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wildernessuntothemselves · 2 years

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You Are My Queen Now | Part 12

Word Count: 14k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Summary: Growing up as a child of a minor lord, you had it instilled in you since a young age that you needed to find yourself a rich and affluent husband that would not only provide a comfortable life for you, but would also help further your family’s position in the court. So it was of the utmost importance that you remain a virgin in order to land such a coveted husband.

The problem lies when the man you secretly love, Prince Beomgyu, suddenly and unabashedly propositions you.

Warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, overstimulation, missionary degradation, sub!gyu, dom!gyu, sub!oc, dom!oc, breeding kink, inaccurate portrayal of an old wedding, oc has a mini panic attack, knife and blood play, self harm and harming others, mentions of past rape, slapping, smothering gyu with your pussy lmao, pregnancy, extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics, manipulative characters, mentions of and justifications of rape and blaming someone for their own rape.

It’s been about a month since Beomgyu officially declared war on Taehyun.

Beomgyu doesn’t tell you much about the war but from what little he’s told you and what you’ve gathered, Taehyun’s wasn’t doing good. Even though he has gathered more allies now other than Ryujin’s father, like Lord Seojin who joined up with him after that disastrous meeting and Heejin’s family who turned against Beomgyu after she got kicked out of court, as well as their various associates, but the best they can do right now is merely hold their ground.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem concerned about the war or the loss of some of his allies. Instead, he focuses on strengthening his relations with the existing members of his court and continually gaining the public’s support.

“You’ve gotten slimmer again.” You comment as you move your brush over his skin, noting how his back lost much of the bulk it had when you first saw him again. “And your hair got longer."

You’re having your painting session with just him today. Lately, he’s been so busy with meetings and the like and so he’s using this as an excuse to spend more time with you. He had volunteered to let you use his body as a canvas and now he was laying on his stomach over a large sheet as you paint his back with vivid red colors.

He cranes his head back and grins. "You said you loved your lanky idiotic best friend."

That’s true, and he’s starting to look like him too. But will you ever be able to see him in that way again? You know your love for him will never go away–it hasn’t even waned a little bit after everything he’s done and you’re sure even if he were to kill you, your heart would pump the last of its blood with love for him. But will you ever look at him the same way again? Will you ever trust him? Will he ever be your knight in shining armor? Will he ever be the innocent warmth you seek against the coldness of the world?

He has hurt you too much, too much. But the gods have turned their backs on you long ago and only the devil would embrace you. He beckons to you with open arms, a soft smile and the promise of the whole world in your hands.

And how can you refuse his bastardized gift–your fallen angel–when you incited his revolt against the gods? You’re as doomed to the fires of hell as he is, you rotten sinner.

As the bloody strokes of paint take shape, Beomgyu tries to get a peek at what you’re painting. "Are those wounds?"

“Yes.” You confirm monotonously. "Ripped wings."

“Am I a fallen angel?” He frowns at that, the negative connotations hanging in the air.

“The devil.”

Beomgyu pauses for a minute, perturbed by your words. You don’t know why he always acts so surprised by them, as if he just expects you to get over everything he’s done and forgive him already.

"I am not going to get upset by your sharp words anymore. You chose me. That tells me all I need to know." He says, hurt apparent in his voice despite his words. "You pouting and sulking is not going to save him and you know that very well. So you might as well drop it and start enjoying yourself."

He shuts his eyes and rests his head on his arms again, trying to give off the impression of nonchalance, but the way the sun hits his face illuminates his thick eyebrows with a golden glow that highlights the way they are pulled together in a small frown, and hanging in that beam of sunlight are the little frustrated puff of air he lets out, like a sullen little puppy who has been chastised.

He’s right, however. Sulking won’t save Taehyun. You know what you should do and you refuse to do it. You feel it with every dig of the dagger into your skin as you move–the dagger Beomgyu let you have back, not because you asked for it but so that it would act as a constant reminder of how your words mean nothing.

Because if they did, Beomgyu’s back would be stained with real blood instead of paint.

______________________________________

You chew on your nails as you anxiously await the results of Wonyoung’s test. Your menses has been late for over a week now, when it has always been a punctual visitor every month. So what could be the cause of such uncharacteristic delay? Well, there was only one possibility at the forefront of all your minds.

You tried to maintain denial at first. You did not even mention anything to Beomgyu about it, hoping your fears would be proven wrong with time. But it was no use. He knew your schedule better than you did and he was on you after only a day of absence.

Of course, he had turned to Wonyoung then, excitedly asking her if this meant that you could be pregnant, but she had prudently advised him to wait a few days to see if it was just tardy.

And so you did. Those few days were some of the longest of your life, the hours of the day seeming to stretch on forever as you awaited your fate. But there was one thing that made it better–Beomgyu presence. In fact, during those few days he hardly ever left your side, choosing to relegate his duties to Wonyoung so you wouldn’t have to wait alone.

It was heaven and hell, just like everything that is Beomgyu. That week cut in time just for the two of you was utterly joyful, and you cherished the chance to spend entire days and nights with the love of your life, wrapped away in each other’s presence. But the circumstances of that week never escaped your consciousness–the possibility that you could be pregnant a looming cloud over your sunny paradise.

And now is the moment of truth.

“What is it, Wony?” Beomgyu asks, jumping out of his seat as Wonyoung gets back into the room.

Her unreadable expression was like an icy grip on your heart, and her revelation squeezes it into a tenderized pulp. “She’s pregnant.”

Beomgyu lets out a shout of joy and takes you into his arms, twirling you around before Wonyoung promptly stops him. “What are you doing, idiot? You’ll hurt the baby!”

He jerks to a halt, apologizing profusely and jumbling his words. “I’m so sorry–I didn’t realize–I’m just so…” He trails off and looks at you with teary eyes. “I’m so happy. We’re going to have a family!”

You get teary-eyed too, but for a different reason, and just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. But Beomgyu still notices your gloomy mood right away. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You didn’t want to say anything. It was no use. Beomgyu will do whatever he wants anyway, but you just can’t help it. You burst out crying, “My child is going to be a bastard!”

“Oh, darling.” Beomgyu coos, cradling your head and pressing it to his chest. “Wony, leave us alone, please.”

You sob into his chest as you hear Wonyoung walk to the door and get out before shutting it behind her. Then Beomgyu pulls your head back to brush your tears away and gives you a big smile. “Our child will never be a bastard. I promised you that, didn’t I?”

“But–” You’re cut off as he gets onto his knees. “Marry me, baby. Be my queen.”

You can hardly take in enough breath to form your next words. “How? People will know we lied.”

Beomgyu smiles knowingly and kisses the backs of your hands. “Who will? The public? I can easily sell them a made up story about us finding comfort in each other after the betrayal of our spouses, and even if they don’t buy it, what are they going to do? I feed and protect them. You think they’d choose a warlord and a foreign king over me? And the nobles–most of them know the truth and don’t care. They only care about maintaining their power and riches and that idiot jeopardizes that.”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” You ask bitterly, your tears drying up. Beomgyu has everything planned out, even this. From you testifying in the trial, to securing the letters, to impregnating you. He is always two steps ahead of you.

“Does it matter?” His hands squeeze yours tightly. "Don't you want to finally be my wife? To be recognized in front of everyone? Don’t you want your child not to be a bastard?"

Once again, Beomgyu comes out on top. It's so disheartening to see how someone like him can so easily twist the narrative in his favor and squash the side of the truth under his iron boot.

If you had stayed with Taehyun or spoken out against Beomgyu, would it have made any difference or would he have silenced you too? Would he have called you crazy? Locked you up? He certainly wouldn't have been able to marry you. Would that have been a punishment for him or for you?

It's no use speculating on what would’ve happened. You can't change your mind again, every time you do something disastrous happens. You have a child now. You have to protect them.

I'm so sorry, Taehyun.

“Okay.” You give in, trying to hold your tears in but they burst forward in a loud sob. “I will marry you.”

But Beomgyu doesn’t dwell on your obvious turmoil, and through your tears, his wide smile looks distorted and monstrous. “This is just the beginning, my love. Soon, we’ll have everything we ever wanted.”

He pulls out the ring that he once offered you on that fateful night at the beach and puts it on you. This time, there was no escaping–your once hero soon to be struck down.

_____________________________________

Back at your chambers, Beomgyu can’t keep his hands off you. He’d gotten so excited about the news of your pregnancy that he had to retire the both of you back to your chambers so he can have his way with you.

“Look at you, baby.” Beomgyu murmurs, prompting you to stare at yourself in the mirror that he has you positioned in front of, bare and exposed in his arms. “You’re ethereal, exquisite. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

What is this? Being toyed with? Owned? Used?

He spreads your pussy apart with his slim fingers–the treacherous thing puffy and wet for the taking, having surrendered itself to Beomgyu long ago.

“You’re going to be even prettier all swollen up with our baby.”

He rubs the pads of his fingers over your clit gently, getting you as worked up as he is and making you watch your hole pathetically clench around nothing.

“You’re so wet.” His hand slides down to scoop some of your slick on his fingers, and in doing so making you jump as his fingers brush over your hole.

“Oh? You want my fingers, baby?" He coos, hand sliding down again so the tip of his middle finger slips in and you squeak. You’re so fucking sensitive. You feel him chuckle against your back. “Hmm, you like that, don’t you? I already got you pregnant but you’re still so needy to get filled, huh?”

He sucks in a sharp breath as he eases a finger inside you. “So tight.” He groans, stuffing another one inside, making you gasp as you grab onto his arm. You can feel his hard cock poking against your back as pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you. “Am I not fucking you enough, pretty?”

He’s really not. Yes, he fucks you way more than Taehyun ever did, but he’s still somewhat mindful of how upset you are at him and while he’s not shy about taking you, you suspect he still holds back quite a bit.

Despite your lack of response, Beomgyu reads your reaction clearly enough. “I’m sorry, baby. We’re going to have to remedy that, won’t we?” He purrs darkly, slamming his fingers into you, the palm of his hand smacking against your clit as he repeats that actions again and again. “Just have to loosen that tight pussy up a bit.”

“Beomgyu…” You whine, clinging onto his arm as your legs automatically try to close against the sudden onslaught.

“No.” He growls, using his other hand to shove your legs apart. "Keep your legs spread. Want to see your needy pussy swallowing up my fingers."

You whimper, your leg muscles tensing up as your arch onto your toes and give in to his rough ministrations.

“Yeah, that’s it. Love it when you act like such a whore for me.” You can hear his own need in his voice, and you know he won’t be able to hold back much longer. “Come on, show me how much you need it. Spread your legs wider and put your feet in the air."

"You're such a pervert." You gasp out even as you do as he says, letting him feast his hungry eyes on your lewd display.

“Fuck—” He can only manage a few more pumps of his fingers before he rips them away and yanks the both of you up to your feet.

Beomgyu carries you to the bed and lays on your back at the center where you immediately spread your legs and pull them up next to your body the way you know he likes. He hurriedly takes off his clothes before climbing onto the bed with you, but then he pauses, taking a moment to loom over you with his dick in his hand as his eyes rake up and down your body.

