hadn’t ever seen before. “You’ll stay here with me, in the bed.” Your eyes went wide at that, having never shared a bed with a man before. However you supposed that this man was going to be your husband.  You nodded before looking around the room and noticing that your one trunk wasn’t here, “Your things are not here... you can sleep in this.” Bakugou threw one of his tunics at you, and while it would be big on you it certainly wasn’t what you were used to and you’d be showing more than you were comfortable with. “I’ll turn around.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling and turning around. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, although you knew that he would see it all soon enough you were grateful that he would at least give you this until that day came. 

Days came and went, and most of them would have been spent alone had Bakugou not been so generous as to allow one of his men to escourt you around, it helped that he was also fluent in your language. He had joined the Vikings on one of their raids last summer and while some of the men still didn’t trust him he was loyal to them. His name was Shoto Todoroki and he was quiet but kind. He would translate conversations for you, although most of them held no interest for you however some did involve you and most of the women around were upset that you were taking Bakugou. However you weren’t exactly taking him, you’d been forced into this marriage just as much as he had. You also didn’t think that he’d been too interested in the women either. 

No one wanted to speak to you, and it was lonely although you did have Shoto but there were times that he had other things to do and you didn’t want him to have to hang out with you all day. He was sweet and kind however and much more of a conversationalist than Bakugou. You would get occasional grunts and commands when you were together but that wasn’t often. He was always busy and kept you under watch whenever he was gone. 

A week had gone by since you’d been in the Viking lands and it was time for your wedding. It had been planned quickly and all the traditions were so different from your own. The wedding was on a Friday, because it was Friggas day and she was the Goddess of marriage, love and fertility according to Shoto. You’d bathed in a bath house with Bakugous mother, Mitsuki, to wash away your status as a Maidan. It was usually done with married women of your family however none of your family was here so different arrangements were made. You quite liked Bakugous mother, she was not quite as brash and rude as her son but you saw where he got his personality from. 

After your bath your hair was braided and ornaments were placed in it, another tradition you were not familiar with. You were dressed in a blue gown that had been made specifically for this wedding, it was simple as you’d been told your hair was more important than the actual dress. You’d picked up on a few words here and there, as well as Shoto had been teaching you some things. Especially what to say during the wedding, which was something you’d been nervous of. 

Once the actual wedding started you were feeling nervous, walking down that long way towards Bakugous back, seeing him wearing his best furs and clothes. During the ceremony you did your best to pay attention, although you didn’t understand everything and just went along with what was happening. Exchanging rings, swords-which was strange for you-and a very chaste, first, kiss. Bakugou looked indifferent the entire time, and you felt much the same. You hadn’t gotten to know him since you’d been here, he was always off working with his people or solving their problems. 

There was a large feast held afterwards with plenty of mead flowing and while you hadn’t ever tried the stuff before you decided why not, after all you had no idea what was to become of your wedding night but you had a feeling Bakugou was going to expect something. Where you came from no one spoke of it, however a few cheeky maids had let you in on the secret of losing your maidenhood. You were nervous but figured some liquid courage could help. You sputtered and choked at first, to which your now husband laughed at you for. “Didn’t expect you to want to drink.” He laughed, the mead loosening his tongue a bit. It was the most that he’d spoken to you in days.  “If I am supposed to be your wife maybe I should act like a Viking.” That got another laugh out of your husband who shook his head. This feast was quite a bit like allthe others every night but this one was bigger than the rest and there was much more alcohol flowing through it. 

The night dragged on and soon enough you found yourself in Bakugous large bed, naked and surrounded by furs. He could tell you were nervous and so he took his time. Working you up, only to have you crashing down with such a force that you couldn’t explain. The maids might have told you about losing your maidenhood however they hadn’t spoke to it feeling like this. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore he proved you wrong. You didn’t think that it could feel like this, nor did you think Bakugou could be so gentle and nice. At the end of it you could hardly keep your eyes open and Bakugou cleaned you up and dressed you, covering you up with furs. He might not have wanted this marriage but he wasn’t going to be the biggest asshole in the world. At least not tonight. 

A/N: I did my best to add in viking wedding traditions although it was a little hard because a lot of them involved thins with family and obviously reader does not have family here! Yes I decided to put Kirishima and Mina together, idk why it just seems like a good pairing to me and I’ve seen it in quite a few fics as well! Mina is also a warrior but she stayed behind because she was still pregnant at the time of the raid starting. Also when things are in italics that is when they are speaking the Viking language. Also I am not adding smut in because I can’t control if a minor is going to read this or not plus I am not good at writing it anyway haha. This got a little dry and boring in the middle, I apologize but The next part will start to get a little more angsty and juicy so I hope you’re ready!!

TagList

naiomiwinchester  wannabe99now  @whore-for-anime  moshi-moshi-angie015  ojfugk  angie-1306

[rivendellsstuff]

𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ━━━ 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | ❝In despair, he condemns his desires. Regretted, he know the consequences would be eternal and all he wanted was you. Your fiery personality, bright lips and soft skin.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2310;

Genre: friends to lovers;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Mentions of canon-typical violence. The first chapter is set before the events of the first season. Friends with benefits — so, it'll be eventual smut (like, a lot!)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: English isn't my natives language, so if you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know.

━━━━ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

Some men's whish the glory, others crawl like snakes by power and there is those who live like rats in the system. However, there is a exception — and his names is Levi Ackerman. Emerged from the underground, by dust and blood, forged as a weapon at an early age and steeped in pride, he raised as humanity's strongest soldier. He carries a doctrine, imbedded in his bones: he serves to humanity, the balance and the freedom of mankind. If there is a threat, he is the man who can fight against it, ranging from cruel people to evil titans.

He was born in cruel times and did his best to survive in the Underground. He found a glory he wasn't looking for. Something many wish to through their lives, but which, for him, was irrelevant. They all bleed, they all are stuck on the Walls and share the same ended chapter: the death. The final outcome is not defined by possessions, achievements or privileges in life. The only difference was that could get death any easier and painless. Levi was not a hypocrite: he would rather a peaceful death, lying on his bed, instead of being eaten by a titan.

He rather — and is all what it is. It wasn't like if he had any choice. The Ackerman's family were designed to protect the people and to fight. They were cursed with a power. Some people could say it is a miracle in dark times. Others would argue that mans were corrupted, cruel and too ambitious to deal with that awakened power. Well, Levi knows, that no everyone were worthy to possess such ability — Kenny, that asshole, was one of them.

However, there was kind strange situation. An only exception, an affliction that hung over through the heart and maddened his mind: you.

Desire wasn't a word enough to define how he feels close to you, a fearless female warrior, who destroy each barrier he has built over the years, causing delirium with the thought of you hurt. Levi knew he would have taken a checkmate just by desiring you.

But when it all starts? He couldn't say with sure. Maybe, when he, Farlan and Isabel were recruited by the Survey Corps, and you were the only one who spoke to them without undriveable mock and trial. You, besides Erwin, didn't seem to care where they came from. As deeply loyal as you were to your comrades, you didn't depend on your interactions with them for take a direction — you were content to follow your own passions and desires without input from anyone else.

Maybe it started when he saw you in battle or an a argue with a member of Military Police Regiment. Fear is not in yours's vocabulary when you are on the battlefield or when you are speaking her mind to others.

As their partnership grew, he'd find some similarities between you, but also many differences.

You, just like him, has little patience for any form of prose or riddles when you are communicating with others. You speak bluntly and without pretense, and expects others to do the same, prefers to get to the point and doesn’t seek to romanticize your expectations or intentions. You also are focused on the present issues and what role you can play in protecting the people that you love, what can prevent you from seeing the future results of your present actions and, unlike him, does result in some impulsive and risky — yet brave— actions.

All these little things over the years, made him fall in love with you, and Levi had ways to say it without saying "I love you".

Like that night.

He wasn't hiding his disgust face when handed you a cup full of that steaming, black liquid; the simply smelling coffee could make your stomach turn, but still, he prepares a cup for you every night.

As the second in the command, you have spent several evenings together conducting the next advances of the squadron. So, there you are, sitting next to him, eyes focused on the paper, turning the pen between your fingers and... biting your lower lip.

Occasionally, almost instinctively Levi raises his eyes to you. Being so close of you was it's a unique feeling. The smell of your perfume as stunning, and his throat closes around the words he would like to say. The tension that has been brought in was too dangerous for someone like him.

Fucking woman, fucking lips. Fuck you!

''Is there a problem?'', you inquired making eye contact for the first time that night. He couldn't say if there was perversion when you wet your own lips, but Levi felt his muscles become tense and contracted when you made it.

Levi responded with a faint whimper before observed: ''You shouldn't be drinking so much coffee at this time. You look like shit when don't get sleep''.

Lie. Fucking hell, you're always beautiful, but no way he'd say what he thought.

You rolled your eyes. ''It's you who did'', you put forth.

''I wasn't in the mood to put up with a brat attitude from you.''

''Brat? You know that we have about the same age, don't you?'', your gaze traveled from the figure sat in front of you to the window, confused as to why you would be embarrassed about his presence. You took in a breath before adding: ''Anyway, don't want sleep.''

There was a pause for a few seconds. You and he eyed each other.

''Why?'', he asks, authoritative one.

You shrugged and shook your head firmly. ''It doesn't matter.''

''If it doesn't matter, why would I have asked that?''

"Cause you're snooper”, you smirked.

''I'm not a snooper, brat."

He felt his heart begin to quicken when you carried the pen to your lips and start biting.

"Yes, you are a horrible snooper old man, bossy and with an astonishing mania for cleanliness."

"Old? You know we have about the same age”; he repeats. His eyes drifted back to your face, noticing your gaze had shifted again to the woods beyond the window. "And you're avoiding the question", he softly says (at least as softy as he could be), interrupting your rampant thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Levi watches in silence as you'd shoulders slump.

"I can't sleep. My mind has the scary capability of being evil, although I always thought that one day it'd get better", you're voice was low and flat, quiet and a little sad as you spoke to Levi, who seemed to know what are you exactly referred to and only nodded at your words. "I feel guilty. All the time."

Even in the darkness the room held, your eyes find his greys one like the starlight's.

''Are you afraid of your dreams, too?'', you asked, never expecting the humanity strongest soldier to have any fears.

'Yes'', he said quietly.

You nodded with hesitation, his words repainting in your head as you struggled to forma a sentence to answered.

Levi was used to such sadness, he had month's — no, years — to griever over the deaths of his mother and friends. Death was not uncommon thing in his life. His childhood who should be carefree, playing in the sun, was like a living nightmare, learning to fight in the darkness of Underground. Later, when he left the place to join the Survey Corps, he accepted to live in that never ending tragedy that people had sadly grown used to. Death was more common in that job than anything else, and he knows how badly it fuck with his mind.

“I’m beginning to think we’re a lot alike… you and me. We’re both strange cast, who’ve learned to fight when we’re backed into a corner'', you began weakly.

''Well, we’re backed into a corner now. Two fucking insomniacs”, he shook his head, thinking about your words. He didn't seem to like the way your voice sounded sadder. You raised your eyes to him again as he slowly spoke: ''You're not alone''

You answered a tiny smile onto your lips. Levi felt his cheeks burn and opposite glanced to your empty coffee cup, thinking that he'll able to always tolerate your strange addiction.

A few second later you both went back to work, and Levi was left with words stuck, temptation planted in the mind and a sure thing for him: the insomniac nights would become better by you.

【 ━━ 】

Inside Wall Sheena, guests were arriving, among them five members of the Scout Regiment - consisting mostly of commanders - walked through the gates, exuding self-confidence, bitter to participate in that boring and stupid meeting.

Little lies, little social sacrifices to feed what kept the Scout Regiment going: funding.

It was not necessary to be an expert in politics to see beyond the traditional veil of those events, to perceive the intentions of certain parliamentarians, very sadistic. Knowing it was part of your job to relate to these kinds of people annoyed you.

For one minute, you saw out of the corner of your eyes, the first on your command. The man of grey eyes used a black suit that fits perfectly. Be present in an event with so many politics didn't seem to his liking. Was kind of hard for all of you play nice one with all this tension in the air.

You've never felt the feeling of fear and tension like that inside the Walls before.

''Stop frowning before you break your face''

'It would be so sad, and you would cry for being depriving of that beautiful face''

''Oh, fuck yourself'', he says, angrily.

