#willing to forgive the messed up wood corners

[goatskickin]

now that's what i call a dramatic before&after the corner bits kind of suck and i need to change the handles but look - an armoire you might use

[flying-nightwing]

Moonlight by the Docks (And They Say Romance is Dead) - Slade Wilson

Hi. It's been a while. But guess fucking what babes, I'm pulling all the stops to be forgiven. It's been more than a YEAR in the making, and mark my word it probably won't happen again so take it all in, but here is the Deathstroke smut a LOT of you have been wanting. Y'all, this is the long awaited sequel to Tango à Deux. Please forgive me?

(it's technically a sequel but can be read as a standalone if you accept that batsis and Slade already know each other)

Also, enjoy!

Pairing: Slade Wilson x Nightshade!Batsis

Word count: 4721

Warnings: violence, death/killing unnamed NPC, porn with plot, dirty talk (lots of it), unprotected sex, p in v, batsis and deathstroke fighting for dominance (NO classic dom/sub dynamics bc that's a pass for me), more dirty talk, body fluid, kinky shit, creampie, biting, rubbing, rough sex, reference to voyeurism, major praise kink, everything is extremely consenting and willing by both ADULT parties, might have missed something but I think if you made it this far you're into it.

Have fun ;)

“Nightshade, status”

You barely heard Batman's hushed check in as you barrelled into a boarded up window, breaking the moulding wood with your shoulders and rolling out of the building as bullets rained over you. You wasted no time getting back on your feet, starting to sprint away from the semi automatic rifles rapid firing in your direction.

“Nightshade, status?”

“JUST A MINUTE” You yelled as you dived behind a large container, flinching at the sound of the bullets hitting the metal and ringing loud into your head. “Fucking fuck shit”

“What's going on?” Batman's voice grew agitated despite remaining a low hiss. “Talk to me Nightshade”

“Wrong fucking intel!” You replied as you jumped on your feet again, taking advantage of the opportunity window their reloading gave you to run across the dockyard to find better cover. “It's happening now! There's at least twenty guys here, all trained and armed to the teeth. And they're all on my ass right now”

What was supposed to be a simple recon mission with a possibility of stealth takedown op turned into a giant mess at the first opportunity. The second you slipped into the warehouse, you quickly realized that the three guards on shift that you had been briefed about was, in fact, a small militia that was ready to be deployed on some combat mission, or that's what you believed was being said before you got made. 

You would have also liked to know in advance that the building was littered with state of the art tripwires, movement detectors and heat sensors. Alas, you had gone in believing it was just a normal warehouse, and you had realized a moment too late you had triggered pretty much every alarm on the upper floor and very much alerted the militia of your presence. 

 “Tell me your position, I'm coming”

Your eyes went to the containers around you, taking as much information as you could without slowing down. Going into the maze of old containers was a great idea until you had to describe your surroundings. “I'm westbound, but those crates all look the same, B”

“On my way”

You ducked as much as you could to make yourself smaller as the symphony of bullets bouncing on the metal caught up to you. You took a hard left, trying to remember which way was more likely to not end up with a dead end, then went to your right. You could hear them shout, not giving up the chase, but you still tempted a look over your shoulder. They weren't on you yet. You faced forward and picked up some speed, rounding the corner towards the darkest and narrowest path to the left.

Before your eyes could even adjust to the shadows cast by the containers, your feet lifted off the ground and a large gloved hand was slapped tight on your mouth. On instinct, you began trashing to get away before your back was pulled flush against a hard armoured chest with a strong arm locking your waist against it. 

“Quiet, little bird”

The militia paused at the crossroad, then after a string of barked orders, turned right. At the same time, your brain took in the orange and dark grey of the armour around you and pieced it with that voice you couldn’t mistake for anyone else's. You stopped struggling, yet, he didn’t release you. His hand was still firmly cupping your jaw while you could feel his other arm flex around your waist. 

He tsked as the echoes of the yells grew more distant. “Once again getting in my way. What will I do with you now?”

You replied something, but it was muffled by his glove. You reached up and pulled his hand down, but he still let it linger on your neck once your mouth was free. You felt a bit weak in the knees and cursed yourself for getting turned on so easily, and even more for your next words. “Hopefully finish what you started last time if you’re not a coward”

Oh, that was so not the thing to say right now. You felt his hand around your neck tighten enough to be noticeable, but still loose enough for you to weigh your next words carefully. The yells once again grew closer, telling you the militia found a dead end and were backtracking towards your position. 

“Do you really want to do this right now?” His voice was so close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. As much as pouncing on him right there and then was generating divine images in your brain, you were still being hunted down by an enemy who’d be on you much sooner than later. And well, if you died riding Deathstroke, Bruce would bring you back to life just to kill you himself, his own code be damned. 

“As much as I wanna say yes,” You breathed back. “This bunch of angry men want me dead, so I believe the smart thing would be to deal with them first”

He released you. “Alright then. I’ll be here”

Your feet were fully back on the ground and you turned around to face him. Wow. You had been so right in your assumption that his other suit–namely, the one he was currently wearing–would be hotter on him. Even in the dark, he looked positively glorious and mighty delicious in all that armour, and with a small armoury worth of weapons strapped all over his, big, strong, menacing body– 

You forced yourself to calm your thoughts down. “A little help would be appreciated”

“Why?” You couldn’t see his face, but you just knew it was full of smug arrogance. “I’ve got my own mission here. Who says they're part of it?”

You glanced in the direction of the ever growing noise, then back to him. “C'mon, I'm literally about to have sex with you, the least you could do is make sure I'm alive for it”

He sighed loudly. “I suppose you make a compelling point”

The militia rounded the corner and spotted you as Slade stepped between their fire and you. In one swift movement, he pulled out his sword and twirled it in his hand, as if provoking the armed men in front of him. For a moment, he just stood there, shielding you from the onslaught of bullets suddenly incoming your way. They all bounced on the front of Slade’s armour, painting him off as some kind of god of war, and you couldn’t help but gawk at the sight. You were so caught onto just how hot he looked that you almost didn’t register him springing into action and starting to cut through the group. 

You reached for your karambit blades in your thigh straps and followed him in, making sure not to stray too far from his shadow to keep your cover from the fire. 

You waited for the reload to duck under his arm, sliding on your knees in a spin and slicing the tendons of two men. That sent them straight into the path of Slade's swords, adding to the bloodshed. You swiftly returned behind him as another round of bullet was fired, but by the sound alone, the number of gunmen was plummeting. 

The next reload came and you once again stepped away from him as he brought his two swords down onto some poor son of a bitch. You noticed a knife coming down and aiming for the small opening between his suit and his mask, so you sprung into action. 

Literally.

You used his propped up knee to propel yourself up and jump onto the guys' shoulders, gripping onto him by squeezing your thighs around his skull. He tried to get you off of him by spinning and thrashing like a mechanical bull, but you held on tight. He was getting desperate to throw you off as pressure grew around his head, lifting his knife in the air to stab your leg. You were faster however, reacting on instinct and plunging your karambits into his neck. 

He began sputtering as he tried to claw at his throat, blood squirting out of his artery and onto your suit. He dropped down to his knees and you got off, only then noticing he had been the last one standing. Key word, had been. He fell down on the floor in a puddle of his own blood as you observed him. Then, you felt like you were being watched intensely. 

You trailed your gaze up to see Slade on his feet and unmoving among the carnage he had mostly caused. You couldn't help the thoughts that flashed into your mind, or the way your body reacted to it. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, wondering what the hell was wrong with you.

Because somehow, you found it fucking hot.

And the fact that he did all of that just to get a taste of you? Yeah that did it. You completely switched your brain off as your feet took determined steps to him, quickly closing the distance to him and paying no mind to the bodies littering the floor. The second you were in front of him, you ripped his mask off and kissed him hard. 

And he was ready for you. Without a single after thought of hesitation, his gloved hand yanked your hood back and cupped your neck, dragging you back in the shadows with him. 

Just like the first time you sneaked out in a quiet place to make out, his lips were rough and insistent on yours. His hands were busy mapping your body, gripping your hips tight as he pushed you back onto the metal of the container. Like a reflex, his fingers seeked your back for a zipper, but found none. He kept searching for the proper way to undo your suit, until he pulled back with a glare of frustration.

You rolled your eyes. “I'll take care of mine, take care of yours”

Of course it was hard to figure out, it was made as such. But telling him that would only push him to try and get it and you weren't nearly patient enough right now to nurse his ego. 

In practiced motions, you undid your belt and unclasped several buckles that held the top part of your suit to the bottom. You barely had the time to pop off the button of the waistband that you were pushed once again on the cold metal, a much larger hand quickly replacing yours. 

Your pants were quickly undone and his hand slid down your stomach, reaching their destination with haste. You gasped as his calloused fingers began working on your clit, rubbing it in circles at a pace that was both tortuously slow and absolutely fantastic. His free hand slapped on your mouth just as you let out a moan that would have definitely bounced around the whole shipyard. 

He tsked. “As much as I would like to hear you, I'd rather not get interrupted by another armed militia. You'd agree, wouldn't you?”

Your breath shuddered and you nodded. Still, his hand didn't go away. 

He gave you a smug smirk. “I'll keep it there just in case”

You didn't even think about arguing, instead, you squeezed his forearm to encourage him to keep going. His fingers expertly worked you, alternating between pressure and friction and making your eyes roll back into your skull. Your hips followed his movements, chasing more friction from the fabric of his glove. You were greedy for him, for his hands, for his body. All you wanted to do is take, take and take, and luckily for you, he seemed more than happy to give it all to you and more. 

“That's it little bird, fly for me”

His hand moved just right with his words, and you couldn't do anything else to obey his command. You let go and came harder than you had in years, your vision going completely white for a second. Good thing his hand was muffling your voice, otherwise you were sure the whole city would have heard your scream bouncing from the dock. 

When he was certain your whimpers had quieted to an acceptable level, he took off his hand from your mouth and caressed the side of your head. “I think I like you like this” He hummed. “Being a good girl for me”

You were already half coherent from your orgasm, but him calling you a good girl like this, even if it was most likely condescending, was definitely getting you worked up for round two. “Fuck, if this is what you give me every time, I'll be whatever you want”

Oh yeah, you were NOT thinking with your brain at the moment. 

And the groan coming from him did not help calm down your heartbeat. And judging by how his entire body flexed along, you could only figure out those words of your equally turned him on, creating a feedback loop that threatened to keep you here with him until well past sunrise. 

Like a man starved, he shoved you back into the wall with his whole body, pinning your naked hips with his. You took in a sharp breath when his hard cock rubbed against your sensitive clit, spreading your orgasm all over his pants. Before you can make any more noises, his lips were on yours, reclaiming back with interest his dues from the previous ride. The grinding of his hips against yours drove you delirious and made you forget everything that wasn't about him right now. 

He reached between his body and yours and pulled out his cock, letting it bounce on his chest piece and stand proud, already glistening with precum. Just like the rest of him, he was huge. Good thing you had a whole waterpark going down there, otherwise he would never have fitted. He snaked his arms around your thighs and put his hands on your ass, then hoisted you up like you weighed nothing more than a feather.  

“Not one drop on this suit” You warned breathlessly as he lined himself with you.

“What, no more ruining your clothes?” He raised a teasing eyebrow. 

“That dress was worth pocket change compared to this” You replied, eyelids half open as you forced the moment of clarity. “Buying me a new one would have you file for bankruptcy”

“Fine, no stain whatsoever” He drawled out, leaning into your space once again and ghosting his lips on your ear. “Will you be my good girl and take it all inside then?”

The spell you had broken returned tenfold over you as your knees buckled. It took you several seconds to find your voice and prepare an answer that wouldn't be an embarrassingly loud moan. “If I say yes, will you get going?”

The pressure from his tip at your entrance alone made you whimper in absolute delight. This is what had been peeking more and more often in your naughty dreams ever since you met, and more often than not they ended with your hand doing what you now knew was a mediocre impression of his.

Slowly, he lowered you into him until you couldn't go further down. You were so full of him it was literally impossible to think about anything other than the pressure between your legs and the massive cock impaling you. That too, had been greatly underestimated by your imagination. Nothing would have done the real thing justice. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him just a little bit deeper, and it took all of his restraint not to start fucking you like an animal after that. 

“Fuck little bird,” He said, his voice low and rough. You hadn't started moving yet, but a quick squeeze around him made him let out a low grunt that you would definitely replay in your head later on. “You always take ‘em that easy?”

“I think that's only you,” Feeling bold at how much he tried to act tough about it, you decided to return the favour. You snaked your arms around his neck and pulled yourself closer, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses up until you reached his ear. “Maybe your little bird has just been dreaming about getting railed by the big bad wolf one night too many to give him any resistance”

He switched his hands from your ass to your waist and pushed you back roughly on the wall. The angle changed and stars flashed in your vision for a moment. 

“Why don't you tell me about those dreams?” His words were demands and he started moving inside of you, hips thrusting forward in a tortuously slow movement. Yet, it made your body sing along, meeting him halfway. 

“It always starts with you dragging me off to a dark secluded place after I said some shit to get you hard” You smiled as he kept hitting the right spot. Your focus on his questing was a lifeline you gripped with all you had not to just become some fucked out doll for him. You intended to make him work a little more before getting to this point. 

He gave you a particular hard thrust that made you gasp for air. “Keep going on, little bird” He grunted in your ear.

“And then– Fuck” You threw your head back on the wall. He wasted no time claiming your open neck, grazing his teeth on the skin. “No marks either”

You could practically feel him rolling his eyes, but he backed off with the teeth and kept going on with his lips. “And then what?”

“And then we rile each other up properly” You smirked as you threaded your hand in his hair and gripped hard. The low reverberating moan that came out of him combined with the very obvious twitching of his dick inside of you nearly made you finish right here and there. “Your head between my legs, taking good care of me…”

His thrusts definitely picked up speed as your words hit their mark. He did nip your neck at the moment, but it was light enough that you let it fly. 

“Then when you show that you know how to warm me up, I'd get down on my knees–” That made his hips jut forward and hit a deep spot in you that made you moan like a whore. “Maybe– Maybe even let you fuck my face if your tongue made me cum hard enough–”

“Fuck, who knew Gotham's little princess had such a dirty mouth on her, huh?” He straightened up and returned his glove to your oversensitive clit, brushing it hard enough to catch your voice in your throat. “What would everybody think if they saw you so eager to be my good little fuck toy?”

That would be a proper scandal indeed. 

“I don't care what they'd think” You managed to mumble. It was getting harder to keep your mind sharp now that he had begun rubbing you again. “They can even watch, as long as they don't interrupt”

You should have kept your damn mouth shut, you realized seconds later. You had obviously called irony upon yourself just by speaking the words.

“Nightshade?”

It was like you were suddenly doused with a bucket of ice water. You grew rigid as your earpiece came to life with probably the last voice you wanted to hear right now. Your eyes slowly widened as you remembered that your father was on his way to be your backup. And him walking in on you and Slade wouldn't be as low key as it had been with your brothers. There would be bloodshed. 

Slade obviously noticed your change of attitude and paused his thrusts. You dreadfully raised your hand to your comm and double tapped it to turn on the mic. 

“B?”

It took a few seconds for Slade to understand what was going on, and the shit eating grin he gave you told you he definitely wouldn't make the next step easy. With his good eye never leaving your face, he began thrusting again, challenging your murderous glare.

“I got delayed by another armed group in the shipyard,” He explained. “I’m on my way now. Where are you?”

You thanked whatever divine intervention that put obstacles on his way, because you had totally forgotten about him once you had caught sight of Slade. You were in an uncomfortable situation, but not as much as if he had walked on you. You took a moment to come up with a good enough excuse to keep him away just a little bit longer for you to get out of this mess. In the meanwhile, Slade still kept at it, obviously trying to make you slip. “Um, I–” You coughed to hide a gasp as he hit you deep.

‘Fuck you’ you mouthed to Slade, which he replied in the same fashion, ‘Already am’. That fucker.

“Nightshade, what’s going on?”

You could have killed him right there if he hadn’t been doing it so right. 

“Nightshade?”

“Yep, uh,” You took a deep breath and got a hold of yourself. Batman was getting impatient and you had to start being credible. You made a show of coughing exaggeratedly before speaking your next words, your eyes never leaving Slade's. “Just got sucker punched. It's fine though, it just took me by surprise. T'was nothing but a weak shot”

Slade’s smug expression faltered just a little, and you gave him your own version of the shit eating grin he was no longer giving you.

“Ok, where are you now?”

“I've backtracked and now Northbound, but I’ve got it under control” You took the opportunity of your previous lie to breathe deeply and counter some of the absolutely not family-friendly noises that were threatening to come out of your mouth instead of words. “But I’m not the only one here–” Deep breath. “I was being chased, and then I wasn’t. Only a couple of guys kept my trail… Somebody is picking out targets here. I think it would be smarter to fall back on the meetup point and recon”

“... Are you sure?”

“Positive” The word came out short and dry. “I think they might have done the same”

“Alright, I’ll reroute”

“I’ll catch up to you” You managed to say without tripping. “Nightshade out”

You made sure your comm was definitely off before hitting Slade on the chest. He only let out a quiet chuckle at what most likely felt like a breeze to him. “Asshole”

He leaned forward and rested his whole forearm on the container behind you, then thrust up. The new angle had you rolling your eyes in your skull, seeing black and orange stars in the blur of your vision. “Gotta make you pay somehow for all that work you made me do”

“As if you haven’t enjoyed it– oh”

He resumed his pace from before the untimely interruption, effectively cutting off your train of thoughts. “Now little bird, I believe you have somewhere else to be. Such a shame I don't have time to make you beg for it”

“Mhhfp, fine” You muttered as your arms went back around his neck. “Just because you have been quite compliant with my demands–”

He seemed confused for a second, until you pulled yourself up and nuzzled against his neck, letting out your prettiest little moans every time his hips hit yours. With your voice low enough just for him to hear, you gave him what he wanted. 

“Please Slade, I need it” The out of rhythm thrusts and the low grunt that you felt through his chest told you everything you needed to know. “I need your cum inside of me, fuck your cum into your good girl”

He slapped a hand on the wall behind you and wrapped his other arm around your waist, moving you faster up and down with his own thrusts forward. He grunted louder and louder in your ear, getting closer to his release. You had no idea if it was the begging or his reaction to it that turned you on, but you were getting pretty close as well. 

“Fuck, little bird” His voice was rough and low, and you couldn't help the nip to his throat instead of something louder. “I'll ruin you– I'll fucking ruin you”

“Please ruin me” You whined, feeling the familiar crescendo of your orgasm build. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, please, I'm so close, please don't stop”

“C'mon, be a good girl and cum for me” 

He drove you into the wall with his hips and the friction of his belt on your clit drove you to the edge. You had expected it, but holy shit, your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your walls clenched around him hard and you pulled him deeper into you with your legs, holding onto him with everything you got. Your vision fully went white and your teeth bit into his neck like they had a mind of their own. 

After a string of swears, he completely lost his rhythm and stilled, his hips sputtering forward and spilling inside of you with a low moan that almost got you ready for another round. 

You didn't move for a moment, focusing on catching your breath. Your eyes were half closed, glazed over, watching sweat pearl over Slade's exposed skin and your bite mark slowly disappearing on his neck. 

“Something interesting about my neck, miss Nightshade?”

A genuine smile curved up your lips at his comment; the same he had made all those weeks ago when you were waltzing around the dance floor. “Just admiring the view, that's all” You signed, content. “Why, are you afraid I will bite it off?”

He shook his head, looking up at the sky in a failed attempt to appear annoyed that you also remembered exactly what you replied.

“Huh, I guess you were into it after all” You mumbled as you slowly let yourself slide off of him and fell back on your feet. 

He took a good look at the mess he had made, seeming satisfied at how your knees slightly buckled as you hit the ground. Without a word, he pulled himself back in his trousers and readjusted his belt.

You then started to pull back on your suit, the rough material now sitting uncomfortably on your sweaty skin. “That's gonna be a bitch to clean…” You thought aloud, realizing tonight's run was far from over and the many body fluids would have time to nicely settle in the fabric.

“You said not a drop on the outside” Slade commented, then pointed at the clearly not soiled outside layer of the suit. “And none there is”

You couldn't help but laugh as your eyes subconsciously went to his own suit, where the glistening on his thigh guards extended to darker spots on his trousers. Anybody catching a glimpse of it would know exactly what caused the wet spot, and nobody would mistake it for him soiling himself. “Can't say the same for you”

He looked down, then frowned in what you could only describe as a cartoonish way. “Hm. This is upsetting. Whatever will I do”

Both of your eyebrows shot up as you let out a short laugh of disbelief. “What that… a joke?”

He only gave you a stern look that didn’t quite reach his good eye as he put back his mask on. 

“Oh, he has a sense of humour now? Who would have known” Despite your half dizzy state, your brain still found enough drive to tease him about it. Considering he was rearranging your guts minutes ago, you believed it was now fair game. 

He pointed a warning finger at you after he finished making sure everything was strapped correctly on his armour. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood”

You rolled your eyes as you flipped back your hood on. “Yeah I fucking bet. ‘Can say thank you Nightshade about it”

As expected, he elected not to comment on that. He only turned around and looked over his shoulder. “Until next time, little bird”

You did gratuitously check out his ass as he walked away, then prepared a damn good reason to give Batman to explain your dishevelled state.

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 8 - Changes]

Who you are - Who you're not - Who are you?

Summary: From parents one week, to a jeweler and a business meeting the next, the Ascendant has been very busy. And you've done your best to play the part of a reluctantly behaved consort.

But for how long before the lines blur?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Blood, a reference to violence, the Ascendant is very creepy again, possessive behavior, implied SA throughout, emotional and psychological manipulation.

A/N: This took a million years because I kept adding to it. There's a lot that's going to be happening soon. If we were on a rollercoaster together, we're nearing the crest of the high-drop. Thank you everyone for your patience. Please enjoy and forgive the sweat and blood all over the place. I edited as much as I could but there's so much I'll probably be making post-upload edits for awhile.

Chapter is 8,516 words.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

You find a twisted comfort in the warmth of the blood on your hands, as it decorates your arms like a piece of art and adorns the lovely little dress of various pastel colors you had been dolled up in all day.

It doesn't change that you don't remember what happened. One moment, you stood there with this peculiar, yet charming, elderly couple. Conversing with them, as they understood they were not your real parents. But they held onto the hope that you could still be a family together.

You weren't sure if you felt guilty for never telling them outright the truth of your parentage, or for the haunting screams that echoed in remnants of memory in your mind from the savagery inflicted on them in the name of your father.

Savagery that you can't remember.

But is splattered across your arms and across the room.

At some point, it seems you had attempted to infuse your glass of water with the taste of the woman's bloody finger, only to lose interest and abandon the finger in the glass. And the red, very dead eyes of the man seemed to pierce into your unwavering stare, forever frozen in a state of terror.

They were so happy to see you. So sweet. And in return for their boundless affection, you unleashed an unfathomable storm of brutality. The echoes of violence reverberated in your skull, drowning out the once rich sounds of laughter. The scent of blood and fear hung heavy in the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of freshly baked cookies that the mother had brought with her, along with a story of how she commandeered the palace kitchen. It was astonishing that his spawn hadn't erupted into a chaotic frenzy yet. You had no doubt they were the parents of the other you. You were willing to play along, at least for their sake...

"Oh dear. Now just look at this mess..." scolded a familiar voice behind you, by the door, though the tone was more amused than annoyed. His footsteps creating a soft thud as he approached then appeared beside you. "Is everything alright, my love? What happened?" he asked, worry lacing his words. Crouching down, he met your height, his hand brushing against your arm, grounding you in the chaos - with genuine concern etched on his face. From the corner of your eyes you caught his noting the pool of scarlet blood your knees have been bathing in, seeping into his expensive dark wood floorboards.

His fingers delicately pushed aside the blood-streaked strands of hair from your face, somewhat sticky with blood. "Did they hurt you?" Astarion presses, but his tone remains gentle.

You shake your head; the motion accentuated by the soft rustle of your hair brushing against the surface of your shoulders. Wrapping your arms around yourself. "I... No, but..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. Astarion's gaze meets yours, his eyes searching for answers. "Astarion, I don't have parents..." The words leave your lips softly, like a whisper carried by the wind. "Not like you know them." You take a deep breath, the coolness filling your lungs, as if it could somehow ease the weight on your shoulders. Despite your desire for him to know as little about you as possible, this is a secret that can no longer be kept safely. If you ever could.

Astarion studies you, his brow quirks in curiosity. Yet he refrains from mocking or making a witty comment at your expense. "Care to elaborate on that for me, pet?" With a gentle touch, he reached for your arms and guides you to your feet.

Whispering with a tremble that betrays your inner turmoil, the kind that's drowned out by the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears. "I... I'm a Bhaalspawn..." The words taste like a secret - heavy and dangerous, surrendered to the silence between you and meant for his ears alone.

Despite his composed demeanor, you can't help but notice the subtle tensing of his body, a slight stiffness that betrays his reaction to your words. A faint scent of tension lingering in the air, like the crackling of electricity before a storm. "I see," the silence punctuated only by his murmured response, his voice carrying a contemplative tone.

To your utter surprise, he pulls you, your body caked in sticky crimson blood, into his arms. His once immaculate red and black suit becomes stained with the dark, viscous liquid. His embrace tightens around your waist, constricting like a vice. "My apologies, darling. I should have weighed the differences between you and her more carefully." He croons, his voice low and velvety.

Rather than attempt to push him away, sneer, bite, hiss... You simply let your shoulders relax and your eyes gently shut. Like a warm blanket on a crisp autumn morning, his scent embraced you, equal parts familiar and entirely different. You shouldn't be doing this. What would your Star think...?

But you can't think. Your arms ache and your hands pulsate, likely from the repetitive actions of brutally bludgeoning the lovely couple into a mangled pulp resembling a tomato soup. Your wicked heart rejoices in the kills, feeling a dark and twisted satisfaction, a sickening feeling that emanates from deep within your chest. A profound self-hatred arises for harboring a sense of fulfillment that you realize has quietly found its home within you.

Astarion's arms tighten, his touch firm yet gentle. The sound of his steady heartbeat fills your ears as he pulls you nearer to his chest. "You're discontented with your blood," he murmurs the words, a statement rather than a question. "I'll explore what can be done, though I suspect I may have an answer already." Determination fills his voice, slender fingers threading through your hair.

"Ensure that dinner is served in my bedchamber this evening." Astarion commands, his piercing gaze sweeps over the bustling crowd of servants and guards at the door.