“Fucking perfect.” He gives his cock a couple of jerks while his other hand finds your pussy and stuffs it with his fingers once again. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this. I’ve waited so long just to have my princess warm up my bed like this every night, all spread out on her back and waiting for me to fuck her full.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” You mewl impatiently. You hate it when he makes you wait. It exposes you for the hypocrite you are. “Just fuck me already.”

He bites his lip, a cheeky grin etching itself onto his face. “Oh, I will, but why don’t you whine a little more for me first?”

Like hell you will. He’s been acting like a little shit for too long now, as if he won’t cry if you close your legs and decide to leave him high and dry.

“No. Why don’t you be a good boy instead and fuck me before I get bored and just get myself off?” You raise up on your forearms to lend more credence to your threat, and Beomgyu doesn’t care to call your bluff, not when he’s so worked up because of the pregnancy.

“No!” He yelps, and you almost get whiplash from how fast he replaces his fingers with his cock, gasping out a little whine as he slides himself into you. “You’re so mean.”

“Me? You’re the one who is teasing your pregnant fiance when you should be keeping me fucked and happy like you promised. Or were those just empty words?” You rile him up even more, knowing it will make him lose control and it does.

“No. I can. I can.” He insists, his hips smacking into yours. Beomgyu hates when you imply that there is something he can’t give you, partly because of his fervent need to prove himself to you and partly because he’s so afraid you’ll look for it someplace else. Your escape really fucked him up more than he already is, and so you’re quick take back your voiced doubts or he’ll go off the rails.

“Yeah, that’s a good boy. Show me how well you can fuck me.” You clutch onto the sheets below, holding onto them as your body jostles with every vigorous thrust of his hips against your.

God, he’s so fucked in the head but it’s hard to think about that when his cock is filling you up just right and he’s fucking you this good. And the bastard knows it too.

“You sound so good.” He groans happily, "Come on, whine louder for me, my needy girl."

You give him what he wants. “So good, puppy. Fucking me so good.”

“Yeah, is this what you wanted?” Even though his question might sound domineering, you can easily detect the neediness and desperation for validation he always wants from you.

“Uh-huh.” He barely lets you affirm before his lips are on yours, tongue greedily pushing into your mouth as he kisses you frantically. It’s so good, too good, and at times like this when the heat of it all sears your brain, you can’t think about how wrong it is to allow him these moments, to give into him so easily and willingly.

You feel his hand rest on your belly, his fingers splaying to cover as much of it as he can, and he pulls back to murmur heatedly, “Once this baby is out, I’m going to knock you up again and again. Never going to let a night pass by when you’re not filled to the brim with me.”

“Beomgyu–”

“You want it, my queen?” He whimpers, his hips stuttering but he still drives his cock into you harshly, making you struggle to keep your eyes trained on his drunken expression. “Want my cum in that tight pussy?”

“Yes. Give it to me, puppy. I need it.” You moan, pushing him to the edge.

His hand quickly moves down to your pussy, thumb flicking your clit earnestly to help you over the edge with him, and you scream at the sudden spike in pleasure, your pussy clamping down on his cock as it spurts inside of you.

“I love you. I love you.” He whimpers, only able to grind against you now as your pussy milks him dry, the little movement still too much on your poor pussy and your body jolts with little spikes of overstimulation each time he moves.

With a final jerk of his hips, he’s drained. He rests his forehead against yours and presses a soft kiss to your parched lips. “We’re going to have such a big, happy family, my queen.”

You’re so fucked out that you can do nothing but hum as he lays down next to you and takes you in his arms, the heat of his body combining with the heat in the air to keep your poor brain feverish and blissful.

And he keeps it that way too–with his cock firmly stuffed inside of you throughout the night. You awaken every few hours by the thrusts of his hips to find yourself in different positions on the bed–once on your side with one of your legs nudged up to allow him easy access to your pussy, once plopped onto your stomach as he takes you from behind, once with your body splayed on top of him as he pushes his cock up into your pussy… every time you would whine and he would shush you, telling you to just go back to sleep and let him do all the work.

And so you do, happy to just lie there pliantly while he brings the both of you mind-searing pleasure that chases all your pesky worries away.

________________________________

“I have something to show you, baby.” Beomgyu tells you one morning, leading you to the room adjacent to yours.

You have no idea why he’s taking you there. As far as you know, that room wasn’t of any particular note. But you find out as soon as you step inside, choking back your emotions as you realize why exactly he was showing it to you.

The walls of the previously nondescript room were now painted in baby blues and soft yellows–an intricate but complimenting mix of you and Beomgyu’s favorite colors–the room decorated with masterfully sculpted furniture and filled with all kinds of toys and trinkets. There was a large bed to the side for resting and even a bookcase filled to the brim with what you just know are mounds of fairytales from all over the world. But the centerpiece of the room was the small crib colored with those same soothing blues and yellows and framed by a large white drape with a statue of an angel sitting on top of it.

It’s a nursery. He has transformed the room into a nursery for your child, and it's fucking perfect. It’s everything you couldn’t have even dared to wish for as a kid and the fact that a child of yours–you, the lowly born lady everyone regards as Beomgyu’s whore–will have this room to call their own brings tears to your eyes.

“Do you like it, my queen?” Beomgyu asks, but the grin on his face tells you that he already knows the answer. Of course, he does. He knows you so well, that’s how he knew to make this without you even asking.

God, how can he be so demented, yet so utterly perfect?

You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a heated embrace. “It’s perfect.”

“Our children are not going to want for anything, you know that, right?” He promises you and you nod, kissing him. And you wish he would’ve left it there, let you enjoy this beautiful moment without reminding you of the horrors he built it with.

“But this is just the material aspect of it. We have to be there for them too. Will you be there for them?” He asks somberly, demanding that you pledge yourself to him, that you won’t choose anyone else again.

“Yes.” You answer in a small voice.

“I want to build a good life for them, my love, keep them safe from those who would wish to harm them. Which is why I must get rid of the complications you created. You understand that, right?”

You hold your tears back, pressing your lips into a thin line so you wouldn’t sob, and nod. “Yes.” You pull your arms off him but he holds onto them.

He wraps your arms around him again, and kisses your taut lips. “We’re going to be so happy.”

Happy. Is that what you look like to him? Why couldn’t he have just let you enjoy this moment? Why can’t he let you live in blissful oblivion for just a few more seconds?

But he wants you to choose, and now you have to–choose between the love of your and the child he gave you, and the man who dared to stand up to him and show you another way.

The answer is shamefully clear to you. You wish it was harder. You wish you would’ve struggled more with it, but you didn’t. You choose Beomgyu and the baby. You can’t let your child live the same wretched life you did. You’ll do anything you can to protect them and love them and spare them from this horrible world, and if it means playing along with the delusions Beomgyu is selling you, then so be it.

You will try to be happy, for your children. You will raise them to be kinder, gentler, and hope they grow up to be the kind of people who will despise the likes of you.

___________________

“How is the pregnancy going? Is the sickness too much to handle? Are you taking the herbs I’ve gave you?” Wonyoung asks you when you meet up with her for tea and a chat, referring to the bouts of vomiting you’ve been going through lately.

“Some days it’s better, some days it’s worse.” You tell her, shrugging. “But your brother is always right next to me and he makes sure I’m drinking all the herbs and eating well.”

She smiles in relief. “That’s good. We want this baby to be healthy and happy.”

“We?” You ask, taken aback. “You want me to have this baby?”

When Wonyoung had told you that she wanted to talk to you alone about the baby, you had internally freaked out. You hadn’t really talked to her about it ever since she revealed the pregnancy to you and you worried about what she’d have to say.

You’d gotten so much pushback from Kai when you married Taehyun despite his initial welcoming, and it was one of the most painful things you’ve ever gone through–to finally feel like you were accepted and wanted and protected, only to have it all ripped away from you when the actual family member is in jeopardy.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Wonyoung's priority has to be her brother’s safety and wellbeing, and you being pregnant with his child threatens that. You know that. You expected it, and you told yourself that you can take whatever abuse she has to hurl at you, that this child was Beomgyu’s way of trapping you anyway so her opinion doesn’t matter. It’s not like you wanted it in the first place…

But then why the hell is your heart almost beating out of your chest? Why are you so scared of what she has to say? Why does Wonyoung’s acceptance or lack thereof matter so much to you?

You know. It’s because you actually want this child. You want to be Beomgyu’s wife. You want to be accepted as part of his family, to not be treated as second class. You yearn to belong, and whether by good nature or by design, Beomgyu’s family gave you that and you’re so scared of having it ripped away from you again. That’s why his plan is so effective. He knows well just how much of a hypocrite you are.

Stop pretending to care about them.

Wonyoung frowns. “Why, of course. Why wouldn’t I? It’s what you and Beomgyu want, isn’t it?”

“Yes but…” You trail off hesitantly. “Don’t you think it’s too risky? That people may catch on?”

Despite Beomgyu earlier reassurances, you still worry that the news of the pregnancy and the intended marriage will hurt him. That’s another proof of your hypocrisy. You can’t stand the idea of him getting hurt.

“Oh sweetling, is that something you’ve been worrying yourself with?” She coos, taking you in her arms like her brother so frequently does and you nod shamefully. “It doesn’t matter what they think. You are having this baby and we will protect you. You’re part of our family, as is this child, and we will not let any harm come to either one of you. You’re one of us now, sweetling."

Maybe she’s telling you what you want to hear just like her brother does, but you can’t help feeling emotional. They want you. They want this baby, and they’re not going to leave you behind.

“Wait,” You sniffle, confused. “If you didn’t call me here to tell me not to have the baby then what did you want to tell me?”

She takes her hands off you and straightens herself up. “Okay so this is not an exact science and it’s not always correct,” She starts, looking a bit unsure of herself which is a first from the usually confident princess. “But I have done a further test on the urine sample you’ve given me and I may have an inkling of what the sex of your baby is going to be.”

You gasp, straightening up too, and waiting for her to continue with bated breath. You don’t know if she pauses for a while or if your world just freezes around you, but eventually she speaks up.

“It’s a baby boy.” She tells you at long last, and you gasp, but she puts her hand up to halt your reaction. “I haven’t told Beomgyu because it might not turn out to be true and I don’t want you to feel pressured about it but I thought you’d like to know.”

“I-I… Thank you, Wonnie.” You gush tearfully, overcome with emotion, and she takes you into her arms, embracing you heatedly.

You did it. You’re going to give Beomgyu an heir. Your dreams really are coming true.

_____________________________

Unlike Beomgyu’s family, the rest of the royal court isn’t as enthusiastic about your marriage news, with some even daring to voice their opinions about how it might weaken Beomgyu’s position in the war. But Beomgyu stands strong and firm, informing them that the wedding will take place, and that if they want to try their luck joining up with Taehyun, they’re more than welcome to. That shut them up fast. Of course it helped that he could afford to splurge to buy their silence, but he was also clear that if anyone even thought about standing in his way, there would be hell to pay.

So with the entire royal family united, and the court more or less supportive, the wedding is announced to the public, and Beomgyu makes sure to spin a pretty picture about how all this came to be for his people.