''If you watch''

You smirched at his expression as he looks up to you, after seeing your face, he turns away.

''Watch your words, brat''

''Or what, old man? What will you do to me?''

He looks back up at you.

''I could break you habit of drinking coffee, put you to clean all the HQ or even to help Hange with the experiments. The three together seems good, by the way''

You roll your eyes.

''You're mean''

'You're annoying'', he replied. ''And you know, if you keep rolling your eyes one day their going to get stuck like that''

''Are you trying to be funny?''

His little grin showed up making you roll eyes into a smile. He was terribly bossy and annoying, but you like that about him.

You took the glass of wine to your lips and raised your eyes to hit his. Levi hovered over you, making you felt that flame into your heart once more. Your eyes tailed down to Levi's lips then back to his eyes. You could feel your heart beating recklessly.

Fucking grey eyes, fucking black suit. Fuck you!

You felt a thumb on your cheeks, making them burn.

''You look...'', he started whispered and slightly caress your cheeks. Your body started to get hot under his soft touch. ''... beautiful. You look beautiful''

You were speechless.

You liked the sudden ardor, of the dangerous attraction, of folly and frivolous with provocative sins. Liked and thought how the taste of his lips would be: the indomitable, the irresistible, the powerful and sin.

He slowly dragged his hand down to my thorax wrapping his hands around it. A soft gasp escaped of your lips.

''You know... If you want dance, it'll not rude to ask'', you try to say. ''The song is awful, but I'm not a demanding partner''

''Only if you don’t step on my foot''

His prepotency make you smile.

''Don’t be a bad partner and there will be no mistakes'', you retorted, making him raised one of the eyebrows. ''That's how a men should behave next to a woman''

He took you in his arms, abruptly, making the bodies collide with intensity. You gasped, very close to Levi's ears, who felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Leading you through music, in no second was the look averted, in a battle for unknown control.

You and Levi explored a unique experience.

He stares burned deep into your body. His touch on your skin made your body tingle.

Fuck, control yourself. Don't get turned on by him!

He didn't say anything, just left you hold into him. You could feel your body burning around him. What was he doing to you? It felt like a spell. The effect of sin, of desire. You should get rid of that, all you needed least were distractions in the workplace and ruin the friendship, trust and partnership that you two took so long to build.

However, both keep looking to each other longer than friends should. Longer than friends should...

He could saw you lost inside your mind. Slowly, he pulled down his fingers, lazily touching the skin of your exposed back by the dress. Levi's vision was blinded by the desire his image represented. The surroundings smelled wine and fruits, intoxicating his sense. The ears, doomed to hear the political bullshit. His tact could burn by touching you. His taste? It was dangerous, because wanted to discover the taste of your lips and body.

But not now, not here.

You are his friend — the only who was left. In despair, he condemns his desires. Regretted, he knew the consequences would be eternal and all he wanted was you. Your fiery personality, bright lips and soft skin.

To hell all of that. When you both got back, he'll fucked you, every way that he can thinking off. He wants to pound into you, slammed into you and give the best night that you ever have. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.

''Good girl'', he whispers next to your ears. ''But I'll show you how true men should behave next to a woman when we get back''

[jamespotterthefirst]

Cariño (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2K Premise: After their confessing their feelings to one another, everyone can see something has changed. Set in book3, Chapter 11.

Author’s Note: More outsider POVs. This girl loved them and will probably never stop writing them. 

* “cariño” just means “dear” or “love” in Spanish

Grace

The placid, teal waters of the lagoon glimmer like a cluster of diamonds, blending into a breath-taking gradient with the pink swirls of sunrise. Grace attempts to take a picture, but a measly phone camera will never be enough to capture the splendor.

Instead, she takes in a deep breath, convinced such a view is worth getting up early for after a late night of drinking and dancing.

“Nothing… is… worth this, Ethan,” a breathless voice says from nearby, interrupting the silence on the otherwise deserted beach.

“Doctor Allende, I am shocked at you,” a male voice responds. “You know the benefits of regular exercise as well as any other physician.”

It's a young and rather attractive couple jogging down the shore. At least, the taller of the two figures seems to be jogging. The shorter, curvier one is slouching over, dragging their feet against the sand.

“Try to keep up, Lilac.”

As they approach, Grace immediately recognizes them from the previous night at Ines and Angie's reception. Their attractive features would have been enough to make them memorable, but what Grace remembers the most is the long, lingering looks they would cast one another from across the venue.

Now, they move side by side, the tall, handsome man clad in only swimming trunks, his broad shoulders and toned muscles glistening in the first glimmers of sunlight. The pretty brunette at his side wears a bright one-piece that has no right looking so flattering, her dark hair swaying in a high ponytail.

“Jogging isn't exercise. It's a form of medieval torture,” the young woman returns, panting after every other word.

“And you say I'm the dramatic one,” he returns with a chuckle.

Lilac, not listening, slows her steps until she stops entirely, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Ethan rolls his eyes but laughs nonetheless, retracting his steps to return to her side.

“Fine,” he concedes. “You win. No more jogging for today.”

At the words, the brunette recovers miraculously, straightening and shooting him a flirtatious smile. Her companion watches her, as though her unbridled delight is the most precious rarity in the world. When he seems unable to fight the urge any longer, he pulls her to him with a roguish half smile that has even Grace's knees trembling.

Without much preamble or regard for who might be watching, he kisses her, his hands moving to cradle her face.

Grace tries to glance away, giving them as much privacy as possible, but the stark difference from last night captures her attention entirely. At the wedding, there was something quiet and restrained about the way they longed for each other. Today, there is freedom and unabashed happiness in every movement, in every smile, in every small gesture of affection.

“Now will you take pictures?” Lilac asks him, adding a flutter of her lashes to plead her case.

“Was that your only motive for accepting my invitation to exercise? Pictagram worthy shots?”

“You're a Pictagram worthy shot,” she returns without missing a beat, pulling their bodies close again and sealing the coy statement with a kiss.

Ethan does not need much more persuading after that. Despite the groan he lets out, he agrees far too quickly for a man who spends the following two minutes criticizing social media.

At last, he willingly becomes the subject of many of his girlfriend's photographs, even following her directions of different poses. He visibly enjoys the role of photographer when it's finally his turn to take pictures of her. Grace doesn't blame him in the least since Lilac works that camera with captivating poses.

“Now us together,” Lilac says after a while. The words are rushed, as though knowing what the answer will be.

“Absolutely not. No more selfies.”

He takes many selfies with her.

“Excuse me,” Grace says after watching her struggle to capture the beautiful lagoon behind them. “Sorry to interrupt but would you like me to take your picture?”

Lilac appears delighted by the offer, accepting and smiling at Grace so brightly that she too would agree to arduous photoshoots if she asked.

“Alright, say 'cheese.'” Grace lifts the phone Lilac gives her, careful to include the beautiful scenery in the shot.

Ethan looks as though he'd rather be dragged off by a shark than to say the word.

A millisecond before Grace takes the picture, however, Lilac cranes her neck to kiss his cheek, murmuring something in his ear. Whatever it is makes Ethan's smile rival the rising sun on the horizon.

Tobias

Ethan peers down at the coral drink in his companion’s hand, his brow furrowed as though the mere existence of so much color in an alcoholic drink offends him. Tobias watches from the end of the poolside bar with interest, keeping his urge to laugh at bay. Such a visceral reaction to a fun drink is so characteristic of his ex friend that Tobias can hardly help his amusement.

“What the hell is that?” Ethan is asking her.

Lilac Allende is not as successful in biting back her own amusement. She laughs at once, as though she expected such a reaction from him.

“Sex on the beach,” she answers, her voice a husky little pronouncement that is meant to weaken the will of even the strongest of beings. Paired with a lazy, deliberate nail up his arm and the world renowned Ethan Ramsey doesn't stand a chance.

Tobias, still unnoticed by the couple, gives an impressed nod, respecting her game.

“I—” Ethan stammers.

He puts on a brave attempt at impassiveness after this but even Tobias can see the doctor’s ears brighten with color.

“You want to—” His voice drops an octave. “Again?”

“It's the name of the drink, Ramsey,” she informs him in a would-be innocent voice. It's promptly spoiled by her laughter at Ethan's utterly stunned expression.

“You're an unabashed tease, Allende.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Tobias pauses at the word, uttered so confidently. He almost expects a grimace from his old friend, maybe a hasty change in the conversation. But Ethan surprises him thoroughly by smirking down at the brunette, an expression of pure adoration on his face.

“You're right,” Ethan whispers close to her ear. His voice drops so low that Tobias doesn't catch what he tells her next.

Much to Tobias's continued surprise, the usually confident and vivacious young doctor blushes.

The couple spends the following moments murmuring words that are too low for anyone nearby to hear. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the content of their quiet conversation ranges from nauseatingly romantic to explicit.

They are interrupted by the arrival of one of Dr. Allende's friends, a short and exuberant resident whose name Tobias hadn't learned yet. After Ethan's reassurances that he will catch up in a few, they depart toward the beach where a group of grinning young doctors awaits.

“Never thought I'd see the serious and private Ethan Ramsey engage in PDA.”

If Ethan is surprised to see Tobias occupying a seat nearby, he does a masterful job at masking it. Unfazed, he simply stares at Tobias, willing him to get to the point.

“I knew you two were together thanks to the rumor mill, but I didn't realize it was this serious.”

Ethan narrows his eyes, the only hint of a reaction from him. For all of Tobias's suave swagger, the mistrust he sees in the other doctor's expression stings more than he'd ever admit out loud. He shouldn't have expected any less after all the years laden with dishonesty between both men.

Still, Tobias raises his hands in defeat, letting out a laugh that is not entirely genuine.

“Just trying to make some friendly conversation,” he tells him.

Ethan turns away to face the glass of scotch before him, as though it serves as a more superior conversation partner than Tobias. Knowing when to throw in the towel, Tobias takes his drink and prepares to move away.

“Things are… different,” Ethan finally says before Tobias can move.

It's not much but for Ethan Ramsey, that is as good an olive branch as he'll ever get.

“Lilac is…”

“Different?” Tobias finishes for him.

Even as friends, they were never poetic or sentimental. But Tobias understands the depth behind the single word without further explanation.

“I can see that,” Tobias continues with a small chuckle. “It's obvious to anyone that knows you that she's special.”

Ethan looks at him then, a flicker of surprise on his otherwise impenetrable expression.

“It's nice to see you happy.”

The words leave Tobias before he has any consciousness of forming them. He is shocked—far more than Ethan in that moment—to find he means them.

Naveen

The spell cast by a vacation in a beautiful, faraway place comes to a close as their departure time trickles near. Lamenting this fact, Naveen rounds the corner of the unfamiliar hotel hallway.

He knows better than anyone of the challenges that lay ahead for them as they return to Bloom Edenbrook. He also knows that most of those challenges will be endured by his protégé. What worries him the most is how Ethan will face the strife that is still to come.

Naveen’s steps soon come to a halt a few rooms down when the door to Ethan's room opens.

“...that we got everything, babe.”

Lilac Allende emerges, unaware of Naveen and speaking over her shoulder as she hauls her luggage into the hall. She pauses in the hallway, rummaging through her purse.

“So you decided on 'babe' then?” Ethan asks dryly, appearing at her side with his own suitcase in tow.

“You decided,” Lilac returns cheerfully turning to face him.

“How do you figure I did that exactly?”

“Last night, before we fell asleep. I informed you we had a very important decision to make,” Lilac recounts quite seriously. “I asked you what you wanted me to call you.”

Ethan nods, playfully feigning interest as though they're discussing the specifics of a particularly difficult case.

“I laid out all the possible pet names and you chose 'babe'.”

“I have no recollection of doing that.”

“I told you it was down to 'bear', 'lamb chop', or 'babe'.”

Much to Naveen's amusement, Ethan grimaces at the list of pet names, his expression growing more horrified with each one.

“Just call me your usual ones in Spanish.”

“Oh, I will, cariño. I have a whole list of those ready. Lucky for you, I’m bilingual so you’re getting both. Babe was the one that got the quietest grunt from you, so I assumed that's the one you decided on. But if you'd rather I call you 'bear', then I have no—”

Ethan, who had been watching her with such a lovestruck expression since the word “cariño”,  calls her bluff in the form of a kiss. All pretense vanishes as Lilac melts into the kiss, smiling blissfully against his lips.