A half-elf servant's eyes dart nervously as he observes him. "But the guests--"

"Serve them in the dining hall as planned. Ballar will excuse our absence, and I will handle the rest in the morning," he snaps, his impatience palpable as he gazes down at you. His eyes emit a soft glow that is strangely captivating rather than terrifying. He replies impatiently as he looks down at you, eyes glowing red but soft and not all-consuming. Simultaneously, the shadows lurking in the corners of the room begin to slither towards you, their movements silent yet eerily mesmerizing. Gradually, they envelop both of you, plunging you into an abyss of darkness.

It's a strange feeling, like a gentle and chilly breeze that dances across your skin.

Then the shadows recede and you, still standing in his arms, find yourself transported to a room that dwarfs the familiar confines of your own. If opulence could be a room, this would be it.

A gentle, feather-light kiss lands on the crown of your head, sending a shiver down your spine as your attention shifts to Astarion. "I will draw a warm bath for you," he murmurs, his voice a gentle serenade that caresses your ears. "Feel free to explore the bedchamber to your heart's desire. We'll be sharing it in time, after all." With those simple words, he releases you from his warm embrace, and you watch as he gracefully glides behind you, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Your eyes trace his every movement until he disappears behind a simple wooden door.

Though choosing to ignore his reasons, you take him up on his offer - kicking your bloody shoes off and allowing your bare feet to tread the warm, burgundy carpet throughout the space. The centerpiece of the room is the large, fourposter bed. Framed in mahogany and adorned with intricate reliefs depicting events in history... is that... the netherbrain?

Of course, only the finest silks and velvets, deep shades of red and purple, adorn the bed. Above, a canopy of rich, embroidered fabric drapes down, adding to the sense of regal splendor.

On one side of the room a large bay window, framed with heavy velvet curtains in royal blue and embroidered gold, overlooks the bustling city and distant sparkle of stars flitting above the Sword Coast. A plush window seat, adorned with soft cushions, inviting you to take a seat to relax and think, or perhaps finish the book you've been enjoying the past few nights.

The walls are artworks and tapestries, some magical and depicting wondrous scenes, others more mundane in comparison. With some of these concealed by ominous dark sheets. Between them, shelves, cabinets, dressers of dark wood you presume hold treasures or the like.

A grand fireplace dominates the other wall, its mantle exquisitely carved, a show of incredible craftsmanship. It's fire alight and casting a warm glow over the room. Nearby, an elegant writing desk equipped with fine parchment, inks and quills, very well used by your estimation, and framed by two wall sconces. The room is bathed in a soft, warm glow from the lights of the crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, creating an enchanting and regal atmosphere.

The creaking of the door beside the fireplace catches your attention and you're greeted by the sight of a shirtless Astarion, hand extended and beckoning you. "Come, love, it's ready." He says, smiling warmly when you accept and cross the room toward him.

He takes your hand and walks with you into the room, steamed slightly from the warm water and guiding you around the large marble bathtub to a shelf lined with various scented oils and soaps. "I believe we have the vanilla and amber oil you've taken to using lately, if that is what you'd like tonight." Astarion offers in a calming rumble of his chest as he steps behind you. His fingertips graze your skin as he unbuttons the dress for you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Normally, you would smack his hands at the mere thought of him undressing you. But you're so... tired. And drained... and all you want is to clean off the blood caked on your skin.

So you simply pluck one oil after the other off the shelf, examine the selection with some mild interest while Astarion does most of the work taking the dress off you until you need to lift your arms or legs to get it off completely. In the end you settle on a cinnamon and honey scent, one he acknowledges with a silent nod and subtle smile.

It dawns on you, as he turns away with the oil, that he intends to join you in the bath... right as you realize he's as naked as you are. He returns and replaces it on the shelf before retrieving a bar of soap next.

He guides with a hand on the small of your back to the tub and eases you both into the warm water.

Just like that, you find yourself naked and immersed in a hot bath with a twisted version of Astarion, a tyrant of a ruler over... is it just Baldur's Gate or the entire Sword Coast? And to your surprise, he makes no move to touch you like that. Instead, he focuses on helping you wash in a somewhat comfortable silence.

Even as he washes the blood from your hair and face, his hands remain appropriate. He asks a few questions about your urge but nothing beyond the standard array of curious ones to better understand it - as well as what memories you do have of your life.

Then he asks you the burning question. "Did you enjoy your meeting with the cockroach today, my pet?" The Ascendant calmly asks as he sets the soap aside.

He chuckles at your tense reaction, brushing his fingers through your wet hair. "Of course I would know, darling. It wasn't much of a reach." As his arm snakes around your waist, slowly dragging you into him.

"And you're not...?" you cautiously inquire, anticipating his reaction, whether it be anger or irritation.

"It doesn't concern me." Astarion answered, his voice carrying an air of nonchalance, "he can try all he likes, but no matter what he does, his efforts will never be enough to steal you away from me."

His choice of words had you contorting in his grasp, twisting to meet his gaze. "Remind me who stole me first?" You bite and narrow your gaze at him.

Astarion's piercing scarlet eyes, shimmering with an unexpected tenderness, meet yours, locking in an intense gaze. As his hand, radiating warmth, delicately caresses yours beneath the soothing embrace of the fragrant bathwater, the soft sound of water gently lapping against the sides of the tub creates a serene ambiance. Leaning closer, his presence alone almost whispers lovingly to yours, "One day," he murmurs, his voice caressing your ears and easing your worries despite your reluctance to part with them, "everything will become clear to you, my love."

You want to say it was him who started what happens first... but deep down; you lack certainty. All you know is what follows. Your lips meld with his, the taste somewhat of metal and fine wine. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears intertwines with that of your shared breaths between kisses. As his hands trace the curves of your hips, a gentle tug brings you onto his lap, his arousal grazing against your thigh as you settle. Your hands find their place on his chiseled chest, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath your fingertips.

In the depths of your thoughts, faint whispers echoes in the recesses of your mind, begging you to stop this. Growing louder and more frantic as his hands guide you into a tantalizing grind on his thigh. But it's the soft, intimate sounds that escape your parted lips as you press them against his, filled with longing and anticipation, that abruptly shatter your daydream, causing your hands to instinctively push against him.

One of his hands holds firmly holds you close to his body, while the other hand playfully teases one of your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate patterns that make your skin tingle with anticipation. When his lips withdraw from yours, a path of soft kisses awakens your yearning, as his breath, filled with warmth, delicately sweeps across your neck. Every touch, every nibble, creates a captivating blend of anticipation and desire that floods your senses. You can feel the gentle graze of his fangs, a delicate reminder of his primal nature, as he tenderly kisses and nibbles with his teeth. The friction of your instinctive grinding against his firm thigh creates a captivating sensation that is gradually consuming you. Just as you begin to comprehend the severity of the moment, he confidently lifts your hips, leaving you helpless to resist the pull of desire...

____________________________________________________________________

Well... at least this time you're not waking up naked with him. Like you do most nights as of the last nine days.

As you wake up, you find yourself nestled against his strong, muscular body. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Your cheek rests against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. His arm draped over you, while his fingertips delicately trace patterns along your back. Their touch seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sending a soothing sensation through your body. The faint ache in your muscles reminds you of the passionate evening you shared with him, lingering memories of him between your legs while you sat on the edge of his writing desk. However, the soreness is much milder compared to the first time. Perhaps it's the result of spending the past tenday in his constant, inseparable presence.

Sensing you're awake, his other hand gently weaves through your hair, nails tenderly caressing your scalp. "Good morning, beautiful," his voice reverberates in his chest, rumbling against your ear. You sense he doesn't expect or require a response from you, allowing you to bask in the moment's serenity. Succumbing to the blissful sensation of his fingers caressing your scalp, you let your eyelids flutter closed, prolonging the quiet embrace of comfort and ease.

Once more, guilt gnaws at you for succumbing so easily to the Ascendants' advances. Even though he forcefully brought you to climax in the hallway yesterday, pinning you against the wall, you were able to resist him for a longer time than how quickly you've given in to his embrace just now.

But you can feel something shifting in you, something wrong. Try as you might to fight it, ignore it, deny it, you're reaching the point of reluctantly admitting you are powerless to it. But that doesn't mean you're close to giving up. Once you can slip away from the Ascendant's side long enough, you can approach Elowen about using the sending stone to communicate your progress. Maybe even an update from the resistance on the "extra help" they promised you'd receive soon.

During your brief moments alone, you convinced her it was best for her to hold on to it. Malacai and Astarion were already constant shadows watching your every move. Yet every so often, he includes another "steward" to your company. But you've played the role of warily agreeable "consort" since the night he learned of your bhaalspawn blood.

Astarion continuously parades in one wedding planner after the other, and you reluctantly comply... kind of. Each time you suggest leaving the palace, it predictably spirals into an argument. But perhaps if you can persuade him to allow you to leave with the stewards trailing behind, he might become more inclined to acquiesce.

Until then, you have spent most of your days learning your own body language and manipulating it in a large, public setting to wordlessly communicate that you are, somehow, a superior breed of creature. You haven't been a fast learner, to put it mildly, but Malacai and Astarion were far from discouraged.

Gently opening your eyes and lifting your head, you meet his eyes, watching you. "What is it to be today? More dress design arguments? Wine tasting? Or simply soak in the warm embrace of sunlight?" You ask, a playful tone in your voice. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a contented purr escaping his lips. "Mm, that last one is rather appealing," he admits, his voice filled with a lazy anticipation. "Especially if you're included."

"Do I have a choice?"

The slip of your tongue cleaves through the silence like a sharpened sword through a goblin. A storm begins to brew behind his eyes as they gently open, his previously serene facade breaking away like a cliff-face succumbing to the relentless sea. Silence slithers into the void left by your words, taut and thickening the air akin to that of a dense fog. "Obedience is a matter of choice, darling. It can be as easy or as arduous as you decide. And we've gone over a few times already how pleasurable it can be," he responds, his voice low and resonant.

As you rise, disentangling yourself from his body, he props himself up on his hands. "We have little on our agenda today, save for a jeweler whom I had Cirrus summon, and I have a meeting later in the evening. So if bathing in the sun after breakfast is on offer, I'm all pointy ears."

"Where? That indoor courtyard across from my room?" You ask curiously, tilting your head.

"No," he says with a disdainful tone, his face contorting in disgust as he visibly pictures the place in his mind. "That place is a ghastly eyesore." The words carry a hint of mockery as he sneers. "Perhaps, with your personal touch, you can breathe life into the space, hmm?" His smile emerges, accompanied by the sound of a gentle chuckle. Leaning in closer, he plants a soft, affectionate kiss on your cheek, leaving a lingering warmth. With that, he gracefully rises from the bed and heads towards his wardrobe.

The sight of pants, neatly folded and hanging in the closet, makes your heart sink. The varied colors and textures evoke a sense of longing within you. Oh, how much you miss the feeling of slipping into them, the smooth fabric against your skin. "Can I please wear pants again?" you ask, your voice tinged with yearning, unable to fight the pout that tugs at your face.

Astarion glances over his shoulder, the soft rustle of fabric filling the air as he effortlessly slips into his clothes. Today, his attire is elegantly understated, with tailored, dark grey pants that hug his legs and a sky blue shirt that accentuates his refined features. The ends of the sleeves and the collar are delicately ruffled, adding a touch of whimsy to his ensemble. "Darling," he replies, his voice gentle yet persuasive, "it's simply not fitting for a woman of your esteemed position." He turns to face you, his gaze filled with a captivating blend of sincerity and allure.

"But I'm the future wife of a godking, no? Who can say besides us what falls within and below my status?" This is possibly the first time you are using this nonsense for your benefit.

With a playful chuckle, he raises his eyebrows and surrenders by holding his hands up, saying, "As my lady wishes, so shall it be." As you open the wardrobe, he glances at the array of exquisite gowns, some purchased and others uniquely designed for you. "I'll have a tailor and seamstress called upon next, then. But will you consider that on some occasions it is better for you to wear one of these instead?" Arching an eyebrow, a subtle plea to you.

"Fine, as long as I at least get to wear pants consistently around the palace in private."

"That sounds eminently reasonable to me, pet." Astarion smiles, passing by you with a kiss to your head, leaving you to pick out a dress for the day.

Once the matter is settled, you follow closely behind him, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting as he leads you out of the lavishly adorned bedchamber and into the expansive hallways. As you walk, the scent of polished mahogany and the delicate fragrance of freshly cut roses fills the air, creating a harmonious blend of richness and beauty. Servants scurry about, their hurried footsteps echoing on the gleaming parquet floors.

Your eyes catch a group of them, their brows furrowed with effort, struggling to lift a massive ornate frame, shrouded in a pristine white silk sheet, off the wall. Their stifled grunts intermingle with the gentle rustling of the fabric. It's not the first time you've witnessed such a scene, but this time, you decide to halt your steps and observe. Curiosity piqued, you inquire, "Overhauling the decor, Astarion?"

He too takes notice of the scene. There is a flicker in his eyes, a fleeting moment of something indescribable that vanishes before you can fully comprehend it. "Something like that," he mutters, his gaze lingering on the servants for a moment before he turns to face you, a warm smile playing on his lips. Offering you his arm, silently telling you it's time to move on.

Despite the strong urge to ignore and walk past him, you reluctantly give in and hook your arm around his, feeling a mix of annoyance, resignation and a sense of begrudging obligation. And the two of you continue on your way to breakfast uneventfully.

__________________________________________________

Although smaller than expected, you'll agree that this balcony, adorned with delicate flowers, where he has had you lounging, has a pleasant charm to it. As you reluctantly let yourself unwind, you nestle beside him, feeling the softness of the plush bench, with its velvet upholstery, contrast his firm body. The gentle breeze caresses your skin. As you gaze upon the bustling harbor, the vibrant colors of the boats and the glimmering water paint a picturesque scene before you. The melodic songs of birds in the distance and the muted chatter of the city below blended together, creating a comforting lullaby.

He made sure you ate enough to satisfy your hunger, and now you feel your breakfast sitting in your stomach like a rock.

Your eyes peel away from the view to admire the vampire lord... god... His eyes, closed in peaceful contentment, reveal his trust in your presence. With his head slightly tilted toward the blue sky, he savors every ray of the sun, his face bathed in warm golden light. The vibrant hues of his pale skin, illuminated by the sunlight, create a captivating contrast. The scent of him enveloped you: bergamot, rosemary, and frost, intermingled with the crisp morning air. You're not sure how long it's been since he ascended, though he once mentioned that the previous you had passed away a century and a half ago. No matter how much time has passed since he secured his ability to walk in the sun, he still clearly adores basking in it.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and yet so strong, almost fills your heart with a comforting warmth for him. "Why do you need me if you have all this at your fingertips?" Your voice remains hushed, careful not to disturb the restful mood. Absentmindedly finding your hand on his chest, gently caressing it through the fabric of his shirt.

His warm hand settles gently over yours, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. As his captivating crimson eyes open, he gazes up at the vast expanse of the sky, fluffy white clouds drift lazily across the vibrant blue canvas. "All of this power, all of these riches, they are meaningless without you by my side. If it weren't for the hope of being reunited with her, I would have simply scorched Toril, reducing everything, even the stars above, to mere ashes that would cascade upon my skin."

You feel a slight twitch in your ears, and your brows furrow in confusion. "I'm not her, Astarion," you say, your voice carrying a soothing tone and preemptively comforting. "Just as you are not mine." You hope to harness the tender atmosphere around you, using it to comfort him and create a productive conversation.

Unexpectedly, a gentle smile spreads across his face and you can feel his arm slide around your waist, securing you in his embrace. "I know."

Suddenly, the peaceful moment is shattered when the double doors leading into the morning room swing open. A dwarven man in a tailored suit, with a hunched back and a noticeably small stature - even for his race, eagerly approaches as you both sit up.

"Ah, his Almighty Majesty, Godking Ancunín and his betrothed! An extraordinary honor to be in your exalted presence!" He exclaims and bows his head with a wide smile, his thin silver hair glistening in the sunlight.

Two servants and Malacai stand outside the doors. "I am Eldon Greybeard, of the illustrious house Greybeard! Humbly and graciously at your service!" he introduces himself. His voice projects confidence and carries a hint of excitement.

Beside Eldon, three young ladies stand, their faces flushed with exertion. They struggle to balance the weight of the large, cumbersome trunks in their delicate hands. Beads of sweat form on their brows as they try to maintain composure. Eldon's quick movement startles one of the girls, her wide eyes reflecting surprise and relief as he yanks a trunk from her delicate grasp.

Deciding to take that as your cue, you separate yourself from Astarion, who stands up from the bench with you. Effortlessly commanding the shadows lurking in the corners of the balcony, where the sunlight cannot reach. With a mesmerizing control over the darkness, he simply pivots the bench to face the doors. In a tender gesture, he takes your hand and interlocks your fingers, while the dwarf pops the latch to the trunk and flips it open, revealing its contents.

Proudly, the man spins the polished mahogany case around with a gentle creak to display its contents. Bracelets, glimmering in an array of colors and designs, catch the light, their intricate make and materials captivate the eye. The subtle scent of polished gems, worn leather and delicate metal. The Ascendant vampire, his crimson eyes locked with yours, as he guides you both to walk around and sit on the bench. Returning his gaze to the dwarf, his voice cut through the air with a dismissive tone. "We've no interest in these."

Eldon's eyes flit between the bracelets then you and forces a small chuckle. "Yes, of course, my apologies." Then he carefully closes the trunk and sets it aside. With a simple point at the other girl, she sets down the one she's carrying, and he swiftly opens it for you while Astarion releases your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders.

Arranged meticulously in orderly compartments, a multitude of rings sparkle and shimmer under the golden sunlight. "Judging by the ring size your messenger provided, each of these rings should fit the queen's finger flawlessly," Eldon proclaims with a hint of pride. A confident grin spreads across his face, as if reflecting the sparkle of the rings themselves.

While you were indifferent to viewing the selection from where the trunk sat on the ground, the vampire lord effortlessly beckoned one of his servants with a mere flick of his hand. Obediently, the servant grasped the trunk and positioned it before you both. The sight of the servant's pale, trembling hands gripping the trunk contrasted with the dark, weathered wood. The subtle creaking sound of the trunk being hoisted tickled the air. Allowing you to see every detail of each ring clearly and with ease.

You're half expecting him to pick one for you, but he remains eerily silent. His eyes glide over the options, examining them intently, but his hands remain motionless, refusing to reach out and touch any of them. "Astarion?" you inquire, curiosity tinged with a hint of confusion.

He meets your gaze, his piercing red eyes locking onto yours offer a blend of amusement and affection, and shakes his head slowly. "It's your ring, my treasure." The sound of his voice is soothing, melodious in your ear. With a gentle smile playing on his lips, he whispers, "Pick one, pick two, pick them all if it pleases you." His hand, warm and comforting, caresses your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

Awkwardly, you find yourself gazing back and forth, your eyes tracing the intricate details of each ring. Part of you still yearns for that black band, adorned with scattered silver and blue gems. The memory of it tugs at your heartstrings. But you know deep down that you could never tarnish the purity of that memory by wearing it as your engagement ring to him.

Chuckling, an impish glint dances in your eyes as you delicately raise the cool, smooth silver band, feeling its weight between your fingertips. The silver gleams in the light, captivating your attention, even though you typically have no interest in jewelry without practical or magical value. As you gaze at the ring, a hint of amusement tugs at the corners of your lips, finding it a tad on the nose to wear when you're engaged to a vampire lord, yet undeniably adorable.

"Really, darling?" With a playful tone, Astarion inquires, his voice laced with feigned annoyance as he gazes at the ring you're holding up, allowing him to see the intricate design—a round ruby, nestled within the claws of a bat. Its eyes, adorned with two smaller rubies, seem to shimmer with a mischievous gleam.

Refusing to look away, your eyes hold on to his as he playfully rolls his own in a mock display of exasperation. The sound of his chuckle sends a shiver down your spine, a delightful sensation that lingers, much as you hate to admit it. Finally, unable to resist, he takes the ring from your outstretched hand, examining every intricate detail for himself.

As he carefully scrutinizes the ring, the balcony becomes alive with a hushed energy. The air carries a palpable sense of anticipation, entwined with the delicate fragrance of roses in a nearby vase. Your heart dances with a blend of exhilaration and jitters while you anxiously await his final decision.

Astarion gently places the ring back into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. With a slight nod, he signals for Eldon to continue showcasing his collection. As the dwarf busies himself, his back turned to you, a tall Elven man gracefully emerges from the shadowed corner of the balcony. You couldn't help but notice the way he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and the lingering scent of a peculiar scent that seemed to permeate the surroundings. "My sincerest apologies, my revered Godking," he says, his voice filled with deference. "I humbly request a moment of your undivided attention."

A look of irritation crossed the Ascendant's face as he rolled his eyes. "By the hells, Ballar," he muttered, his anger evident in his tone.

"It is regarding a certain pest problem."

His arm stiffens around your shoulders, causing a slight discomfort. An uneasy silence settles over the atmosphere. Then, following a tense pause, he starts to rise from his seat, his movements betraying his restlessness. Just as he starts to rise, you reach out and gently grasp his arm, bringing him to a sudden stop. "You know what, Astarion," you say, your voice wavering with hesitation and uncertainty, "I think I'd prefer some time alone to gather my thoughts. About what you said this morning, and moments earlier." You suggest, a silent plea echoing in your heart, hoping he understands the turmoil within you.

Reluctantly, he nods in agreement with an unenthusiastic expression. "Just" his subdued acquiescence barely audible amidst the stillness "don't stray for too long, pet." A hint of caution lacing his words,

Feeling relieved, you hand the ring back to him and gracefully get up. The soft rustle of your clothes mixes with the faint murmur of voices drifting up from the bustling city below. The fragrance of blooming flowers that adorn the nearby flowerbeds dances in the air, mingling with the crisp, refreshing breeze that caresses against your skin.

Excusing yourself from the ornate balcony, you feel a sense of liberation washing over you. Malacai moves to join you, but with a subtle wave of your hand, you motion for him to remain behind. Finally alone, you relish in the silence, craving the chance to collect your thoughts amidst the cacophony of emotions that swirl within you.

Unconcerned with Astarions' instructions, you meander purposelessly through the palace, your footsteps echoing through its grand halls, the intricate tapestries and glistening chandeliers catching your eye. Echoing through the wooden floor in the halls, the soft sounds of distant footsteps create a soothing environment.

As you walk, you can't help but flex your right ankle from time to time, checking the tightness of the shackle. Sure enough, it's still there. Honestly, what a surprise - surely it would have slid down your ankle and freed you already.

Your sarcasm, thankfully, hasn't diminished at all.

What else could it possibly be used for, you wonder? Preventing you from leaving without permission is a likely bet. But It can't just be a means of forcing you to remain seated.

Gods above, you wish you could explain the shackle in the scant messages you've been able to get through the sending stone. Its full utility remained elusive, yes, but you could sense it would pose a formidable obstacle to whatever plan your Star had devised to get you out of here.

You're not sure how exactly, but you find yourself in the alchemist's office if the myriad of variety of plants were your first guess, their leaves reaching out towards the sunlight that streamed through the dusty windows. Empty glass bottles glint in the soft light, lining the shelves in the office. The workbench is a chaotic mess, with scattered papers and spilled substances. A distinct earthy aroma, with undertones of herbs and potions, wafted through the air. Your fingertips brush against the rough surface of the tables as you navigate further into the room, a sense of curiosity guiding your steps.

One plant catches your eye that you don't believe you've ever seen before. A large, worn tome sits adjacent to it, left open with a stunning rendition drawn on the right page, while the left page refers to it as the Slumberthorn vine. The text explains that these despite its deceptively soft appearance; the leaves are razor sharp and laced with a powerful toxin that can swiftly induce sleep in even the strongest, heaviest of humanoids.

You ponder the idea of the toxin entering the bloodstream, but the text clarifies that the toxin's potency is such that it works directly on the skin. Skillful distillation of the toxin can yield a powerful anesthetic, but the process requires expertise. The idea sparks a faint curiosity, but you quickly dismiss it. You never cared much for poison or the like, even in the depths of your stunted memory.

Why let a poison have all the fun your hands could have?

A memory comes to mind from your first day here. When that woman threw the broach, narrowly missing your face and leaving a small, shallow cut on your cheek. How quickly the Ascendant materialized in the room. Perhaps it was the distinct fragrance of your blood that permeated the air, reaching him from a considerable distance. Or maybe...

You lowered your gaze to your ankle, fixating on the shimmering silver and gold hues of the small band that smoothly encircled your skin. It had become all too familiar, the constant, subtle, gentle weight of it pressing against you, that you couldn't escape. If he possesses some kind of magical connection to the band, enabling him to track your every move, this experiment might just be worth a try. Escaping from the confines of the palace was your only chance at freedom. Perhaps this... precarious experiment would prove worthwhile in the end.

Undoubtedly one of the most foolish choices you could make, and that's saying a lot. With a careless gesture, you grab the book, shutting it with a resounding thud. Without purpose or direction, you fling it nonchalantly over your shoulder; the book flying through the room before landing elsewhere with a soft thump. And before doubt can creep in or hesitation can take hold, you gingerly press your finger against the leaf, feeling its soft and smooth surface. Instantly, you feel the minuscule razor-sharp barbs beneath your fingertip, poised to pierce your skin, yet you keep your hand steady.

Instinctively, you pull your hand back as the room abruptly plunges into darkness, leaving you disoriented. The world around you begins to spin, causing a whirlwind of blurred images. Struggling to maintain your balance, you take a cautious step back, the faint echo of your racing heartbeat fills your ears. Suddenly, a wave of weakness engulfs your body, causing your leg to buckle beneath you before giving out. With a desperate attempt to stay upright, your other leg follows suit, and you're vaguely aware of falling onto your side.

You shift onto your side, nestled in his frigid arms, glimpsing your vampire lover behind you in the bed. The dimly lit bedroom in the elfsong tavern envelops you both, shadows dancing on the walls. A symphony of scents dances through the air. The lingering scent of aged wood and a subtle hint of candle wax, which mingles harmoniously with the soothing aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and a gentle whisper of aged brandy that is unmistakably him.

You aren't surprised when his sharp red eyes lock with yours, a silent understanding passing between you. The blankets wrap around both of you, cocooning you in their comforting embrace. Your legs intertwine with his, creating an intimate tangle beneath the covers. With tenderness, you lift your hand, feeling the coolness of his cheek as your touch meets his pale skin. "We'll get through this, my love..." you whisper, your voice a gentle melody in the quiet night.