“I know this might come as a shock to some of you, and to some it may even seem like proof of what the traitors have been saying, but I ask you to hear me out before you cast your judgements.” He beseeches his people, once again playing the innocent role to perfection. "In these turbulent times, in which both me and her have gone through one of the worst pains one can imagine - being brutally betrayed by those we loved so dearly - we came to find solace in each other, and by keeping each other's heart close we found the strength to live. That's when I realized how precious it is to have had her loyal heart my whole life. First as a friend, then family, then as a victim of circumstance I so desperately had to save... and now, surprisingly, I realize she saved me as well. I now find in her a love I thought only existed in books. I find in her the only one that could truly understand my heart, that has always been by my side, that has always seen me for who I am and that I now know will be in my heart forever.”

“I know that this announcement might seem sudden, maybe even too soon, to some of you. But it took me my whole life to realize that happiness has always been right beside me... I could not waste another day not letting her know how much she means to me. They may have been lying when they accused us of those vile betrayals, but the gods saw fit to make truth out of those lies, to bring forth love from the hate they spewed. And If we are to die at their hands, then at least we’ll die in each other’s arms.”

Beomgyu’s impassioned and romantic speech tugs on the heartstrings of those present, and they once again believe all the pretty lies he sells them. Can you blame them when he doesn’t even need to lie to you to get you to do what he wants anymore?

Taehyun never stood a chance. People like Beomgyu will always come on top.

_____________________________

Though the response to the wedding news has been mostly positive, it wasn’t entirely so, and Beomgyu does lose some of the public’s support because of it. It even put some of the nobles who supported him before on the fence.

But it didn’t matter to Beomgyu, he was still on top and he was sure that he would win back all the people he lost when they saw that they wouldn’t be risking anything by continuing to support him.

Most importantly however, he gets to marry you, and that’s what he really cares about. And so the wedding commences.

It’s an extravagant and public event–probably not the wisest decision in the middle of a war, especially following Ryujin’s death and the accusations she and Taehyun have been hurling at Beomgyu and you, but Beomgyu didn’t want you to think for even one second that you’re less than Ryujin in any way and so he had to top his previous wedding in every aspect. He wasn’t going to settle for a small, private affair. The wedding had to be grand, spectacular–a visual representation of his overflowing love for you.

Yes, it might’ve not looked good, but it felt good for everyone involved–the nobility who got extra benefits for standing by him, the common people who received a huge feast and precious little trinkets to keep and got to see their king walk amongst them, but most importantly you who got to finally belong to the love of your life in front of the whole world.

That’s another proof of your hypocrisy. You adore every stupid, reckless detail of it all–his elaborate display of love and devotion for you. You eat it all up.

The wedding was sunflower themed of course, just for you. Everything from the decorations to your veil to the huge gold necklace Beomgyu wears were either real sunflowers or embroidery and jewelry made to mimic sunflowers and the sun with rays coming out of it. Even your dress, which was the most magnificent piece of art you've ever seen, was embroidered throughout with sunflowers of all sizes. It all looked so gorgeous, the flair of yellow scattered throughout casting a radiant and hopeful glow on everything it touches.

Still, you have the decency to feel shame and guilt about how much you’re enjoying this, the unwelcome feelings transforming the beautiful carriage you’re riding in on your way to the temple into a cage where you’re trapped with your self-deprecating thoughts. They gnaw at your feet and compel you with an overwhelming, irrational urge to burst open the door and run away from it all. But you know it’s futile, for there is a much bigger prison outside made up of the countless citizens flanking the road to watch the royal carriage pass by. You see them waving at you through the window, visitors coming to witness the curious caged bird their king has acquired.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t–

Suddenly, you jolt when you feel a hand on your thigh, and you look up wide-eyed at the queen next to you. “You’re shaking, child.” She observes kindly, and you blink.

“Oh, I suppose I am.” You stare at your legs as you will them to stop jerking. Curious. You’ve never been known to do that anymore. It must’ve been a habit that you picked up from Taehyun…

No. Don’t think about him. Don’t let yourself go down that road. You’re doing this for your child. It’s over.

You hear a sigh coming from the queen and your eyes snap back to look at her in shame. “I’m.. I’m trying.” You don’t know why you’re explaining yourself to her but you just can’t handle being a disappointment to one more person. You need support. You need acceptance. You can’t keep fighting anymore.

But the royals know that all too well. They’re masters at reading people and giving them what they want. “It’s okay, child. It will all be okay. We’re all here for you. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Yes, just like a warden guards their prisoner, the owner must keep their prized pet safe. But the door was open once… you were free once, and you still came back. So how can you protest now when they’re cutting your flight feathers away?

So you swallow your useless feelings and let them guide you where they want you. You let her take you by the hand as you arrive at your destination and lead you out the carriage and up the vast steps of the sacred temple.

She stops at the landing and turns the both of you around to face the crowd gathered beneath. “Wave to your subjects, dear. They’ve come to celebrate this day with you.”

You raise your hand shakily, and the noise from the crowd surges in response to the small action, shouts of “My queen!” “You look beautiful!” “Gods bless you!” reaching your ear but not making it to your brain.

You can’t process their words, can’t make out their meaning. You feel as if you’re a stranger in your own body, as if you’re watching through the eyes of someone else.

Ryujin. That’s what she saw on her wedding day. This exact scene, and look where she is now, rotting in the ground.

“Can we go inside now?” You whisper urgently to the queen and she regards you for a second, no doubt taking in your frazzled state, before she nods and turns you around, walking you towards the grand door and giving your back to the chorus of disappointed shouts of “Stay!” “Look at me, my queen!” “Why are you leaving so soon?” and “The other one was nicer.”

That last one almost knocks you to the ground. They’re not done with the spectacle yet. Funny how in all your years imagining this very moment, you never knew that you’d be nothing more than a spectacle for these people. None of them really care. They’re just here for the show.

You feel your knees buckling and your chest tightening but the queen never lets her grip on you wane, dragging you behind her firmly. You absolutely cannot collapse right now. You’re not allowed to.

Wonyoung greets you at the doors, and her warm smile as she extends the lovely sunflower bouquet to you helps ground you for a second.

“You got this, sweetling.” She murmurs in your ear when she bends down to kiss you. Your only answer to her is a shaky intake of breath as you walk through the threshold.

As soon as you do, a line of dancers on each side of you start moving to the music that begins playing, elegantly leading the way down the aisle and towards Beomgyu in the distance. You can’t see him well from all the way over here, and you lean on the queen and try to focus on the delicate moves of the dancers as you move forward, little bursts of sun glimmering in your vision from your decorated veil, the light scattering further when refracted by the tears in your eyes–tears of happiness, tears of melancholy, they all mix together until you can’t distinguish between the two.

You start to swoon as the queen leads you up the marble stairs and to the platform Beomgyu is standing on. Traditionally, your father would be the one giving you away, but Beomgyu didn’t want to put you through that. He didn’t want you to have to face your family on the day that is supposed to be the most joyful of your life, and so he spread word that your mother was sick and your father had to stay behind to attend to her, but that they both begged you to go along with the wedding and not postpone it. That way you’d all come across as wonderful, selfless people, just the image Beomgyu liked to sell.

Beomgyu doesn’t wait until you’re all the way up the stairs. Instead, he meets you halfway, taking you from his mother and leading you the rest of the way to the chorus of ohhs and ahhs at the eagerness of the love-struck king.

You are so close to fainting now, and as Beomgyu starts to lift your veil, your hands almost shoot out to stop him.

But with the dazzling yellow reflections out of your sight and Beomgyu’s radiant face coming into view, your world goes back into sharp focus. Standing in front of you isn’t a strange man who doesn’t know his own heart, let alone how to let you into it. It’s Beomgyu, the only person as sure of his love as you are, adorned in his white and golden attire and holding everything you’ve ever wanted in his being, looking at you like you hold his own world in your hands. Nothing else matters.

There is no hesitation from either of you as you relay your vows out loud, a sense of giddiness and almost urgency coloring the fanciful promises that pale in comparison to what you’ve already proven you’d do for eachother. You don’t take your eyes off one another for even a second, and as soon as the priest announces you husband and wife, you’re swept up in a kiss that you couldn’t tell which one of you initiated.

The following celebration is held almost entirely outside as you share your joy with the whole city–Beomgyu seemingly intent on making up for all the times he had to hide you by proudly parading you around in front of everyone.

You have your first dance in the spacious courtyard of the grand temple. The orchestra playing is large, as was required in order to allow the music to be carried out in the open area. It also had the added bonus of involving not only the royal's musicians but some of the more talented musicians from the common folk. Such involvement of the people in the wedding preparation and ceremony allowed the public to feel personally involved and attached to it, therefore strengthening their loyalty. It also led to some of them being paid handsomely for their contribution and further cemented Beomgyu's reputation as the kind and generous king.

It’s an incredibly emotional moment for you. You don’t want to cry yet again but you can’t help yourself–standing here in the middle of the grandiose courtyard as not just the people present, but the heavens themselves look down on the first act of your long estranged souls claiming each other again.

It somehow felt sacrilegious, and perhaps it is.

After all, Beomgyu committed some rather grave sins in order to make your union possible. Maybe you should be hiding. Maybe you shouldn’t be parading around like this right under the noses of the scorned gods. But it still means so much to you that he’s doing all of this for you–the devil’s revolt for the sake of love–and you honestly can’t tell if the cold surge of nerves that freezes your lungs is because of the fear that you’re partaking in this horrible sin or because of the exhilaration of finally getting what you’ve always wished for.

You try not to think about it much, pressing closer to Beomgyu to ward off the coldness as you let him guide you, starting from the movement of your feet up to the swelling of your chest as you take in your breaths. You follow his lead–taking one breath in and then out, just like he’s doing, and that’s when you discover how feverish he is too, his breathing shallow and rapid as he peers at you, cheeks flushed and irises barely visible. You wonder if he too can’t see the faces of those around you, if whatever mangled mixture of fear and ecstasy is only letting him focus on the person in front of him and nobody and nothing else in the universe.

“You look… ethereal.” He confirms your suspicions, speaking with the little air he manages to breathe in. “The most beautiful creature the gods have ever created. And I can’t believe I finally get to call you mine.”

He’s saying that to you? The man so beautiful you’ve doomed your everlasting soul to hell just to stay with him?

But you don’t say anything. There is no need. You’re here, aren’t you? That’s all that needs to be said really. So you rest your cheek against his chest and let the beat of his heart overpower your weaker rhythm.

The position greatly hampers the dance but Beomgyu refuses to separate you from himself to execute the moves and you refuse to let go of him. You don’t care. Let the dancers entertain the crowd. You need this more than them.

After the first dance, the cake is served, and it is huge, superfluously so. It also required a ton of workers to make–just like the orchestra and the extravagant decorations adorning the city. It was made in the shape of the palace and you’re struck by how skillfully it was made and how similar it really looks to the palace.

You’re given the first bite, another hidden affirmation by Beomgyu that he and all his wealth now belong to you. But the cake is so big, almost everyone gets to have a taste, even including a sizable portion of the common folk gathered around.