“We should leave now if we want to make our flight,” Ethan says, breaking apart with a sigh. “Here. I'll take these.”

He grips the handle of her suitcase, ready to pull it along with his own.

“Thanks, babe,” she says with a wink, emphasizing the last word.

Ethan rolls his eyes but smiles—a rare, genuine smile Naveen only sees when he's around Lilac.

“It's growing on you, isn't it?”

“Perhaps,” Ethan concedes. “Or maybe I'd let you call me whatever you want.”

Lilac laughs, delighted.

“I'd be careful in awarding Dr. Allende that much power,” Naveen says to make his presence known.

The couple turns to look at him, Lilac with an amicable smile and Ethan with a resigned sigh.

“Too late for that,” Lilac responds brightly.

At that, Naveen laughs in agreement much to Ethan's chagrin.

“Is there something you needed or were you just prying?” Ethan asks though not unkindly.

It is a rare sight, though a pleasant one, to see them simply be with one another, all guards down. By Naveen's observations, they are always the picture of professionalism at Edenbrook—at least to the public eye. But now, as they stand side by side, fearless and unapologetic in their affection, Naveen realizes his concern for Ethan was in vain.

“The reason for my visit seems pointless now,” he admits with a small chuckle.

Ethan raises his brows, unconvinced.

“Forgive the interruption,” Naveen goes on. Before he turns to leave, he offers them a barely restrained grin. “And for the record, Ethan, I would have chosen 'lamb chop.'”

Author’s Note: I finally wrote in my hc that MC calls Ethan babe ironically (and to annoy him) at first but they end up liking it as time goes on lol. 

Thank you so much for reading this! 

Thank you @aestheticartsx​​ for pre-reading!

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hi! If your prompts are still open, would you consider perhaps Jaskel with them being soulmates? Hope you have a good day!

Hello dear! Once again, after saying I would answer these with 500-1000 words, I've written a full story arc of about 7500 words. Typical!

I started with this: In the books, Jaskier is extremely famous. What would the repercussions of fame be in a 'first words of your soulmate written on your arm' AU? How would people manipulate or weaponize it to get a piece of you?

What would it mean for a witcher, when so many 'first words' said to you are invectives?

And how would Jaskier and Eskel, with existences that seem at complete odds, navigate the cruelties of such a world, and fall in love?

Content Warnings: Brief references to past manipulative or coerced sex. Brief references of past self harm (to get rid of a soulmate mark). But it is a fully happy ending with loads of comfort.

It's Hard to be the Bard it's also hard to be the witcher, but that doesn't rhyme

As a rule, Eskel liked to keep things simple. Philosophy was for mages, who had nothing to do but plot and scheme. Ruminating never once helped a witcher.

However, there were occasional moments when he let himself drop down into his thoughts, despite his propensity for reigning in that sort of thing. And Eskel was right in the thick of one such moment.

He was in a Verden tavern, watching a man with a lute.

The man sang as he stepped playfully around the tables, soaking up the enthusiastic attention. He didn’t avoid the intense gaze of the crowd. He looked each of his admirers directly in the eyes. He drank it in like a desert flower soaked up the only rain of the season.

The man with the lute was handsome. Charming. He had a spare but lilting voice. Townspeople crowded in, hanging on his every note. Men sighed. Women cried.

But Eskel wasn’t thinking admiring thoughts. He was bewildered. Slightly perturbed. What did it feel like to be this man? To not pull away from such intense, focused attention? What was it like to have people habitually look at you with admiration instead of fear? To be the recipient of fevered lust instead of disgust?

Eskel couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He wondered if two people with such diametrically opposed experiences of living in the world could even be thought of as belonging to the same species.

But the longer Eskel looked, the more interesting the man became. It was like moving closer to a painting and picking out the red and white strokes that combined to make the pink. The singer had a fair youthful face that contrasted with his filthy mouth. He wore the most elegant ensemble Eskel had ever seen in an ordinary tavern, but his doublet lay open rakishly and an obscene thatch of chest hair peeked out.

On closer inspection, he was gorgeous.

Then suddenly, the man was looking him in the eye. He locked into Eskel’s gaze before the witcher could avert his eyes. Eskel froze, fingers hovering over the handle of his mug. He waited for the man to look away to more pleasing vistas. But instead, this confounding man broke easily into a wide, wild grin. Even the warbling lusty note he held couldn’t dim its shine.

Eskel smiled back, with no thought to what his own face looked like.

And then the man with the lute winked at him.

That small gesture sent a thrill of excitement up Eskel’s spine. But that was only the beginning. The spirit and the spark Eskel now saw in the man’s eyes grabbed him by the heart and screamed “Pay attention. This is important.” It was a chain reaction, like one of Lambert’s experiments. It ignited a buzz, which transformed into a lightness of being.

It was infatuation.

Eskel hadn’t felt that in ages. Maybe not since he was a youngling. He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

Well look at that, you’re still alive, old man. He murmured to himself.

He knew that the wink was the totality of the connection he would have with this man. So he tucked it away in some recess that he could visit later. He would think of it again when he was alone and the world was quiet. No one could judge him for it, because no one would know.

A voice cleared.

The alderman had arrived. This was the part Eskel had been dreading.

“Eskel.” He said Eskel’s name the way one would point out a rotten fleck of cheese. Eskel had made an effort to bathe after his messy hunt and before meeting this man. He had used a fragrant soap and scrubbed until his skin was pink. He had flattened and spit down his hair until it gleamed. He had shaved around his scars so that he didn’t have scattered sparse hair on his cheeks.

He knew it wouldn’t matter. And it didn’t. But he had tried.

“Carlen,” he answered evenly. He kept his voice low, as was his habit. He had been told it sounded like barking dogs.

The alderman didn’t deign to sit. He stood beside the table and dropped a bag of coins. Even looking at it, Eskel knew it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bag and Carlen cocked an eyebrow.

“You don't trust me, witcher?”

He said it like it was absurd. Topsy turvy. Backwards.

“Just business,” said Eskel. He dumped the coins and looked up at Carlen. “This is half of what we agreed to.”

“I gave the rest to the other witcher,” Carlen insisted.

“Lambert took half. I get half.”

“He took more.”

No he fucking didn’t. Eskel knew Lambert would never short him. Carlen was a lying piece of shit.

Eskel hadn’t even responded when Carlen spoke again. “Don’t get upset!” he said theatrically, looking around at the tavern. Eskel instinctively surveyed the place too. The singer had finished his set and was putting away his lute. He was crouched on the ground. A ribbon tied his trousers together at the back. Even in his irritated state, Eskel noted the ridiculous, adorable bow.

“We all know how witchers get,” Carlen said to the tavern, which was now silent other than clinking of glasses. “We wouldn't want any trouble.”

Eskel knew what this was. It was a threat. Carlen was gambling that he could turn the crowd against him if he pressed. Eskel turned back to Carlen, calculating his risk. Calculating how much money he absolutely needed...how much was non negotiable to let him survive to the next job.

Eskel opened his mouth but then startled because suddenly, the singer was right next to him, a vision in teal. How had he moved that quickly? He positioned himself right between Carlen and Eskel. He took up space like a man who had never had to shrink to be found palatable. He placed his hands on his hips like he was a man who belonged anywhere he chose to be. He tipped his head back to look down his nose at the alderman.

“Carlen,” he said imperiously. “Surely you aren’t trying to cheat the man.”

Carlen shrunk backwards. “Oh well hello, Viscount Julian.”

Viscount. What was a viscount doing performing in a tavern? Eskel figured this Viscount Julian should be in court somewhere or enjoying his land. Of course the tavern was packed with an adoring crowd. Maybe he just liked the attention.

“Don’t hello Viscount Julian me,” he sniffed in Carlen’s direction. “Pay the man what you’ve promised him. Do you want witchers to deny us their services? Are you prepared to do battle with a beastie? Well I can’t imagine that,” he cackled mockingly. “You’d piss yourself the minute you were in any real danger.”

Carlen’s eyes hardened, but he was clearly outranked. “No, no, of course no. A mere misunderstanding.”

“I would hope so,” snorted Julian. He picked at his doublet, straightening the buttons, as though Carlen was beneath his notice.

Usually an outsized air of entitlement like that grated on Eskel’s nerves. But it wasn’t so bad when it was deployed in his defense. Most people assumed he didn’t need defending. And he didn’t need it, strictly speaking. But secretly, he liked it.

Julian looked at Carlen again but gestured at Eskel. “After all, how often do we get such brave, handsome men in this godforsaken town? Valiant men who have quite literally slayed monsters, like heroes of old. And that smell of--” Julian sniffed the air, “orange blossoms.”

Eskel’s heart sank as soon as he heard the word handsome, and it kept plummeting like a stone at the words ‘valiant’ and ‘hero’. This was all bullshit. Another performance. He knew he wasn’t handsome. He knew that for a fact. And no one thought that witchers were valiant. Useful maybe. But this was all way too over the top to be true.

Viscount Julian was mocking him.

Wasn’t he?

There had been times when women in taverns would dare each other to go talk to the monstrous man in the corner, as a test of courage. They thought Eskel couldn’t hear them chatter to each other before sending one over to say hello. It always made him feel sour inside. Humiliated.

This had to be the same.

Eskel clenched his fists, bunching up the knees of his trousers. His heart rebelled. This man had smiled at him so brightly. It had felt real. It had felt so real.

There was only one way to find out whether Viscount Julian was mocking him. He had to ask.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?” asked Eskel.

Lambert had been in here collecting his pay on the contract just before Eskel. He might still be around. Eskel leaned back to sweep his eyes around the tavern. He searched for Lambert’s smirking face. He didn’t find it.

He looked back at Julian, and was startled to see a stark transformation. Julian’s face had fallen. It had gone completely slack. It had just been full of verve and charm for Eskel, and righteous disdain for Carlen. Now he looked hurt, and stunned, as though Eskel had just slapped him flat across the face. Carlen didn’t notice, he was busy pulling out more coins.

Eskel panicked and ran through what he had just said. In retrospect it didn't make sense, of course. Lambert wouldn't have put Julian up to this. If Lambert had wanted Carlen put in his place he would have done it himself. And he wouldn’t have gotten anyone to mock Eskel’s looks. Lambert was an asshole but he wasn’t cruel. There was a difference.

But in the moment, Eskel had just instinctively grasped for someone to blame for a trick on him, and had come up with Lambert out of rote habit. And now Julian was standing before him, his eyes hardened into little blue points of wounded betrayal.

And Eskel had no idea why.

“Here you go, sir witcher,” smiled Carlen falsely. Eskel looked back at the alderman to gather his coins. The man dropped a second bag into his hands and turned on his heel. The doors of the tavern clattered in his wake. Eskel turned back to Julian, but he was gone.

He was up front again. A smile was back on his face, but it was brittle. It was nothing like before. The barkeep cupped his hands around his mouth and exhorted the crowd to “give a hand to Jaskier!”

Jaskier. Must be a stage name.

The crowd went absolutely wild. Eskel picked out squeals and shrieks from people who Jaskier honored with a wink. But it looked forced. Eskel felt slightly ill. He felt responsible for this reversal of moods. He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers on the surface.

Eskel didn’t know why he cared so much, why his mind churned and guilt settled on him like a shroud. Geralt and Lambert always told him that he cared too much what other people thought of him. He knew they would advise him to leave the tavern. He had his money. And he hadn’t said anything rude or disrespectful. He had nothing to apologize for.

And yet.

Eskel hadn’t been offered a friendly expression all spring. Then, when he was greeted with a joyous open smile, Eskel had chased it away. Worse yet, he didn’t even know how he had done it. It irked him. He wasn’t going to be able to leave here until he found out. He lifted a finger to call over the server. His appetite had mostly withered, but he needed a reason to be at the table for the rest of the evening. The server ignored him. After a long wait, the proprietor himself came out to serve him. The server must have refused to help him. It was fine.

Eskel ordered his supper, then sat there as dusk settled outside. He nursed his pint. He clanged a spoon around in his soup. And he trained his witcher hearing on Jaskier, who sat with his back to him across the tavern at the bar.

Over the next hour, people approached Jaskier in an unrelenting stream. Apparently, he was a singer of some renown. Some people asked him for a song. Others wanted good wishes for their families. Some told him their personal problems in lurid detail. Some grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Others propositioned him in such obscene terms that Eskel’s ears turned pink. He wasn’t shy about sex, but he was uncomfortable with aggressive, public propositions.