His eyes flutter closed as your fingertips gently glide over his chiseled, smooth chest, accompanied by the soft sound of his contented sigh. "I know, my star..." he murmurs, his words barely audible, the sound blending with the gentle rhythm of your breathing. His eyes, filled with unwavering resolve, find yours once more, a silent promise reflected within their depths... and...

Suddenly, your body jolts forward, disoriented as you awaken. The cold, hard floor beneath you goes unnoticed in the initial moments, your vision still blurred. As you struggle to regain your senses, a distinct aroma of musty old books and damp earth fills the air. Gradually, as the dimly lit room gradually comes into focus, your groggy mind registers the presence of the vampire ascendant kneeling beside you, his hands firmly gripping your shoulders, shaking you awake. Through the haze, you hear their gasp, a combination of concern and surprise. "Hells, Tav, what's gotten into you?" their voice echoes in your ears as they pull your dazed body into their strong, crushing embrace.

You refuse to let on the dream you had, though you risk playing it over and over again in your mind. If you had to choose between living every day of the rest of your life with this... mockery of the man you love. Or relive that night before Cazador over and over with the real Astarion...

Well... at least you answered one question.

...Slumberthorn vine toxin doesn't need to break skin to be effective.

____________________________________________________________________________

"Remember, you are merely an observer..." He reminds you for the millionth time and deliberately ignores as your eyes roll again, though you do motion to him that your lips are sealed.

Upon returning to the balcony with him, the jeweler was dismissed until a more suitable time. But you weren't in any mood to play the obedient "consort" any longer, and you adamantly refused to put on the ring, which, of course, ignited yet another heated argument.

Needless to say, you were itching for the day to conclude. Why did you even need an engagement ring when everyone knew by now who you were? More like what you were.

You both enter the sitting room without acknowledging the two guards standing watch outside, their presence nothing more than an afterthought. But you still freeze in place when you step through the doors and enter. Astarion teases - his mischievous voice fills the air and sends a thrill down your spine as he playfully remarks, "It's not the first time the staff have cleaned viscera, my sweet." You stand there, completely awestruck by the sight in front of you. The room, once a gruesome mess, now gleams with pristine cleanliness, not a trace of blood or severed fingers left behind.

Your eyes were so fixated on the transformation that you failed to notice the presence of two figures standing near the couch and table, their dark robes flowing and white masks concealing their identities. As you take in the familiar attire, memories flood your mind, reminding you of a certain friend and the House of Grief.

You glance at Astarion and realize he is purposefully keeping you behind him. Though you sense no danger, it's as if he's merely sending a message. "And what news do my kingdom's resident Sharrans bring? Progress on the Unamina?" He inquires as he slowly crosses the room, with you close behind.

One of them locks their arms behind their back. "Indeed. The mother superior herself departed some time ago in search of the necessary components and sent word of her success. Now all that remains is a suitable location." They spoke confidently, their partner extending their gloved hand and offering a wooden case for protecting a scroll.

Astarion's eyes light with an expression you can't read and don't like. His grin proudly displaying his fangs as he, a tad too quickly, accepts the scroll case into his hands. "Wonderful! And what of her return? How soon should I have the carpet rolled out?" He chuckled, tucking the case under his arm closest to you. This wooden case was far from ordinary; it possessed an air of magic, with its shimmering, decorative adornments. Somehow sinister and foreboding in nature...

"Soon. Two days, perhaps three." The other replied, clasping their hands in front of them. "It was far from simple to procure the scroll. The Nightsinger will expect adequate repayment from you, Godking Ancunín, for utilizing her faithful in such a way."

"It is only because of my grace that her church thrives in my kingdom. The least she could do was loan me her toys for this little treasure hunt of mine." He mutters, rapidly losing interest in the Sharrans as he lifts and studies the scroll case in the chandelier's light above his head.

You could feel their eyes studying you from behind their creepy white masks, if only for a moment. "The Mo—"

Astarion tightly tucks the case under his arm again, his piercing glare locks onto the pair. "Tell her," he commands, his voice commanding yet smooth, "to come straight to the palace upon her arrival. I'll ensure preparations are made that she receives a worthy welcome." He gracefully pivots on his feet, the sound of his expensive shoes clicking against the polished wooden floor. "Our business here is concluded," he declares with authority. "Please see yourselves out." With a snap of his fingers, the two guards outside stride inside, seemingly already aware of their orders.

Like you have all day, you shadow Astarion, but not before you steal a quick glance over your shoulder at the two Sharrans. Of course, you have a myriad of questions. What were they doing finding... whatever that scroll is? Why would the Sharrans and the Ascendant work together at all? Could Viconia still be alive and in charge of the Baldur's Gate cloister? Did your alternate self help this world's Shadowheart kill that bitch?

Shadowheart... you miss her terribly. You miss all of your companions, but you formed a deep bond with the cleric.

It's been a century and a half since the other you died, so who knows how long it's been since the Absolute crisis. You vaguely recall that Halsin has also passed in this world, but you can't remember how exactly you know that. Unless Wyll and Gale found means of prolonging their human lifespans, they've likely passed on. Same for Karlach and her engine, and Lae'zel - assuming your favorite Gith didn't return to the Astral Plane. Shadowheart was about fifty years old when you met her. On average, half-elves can live for about a hundred and fifty to two hundred years. If, and it's a significant if, she's still alive, she would be in the twilight years of her life. Assuming assassins or the like haven't taken her out.

Gods, this is so depressing...

The sound of the door closing echoes in the room, snapping you back to the present moment. You realize you're back in Astarion's bedchamber. Where you've been sleeping since the night he learned of your urges.

He carefully placed the case on a dresser that was pressed against the wall, creating a soft thump. He fumbled through his pants pocket to retrieve the small box and extended the ring toward you. You turn away, arms crossed, and he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. "What do I need to do to sway you into wearing it?" Astarion asks, vexed by your behavior.

Nothing. There is absolutely no chance that I will ever wear it - is what you want to say. That you picked one out at all means nothing. It was just a cute ring...

Frustration boils within you, leading you to flail your arms aimlessly for a brief moment as you grapple with your inner turmoil. What you want to say and what would make sense are in opposition. "You... you never even took the time to propose to me properly!" you scoff, glancing away and tightly crossing your arms once more.

"Properly?" He inquires, his tone laced with bewilderment rather than frustration, as he cocks an eyebrow.

"Yes... Unless you consider forcefully taking me against my will as your bizarre idea of a romantic gesture..." You have absolutely no clue what is coming out of your mouth. Why are you acting like this?

Astarion's eyes twinkled with amusement as his lips curled into a smile filled with... happiness, then carefully placed the ring on the dresser next to the scroll case. "Very well. Perhaps I'll organize something of that nature while you're away tomorrow."

Now it's your turn to be puzzled. He can't possibly mean what you think he means... "Apart from your momentary lapse of judgement today, I have been pleased to see improvements in your behavior, and I am inclined to recognize and reward your growth. We can go over the particulars after you've rested." He explains with a calm and patient demeanor, taking measured steps towards you. Shrugging off his shirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

His feather-light touch delicately brushes against your cheek, sending a tingling sensation through your skin. His slender fingers leisurely trace a path downwards, their gentle caress leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Eventually, they settle beneath your chin, cradling it affectionately. Tenderly, he lifts it slowly, bringing your lips closer to his, the minuscule distance between you teasingly suspended.

"You wouldn't dare run from your home - would you, my queen?" he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr that resonates deeply within you. You shiver at his words... the accusation they carry. Toying with you, he continues. "That would be very foolish, wouldn't it, pet? You are mine. Completely and unequivocally. There is not a rock in all of Toril you could hide under that I would not find you, darling." His voice is dripping with a honeyed sweetness that conceals an underlying threat.

Then he closes the miniscule distance between your lips. Sealing his words with a gentle, sweet kiss. Amidst the tender exchange, you manage to blurt out, "What's in the case?" Each word escapes between the fleeting kisses.

Astarion's lips curl into a smug smile, their warmth grazing against yours, creating a soft and lingering touch, accompanied by the faint sound of his satisfied sigh that tickles your senses. With a delicate gesture, his fingers caress your skin, gently tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. An arm encircles your waist, creating a tender embrace that simultaneously holds a hint of possessiveness. As he pulls you against him, you can feel the strength in his touch, both gentle and forceful and it sends a shiver down your spine. Then, he whispers, his voice laced with determination, promising, "The means to ensure nothing can ever take you from me."

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

Batstarion ring? Sad dream? A potential way to cure your bhaalspawn-ery? Sharrans? Mysterious scrolls?

A lot to chew on this chapter.

…So previous Tav was NOT a Dark Urge… Hm.

[forever-rogue]

Stardust

AN | I know some of y’all have been asking and waiting, but finally I have some more Javi and Dulzura for you! This is set before the kids, where we just have our favorite fools! Can be read as a stand alone or part of the ‘verse! ❤️

Summary | Camping can be fun…right?

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | None 

Word Count | 2.5k

Masterlist | Main, Javier, A Good Man ‘Verse

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Knock knock,” you strolled into Javi’s office after lightly rapping your knuckles against the frosted glass of the door. He’d looked tense, his brow furrowed and a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. As soon as he heard the sound of your voice he set his pen down and visibly relaxed, his expression growing soft, “hello my love.”

“Dulzura,” he pushed his chair back and without a moment of hesitation, you hopped onto his desk, swinging your legs happily as you studied him. You could see his eyes raking over your figure, and judging from the looks of it, he very much appreciated the new sundress you were wearing, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Do I really need a reason to come and see you?” you tilted your head to the side and gave him a saccharine little smile. He knew you well enough by now that you were completely up to something. He tutted at you, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands behind his head, “just missed you is all, baby.”

“I’m willing to concede that I’m a lot of things, but I’m not completely blind,” he grabbed one of your ankles and lightly tickled your calf, which just caused you to break into a fit of giggles, “how long have we been together now?”

“Apparently two years too long, Professor,” you teased, “if you think I would come to see you with ulterior motives.”

“I know you.”

“And frankly, I’m insulted by your lack of trust,” you clutched at your heart dramatically before sighing. He was watching you in amusement and you just knew that he wouldn’t let it go. When did Javier Peña ever let anything go? You kept your eyes on his, studying the deep brown, flecked with honeyed gold intently before groaning dramatically, “fine. You win, Javi. Happy now?”

“So-so,” he grinned, that stupidly handsome smile that made his one dimple appear and his eyes get all crinkly, “I’d be even happier if you told me what you were up to.”

“Are you free this weekend?” you asked innocently, going back to swinging your legs, “it’ll be summer for both of us now.”

“Sorry baby,” he shrugged his shoulders as your face fell, despite your best efforts. Your whole little surprise was contingent on him being free. You could always have changed the plans around, and probably should have checked to make sure he was available first, but you’d been so set on making it a surprise. When you looked back at him, you could see that he was trying to hold back his laugh, his shoulders shaking with effort.

“Javi! Don’t be a jerk!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he held up his hands in mock surrender, scooting back a little further so he was out of your reach, “I was just messing with you. Oh baby, you should have seen your face! I’m sorry, I hope you can find it in your pretty little heart to forgive me. You know for you I’m always free, or would make myself free.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his promise was soft and sweet as he motioned for you to get off the desk. You slid down with a small little oof and his hands were on your hips in an instant as he pulled you into lap. You easily acquiesced to his touch, finding on top of him within seconds, “what’s your big plan that requires me to be free?”

“Well,” your hands found his shoulders as you gave them a gentle squeeze, “I thought it would be nice to…get away from it all and take some time out from everything and just be with nature-”

“Camping,” he finished for you as offered him a shy little smile with a light shrug of your own, “you want us to go camping.”

“It’s just a thought-”

“You want us to leave the comfort of home and rough it out in the woods?” he shook his head but you could tell there was no bite to his dark, “who the hell thinks that’s fun? We could also just...stay in bed all weekend.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you forced a neutral look on your face as you reached up and put your hand on his face, gently stroking his cheek, “whatever we do, it’ll be fine because we’ll be together.”

“Dulzura,” he chided lightly as he took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “camping is not my most favorite thing in the world, but somehow I have a feeling it would be a lot better with you. We’ll go and we’ll have a great time. What do you say?”

“Okay,” the fact that he was willing to do whatever it took to make you happy was enough to make your heart practically melt. You also knew that despite his little protests, he would have a good time, “we’ll go camping then. But…Javi - what is your favorite thing in the world?”

“You,” he answered simply as your face flushed with warmth. You worried your bottom lip as you found it almost impossible to meet his eyes. He put a finger under your chin and turned your face back to his. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “don’t get all shy on me now, Dulzura.”

“Never, you sap,” you leaned in and stole a few more kisses, “now hurry up and finish so we can get out of here. Last time I checked, it was date night.”

“As if I would ever forget,” he scoffed lightly, “let’s get out of here now. This can wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Hey Javi?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you,” you grinned at him and his whole face lit up. That alone was worth it, “you’re my favorite thing too.”

“I love you, Dulzura.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d stayed the night with Javier the day before you left for your little camping trip, bringing tons of gear and supplies with you. You knew it was probably a little overboard, which Javier definitely insisted it was, but you just wanted to be prepared. You said you wanted to make sure you’d be safe from anything, even bears, despite his insistence that there were no bears where you would be camping. You never know, you insisted, to which he just laughed. He was pretty sure he fell even more in love with you that day.

It was still early in the morning when you were ready to leave, the sun painting the sky in pretty shades of golds and oranges. You made sure Stevie was settled in his crate in the backseat, stocked with treats and toys before you tossed the keys to Javi, “alright captain, let’s go!”

“Captain,” he raised an eye in amusement as you shrugged, “thought we were going camping not setting sail on the high seas.”

“Fine then…let’s go…scout master,” you got in the passenger, pleased with your own little joke as he sighed dramatically. He started the car and slipped on your sunglasses - formerly his sunglasses - and propped your feet onto the dashboard, “but just so you know, being a pirate would be amazing. It’s my dream job, but unfortunately the market for piracy isn’t large these days.”

“Dork,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek before putting on his own sunglasses and slowly backing out of the driveway, “alright, cadet, let’s get this adventure started.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This is beautiful,” you looked around the wooded area, taking in the lake and forest thick with trees. You - Javi, let’s be honest - had spent the last two hours pitching the tent and unloading the car. You’d tried to help, meekly but you had put the offer out there, but Javi had waved you off, telling you it would be faster for him to just do it rather than have you help and hurt yourself. He loved reminding you just how very clumsy you were - affectionately of course. You turned to Javi, who looked way better sweaty than anyone had the right to and grinned, “that’s a beautiful sight too.”

He grumbled softly before wiping the sweat off his brow. He hadn’t felt as old as he currently did in a long time but he was already worn. But he would rough it, although roughing it was dramatic. You might have packed a tent to sleep in, there was an inflatable air mattress that the two of you would be using, along with having the luxury of showers and proper bathroom since you were on a campground. It was camping…but relaxed camping. His expression softened when he spied the happy look on your face. 

“Come on,” you beckoned your head towards the lake, Stevie already nipping excitedly at your heels, “let’s go for a swim and cool down. It’s a beautiful afternoon!”

“You aren’t going to torture with me with a hike?” he watched as you stripped off your shirt, trying his best to keep his cool at the sight. What could he say? He was a simple man that happened to be ridiculously attracted to you.

“Not yet,” you shook your head and pulled down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear, “that’s for tomorrow. I’ve got the whole route mapped out and we’ll need to get an early start!”

“Baby,” he pulled off his own shirt and tossed it into the pile with your clothing, “you’re forgetting that I’m an old man. You’re gonna kill me.”

“You are not old,” you snorted as you watched for him to catch up, “and you’re in shape. So don’t even try to pull that with me.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you took his hand and started to pull him into the cool, fresh water. 

“I am,” you agreed, shivering slightly as your body adjusted to the cool temperature of the water, “I am very lucky to love you and be loved by you, Javier.”

And just how was he supposed to respond to that? No one had ever managed to make him feel so warm and loved before and it was still a strange concept sometimes. Instead, he shook his head in amusement before swimming over to you and kissing you softly, “me too, Dulzura. Me too.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Oh,” Javi’s expression was bemused as he watched you attempt to drag the fully blown up air mattress out of the tent, “you, uh…got that okay, baby?”

“Yup,” you gave him a quick thumbs up before going back to your efforts. Javi tended to the fire as he watched you in amusement. He’d suggested that perhaps you should deflate it, even a little bit, in order to get it out of the small flap. You’d steadfastly ignored his suggestion and you weren’t about to give in now, “just a few more minutes.”

“Mhmm,” Stevie was perched in his lap, and the two of them exchanged a look, “stubborn thing.”

“I can do it,” you huffed and with a big tug you were able to get through the flap…and almost tumbled over in the process. You jumped back up to your feet with a triumphant little smile, “ta da! I told you I could do it.”

“You sure did,” he stood up and helped you to pull the mattress closer to the warm fire as you grabbed several of the big, soft blankets and fluffy pillows. You tossed them down and and looked between the comfy little nest you’d created and Javi, “I’ll admit, this was a pretty good idea. Even if the execution was a little questionable.”

“Shut up,” you stuck out your tongue before gently picking up Stevie and setting him on one of the blankets, which he immediately buried himself under, “he approves.”

“Of course he does,” Javi snorted in amusement, “the two of you have been ganging up on me since the first time you met. Don’t even get me started, Dulzura.”

“Don’t be jealous, Javier,” you teased, settling your hands on his waist as you pulled him close. You leaned in and pressed wet, sloppy kisses to his cheeks, “you’re still the one I love more than anything.”

“More than anything?” he asked between a few ticklish giggles, “that’s a lot.”

“Enough to know that I will plan on spending the rest of eternity with you,” you whispered softly, “and dealing with your ass is a lot, so you know I really, really do love you.”

“Eternity…that’s a long time,” he twirled a lock of your hair around his finger and you couldn’t help the small, wistful sigh that escaped your lips, “you sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything,” you promised, “but I have a very important question to ask you.”

“Anything.”

“Javier Peña…” you let your lips linger against his, so close to kissing him but not quite, “will you do me the huge honor of…getting the marshmallows and sticks while I grab the graham crackers and chocolate?”

“I…” you jumped back and skipped towards the car to get your supplies, turning around to give him a small smile, “I’m going to get you back for that one. Stay on your toes.”

“And why’s that?” your voice was sweet as honey as he waved the bag of marshmallows at you, “did you think I was going to propose? That’s your job!”

You turned around and busied yourself with rummaging for the snacks and hoping he wouldn’t think too deeply about what you had said. It had just come out and you hoped you hadn’t crossed some sort of line. Little did you know that Javi had already thought about asking you that question about a million times…he was just waiting for the opportune moment. But that was a worry for a different day.

“You coming, Dulzura?” he called when you had definitely taken more time than necessary. 

“Yeah,” you promised softly, “of course.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re falling asleep on me already?” you peeked one eye open and looked over at Javier, a sleepy little smile on your face. You were currently cuddled up on the mattress, tucked under blankets and wrapped up in Javi. There was no other place you would rather have been.

“Nope,” you lied, barely managing to stifle a yawn, “just resting my eyes is all.”

“Mhmm,” he wrapped his arm tighter around you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “you wanted to look at the stars and now you’re tapping out on me?”

“I am looking,” you insisted meekly, “and if nothing else, we have another night to do this. Don’t be mean!”

“I’m not,” he promised softly, “to you? Never.”

“Good.”

“Get some rest,” he whispered as he felt you nodding on his chest, “I love you, Dulzura.”

“I love you too, Javi.”

[goldencherryhazz]

Work from home

A/N: first smut piece, let me know your thoughts, pls don’t copy my work, feedback and notes would be much appreciated!probably some mistakes 🤍

daddy!harry x sub!reader

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, oral, spanking, fluff. Pure filth basically.

WC: 3k

Harry hated leaving y/n, just so that he could endure countless meetings on zoom with his team, producers and whatnot when he could be spending time with his girl, after having to spending so long away from each other whilst he was on tour, but he knew it had to be done due to the ongoing pandemic, and the world basically coming to a halt. He loved his job and his fans, so he was going to do anything he could remotely, to try and bring some normalcy to this whirlwind.

Now Harry was a hard working man, and once he was in the zone, he didn’t liked to be interrupted until he was finished. He had left a kiss to her head when he left to go to his office a mere 2 hours ago which made her stir from her slumber. She wanted more, and had fallen back to sleep with the thought of being stuffed with his cock, leaving her to wake up again with the feeling of emptiness and need.

She tried to snap out of it, but doing that didn’t stop her from falling into subspace, she genuinely tried to get herself off, to satisfy herself, she started by lifting he shirt up, hissing as the chilly air came into contact with her nipples, hardening them, she pinched each one, twiddling them between her forefinger and thumb, before venturing lower down her stomach, tracing her hands over it until she touched the band of her sleep shorts, she wasted no time it taking them off and flinging them over the side of the bed, she then touched over her damp pussy, starting to rub light circles onto her clit, getting even wetter at the thought of Harry teasing her little cunt then fucking her into oblivion, she then teased two fingers over her entrance before pushing them in and curving them so that they hit her sweet spot, pushing them in and out, but getting no closer to cumming, she eventually gave up after about 5 minutes, and then made a decision, which led her to where she is now...

Stood outside Harry’s office, clad in one of her best sets of lingerie, that she knew Harry loved, as a lure to try and convince him, she took in a nervous breath, she hoped that he wouldn’t decline her, she couldn’t wait any longer. Y/n was willing to do anything in order to be able to have Harry make her cum, she just wanted the tingling sensation in he clit to be dealt with.

She knocked twice, opening the door as soon as she heard a gruff ‘come in` , she took two steps into the room, shutting the door behind her, before waiting patiently for Harry to stop typing and look up at her.

‘What the fuck are you wearing darling` he uttered already knowing the already obvious answer.

She took in the way he looked her up and down, almost hungrily, he was trying not to just give in to her which was quite impossible most of the time, he could feel his cock stirring in the loose fabric of his sweats, but he knew that she knew that he didn’t like to be disturbed whilst he was working, if she wanted him that badly, he was going to make her work for it.

‘Really need you daddy' she said without hesitation.

‘Aww baby, you feeling subby today` he cooed.

‘Yeah, tried to make myself cum, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same as you, my clits tingling daddy’

‘Well unfortunately for you daddy’s working, how bad do you need me baby, tell me’ he questioned, resting his head on the palm of his hand.

‘Need you to fuck me daddy, need to feel you inside me, I want you to choke me, be a little rough with me, I’m just feeling really empty` she choked out, her eyes glazing over in frustration.

The sudden sound of an incoming zoom call made its way through the room, he looked at her dead in the eyes ‘I’ve got an idea baby, how about you get yourself off on the corner of my desk, you’ve got to be quiet though, don’t want anyone to knowing what my naughty girls doing, and no cumming, you understand baby?’

‘Yes daddy` she said, walking over to his desk, her knees slightly weak.

He answered the call, greeted his team, trying not to get distracted by y/n as she hovered over the corner of his desk, before bending her knees slightly, her clothed clit coming into contact with the cold surface of the wood, making her hiss quietly, she braced both of her hands on the desk, before starting to slide her pussy back and forth, creating a delicious friction that she couldn’t get enough of.

Harry managed to focus on the meeting for the majority of it, flicking his eyes back to her every so often, watching as she traced he dainty fingers over her bare tummy, toying with her breast, he could feel himself getting harder and harder under his desk, to the point where he could feel his cock throbbing, y/n had managed to get through the call without making too much noise, only received a few warning glares when she moaned a little to loudly when she could feel herself on the brink of a release, knowing that she couldn’t cum, it was torture basically, the mixture of friction, Harry’s voice and knowing that he would probably he rock hard by now, but she knew that it would be worth it if she kept it up for a bit longer.

A little while later Harry was uttering goodbye’s to his team, sighing in relief as he practically slammed his computer shut, y/n was lost in pleasure , soo much that she hadn’t taken any notice that Harry had finished his call. He palmed himself to try and releave some of the building pressure in his cock, he knew that he would give into her eventually, but he was going to mess with her a little more before that.

‘Baby, come over here` she obeying like a little puppy, instantly walking towards him, becoming giddy at the thought that she might finally be getting what she wanted, more like needed.

Harry patted his thighs, signaling for her to straddle him, he could see that her panties were practically soaked through as she sat directly on his cock, making him hiss, she placed her hands on his shoulders, before Harry placed his hand on the back of her head, bringing her in for a hungry kiss, teeth clashing, thier tongues dancing with each other, the desperation making them both impossibly hornier.

Harry broke away from this kiss first, both of them gasping for air, she ran her thumb over the smooth skin of his jawline, his ringless fingers grasping at her hips.

‘Are you going to fuck me now daddy` she says out of the blue, really wanting the ache in her pussy to be dealt with.

Oh darling, didn’t think I forgot that you interrupted me whilst I was working did you, moaning whilst I was talking to my team, my friends, they could have heard you, ya know, you know daddy doesn’t like to share, dont you baby, think I need to teach you a lesson first.’

‘But I was a good girl daddy` she whimpered

‘Yes you were, still doesn’t excuse you from interrupting me though.’

She huffed ‘no baby, don’t get all huffy and puffy with me, you decided to walk into my office in your bra and panties whilst I was working, could’ve waited you know, and if you did I would be fucking you right now, but we’re here, so baby, how about you get my rings out and put them on for me, think someone deserves a spanking.

She slowly turned in his lap, reaching into the second draw in his desk to retrieve his rings, shakily placing them on thier own designated finger.

‘How many spanks do you think you should get today doll’

‘4’ she said hopefully.

‘Only four baby, best make it five then, an extra one for good look, ey.’

She rolled her eyes which Harry caught, ‘I can make it 6 if you want baby` he said gripping her chin lightly.

‘No, I’m sorry daddy’ she whimpered

‘You better be, you’re lucky that I’m even considering letting you have my cock today’

Y/n knew she had to tred carefully now, so she stood up and faced away from him, before bending over his desk, bracing herself, and willing to take whatever Harry had to offer. She secretly loved when Harry spanked her, the feeling of his hand crashing down onto her ass, his cold rings making little indents on her skin, the dominance he had over her as he marked her, she loved it and Harry did too.

Harry had stood up at this point ‘are you ready doll, want you to count each one for me.

‘Okay dad-fuck, daddy’ she squealed in surprise as his hand came crashing down, the sound of the slap reverberating through the room, his hand running over the supple flesh.

‘One’ she whimpered

*slap*

‘Two’

*slap*

‘Three’

‘Doing so good baby, only a couple more’ he smirked loving the control he had over her.