The rest of the celebration is held outside of the temple walls and in the heart of the city itself that bears witness to the odd mingling of the nobles and the common folk in a strange dance that is the first of its kind. Both factions treat each other like strange zoo animals, with fascination yet guardedness, and maybe that’s for the best because it prevents any major instances from happening and disrupting the celebration.

Of course, there are a multitude of guards keeping the peace, and especially protecting you and the royal family, but this kind of interaction is still unprecedented. But that’s to be expected from “the people’s king”.

The city is abuzz with excitement, and even as the evening descends, the moon casts a soft, soothing shade of yellow on everyone present.

Aside from the celestial decorations and delicious snacks and drinks provided by the palace, there are dozens of booths manned by various common people to sell their wares to the crowd gathered, and you see the noble and rich flock to them to indulge in the odd street food here and there or buy overpriced trinkets to remind themselves of this strange day when they’re back safe and comfortable inside their gilded mansions. It’s a win-win for everyone involved.

Beomgyu really made the best out of this possible faux pas. He turned the awkward wedding into a festival of sorts–a day where the rich and poor, the privileged and disadvantaged can come together and celebrate beside each other the union of the kind, generous king Beomgyu and his loyal damsel in distress.

“Would you like something to eat, my queen?” One of the servants passing out food approaches you, and you try not to act too startled by someone other than Beomgyu calling you “queen”.

You take a look at what he’s holding to see an assortment of strange looking sweets, most of which you’ve never seen before, but it’s no surprise. You know Beomgyu has enlisted the help of cooks and bakers from all over the world, asking them to make the delicacies of their people just for you, and this must be the result.

“Oh, I don’t know what to pick.” You hesitate, stumped in front of the wide variety in front of you.

“Here, try this, my love.” Beomgyu offers, picking up a reddish piece of confection and bringing it to your mouth. You open up, taking a bite out of it and humming in pleasure. Not just because of the food–which tasted delightful–but because for the first time, you don’t feel the need to shy away from his public displays of affection. You’re his wife now. You’re allowed to be together like this. It might even be seen as endearing to some, as you’ve been told.

“Hmm, is that strawberry?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know.” He answers, bending down and kissing you, tasting the candy on your lips. He pulls back, licking his own lips cheekily. “Yes, strawberry.”

“What was that for?” You laugh, incredulous at the sudden kiss.

He shrugs once more, as careless as a little boy. “You asked me what the flavor was.”

“You have the rest of it in your hand. You could’ve tasted that.” You chastise, no edge to your voice at all.

“Yes, but it tastes much sweeter from your lips.” He grins, popping the rest of the thing in his mouth before pulling you into another kiss. “What do you think? Is it sweeter?”

You hum in agreement, your hands finding themselves around his neck, without any input from your brain, and pulling him into yet another kiss that is broken abruptly when you hear a familiar tune reach your ear.

You pull away and turn to the band who just started a new song, a song that you know all too well. You snap your head back to Beomgyu who is grinning at you. “No! It’s that ridiculous song you used to sing to me all the time!” Your outraged cackle is carried into the heavens by the light air.

“It’s not a ridiculous song.” He protests, acting wounded. “It was the clumsy confession of a lovesick little prince that you so savagely crushed every time. Do you know how much it hurt that you not only didn’t notice what I was hinting at but that you would make fun of me every time I sang it to you?”

“Oh, you poor puppy.” You pout mockingly. “Maybe if you sang it better, I would’ve received your inelegant confession a little more kindly.”

He gasps, scandalized. “How dare you? Maybe you just can’t remember how good I sounded.”

Beomgyu starts belting out the sappy love song along with the music, attracting the attention of the people around you. You squeak, embarrassed at his display, and you try to hide behind your hands and step away but Beomgyu is having none of it. He is relishing how flustered he’s gotten you. It’s been so long since he has last pulled something like this or even that you’ve been in the mood to receive it. It reminded you of your younger years and Beomgyu won’t let this golden opportunity pass him by.

He drags you in front of him and dances around with you to the song, all while shouting out the lines and cackling every few words. This dance is much more fun and lively than your first one as you finally start letting go and enjoying yourself.

And the difference in response from the crowd is palpable as they cheer you on. You and Beomgyu dance and laugh and dance and laugh. You haven’t gotten a sip of alcohol the whole day but you feel drunk. For the first time you allow yourself to forget everything that led up to this moment. For the first time, you are just a silly, lovesick girl getting married to the man she’s loved all her life. For the first time, you let yourself buy into the revelry of everyone around you, let yourself think they really are happy for you.

But then you see him, the crack in your perfect illusion, the stone thrown at your glass house.

Before you stands the man you met the last time you headed down to the city before beomgyu's marriage. The man Beomgyu introduced you to as Ryujin, and the man who now must see through all the lies Beomgyu has weaved. He doesn’t say anything to you but you can see the recognition and realization in his eyes.

Your house of deceit shatters around you, driving thousands of shards into your liar’s skin, the pain ripping you out of your selfish fantasy.

Beomgyu quickly notices the change in your demeanor, and he follows your petrified gaze to see the man that’s effortlessly terrorizing your thoughts. He bends down to whisper in your ear. “Relax, my love, he’s not going to say anything. He’s not that stupid as to risk all I’ve given him. He’ll shut up and keep taking my money and my help.”

And that’s what it really is. No one will ever stand up to Beomgyu. They all have families to tend to, lives to live, jobs to protect–no one will ever risk that for something as trivial as the truth. Who cares if Beomgyu is lying and Taehyun is in the right? They will still stand behind Beomgyu because that’s what will bring them more profit, more stability, more gain. They’re all liars.

And that’s when you see it. They don’t actually accept you. They’re not happy for you. They just want what you have to give. They smile at you the same way they smiled for Ryujin, and they would tear you apart the same way they did to her if it meant they had something to gain from it.

A second look at the crowd gathered around you transforms their kind smiles into duplicitous smirks, their happiness for you into greed for what they could take from you, their good wishes into poisonous intentions.

You feel sick. You don’t want to dance anymore. You don’t even want to be here anymore. Every eye that lands on you feels like tongues of flames, every hand a potential strangler, every soul a demon waiting for your downfall.

You can’t do this anymore. You want to go back to the palace, to be safe and away from the hell Beomgyu built around you to keep you in his clutches.

“Baby, baby, breathe.” Beomgyu cries urgently, and you realize you’re hyperventilating.

“I want to go home.”

“But the celebration isn’t over.” He tries to dissuade you but you shake your head urgently. “Please, take me home.”

One look at the desperation in your eyes and he’s whisking you away from everything, tucking you under his wing and hastening back to the palace.

______________________________________

Beomgyu tries to hold back. He tries to coax you into opening up and calming down, but you know he can’t help his excitement. This is the day he’s been waiting for for years.

“Baby, he will never speak a word of it to anyone.” He assures you, his lips following close behind his words, sealing the promise in.

And you know he’s most likely right, but neither possibility makes you feel much better. On the one hand, he stays silent just like all the others and Beomgyu has his way. On the other hand, he speaks up, causing a small ruckus but ultimately no one believes him and once again Beomgyu has his way.

That’s the way it is and always will be.

“Let’s just focus on ourselves, okay, love?” He murmurs, slowly stripping you of your dress, his lips covering every inch the fabric leaves exposed until soon enough, he’s on his knees, kissing your stomach behind which your baby lies. “Let’s focus on our child.”

You have to give it up to Beomgyu. He outsmarted you and everyone else at every turn, and here you are, standing there like an obedient little doll as he hikes one of your legs over his shoulder before burying his face in your cunt, moaning out loud at the taste of you. He takes his fill of you, his tongue insinuating itself between your lips as he laps up your arousal eagerly. He has you right where he wanted, and you begged him for it too–begged for his messed up love and attention, and now you have it, till death do you part.

"You're finally mine. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.” He murmurs in awe as if he didn’t meticulously plan and scheme for this very moment, as if he hadn’t been dictating and manipulating your every move until you ended up here.

You should be happy. Damn it, be happy, you bitch. You wanted this. You did this. You caused this war and you abandoned the one man who allowed you to be your own person. So be fucking happy, give in to the pleasure and decadence Beomgyu is offering you, give into his sweet, poisonous temptation that you allowed him to feed you and be done with it. Stop hanging on the fence. It’s not fooling anyone, not Taehyun, and certainly not Beomgyu.

But you can’t. You can’t just let the luxurious celebration or the soothing moonlight or his soft touches and earnest eyes make you forget what he did to arrive at this moment–the pain, the lies, the betrayal… He didn’t just hurt Taehyun, or his father and brother… he hurt you too. It was on a night just like this–maybe as beautiful to Ryujin’s eyes–when he took you against your will in order to ruin you for other men. He didn’t listen to you as you begged and pleaded for him to stop. He didn’t care that he was breaking your heart. All he cared about was ensuring that you stayed by his side and he was perfectly willing to break you in order to achieve that.

He forced himself into every aspect of your life–he forced himself on you, he forced himself into your marriage, how he's working so hard to erase any sign of the life you had without him.

No, this isn’t perfect. This is messed up, just like the both of you.

"My queen. You are the only thing I ever wanted and now you’re mine."

Have you ever not been his?

He gets to his feet, making you taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you. Then he tries to nudge you towards the bed but you remain fixed to the ground where you stand, giving him pause.

“Come on, need you, baby.” He pouts, kissing you, but you won’t kiss back, which makes him grow frustrated. “Please, won’t you let me have you?”

You can’t hold it in. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. This is not the dream you’ve always wanted, this is the ghoulish version of your wishes that the gods are taunting you with for being such a wretched sinner.

"Now you're asking?” The illusion of the perfect night shatters on your sharp words. Your dream wasn’t for free. It was built on tears and blood, some of them your own. “You didn't ask when you forced yourself on me."

"Baby…" He's shocked by you bringing it up again on your wedding night. Did he expect it to just be brushed aside and not mentioned again? He probably did. He never really owned up to it, just blamed it on you, made excuses for why he did it, tried to make you forget it even happened.

He must’ve counted on you being dazzled by the glamor of it all, on you being swept off your feet by his extravagant show of courtship that you’d forget about all his atrocities even if for one night. But you suppose even someone as smart as him can fall prey to wishful thinking.

"What? You’re uncomfortable hearing what you did to me?" You mock cruelly and he winces. "I'm sorry."

That makes you lose it and you slap him, unable to hold yourself back when faced with yet another lie spilling from his mouth. He holds his hand to his face in shock but doesn’t retaliate.

"You're not sorry. You got what you wanted.” You sneer, anger bubbling up in your stomach and leaving a sour taste at the back of your throat. “But I want to hear you say it anyway. Show me how pretty you can lie.”

“Baby–” You slap him again, as hard as you can, and this time there are tears in his eyes as he looks back at you. “I’m sorry.”

“On your knees.” You order him, and he obeys, slumping to his knees so hard the sound makes you cringe. But you refrain from showing him any mercy, drawing your hand back to slap him again, on both cheeks this time.