Jaskier responded to them all in a practiced, cheerful tone. He laughed and squirmed subtly away from caresses. He smiled into cheek kisses. But Eskel could tell that by comparison to his earlier vivacity, this was pure performance. His mood was sour, but he was hiding it remarkably well. And he was throwing back pint after pint, growing intoxicated.

A protective instinct bloomed in Eskel, but he resisted it. Jaskier clearly liked fame, he must know how to handle it even when drunk.

Eskel watched carefully as the next man approached Jaskier. He had a doublet and trousers on that were similar to the outfit Jaskier wore. He smiled lasciviously. Then he said something quietly in Jaskier’s ear that made Eskel’s hair stand on end.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier exploded. He slammed his stein down on the bar. “Put me up to what?? Who would put me up to sitting on my ass drinking ale? It doesn’t even make sense! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The tavern fell silent and tense.

Jaskier hopped down from the stool and almost stumbled forward onto his face. An empathy response made Eskel jerk forward but he stopped himself. He was too far away, even if Jaskier wanted his help. The man who had spoken tried to steady him but Jaskier yanked his arm away. He grabbed his lute and pulled it over his shoulder. Then he rushed towards the exit. As Jaskier passed Eskel on the way to the door, he kept his eyes trained forward, steadfastly avoiding looking at him.

Jaskier burst out the door and into the night. Several people jumped from their seats and followed him, whispering frantically to one other.

Eskel desperately wanted to know why that man had said what he said. He almost moved to go ask. But then he nervously glanced at the door. Those overbearing people were stalking Jaskier in his vulnerable drunken state. Alright, Eskel was stalking him too. But he was keeping a respectful distance.

Eskel pushed to his feet. He dropped a sufficient amount of coin onto the table and followed the trickle of people outside. Verden was no backwater, so the streets were wide and lined with shops all closed up for the night. The mercantile district was built close to the banks of the Yaruga so the air smelled of wet earth, fish, and tar.

He spotted Jaskier headed north in the direction of the docks. It was a bad idea. Generally, when one was drunk, one should avoid large bodies of water.

Eskel walked down the cobblestone street, keeping to the shadows. It was quieter outside and his ear rang slightly, adjusting from the loud noise of the tavern.

Two young men who had been tailing Jaskier, reached him and touched his shoulder to get his attention. Eskel was close enough that he could see Jaskier turn around. The streetlamp shone warm gold on one side of Jaskier’s face and the moon lit him soft and gray on the other. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His eyes were watery and his mouth was set in a grim line.

Eskel’s pulse quickened when he heard one of the men lean in and ask, “Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier flipped them off and took off further down the street.

The men gave up their mission, and turned back, only for Eskel to emerge from the shadows, glowering down at them. One of the men shrieked like a frightened child.

“Why did you say that to him?” gritted out Eskel.

The two men skittered backwards, eyes wide, stammering apologies. “I’m not the only one who’s tried it,” said one man, his round face pinched in fear.

“It can’t hurt to try,” said the other, holding tight to his hat as they scattered away.

What in the fuck did that mean? There were three more people behind Eskel who had come out of the tavern to follow Jaskier. He whirled around, stepped towards them, and growled. They all yelped and retreated.

Eskel surveyed the empty street in satisfaction. Then he hurried to recapture Jaskier. He calculated how close he needed to be to pull Jaskier out of the water if he pitched off the side of the pier.

But thankfully, Jaskier found a seat on a wide, squat, wooden beam safely away from the edge of the pier. He lowered himself carefully and raised his face to inhale the soft breeze cooling his face. The lapping of water and the chirp of crickets soon swallowed every other noise.

Eskel drew closer, debating what to do. Then he came to a decision. He approached and knelt beside Jaskier.

“Hello,” said Eskel gently.

Jaskier turned slowly to look at him. His bleary eyes focused, lit up briefly, then extinguished.

“Fuck off.”

There was no fire behind it. He sounded drained. He didn’t slur, but his words were fuzzy. Slippery. He looked back at the water and inhaled, as though he meant to block Eskel out of his mind.

“My name is Eskel.”

Jaskier rubbed his face then dropped his hands heavily back in his lap. “Th-blazes do you want, Eskel?” His face looked drawn, all efforts at jolliness had vanished. Eskel wanted to touch him to comfort him, but he knew it wouldn't be welcome.

“Why are people saying that to you? About Lambert?” he asked.

Jaskier chuckled bitterly. “You tell me. You said it too.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the pier. Eskel almost stood up, in order to be at the ready if Jaskier fell. But then he heard the telltale sound of him pissing in the water.

Jaskier returned to his seat on the beam and settled in, looking out over the water once again.

“Yes, but I know why I said it,” insisted Eskel, picking the conversation up where he left off. “I have a brother named Lambert. He likes to play tricks sometimes. What I want to know is, why did the others say it?”

Jaskier picked up a bottle sitting on the docks between his feet. Eskel hadn’t noticed it there before. Jaskier pulled out the cork and took a sip. Then he lowered it and licked his lips. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it's true.”

Jaskier’s shoulders shook. He was giggling. But it wasn’t a nice giggle. It was bitter. “I really thought you were different. For just a moment.”

Eskel had thought the same about Jaskier. It had felt awful when that belief turned to ash, when he thought Jaskier was mocking him. He replied softly, “you don’t even know me.”

It was quiet now. The sounds that were left of the town were far away. There was only the ripples of water and the rustle of reeds. Each time they spoke, their voices broke the silence like a pebble in still water. It made their conversation feel intimate. Eskel supposed that should have been weird. They didn't know each other, and Jaskier didn’t trust him. But oddly, that was exactly how it felt. Intimate.

Jaskier shrugged. Eskel thought that meant “fine, don’t believe me,” and that the line of inquiry was dead. He opened his mouth to try a different tack.

But Jaskier cut in. “It was your smile,” he said. The words sounded like truth dragged up from the depths of his soul. “It was...utterly sincere.” Jaskier paused and pondered, his lips frozen mid utterance. Eskel waited until he continued. “I could feel it. I was drawn to it. And when Carlen came in, I saw you were a witcher.” He lifted the palms of his hands and shrugged. “So you were also brave, and a man who didn’t deal in bullshit. I admired you straight away.”

Eskel flushed. He had a hard time with compliments. But this was even worse, because Jaskier was using the past tense. These nice words were things Jaskier used to think of him.

Jaskier fiddled with the cork he had pulled from the bottle. “And when Carlen tried to cheat you, you were humble. Quiet. Like you didn’t want to be too big or too much. The fucker instantly took advantage of that. And it did silence you.”

Eskel couldn’t protest, because it was true.

“I relate to that,” said Jaskier. “Being afraid of being too much. Perhaps for different reasons. But I do. It was a small thing. But I connected with you.”

He threw the cork out into the water with a flick of his wrist. It made a soft plunk when it hit the surface, and it bobbed downstream. Jaskier took another sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plus, you’re handsome. It made me stupid.”

He really did think Eskel was handsome, after all.

The wooden beams were digging bruises into Eskel’s knees, so he sat back and crossed his legs. Jaskier glanced at him, watching him getting comfortable. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t ask him to leave.

“Why did the others repeat my words?” He had to persist until he got an answer.

Jasker snorted. “It’s a trick.” He held out his arm in the moonlight and shoved up his sleeve. Up his forearm ran the neat line of his soulmate words in stark black against his pale skin.

It sounded absurd, but Eskel often forgot about the existence of soulmate words. He had gotten so practiced at blocking them out...pretending that they didn’t exist.

Lots of people didn’t put stock in them anyway. Believing in soulmate words was a leap of faith, like spending all season tilling new ground, or trying for a child. You hoped for the best. But sometimes the winter was harsh. Or the baby had a head too large for birth. Or you had terrible soulmate words. Words that were common. Words that were cruel. Or worst of all, words that were both common and cruel.

It was a mess, bordering on a clusterfuck. But now, looking at Jaskier’s forearm, Eskel was flooded with emotions so potent he had to concentrate on pulling in breath to slow his pulse. On Jaskier’s forearm sat the following words:

Did Lambert put you up to this.

Eskel’s heart pounded. His hand came up to his own arm, covered by his sleeve. He was almost a hundred years old. He hadn’t thought of his own soulmate words in decades. He had practically forgotten they existed. But now he made the connection.

His spirit eased. A fear he had been guarding and allowing to fester ever since he was twenty one, began to slip away.

Jaskier pulled his sleeve back down. “See, you seem genuinely surprised.” He shook his head slowly, eyes hollow. “And something inside me still fights to believe you.”

The light went on and Eskel understood. He hadn’t been overheard. Jaskier’s fans had already known the words on his forearm. The man in the bar, the people chasing Jaskier in the street, they had all been trying to trick Jaskier into believing they were his soulmate. Eskel had trundled right into an existing situation like a bull in a china shop.

“So, your fans have seen your words, I take it.”

“Fine,” said Jaskier. “If you want to play this, I’ll play it.”

He turned around and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The full force of his expressive doe eyes looked straight into Eskel. Fuck. He was even more beautiful under the stars. Eskel wanted to touch him. He didn’t.

“Tell me,” said Eskel.

“I have never been in a hurry to find my soulmate,” began Jaskier. He had the air of man who was going to tell a story with a beginning, middle and end. Eskel settled in. He was curious. Jaskier’s life sat in the starkest contrast to his own. He wanted to know what it was like, living under such different conditions.

“I wanted to fuck my way across the continent,” Jaskier continued, though he spoke softly now. “I wanted to enjoy every flavor of person. Life is short. And I do love the attention. But--” he raised a finger and tilted his head, “I am still a hopeless romantic. And people have found a way to---” his breathing stuttered, “--use it against me.” The last few words were so quiet, even sitting this close to him Eskel might not have heard were he not a witcher.

At some point this had shifted from shoving his story defiantly at Eskel, to telling it sincerely.

“How?” asked Eskel.

Jaskier lowered his eyes, seeming to build courage. It plucked at Eskel’s heartstrings. “Well, first it was my lyrics. You know how your words don’t come in until you’re twenty one? I was famous by eighteen. So I was out in the world, meeting new people every day, I had no idea what my words would be. So it was easy for them to write my lyrics on their arms. Ink them. Paint them.”

“Your lyrics? Of the songs you sing?”

“Yes,” Jaskier rubbed his forearm absently. “When I walk into a tavern or entertainment hall and begin a song, technically, those are the first words I say to the entire room of people. And there’s no instructional pamphlet. No rule book. Does singing count? It doesn’t. But I didn’t know.”

“So they would ink your lyrics on and claim they were you soulmates because you said those words to them.”

“Yes. And since I didn’t have words of my own yet, I had no way of knowing if it was true.”

“I see,” said Eskel.

“Do you?” Jaskier’s voice turned metallic, rage simmering below. The rage wasn’t for Eskel. It was directed at some memory. “Because the first time a man claimed to be my soulmate, I believed him. He had my lyrics on his arm. He said that I had locked eyes with him across the room when I’d sung them. I was young. Stupid.”

“Trusting.”

“Seeing my lyrics, words I had composed from my heart, on his arm, moved me. I thought it so romantic,” he said, in a tone mocking his past self. “It wasn’t until we were somewhere private, I was divested of my clothes, and I’d--submitted to him that my fingers slid down the sweat on his arms and the words smeared.”

The full reality of what that moment must have been like, dawned on Eskel. “What a piece of shit.”

“The soulmarks were fake.” His voice grew thick with the threat of tears. His vulnerability was almost painful to look at. But Eskel wouldn’t turn away if he didn’t. “The man had lied. Tricked me. I felt like an imbecile. Like an idiot. I may be a slut, but I still like to make my own decisions about who I have sex with, and under honest circumstances.”

Eskel ached in sympathy. He didn’t want to ask how far the tryst had gone before Jaskier knew he’d been lied to. He didn’t want to ask how he’d responded, whether he pretended he hadn’t seen and finished? Or whether he had pulled away and fled.

“Am I boring you yet?” asked Jaskier.

“No.”

Jaskier slid his hands through his fringe and tucked it behind his ear. “I thought I had learned my lesson. So when my words were ready to appear, just before my birthday, I had my mother sew loops onto my sleeves to hide my soulmate words. I didn’t want anyone to learn them and try again to take advantage of me. But one day, the string caught and rode up. Someone saw my words, and I didn’t realize it.”