*slap*

‘Four’

*slap*

‘Five’ she cried, small tears in her eyes from the intensity, Harry marvelled over his work, as he could see what looked like two red handprints over both her ass cheeks, he smoothed over the skin lightly not wanting to cause her any more pain.

‘You okay baby’ he asked, wanting to make sure he hadn’t actually hurt her, they had already made a safe word, but he would never forgive himself if he hurt his girl.

‘Yeah, I’m okay daddy’ she sniffled slightly.

‘Think you deserve my cock now baby, took that soo well, such a good little slut for daddy aren’t you, went through all of that, just so you could get my cock.’

‘Oh I’d do anything for your cock daddy’ she says making him go wild, he instantly gripped her shoulder, making her stand up straight, before turning he around to bring her in for another heated kiss. ‘Jump’ he muttered between kisses, to which she obliged, wrapping her legs round his waist and her arms rounds his neck, practically like a koala bear.

He slowly back up to the desk again carefully laying her down not breaking the kiss, y/n being quiet relieved as the cool wood soothed her sore ass, Harry pressed himself into her, wanting to feel every inch of her body, she could also feel his hard cock dig into the side of her thigh.

She starts tugging at the end of his t-shirt, hinting for him to take his clothes off in which he happily obeyed, he had opted for no boxers today making the process even quicker, she saw the way his thick length sprang into his bare belly once he had taken his t-shirt and sweats off, throwing them not caring where they landed, the sight made her mouth water, she could see the large head of his cock was a shade of angry red leaking pre-cum, and the large protruding purple vein on the underside of his cock, which she couldn’t wait to feel against her walls.

Harry then wastes no time in ripping her underwear off of her, her juices now coating the inside of her thighs, she looked delicious and Harry could resist having a taste, so he dipped his head down, holding her legs apart, licking a large stripe through her folds which made her buck her hips up into his mouth.

‘Holy fuck’ she moaned, her clit being a little sensitive, but she honestly didn’t care right now.

He continued swirling his tounge around her pussy, dipping into he weepy hole occasionally, making her squirm in his grip, he couldn’t get enough of her sweet taste, he could stay between her legs all day if he could.

‘Feels so good daddy, but I really want your cock’ she whimpered.

‘Yeah, you want my cock baby, you can have my cock’ he finishes with a kiss to her clit, before trailing sloppy kisses up her belly towards the valley of her breasts, reaching one hand beneath her to unhook her bra, in which she arched he back slightly, helping him remove the lacy fabric, once she was completely bare beneath him, he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tounge around the pebbled nub, doing the same to the other. He eventually made his way back to her lips, after leaving multiple hickeys on her collar bones and neck, marking her as his ‘you’re so beautiful darling’

He put his hand on either side of her head, her hands roaming over his beautifully inked arms, tracing over certain tattoos, making a shiver run up his spine, loving the gentleness of her fingers, ‘m’gonna fuck you now baby’ he says lining his cock up with her entrance ‘please, daddy’ she begs, he finally slips into her in one long thrust, making her arch her back and her eyes roll into the back of her head ‘Daddy Fuck..holy shit, you’re so big’ she cried feeling her walls stretch around his cock.

Harry also a groaning mess ‘so tight for me, s’like you were made for me’

He regains his composure before pulling almost all the way out and thrusting sharply into her cunt, starting to set a steady rhythm ‘not gonna last long doll’, her legs wrap around his waist, wanted him to be as close as possible, her hands find home on his back, her grip starting to make tiny red scratches, which he would later be reminded of when he took a shower.

Harry was now fucking her hard and deep, hitting her sweet spot with every thrust, the only sound in the room was skin hitting skin, the squelching sound of he pussy as he fucked her, breathy moans, and the occasional ‘daddy fuck yes’. He felt like he could burst with how good he felt, her warm, wet walls completely engulfing him, ‘who does this cunt belong to pet.’

‘You daddy, it’s all yours’ she breathes out, making him moan into her mouth as he kissed her plushy lips, her stomach flipping at the admittance.

‘Fuck baby gonna make me cum, you close, want you to cum with me’ she threw her head back at a particularly deep thrust, the pleasure becoming overwhelming ‘no baby’ he said gripping her chin, making her look at him again ‘want you to look at me when you fall apart, can you don’t that for me’

‘Yes daddy, m’so close, I’m gonna cum round your cock, so hard’ she whimpered

‘Oh baby, fuck’ her words making hit topple over the edge, his thrusts turning sloppy, ‘I’m cumming, cum with me pet. At this command her limbs turned limp, her head spinning, toes curling, screaming ‘daddy’ like it was the only word she knew, she didn’t think she had cum that hard in her life, Harry painting her walls, his release starting to leak out of her weepy hole, he eventually collapsed on top of her, still maintaining eye contact with her, trying to hold his weight up with his hand, so that he wouldn’t squash her. Harry hadn’t stopped thrusting into her to merely ride out thier highs, basking in both of thier releases, her cunt fluttering round his cock, milking it dry, he rested his head on hers, kissing her softly.

She tried pushing him away after a while when here muscles started spasming, in which he instantly stilled inside her, not wanting her to black out or anything. ‘You good baby, did soo well for me’

‘Don’t think I’ve cum that hard in my life’ she whispered hoarsely, her voice sore from screaming.

‘came hard too baby, can’t get enough of your cunt, m’gonna pull out now, hold my hand might sting a little’

She gripped into his hand, he slowly slipped out of her making her whimper at the loss of contact, starting on feel his cum drip down her thighs, Harry groaning at the sight, ‘looks so pretty with my cum dripping out of you’ he said leaving a soft kiss to her clit ‘can you stand baby’

‘cant feel my legs H’ she smirked knowing that this was fuelling his ego, a lazy smile spreading over her face, slowly starting to slip out of her subspace

He chuckled with her, ‘well I was thinkin’, how about we get cleaned up and take a nice hot bath, and then we can put a film on and cuddle.’

‘Mhmmm’ she hummed ‘that’s sounds perfect’

‘Wait, do you still have meetings’

‘No baby, that was the last one’ he smiled

‘Yayyyy’ she cheered her head still slightly fuzzy

He reached his hands out for her to grab so that she could sit up, hissing as all of her weight went onto her still very sore bum, that she would be reminded about for days to come.

‘We’ll get you an ice- pack as well darling’ he smirked

She managed to stand up on very shaky legs, falling into his bare chest, his arms wrapping round her so that she wouldn’t fall, kissing the top of her head ‘are you going to interrupt me whilst I’m working again baby’

‘Oh definitely daddy’ she whispered into his warm chest!

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.��

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

[paperpocalypse]

crackers and jam.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,703 words

Warnings: Swearing

Some time back, not long after he got stranded in the post-apocalyptic world and perhaps a year and a half before running into you, Five’s only companion was Delores.

It had been a meeting of chance (as everything is) in the middle of a destroyed department store. She had been looking at him. And maybe that’s why he was so drawn in – that stare; it was a lifeless stare, yeah, but it was not by any means a dead stare like the ones he had met too many times before. No life had been lost to create that stare. She was smiling, too.

Five had lifted her carefully out of the chunks of concrete, greeting her because there was no one else. For the first few weeks, he just placed her at the corner of her store and visited every once in a while, then took to occasionally toting her around the City when he needed to talk. He liked to pretend that she answered back – sometimes. After a few months, he named her Delores.

Then he met you.

Unlike Delores, you were human. Breathing. Alive, somehow. And you had thoughts and feelings that weren’t always connected to his and – and it was weird. It was home.

You didn’t question his friendship with Delores. Five had seen the half-burned stuffed frog in your wagon, so you wouldn’t have had anything to hold over him anyway. He knew that you knew that he still went to the department store in the middle of the night. And, shit, deep down Five also knew that Delores was, in the end, just a hunk of plastic with eyes. But after a year and a half of having nobody else, she had become something of a comfort. And a confidant. Burdening you with his issues was not an option, so when things became a little shittier than usual, he would slip out from underneath his blanket, make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, and head downtown to voice his thoughts aloud.

Over time, though, he learned that you were willing to listen. You listened, and you were always kind about it even if you didn’t always understand. His nightly visits decreased. And it was okay for a while.

But then Five began to struggle with a new issue – one that was a little different than the usual mess of stress and anxiety – and one night, he finds himself looking down at Delores again because talking to you about it is definitely off the table.

Unfortunately, Delores’s kindness is different from yours.

Well, here we are. Again.

“I’m just here to think,” he snaps, combing a grubby hand through his tangled mess of hair. The lantern beside him glows weakly as he plops down onto a slab of concrete. “Mind your business.”

Your business is everyone’s business here, Five. And to put my own two cents in, I think that you’re scared of your own feelings.

Blood travels to Five’s cheeks, unwarranted, as he narrows his eyes at Delores. “For the last time, that’s not what this is about. It’s – Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get over it. This isn’t a life-or-death issue.”

Then why have you been ranting about it like it is?

“I’m not.”

Ha! Rich.

He grits his teeth. She stares back at him, unperturbed. Bastard.

You know, maybe you’ll feel better if you say it out loud. Air it out. Test to see if it’s real.

“I’m not doing that.”

Do it.

No.

Say it.

No.

For god’s sake, Number Five, take a goddamn look at yourself –

“Fine!” Five hisses, though it feels more like an explosion. He throws his hands up. “I like [Y/n], alright? We’re the last people on this goddamn planet and I like them, and I shouldn’t care this much but I do. Happy?”

Delores pauses. Five looks away.

Very.

Ugh.

Did it feel real?

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms, and doesn’t answer. The smile on Delores’s face seems a little smug, and it makes him want to hurl. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. Relieve some of the pressure and everything starts to boil over …

Breathing in deeply, Five forces his shoulders to relax. He bids a soft goodbye to Delores, then heads back to camp.

—

A week later, Five’s visit comes back to bite him in the worst way possible.

You’ve been having a hard time starting the fire for tonight, so he finishes splitting the evening rations to help you out with the bow drill. As he does so, you watch in silence, both of you waiting patiently for the smoke and dust.

“Do you think we have enough wood?” you eventually ask.  

“It’s enough,” he murmurs, only half paying attention. After a while, a few chalky wisps of smoke begin to rise from the charring wood. He leans in to blow the ember carefully once it forms, then puts it into the tinder and coaxes out a flame. “Get the kindling?”

You oblige, and within a few minutes, a healthy fire starts to dance atop the wood, scorching his face and fingers with heat. Five stares intently at the oranges and yellows for a moment, lips pressed together, intrigued in a tired sort of way. Warmth. Then he backs off and grabs a portion of crumbled up crackers, handing it to you.

You spread the cloth over your knees. “Now all we need is some jam.”

“What kind?”

A soft hum escapes your throat. You contemplate unhurriedly, dabbing up some stray crumbs with a finger. “Blackberry,” you reply after a few moments. “Or strawberry. The kind that’s sort of chunky.”

It’s been a long time since he’s tasted either of those things. The simple thought of whole crackers spread with fresh jam, sweet and dark and sticky, is a luxury in and of itself. Five tries not to think about it too much, munching on his third fragment of stale cracker. It makes his mouth dry. “Hm,” he says, picking up the canteen for a few drops of water.

The fire pops. A few sparks fly out into the air and die just as quickly. You finish your supper and wipe your mouth, stretching your legs out in front of you as you sigh.

Five tilts his head at you. “What?”

“What?” you parrot back, though he sees the way your fingers fidget.

“You have something to say.”

Your facial expression shifts just the smallest bit. “How can you tell?”

(Simple – because he knows you. He knows your ticks; knows how you tick. He knows your smiles and all the subtle ways that your voice rises and falls. He’s memorized you because he fears forgetting, and it’s a problem.)

“Kind of hard not to,” Five replies.

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek, still seeming unsure. “Well, um … I just wanted to talk to you about something. And please don’t be mad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Um. A couple nights ago, I had a bad dream.”

“I know.”

“Not the one you woke me up from. A different one,” you mutter. “The night after we found the pillows.”

“Oh,” Five says.

“Yeah.” You look down at your hands. They’re dusty and rough, littered with small scars from climbing and falling and holding. “I … um, that night, I woke up and you weren’t there. And I sort of panicked, and went looking –”

The blood drains from Five’s face.

“I went looking for you, and I found you. Talking to her.” You glance at him for a split second. “About me.”

Oh, fuck.

Five stares at you as you fiddle with the scrap of cloth on your lap. You know. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to ever know, and now you do.

“Five?” Your voice is curious and small.

His voice is raspy. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost everything.” You grab the cuff of his coat sleeve as he attempts to stand up. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really didn’t mean to, but –”

“It’s not your fault. Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies tersely. “We need more firewood, anyway.”

“We have enough,” you say, though you relinquish your hold when he tugs a little harder away from you. You sound hurt. “Five, it’s okay to feel like that.”

“It’s not. It makes things more complicated.”

“How?” Standing up, your brow furrows. “I like you too, Five. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

His chest tightens. “That just makes it worse.”

“I like you,” you repeat. Your hand moves down to take his gently. “A lot. And it’s okay.”

(Did it feel real?)

Five meets your gaze solidly despite not quite wishing to, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him when you squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t met you. Then he would’ve gotten what he deserved for his recklessness �� nothing – with nothing to concern himself with other than equations and survival and time. That, he’s fairly sure, would have been easier to manage. He hadn’t been taught to care for someone else. Not like this, at least.

But you. You. Five swallows the lump in his throat.

“I might have to leave you behind,” he murmurs, more hoarsely than he’d like to admit. The words burn like ice on the roof of his mouth. “One day.”

You don’t reply for a few seconds.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, you step a little closer. “But not tonight," you say. "Right?”

For shit’s sake, you’re so optimistic. Five chuckles dryly, hand still engulfed in yours, blinking away the vague stinging in his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then I forgive you. If you feel like you need it.” With a mild exhale, you smile at him. Your eyes are glossy. “So can we sit back down? I like doing that.”

He quietly agrees.

So you bring him back down to sit before the fire, closer to him than before. No more words are left to be said. A heavy silence settles in their place, neither good nor bad, and almost comfortable. For the first time in a long time, Five tries not to think.

You lean against his shoulder. He welcomes it.

[hoe-imaginess]

Ok but do you have an angsty scenario where Tobirama's wife miscarriages? Even worse, he didn't know she was pregnant in the first place?

ouchie... this one hurt

word count: 2.6k warnings: miscarriage, detailed mentions of blood

Tobirama Senju

⤰ ⤰ ⤰ 

She was having tea with Mito when the pain started. 

At first, she had a fleeting thought of panic: had something she’d eaten or drank disagreed with her? No, she mused. No, she didn’t think so. 

She inspected the tea Mito had set out for them. A single aromatic leaf floated at the top of the brimming cup in her hand, swirling peacefully in the hot liquid. 

It was calming. This was calming. Time with her sister-in-law was calming, the woman reminded herself. It was just a little pain. That was all.

She had gathered enough accounts from other women to know that some mild discomfort in the first months of pregnancy wasn’t entirely unheard of. It was nothing out of the ordinary: simply a plausible hiccup in prenatal beginnings, she convinced herself. 

This self-reassurance was taken with gratitude: the pain subsided not a moment later.

The pregnant woman cleared her throat and put on a restorative smile to dispel her anxieties, giving her attention back to Mito, who was asking her something about Tobirama’s work. 

But then it came again, the pain. This time in her mid-back, rippling down somewhere along the flanks of her spine, then dropping in a sudden and aching pool. Her breath caught at the next throb, and she had to put her tea cup down for fear of dropping it.

As her hand went to rub her back in search of an answer to the affliction, Mito’s own hand was reaching for her in a worrisome gesture.

“Are you alright?” the Uzumaki asked.

The sister-in-law said that she was, after the pain had receded again. Tea time resumed, with particular, forced enthusiasm on the pregnant woman’s part.

Maybe it was just cramps; she could ignore it. She didn’t want to worry Mito with inconsequentialities, and especially didn’t want Mito to mention it to Tobirama after the fact. His tirade would never end if he discovered her pregnancy this way. 

She had done an excellent—albeit unprincipled—job of keeping the secret, saving its disclosure for a better time. However, weeks went by, and this better time never made itself known. Surely there would be an opportune moment, she told herself, when she had the courage to brave what she knew would be a difficult and contentious conversation. 

For now, she simply had to endure—endure the pain settling uncomfortably in her lower half, and hope it ebbed away in time.

But for ten minutes she struggled through it; the traveling pains that flitted about her abdomen and back became increasingly resistant to distraction. 

Then, it was unbearable. 

The coherence of her mental faculties went awry as the pain bounded upon her with alarming speed. Her body felt like it was tearing into itself, fighting itself to the core. 

This, she knew, was not normal.

It was all she could do to force herself to her feet, staggering as she did. Mito glanced up from her tea, doubt worrying her features. 

“Are you alright?” she asked again, less willing to let her concern be disregarded now. 

“Fine,” her sister-in-law breathed, with an afflicted hitch in her breath that betrayed her declaration. “I think I’ll head home—”

“You look ill,” Mito started, standing to offer her companion a hand. “Is something wrong? Maybe we should–”

“Forgive me.” The sister-in-law muttered her apology and went to the door, making murmurs of assurance as Mito followed, dismissing her worried pleas as she slipped out to seek a solace in which to reason with the burgeoning pain in her womb.

⤰

The stumbling amble home nearly defeated her façade. She was certain she earned some suspicious looks from the village denizens she passed on her way, but ignored them in favor of a faster pace. By the time she reached home she was tripping over the threshold, disregarded taking off her shoes, and ran to the washroom. 

By then, the calamity was making itself known: she felt wetness between her legs, hot and thick and slimy, dripping down her thighs. 

A hand went under her dress to feel for it, and emerged stained with crimson.

“No,” she croaked quietly, a plea against reality, heard and answered by silence in the still house.

The pain surged again, flourished, and blossomed into an unforgiving ache that forced more of the wetness from her body with a dismayed gasp. 

She closed the bathroom behind her as she lurched inside. The crimson rivulets along her legs spilled down, became a drip at her feet. She looked below.

One of her shoes was missing. 

Lightheadedness came to greet her, and her sole focus was now with the trivial: she wondered where the shoe had gone. Had she lost it? Maybe in the street? 

She lost her shoe. That was unfortunate, she thought, lofty and woozy on pain. She was losing blood, and she had also lost her shoe. 

The journey had left her faint, and though she wanted to clean herself of the mess now staining her skin, she knew any significant exertion on her body now would make her legs fold up beneath her—

But then it happened anyways. 

Her knees gave and she slid along the wall, to the floor with a whimper as she mourningly rationalized her circumstances. 

She tried to be strong, tried to push through the horrible sensations in her gut with grit teeth. But it was unlike any pain she had felt before. 

Agonizing as it was, she wasn’t the one dying; what was inside her was—or likely, already had. 

It was early in the pregnancy. Nearly two months, she thought. There hadn’t been much of life to boast of within her womb yet.

But the loss felt devastating all the same. 

⤰ 

Tobirama came home exhausted and grim. 

Negotiations with neighboring clans had not been prosperous as of late, and his brother’s whimsicality only added to the disarray. Training his team of aspiring shinobi had gone no better. They had their good days, but today wasn’t one of them.

His wife’s shoes weren’t at the front door when he arrived. He hadn’t imagined her to be home at this time, anyways. She had mentioned that she would be with Mito this evening, he remembered. 

Good. He was in a sour mood, and preferred to be alone until he could clear his head.

In his home-office, he pulled off his training gear in trudged fashion. His muscles were sore, bones heavy, mind battered. He should have sat down and sorted through paperwork, but all he could think of doing was idling and simmering on his exhaustion. So he did.

He sat, closed his eyes, and sighed. Then, a sound somewhere in the house opened them back to alertness. 

He waited to hear it again, and glanced around. It was then he saw something he had missed upon first entering his home: in the hallway was her shoe, thrown and abandoned on its side. 

Curious, he went to retrieve it. Before he could bend to pick it up, he heard the sound again, this time louder. 

The source now clear, he went to their bedroom. The washroom door was shut closed. He heard the noise again, like clumsy shuffling from the other side. 

In the washroom, she shook with panic. 

When she had heard him come home, she struggled for the lock. A wet, bloodied hand slapped against the door as she pulled herself upright and completed the task. Then she collapsed back onto the floor.

His footsteps ventured closer. He called her name and knocked once, listening for a response from the other side. None came.

“I didn’t know you were home,” he took initiative to address her, confusion mounting to curiosity every moment gone without a reply. 

“I left your brother’s house earlier than expected,” she explained, voice small.

“Why?” he inquired.

She didn’t respond.

Her silence didn’t sit right with him. A suspicious frown worried his face. “What is it?” 

“Nothing. I’m not feeling well.”

It could have been enough for him. He could have granted her the lie. But he pushed on the door just slightly, felt resistance from the lock, heard it shift in its place. If she wanted privacy, he understood, but something about the air of this encounter didn’t sit right with him. Something was wrong. 

Then he heard her whimper; a heavy, pained breath followed. Then, more fumbling from the other side.

“______,” he said her name sternly now, all leniency abandoned. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted thinly. 

He didn’t believe her. And she knew that he didn’t. On the other side of the door he listened with bated breath, keen to hear any commotion from inside. 

The blood that stained her thighs felt cold now. The moan of discomfort that wished to leave her throat was restrained with a choke. She prayed that he would leave, that he would give up on his suspicions.

He almost did. Maybe she really did just need her privacy. It was the washroom, after all. Maybe he was overstepping his curiosity with paranoia, and needed to reject his irrational worries. 

The right thing to do was to walk away, he decided, and almost succeeded in doing so—but when he turned and saw her shoe on the floor again, accompanied by fresh, dark drops of blood spattered down the hall and making a trail to the spot at which he stood, he refused to abide any more reluctance. 

He nudged his hand into the door’s side and wretched it open. He heard the wood splinter and the lock give, heard her surprised gasp as she gawked up at him from her spot in the corner. 

It was a dismal sight: her curled into herself, legs and clothes bespattered with blood, sitting in a sleet of it, too.

As alarm gave way to distress, she scowled at him. “Get out!” she screamed, covering herself. 

He stared, wide-eyed, too rattled to move. But she had no fight left in her to yell again; the pain in her back came afresh, searing and horrible. She hissed and breathed, trying to reclaim her body from the agony. He saw how she closed her legs protectively and turned from him. 

“What is this?” he demanded quietly. But the question was hollow: he could see plain as day what had happened, what she had lost, what they both had lost, him unaware of its existing at all. Maybe that was what hit him the hardest: losing a life he had never even known before its death. 

He breathed through his sudden indignation. “You were… Why didn’t you tell me?”

She didn’t like that he sounded so cross with her. “Why do you think?” 

He had never wanted to have a child, she knew. And now he wouldn’t have one. 

He frowned as he looked upon the scene. The blood made a substantial puddle beneath her now, thick and matted as it dried. He should have rushed her to see a medic, should have done anything except what he was doing: standing there, staring, dumbfounded and angry. But who was he angry with? Who deserved it if not him?

When he went to her carefully, cognizant of the blood beneath his feet, she recoiled from his extended hand. 

“Go away,” she said, inflamed.

“You need to see a medic.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he scolded, harsher than he meant it to be. When he put a hand on her arm, she wretched it off, and he scowled. “Stop it. You need medical attention. You’re bleeding out—”

When he reached for her again she shoved him away, tears brimming. “There’s nothing left to bleed out!” she screamed angrily. “It’s gone, it’s all gone...” 

A regretful, closer look at the mess around her confirmed it. Thick clots that were more than just the blood itself lay spotted in the swell of it. He winced, but would ignore the gore for her sake. 

He had set his eyes upon far more gruesome sights before, but this was entirely different. This was his wife. None of the atrocities he had witnessed compared to seeing her suffer like this. 

Her tears came silent but strong. She had her eyes clenched tight, hiding from the reality, from the cold wetness between her legs and the sharp smell of balmy copper in her nose. 

He almost hated to touch her and bring her to the present, but he did. 

He knelt beside her, and put hands on her shoulders. “Let me at least clean you up.”

“No.”

He didn’t oblige her obstinacy. Gently, he pulled her from the floor and she clutched his arms as he did, whether to fight him or cling to him he didn’t know, but she went with him without struggle. 

“Just leave me alone,” she said, soft and desperate and defeated, still at the least loyal to her protests. 

He walked her carefully over the pools of crimson soaking into the wood floor and situated her at the washing bench. Her legs quivered as he set her down. 

“Are you in pain?” 

After a moment of dreary pause, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice barely strived to a croaky whisper. 

He didn’t know where to start. It might have been a good idea to take her away from the mess; she didn’t need to see it. But he reasoned that she had been trounced by it all the same already. Too late for those sensitive nuances now.

He offered her a wet rag, another dry. Then he retrieved a robe for her, and helped her tentatively out of the soiled one. The slew of blood between her legs was horrific and difficult to ignore, but he tried as hard as he could, keeping eyes on her face. 

She didn’t stare back at him as he watched her. Her eyes perused the ground vacantly, as if she had given up all else except the inane task of counting splinters in the floorboards. 

Only when she was cleaned of the blood did he help her out of the bathroom, an arm around her shoulder to keep her gait steady. When he helped her under the covers of their bed she looked no less consumed by despair, but she welcomed the warmth, curled under the sheets, and turned on her side away from him. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked quietly. 

“Leave me alone.”

He had no issue with that, now that she was safe and secured. But it still hurt to see her like this, to see the strong woman he knew be so defeated. That she had given up on her distressed anger was all the more concerning; her volitional, fatalistic calm unnerved him.

He could hardly stand to see the mess in the bathroom when he returned to clean it. The smell of blood no longer stung his nose, neither did the sight of it, after so many years shedding it from the vessels of his enemies. Yet still, knowing it was his wife’s blood, knowing why she bled and how gruesomely she had, made the labor of scrubbing stains from the now darkened wood more harrowing than he would have imagined. 

In the face of such a tragedy, Tobirama knew his pragmatism benefited him in no way, shape, or form. He tried to reason with himself that this was a natural matter—albeit hapless and deplorable—that they could work through in tandem, regardless of the fact that she had hid the pregnancy from him in the first place. He would need to forgive that, if he had any plans to bring both of them to terms with the loss. 

Nevertheless, he felt angry for having been left in the dark, and tried to put it down with grit teeth. Simmering on his suppressed frustrations, he worked blood out of the stained wood that much harder. 

Then, from the anger came guilt.