He takes them in stride, quickly turning his face back to you following each one, apologies spilling from his tongue to attempt to assuage your wrath.

But it’s not enough for you. “Say it more. Cry for me." You growl, hitting him again and again.

"I'm so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry."

You don’t know why you insist on hearing it when each time he says it, it fills you with more rage. Maybe it’s because you’re hoping to hear a genuine apology from him–hoping that one of his pathetic emulations of sorrow would sound close enough to the real thing to allow you to trick yourself into believing it.

But your striking hand turns red and sore long before that fabled utterance leaves his mouth, and before his reddened cheeks and teary eyes beg you for a break.

“Get up.” You scoff, dragging him up by his hair and throwing him on the bed, and he lets you throw his weight around without a fight. “Take your clothes off and lie down. Hands above your head.”

You turn your back to him to go grab something that could be fashioned into restraints of some sort. You don’t have the luxury of having spare ropes lying around and maids paid and willing to restrain him the way he did to you, but you’ll make it work.

You settle on a thin, long piece of cloth that you take with you back to the bed, only to find him still dressed. “What did I say?”

Beomgyu flinches and starts taking his clothes off, mumbling, “Wanted you to look at me.”

You scoff, glaring at him as he strips, but that’s good enough for Beomgyu. At least you’re paying attention to him. When he’s done, he lies down on the bed and you climb over him, tying his limp hands to the head of the bed and making sure he can’t get out of them. You are no expert in such things, and you may have put them on a little too tightly, but you don’t care. He deserves all the pain.

“What are you going to do, my love?” He finally wagers to ask once you’re done.

“What? Are you scared of what I am going to do to you?” You ask, and he shakes his head. “I know that whatever you do to me, I would’ve deserved it. But I also know that you love me and can’t be without me. So whatever you have in mind, do it. Take your revenge on me, hurt me, make me suffer, do whatever it takes to come back to me.”

His words infuriate you more. How is it a punishment if he wants it? He can’t even give you that, can he? This is another means to an end for him, a way for him to get what he wants again. “You really don’t care, huh? As long as you get what you want, you’re willing to hurt yourself, hurt me, hurt anyone.” Your voice drips with spite.

“It’s for the best.” He maintains and you rage, putting your hand over his mouth and nose, suffocating the words inside. “Shut. Up. Shut the fuck up.”

You keep your hand there for a while, smothering him, and yet he lies still, the only movements coming from him are the small jerks of his muscles as they try to jump into action to push you off before he prematurely aborts the action. He becomes so starved for air that the moment you release your hand, the breaths race to enter his body as he heaves them in, and yet you don’t hear a peep of protest from him.

Whatever. You’ll find a way to make him hurt. You’ll find a way to have him begging for you to stop. If you’re going to let him win then you should at least make him suffer. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel as guilty for giving in.

“You want me, right? Did all of this just to get me?” You ask cryptically and he regards you warily as you climb up his body and position yourself over his face. “Then take your fill of me, baby.”

You sit down on his face, smothering him before he gets the chance to regain his breath. You don’t know if Beomgyu doesn’t notice your intention or if he simply doesn’t care, because as soon as your pussy is on his mouth, he gets to work, kissing and licking at it as if he’s been waiting for you to do just that.

Damn him to the seventh hell.

You make sure to hold your sounds in as he all but devours you, his tongue sweeping along your slit, hungrily lapping up your juices that he so easily commands. Does holding back even make a difference when your body is always so honest with him?

Yes, because Beomgyu is greedy. It’s not enough for him to have physical evidence of your desire and damning need for him, he also craves the spoken confessions, whether reluctant or enthusiastic he doesn’t care. He just wants you to say it.

So you bite down on your lip until you taste blood, uncaring about how harshly you’re gripping his hair or how roughly you’re grinding yourself on his face. And Beomgyu takes it, eagerly mouthing at your pussy as his teary eyes peer up at you, pleading with you to say something.

You hold in all the moans that struggle to get out when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, all the sighs that are trapped in your throat when he pushes his tongue inside you, all the “good boy”s that ache to burst out of you when he sticks his tongue out and lets you ride it.

You only speak when the air in his lungs reaches a critical low and he finally starts choking under you. But you still don’t immediately get off him.

"What's wrong? Want to breathe?" You taunt, and he whines into your pussy, arching his back and prompting you to glance backwards, your eyes landing on his leaking cock that is dripping onto his tummy. "You like this, you fucking pervert? Like choking on my pussy?"

He moans again, his body jerking under you from the lack of oxygen, and you finally rise up, letting him heave in some much needed breaths. Then the idiot uses that precious air to whine, “Tell me I’m making you feel good.”

“What does it matter what I’m feeling when it has always been about you.” You hiss, reaching back and taking his cock in your hand, jerking it off slowly. “As long as you get your cock wet, nothing else matters.”

He shakes his head harshly. “No, that’s not true. You don’t even have to touch me. Just let me make you feel good.” He whines, sticking his tongue out for you to sit on again, perfectly fine with you suffocating him if it meant he’d continue to taste you.

But you don’t. He’s not getting what he wants. Instead you grab his tongue between your thumb and index finger and pull on it.

“Bastard.” You sneer, spitting in his mouth, but once again, that only makes him moan.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” You mutter, letting his tongue go and he pulls it back in his mouth and swallows, smiling. “I know. I wear it like a badge of honor. I never would have gotten you if I wasn’t a little crazy.”

“Are you proud of what you’ve done?” You question in disbelief.

“Hurting you? No. Everything else, yes.”

“As if you could separate the two. It all hurt me.” You shake your head. “You’re a monster.”

“And yet you want me. You love me. What does that make you?”

“Yes, I am a monster too.” You finally admit, and he smiles, smug. “Should I show you how much of a monster I can be? Perhaps I should celebrate this night how you celebrated your first wedding and get someone to take you against your will, make you feel what it’s like.”

"I know what it's like." He grits.

"Oh, please. You dare compare what she did to you to what you did to me?"

“It’s the same, you just won’t admit it. You’re only angry she took what’s yours. You don’t care about how I feel or how much it hurt me. You’re even blaming me for it.” He growls, smirking bitterly when you don’t deny it. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You would never let anyone else touch me.”

“You’re right. You’re only mine. I can’t let anyone else have you.” You tell him absentmindedly, an idea popping into your brain, and you ignore how his smile gets wide, getting off him.

“Where are you going?” He asks worriedly. The crazy bastard would rather get slapped and smothered than lose your attention. Well, you’ll give him all your fucking attention.

You return to the bed, brandishing a new item as you straddle his legs. He frowns at the sight of the dagger you’re now holding, the metal of it gleaming in the candlelight.

“What are you going to do with that?” He questions you, and you chuckle, trailing the sharp tip from his belly button all the way up to his neck. “Are you scared now?”

“No.” He answers steadily, craning his head back to expose more of his neck for you. "Come on, kill me and save your precious murderer." He taunts carelessly, "You can't do it. You can't live without me."

“Oh, puppy, I know. And I know you know. You know me so well, as I know you.” You drawl, moving the knife slowly back down towards you. “And I know the one thing you’re scared of… losing me.”

At that, you raise the dagger up and put it to your own neck, and just like that, his expression dramatically changes.

“What are you doing? Careful.” He scolds, all confidence fleeing from his body.

You cock your head at him curiously. “What? Scared I’ll hurt myself?” You taunt, moving the dagger downwards and pressing it against your chest..

“This isn’t funny.” Beomgyu tenses.

“Oh, but I disagree.” You laugh, wincing a bit as you drag the knife over the skin above your left breast.

“Stop it!” He screams, attempting to get out of his binds for the first time. His eyes follow the trail of blood slowly seeping out of the superficial wound.

“But it just got interesting.” You mock, making another cut and causing Beomgyu to scream. “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just stop it.”

“What can you do?” You bark, “Go back in time and not rape me? Stop yourself from interfering in my marriage? Not start a fucking war to get me back?”

He clamps his mouth shut and you mutter dejectedly. “No. Of course not.”

You grab his cock again, stroking it. You pay close attention to his reactions as he tries to stay focused, tries not to let his brain fog up at the pleasure, but your touches are deliberate and purposeful, touching him just the way you know he likes, and before long you hear his little frustrated puffs of restrained pleasure.

“Does that feel good, puppy?” You purr, gliding your pussy over the base of his cock while you cradle the head of his cock in your palm, your thumb swiping at the sensitive spot just under the tip.

“Yes.” He huffs, still valiantly trying to stay alert but you can see the haziness taking over his eyes as he peers through his long lashes at where you’re touching. “You know just how to touch me to have me wrapped around your fingers. Please, just fuck me and forget about all this madness.”

“Easy for you to say when you’ve gotten everything you ever wanted.” You circle your hand around the head of his cock and move it in a twisting motion that has his jaw slackening and whatever comeback he had die on his tongue.

“Do you want my pussy?” You ask curiously as if you don’t know, rising up on your knees and lining his cock with your entrance before sinking down the slightest bit, letting the flushed head breach your hole before quickly taking it out.

“Oh, please!” He mewls, his hips pushing up to chase your warmth.

“Stay down.” You suddenly growl, all fake sweetness gone from your voice as you point the dagger back at yourself and Beomgyu immediately stills, whimpering, “Okay, okay, just put that down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do. You’re not in control here.” You spit at him, wishing that by saying it you could grow to believe it. For his part, Beomgyu nods obediently, keeping his mouth shut.

You sink down on his tip once again, letting him enjoy the warmth for a few seconds before pulling off him. You repeat the same thing over and over again, for no reason other than to see him pant and whimper and struggle to stay still.

“Does it hurt, puppy? Look how red your cock is. You must be dying to bury it inside my. tight. wet. pussy.” You tease him, punctuating every word by giving him a short taste of your pussy.

“Yes, hurts so bad. Need you so much.” He sniffles.

“Yeah.” You coo, sickeningly sweet to distract him from the coming attack, “Tell me, did it feel good when you forced me to take your cock on your wedding night?”

Immediately, his defenses go up. “I had to–”

You press the dagger to his abdomen and make a long shallow slice that has him sucking in a sharp intake of air as the trail of the dagger blooms red. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You came. That must mean you liked it. Or was that something that you had to do too?”

Beomgyu chews on his lip anxiously, afraid to say anything that would push you off the edge right now when even his excuses can give rise to such an outraged response from you.

“No, you just wanted to claim me. You couldn’t handle another man taking me when you’ve worked so hard on me.”

He tries to reach out to you but the restraints keep him in place so he settles on whimpering, “I just loved you too much to let you go.”

“Well, here I am.” You grab his cock, lining your pussy up with it before sinking down on it, sighing, “There you go, just what you wanted. Are you happy now?”

“No. Want you to be happy first.”

“Stop lying.” You hiss, making a deeper cut over where his heart lies. “This has only ever been about you.”

Beomgyu he shakes his head in denial still, letting you marr his skin the same way he marred your soul.

“No? So if I told you that I would be happier dead, you’d let me go?” You ask threateningly, pointing the dagger at your belly. “If I told you I don’t want this child, would you let me carve it out?”