“Fuck,” whispered Eskel.

“They had my lyrics. I had their words. I thought...I thought I’d found the one again. I fell right into bed with another liar. Another trick.” Jaskier’s throat closed and he fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” said Eskel. “I’m a witcher. People reject us. Hate us. But to have people use your body, to take a piece of it whether you want to give it or not...I don’t know what’s worse.”

“It’s not all bad,” said Jaskier, forcing some levity into his voice. “Most of the time I love fame. Wouldn’t choose anything else. But no rose is without its thorns.”

“I suppose so,” said Eskel. “But you don’t deserve that. No one does.”

“I was stupid.”

“You were brave.”

Jaskier looked doubtful.

“It’s brave to hope in the face of cruelty,” said Eskel. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier fiddled with his fingers. “Some of my fans are lovely, though. The first man who lied to me? He boasted all over town that he had taken me. That he had tricked me into fucking him. It didn’t go as well as he hoped. Not everyone admired him for it. In fact, a gaggle of adolescent girls, they call themselves Jaskier’s Angels,” a smile curled on his lips, the first real one to occupy his face since Eskel had spoken his soulmate words, “cornered him in an alley and thrashed him with sticks until he cried.

Eskel chuckled. Jaskier joined in. Soon they were both giggling. It wasn’t funny. But they laughed anyway. And it helped. Jaskier sat up and grabbed the bottle again. He chugged it this time.

“I have learned, Eskel,” he said loudly with sharp corners in his voice, as though telling not only Eskel, but the Yaruga itself, “That a pedestal is not love.”

Chug.

“It is just something to fall off of.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can be on you, and in you, all without ever fucking seeing you at all.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can have your name endlessly on their lips and never care to know who you really are.”

Chug.

Then he swept the bottle to the side in a grand gesture, looking at Eskel, increasingly unsteady. Then he sat in silence, again looking at the water, as the alcohol hit his system.

Eskel swallowed hard. The loneliness that dripped from Jaskier was so thick it felt corporeal. He knew exactly how that felt. He ached to do something, anything to assuage even a bit of it. To reassure him.

He settled for reassuring Jaskier about him. “If you want to check on my story,” he said, “you can ask Carlen. He paid my brother Lambert for the job and made a receipt in the town ledger. I’m a lot of things. But I don’t force people or lie to them for sex. I would never--”

He knew it sounded false. He stopped, letting the words trickle away. Jaskier didn’t respond. They sat in silence as Jaskier downed the rest of the bottle. Eskel watched his throat bob, and vowed to stay and make sure Jaskier got back somewhere safe.

“Where do you live?” he asked. Jaskier didn’t answer. He finished the bottle. Then he turned to face Eskel once again. He hadn't heard his question.

“S-sorry,” he croaked. “I s’pose I'm having....a bit of a night.”

And then he leaned over and vomited into the Yaruga.

Shortly thereafter, he laid down on the slats of the pier for a nice nap.

Eskel carried a snoring Jaskier back to the tavern, bridal style. His sweaty body curled against Eskel’s chest, tranquil and without defense. His fingers pinched periodically at the fabric of Eskel’s shirt. The lute dangled over his shoulder, gently thumping against him as he walked. The proprietor showed them to a modest room upstairs. Eskel settled Jaskier down on the cozy bed with a creak. He took off his shoes and stockings for him, but left the rest. Then he pulled the quilt over him and tucked it against his sides.

He was careful not to touch Jaskier unnecessarily, but he watched him sleep for a few moments. It was good to see him like that. Peaceful. Chest rising and falling.

He found a chair and pulled it out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

And he took up watch.

----

The next morning, by the time Jaskier stumbled downstairs to try to pay for his room, Eskel was already gone, heading north on his horse Scorpion. Pines towered above him and the wind was at his back.

He had slipped away as soon as he’d heard Jaskier groan himself awake. He didn’t know how much Jaskier would remember of the previous night. But he would always remember it. He would remember sitting on a creaking dock, listening to Jaskier entrust him with his story. It had been so different from his own, yet he had recognized himself in it. He knew what it was like not to be able to trust. He knew what it was like for people to see you as an object, not a person.

He had wanted to stay longer, maybe for breakfast. But if Eskel had stayed he would have been weak. He would have been selfish. He took a less traveled, dirt road out of town. Not that he thought in a million years that Jaskier would try to follow him. But he took precautions as a rule.

Still, he couldn’t help that his heart leapt to his throat in joy when about five miles out, he heard hooves pounding up the road behind him and Jaskier’s voice shouting his name. “Eskel! Eskel please! I’m still dehydrated. Don’t make me chase you anymore! Have mercy! Stop in the name of Viscount Julian!”

Eskel pulled Scorpion to a stop and turned around, a laugh burbling from his throat. Jaskier looked absolutely ridiculous and splotchy. He was disheveled. But the bright light was back in his eyes. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“I caught you!” He chortled when he was close enough for their horses to eye each other warily.

“Jaskier, what are you doing here? You look...”

“Like shit?” asked Jaskier, panting and running his hands through his hair. In the morning light, the firmness of his muscles, the broadness of his shoulders, were more apparent. Eskel’s body warmed, and he reminded himself that he couldn’t have this man. He shouldn’t.

“Let’s get down so we don’t have to yell at each other,” Jaskier suggested.

The both slid from their saddles and stood in front of one another. Eskel had no idea where this was going, but the full body relief he felt to be standing close to Jaskier again took him by surprise. “I was going to say, you look better. You look happier,” he said.

“Yes,” conceded Jaskier, shading his eyes from the sun. “Last night was rough. But sometimes you need to cleanse your demons with whinging and whiskey.”

Eskel chuckled. “I get that. Have done it more than once.”

Jaskier smiled and it was the first time Eskel had seen him look...shy. If you’d asked him when he’d first laid eyes on Jaskier whether the man was even capable of looking shy he would have said no.

Be strong, you ridiculous witcher, Eskel thought to himself.

“I also benefited greatly from a patient ear,” Jaskier continued. “I benefited from the kindness of a man who carried me back to a room, then apparently sat outside my door all night and chased away several fans who wanted to wake me.”

Eskel’s had frightened a few people away. It had felt sort of good, actually.

“And you paid for my room out of your hard earned coin.”

Eskel felt awkward being at the receiving end of all this gratitude. He liked it, but it made his insides squirm. So he changed the subject. “Did you go by Carlen’s house?”

“I did. On my way here. I hope you don’t take it as an insult.”

“I’m grateful you did. I don’t want any doubt left between us.”

Jaskier stepped closer, and Eskel’s heart thumped in his chest. He could usually hear the other person’s heart and gauge it, but Jaskier was still out of breath from the ride, so his heart was already thudding. But his intentions were clear when he reached out and took Eskel’s hand.

Eskel let him. He revelled in the curl of Jaskier’s fingers around his own. His eyes even fluttered closed momentarily when Jaskeir squeezed him. He wanted this touch. He wanted more.

“Eskel, I think you are the best man I’ve ever met.”

There was no way Eskel could process that fully. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” replied Jaskier. “You innocently stumbled into my mess.”

Their clasped hands swung between them. Scorpion whinnied. Jaskier’s horse moseyed to the edge of the trail and sniffed around.

“What does your arm say, Eskel?” challenged Jaskier.

Eskel’s smile melted into concern. “Jaskier,” he pleaded. “You don't want to know. I’m not right for you. My life is hard and cold. I move from place to place, and sometimes I don’t even know when the next coin will come.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is right for me?” Jaskier asked. His voice was gentle but there was the slightest edge.

Eskel thought about Diedre, and how he had tried to protect her from herself by keeping her out of his life, and how disastrous the consequences had been. He realized that this was similar. The thought that he was repeating a mistake distressed him greatly. Perhaps he needed to stop protecting people and start trusting them. Perhaps he needed to have a little faith.

Eskel looked above Jaskier’s shoulder, towards the horizon. He slowly pulled up his sleeve, turning his arm so that Jaskier could see his soulmark words.

Jaskier’s lips moved as he read them.

Fuck off.

They were the first words that Jaskier had properly said to him. Jaskier ran his finger over the bumps of scar tissue surrounding them. “What happened?” He looked into Eskel’s eyes with naked concern.

Eskel didn’t like talking about it, but Jaskier had shared his story. It was Eskel’s turn.

“People tell witchers to fuck off pretty regularly. And it would be weird to offer yourself up as a soulmate when they do.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier. His shoulders slumped, looking distressed at the thought. "You deserve so much better than that, dear man."

This kindness caused Eskel to pry his heart open just a little bit more.

“Every day I am outside of Kaer Morhen, I have to prove that I’m a person, and not a monster. Trying to destroy the marks was my way of rebelling against a destiny that wanted me to hate myself. Against accepting a soul mate who I would have to convince not to hate me.”

Jaskier’s face pinched in sympathetic pain. He pulled Eskel’s forearm closer and pressed a kiss to the ridge of the burn scars running along the words. Eskel melted.

“I stopped when I got these,” he pointed to the scars on his face. “After that, I didn’t have the stomach for more scars. So I just tried to forget.”

Jaskier chewed his lip. His hand was warm and comforting in Eskel’s palm. “You know that’s not the reason I told you to fuck off,” he said. “It had nothing to do with you being a witcher.”

“I know,” said Eskel. “You thought I was trying to take advantage of you, like the others.”

“You have my deepest apologies, darling Eskel,” said Jaskier.

“You didn’t know. You stumbled innocently into my mess.” He repeated the same sentiment that Jaskier had offered him. “This might be weird, but I was relieved when you said my soulmark words. I had always assumed it would be the words of someone disgusted by me. Someone I would have to convince that I am a person. But it wasn't that after all. You and I, we just...had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Jaskier reached for Eskel’s other hand. “Can we begin again? Shall I beg? I’m willing to beg.”

They stood clasping hands as though they were about to dance in the middle of the dusty trail. When Eskel didn’t answer him, he pressed again.

“I always pictured myself being dashing and romantic,” Jaskier said plaintively, “if I ever met my soulmate. I’m a poet, for fuck’s sake. I can do better than fuck off. If you give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll write you a hundred poems.”

Eskel released Jaskier’s hands and took a step backwards, giving him an out if he wanted it.

“Jaskier, this life is bloody and dangerous. The life span is short. The food on the road is shit. The monsters are absolute cunts.”

Jaskier closed the distance between them, grasping his hands again. Butterflies fluttered through Eskel’s stomach.

“I’m hardier than I may seem,” he insisted. “And I happen to be looking for a change of scenery.”

“What about your music?” asked Eskel.

“Adventures and brave deeds make the best ballads.”

Eskel chuckled. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes. I hope you aren’t used to winning arguments.” Jaskier grinned mischievously, and it was obscenely endearing. There was so much more to this man than first met the eye.

Yes, he had been imperious and entitled. But he had weaponized it to defend Eskel. And Jaskier’s breakdown by the docks had shown how trusting he still was, under it all. It was resilience. It was courage. It was hope. Eskel remembered hope.

“There are no beautiful boys and girls here,” he said.

“I am looking at the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Eskel blushed and smothered a smile. But he wouldn’t be dissuaded yet. He had to be sure that Jaskier knew what this would mean. “But every night you play, you get your choice of the partner. You can have anyone. You can taste any flavor.”

“But I am ready for something more. Something better. Someone better.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I want to find out,” said Jaskier. “Please, Eskel. Grant me the chance to find out.”

The sincerity of his pleading gave Eskel the courage to drop the last of his defenses. He allowed hope to rush in like the tide. He pulled Jaskier against him and cupped his face in his hands.

And he kissed him.

Jaskier whimpered in delight and melted against him, fingers sliding up to rest against his neck. It was a kiss of promise. It was the beginning of a journey.

Eskel drank in his eager lips and the press of his warm, enthusiastic body. Then he pulled back to look at Jaskier closely, a smile tugging at his lips once more.

“Very well, Viscount Julian,” he said with a teasing flourish. “Would you like to crawl around in the brush with me and be menaced by a bloodthirsty bruxa? Because that is what comes next.”

“I would,” said Jaskier. “I do”

“Don’t you want to go back to get your things?”

“I’ll buy more. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Pieces of Eskel mended at that. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him for several long moments, feeling their hearts beating against one another. Jaskier rested his head on his shoulder with a sigh, and ran his fingers up and down Eskel’s back.