She had often mentioned how toilsome it was to speak her mind when she knew very well of his unwavering opinions; opposition to these opinions resulted in his equally unwavering temper. She would stay silent about something if it meant avoiding his hostility. By way of that, had she really kept this pregnancy from him in fear that he would lose himself in anger over it? Maybe he only had himself to blame. 

Despite having come to the conclusion, when he returned to her after his chore, he couldn’t deny himself the morbid, condemning curiosity. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he made his earlier inquiry again, less accusatory now. 

She thought of not responding. Toiling with his temper was not something she needed. 

“You made it abundantly clear that you didn’t want children.”

“Regardless, I had a right to know,” he argued. She couldn’t see in the dark how he frowned at her. “You should have told me. What was your plan? Would you wait until I noticed? And then what?”

“I was going to get rid of it.”

He blinked, almost as though it didn’t register. “You mean—”

“I had the medicines to drink. I was waiting to do it. Until I was sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“That I was going to settle with putting your wants before my own.”

His expression softened in dismay. “_____, I didn’t—”

“But you don’t have to worry,” she muttered bitterly, and hugged herself tighter. She hoped his tepid confrontation would end; tears were close again, and she had no desire to break down in front of him. “It looks as though fate was on your side.”

“_____,” he said her name again, firmer now that he felt her dissonance was rapidly embittering her thoughts. Even so, he had no means—and no justification—to reprimand her for it, not when she had lost so much. They both had. But she was the worse for it, he knew. 

At the least, he could still do what was within his power, do what little he could even as he felt as useless as he had ever been. “You should see a medic,” he offered again, gently, in fear of further embroiling her. “You’ve lost blood.”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“I can have one come to you,” he insisted. “You need to be looked over.”

“No.”

“Then at least let me get Mito, someone you trust–”

“No,” she snapped. “Tell no one about this. Not Mito. Not even your brother. Promise me.” 

He gave a pleading, woeful frown, but no reply. 

“Promise me,” she entreated.

He took a breath, then exhaled his exasperation. “I promise... But are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? Nothing that—”

“I told you I’m fine. I just... want to sleep.”

He watched her with vague hope that she might change her mind, that she might have more to say, but nothing came.

Nodding to himself, he made to leave. She felt him sit up, and in the same instant, felt her heart drop to her stomach. She yielded to her sorrow, to her need for comfort.

“Wait.” 

Her weak voice stopped him. 

He glanced back, waiting patiently for her to go on. Her doleful eyes stubbornly refused tears, exhausted already of their ability to grieve.

“Don’t leave me,” she muttered, with infinite grief hidden in her words. 

His heart fluttered sadly at the request. 

Wordlessly he obliged, and sat beside her in resigned silence for the rest of the night, holding her hand in his forlorn grip. 

[cherrybombwritesstuff]

Guardian of the Shrine

Tengu Kirishima x Fem Reader fic

Explicit/Smut

This is part of the Citrus Dome server collab Gods AU! 

Masterlist coming soon @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​

ENJOY!

Black, swirling shadows circled your ankles, reached out to capture your fingers as you instinctively flinched away; legs stuck in their place as though encased in blocks of ice. Your own gasping breaths filled your ears along with your thudding heartbeat. Despite how much you willed your eyes to shut they remained open, unblinking and staring at the inky void before you. The shadows rushed together, spiraling and entwining around each other until a tall figure formed in the distance. Angled shoulders jutted out each side, obscenely long arms dripped out of the writhing mass and they shakily began to reach forward, reach for you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide in horror as the figure shunted closer still. 

“Never...forgive…” 

The words drilled into your ears. Long, black tendrils of hair slithered about the being’s shoulders and didn’t stop when they reached the floor, pooling around the creature’s pale ankles as more of it’s flesh became visible. The hair crept forward, inching its way to your trapped feet no matter how much you tried to squirm and writhe out of your stuck position. 

“I’ll never...forgive…”

The summer air was thick as you gulped it down, chest rising and falling as you gasped for air. Your blankets were a twisted mess crumpled at your side. Sweat dappled your skin as you lay sprawled out on your futon, back in the comforting darkness of your room. A soft whimper left your dry lips as you wiped your forehead and tried to steady your racing heart. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you reached to your side, grabbing hold of the talisman you had kept from your childhood.

“Baku-san.” you said between breaths, “Baku-san, come eat my dream.”

Morning sun streamed through your modest home and you stirred awake. The horrors of the night were still fresh in your mind, yet it appeared as though the Baku had consumed any further nightmares and you were able to sleep peacefully until the morning. With a groan, you pulled yourself from your blankets and straightened them out before you began your morning ritual. Your first task was to leave a piece of candy on your pillow for the zashiki warashi who had kindly taken up residence in your home. From a very early age you had been able to see and interact with yokai, something you had always considered a blessing rather than a curse. Your parents would catch you talking to guestroom children, or sneaking a bottle of fine sake outside for the troublesome tanuki. 

You wandered barefoot outside, patches of sunlight warming your skin as you collected water to wash. The forest was calm, quiet other than the birds and wind as it whistled through the bamboo. The water was a cold addition to the chilly morning breeze, but it was a welcome necessity, waking you up for the full day of tasks ahead. Fully dressed with your hair pinned up, you prepared a simple lunch and packed it along with a container of water and your broom. Your isolated home was a short walk from the shrine, but admittedly those stairs made your thighs ache. Respectfully bowing at the Torii, you noticed the path was mercifully clear of leaves and debris, a testament to your hard work. 

After purifying at the chozuya, you continued to the shrine which was looking much better than the pitiful state you found it in. It had long been abandoned, possibly because of the overwhelming yokai activity in the area, though many of the stories you heard could have been attributed to bandits and wandering thieves. You had restored it to the best of your abilities, cleaning away dead plants and moss where you could. The warm sun streamed against the shrine, highlighting the dips and curves of the long nosed Tengu mask that sat there. You reached the top and clapped your hands once before pressing your palms together in prayer. Silently asking for purification, for release from the blackness that haunted your dreams and followed your every footstep. The shadow was the reason you moved away from your town, choosing the seclusion of the forested mountains to protect your loved ones. It had been your hope that by pleasing the yokai you could find help, something to appease the darkness or banish it from your life entirely. But it only seemed to be getting closer with every night that passed. 

"Good morning." You said brightly as you could muster. 

Setting your food aside, you took your broom and started sweeping. The shrine needed regular upkeep and you were the only person available for miles around. At first, your intention had been a trade, for the guardian of the shrine to protect you from whatever it was that tormented you. As time went on, attending to the shrine brought you a sense of peace, as well as something of a companion in your self imposed solitude. After briefly tidying up, you sat at the shrine and unwrapped your food. 

"It's going to be a sunny day today, I should be able to visit the lake without getting caught in the rain." 

It was quiet. The only replies you could hear were from the chirping morning birds. It would always be a one way conversation, but you could feel an unmistakable presence in this place. Someone or something would always listen to you. 

"I um. I dreamed about him again. I think at this point, Baku-san may grow fat from the dreams I ask him to take…"

Dread pooled in the pit of your stomach. An unpleasant squeeze at your chest caught your breath as you tried to take a few more bites of rice. 

"I don't think I have much time. I can feel it getting closer to me…" 

Your smile faded, eyes stinging with unshed tears before you could gather yourself in front of the shrine. 

"But I'm not giving up! A-and I'll keep coming here as long as I can…I don't want you to be lonely again." 

A surge of despair was the very first feeling that hit you the first time you ascended these steps. The shrine had been forgotten and whatever lingered here abandoned along with it. The overwhelming wave of sadness that enveloped you that day completely distracted from your own plight. Originally the plan was to ask for help, but it was apparent there was something here that needed it more. 

"Maybe if it reveals itself, I can talk to it and find out why it's so angry…" 

You weren't fooled by your own shaky tone and apparently, neither was the being in the shrine. As you finished your half of the food, warmth began to radiate from the Tengu mask. It draped over your shoulders like a comforting blanket, easing your nerves as you sighed out your frustrations. With every visit, the presence grew stronger as though you could almost reach out and touch a tangible being. 

"Thank you…" 

As much as you wanted to remain there, the day's list of tasks was long and if you wanted to sustain yourself, you had to get started. You stood and took hold of the empty lunchbox from yesterday, leaving half of your food behind to share with your only friend out here. It was always gone by the time you came back, though you couldn't exactly prove who was finishing it off. Dusting off your knees, you respectfully bowed and said your goodbyes before heading back down the steps to the shrine and into the forest. Heat rose along with the sun. Splashing your face with the clear water of the lake helped somewhat and you hoped the locals wouldn't mind. You left a new batch of cucumbers floating there, knowing the Kappa would appreciate them and, who knows, maybe they could eventually help ward off your demons. There was still hope but your heart grew heavier as the day went on. A full day of chores would ensure you slept despite your fear, though you couldn't help but wonder if you would even wake up again the next morning. 

With aching feet you trudged back through your door, announcing your return out loud for your own benefit. The candy left out had mysteriously disappeared which brought the touch of a smile to your cheek. The sun burned an angry red as it disappeared over the horizon, forcing yourself to light the lanterns around your modest home. Your limited crops had been tended to, bamboo and wood had been chopped and you had collected enough water for your bath, which you sorely needed by now. After a simple meal, you washed the labours of the day from your skin before climbing into the steaming tub for a soak. The hot water soothed your aching muscles, but the heat couldn't penetrate that cold, sickly feeling in the pit of your stomach. It was there. Its presence was weak, but it grew with every passing hour of the night. The shadows around you flickered in the low light of the lantern flames, at least that's what you told yourself. Movement kept grabbing your attention, twitching at the corners of your eyes until you sharply turned to glance behind you. 

Nothing, nothing you could see with a naked eye that is. You released a breath you had been holding and rubbed your eyes, looking again just to make sure. This time something did catch your eye, small and unassuming but it hadn't been there a second ago. You rose out of your bath, wrapping a towel around you as you closed in on the unfamiliar object. Your eyes adjusted and you recognised a long, black feather placed neatly on the ground by the door as though it were waiting for you. Instinctively you picked it up and immediately you could feel a tingling warmth radiating up your fingertips. Its origin was a mystery but for some bizarre reason, holding it brought you comfort. Given the amount of yokai you had been trying to appease, it could have been a gift from any one of them. Maybe this could bring you peace tonight. With a hopeful smile you quietly thanked the gifter before changing into your night wear and letting your hair down. Your intention was to place the feather under your pillow before you slept, that was until you threw back the covers to your futon.

Hidden underneath was the shattered remains of the Baku charm. The amulet that had protected you from nightmares since childhood lay in pieces, sadistically spread out beneath your blankets for you to find. A helpless whimper escaped you before you could stop it. Exhaustion from the relentless dread and the days work enveloped your limbs regardless of your discovery. With a heavy sigh, you collected the pieces and sadly gathered them in a pile at the side of your bed. Kneeling at its side, you clutched the feather close to your chest, its softness bringing you a little comfort, but it couldn't banish the darkness that was now rapidly closing in. An uneasy pang twisted your gut and you opened your eyes, frantically looking around your room. Breath caught in your throat when you noticed small, scattered holes in the Shoji. Against your better judgement, you crawled a little closer to inspect them, only to be met with the staring mokumokuren. Instantly you jumped back in fright, shuffling away from what must have been dozens of disembodied eyes, completely trained on you. They weren't here to harm you however, they were here to watch. 

The air turned thick and suffocating, like a miasma of oppressive fear. The shadows around you curled and moved, revealing their true forms of long tendrils of black hair. You shook your head in disbelief, gasping for breath as it slithered from the corners of your room. 

"...never forgive…" 

Those words hit you into reality and you scrambled to your feet on trembling limbs. A ghostly white set of hands shifted through the wall, long fingers reaching for you. Fear gripped your body, the only command that echoed through your head seemed to be whispered over and over outside the house; run. Almost tripping over your own feet, you turned on your heel to flee. A searing, white hot pain hit your shoulder, forcing your torso to twist as you hurtled out of the door. Landing hard on your knees, you paused to look back, horrified to find a burning black hand print on your bare shoulder. Heavy footsteps thundered through your home, pale arms and feet almost glowed in the darkness and you recognised the figure lurching towards you as the same one that haunted your nightmares. His hair almost reached the ground, twisting around his jagged shoulders. Dressed entirely in white robes that enveloped his gaunt figure. Black, sunken circles sat where his eyes should have been. His pace was slow, until a random jerk of movement pulled him forward, closer to you. Inwardly you begged your limbs to move, fingernails scratching at the dirt to drag yourself away. 

"I'll never...forgive you…" 

What did those words even mean? It seemed as though you would die tonight never knowing. Your eyes burned with tears as you crawled further away. A flash of red fur caught your attention, snapping your head to look at the path before you. A fox stood inches from you, its golden eyes locked on yours before it turned and dashed towards the forest trees. It stopped before disappearing, glancing back at you, waiting for you to follow. His fur seemed to glow, sending a sliver of hope to your stomach and it pulled you to your feet. Foxes were messengers, this had to be the help you had been looking for. The creature was fast but wouldn't let you lose sight of it, stopping every now and then to allow you to keep following up the steps of the shrine. The darkness continued to trace your footsteps, blackness curling through the ground like an infection spreading, filling everything it touched. You stumbled on the stone in your bare feet, lungs burning as you finally reached the top, only to have that same searing pain from before grasping around your ankles. You fell hard on your stomach, kicking at the creature as tendrils of black hair began to travel up your legs. 

"Let go!! I didn't do anything to you!" you cried out as it climbed over your body. 

"I'll never forgive you!" It roared back in response. 

The fox shrieked, its fur bristling as it faced the ghostly creature. The pain on your legs subsided and your attacker snarled as it suddenly retreated back. Light pooled at the base of the shrine, gently swirling around you and creating a barrier which the being refused to touch. It was cool to the touch, bringing some relief to your burning skin. Long black feathers started drifting around you, floating gracefully to the ground and you realised the creature's attention was no longer on you, it was staring above your head at something that stood behind you. d, straight past you. 

“Why are you still here?” 

The voice was unfamiliar, yet oddly soothing. You turned away from the monster to find yourself gazing up at a man, face covered in the Tengu mask from the shrine and shoulders obscured by two large, feathery wings. He stepped around you, protective light surrounding him as he placed himself between you and the gaunt man. 

“She...She’s gone… it’s their fault. Their fault...THEIR FAULT!” 

You covered your ears as the spirit wailed, cowering behind the tall being as he relaxed his wings, creating a wider guard between you. 

“This girl isn’t who you’re looking for. Your love died years ago…” 

The black hair was retracting, slithering back to a shorter length around the creatures shoulders. It shook its head, bony fingers clawing at its scalp as it’s shrill voice dissolved into a whimper.

“Their fault… theirs…” 

The winged man reached out, resting a large hand on the spirit’s shoulder.

“Your love died in childbirth right?”

A pathetic wail escaped his crooked mouth. You peered around your protector’s robes, your heart stopping when you noticed large tears oozing out of the creature’s sunken eyes.

“Let go of your grudge my friend. Then you’ll be able to see her, she’s been waiting for you.” 

Time seemed to halt around you. Falling feathers slowed mid air and a deafening silence swept through the forest.  The monster’s visage seemed to crack, peeling away like rust to reveal a dark haired young man, tears streaked across his face. The kind being gently turned his shoulder, inviting him to cast his eyes to the bottom of the steps to the shrine. She stood inside the archway, a beautiful young woman dressed in white. The spirit whispered her name before heading down the stone steps. The black infection that stained the ground retreated with every step he took, disappearing completely when he closed the gap between him and the smiling woman. Swirling light surrounded the both of them, but before you could witness their fate, the winged man turned to face you, intentionally blocking out the event as time began to flow normally once again. 

“You’re safe now!” he said brightly, head tilted to the side. 

You simply couldn’t find the words, not after what you had witnessed. Hell you couldn’t even make sense of it yet. The roaming light faded, leaving you both bathed in the moonlight. 

“Are you alright?” he questioned after a brief silence, taking a moment to remove the mask. 

He seemed not to notice your eyes widen as you took in the sight. Beneath the mask was the face of a man, high cheekbones surrounded by spikes of red hair. After the night’s events nothing really should have surprised you, yet you still felt unprepared for how handsome he was…

“I-I um… what...who was that person?” 

He knelt down by your side, taking your comparatively small hand in his while resting the other on your shoulder. The danger was gone, but you were still shaking. 

“That was an Onryo… from what I can tell he’s been haunting your family for generations.” 

His matter of fact tone caught you off guard, yet you nodded as though you understood. 

“I...I see. And um...wh-who are you?” 

His eyes widened and he scratched at the back of his head. His mouth curved in a wide, embarrassed smile that revealed two rows of sharp teeth. 

“Oh yeah! Probably should have introduced myself huh? My name is Kirishima Eijirou, this is my shrine.” 

His tone was bright and welcoming, a stark contrast to the horrors you had faced moments ago. He read your blank expression and let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“Let me get you home… you’ve had a rough night huh?” he grinned before slipping his powerful arms beneath you and lifting you off of the ground. 

You could feel your cheeks burning as he held you against his broad chest, bare skin showing through flowing, open robes. He walked down at a steady pace, as though you weighed barely anything to him as he carried you. 

“Um… Kirishima?” 

He hummed in response, looking down at you in anticipation. You held your breath, sure that your cheeks were turning the same colour as his hair. 

“Do you know why I was being targeted by that spirit? You seemed to know who he was…”

He cleared his throat and glanced away for a moment.

“Oh uh, I was looking into it for you. I could feel it clinging to you when you first started visiting the shrine… so I asked for some help!” 

You studied his face as he spoke, a little taken by his sculpted jawline and in the limited light it almost looked as though his cheeks were turning a warm shade of pink. 

“The Baku told me about your dreams, it wasn’t difficult to figure it out from there. I just had to find the person he was mourning.” 

It didn’t seem as easy as he was making it sound. 

“His love died in childbirth a few generations back. Looks like he was shunned from her family after that, his child was taken and raised without him. I’m not sure how he died but his pain lingered. He haunted the descendants of that family...but it looks like he was really able to get to you huh?”

He gestured to the blackened handprint seared into your shoulder, careful not to touch it. The cool night air grazed your skin and it made you realise how exposed your nightwear had left your skin. Awkwardly you pulled the material closer, shielding what flesh you could under Kirishima’s lingering gaze. 

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

“I wish I could have helped you sooner. You must have been so scared…” 

Your heart fluttered a little, his eyes cast down in guilt. Without hesitation you reached for his cheek, caressing his skin with your thumb. 

“It’s alright, really! You protected me, I owe you my life…” 

He didn’t shy away from your touch but you could feel him stiffen, mouth hanging open slightly as blood rushed to  his ears and cheeks. Your eyes locked with his, melting what little confidence you had and you retracted your hand quicker than you intended. 

“Ah...nah. It was the least I could do…”

It wasn’t long before you were home but he didn’t let go, carrying you through to your bedroom. Your lanterns flickered on as he passed them, lighting the room enough to highlight the shining black feathers of his beautiful wings. He set you down carefully on top of your futon and you noticed the little holes from before had disappeared from the shoji. 

“Now then… the curse should be gone, but uh… those marks are going to leave some nasty scars.” he explained, noting the cruel handprints on both of your legs. 

They still stung, though they were a little less angry from when they were inflicted. Kirishima sat back on his haunches, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

“I uh, I could help heal them for you but, it may feel a little strange.” 

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, still attempting to wrap your mind around the being before you. 

“You’re a Tengu aren’t you? I didn’t know you could heal people…” 

He barked a laugh at that, gaining a little confidence as his wings bristled with pride. 

“Oh yeah! We can do a lot of things you wouldn’t know about.” he said with a wink, and you had to wonder if he even realised how damned suggestive that had come across as. 

“Well… I know I can trust you. I can handle a little strangeness after tonight.” you reassured him with a smile. 

His smile seemed to widen at that and he moved in a little closer. 

“Alright then. Just lie there and relax for me, ok?”

You weren’t sure if you were still jumpy after the attack, or if it had only just properly dawned on you that you were alone in your bedroom in the presence of a very attractive yokai, but the way he hovered over your body sent your heard thudding violently in your chest. He began at your legs, large, calloused hands drifting over the soft skin of your calf. He held your ankle so delicately, contrasting the power that must have lay beneath those thick muscles of his arms. A tingling sensation caressed your skin where he touched you, pulsing through your skin like a soothing massage. With utmost care, he lifted your leg a little higher and pressed a soft kiss to the afflicted area. Before you could stop it, a quiet moan escaped your lips in response; had your skin always been this sensitive? With a hand over your mouth, you watched as he took your other leg and repeated the same actions. You couldn’t help but watch, noting how his eyes shut when he kissed your ankle, how long his lashes were and how they complimented his masculine features. Even though you bit down on your tongue, a quiet moan was caught against your hand and the warm, tingling sensations in both of your legs lingered even after he let go. There was no time to recover as he moved upwards, reaching over to your shoulder to gently pull your clothing away from it.  

“Just one more to go. But I can stop if you need me to…”

Catching your breath, you reached out to him, small hands grasping at his firm shoulders. 

“Please...don’t stop.” you asked him, eyes glazing over with the pleasurable touches that continued to ghost your legs. 

The Tengu climbed over you with a wolfish grin, caging you in with his sculpted arms. 

“Very well… you asked for it, little one.” 

His fingertips tickled your skin before you could regret your choices, glancing over the final burn and instantly easing the sting. This time you didn’t hold back your voice, mewling shamelessly as his lips once again met your flesh. He didn’t stop at one, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone and with each touch he left behind those delectable tingles that pulsed through your body. 

“Ahh! K-Kirishima…” you whimpered, writhing beneath him as pain transformed completely into pleasure. 

“Do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep going…” he breathed against your neck, sharp teeth grazing you before he nipped at your ear. 

“Kirishima… I want you, please I… I need you…” 

You could barely register the words that left your mouth, but you couldn’t find it in you to regret them. This rescue wasn’t your first meeting, he felt far too familiar for that. This yokai, this man  had been your only meaningful company while you suffered a curse. The energy he poured into you was the same you felt everyday at the shrine and you refused to let it go. 

“As you wish…” he whispered before peeling your robes from your body.

He moved over you fully, pressing his mouth against yours in a passionate, breathless kiss. His thick fingers ran through your hair and he moaned against you. 

“I’ve waited for this…” he admitted, kissing a path down your chest. 

His hands took hold of your breasts, fingertips gently pressing into your pliant flesh as his mouth closed over your nipple. Your back arched, his touch electric that ran currents through your entire being. 

“Keep making those sounds for me little one… don’t you dare stop.” he growled against you. 

He continued down, spreading your thighs and pinning them there as he took in the sight of you. 

“You’re so beautiful y/n...so damned beautiful.” 

Your eyes flew open as he nibbled at your inner thigh, sucking little purple marks into your soft flesh. 

“Y-you...you know my name?” you breathed, hips bucking as he kissed his way closer to your mound. 

“I do...I’ve known since you started restoring my shrine.” 

He took hold of your hips, keeping them still as he placed teasing kisses down the length of your slit. 

“You’re mine y/n. I knew from the first time you came to me… I had to claim you for myself…” 

You bit your lip as his tongue separated your silken folds, sliding up and back down again before he circled your sensitive clit. He groaned in satisfaction at your taste, upping his efforts as he lapped at your nectar hungrily. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, strong hands securing you down as he took that sensitive little pearl between his lips and flicked his tongue against it. 

“Ohhh fuck!! K-Kirishima...you’re gonna make me…” 

You barely had time to warn him before it hit, jolts of tingling pleasure pulsing through your body, shaking you to your very core. He pressed his tongue against you, continuing to drink your essence as you squirmed in his grip. 

“Good girl… my good girl…” 

He released you and pushed himself to his knees, stripping himself of his robes and stretching out his wings before he climbed back over you. Gazing up at him through your lashes, you were able to appreciate his body in full. Solid muscle rippling beneath his skin as though he had been sculpted by a master. His cock was thick, fully erect and you could barely stand the wait. You need him inside you, to fill you and claim you just like he said he would. He crawled back over you, the tip of his cock trailing against your thigh before it pressed against your soaked, needy cunt. 

“Tell me what you want little one...I need to hear you say it…”

His lids were heavy, drunk with lust for you as he kept himself from sheathing his cock inside your welcoming pussy right then and there. You reached up, your fingernails tracing his scalp as you pulled him in for a hungry kiss. 

“Kirishima...please fuck me. I need you to take me…” 

“Oh fuck… good girl…” he growled before finally thrusting his hips and bottoming out inside you. 

You held onto his neck, coaxing him to hold you close as he moved against you. It was impossible to hold back, moaning and mewling against his ear as he fucked you, his thick shaft filling you perfectly, the head of his cock pressing against every sensitive spot you had. Without warning he wrapped his arms around your lower back, lifting you up to sit on his lap as he impaled you over and over. You clung to him as you brought your hips up and down and matched his rhythm. He was beautiful even now, face contorted with pure pleasure as you clenched around his cock. He groaned against you, holding you against his glistening skin. 

“Fuck… you’re mind little one...all mine…” 

He quickened his pace, his moans echoing through the room along with the clashing of flesh as he neared his limit. Your thighs tensed, white hot pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach as you reached the edge of your second orgasm. 

“Oh fuck… fuck you feel so damned good… so good!” 

He called out as he released, filling you with hot fluid as you milked his cock for everything he had. You followed a second after him, squeezing around his twitching shaft as your head fell back, dark spots forming in your vision as you both fell together in ecstasy. Kirishima rocked backwards, landing less than gracefully on his back with you clinging to his chest. For a few blissful moments you lay there, painting for breath, sweat glistening on your skin. 

“Damn little one...heh, who knew you had it in ya!” he laughed, his chest bobbing as you lay on top of it. 

Still too spaced out to talk, you lay against him with a smile and lightly kissed his chest. 

“Hey uh… was this, really ok?” 

His question surprised you, almost as much as the uncertainty in his voice. 

“I mean… after everything that happened to you tonight. I’d hate to think you regretted it or somethin’... So, was this ok?” 

He gazed down at you, eyes wide with worry that he may have just crossed the line. How could a powerful Tengu be this damned cute? You shook your head with a smile before planting a sudden kiss on his lips. His voice was muffled against you, but he relaxed into it soon enough. 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” he giggled, his body relaxing beneath you once again. 

“Hey, does this mean we can do it again!?” 

His demeanour had switched to something akin to an excitable puppy, it was just too precious to deny. 

“Who am I to say no to such a noble Tengu?”