“You wouldn’t.” He croaks, tears filling up his widened eyes.

“Are you sure about that?” You bottle up every icy tendril of fear trying to grip your heart as you dig the tip of the dagger into your skin. Beomgyu completely loses it, starting to yank harshly on his binds so hard it rattles the bed and almost throws you off.

“Good job, Beomgyu. You almost made me stab myself.” You lie but he immediately ceases his struggle. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that! You're not sorry." You shout at him, and he wails as you cut yourself again.

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt yourself. Don’t leave me. Please, stop this.” He cries inconsolably, large teardrops splashing down his red cheeks. “If you don’t want the child then we can get rid of it. Just don’t leave me.��

That stops you in your tracks. “You would give up our child?” You ask incredulously and he nods. “I would do anything for us to stay together.”

His words unsettle you deeply. So even the child you’ve both been dreaming of can be sacrificed in his relentless pursuit of you? What will he not do in order to keep you? Is anything sacred to this monster you love?

Beomgyu grows uneasy at your silence and he calls out to you in a weak voice. “Princess…My queen, please say something.”

“There is no redemption for you, is there?” You ask, and he presses his lips together stubbornly. “I don’t want redemption. I just want you.”

And there it is, proof that there is no redemption for you either–the tightening of your chest at his heretical proclamation of his love for you.

“You’ve ruined me. I should hate you. I should kill you… but you’re in my blood like poison.” You mutter bitterly, clenching your pussy around him in a way that has him bucking his hips up into you. You suck in a sharp breath at the spike in pleasure as his length fills you up to the brim.

”But none of that matters to you, does it? As long as you get to fuck me, to own me.” If it’s hypocritical for you to say that while bouncing on his cock then the irony is not lost on you, but who do you have to impress anyway? Beomgyu knows you too well for that. “You only think with this cock.”

He shakes his head but his hips have a mind of their own and they continue to thrust up into you so you discard the dagger and press your hands against them to keep them in place. “No. Down boy. You will lie back and take what I give you. Just like you did to me.”

He whimpers pathetically but obeys. Only when you’re sure he’s not going to move do you start moving over his cock again, bringing forth more pathetic cries from him.

“There you go, cry louder for me, my monster.” You sneer, your nails digging into his flesh as you ride him ruthlessly.

“Yes, anything you want.” He babbles, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back.

“This must be heaven for you, marrying me, knocking me up… it’s everything your twisted mind wanted.”

He nods shamelessly. “Waited so long.”

“How does it feel then?”

“So sweet. So–ahh–so good.”

“You want to cum, don’t you?” You narrow your eyes at him and he nods eagerly. “Already? God, you’re pathetic.” You degrade him but Beomgyu doesn’t care, eating it all up. “Only for you.”

“I know.” You say dismissively, as if you don’t crave that validation just as much as he craves your attention. “Cum then. Spend your seed inside me.”

“Yes, my queen.” He answers with the devotion of a priest offering up a sacrifice to their god. You feel his warm seed filling you up and you slide your hips against him deliberately, milking his cock. “That’s it. Does that feel good?”

He nods. “Y-yeah… so good. Want to make you f–fuck–feel good too.”

“Aw, how sweet. Why don’t you then?” You coo, picking up your pace over his spent cock once more.

Beomgyu’s look of shock only lasts a second before realization sets in. But he bites his lip, holding in his cries of overstimulation.

“What? You’re not going to beg me to stop?” You ask mockingly and Beomgyu shakes his head. “No. You can use me however you want. I’m yours to break.”

Your lip curls up in a sneer. Once again, he won’t give you the satisfaction of having hurt him. You’re almost tempted to grab the dagger you had discarded just to make him freak out again.

But you’re painfully close and edging yourself while letting him cum doesn’t exactly sound like a punishment for him. So you trade your energetic bouncing on his cock for more deliberate swivels of your hips that allow you to snake your hand between your legs to rub at your clit.

Beomgyu eyes immediately follow your action. “Untie me. I want to do that for you.”

“Oh, you want to? So I should let you, because Beomgyu always gets whatever the fuck he wants, huh? No one else matters.”

Beomgyu shakes his head harshly, crying pitifully, frustrated that you’re twisting his words. “No. That’s not it. Just want to make you feel good.”

But you won't give him a break, even if he's all pussydrunk. “Want. Again, it’s all about what you want.”

“No, no, no…” He wails, shaking his head in denial, his mind too fogged up to argue with you.

“Don’t lie, Beomgyu. You said you wanted to fill me up every night, right? So do it. Cum in me until you ruin me for everyone else, just like I know you want.” You goad him. “Claim me just like the animal you are.”

“Yes, my queen. Anything you want. I love you so much.” He sobs as he cums a second time, not trying to deny your filthy allegations anymore. As his hips buck up, frenzied by the second orgasm, he pushes you over the edge too, the both of you shuddering in ecstasy, joined together like you are meant to.

Orgasming together with Beomgyu always feels almost spiritual, the way the barrier between your two beings blur and for a few seconds you become one. In those few seconds of utter bliss, you feel like you might just tumble into his body and never come out again.

It’s an intense feeling and it leaves you exhausted, the both of you, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to give him a break. Powering through the discomfort, you keep riding him, not giving him a moment’s reprieve, and Beomgyu’s body twists and squirms under your merciless ministration.

“No more. Please stop.”

“What? Don’t you want me anymore? You did such disgusting, sick things for this pussy, didn’t you? Acted like a rabid dog and tore down anyone who stood between you and me but now you want to stop? No, you're going to lie there and fucking take it.”

“Please, p-please, aghhh—no more.” Beomgyu cries, his body contorting under you but you hold him in place, your hands bruising his slender body.

You laugh at his struggle. “Come one, Beomgyu, you don’t expect me to stop just because you’re begging me to now, don’t you? That’s not what you taught me. So come on, be a good mutt and take it.”

Your pace is brutal, the fury coursing through your body searing off your nerves until you can’t feel the overstimulation and the pain anymore, the only thing on your mind is to make him hurt for what he did to you.

And he does, cumming and crying, crying and cumming. You don’t really know how many times he orgasmed because after a couple of times, his drained balls didn’t have any more seed to give you. But his tears never stopped, overtaking his useless pleas until nothing but garbled cries left his swollen lips.

“Nghhh–ahhh, pl…ease…” You hear Beomgyu croak when you finally slow down, and you look at his face to see it drenched with tears and drool–his lips bitten raw, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed, and his whole expression fucked out. “C-can’t…”

He manages to articulate what you can plainly see. He can’t handle any more. His body trembles beneath you, and his limbs fall uselessly against the bed. He has no fight left in him.

You grab the dagger again and point it at him. He doesn’t react, no more wise words, no more challenges, he just stares at you and waits, entirely drained. So then you direct it at yourself and he musters up energy from thin air to beg, “Don’t… leave…me.”

Beomgyu is not afraid of death. He’s afraid of being without you. You know what that feels like all too well. Isn’t that why you haven’t killed him yet?

You use the knife to cut off his restraints, and as soon as he’s free, he reaches out to you, weakly, powerlessly, but you let him take you into his arms, embracing you like the devil welcoming a sinner to hell.

There are dark circles under his eyes and the both of you are covered in blood but his smile is serene as he looks at you. “We finally belong to each other.”

“I have always belonged to you, Beomgyu.” You reply defeatedly, finally giving up.

_____________________________

A/N: next chapter is the final chapter so be sure to let me know your predictions/wishes for the end! i love to read your theories and hear your thoughts ❤️

also here's a poll. it won't affect the ending at all, i'm just curious lol

#txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #beomgyu smut #yandere smut #yandere!txt #yandere!gyu #switch!idol #switch!reader

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getawayfox · 9 months

Text

At the beginning of the year, I thought I'd make a couple of little rec posts with a quote from some of my favourite fics, you know, something easy. And easy it was: with so many gorgeous fics that are out there, it's been such an absolute joy to keep finding quotes to share that I ended up making one each week for the whole year. I got so many lovely messages and tags about them and I'm so happy that I helped people discover new things to read. So, here is a masterlist of all the 50 quotes that I shared this year. (There are actually 51. Idk how that happened. Let's pretend it's a nice round number, it looks better on the banner😂)

Thank you to everyone who liked, shared, commented, and showered our writers with love. I will be back next year with more!

Fire Meet Gasoline by lettersbyelise (Drarry, E, 63k)

if you've changed your mind by warmfoothills (Drarry, E, 20k)

the long ways by oknowkiss (Drarry, M, 10k)

Under Giant Mountains by wolfpants (Drarry, E, 34k)

You Know the Feeling by sorrybutblog (Drarry, M, 12k)

In The Company Of Serpents by corvuscrowned (Drarry, E, 25k)

Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter by nv-md (Drarry, E, 18k)

Poppiholla by moonflower-rose (Drarry, M, 13k)

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He's Real Smooth by cibee (Drarry, T, 20k)

check this hand 'cause I'm marvelous by lqtraintracks (Drarry, E, 8k)

When It Returns by academicdisasterfic (Drarry, past Harry/Neville, M, 8k)

Nights With You by the-sinking-ship (Drarry, E, 58k)

Take These Lies by pennygalleon (Drarry, E, 20k)

Nightcall by wolfpants (Drarry, E, 1k)

find a new place to be from by oflights (Drarry, E, 48k)

Winner Takes It All by skeptiquewrites (Drarry, E, 41k)

Aere Perennius by onbeinganangel (Drarry, M, 25k)

Phoenix in the Fire by fw00shy (Drarry, E, 1,5k)

Of Mirrors, Myths and Men by the-starryknight (Drarry, E, 5,5k)

When Times are Dire by aibidil (Drarry, E, 130k)

Captivated by doubleappled (Drarry, E, 8k)

Countdown To a Life by tackytigerfic (Drarry, E, 3,5k)

I, Ferret by curiouslyfic (Drarry, T, 2k)

Hourglass Heart by bixgirl1 (Drarry, E, 5.2k)

When The Party's Over by sweet-s0rr0w (Drarry, E, 5.4k)

Like This and Like This (Dreams of Lace) by primavera-cerezos (Drarry, E, 6.6k)

Everybody Hates a Tourist by wolfpants (Drarry, E, 51k)

No Distance by skeptiquewrites (Drarry, E, 4.9k)

I Fall On Grass by tackytigerfic (Drarry, T, 3.1k)

Waking Up Slow by sweet-s0rr0w and ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (drarry, E, 22k)

Sun Stroke by peachpety (Drarry, E, 3.8k)

Together Like This by shealwaysreads (drarry, E, 3k)

A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by wolfpants (Drarry, E, 13k)

The Four Ds of Apparition (or: Destination, Determination, Deliberation, and Dicks) by eidheann and firethesound (Drarry, E, 37k)

Shiny Things, Slightly Damaged by lqtraintracks (drarry, E, 5k)

In Which Harry is Magnetic North and Draco Is An Idiot by bryoneybrynn (drarry, T, 14k)

I only want the ones I envy (I envy) by porcelainheart3 (Drarry, E, 13.5k)

in between two tall mountains (there’s a place they call lonesome) by oknowkiss (drarry, E, 8k)