Then they mounted their horses and rode off together, towards the first adventure of many.

[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

part 15

masterlist

Hello, my darlings! Here’s an update for you! I’m off to work on the next part of WTCAD! and just a reminder that @chimchimsauce​ released her new book this week. Don’t forget to check it out, you can find the link in on her page. love you all!--- chaotic puff

If anyone at Jin hit Entertainment had been asked if Min Yoongi was a family man, they would have said no. Min Yoongi was a terror, a quiet one but a terror none-the-less. He was focused, driven, extremely talented, and a famous grouch. A family man was not a description anyone would have associated with him, and yet Kim Seokjin was looking at a nervous manager who was bringing forward some odd requests that the famous rapper had made. The requests included the acquisition of an apartment building and to bring him listings for modernized hanok houses in Seoul. To make this odd business even more strange, Yoongi had asked that they look into primary schools as well. Jin could understand why the poor man was confused and concerned. It was very unlike Yoongi, which was why the young CEO was on his way to talk to the artist 

The problem was to talk to the artist, he had to interrupt dance practice for the new mv, and something about interrupting Yoongi while he was holding a sword was extremely unappealing, but it had to be done. Someone had to ask about the odd requests. Jin was sure that there was some sort of perfectly reasonable explanation, and then they could all move on with their lives. 

“Hey, Yoongi!” Jin called walking into the practice room, only to be met with a dark glare from the man who was quite literally holding a sword. 

“What?” he growled incredibly displeased by the interruption. 

He was moving Y/N into her new apartment today, and Yoongi wanted to be there to help her get settled. She had insisted on doing all of the packing herself, and he knew she was back from classes already and probably hard at work packing up her small apartment. He trusted Jackson with her. He knew he would help her pack up, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to be the one to help her. He wanted to finish practice and get out of there as quickly as possible. If he couldn’t help her pack up the old apartment, he could still help her settle into the new one. And flowers, he was going to bring her flowers. She would enjoy that. But Jin wasn’t helping any of these plans come together any faster with his interruptions. 

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“No.” Yoongi grunted, brushing back his hair as he glared at his hyung. 

“It’ll just take a minute.” Jin continued on cheerily even though Yoongi was giving him a look that would have sent anyone else cowering. Yoongi sighed, setting the sword aside and going to get a drink of water as he waited for Jin to get to the point. “So one of the managers came to me saying you’d been making some odd requests.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just wanted to make sure that everything was okay. It’s not like you to buy an apartment building, and you’re looking for a house, schools? What’s going on, Yoongi?” 

“She has a kid.” Yoongi grunted, flopping down onto the floor for a break while Jin stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown a second head. 

“Who has a what now?” 

“Y/N, she has a kid.” he repeated. “Toddler. Cute little bugger.” 

“She has… a child?” Jin repeated pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he tried to take in the new information. “Did you know about the kid?” 

“Found out on Saturday.” the other man shrugged, seeming remarkably unbothered especially considering the magnitude of what he’d just said. 

“And you’re buying a whole apartment building and a house because?” 

“Kid’s dad is harassing her.” 

“Okay?” Jin didn’t want to push too hard, but getting information out of the rapper could be like pulling teeth. 

“She needs a safe place to go, her and the kid.” 

“So you bought an apartment building?” Yoongi nodded. “Then what’s the house for?” 

“House is for her and the kid.”

“You said the apartment was for them.” 

“House is for all of us. Eventually.” 

Jin was dumbstruck as the implication of those words hit him with full force. Min Yoongi, the surliest son of a bitch he knew, had a family. He’d taken a sugar baby, and suddenly he had a whole family. He’d accepted another man’s child to the point he was planning a future around the kid and his mom. 

“That’s…” 

“It’s not hers.” Yoongi grunted seeing the older man’s head about to burst. “Not biologically. It’s her nephew, but he’s hers now.”

That made a little more sense to Jin. “And the birth dad is harassing them?” 

“Showed up at the park by her house without notice. Really freaked her out.” 

“She didn’t tell you about the kid?” Jin asked, sliding down next to Yoongi. He needed to sit if he was going to have this conversation. 

“She took the job to take care of him. Her family’s not in a good way.” Yoongi explained, taking another drink of water. “She was trying to protect the kid.” 

“And you’re okay with this?” 

Yoongi shrugged, thinking fondly on his angel and their kid. “She’s a good mom, and he’s a good kid.” 

Jin nodded along, still trying to wrap his mind around this. “And the kid actually likes you?” 

Yoongi scoffed, but a small smile tugged at his lips. As soon as the kid had decided that he was fine, the kid had been absolutely fascinated by him. It was painfully clear to both him and Y/N that the kid didn’t have a lot of men in his life. That was fine though. He had Yoongi now.

 “Why wouldn’t he like me?” 

“Cause you’re a grump?” Jin suggested, playfully bumping the other man’s shoulder. “Got a picture.” 

Yoongi looked at him in surprise, but he grabbed his phone pulling up a picture of Y/N and Eun Jae he had snapped on Sunday afternoon when the pair had fallen asleep on the couch for an afternoon nap after Eun Jae had run them both ragged around the penthouse playing princesses and dragons all afternoon. Eun Jae had been the brave night protecting the princess, and Yoongi had been made to be the dragon trying to steal Y/N away from her protector. Eventually the little guy had worn himself out, and the family had settled on the couch for a snack and an afternoon cartoon, before both mother and son had drifted off. Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist snapping a picture of his small family. 

“He’s a cute kid.” Jin smiled, handing the phone back to him. It was odd to see Yoongi with a family, but even if the indicators were subtle, Yoongi seemed happy. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi agreed. “He looks like his mom.” 

“So the house and looking at schools and everything, it’s all for them?”  Yoongi nodded. “Alright then.” Jin clapped, nodding resolutely. “That clears things up. When do they move into the apartment? And when do the guys and I get to meet the little guy?” 

“Y/N moves into the new apartment today. Eun Jae is going to be with her grandmother till Friday, and you idiots don’t get to meet him.” 

“What!” Jin squawked , highly offended. “Why not? We’d be awesome uncles!”

Yoongi growled under his breath. “She’s skittish about the kid, and I won’t have you idiots freaking her out.” 

“Freak her out! How could I freak her out? I’m world wide handsome, you know? And I’m great with kids!”

“Not the point, Jin.” 

“I wouldn’t freak her out!”

“She has every right to be skittish, and I get more time with my kid before you idiots start crowding in.” He huffed, bopping the other man over the head with the empty water bottle. 

“Alright, alright.” The CEO surrendered. “Congrats, man. You seem happy.” 

“I am.” 

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. Go help your girl get set up in that fancy building you bought for her.” 

Yoongi nodded gratefully as the older man got up from the floor complaining about old bones. He was more than ready to get out of JinHit and go see his angel. He had all sorts of surprises ready for her at the new place, some he could show her and some he couldn’t.

He had the apartment furnished for her, getting some better quality appliances and furnishings for her. His family could only have the best after all. He’d even had the kitchen stocked in preparation for the move. He’d gotten a bunch of new toys and things for the kid too.

 Those were all things that he was excited to show her, but he knew better than to tell her that he owned the building, or that he had her entire security team living in the building as well. He knew what she’d say about that. She’d argue that it was too much, that it was unneeded, but he didn’t want to take any chances with her safety or Eun Jae’s. He even had a guard keeping an eye on the kid while he was at the grandmother’s. She’d certainly have something to say about that, but she didn’t need to worry over that. Their safety was his concern now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect his angel and their kid. 

With Jin letting him leave early, Yoongi was more than ready to go see his angel. He needed a shower first, but then he was free to go help her settle in. A quick text from Jackson had told him that she was already at the new building. A text from one of the bodyguards he’d hired to look after her had told him that Kim Taehyung had also been trying to keep an eye on her- trying and failing. Yoongi wasn’t about to let him get close to his family, especially not when his relationship with his kid was still so fragile. He hadn’t even known there was a kid in the equation till a few days ago, and he didn’t need the sperm donor showing up and confusing Eun Jae on who his father was.  For now, the little boy was safe with his grandmother, who Yoongi had been reliably told was a battle axe of a woman who wouldn’t be letting any strangers or anyone from the Kim family anywhere near that little boy. 

Yoongi got to the apartment to find Y/N preoccupied stringing up a set of bumble bee lights around the living room. He’d ordered a ton of stuff for the apartment, all things that he thought would be warm and comforting for her and the kid. It was colorful and bright, and ten times better than her old apartment. It had enough space for Eun Jae to play and for Y/N to do her schoolwork all while being within the safety of a building that Yoongi owned and staffed. The front desk had been given Taehyung’s photo with strict instructions not to allow him into the building. He wasn’t getting near either of them so long as Yoongi had anything to say about it. 

“Miss, you should really let me.” Jackson fretted hovering around Y/N as she put the lights up, making sure she didn’t fall. 

“I’m fine, Jackson.” she rolled her eyes. “I am perfectly capable of  putting up some lights.” 

“You could fall!” Guessing from the harried voice of his employee, Yoongi could guess that this wasn’t the first time that Y/N had refused to let him help today. 

“I let you put up the paintings!” 

“The paintings were already here when you got here!” 

“Eh.” she shrugged. “Someone who wasn’t me put them up.” 

“Babe,” Yoongi called, startling both of them and accidentally causing her to lose her balance on the sofa as she spun around, but Jackson was quick to catch her and equally quick to set her down again and excuse himself. 

“I wasn’t expecting you.” she muttered, shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Wanted to help you move in.” he smiled, stepping forward to place a quick, soft kiss to her forehead. “How do you like the place?”

“It’s too much. We really didn’t need something this…” 

“You did.”  he cut her off, holding out the bouquet of hydrangeas. 

“They’re lovely.” she smiled, a little tiredly, but it had been a busy day for her. “Let me get these in some water. I assume that’s what the vases are for?” He smirked following after her as she moved around the apartment. “You didn’t have to furnish it. You’ve already done so much for us, more than what we agreed upon.” 

“I wanted to,” he shrugged. “Besides, we need to renegotiate the terms of the contract anyway.” 

She turned to him with wide eyes, clearly nervous by the thought of renegotiations. “Nothing bad. Eun Jae puts a new light on things. I want to make sure that you and he have everything you need, give you both some more security.” he assured her. 

“You’ve already…”

“It’s not up for discussion, angel.” her mouth clicked shut immediately as she nodded. “Don’t look so grim, babe.” he laughed, tipping her chin up. “It’s just a few little things to take Eun Jae into account.” 

“He likes you.” she sighed, letting her sling an arm over her shoulder and steer her back towards the sofa and the half hung string of lights. “There’s not a lot of people that run around with him like that.” 

A swell of pride rose up in his chest at that. “I like him. He’s a good kid.”

“It’s nothing major right? The changes to the contract?” 

“No.” he pressed a kiss to her messy hair. “Nothing major.” It was just a few things to ensure their future, nothing she needed to worry about right now.

“Thank you again, for everything.” she sighed, sinking into the sofa and curling slightly into his side. 

He hummed, tugging her in a little closer. It was cute how she thought that this was big. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things. This was just the beginning for them, and this little apartment was no place for them to raise a growing family. 

“Anything for you.” 

part 16

[racheloveyunho]

Till Death do us part - 1

Y/N grew up in a wealthy family, she always was seen as a beautiful and smart kid and was most likely to take her father’s place as the CEO of one of the most important companies in South Korea. However, after the death of her mother, Y/N’s family slowly started to break apart. Her father was always working to forget his uncalled pain while his kids were left alone at home.

She was 17 years old when her life took a sudden turn when she met him in a dark alley. He was a bloody mess, bruises everywhere but behind blood and dirt, she could see his beautiful features and his addictive gaze. Maybe she should have walked away, maybe she shouldn’t have helped him, but the moment his gaze locked with hers, she was already his.

Choi San was his name.

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, stranger to lovers

Words: 2486

 TW: Y/N is described as an OC. Please be aware that this story will contain a lot of triggering content such as smut, blood, death, murder, drug, kidnapping, etc. Do not read if you are under a legal age!

Chapter 1

 I still wonder what would have happened if I didn’t meet him during this gloomy night? We were young and I was way too brave for my own good. Maybe it was my faith or maybe it was a sheer coincidence but now, I know that I will love him till death do us part.

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 5 years ago.