[justarandomsideblog]

This is thrown together on the page with zero editing so there's probably many glaring mistakes but I wanted to get it out there so here ya go

oOo

Fundy falls in love with the piano when he is very young and L’Manburg is nothing more than a van, and it’s just a small keyboard he can play with on the floor while his father makes war plans but it’s how it begins. He plays it in the months it takes him to grow up, maturing faster than it takes for Tommy and Tubbo to reach adulthood.

He plays it until he’s old enough for his father to replace the keyboard in his hands with a sword.

He’s seven months yet thirteen years old when he’s allowed into the war room, fidgeting hands folded tightly in his lap. There is no time to play keyboard anymore, and it’s left forgotten in his nest of blankets and pillows when the whole thing goes up in a devastating blast.

The war ends and he plays again on a makeshift piano, given to him by his uncles who teach him to play more complex melodies in the quiet moments when they’re not working. Yet those moments become few and far between in the months it takes Fundy to age to sixteen, the same age his young uncles had turned before Fundy was even born barely ten months before.

He cherishes the moments before everything falls apart once more. Yet another war begins and he sets aside the keyboard again to fight. His fingers are calloused in ways soft paw pads like his should never be, raw and bleeding from the sword he holds the second time he watches his home go up in smoke.

Eret gifts him a piano one year after he was born, when he turns seventeen and his aging has finally begun to slow. They help him set it up in his home, way too large for the orphaned teenage hybrid, and it gleams beautifully in the flickering torchlight. His passion, lost with his father, flares up once more and he plays for Eret and Phil, a moment of peace. Finally peace. Finally, he thinks, the swords will be hung up on the wall and peace will reign at last- swords have no place in peace, as art has no place in war.

The moment shatters; Eret, having never received Fundy’s message, doesn’t make it to the adoption, and Phil leaves- the Butcher Army, Fundy and Tubbo’s subsequent disownment and Tommy’s exile leaving the angel nothing to stay in L’Manburg for. So now he plays for the silence, not even the music filling the emptiness he has always relied on, and there he realizes the truth that will always weigh heavily in his gut.

There will always be another war.

Doomsday carries with it the weight of this realization, and he grins painfully through the tears pouring down his face as his house is blown away, piano keys withering into nothingness, and he says to no one in particular, “There’s no place for art in war.”

And so, even though L’Manburg is gone, even though everything is over and done with, Fundy knows it’s not. He knows the next war is waiting around the corner, and so he quietly stays prepared- his sword always on his hip, a bow strapped to his back, armour settled into his holding bag ready to be pulled on at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t own a piano anymore.

Phil doesn’t speak to him for a long time, except when Fundy forces him to. He forgives Tubbo- tentatively so, with a lack of trust- long before he’s even willing to acknowledge him and Fundy are related, and even when they’re speaking again- awkward, stilted, not natural like before- Phil doesn’t ask about the scars on Fundy’s hands. He doesn’t ask if Fundy is eighteen or twenty now, though Fundy no longer knows himself.

His grandfather asks only once if Fundy has learned any new songs.

“I don’t play the piano anymore,” Fundy answers, short and more broken than he sounds. Phil doesn’t press for more, and Fundy goes home to silence once more.

Then the nightmares start, and the silence is even worse than before- because now he wakes up and never knows if he’s awake, the song in his soul having died out long ago. He remembers bits and pieces, forgets others, and he tries to run away. He pulls the TNT he has ready for the next inevitable war and rigs his home- big and empty and echoing loneliness- with as much as he can fit up the stairs, in the walls, on and under the floor. He takes only what he needs most and puts it into a wagon, pulls out an arrow and sets it alight-

His grandfather messages him. Wants to meet up. Fundy is in no state to walk on eggshells but he goes anyway, because he wants his family back, and learns his father is alive. They search for him but by the end Fundy is ready to give everything up. He leaves Phil, mind made up, and waits until he knows Phil is through the portal.

This time when he watches his home go up, it’s by his own hand.

He leaves and speaks to no one for months, but the nightmares stay. He finds a kit. He takes the kit in, considering briefly calling Phil to let him know he’s now a great grandfather, but he decides not to- Phil hasn’t reached out at all, no one has, even though his home is no more than a crater in the ground... again.

So he says nothing and focuses on being a father, now. His kit doesn’t like being indoors, running out to play in the woods whenever he wants, and Fundy learns to keep up and keep him safe. He builds a nest on the porch, under the awning, a nice, dry and warm place where his kit likes to curl up and sleep at night, white fur standing out against the reds and oranges of Fundy’s once-favourite blankets.

He names the kit Yogurt, after arguing with the foxes that like to hang around.

Between the nightmares and the crippling loneliness, with no one but a child too young to understand speech and a rowdy skulk of foxes who come and go as they please, Fundy finds himself.

He doesn’t remember much of the nightmares but he does remember one big, important thing.

Quackity can’t be trusted.

Quackity appears to him just as he had in the nightmare, and Fundy already knows their conversation as it happens. Knows every little thing as they walk across the remains of L’Manburg. He knows what the next war will be.

This time, Fundy decides, he will pull the strings. Early the next day, while his skulk is out who knows where and Yogurt is bundled up, safe at home, Fundy dons his armour and grabs his sword and axe, and he makes his way to the place he knows Las Nevadas to be.

He arrives and stands on the hill overlooking the beautiful, daunting city, and he watches Quackity disappear into the casino while below him a totem god looks around.

In those few seconds, when Fundy sees the harsh gleam in Foolish’s eyes, a new plan forms.

They speak briefly, over the dune and out of sight of the casino, and they come to an agreement. With no witnesses, they shake hands and Fundy goes back home, and Foolish does not tell Quackity of his visit.

Later, when Fundy finally joins Las Nevadas with his skulk a few steps behind, he mixes truth in with the lies and hopes the skulk will not out him.

To gain the trust of one who doesn’t trust, it takes someone who also doesn’t trust.

Yet Fundy, who at his heart and soul is a fox- a trickster- a spy- knows how to play the part of one who does. One who doesn’t know that he will always be left alone.

When Quackity asks him about his war experience, he answers truthfully- “I have been in every army and every war.”

He is a soldier to Quackity, first and foremost, and so when Quackity presents to him the piano inside the casino polished to perfection, he looks on it with silent discontent.

“I don’t play piano anymore.”

There is no place for art in war.

-

“Your hands are made to create, not destroy.”

Fundy looks up from the dagger he is playing with, seeing Foolish standing in front of him. Purpled is off to the side, on guard for Quackity and pretending he isn’t listening.

It isn’t the first time they’re meeting like this and it won’t be the last. Plans have to be made. Escape routes planned. Snowchester and Las Nevadas will tear each other- and themselves- apart long before Fundy and Foolish could ever put their plan into action. Playing nice and trying to keep everything from blowing up too early is getting exhausting, but it has to be done. After all, Fundy’s family is in the crossfire now- he silently curses Tubbo and Ranboo for building the mountain outpost, and he outwardly curses Tommy and Wilbur for making their ‘country’ right across the river.

“A lot of things are made to do what they’re not supposed to,” Fundy says to the god, putting the knife down. Tonight he has messaged Phil, pleading with him to stay away from Las Nevadas- but it has remained unread, and similar messages sent to Niki and Tommy and Ranboo are all the same. “What are you even talking about, anyway?”

“Tubbo said you used to play piano,” Foolish says, gaze drifting past Fundy to the piano left, abandoned, against the wall. “He asked me to put one in the mansion big enough so you guys could play together.”

“I haven’t played piano in a long fucking time,” Fundy scoffs, drumming his fingers anxiously against his legs. As much as he wants to... “But I guess Tubbo wouldn’t know that. We haven’t had a proper conversation since L’Manburg.”

Tubbo isn’t much like his uncle anymore. Tommy, neither. They don’t come around or check on him, they haven’t since long before L’Manburg fell. Tubbo feels more like... that neighbor kid you play with because there’s no other neighbor kids your age. They mess around and talk and joke when Quackity sends Fundy to investigate the outpost but it’s only because they don’t want to fight anymore. They don’t want to be on opposite sides, anymore.

Fundy can’t even tell him that they aren’t on opposite sides.

Ranboo says to choose people, and they all play the part easily enough, him and Tubbo and Fundy, but Fundy has always chosen people. He chose his family in the past, every time, regardless of what side they were on, until suddenly the family was split. What did sides matter, when it came to love, to friends, to family, to acceptance? How do you choose between the uncle who raised you and the grandfather who was there when you needed him?

Well, it no longer really matters.

This time he chooses Foolish and Purpled, the two who care about and accept him without question, whether he needs them or not.

Purpled, who respects that he doesn’t want salmon to be eaten even when he isn’t here. Purpled, who knows how it feels to be forgotten, who knows how it feels to have nothing to his name.

Foolish, who understands his need for symmetry. Foolish, who knows how it feels to want to leave the past behind, who knows how hard it is to feel worthy of forgiveness and redemption.

No, Fundy still loves his legal-and-blood family very much, but he supposes Foolish and Purpled have become the family he had always wanted to have.

Laughing and talking with them never feels forced, or awkward, or like walking on eggshells. He never feels like he is one misstep from being banished.

It’s nice.

“There’s no place for art in war,” Fundy finally says, filling the space growing between the trio they’ve formed.

They fall into silence, none of them trying to protest- none of them saying what they are in now is not a war. Maybe in another life this beautiful city that they’ve poured themselves into building up in order to build trust with the president could have been home, but in this life it was one thing alone-

The way to end the war, to stop Quackity in his tracks.

“After the war is over, will you play for us?” Purpled asks now.

And he will, though Fundy doesn’t know it yet. Once the war is over and the nuke has been dismantled, torn to pieces by its own creator’s hands, and Quackity and Fundy have both been reduced to one last life each, Fundy will sit at a piano at Foolish’s Summer Home, with the friends and family he has left- with Foolish and Purpled, Tubbo and Tommy and even Wilbur, with Techno and Phil and Niki and Ranboo, with Slime and Yogurt, every person he has ever loved and cared about and will one day save- and he will play a melody Tubbo taught him when he was a kit, still playing on a clumsy piano thrown together from scrapwood and busted strings in the living room of a house long since rotted and burned away.

For now, though, not knowing what the future has in store, Fundy only smiles and says, “There will always be another war.”

[nemir]

𝕤 𝕡 𝕝 𝕖 𝕟 𝕕 𝕚 𝕕

✞——————❆——————✞

» pairing; haurchefant greystone x rhen {my wol}

» word count: 6k!!! EXACTLY.

» content; mutual pining, mixed messages, adult themes,

» an; written over the course of a few days while listening to Kiss from a Rose by Seal on repeat fjgdkljd (also huge shoutout to the Haurchefant I've been hanging out with, you're an inspiration to us all)

"Curse the twelve for this weather! It's too damn cold." A viera woman pushed her way through the front doors of a stone building at Camp Dragonhead, giving little care to the volume - and tone - of her voice. She shivered once inside, pulling the large hood from her cloak back off her head. Jet black ears sprang up immediately, to which her hands lifted to smooth out her choppy black hair. "Right. Where is he?"

The sell-swords and infantrymen who were keeping warm by the fire inside blinked, heads tilting. "Er … Who, ma'am?"

The woman balked. "What do you me--" She stopped herself short and let out a short breath. "Pray, forgive me. My name is Rhen Hrafna, I'm looking for Lord Haurchefant Greystone. Is he in?" She crossed her arms beneath her cloak, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips; one that nobody would be able to see unless they were up close.

"M-my lady! Our deepest apologies!" The men and women who stood suddenly straightened their backs and saluted, and the ones who remained seated bowed their heads in both shame and reverence. "He's stepped out for but a moment! I-is there anything we can do for you in the meanti-"

"Leave." A single word. It was curt and blunt, but it wasn't filled with malice or meant to cause harm. It was a simple request, as made evident by the viera's smile. The infantrymen took it as an order, and all let out a breath of relief. It meant they were able to go to the mess hall to eat and kick their feet up for a time. A short time, as peace was not something the Highlands knew much of, but it was welcomed nonetheless. "And please," she spoke as they filed out, passing by them as she made her way further into the room, "only return if it is an absolute emergency. Important Scion matters, and whatnot." Rhen rolled her hand in a nonchalant circle, to which some of the infantrymen snickered and rolled their eyes but nodded in understanding all the same, and finally Rhen was left alone.

It wasn't for long. As she hopped up onto the long desk that stood at the far back of the room and leaned forward with her palms pressed into the solid wood, the front doors opened again letting in a blast of cold winter air. "Best to keep bundled up out there, my friends! The wind is blowing something fierce!" A tall elezen man had come in and quickly closed the door behind him. His silver-blue hair tumbled out from his helm as he pulled it off, giving his head a single shake before turning around to a near-empty room. "Ah."

"Lord Haurchefant." Rhen remained on the desk, her legs crossing at the knee. "Braving the weather, I see? And what, pray tell, was so important that made you late for our meeting?" She was teasing him, of course. Even if she could keep a serious tone, her face would give it away in an instant.

"If it isn't my favourite champion! I do so sincerely apologize for the delay, and I hope you are willing to forgive me. It was not very noble of me to keep a lady waiting - especially one as important as you." His lips grew into a long, thin smile, brilliant blue eyes practically glimmering beneath the lights. He strode across the room, arms opening wide as he drew closer to the viera woman. "Could you find it in your heart of hearts?"

"Hmm... I'm not so sure, my Lord." Rhen's head canted to the side, her own grin growing to match his. She pressed a finger to her chin and tapped it a few times, "Perhaps," she started, noting his crestfallen face, "a hot cocoa will do the trick? You look as though you could use one, too." When he was within reach, she opened her own arms and pulled him into a warm - albeit slightly awkward due to his armor - embrace. "I've missed you." Her voice was soft, evidently content and feeling at peace in this moment.

“As I have missed you! Every time you leave the camp, I start wondering when I will be graced by not only your presence, but your shining and beautiful face again. It pains me so, to see you leave through those doors, you know.” His voice was friendly, not as deep as one would imagine upon first looking at him. It was jovial and bouncy, and it was clear he could make anyone smile, or break them out of a sour mood with just a few kind words. Haurchefant was sure to give her an extra squeeze before pulling away, resting his hands on her elbows as he got a good look at her. “Just as beautiful as the first day I met you. Right! Let’s get some of that cocoa going, eh?” He pulled away completely, still beaming at Rhen, then quickly turned on his heels and hurried through the door that led to his private stores.

✞——————❆——————✞

“Halone preserve me.” His words were hushed and quick as he sank back against the door. His hand lifted, wrist pressing to his forehead. What was he going to do? He had always been shameless in his flirting with the Warrior of Light - he didn’t exactly keep his feelings a secret. But… Did she know? Was he too forward just now, with his words and his actions? No, he couldn’t have been! She’s the one who welcomed, and even initiated, the embrace! Did that mean she felt the same…? “Pull yourself together, man!” His hand dragged down his face, and he let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “There is no way she could… She would ever...” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Hot cocoa. Right.”

“Why didn’t I kiss him.” As soon as she heard the door shut behind him, Rhen’s expression dropped and her hands immediately shot to cover her face. She let out a long groan of frustration, kicking her feet a bit off the side of the desk. “Gods dammit, Rhen.” Her hands fell back down to her lap and she sighed. She was getting ahead of herself. Sure, she could have kissed him. But would he even want that? Did he even have feelings for her? But the way he spoke to her… No, he talked to everyone like that didn’t he? Well, perhaps not everyone, but surely - “Ugh!” She hopped off the desk and started pacing up and down the length of the desk, arms crossed under her chest. Was she really in any position to develop feelings, especially for one with whom she worked so closely? It could potentially become a conflict of interest, and Rhen knew she wouldn’t hear the end of it from Alphinaud… not to mention Tataru would have that rumour spread faster than one could say ‘Hydaelyn’. No, no. Best to put the thought to rest. For now.

Finally, the water was ready and he carefully poured the water in. He gave each mug a good stir, then lifted each mug and held one out to Rhen. “For you, my lady.”

As if on cue, the elezen pushed his way through the door with two tin mugs in one hand, the other holding a sack filled with powder and a small jug of milk. His usual, friendly smile was plastered on his face and he seemed no different than he had before he walked into his store room. “Shouldn’t take too long, now! Just need to boil the water.” He moved fluidly across the room, retracing the same steps he had taken many times before on occasions just like these, be they with friends, random adventurers, and even on his own. He dropped the supplies on the desk, moved to the hearth to grab a small black cauldron which he brought over to another room which held a small fountain of water. He scooped some in, and with ease, carried it back and hitched it onto the short chain that hung right above the fire. Soon enough the flames were licking the bottom of the cauldron, and a small bit of steam rose from the lightly bubbling water. In the meantime, he set to prepping the mugs, spooning out generous portions of the cocoa powder into each, followed by a good splash of milk.

She took it with a smile. “Thank you.” Though it was hot, she cupped the mug with both hands, thankful for the warmth it provided her. The stone buildings of the Highlands, which were respite from the freezing temperatures outside, did not do well in terms of insulation and there was always a chill, regardless of how long a fire had been going. She moved closer to the hearth and sank down onto a bench that had been haphazardly pulled up by the infantrymen earlier on. Rhen lifted the mug closer to her face, taking in the smell of the decadent cocoa before blowing softly at the rim and taking a small sip. “Mmmn.. Delicious, as always.” Her head turned slightly, “The best hot cocoa this side of Ishgard. I could never have a better cup.”

He beamed in response, taking a small sip of his own. “Oh, you flatter me so.” He leaned back against the bench, resting his arm against the top, his fingers just inches from Rhen. It took everything he had to resist the temptation to reach out and gently stroke her back. “But if you insist. I’ve had a lot of time to practice making it. Not to mention countless cold and thirsty knights.” His eyes darted from her to the warm glow of the fire. “I couldn’t be happier, knowing someone as splendid as you, enjoys such a simple little treat.”

The viera scoffed, “Please. I’m not that special, Haurchefant.” She turned herself slightly on the bench, facing the knight a little better now. “I’m just an average adventurer.” Those words would hit a chord with him, and she knew it. It was said on purpose, as she loved how passionate he got when it came to her. It made her heart skip a beat, and her stomach turn in welcoming anxious knots.

“Average?! There is nothing average about you, Lady Rhen! You are malms above average! Imagine, the Warrior of Light, Hydaelyn’s chosen, arguably the most important member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn being just average!” Here it came. That passionate, near heated retort. He nearly spilled his cocoa with how animated and excitable he got. “The things people would do to be included, or even acknowledged, by you and yours! Why, I had to pinch myself after I met you the first time! I could hardly believe that someone I had heard so much about, someone who had beaten primals, waltzed through my door!” His free hand had lifted to his head, a finger and thumb pressing against his temples. “The… the very notion that you, after all you have done, would think you are av-”

“Haurchefant.” Rhen hadn’t expected this much. She had no idea he’d take it so personally. “R-really, you don’t need to go into so much! A lot of what I’ve accomplished is because I haven’t done it alone, or even by mere coincidence! Luck, even.” She leaned her shoulder against the bench, looking up at him bewildered, one hand pressed to her chest.

“No! Rhen, you don’t-” He stood up, and took one step before turning slightly so his back was to her. “I mean.” A deep breath steadied him. “You truly are splendid, Rhen Hrafna, and that is something I will not argue.” He glanced to the hearth again, his hair falling over his eyes in such a way that blocked them from Rhen’s view.

She sighed, and reached out toward him. “I appreciate your kind words, really, I do. They… they mean a lot to me.” Her gaze was still steady on his face, though struggled to read it. She took a moment to ponder her next words carefully, sipping at her still-hot cocoa. “...You-”

“I apologize for my outburst, my lady.” He hadn’t meant to cut her off, but the silence was killing him. “Ah, but I forget myself. You came here to discuss important matters regarding the Scions, correct?” He turned back around to face her and sat down on the bench once more, that usual smile on his face. Truly, he wasn’t himself without it.

Rhen bit her lip, looking away for a brief moment, then retracted her hand the moment he turned around. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Lord Haurchefant.” She shook her head, and returned the smile. “But, yes,” her body shifted slightly, “that is why I came here. It… really isn’t anything terribly important. Alphinaud just wanted me to relay some information, catch up with how things are progressing here.”

“Ah! The young Master Alphinaud! How is the lad? Chipper as always, I expect!” Haurchefant let out a chuckle, “As for how things are here, they are the same as ever, I’m afraid! The occasional threat, but nothing we haven’t been able to handle I can assure you! I trust things are going well over in Ishgard? You had an audience with Ser Aymeric, didn’t you?” It was time for Haurchefant to shift his body, though it seemed a bit more tense, more stiff.

“Yes, that’s right.” Rhen sipped her cocoa, “He was gracious, and a very kind host. I can see why he’s held in a relatively high regard. I look forward to meeting with him again, and hopefully working together toward not only rebuilding Ishgard, but reestablishing an alliance. They would prove to be an incredibly valuable ally. Alphinaud is still there, actually.”

“I see.” His words were uncharacteristically short, and lacked the usual vim and vigor. “It seems you have your hands full. To be expected, of course.” He nodded once before bringing the mug to his lips to take a long drink. “I…” the knight started to speak, and Rhen tilted her head, waiting for him to finish. “I hope you still remember your friends,” the word was stilted, “back here at Camp Dragonhead. While there isn’t much more you are able to do for us - not that we wouldn’t appreciate any help, of course - I… these halls would feel empty without a visit from you, whenever you are able.”

She felt herself recoil. Friend. There it was. The word she had been dreading. So, that’s how he really felt. She inhaled from her nose, sharp and short. “I could never forget you. All of you,” she added. “You have done much for me, and for the future of all Eorzea, Lord Haurchefant. Don’t discredit yourself and your accomplishments.” Tentatively, she reached a hand out and pressed it on top of his. Skin meeting skin sent a jolt through her body, and she wanted nothing more than to curl her fingers around his, squeeze his hand tight and confess everything, here and now. She would give up everything, if it meant being with him. “Politics are slow-going. It’s not as if I’ll be meeting with Ser Aymeric day after day, night after night. Things need to be put into motion, to pass through… I will have plenty of time to come back here.”

“But surely he set up accommodations for you in Ishgard?” Haurchefant hadn’t meant for the words to be bitter, but Rhen felt the bite, and pulled her hand away. Desperately, silently, he begged himself to remember the warmth and how it felt.

“Well, yes.” She blinked, confused by his reaction. “But it’s just a free room at the inn, nothing fancy.” Her hand curled around the tin mug again, no longer hot to the touch. “In fact it was your father, Count Edmont, who offered me private chambers in his home.” Her brow lifted, “Are you going to take up issue with that, too?”

“Father did? Well,” he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, running the thought through his mind, “no, I don’t have a problem with that, my lady. You will be well taken care of and safe at Fortemps Manor.” And he would know where she was, Halone forbid anything happen. “My apologies. I am merely looking out for you and your safety.”

Rhen’s tongue clicked. “It is fine.” Finishing the rest of her cocoa, she pushed herself up from the bench and moved to the desk, resting the mug on top. “I do believe that was all we had to discuss.” She didn’t turn back to face him, and instead kept staring straight ahead; she didn’t want him to see the tears that were stinging the corners of her eyes.

Haurchefant sighed. “For the time being, yes. It is late, my lady. While I am sure the comforts of House Fortemps are calling, I would feel better if you remained here for the night. That blizzard has surely only gotten worse as the night progressed.” He, too, rose from the bench and made his way to a door off to the side, leaving his mug on the bench, ready to prep a room.

“... Thank you, Lord Haurchefant. That would be greatly appreciated. I’ll take but a moment to contact Alphinaud and let him know.”

✞——————❆——————✞

Haurchefant had the right idea. All through the night, Rhen could hear naught by the wind whipping and whistling around outside, rattling the single-pane glass windows. She was incredibly thankful for the hearth that had been lit in her room as she curled beneath the heavy dodo feather quilt. Still, sleep eluded her. She had been fed - it was a quiet and rather awkward dinner - the room had been set, and Haurchefant had even drawn a hot bath for her to help ease the chill. He even remembered that lavender helped her sleep, and had a sachet of it resting atop her pillow. Perhaps that was why.

The creaking of the door caught Haurchefant's attention, and he spun on his heels. He squinted in the low light, "My lady?" He froze in his spot, unsure if it was just a trick of the wind or if the Warrior of Light was really standing there in the doorframe, in nothing but a silk robe and cloak. "What are you doing out of bed?" He blinked, and remembered stubbing his toe a few minutes prior, "Ah- I hope I did not wake you? I was simply… cleaning up, and managed to catch my foot against the bench." He waved a hand, trying to brush the small lie aside.

Her mind was racing. Something had seemed so… off about Haurchefant tonight. At first, he was his usual eccentric self! It was a relief to see, especially after dealing with the stuffiness of the Holy See. But as their conversation went on, it was as though something happened, and he just changed. The only thing she could pinpoint was when the topic turned to Ser Aymeric, but surely… No, there was no reason why Haurchefant would get so upset over that. Rhen pushed herself up in the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. This. This is what was keeping her from resting.

Down the hall and through the door, Haurchefant remained in the main room, resting on the bench next to the hearth, elbows on his knees and his hands together. Why did he let himself lose control of his emotions like that? It wasn’t like him to get so… irrational. Yet, something about the way she spoke so highly of Aymeric - it was to be expected, of course, he was indeed a generous and kind soul, but… Haurchefant gripped his own hands tighter together. “Gods dammit…!” He cursed, and pushed off the bench again, this time his foot connecting with the heavy wood. He grumbled out - of course this would happen after he had changed into more casual, comfortable clothes. He bit his lip, trying not to make too much noise.

A moment passed, and he opted to pace about in a circle, keeping close to the hearth. He didn’t know what to do and for the first time in a long time, Haurchefant wasn’t feeling like himself. On one hand, he was so incredibly honoured and proud to be a friend to Rhen, the illustrious and sought-after white mage. His chest swelled when he spoke of her, or heard others speak her name and of her glorious deeds! But on the other hand he felt almost selfish, like he wanted to keep her all to himself, run away together where nobody could find them. Alas, he knew that would be impossible. She had her duties, as he had his own and it wouldn’t be in either of their characters to just leave that all behind. Not after they had both spent so long and worked so hard to get to where they were. They both had people who relied on them. He sighed, “... as I rely on her.” His words were whispered into the darkened room, hushed and barely audible.