Boy Wonder by maesterchill (Draco/Ron/Harry, E, 6k)

Cool About It by oflights (Drarry, M, 16k)

Pissing for England by moonflower-rose (drarry, M, 2k)

Do I Make You Cringe? by graymatters (drarry, M, 5k)

takes one to know one by hogwartsfirebolt (Drarry, M, 3k)

Between the Power Lines by tackytigerfic (Drarry, 3k, M)

It's Me Or The Peacock by harrows (Drarry, T, 4.5k)

Waiting for that Feeling by sorrybutblog (Drarry, T, 4k)

Waiting for the Moon to Rise by wolfpants (minor Draco/Harry/Bill, endgame Drarry, E, 9k)

On Permanence by the-starryknight (Drarry, M, 1.4k)

Birds Behaving Badly by peachpety (drarry, E, 10k)

Löyly by citrusses (Drarry, E, 10k)

Of Magical Beings Being - Magic by rockingrobin69 (Drarry, E, 30k)

#QQR #quick quotes recs #masterlist #drarry #drarry fic rec

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elvensorceress · 9 months

Text

not seven sentences on not sunday

so work is stupid and I never want to go back, how was your weekend, besties? also if anyone has an opinion about this? I may or may not have a finished 14K of this that I could post. The whole ending thing is still in progress, but if anyone is interested? I could post what I have 👀 no sexytimes yet but it doesn't leave off in a bad spot. sooooo ? any takers? tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @fiona-fififi and y'all probably already did this but if you want to read? or post more things lol @hoodie-buck @monsterrae1 @babytrapperdiaz @hippolotamus @wh0re-behavi0r @favouritealias @blutterlie @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @bekkachaos @theotherbuckley @jobairdxx @giddyupbuck and @daisyssousa my most beloved 😘

here's some more Unless finale for you 💕

Buck stretches up and kisses him back, kisses him more. It’s slower and sweeter this time. Definitely tempered, at least from the lust driven heat, but nothing else held back.

They don’t have to hold anything back anymore.

They should, however, stop kissing long enough to make breakfast. They should do that. Can’t have their teenager, almost teenager, starve. “We should make your pancakes,” Eddie says but goes back to soft, sweet kisses. “I’ll help if you tell me what to do.”

Buck breaks away with a strangled noise and rests his forehead on Eddie’s chest. “Eddie, you’re killing me. No more saying things like that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs and pets Buck’s hair. “I didn’t mean— What was I supposed to say? How else do you say that?”

Buck peers up and admittedly, looks very tortured and pathetic. “I don’t know. But do you know how easy it would be for me to come right here? With all my clothes on. Without touching or much of anything else? Because I could do it. It’d probably only take seconds. That’s what you do to me. That’s how much I want you. How much I love you.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and for Chris’ sake, he should really really not take that as a challenge. But just the thought of being able to do that to Buck? Knowing how much Buck needs him, how easy it would be to feel Buck come— maybe just like this between Eddie’s legs where Eddie can hold him and feel him and kiss him— and with how much Eddie wants to make him feel good…

It is tempting.

Holy fuck, some kind of switch must’ve flipped in Eddie’s brain because god, it’s never been like this for him. Buck really is magical. Being with him is. Being in love with someone who loves him the same most definitely is.

Eddie can’t help but ask, “Does this mean you might want to get out your fancy clipboard and pretend to boss me around?”

“I might want to get out— Pretend? Pretend?” Buck says and the last word comes out in a voice-cracking squeak.

Eddie laughs, light effervescent happiness coming out of his chest. Buck is just far too cute when he’s like this. When he’s like anything. But especially like this. He’s so very cute. “Mmhmm,” Eddie nods and rubs the middle of Buck’s chest. “I’ll play along. Unlike everyone else, I think Power Hungry Clipboard Czar Buck is very fun.”

Buck narrows his eyes and gives him a look like he doesn’t know whether to be offended or turned on but is probably both all at once. “My clipboard is serious. It’s a serious clipboard. Not a pretend one. Not fun and games. Serious.”

Eddie grins and tries very hard to bite back another laugh. “I know, baby,” he says, appropriately and solemnly serious for the Serious Clipboard. He strokes under Buck’s chin, coaxing him forward until he can kiss him with proper veneration. “I know.”

#buddie #buddie wip #seven sentence sunday #except that's all lies #jenwyn wip #fic: unless you ask me to #911 #cute silly husbands being cute and silly #and also flirty

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sopebubbles · 1 year

Text

Lone Wolf chapter Fourteen coming Tuesday September 5th, 6am CT/8pm KST

Chapter summary: Your second heat with the pack begins, and Yoongi, Jimin and Hoseok promise to make it better than any before.

Warnings: SMUT (I honestly didn't think this was gonna happen), penetrative sex, use of sex toys, unprotected sex, LOTS of kissing and touching, nightmares, talks of past trauma.

WC: 14k

A longer chapter means a longer teaser!!! below the cut!!!

Although he hadn't seen the youngest alpha get up, he'd seen the pack's bedroom door open, so he knew he must be around somewhere. He wasn't playing games in the living room, so Hobi looked for him in the sun room at the front of the house that had been granted to him as his art studio. But he wasn't there either. So Hobi went to the backdoor and slipped into someone's slides. Noticing the door to the detached garage was open, he set off across the spacious back yard in that direction.

Inside the dusty outbuilding was an assortment of things that Hoseok either hadn't yet found a place for or wasn't willing to let go of, alongside tools and Hobi's ambitions for a blooming garden by the time summer came around, but no cars. He did, however, find his alpha. Taehyung must have been lost in thought, because he jumped a little when Hobi spoke.

"What's an alpha like you doing all the way out here?" He asked in that teasing voice he seemed to love using most on Tae.

"I thought I'd get started on your garden finally," he said flatly. "If we keep putting it off, the season will go by."

"You need to start today?"

"It's a beautiful day," Tae countered. Hoseok didn't miss the fact that the alpha hadn't looked at him once since he walked in, so he stepped forward to place a hand on his cheek. The two men were almost exactly the same height, so it wasn't difficult for Hobi to meet him eye to eye.

"Is something on your mind?" He asked. Tae closed his eyes and took a breath, breathing in the scent of you.

"It's just kind of strange, y'know. Spending time with her yesterday, I guess I felt like I was on the inside track, and now I feel so far outside. I just want to see her and talk to her and…"

"Fuck her brains out?"

"I'm not a pig, Hoseok…. But I am an alpha so like just a little bit. Yeah, I guess," he chuckled while his ears reddened. "I just want to spend some time outside until the others come back, so you don't have to worry about me."

Hoseok smiled as he placed his other hand on the other side of Tae's face and stroked his beautiful high cheekbones. "That's fine, baby boy. It's good to keep yourself busy," he agreed before he kissed his lips gently. "You're doing a great job. And I'm sure as soon as this is all over, you'll be right back where you were with her."

Taehyung's eyes sparked with hope. "I hope so. How is she doing?"

Hoseok attempted to keep his smile in place, but Taehyung knew it well enough to see how the corners of his lips drooped. "She's getting through it. It's not easy for her. It doesn't mean to her what it means to us. Not yet anyway."

Taehyung frowned. "Do you ever see her and think how lucky you are that you got to grow up with your family?" Hobi hummed. "The ways she doesn't know how to be herself are more heartbreaking than the scars of how people have hurt her."

"I'm trying my best–" Hoseok's voice broke at the thought of continuing your life as you'd been living it.

"You're doing so well with her. Sometimes I think the luckiest thing will be her having you. Not to disrespect Yoongi hyung, but he can only make her physically safe. Which is important but…I don't know if it would ever matter if you weren't there to stop her from hurting herself on the inside."

Hoseok lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Sometimes the things she says make me so mad, if they came from anyone else, I'd slap them right in the mouth."

Taehyung laughed. "Well, don't do that, and I think she'll keep learning from you. You're good for her."

"I'm just doing my best. I can't fix her."

"You don't have to fix her. I know you love her. That's enough."

Hobi thought it over for a moment. "I guess I do…like I would a child."

Tae snorted. "Sure, hyung. Like a child."

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glazesunflower · 1 year

Note

HI, BESTIE 💛

You know I absolutely love and adore your fics/prompts, so it means the world to me that you say you would like to listen to my ideas 🙏🏻 My head is filled with Taylor Swift’s latest album and Hu Tao, therefore here are some ideas for you if you would like to accept them haha. You can change or develop them however you like as you listen to our queen <3 Just make sure you have fun with it, that’s the most important thing :D

(I can see you)

Not exactly like in the song, but hear me out: Reader got the crush on Hu Tao, and Hu Tao sees that clearly. And she asks herself what would the reader do if she starts to reciprocate it? So she starts to leave a sudden touch on their skin, or speaking more freely when they are alone, teasing the reader in the process and enjoying their reactions >:)

(Electric touch)

Hu Tao’s got the date with the reader, and as we know Hu Tao’s reputation in the town, not many people exactly like her. So, this moment is very important for her as finally someone shows her affection, and she prepares and hopes this will go well, cause this date “could either break her heart or bring it back to life”. Some bitter-sweetness <3

(Timeless)

THIS SONG IS SO DAMN SWEET, AND I AM FEELY, SO ;-; Fluff of the reader and Hu Tao gashing that they would love each other in different time periods, falling in love no matter what and growing old together. You get the idea, TS connoisseur, just lots of FLUFF HEHEHE >:3

Timeless

Characters: Hu Tao x F!Reader. Soulmate AU.

Warnings: Mentions of war, battles and death. Hurt/Comfort. Epistolary. 14k words.

Notes: Happy birthday again my dearest friend and thank you for this wonderful set of ideas. I will write the others down, but for now I hope you enjoy this one <3

“WHAT I’M HEARING IS YOU DON’T LOVE ME anymore and you don’t care if I die of loneliness!”

Startled from your half-slumber, you turn your face to meet your love, Hu Tao, who’s laying beside you on the bed. Her crimson eyes are wide, brimming with theatrical despair. You chuckle.

“Hu Tao, I’ve only said we need to stop cuddling, I have to go to work.”

"Aww... But it's not time to get out of bed yet. We need to cuddle and snuggle, or else we might be apart too long for me to bear~"

Hu Tao implores. She wraps her arms tightly around you, her body clinging tightly to yours as her lips press against your neck. And you can’t help but surrender to her affection. Your head nestled deeper into the warmth of the sheets, Hu Tao's face buried in the crook of your shoulder, her gentle hum echoing softly against your skin. Your fingers trace tender circles in her hair, drinking in the soothing rhythm of the moment.

“I would love nothing more than to stay with you, but—”

Hu Tao interrupts with a playful pout, "Then stay, come on! Just a little longer? You can go to work later, right? Hehe, I'm sure there'll be no one there who'll miss you enough to get in trouble. Just stay with me for a little while longer~""

You tenderly caress her cheek, stealing a swift kiss on her beautiful button nose before gently unwrapping her from your warm arms.