 "Hey Y/N, wake up sleepyhead! It’s time to go to school and I will surely not wait for the princess to wake up" my brother yelled loudly from the first floor, waking me up in the process.

I groaned and shifted uncomfortably in my bed; it was too much noise at such an early time of the day. My long-browned hair was messy from the last night, as always. I was the type of girl to move a lot during my sleep and my morning head was always a funny one, swollen, with small eyes and with some of my lightly curled hair stuck in my mouth. After five minutes of rethinking my life decisions, I found enough motivation to get out of my bed and walked down the stairs.

"Why the hell did I agree to help other students during holidays, huh?” I asked my brother as I lazily rubbed my tummy.

“Maybe because you are too dumb to say no to your teachers?” he answered, his mouth full of food.

“Do you mind keeping your mouth shut while you are eating? It’s disgusting.” I shook my head disapprovingly.

I headed toward the kitchen to get a cup of fresh milk. Jin, my brother, childishly opened his mouth wide to show me the content of it. I let out a long “Ew!” before smashing his arm playfully.

“No, but seriously Y/N. There’s no use to be brilliant at school if that means you have to help your classmates with their studies during holidays” Jin said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, but the teacher who asked me this favor told me that he will write a recommendation for me if I agreed to help him” I answered.

“You don’t even need a recommendation, we’re from a rich family” Jin mumbled to himself but it was loud enough for me to hear it.

 He wasn’t totally wrong and I knew it. We were born with a silver spoon in our mouth. We were “cake eater” as the other kids used to call us when we were younger, we never knew what it felt like to run out of money and everyone at school was jealous of me because of that.

But they didn’t know. No one knew how hard it actually was for me and my brother.

My mother passed away 2 years ago, and since then, my father didn’t stay at home with us longer than a week straight. He was always working, working, and working again, his job had literally become his life. He was one of the richest men in Korea and still, he was always eager for more and worked every day and night for it.

He wasn’t a good father for me and Jin. He never made any compliments to us, all he was able to do was to pressure us to be as perfect as possible or at least perfect enough to not ashamed him and his reputation. Unlike my brother, I wanted to hear my father say that he was proud of me, just for once. That’s why I was trying hard to be the perfect daughter, with good grades, good manners, and good appearance but even if I tried my best, it wasn’t enough for him.

 “Do you know why I’m working so hard, Jin?” I asked him, voice as soft as a whisper, almost not daring to tell the truth.

“Why?” Jin put a hand on the top of mine, a sign of comfort since he already knew my upcoming answer.

“I don’t want to follow his rules forever. I’m still a minor so I had to stick at them but when I’ll turn 20, I will leave this house and will never come back” I sadly stated, “I want to marry a man I’m in love with, I want to do a job I like and most of all, I don’t want our father to commend my life.”

 Jin tightened his grip on my hand. He understood me, he understood me too well. We were indeed rich but we were far from being happy. Jin was 6 years older than me which means he was already an adult. He wanted to leave this house as much as me but couldn’t bring himself to do so and leave me behind.

Unlike me, Jin has never been a good student, he always has been considered a failure to our father, and even if he finally was able to run away from here, he stayed there for me. I was really lucky to have a brother like him and I was well aware of that.

 I took my breakfast and came back to my room to take a quick shower and get ready for this day I knew would be exhausting.

My brother was already waiting in his car. Jin took me to school as often as he could. He was working on a supermarket he owned and even if he was pretty busy, he wanted to spend his mornings with his “sweet baby sister” as he liked to call me.

I am indeed lucky to have a brother like him.

 8 pm, it was already late when I heard the bell ring for the last time today. I was the last one to leave the class as I helped my teacher with the preparation of some material for the next day. It didn’t bother me too much, I wasn’t in a hurry to get home since I knew my dad was finally coming back home from his work.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t miss him at all, even after all this time. I wandered here and there even though the street was already pitch black.

 “Oh! It’s been a while since I last went to the haunted alley!” I happily exclaimed to myself.

I knew every nook and cranny of Seoul, I grew up there after all. My favorite place was the haunted alley. As its name suggests and according to some beliefs, that path would be haunted.

It was an old story I heard with my friends when I was less than 10 years old. A grandma from our neighborhood scolded us and told us not to stay there because there was a woman who had been murdered in the walkway and that since then, one could hear her cry every night.

A simple way to scare naïve kids you may think, and you are more than right. However, this story is known by everyone, not just by kids. That’s the reason why I love this place, thanks to all of these rumors, no one uses this path except me. It was like my secret place.

 I walked around the alley with heavy steps, thinking about my father and his upcoming lecture about how to be a good girl. My thoughts were suddenly stopped by the voice of two men who seemed to be fighting each other. I stayed still for a moment, trying to figure out where the noises were coming from.

“You piece of shit! And you claim yourself as the Boss” son?” One voice laughed.

I hid in the dark and saw what could have been mistaken with a scene from a horror movie. Between two old houses, a tall man was beating up a boy who seemed to be around my age.

I felt shivers down my spine but before I could even think straight, my body started to move with its own will.

“Hey! Let him go!” I shouted, my voice betraying me by showing how scared I really was.

 I moved closer to the two men, I could now see them more clearly.

The young boy was sitting on the ground, badly bleeding, whereas the tall man was standing in front of him, blood on his hand and his nose broken.

They were watching me. The silence was heavy, the only thing I could hear was the beating of my racing heart and the shake of my knees that were begging me to run away from this place. The silence was soon replaced by an ominous laugh.

“Wow. What a beauty! Is she your girlfriend? Huh?” The tall man laughed and hit the youngest on his stomach before coming closer to me.

He came closer, until he was in front of me. I had a better view of his poor state. He wasn’t less bleeding than the other man, his blood was actually covering his whole face.

I don’t know what had taken into me at this exact moment, the adrenaline was rushing in my veins and even though my feet were stuck on the ground, unable to move, my hand reached the pepper spray I always carried in my bag. Before the man could react, I used my weapon against him.

When the chemical product had reached his eyes, he screamed and placed his hands on his face, trying desperately to soothe the pain. I took advantage of the situation and kicked him as hard as I could on his crotch before he fell loudly on the ground.

I quickly grabbed the boy by his arm and helped him stand up. He was badly injured but followed me without any complaint.

 I was panting when I reached a lighted street. We stopped there, trying to catch our breath.  I turned around to face the man I was still holding and my breath hitched in my throat, not from the run I previously had but because of how beautiful this man looked.

“Are you okay? What is your name?” I asked him but he simply stayed silent, staring at me with his piercing eyes.

I took a better look at his features, he was really handsome with a well-defined face. He wasn't older than me but he hadn't the body of a teenager either. His broad shoulders and his arms muscles could be seen without any effort from him. His dark hair was harmonizing with the dark of his eyes and his dimples were visible as the border of his lips turned upright in an inviting smirk.

How can someone like him be involved in such a fight?

“The sight is at your taste?” he giggled, his smile spreading wider.

I finally took notice of my staring when I heard him laugh. I must say it was the most beautiful laugh I ever heard, slightly high-pitched but almost bewitching.

“I wasn’t staring!” I shouted from embarrassment. Fortunately, the darkness of the night was covering the redness on my cheeks.

“Sure, you weren’t” He added, amused by my reaction “I’m San. Choi San. I didn’t need your help earlier but thank you, I’m glad you rescued me”

He came closer to me and gave me a sincere smile, showing even more his dimples.

My heart was going crazy in my chest. This boy seemed small earlier compared to the other man but he was way taller than me, maybe 7 inches taller.

“You’re welcome”

I was a bit intimidated by him but I dared not to look away. He had something special, an aura that seemed as dangerous as comforting. His gaze was intense and deep, it was like he was looking through me, memorizing every detail of my face.

He didn’t move and didn’t talk for at least 2 minutes and even if I was feeling uncomfortable, I did my best not to let him know.

“Where is your house?” he finally asked after what felt like an eternity.

He startled me with his sudden question, I didn’t expect him to talk this soon. Why did he want to know where I lived? He probably wanted to walk me home and I would have gladly let this handsome guy walk me home if I hadn’t met him in an odd situation.

‘But he is really handsome…’  I thought, sighing softly, making San arch an eyebrow.

“It’s okay, I live near here, no need to walk me home. You can go ahead…” I said “Go ahead to…the hospital, your house or…go murdering someone…whichever comes first” I added, lowering my voice at the end of my sentence.

His face changed into a surprised expression “I wasn’t going to walk you home, don’t worry”

I sighed in relief even if I felt a bit disappointed, maybe he wasn't that bad after all.

“I want to stalk you” he stared at me with his beautiful smile as if it was the most natural thing to say.

‘What the fuck?’

“Sure, stalking me haha, it was obvious, silly me!” I gently hit my head and laughed awkwardly, taking a step back from him.

He laughed sweetly and took my chin between his thumb and his index to lift my face up. His mouth came closer to my ear and he whispered a small “Just joking” before turning his heels back and leaving me, alone, in the dark street.

  I was finally back home. Fortunately for me, my dad hadn’t noticed me since he was already sleeping on the couch.

I quickly went upstairs to my room and collapsed on my bed, my mind still processing what had happened earlier. It was scary to say the least but fascinating at the same time. I was still confused even after showering. This San had a deep effect on me, not only mentally but physically too.

“Choi San…” I muttered before closing my eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

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This is my first story, it’s bad but I’ll try to improve myself!

This series will be uploaded slowly since I don't have a lot of time.

Thank you for reading!

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I loved your fantastic account of the battle of Waterloo and how each nation came to define the rest of the century for all the European countries in different ways. However what are your thoughts about the battle itself? Did Wellington win it or did Napoleon lose it? What were the turning points that you think determined the fate of the battle?

Thank you for reading and liking my previous post on Waterloo. I did heavily lean into studying ancient classical warfare when I was studying Classics but I only got into Napoleonic warfare because of a father who was (and still remains) big Napoleonic warfare military enthusiast. Through his keen eyes as a former serving military man, I also looked at the battle as a soldier might as well putting on my academic critical thinking cap. It’s a popular parlour game not just in Sandhurst but also in the officers’ mess (where those regiments actually fought at Waterloo) and around dinner tables - in my experience anyway.

I’ve always seen such speculative and counterfactual questions as an amusing diversion. I’ve never seriously looked at the detail until I came to France and unexpectedly interacted with Napoleonic scholars as well as soldiers (the cultured and historically well read ones at least) that forced me to think more about it. I’ve always been of the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived in time to save Wellington’ school; and this was always enough to get me by in any conversation.

But my vanity was stung by interacting with one of my downstairs neighbours, a high decorated retired army general, with whom I played a weekly game of chess over a glass of wine during the Covid lockdown in Paris. He didn’t spare me as he knew so much detail about the battle. But a typical failing of French thinking is to pontificate around generalities rather than specific reasons. So for him it came down to pooh-poohing the generalship of Wellington (the rain saved him) and lauding the emperor (he had haemorrhoids and thus a bad day at the office). So rain and haemorrhoids were the decisive factors in determining the outcome of the battle of Waterloo.

It was clear I had to raise my game. So I’ve been reading more when I could.

I had recently finished reading a wonderful book ‘The Longest Afternoon: The 400 Men Who Decided the Battle of Waterloo’ by the Cambridge historian Brendan Simms. The book came out in 2015 but it’s been lying on my shelf for these past few years until I actually took this slim book to read on my one of my business trips.  

The idea behind this short book is so superbly useful. It places to one side the huge, cinematic panorama of history and instead concentrates on one particular farmhouse, on one particular day: 18 June 1815. History is vivified, lifts itself off the page and into the mind, when a historian of Brendan Simm’s immense stature zooms in on the details - and here the details are compelling.

For the course of one day, 400 soldiers, wet, cold, in some cases hungover, who had bivouacked for the night in an abandoned farmhouse at La Haye Sainte, near a crucially strategic crossroads, found themselves staring down the massed barrels of Napoleon’s vanguard – and held them off.  On June 18, 1815, Wellington established his position and sent one battalion and part of a second to the farmhouse under the command of Major Baring. Napoléon’s initial attack was a direct assault that surrounded the house and came near to breaking Wellington’s line; but it held, and the legendary charge of two British heavy cavalry brigades drove back the French.