“I need to talk to him.” Rhen spoke aloud, to herself. She needed to be clear of any doubts, any worries. Even if it meant losing him, Rhen needed to tell him everything that was on her mind, everything she felt, and ask him what happened, why he was acting that way earlier in the night. She threw the covers to the side and slipped out of the large bed. Her feet touched the cold stone, and her toes curled, but she pushed through how much it bit into her skin. She grabbed her cloak and tossed it over her shoulders before leaving her room. “I wonder…” She wandered down the hall, first stopping at Haurchefant’s private chambers. Before knocking, she pressed an ear to the door, listening for any sort of noise. Nothing, not even the crackling of a fire. She knocked regardless and pushed open the door, peeking through the small crack. “... Haurchefant?” She whispered into the darkness, but could see nothing. There was no response, no ruffling of sheets or soft sleepy grunts. There wasn’t even a shadowy lump on the bed to mark his presence.

She sighed and moved on from his room, sure to close the door as she left. Where could he be? Surely, he wasn’t called out for some sort of nightwatch? In the middle of this storm? She frowned; if he had, there would be words in the morning. The viera continued to tiptoe her way down the hall, peeking through various doors until she came to the end of the hall. The next door would lead to the main room. Suddenly, she found herself nervous; she didn’t know what she wanted to find on the other side. If he was there, would she be able to go through with this? Rhen bit her lip and opened the door without anymore second thoughts. If she was going to do it, she just had to do it.

"No, I just couldn't sleep." She stepped into the room, arms crossing over her stomach, to keep herself from shivering but also as a way to keep herself grounded. Her head turned slightly to the left, using her one good eye to peer and squint into the slowly darkening room. "... Is your foot alright? Do I need to heal-"

"No, no, thank you. Nothing is broken or bleeding, and I've handled much worse." He chuckled lightly, and for a moment all the tension between them was lifted. They both felt as though they could breathe easy again, but when the room got quiet and neither of them spoke, everything built up from the evening returned. It was thick, and nauseating. "But, you must needs get back to your room where it is warm! You'll end up sickly if you stay out here, threadbare and in the cold. I would hate to be the one responsible for the delay in Eorzea's saving!"

But as he moved closer to usher her back to her room, the moaning wind outside picked up whipping the door wide open. The pair of them lifted their arms to cover their faces, both letting out a sharp gasp as the penetrating cold hit them. "S-stay there, I'll get this." The blizzard was strong, blowing in the snow that had accumulated in front of the door inside in drifts, small pellets of ice mixing into the mess. But Rhen hadn't listened, and was already ahead of Haurchefant, bare feet leaving tiny footprints in the snow in her wake. He clicked his tongue but didn't dare try to argue. Instead, he moved at her pace and they reached the door together, using their combined strength to fight against the wind and push the door shut, latching it and keeping it barred shut with a thick plank of wood.

Rhen could feel her feet burning from the snow, and her lungs felt as though they were on fire. It took her a moment to come down from the slight rush and jump away from the snow, moving back toward the hearth, which the fire within nearly died completely and was now just a burning pile of embers. "That… wasn't my most prudent decision."

Haurchefant watched her, a sympathetic smile on his lips. He considered Rhen his charge, and even if his developing feelings drove him to overreact or overthink, her and her safety was his first priority, above all else. "I shall take you back to your room." It was a statement, and he wasn't going to give her much room to say no, as he was by her side in an instant and picked her up bridal style, the long train of her cloak and robe tangling together and draping over his arm.

He did as he was instructed, though hesitated for a split second, and sank slowly onto the bed next to her. He wasn't sure what to do with himself; his feet were planted firmly on the floor in case he needed to spring back up, but his torso was twisted slightly. His arms he kept low, hands resting on the tops of his knees, fingers drumming against them. "Rhen? Is everything alright?"

She made to protest, but found herself unwilling. So she let him scoop her up without a word, and rested her head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around him. If she could have just this moment and nothing else, she would be satisfied. "Don't feel like you need to rush." She murmured, unsure if he'd even hear her, but when she felt his pace slow she smiled.

“What were you doing wandering about so late?” They had made it back to her room, and Haurchefant was letting her down on the bed. He reached around her and pulled the cloak from her shoulders to hang it back up. “I can’t imagine such a strong, world-saving viera like yourself would be kept up from some howling wind and a bit of cold?” His head turned slightly, stealing a glance at her from over his shoulder.

Rhen sighed; she knew this would come up. There was a fleeting moment where she thought that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to bring it up, that she could just forget that she was going to open her heart entirely to him and just leave things how they were. But then, how long would she be able to keep it up? There was always the chance that it would be too late, and she knew it would be something she'd regret her entire life. "Come, sit beside me." She motioned to the bed and shifted, pulling one leg up to lay it flat against the mattress, turning so she would be able to face him directly.

"Do you care about me?"

Haurchefant's expression twisted, a mix of confusion and surprise. "Of course I do! You're my dearest friend! What would possess you to think I don’t?"

"Haurchefant, you aren’t listening. Do you care about me?” Rhen leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. Her eyes were wide, brows turned upward as she waited for him to understand, to respond.

The elezen was silent as he processed the question, his eyes staring down into hers, searching the mismatched grey hues. He felt her thumb drag along the top of his hand, and he blinked. “Wait, you don’t mean…”

Rhen inhaled deeply, and nodded. “I do. Haurchefant, I… That is to say--” She was stumbling over her words, finding it hard to concentrate over the pounding in her chest. She chewed her lip for a moment before continuing, “When we first met, you were kind and your words were… Well, a bit much if I’m being honest. But, they were flattering all the same, and it was refreshing to hear.” She saw his lips part as he went to speak, but she shook her head, wanting to finish before he said anything. “Over time, I found myself thinking of you more often, how I wished you could be on this journey with me - physically, with me, about how I couldn’t wait to come back to see you here… and I found myself starting to wonder if the words you said, all the compliments… If you truly meant them.” She could feel her cheeks growing hot by the second, and she dropped her gaze, opting to look at their hands.

“Rhen…” Haurchefant tilted his head to the side slightly, still watching her intently. He licked his lips and lifted a hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers before cupping her chin to tilt her head back up. “Halone, forgive me for taking so long.” He whispered before closing the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. It wasn’t forced, or rough but gentle, and what one would expect from someone like Haurchefant. He could feel her body tense for just a moment and was about to pull away when he felt her melt into his touch, her hand squeezing his, fingers curling together. He didn’t want this feeling to end.

For months he had been thinking of her nonstop. Since the moment he first laid eyes upon her, he knew she was special - and not just because of her deeds, her title. Just, her. She was plaguing his thoughts, not that he was complaining. At night, he dreamt of her, of moments like these and moments that would make brothel workers blush. Anytime the doors opened to his office, he would snap his head up in the hopes of seeing her walk through. There wasn’t a time he wasn’t worrying about her, and her safety. The relief and butterflies he would feel when he did see her were beyond compare, and unlike anything he could describe.

And right now, in this moment, he didn’t need to speak a word of that; she knew. All it took was that one kiss, which neither wanted to stop. Rhen’s arms lifted and draped over his shoulders, bending so her hands could comb through his hair. He complied, and leaned forward slightly, his own arms moving in to grab her from the waist and lift her slightly and pulled her into his lap; he could feel her smiling against his lips. The kiss deepened as Haurchefant dared to pry his tongue against her lips, begging entrance. She complied and their tongues met. His fingers dug into her skin slightly, and a shiver ran down Rhen’s back. “You have no idea how I’ve longed for this moment.”

✞——————❆——————✞

Daybreak. The sun was streaming through the single-paned glass window, flits of dust drifting lazily about. The fire in the hearth had long since died, no longer even smoldering. Rhen stirred, the sheets rustling slightly. Slowly and sleepily she blinked and pushed herself up onto her elbows. It took her a moment to gain her bearings before she looked around at the room; right. She remained at Camp Dragonhead because of the blizzard. That would also mean…

“Lay back down.” Haurchefant’s voice was muffled, his face buried into the pillow. He was peeking up at her with one eye, the corner of his mouth visible and turned up in a soft smile. He lazily lifted an arm and curled it around Rhen, dragging her back down to the bed. “Mmm… splendid.”

She giggled and wiggled about slightly, getting into a comfortable position, turning just enough so they were facing each other. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, leaving a trail of kisses down from his jaw. “Good morning.” Her arm draped over his side, fingers tracing gentle and soft lines up and down his back. So it hadn’t been a dream… good. She smiled and let out a content hum.

“And a good morning, it is!” Haurchefant stirred a bit, allowing Rhen to get comfortable before wrapping his arm back around her, holding her close. He was basking in this feeling, in this moment. “I trust you slept well?” His lips pressed to her forehead in a tender kiss. His legs, as well, shifted slightly so as to entangle their bodies even more. He wanted to feel as one with her, and he wanted to stay just like this forever.

Rhen nodded, “And you?”

“Best I’ve slept in ages.” Another kiss to her forehead.

“Haurchefant?” She paused for a moment, and he grunted in response, “What does this mean for us?”

He pulled back slightly so he could get a better look at her face. His expression was gentle and soft, the sweetest and most sincere smile pulling at his lips. “Well, if you would rather keep this a secret and never speak of it again, I would understand. I would be terribly heartbroken, I won’t lie.” He chuckled, and pressed a finger to her lips when he saw she was about to speak. “But,” his expression changed slightly, still sweet but a little more serious. Blue eyes shone in the sunlight. “Rhen Hrafna. Would you grant me the highest honour of staying with me, by my side, as not only my dearest and most cherished friend, but as my partner?” The arm that was around her moved, hand grabbing hers and pulling it up to his lips, “Say you’ll be mine.” He kissed her fingers, each one individually, and so delicately.

“Haurchefant Greystone.” She was beaming, her cheeks red and warm, “I am the one who will be honoured to call you my partner. Forever, and always.” She could feel the tears begin to prick the corners of her eyes, but this time they were of joy. Of a sweet relief, feeling all the weight finally lift from her shoulders. “I am yours, and I always will be.”

“Those words… They are music to my ears. You’ve made me the happiest man alive on this day, you know!” Haurchefant laughed, and it was like a chorus. It was joyful, radiant, filled with love and life. He pulled her in close once more, tightening his grasp around her in an embrace. “This feeling… this excitement. Ahhh, it’s splendid!” Haurchefant took a deep breath and let out a long, happy sigh. His other hand, burdened by being under Rhen’s frame, moved slightly to absently stroke her hair.

“That’s a bold claim, my Lord.” She teased, and the pair chuckled. “But I’m glad. Truly, I couldn’t be happier!” Her hand pressed against the middle of his back. “Long have I waited to hear you say those words, and to hold me just like this.”

“As have I, Rhen. I have dreamt of moments just like these. You’ve never once left my thoughts.”

“I guess that means we’ll be staying in bed a bit longer then?”

He hummed in response, “Please… just a bit longer.” He kissed her again, softly.

“Anything for you.”

[vaire-gwir]

I find you all Unwoven

I was sad, and then I decided to make myself even sadder writing this...yay me?

Geralt is outside Oxenfurt for a contract, something attracts his attention. Meeting Jaskier for the first time after the mountain scene doesn’t go as he expected. 

English is not my first language, I wrote it in a rush so it probably sucks a bit more than usual, let me know what you think!

***

There was music coming from inside the tavern, it was not Jaskier's voice hitting the notes but the lyrics were his, Geralt recognized them. It was a weird experience, more so because he knew Jaskier was here. He recognized the unique mix of flowers, lavender and honey that made up the bard's scent, he'd never get that wrong, it was hard to forget. So Jaskier was here, and so was the music, how strange he was not playing it.

If he were asked why, Geralt couldn't explain why he decided to enter. Last time he saw the bard was almost a year ago, and too much time passed to try and mend something he broke. And yet, he couldn't resist. The moment he caught that flowery scent he knew he had to see him, even from afar, even just for a second or two. It's been so long since the last time he saw him.

It took Geralt no longer than a minute to find Jaskier in the crowded inn, but something was off. Everything was off, to be honest. The black trousers and grey shirt were a weird sight on the bard. No colours or frilly shirts, no silk pants or lace doublets. He was sitting by himself, eyes lost in his mug, it almost seemed like he was trying to appear smaller, inconspicuous, invisible. 

He was not singing or playing, he was not talking with anyone, he wasn't trying to strike a conversation or catch anyone's eyes, he was there but he wasn't really there. That was not his bard. Something must have happened to him. That was not the man he used to know. 'You. You happened to him.' A cruel voice inside Geralt's head quickly supplied. Also, not his anymore.

Jaskier was like the middle of spring, when all the flowers start to bloom, the air is warm and filled with their scents, the nights are lighter and everything seemed a bit easier to bear. Now his eyes showed the end of autumn, when all the leaves fall from the dead trees, the nights are endless and even the days grow darker. There were no more flowers or light or sweet scents, there was nothing left. It physically hurts somewhere deep inside him to see Jaskier like that, it was painful for reasons he didn't know how to put into words.

Geralt was familiar with guilt, he knew its smell and ache, he knew how to bear it, but this was hitting him differently. He used to know a lively and bright person, chatty and quick, in love with life and everything in it, fierce and bubbly but whoever was sitting on that stool at the end of the bar was the very opposite of all that.

He observes from his corner at the back of the tavern, it's been months since he left Jaskier on the mountain after their stupid fight, and of all the times he wanted, needed, to see him again, this seemed almost unnatural. He's the last person the bard wants to see and yet Geralt feels compelled to call him, he's itching to say his name out loud and see the shadows dancing in the endless pool of ocean that were his blue eyes, he's craving to be close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin and hear him say his name, just once. Just once, like he always dreams about, like the dragon hunt never happened. 

He spent so many days regretting the words he said on top of that cursed mountain, wishing for forgiveness, cause he could deal with Yen leaving, but losing Jaskier hurt in a different way. On the way back to where they set camp Geralt secretly hoped until the last minute to see him waiting with Roach at the edge of the woods, pouting and cursing at him, but all his things were gone.

The guy wearing Jaskier's face murmurs something to the maid, slips a few coins into her hand, and gets up. He wraps a thick cloak around his thinner frame, he has probably lost some weight, Geralt can't tell for sure. When he walks out of the tavern, he has to fight every instinct screaming at him to follow him. He sits still for a grand total of a full minute before losing that fight and rushing out, following the faint trace of lavender in the air.

Jaskier is just crossing the square when a dark shadow looms behind him. "Why did you follow me, Witcher?" He whispers softly while turning around. He slowly takes in the black-clad figure in front of him, the white messy hair, the golden eyes, the frown on his face and the fine layer of dust on his clothes. Geralt is exactly how he remembers him. Jaskier feels his betrayer heart jumping in his chest.

"How did you know...."Geralt begins to ask puzzled.

"I saw you at the tavern. I spent so long searching for your face in every crowd I started to think I was seeing things, but apparently I was right this time." Jaskier lowers his eyes and Geralt can't help but notice how tired he looks. The dark circle around his eyes threaten to swallow the sunlit blue sea with their purple hue, and he's so pale, his skin so white and washed out Geralt would almost suspect he was sick if he didn't know better. 

"I... You were not singing.” He knows it's stupid to say, but he can't ask any of the other questions on the tip of his tongue. 

Jaskier adjusts the cloak around himself, trying to keep the cold at bay. Geralt is yearning to trace the contours of his face, trail his fingers over his sharp cheekbones, or over his jaw, anything, he just needs a small touch, but he knows he can’t.  "I don't do that anymore," Jaskier says.

"Why not?" His yellow eyes seem to widen for a moment at the implications of those words and he sees the pain flickering over the bard's beautiful features. Pain that Geralt put there himself. The ache inside of him burns fiercely.  He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know where to find the right words. He’s not even sure Jaskier would listen, 

"Don't act like you care. I'm not the same person I was ten months ago. Besides, you hate my singing, you can barely stand my voice, what difference does it make to you?" Jaskier sighs, he feels drained and exhausted. Geralt was the last person he expected to see today. and the last he needed to see. Too long he spent trying to sew himself back together, too many tears were shed at every dream and every memory of their time together, too many little pieces of his heart were still refusing to stay put and make him whole. It all seemed in vain now that the Witcher was in front of him.

"That's not true," Geralt mumbles under his breath, clenching his hands at his side, resisting the urge to reach out for him. There must be something he could say to make Jaskier forgive him. 

"It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. There's a word for that, in case you didn't know, and it's called disappointment. Now, why did you follow me out here? I don't think it was to tell me you suddenly like my voice cause we both know you don't and honestly, bit late for that, don't you think?" Geralt hears it in his voice that if Jaskier had enough strength left in him to be mad, he'd be furious. He briefly wonders how long he stayed angry before he gave up.

"I just thought...we could maybe....talk?" Jaskier’s laugh is bitter and hollow, empty as his eyes.

"Really Geralt? That's rich coming from you. Now you want to talk? You know what, no. No, you don't get to come here and tell me you want to talk after I spent ten gods forsaken months trying to forget you. Don't you fucking dare. Not like this. Now if there's something I can help you with, do say so. If not, spare us both this conversation, I'm not sure I’m in the mood to have my heart broken again."

Geralt knows he's right, but it still hurts to hear it from his voice. It takes him a moment for the words to sink in, it’s like his mind refuses the real meaning of them. He steels himself before saying  "I'll leave you to your things then. Goodbye, Jaskier." And it’s harder than slaying any monster he ever encountered. For some messed up reasons, he thought Jaskier would be willing to talk to him, to give him a second chance he knows he hasn’t earned. It’s only fair that he doesn’t. 

"You were right." Geralt freezes in his spot when blue eyes search for his own golden ones. "You spent so much time trying to convince me to leave you alone and stop following you around and I never fucking listened. I realized you were right. Cause you, you got what you wanted, life, destiny, whatever, you had your sorceress and I'm finally off your hands, But what about me? That is why I wish...I wish I would have listened to you. Left. Before it was too late. Before having my heart broken."

Geralt doesn't miss how his voice breaks, he can taste the salt in the air from his unshed tears and he can't help but wonder how many times this precious human he loved cried because of him. Loves. He still loves him, even if he never knew how to show it. He stares at the black cloak trailing tiredly behind his companion, his best friend, his lover, and he knows he deserves the pain he feels for what he did to him. He whispers his poor apology to the wind, but nobody answers. He really wishes Witchers couldn't feel emotions.

[noxtms]

below you will find the recap for everything that took place over the course of the seventh anniversary event & subsequent plot drop, both of which are linked.

there was no reason to panic. these were the empty words offered to those present at the seventh anniversary when headmistress mcgonagall announced that one of the guests, judith strout, had gone missing over the course of the weekend. the healer was nowhere to be found : not at home or at work, not in the hufflepuff guest quarters where her bed was found unmussed & her weekend bag unopened, not at the three broomsticks, where a number of people had headed to take part in madam rosmerta’s pub quiz. concern was understandable, the professors who gathered willing volunteers parroted, but there were a host of plausible explanations. hogwarts can be a maze / grief can mess with your head / anyone can get turned around, after a drink or two. they were going to get to the bottom of it ( and ensure judy was found safe & well ), and the only thing left to do was to send out search parties and find her.

HOGWART’S CASTLE.

all of the professors and a handful of volunteers were assigned hogwarts castle, with the evening spent going from room to room, floor to floor, searching high & low for any sign of judy. though she had last been seen in the crowd leaving the great hall at the end of the feast, her path through the castle on the night of her disappearance was impossible to determine.

a group comprised of antigone xu, josie diggory, sebastian yang & oliver wood began their search on the ground floor, and moved upwards over the course of the evening. it was a slow process for them, and they had only managed to clear two floors, entirely, when they heard an almighty crash up ahead. it was the first of what became a cacophony of crashes coming from the direction they were travelling, and to the worried ear, it sounded a lot like a struggle. with judy as their priority, there was no question about whether they would or would not follow the noise to its source, and wands out, they proceeded with caution.

the group felt a flash of relief when they pushed the door to the armour gallery and discovered that peeves the poltergeist was the culprit. he bounced back & forth giddily, taking aim at suits of armour as he passed and knocking one clean over as they watched, the commotion explained. their relief didn’t get to last for long as he became aware of his audience, and with a gleeful cackle, he launched into a song about getting them all into trouble with filch - destruction continuing as he zipped away towards the trophy room.

they sped after him as fast as they could, the spells that they fired towards him - ones meant to slow him down, or freeze him in place, or banish him entirely - missing by inches every time, his laughter growing more mocking the more damage they helped him cause to trophy cases and tapestrys and photo frames of past quidditch teams. it’s hard to say who managed to hit him with the langlock jinx that stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth, but he made just as much of a commotion in leaving the trophy room and disappearing into the depths of the castle as he had with full use of his tongue, which was sort of impressive, really.

they knew they couldn’t leave the mess for filch to find ( especially since the poltergeist would quite happily pin the blame on damage caused on them ), and they set about tidying the trophy room & armour gallery as best they could the moment he was out of sight. they repaired the glass cases that had been shattered and righted the suits of armour that peeves had turned over, and it was only when one of them bent to pick up the lid of a golden cup he had knocked from a shelf that they saw the pool of drying red that looked suspiciously like blood.

THE FORBIDDEN FOREST.

few could bring themselves to brave the forbidden forest, even with the distinct feeling that judy’s life could have been hanging on the line. hagrid took lead along with a group of centaurs who agreed to search the farthest reaches, so only a couple groups of volunteers were tasked with heading into the depths, with the groups made intentionally small so as to keep the noise down.

oriana trelawney, michael corner & harry potter were one such trio, unlucky enough to be the group sent closest to aragog’s lair. they’re lucky to have harry in their number - not only does he have firsthand experience with the acromantulas, but he also knows exactly what they’re looking at when....- well.

the group will be forgiven if they didn’t cast glances downwards from tiem to time as they approached the nest, given how much of their focus is in sweeping webs from their path & scanning the horizon for anything on more than two legs. the trail that had been left went unnoticed, but the fallen mound of silver up ahead, dangerously close to the entrance to the lair, certainly does not. anyone familiar with even a textbook picture of unicorns would have known a dead one when they saw it, even at a distance, and the group moved forward to investigate further.

HOGSMEADE VILLAGE.

the most amount of volunteers were directed towards hogsmeade village, and the group comprised of augustine verne, dennis creevey, blaise zabini, hermione granger, nazli demirtas & benjamin malkin began their evening by going door to door, questioning the villagers on whether they had seen the missing judy strout. it was tough going, especially as the doors that wouldn’t open to them led to houses that had to go unsearched, and any of them could have been forgiving for wondering if it was one of those buildings that judy was inside.

everything changed as they began the trek towards the hog’s head. as they watched, the door crashed open, light streaming out across the lane. a single figure clutching an unidentifiable lump hesitated for just a moment as if unsure where to go, now, until they spotted the figures just down the lane and suddenly broke into a run in the opposite direction - the anti apparition spell placed on the town as the search took place making a quick escape impossible. their group large enough to split in two directions, half of them chose to run after the figure while the other half rushed into the hog’s head.

the mystery track star runner might have gotten away, if they had taken a right instead of a left. the open road stretches in one direction, out of town and past the borders of the spell on the town, while the other led only to a dead end - cornering them in & making it impossible for them to escape as the group that followed approached, wands out and ready, stitch in their sides. they fired a spell or two at them in desperation, bins exploding, but the group was unharmed - someone casting a quick leg lock spell & causing the figure to topple in with a yell.

when they approached and tore the cloak that had flown up around his face away, they found mundungus fletcher - the mystery lump a sack from which the galleons from the hog’s head till spilled from, now it had fallen on the ground. they decided to leave him there - spitting swear words after them, as they left - and take the money back to aberforth’s pub, where worse things still awaited.

the group that didn’t follow found an empty pub - from which mundungus had been able to steal without trouble - and an ajar doorway to the stairwell that headed upstairs. aberforth dumbledore was at the school, assisting minerva with the chaos judy’s disappearance was causing - the barman he had left to watch the bar was found unconscious in his quarters, the passageway hidden behind the portrait of ariana exposed.

THE CLUES TO BE FOUND.

the pool of blood in the trophy room,

the dead unicorn, in the forest,

& an unconscious barman before the open passageway into hogwarts.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

CURSED: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Knocking on Heaven’s Door”

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: Kai realised he fucked, Mack isn’t so willing to forgive him, Joshua is a shading little shit

Warnings: swearing, slight violence, arguing, mention of drug use (or misuse I guess)

Masterlist | series Masterlist

Kai’s affection didn't last long, the second the announcement was over he released Mack's hand with such haste you'd think it'd burnt him. Kai was quick to ignore his girlfriend - looking straight ahead and following the Police with his eyes as they made their way out of the room - but not before announcing they would be questioning certain individuals.

This put Mack's stress on overdrive, knowing that they'd find out that she killed him and that Kai helped destroy the body and they'd both go to prison. The girl shuddered at the thought of the cold, dingy cells; the cool metal bars that would not doubt be lathered in a layer of thick rust; the grumpy, disgruntled guards; and lastly, the inmates - the ones who had done awful things, much more so than she had than her, or even worse, the ones she outdid.

Mack visibly shook, a chill tickling along her spine as the thoughts encased her mind in a state of anxiousness. She hardly noticed the police had left until the jabbing of the bell pierced her ears, bringing Mack back to her senses as she scrambled to her feet. What she'd also failed to notice was that Kai was no longer in the class, having snuck out when he'd let go of her shaking hand.

...

"Who the fuck are you?" Kai hissed, approaching Shawn, shoulders squared and jaw locked. Shawn smirked, leaning away from the wall and closing the distance between them. Both boys were around the same height - neither of them having an advantage of dominance due to being tall.

"None of your damn business." He smirked, winding Kai up even further.

"Oh, you're right - it's none of my damn business that your asking my girlfriend to kiss you in front of me, is it?" Kai mused, a sinister looking smirk reaching his own lips. Shane's didn't falter either.

"Mmm, girlfriend? She looked more like a slut to me." Shawn pondered and Kai's jaw clenched uncomfortably, hands balling into tight fists at his sides.

"What did you just call her?" Kai spat through gritted teeth and Shawn chuckled, looking back at the group of friends stood behind him with amused expressions.

"What? That's what she is, isn't it? I mean you only called her your girlfriend when you pissed off your sister so bad and her ex went missing." Shawn smirked, his friends laughing and egging him on with cheers. "I bet she's the one who killed him, right? Then ever the hero you swoop in, claiming to be her boyfriend so any motive she may hold becomes futile." Shawn declared, before turning back to his friends with outstretched arms. "Am I right, boys?" He called loudly, met with hoots of agreement that made Kai's anger bubble, their laughter creating a scowl on Kai's brows.

"I mean, nice catch though dude - a bet she's a real freak in bed, probably hard to keep up with her, huh?" Shawn taunted.