This is a detailed account of the defence of La Haye Sainte, a walled stone farmhouse forward of Wellington’s centre. Its defenders were the King’s German Legion, which (despite the British army’s penchant for oddball names) was genuinely German. Britain harboured many German expatriates who detested Napoléon, a number augmented in 1803 when he occupied Hanover and disbanded its army. That very year two ambitious officers recruited the first members of the King’s German Legion, which grew into a corps of some 14,000 men and served with distinction at Copenhagen, Walcheren and in Spain before its apotheosis at Waterloo.

Ordered to capture the farmhouse, Marshal Michel Ney - commanding Napoléon’s left wing - obeyed but became preoccupied with his famously unsuccessful cavalry attack. Reminded of the order two hours later, he dispatched infantry that reached the house and set it on fire. The men inside controlled the blaze and continued to fight until Ney took personal charge of a furious assault that succeeded only when the defenders ran out of ammunition and withdrew, having held out for six hours. Had they not defended it so stoutly and if the farm had fallen any sooner then Napoleon would have been able to get at Wellington’s troops before his Prussian reinforcements arrived, and in all likelihood Waterloo would have been a French victory instead; it would now be the name of a train station in Paris rather than London.

I doubt there is a definitive answer to this question which is why certain people love arguing about it because it’s so open ended in terms of cause and effect. You can pick on any episodic event and hail that as the decisive turning point. It’s one reason why we are so fortunate to have so many well researched history books on the battle of Waterloo to replenish the issues for a newer generation to argue with past generations.

If I were to go beyond the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived to save Wellington’ line then I would point to ten decisive turning points which in themselves might not have changed the outcome but taken together certainly influenced the final outcome of one of the most important and iconic battles in history.

Napoleon gives Marshal Davout a desk job

6 June 1815 – All commanders need a good chief of staff to ensure that their intentions are translated into clear orders. Unfortunately for Napoleon – as what is arguably one of the most decisive battles in European history loomed – his trusted chief of staff, Marshal Berthier, was no longer available. Berthier had sworn an oath of loyalty to Louis XVIII – and then fallen to his death from a window – so the job was given to Marshal Soult.

Soult was an experienced field commander but he was certainly no Berthier. Napoleon’s two main field commanders were also far from ideal. Emmanuel Grouchy had little experience of independent command. Michel Ney’s heroic command of the French rear-guard during the retreat from Moscow led Napoleon to dub him “the bravest of the brave”, but by 1815 he was clearly burnt out.

Worse still, when on 6 June Napoleon ordered his generals to assemble with their troops on the Belgian border he chose to leave behind Louis-Nicolas Davout, his ‘Iron Marshal’, as minister of war. The emperor needed someone loyal to oversee affairs at home but the decision not to take with him the ablest general at his disposal would deprive him of the one commander who might have made a difference.

Constant Rebecque ignores orders

15 June – In June 1815 Napoleon assembled 120,000 men on the Belgian border. Opposing him were 115,000 Prussians under  Field Marshal Blücher and an allied force of about 93,000 men under Wellington. Faced with such odds, Napoleon’s best chance of victory was to get his army between his two enemies and defeat one before turning on the other. On 15 June his army crossed the frontier at Charleroi and headed straight for the gap between the two allied armies.

Wellington was taken completely by surprise: “Napoleon has humbugged me” he said. Uncertain what Napoleon’s intentions were, he ordered his army to concentrate around Nivelles, over 12 miles away from the Prussian position at Ligny. This would have left the two allied armies dangerously separated but fortunately for Wellington, a staff officer in the Dutch army, Baron Constant Rebecque, understood what was actually needed. He disregarded Wellington’s order and instead sent a force to occupy the key crossroads of Quatre Bras, much nearer to the Prussians.

D’Erlon misses the show

16 June – Two battles were fought on 16 June. While Marshal Ney took on Wellington’s army as it hurriedly tried to concentrate around Quatre Bras, Napoleon led the main French force against the Prussians at Ligny. Blücher’s inexperienced Prussians were given a severe mauling but despite this they managed to fall back in relatively good order.

This was partly due to a disastrous mix-up on the part of the French. Confusion over orders saw General D’Erlon’s corps instructed to leave Ney’s army at Quatre Bras and join the fighting at Ligny only to be recalled as soon as they got there. The result was that 16,000 Frenchmen who could have intervened decisively actually took part in neither battle.

Blücher stays in touch

17 June – Wellington succeeded in beating back Ney at Quatre Bras but Blücher’s defeat left the British general with a large French army on his eastern flank. He was forced to fall back northwards towards Brussels. The Prussians were retreating as well. Normally a retreating army tries to withdraw along its lines of communication (ie the route back to its base). Had the Prussians done this they would have headed eastwards. The two allied armies would then have been even further apart and Wellington would have been overwhelmed. But instead of doing that, the Prussians retreated northwards towards Wavre. It was to be a crucial move. The two allied armies stayed in contact and on 17 June Wellington was able to fall back to the ridge at Mont St Jean, and prepare to make a stand there until Blücher’s Prussians could come to his aid.

The weather takes a hand

17 June – The night before the battle was marked by a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. Rain lashed down, turning roads into quagmires and trampled fields into seas of mud.

It was a night of tremendous rain and cloudbursts. Wellington said that even in the monsoons in India, he’d never known rain like it. To wake up cold and damp, wet and terrified, then you have this slaughter in a very small space. By evening there were over 200,000 men struggling to kill each other within four square miles.

Private Wheeler of the 51st Regiment later wrote: “The ground was too wet to lie down… the water ran in streams from the cuffs of our Jackets… We had one consolation, we knew that the enemy were in the same plight.” Wheeler was right of course – the rain would inconvenience all three armies, not least the Prussians as they struggled along narrow country lanes to link up with Wellington.

It’s often said that Napoleon delayed starting the battle in order to allow the ground to dry out but the chief cause of the delay was probably the need to allow his units, many of whom had bivouacked some distance away, to take up their allotted places. Napoleon enjoyed a considerable advantage in artillery at Waterloo but this was lessened by the fact that the mud made it difficult to move his guns around and that cannonballs, normally designed to bounce along until they hit something, or someone, often disappeared harmlessly into the soggy ground. Macdonnell closes the gates

11:30am, 18 June – On 18 June the two armies prepared to do battle. Most of Wellington’s troops were sheltered from enemy fire on the reverse slope of the Mont St Jean ridge. The position was protected by three important outposts: a group of farms to the left, the farm of La Haye Sainte in front and the farmhouse of Hougoumont to the right.

At about 11.30am the French launched their first attack – an assault on Hougoumont. This soon developed into a battle within a battle as the French threw in ever more men in a bid to capture the vital chateau. They nearly succeeded: led by a giant officer nicknamed ‘the Smasher’, a group of French soldiers worked their way round to the rear of the chateau, forced open its north gate and burst inside.

James Macdonnell, the garrison commander, acted quickly. He gathered a group of men and they heaved the gate shut again. The French inside the chateau were then hunted down and killed. Only a young drummer boy was spared. Hougoumont was to remain in allied hands all day and Wellington later commented that the entire result of the battle depended on the closing of those gates.

Ney loses his head after his cavalry founders

1.30pm – The infantry of D’Erlon’s corps finally saw action as they attacked the left wing of Wellington’s army. As they reached the crest of the ridge they were met by the infantry of Sir Thomas Picton’s division. Picton, a foul-mouthed Welshman who rode into battle in a civilian coat and round-brimmed hat, was shot dead but his men stopped the French, who were then driven back by Wellington’s cavalry.

The next major French attack was very different. Ney unleashed his cavalry in a mass frontal attack, and thousands of Napoleon’s famous cuirassiers – big men in steel breastplates riding big horses – thundered up the hill. But Wellington’s infantry stayed calm. Forming squares, they presented in all directions a hedge of bayonets that no horse could be made to charge.

Ney needed to call the cavalry off or support them with infantry but he lost his head and threw more horsemen into the fray. When he abandoned these fruitless attacks, Wellington’s line was still unbroken, two hours had been wasted, and the Prussians were arriving in force.

The Prussians arrive

4.30pm – Blücher had promised to come to Wellington’s aid, and kept his word. Napoleon had detached nearly a third of his army under Grouchy to prevent the Prussians joining up with Wellington but Grouchy failed to do this and, by mid-afternoon, the first Prussian units were in action on the battlefield.

At about 4.30pm they launched their first attack upon the key village of Plancenoit near the rear of Napoleon’s main position. This savage battle would rage for over three hours. Faced with this, Napoleon was forced to send many of his remaining reserves to shore up his position – leaving him with precious few troops to exploit any success his troops might enjoy against Wellington.

Napoleon says no, and von Zeithen turns back

6.30pm – At about 6.30pm the French captured La Haye Sainte. Posting artillery and skirmishers around the farm, they unleashed a storm of shot, shell and musketry into Wellington’s exposed centre. The regiments there suffered horrendous casualties, but Wellington’s line held – just.

Ney asked for reinforcements to press home his advantage but Napoleon refused. Instead he sent troops to recapture Plancenoit which had just fallen to the Prussians. Von Zeiten’s Prussian I Corps arrived on the scene. These much-needed reinforcements were set to join Wellington when a Prussian aide de camp rode up with an order from Blücher instructing them to head south and support his troops at Plancenoit. Von Zeiten obeyed. Realising that Von Zeiten’s troops were desperately needed on the ridge, Baron von Müffling, Wellington’s Prussian liaison officer, galloped after Von Zeiten and pleaded with him to ignore this new order and stick to the original plan. The Prussian general turned back and took his place on Wellington’s left, enabling the duke to shift troops over to reinforce his crumbling centre. The crisis had passed.

Napoleon’s last roll of the dice ends in panic

7.30pm – With Plancenoit back in French hands the stage was set for the final act in the drama. At about 7.30pm Napoleon unleashed his elite imperial guard in a last desperate bid for victory. But it was too late – they were hopelessly outnumbered and Wellington was ready for them. His own troops had been sheltering from the French fire by lying down but when the two large columns of French guardsmen reached the crest of the ridge Wellington ordered his own guards to stand up. One British guardsman describes the scene: “Whether it was (our) sudden appearance so near to them, or the tremendously heavy fire we threw into them but La Garde, who had never previously failed in an attack, suddenly stopped.”

Meanwhile Sir John Colborne of the 52nd Light Infantry wheeled his regiment round to attack the flank of the first French column while General Chasse ordered his Dutch and Belgian troops forward against the other. Soon both French columns had withered away under the deadly fire. Their defeat led to widespread panic in the French army: amid cries of “La Garde recule” (“the Guard is retreating”) it dissolved into a disorderly retreat mercilessly harried by the Prussians. “The nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life,” as Wellington described the battle, was over.

This isn’t an exhaustive list but it will do.

Waterloo was a watershed moment for Europe, and indeed the world. The end of the Napoleonic Wars heralded a peace in Europe which was not broken until the outbreak of World War One in 1914. In the century following the Battle of Waterloo an increased respect developed for the figure of the soldier. True the Battle became mythologised in the nineteenth century and is now embedded in our cultural memory as one of the great British success stories.

We still celebrate Waterloo because it was a great British victory - even if we had a little bit of help from the Prussians. It embodied the British bulldog spirit and marked the moment we finally overcame Napoleon and his empire after a decade of being at war.

The ramifications from Waterloo and the Napoleonic Wars are still felt today in contemporary European politics. I think because of this the battle continues to fascinate and to court intense discussion and disagreement.

No doubt my French neighbour the retired army general and I will continue to stubbornly argue our differing viewpoints until the wine bottle empties. But we both agree that we would enjoy having dinner with Napoleon and talk about his military campaigns. I admire Napoleon a little more having read more and for living in France. He’d be a very amusing and stimulating companion.

In many ways, he was also an enlightened and intelligent ruler. His Code Napoleon is an extremely enlightened law code. At the same time this is a man who had a very, very low threshold for boredom. I think he was addicted to war.

General Robert E. Lee, at Fredericksburg said, “It is well that war is so dreadful, otherwise we would grow too fond of it.”

Napoleon would never have agreed with that. War was his drug. There’s no evidence that Wellington enjoyed war. He said after Waterloo, and I believe him, “I pray to God that I have fought my last battle.” He spent much of the battle saying to the men, “If you survive, if you just stand there and repel the French, I’ll guarantee you a generation of peace.” He thought the point of war was peace. And he sure gave not just Britain but also an entire European continent some respite from the spilling of blood on a battlefield.

Thanks for your question.