Shawn only stopped at the impact of Kai's fist colliding with his jaw, snapping the boy's head to the side as Kai's ring caught the soft skin of his cheek, a slither of crimson breaking the surface. Shawn's jaw clenched tight lung, his thumb swiping the blood from his cheek as his dangerous glare met Kai's.

"You son of a fucking bitch!" Shawn growled, grabbing Kai by his jacket and shoving him into the wall behind him. "Don't you dare fucking touch me again!"

"Or you'll what?" Kai smirked, Shawn's nostrils now flared and his breathing heavy. He was clearly bothered by how unaffected Kai was, this frustration showing clearly when he moved to punch Kai.

But Kai got there first.

No one was really sure how I'd happened, including Kai, but next thing either of them new a teacher was peeling Kai off of Shawn as he straddled the boy, landing punch after punch to his bartered and bruised face.

...

And yet weeks went by and neither Mack nor Kai said a word to each other.

Awkward silences became more awkward, uncomfortable moments became more uncomfortable, wistful gazes became more wistful.

It was getting too much, and Mack was dying for Kai just to say something to her, yet she was too stubborn to say anything first. She sighed heavily, slamming the front door behind her and dumping her bag on the floor. Mack quickly chucked the car keys onto the table before walking into the kitchen for a glass of water. For the past month Mack has been borrowing her dad's car to get to school.

"Hey dad!" She called and Ian soon walked round the corner, joining her in the kitchen.

"Hey, kiddo." He smiled, "how was school?" But before Mack got a chance to answer Kim called from the other room.

"Mack! Kai's here!" The colour instantly drained from Mack's face, her smile falling and her thought spiralling into dread.

Why was Kai there? And why had he now decided to talk to her?

Mack quickly shook off the thoughts, pulling on a hard stare and calling as emotionlessly as she could to Kim,

"I don't want to talk to him. Tell him to leave!" Kim merely shrugged, giving Kai a half-ass apologetic look before letting the slab of wood slam shut in his face, the tiny draft the force created combined with the monotone drawl of Mack's words felt like it hit Kai's face almost as hard as if the girl had charged outside and slapped him across the face herself. He took a deep swallow, choking down the lump in his throat as he stared blankly at the door, fist twitching as he tried to make up his mind.

Another hollow knock on the door. Kim's hand still remained on the handle, so she simply yanked it open before giving Kai a bored look, Amber eyes rolling dramatically.

"Look, lover boy, give it a rest. She doesn't want to talk to you." Mack's sister deadpanned, before letting the door smack shut with an even louder thud than the first time. Kai took a deep breath, his chest rising greatly as he rose his hand another time.

Another hollow knock on the door. Kim scoffed, turning to open the door once again - figuring it could be another person as the pause between knocks had been much longer this time. The second Kai's face met hers Kim huffed out an exasperated sigh, not even bothering to speak before letting the door close dully in Kai's face. A wince escaped him when the last thud met his ears, shoulders slumped as he slowly made his way back to his jeep.

He'd just have to wait Mack out.

10pm. Perfect. Kai claimed out his car hastily, limbs aching after being cooped in his jeep for the last five or so hours. He crept as quietly as possible past her front windows, letting out a small sigh of relief when he noticed that the curtains were already closed so he wasn't in trouble of being seen. Only one light beacons out from the house, the yellow hue of Mack's lamp echoing into the crisp night air. Even though it was already February, the weather was still as harsh as it had been throughout the bitter January.

Kai grabbed onto the bricks, suddenly much more appreciative to the fact he had a small magical boost as he scaled the side of the small building.

Mack nearly jumped three foot in the air, her heart beating so fast she thought it jump out of her chest. The unexpected, unwelcome and unnecessary rattle of Kai's knuckles against her old window bounced off her bedroom walks, filling her ears with anxiety as she turned to see her ex-boyfriend's concerned face looking into her room. Mack inhaled sharply, biting her lips to hold back her grimace as she realised what he'd seen.

The window climbed upwards, Kai's hands sliding the glass up enough to stumble through until he was awkwardly stood in Mack's room, both teens staring at each other uncomfortably.

"That's how you've been coping?" Mack's gaze dropped to her bed, guilt washing over her at the sight of the half-rolled joint. "Weed? Really?" Kai scoffed and Mack's guilt soon rolled into anger, rage.

"That's none of your business." She said with an unturned nose, scooping the mess into a bag and shoving it in the little drawer in her desk which held a small lock. The sound Kai made resembled one of mocking laughter, short and bitter.

"None of my business, huh? I think you doing drugs is damn well my fucking business!" Kai demanded, shaking his head at her in disbelief.

"It stopped being your business the second you decided to dump me!" Mack was raising her voice now, her enmity melting into her face in a deep red hue. Kai's jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes burning holes through the little wooden drawer shed just stuffed the weed into.

"That was a mistake." He muttered and Mack's eyes lit up with fury.

"A mistake? Kai you've made hundreds of mistakes!" Mack said harshly, voice cracking. Kai wiped his hand over his jaw, hiding his pout. "No. That wasn't a mistake, Kai. That was your shitty past making you doubt me as much as you doubt your shitty father and your shitty coven!" Mack shouted, eyes shellacked with tears.

And awkward silence fell over them, but Kai's stung expression told Mack everything she needed to know.

"Kenz..."

"Why are you here, Kai?!" Mack spat.

"Ben, he's uh- he's been confirmed dead." Kai murmured meekly, pressing his lips together. Mack's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"What?!" She whispered-shouted. Kai nodded.

"The police- they confirmed it, earlier. It was on the news." A somber mood had undertaken the room, a mutual air of what-do-we-do-now becoming the two teens.

"How-?"

"They found the ashes in the woods. And Kim talked." Kai admitted and Mack's face quickly morphed back into one of acrimony.

"That bitch-" Kai's hand quickly caught her wrist, pulling Mack back into him before she could get any further. He quickly backed her up into the door, a finger hovering over her lips.

"Shhhh. I have a sneaking suspicion that your name wouldn't have come up." He whispered calmly, but the fear and anger in his blue eyes were evident.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, a hint of concern creeping into her eyes.

"Well, I was thinking we could run away. You and me." Kai suggested, a hopeful glint to his voice that made Mack scoff.

"You haven't spoken to me in weeks," she emphasised the word heavily, "and you just expect me to run away with you? Not a chance." Mack dismissed, pulling away from Kai and quickly slipping out of her room - feet padding down the stairs swiftly. But Kai's heavy footsteps could be heard behind her.

"Come on, Kenz, you know you want to-" at that Mack turned harshly on her heal to face him

"What makes you think I'd want to go anywhere with you?" She hissed and Kai was taken aback.

"I thought you loved me.." he mumbled and Mack rolled her eyes, but really she was only trying to hide the siege of tears persisting at her bottom eyelids. She continued her path out, pulling the front door open harshly. "Where are you going?" Kai called, before coming to a stop a few feet behind Mack outside the small house.

"I'm just asking myself, why do I," Mack took a pause, inhaling a deep breath, "pick people who treat me like...nothing..." she exhaled deeply, turning around to face him and Kai's bottom lip began to quiver. Tears pooled in his deep blue eyes and he shook his head slightly.

"That's not true." He murmured, head still shaking as Mack kept her eyes trained to the floor. She gave him no response.

Kai's lips smashed to hers, his hands cupping her face and his eyes closed. Mack balled her fists by her sides, trying with all her strength to not kiss back. She finally pulled away, her hand making a hard connection with Kai's cheek.

"No! You don't get to do that, Kai!" She screamed, tears running down Mack's red cheeks. "You don't get to screw everything up and expect to kiss me and make it better!" The tears stung his eyes too now, an expression of sadness over coming him.

"I'm sorry." The words were mumbled, directed at the floor.

"Sorry?! You thought so little of me that I'd throw away what we had for some - some guy I'd just met! I can't be with you if all you can do is think of me as some lying, manipulative bitch like you do you coven! I can't, Kai. God, I can't believe I actually fell in love with someone as- as immature as you!" Mack seethed, but Kai was crying silently now, shaking his head no as she spoke even though deep down he knew every word she spoke was true.

"Please don't leave me." Kai begged, his desperation lacing his deep blue eyes with a rim of sadness, eyes finally making contact with Mack's. "Please, Kenz, I can't live without you."

"Kenz? Oh we are so not at nicknames right now Malachai." Mack spat out his name like is tasted bad, as if the word held a lingering bitter taste on her tongue. It stung Kai, Mack using his full name.

"I love you." Was all Kai suggested and Mack let out a heavy sigh through her tears.

"If you truly loved me, you would have trusted me. I can't be with someone who I have to tread on eggshells around, Kai. I can't do that." Mack cried, biting down on her lower lip to hide a sob. She looked at her feet, then back up again and put on a brave face as her eyes bored into Kai's blue orbs. "We're done." She whispered and Kai's eyes widened.

"No..." he muttered, shaking his head slowly in protest as Mack sorrowfully nodded.

"Yes, we're done. For good. I'm sorry." Mack said authoritatively, wiping the tears away quickly before turning back around and walking over to her dad's car.

"Kenz!" He shouted after her, but Mack pretended to ignore him - a new wave of tears threatening to drip down her chin now. The lights on the car flashed orange, the button on the keys clicked and the door now open. Mack slipped in, seating herself in the car and pushing the keys into the ignition, starting the car with a small sob.

As Mack attempted to shut the door, a strong hand caught it, Kai's wrecked face looking down at her with a pleading beg.

"Please don't leave, don't you get it? I love you Kenz." Kai begged. Mack shook her head.

"Let me go, Kai." He shook his head back, pressing his lips together to stop himself choking over a sob.

"I can't."

"And you've lost the right to call me anything but Mackenzie." She whispered, finally out manning Kai and slamming the door shut, not even hesitating before driving off.

...

The words buzzed through Mack's mind, her eyes trained on the road ahead of her as she desperately drove further away from home. She couldn't put her family through this, not right now, couldn't face him. She had to get away, go somewhere to think.

Mack tapped her foot restlessly, chewing on her bottom lips as she drove down the secluded road. As she approached a corner, she turned around it to see a car parked up at the side of the road, lights flashing.

As she drove closer, she realised it was Kai's father's car, so she made to pull over. Even thought she was avoiding Kai, Joshua hadn't done anything wrong and he could be in serious trouble. Once parked at the side of the road, Mack quickly climbed out her car, locking it behind her and walking over to Joshua - who was stood by his tyre, bent down to examine it.

"Hey, Mr Parker!" She called, arms crossed over her chest, and he looked up.

"Ah, Mackenzie! What are you doing out here alone?" He asked with a small frown.

"Well I was just driving to clear my head and I saw your car...are you okay? Do you need help?" She asked worriedly, stepping back slightly as Joshua rose to stand.

"Actually," he spoke rather menacingly, "there is something you could help with." He continued walking until Mack was backed into a tree and she let out a sharp gasp. Joshua raised his hand. "Phasmatos Somnus!" he spoke, and Mack's body fell limp, eyes closed as she fell unconscious.

[mithrilwren]

Strange Bedfellows

For @essek-week. The prompt for Day 2 was ‘loneliness’, which I did not so much fill, as approach from a downward slant and hope I landed somewhere in the right vicinity. Because yeah, this is not what I thought I’d write, but it’s certainly... what I wrote.

[Also on Ao3!]

“Please take good care of him! Make sure he eats enough! We’ll be back soon!”

“But I-”

The door closes. Essek stares down at the strange creature in his palms. The creature blinks back, then bites him at the juncture between thumb and forefinger hard enough to draw blood. Who can say who yelps louder: Essek, as he instinctively shakes his hand to rid itself of the unexpected pain, or the creature, as it falls from his grasp to the hard stone floor, then skitters around the corner into the next room.

That’s the last he sees of Jester’s weasel for two days.

---

His name’s Sprinkle, and he loves me so very much but Caduceus thinks he needs a break from adventuring for a little while. Please take good care of him!

“Sprinkle,” Essek hisses, down on all fours beside one of the many towering bookcases in his study. There’s nothing to be found in the darkness beneath, save a single ceramic dish that his own robe knocked so carelessly aside as he entered the room. He scoops the spilled contents - dried bits of liver, the best he could do without resorting to laying raw meat on the floor of his house - into his palm, then drops them back into the dish, one by one. Fifteen little clinks: exactly the same number of pieces as he’d added the evening before.

He’s both grateful and perturbed that there’s nobody there to witness his current state. There are documents piling up on his desk, reports he’s yet to sign, and here he is, without another soul in the world to help him sort out this mess. No one to call for aid, because the only ones he feels safe enough to share in his failure are the ones he’s presently accountable to.

He had expected some sort of test from the Nein, on their return to Rosohna. Some way of measuring his loyalty to them. He’d been prepared for a fight, for supplication, for promises of gifts or favours, for his own head on a pike. He hadn’t been prepared to be handed the means of his own destruction, in the form of a beloved pet that seems determined to let itself starve to death rather than accept any of Essek’s offerings.

Treachery and treason, she can apparently forgive. But the loss of her weasel? He suspects that’s a betrayal from which their friendship would never recover.

The creature, he knows, is somewhere within this room - his location spell can narrow his search radius that far - but the thing is so small, and his study so vast, and so full of hiding spaces, that he’s been forced to go on like this for a half hour, left spooled at last in a heap of robes at the center of the room, staring helplessly at the undecorated wall.

On the first day, he’d been sure Sprinkle was merely nervous of the new environment, but that food would draw the creature out. Most animals are capable of reason, presumably, and if Essek offered sustenance, and made no aggressive actions, surely this one would emerge eventually?

Surely?

Add it to the list of things that Essek has been woefully wrong about in this life.

He stares up at the lines of bookcases, filled with tomes meant more for show than for pleasure. They’re a perfect accompaniment to the rest of the house: full of unused rooms and corridors leading to nothing of value, save the architectural aesthetic to match the rest of the wealthy neighbourhood. It’s no wonder that a tiny weasel could evade him so thoroughly in a house with so much empty space, particularly when he scarcely leaves his office or laboratory for more than the length of time required to fetch food from the larder - and he’s been known to forget to do even that.

If there’s anything this experience has taught him - besides humility - it’s that Essek barely knows his own home.

He’s about to admit defeat for yet another day, go off and meditate restlessly while pondering a puzzle with no solution, when he hears the faintest scritching of nails against wood. Essek locks in place, swiveling his head so slowly that not even his jaw can disturb the air.

Peering out from beneath a glass cabinet of atlases, he spies a subtle glint: two beady eyes of black, fixed on the bowl in his lap.

Neither moves as they wait in their stalemate. Essek controls the food, which gives him some power, but Sprinkle is the more dextrous by far. Even if he could manage to get out his components in time, would a hold spell contain such a small creature, or would it slip from his grasp, never to be found again?

With little more than a word and a flick of his fingers, the bowl levitates into the air and floats to a space halfway between himself and the cabinet. The beady eyes disappear, vanished again into the darkness as the dish of liver comes to rest on the floor. Essek folds his hands in his lap, trying his best not to worry the already agitated skin around his nail beds, and waits.

At last, the eyes appear again, and then a nose emerges as well, tiny nostrils twitching in the air as a long body slinks into Essek’s view. He’s never seen an animal quite like this before. A svelte coat, left ragged and burned in places, but sleek around the face and eyes. A brilliant red colour with tufts of white at the paws, and a keen and mistrustful stare to match the trepidation in its slow creep forward.

He cannot hide, trapped as he by Sprinkle’s presence, but he feels compelled to give the creature its privacy all the same, and turns his head away as the creature finally reaches the dish and begins to eat.

It’s distracted. He could take out his components now. Perhaps even a gravitation spell, if it would not injure Sprinkle too greatly…

He flicks his eyes back, and finds Sprinkle’s eyes on him, cheeks are full to the brim with food, but ever vigilant of the threat in the room. He can see now the way the body crouching over the bowl trembles fitfully, miniscule shivers of terror running up and down its spine.

His hand, which had wandered to his wrist, curls into a fist and drops into his lap.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, almost startled at the sound of his own voice, as soft as it is. He doesn’t often speak aloud when at home. There’s rarely anyone to talk to. “Please… eat.”

The weasel sniffs the air a single time, then takes the last of dried bits into its mouth, flees beneath the furniture once more, out of Essek’s reach.

Essek wonders, as he wanders off to meditate with his heart only mildly relieved, if he made the right choice. He could have taken the creature by force, trapped it in a cage, and the anxiety of the past two days would be at an end.

But some instinct compels him to wait. To be more delicate, if he can. Trust is hard to build, easy to shatter. He will not offer a gift in one hand while the other holds a chain, and return Jester’s pet more broken than before.

He’s caused her more than enough harm for one lifetime.

---

Essek sees neither hide nor tail of Sprinkle for the next few days, but the dishes he sets out are left empty by morning, and he calls that a success. Still, the worry won’t leave him be, lingering in the back of his mind through dull meetings and over political discussions, wondering at the fate of his reclusive houseguest. He can’t help but dread that the creature will be injured somehow in his absence, or worse, escape into the street and be trampled by a passing orcish footfall or the wheels of a cart.

It’s enough to send him racing home by the end of the fifth night, a locate spell already primed on his fingers when he’s less than a block away, and only able to breathe properly when he feels the gentle ping at the back of his mind, leading him home.

The reports have piled high enough now that he cannot simply continue to ignore them, so he drops the spell and heads reluctantly to his office, mentally preparing himself for a night of carrying the leaden weight of his own procrastination fixed around his neck.

After less than an hour, his head is pounding. When his vision begins to blur as well, Essek lets his head drop into his hands, willing the swimming letters to quiet. The workload feels impossibly heavy tonight, and he knows that’s his own fault for letting it get away from him, he knows, but-

Sniff.

Slowly, Essek’s head turns towards the slightly ajar door to his office. There, framed in the pale strip of light emanating from the hallway, sits a crimson weasel.

Essek almost believes it's a hallucination, for the first few moments. The weasel waits perfectly still in the doorway, unblinking and unmoving, like a taxidermied specimen on display, and he holds himself just as quietly. This is the longest he’s ever gotten to observe Sprinkle, and he tries to catalogue what he can, while he can.

Still harried looking, but the coat is a little sleeker than it was the last time he saw it. Bare patches of fur have begun to fill in, and the weasel’s previously gaunt torso now rounds a little near the hips, as though its belly is full for the first time in months. No shudders run down its spine.

It looks, in a phrase, not much worse for wear for its sojourn from the world.

Why then, he wonders, is it here?

“Are you hungry again?” he asks, heedless now to the ridiculousness of talking aloud to an animal that can’t understand him. His fascination is too great for embarrassment to pierce. The weasel doesn’t respond, obviously, but it takes a little step into the room, nudging curiously at the rug by the door. He falls silent again, waiting to see what Sprinkle’s next move will be.

At last, the weasel slips fully into the room, ignoring Essek now in favour of finding a dark spot beneath a chair and curling up into a ball. It’s about as physically far removed as it can get from Essek, while still being within the confines of the same four walls. But still, the creature chose to enter. Chose to share the same space, when it had a whole house at its disposal to hide. When it clearly still mistrusts him, but not enough to stay away.

“Are you lonely, little one?” he murmurs to no one.

They pass the rest of the night away in silence, but for once, it’s a companionable sort.

---

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“Not much,” Essek says, as Yasha eyes him dubiously, “but I think it would be better if Jester retrieved him. He doesn’t quite trust me yet, I’m afraid.”

“I would be surprised if he did,” Caleb says, as Jester rushes off to his office to collect her pet. “He doesn’t let any of us near him. I don’t think he’d let Jester either, if she wasn’t so… persistent.”

“Still,” says Essek, “we did make some progress over the week. Perhaps with a little time, and patience, there might be hope for a creature like that.”

Caleb’s lips turn up at the edges.

“You might be right.”

[obscureoperations]

prompt 11 wif martin..

Fairly underwhelming, and I’m sorry! I coulda  went way more in depth (there might be a part two tomorrow, just an fyi)

As much as you tried to deny it you were livid, tears still brimmed the corners of your eyes. A whirlwind of emotions, shock, anger and dread threatened to consume you-- you had to lay down for a while, Your eyes were trained on a small crack on the ceiling as the hum of the shower filtered in through the door. He was doing so well, you wish he could have told you. He was always good about telling you when it was time. 

You began to panic once it was eleven thirty, and Martin was still nowhere to be found. Usually he would have phoned you if he was staying late at the restaurant. But there was no call, when you phoned the place, the manager said that he left over an hour ago. So that was it. Every time a siren blared in the distance you grew sick to your stomach. What if he messed up? At one point, a police car whizzed right past your apartment, you could hear their muffled voices on the radio.

When he finally crept in down stairs you had to fight the urge to confront him. You remained on the bed, eyes trained on the book in front of your nose. You were dressed in his boxers and a tank top, nothing more. He always liked when you borrowed his things. You could hear him pause in front of the bedroom once he realized that the light was still on. What did he expect? For you to just fall asleep without him. Without knowing where he was? Even the creak of the door was hesitant. He stood in the doorframe for at least a minute. Probably contemplating what to say. You could feel the sheer humiliation radiating off of him, you didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence. “y/n?” He calls lightly.

“Hmm?” 

Silence.. It was clear that he had nothing to say. When you finally lowered the book, he was poised at the dresser, head downcast. 

“I’m..I-Im so sorry…” He finally whispers.

With a sigh, you shift from the bed making your way over to him. 

“Sorry for what...Martin?”

He shakes his head after a minute, you can see a stray tear land on the varnished wood.

“Everything.” he whispers hoarsely.

“Okay.”

His head snapped up instantly. You can see the dried blood caked around the corners of his mouth.

“Y/n…” he whispers once again as he reaches out to you, he can see you stiffen so he quickly shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Go get cleaned up, we can talk about this later.” 

He looked like a puppy that had just been struck. You had no idea what he was expecting. For you to embrace him with open arms? He had hurt you. And he knew full well that he’d have to pay the price.

~

The door to the bathroom creaks open, a waft of citrus scented steam fills the room. He once again resumed his spot at the dresser, fingers tracing along the corners.

With a sigh you move from the bed, leisurely strolling over to his side. With each step he seemed to grow more tense, it was almost as though he expected you to hit him. As you finally stood directly by his side, you had to school your voice into a more pleasant tone. “Are you okay?” 

He nods his head quickly.

“No witnesses, no one was killed?” he shakes his head adamantly this time, before finally glancing up at you. His eyes were bloodshot, the tip of his nose tinted pink. It was obvious that he had been crying. That explained why he took so long in the shower. You wanted to hold him, if only for a moment. He looked so silent and so broken. Why couldn’t he have just told you? 

You were an enabler you had to admit. But he seemed like he actually wanted to get better. Ever since you moved in together, far away from Cuda, he was no longer always so tense. He could talk about his sickness freely. You didn’t mind, as long as he was careful. He knew your deep seated trust issues, you didn’t care what he did as long as he was being safe. When he would sneak out, it blatantly ignored your concerns. So why did he do it? Did he actually not care about you at all? Or was he simply afraid that your love wasn’t enough. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You gesture towards the towel. “Take that off and turn to face the bed. “ You can't remember the last time that you had to use this method but it was effective enough in its own way. He was bare in seconds, hands grasping the bedrails, so tense he could barely take a breath. As you step in, you tentatively place a hand on his shoulder, noting as he shivers beneath your touch. So precious. It really was a shame. You didn’t want to hurt him, you were willing to forgive him for everything at this point. But you knew Martin. He wouldn't have it any other way. He wanted to be “pure”, just for you.

~~

Nine and a half lashes later, the belt rests conveniently at the foot of the bed. He was curled over onto his side, quietly sniffling. You waited patiently as he got it all out. 

“Sorry…” He whispers faintly

“What?” you whisper shifting closer, as your fingers entwine in his hair. Your eyes drift to the various welt marks, some of them were already starting to weep. You could feel your stomach contract. You didn’t like doing this to him. But sometimes he left you with no other choice. This was his form of atonement. And you couldn't find it in yourself to deny him. You would rob a cradle if he asked. So why did he constantly seem to want to hurt you?

He crains his head to face you for a moment, the tears were already streaming down his cheeks. He sits forward to cup your face. You want to push him away, but you find yourself leaning in. 

“Y/n… I love you.. I'm so sorry… never again.”

Never again.

Something seemed to switch inside of you, powered by two simple words. 

Never again? We’ll see about that. You quickly instructed him to lay on his back.

~~

His hands gripped the bed rails tightly. He was not allowed to touch you. Such a simple command, but it became increasingly difficult the faster you began to rock against him. Your thighs were firmly planted on each side of his hips. His cock lay flush back against his stomach. You were rutting against him freely, having only moved your shorts to the side. He could feel your arousal drip down his legs, every bout of release as it coursed through you. He was so close, he had been the moment you laid him down. You were “soft” with him just for a moment. Kissing him sweetly, brushing the hair from his eyes. That was right before your hand wrapped around his neck. Ushering him back against the pillows. 

“First, I need to take care of this…”

You shift forward and he can feel the heat emanating from your skin. It takes every ounce of will to keep his hands to himself. The moment the first breathy sigh fell from your lips, he wanted to hold you...touch you everywhere. But he couldn’t. You continued to rock against him freely, using him as a means to get yourself off. He could tell that you were close, the motion of your hips began to falter. Still your hands continue to roam across his chest.  Nails scraping over each hardened nipple. Hands resting over his heart once you’d reach another small release.

It was torture, he wanted to touch you- feel you everywhere all at once. But at times like this he knew that he didn’t deserve it. Just why couldn't he be perfect for you? He wanted to be perfect for you.  Your hands began to roam up his chest, fingers hovering over his lips. He drew them into his mouth with a soft moan. Paying attention to every digit, before absentmindedly nipping at each fingertip

You wanted to be upset, truly upset. You settled for guiding him towards your front. Ignoring the breathy moan as you let him in, you soon start to rock  yourself over his cock. You could hear the creaks of the bed springs you shift closer. His teeth drag over the flesh of your neck.

“p-pleasse, “He stutters as you shift off of him almost completely, your hands were lightly poised over his neck. 

His face was flush, stray tendrils of hair clinging to his forehead. Lashes clung to his tear stained cheeks.  He opens his eyes suddenly as his tongue darts across his lips. His gaze shifts lower for a moment before regarding you with an almost pained expression. He let himself cave this evening now he wanted more. He wanted something that he almost craved as much as blood. 

His eyes were hooded as you slowly release the grip you had on his neck. He regards you with a dazed sort of doe eyed expression. His tongue once again darts across his lower lip. “please let me... I don’t want to hurt you anymore..”