“No can do! I have that work trip I told you about, remember? It’s Friday today, so I will be out for the weekend, and I can’t lose my morning train.”

"Tch! How dare you break free from me! I'll... I'll... I'll bite your arm off!" As Hu Tao speaks, she playfully begins to nibble at your arm like a cat. In a mock-frustrated tone, she continues to speak. "Fiiiine! Just go on your stupid work trip. I guess I can't keep you here forever... But the second you get back, I'm not letting you out of my sight~"

Your lips curl into an affectionate smile as you gently stroke the side of her face with your thumb, your voice dripping with playfulness.

“Is that a promise?”

Instead of responding, Hu Tao leans forward to kiss your thumb. With a sly grin, she looks at you with playful, mischievous eyes.

“It's a promise! So don't worry about me while you're gone, okay? Just because I can't follow you, doesn't mean I'll be easy to forget." Her ember eyes soften as she turns her focus back on you. "How about you give a kiss to this terribly lonely wife before you go? Pretty please~"

With her request hanging in the air, Hu Tao leans in even closer, her arms circling your neck, tight and eagerly. Your fingers gently cup her face, a warm smile blooming on your lips.

“Anything for my dramatic wife.”

Hu Tao, entirely too delighted, draws herself in closer to you, pressing her body against yours, her heart brimming with happiness.

"Oh, you know just what to say~"

Hu Tao leans her head back, her bright red eyes closing as she waits with anticipation of your touch. Your kiss is one that is both calming and comforting, as an affectionate smile blooms in her pretty face. Her lips part for you, as she draws closer and presses her lips against yours. Her hand rises to your hair, her fingers running through your locks and holding you ever so gently.

Her lips meet with yours, your tongues wrapping around each other as she presses deeper into the kiss. She pulls herself away from your lips, her breath quickening as you part.

As you and Hu Tao reluctantly start to pull apart from one another, her teasing voice fills the space between you once again.

"Didn’t you say something about not wanting to miss your train? Are you going to stand there like a statue staring at me, or should I kick you out?"

Hu Tao whispers teasingly, her crimson eyes opening as you two part.

A chuckle leaves your lips, and you nod in agreement.

“You’re right. I guess I’ll be taking my leave now.” You give her one last sweet kiss goodbye, all too short to your liking. You wink. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Hu Tao, still holding you close, can’t help but smile.

"I'm your wife, of course I'm going to miss you! When you get back here, you owe me a very long cuddle session to make up for this weekend, hehe. Have a fun trip, my love~" Hu Tao lifts your chin gently, drawing your lips toward hers for another goodbye kiss. Her hands slide along the back of your neck. She whispers into your ear with a touch of playfulness, "Don't you dare forget about me~"

IN LIYUE, THE CHARMING TOWN NESTLED between rolling hills and lush forests, Hu Tao finds herself walking in her evening stroll. She cheerfully looks around as she walks, her curious and adventurous soul with an insatiable thirst for knowledge about the past is irremediably in love with this city, above all things; the town she calls home is known for its rich history, after all, and it harbors unveiled mysteries that have been there for generations, yet to be discovered. That’s why, on this fine evening, with the sun casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets, Hu Tao decides to explore the town's hidden gems.

As she strolls along, she finds an antique shop she hadn’t seen before. The store’s weathered sign reads "The Timekeeper's Trinkets”, and Hu Tao can’t resist the pull of curiosity that tugs at her chest. She comes in.

Pushing the creaky door open, Hu Tao is greeted by the musty scent of old books and polished wood. The shop's owner, an elderly man with twinkling eyes and a long white beard, smiles warmly at her from behind the counter. He had been reading a thick leather book that looks all too dusty and worn.

"Welcome, young one.”

He says in a soft voice. Hu Tao can’t help but feel that this man seems to hold secrets of his own.

“Good morning to you, sir!”

Hu Tao smiles brightly at him, but she is immediately drawn to the eclectic collection of artifacts scattered throughout the shop. Ancient maps hang on the walls, delicate porcelain dolls peer out from glass cabinets, and dusty books sit upon worn shelves, waiting to share their stories.

As she explores around excitedly, a small, ornate box catches her eye. The sign says, Photos: Twenty-five cents each. The box seems to hum with a faint energy, as if it held a tale of its own. Curiosity gets the better of Hu Tao, as it often does, and she can’t help but ask the old shopkeeper about it.

"That, my dear, is a Timekeeper's Box." He says with a knowing smile, larger than life. "Legend has it that it can reveal glimpses of the past to those with pure hearts and open minds."

Hu Tao nods to his words, pensive.

Can something like that even be real?

As she lifts the lid, a photograph of a radiant bride from the 1930s catches her eye. Next to her, another bride smiles knowingly at her companion. The bride's eyes sparkle with joy, and her smile illuminates the entire frame. Hu Tao can’t help but feel a strange familiarity with the woman in the picture. It is as if the bride's happiness resonates deep within her own heart, her face in the picture familiar and faded with the veil of time.

Huh?

It almost feels like…

As she gazes at the photograph more intently, a realization washes over her, sinking into her bones like midnight rain. She sees more than just two brides from the past; she sees the essence of love captured in that single moment— A love profound and genuine, transcending the means of time, laced with a familiarity all too close to Hu Tao’s chest to ignore. She wonders if such a love can truly exist, the kind that defies the limitations of the mortal realm.

And why does her mind feel like it’s on the verge of something?

A dream.

A memory.

Hu Tao turns the photo around. Behind the picture, there’s a letter attached to it, worn by the passing of time. Hu Tao unwraps it and reads it.

To my cherished Hu Tao, Feb. 1768

Can you believe how far we've journeyed together? From those carefree days of six-year-old innocence, clutching our satchels as we embarked on our first day of school, to this surreal moment when we stand side by side, radiant in our wedding gowns, about to pledge our lives to one another.

Through the laughter and tears, triumphs, and setbacks, you've been my rock, my confidant, and my partner in mischief. Oh, the memories we've created! From chasing butterflies in the meadows to sneaking out for moonlit adventures, our hearts have forever been intertwined.

As we step into this new chapter of our lives, I can't help but marvel at the twists of fate that brought us here. Who could have imagined that the little girls who held hands on that first day of school would one day become young women, ready to embark on a journey of love and commitment?

I cherish every moment we've shared, and I eagerly anticipate the adventures that await us as we venture into married life together. With you by my side, I know there's nothing we can't overcome.

Here's to the cherished memories of our past and the countless memories we'll create in the years to come.

I love you more than words can express, but you already know that!

WITH TREMBLING HANDS, Hu Tao stares at the note behind the photograph.

That’s your handwriting.

It’s unmistakable to her. She’s read your words, seen you writing time and time again. The grocery list, love poems for her, Hu Tao could recognize the shape of your words by heart. And there was her name there, too.

Like you wrote this letter for her…

In 1768?

That doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be.

She sets aside the picture and explores the other photographs inside the box, her heart beating just a bit faster.

The next one shows a young couple, their school days long behind them, laughing joyfully on the porch of what Hu Tao understands is their first house. Their eyes hold a shared history, a bond built on years of companionship and support.

Hu Tao feels a swell of emotion as she gazes at the couple. Again. This strange feeling. Their faces are all too familiar for her shaken heart. The love they shared is evident in every line on their factions and every touch of their hands. It is the kind of love that endured life's trials and grew stronger with each passing year.

The photograph is attached to a letter, folded with care, although the weight of the years has dented its edges and neatness.

And yet again, there it is. Your handwriting, clear as day. She reads it.

To my lovely girlfriend Hu Tao, May 1931

I'm positively thrilled to be writing this note to you after the most enchanting night of my life. Our first prom together was like stepping into a fairytale, and you were the charming princess who stole my heart!

As we sat on the porch of our new house, laughing and giggling like the next day would never come, I felt a warmth in my heart that I've never known before. Being with you feels so right, like we were meant to find each other in this beautiful corner of the world.

Your laughter, like a beautiful melody, echoes in my mind, and I can't help but smile at the thought of it. It's in these moments with you that I feel truly alive, like nothing else matters but the happiness we share!

Last night, you were simply stunning in your prom dress, and I couldn't help but feel so lucky to have you by my side. Your being here makes everything brighter, and I can only be drawn to you like a magnet.

I want you to know, my lovely girlfriend, that you mean the world to me. Your friendship, your love, and your understanding fill my heart with such joy. I'm grateful beyond words for the bond we share and for the home we've begun building together.

Thank you for being the light in my life, for making me laugh, and for being the person I can be my true self around. You are my confidant, my best friend, and my one true love. I'm head over heels for you, and I can't wait for the countless adventures that await us. And the beautiful wedding we will have some day when we’re older.

Unfortunately for you, I’m yours forever!

THOUGH THE PHOTOGRAPH SHOWS people from an era that’s pretty much bygone by now, this one from 1931, Hu Tao can’t shake the feeling that she sees herself and you in those loving gestures, in those moments in time that belong to someone else. It is as if the Timekeeper's Box had tapped into a deeper truth, revealing a connection that transcended time and space.

That is your handwriting.

That is her name.

These are your faces.

Hu Tao’s breath catches in her throat.

“Hey, sir…” She seeks the shopkeeper, her voice hitched. “Can I take these home? I’ll pay you, of course.”

She buys the photographs and the letters. Before she leaves the shop altogether, she hears the shopkeeper’s voice again. The old man speaks intently, his wise eyes twinkling with understanding.

"Time is not as linear as we perceive it, kid." He says gently. "Some connections are so powerful that they echo throughout the ages, finding resonance in the hearts of kindred spirits. Keep that in mind."

Hu Tao leaves the shop, her heart beating rapidly against her chest.

ZHONGLI AND HU TAO ARE SITTING ACROSS from each other in the cozy tea room of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. It’s Saturday, but the Parlor is still bustling with activity. And as much as Hu Tao would love to stay home and go through all the mysterious photographs and letters from the Timekeeper’s box, she’s the director of the Funeral Parlor first and foremost. She has work to do.

After a cup of tea, of course.

The room is filled with the aroma of tea and incense, setting the perfect ambiance for the discussion they were having.

Hu Tao, energetic as ever, leans forward eagerly, her eyes glinting in the bright room.

"Mister Zhongli, tell me all about the latest sales report. How has the business been doing?"

Zhongli, calm and composed as always, takes a sip of his tea before responding, his voice quiet and tranquil like a lake.

"The Funeral Parlor has been thriving, as expected. In the last quarter, we saw a significant increase in both cremation and burial services."

Hu Tao's eyes widen. "Really? That's great news! Do you think it's because of the new marketing strategy we implemented?"

Zhongli nods. "Indeed. Your marketing campaigns have been highly effective in reaching a wider audience. Our services are being recognized not just in Liyue Harbor but also in nearby regions."

Hu Tao grins, clearly proud of her work.

"I knew those flashy pamphlets and catchy slogans would work! Oh, and I must mention the special event we organized for the Ghost Month. The souls in the realm of spirits loved it!"

Zhongli chuckles softly. "Yes, they did. It's quite remarkable how you have managed to connect with the spirits and boost their morale. You have a unique talent, Director Hu Tao."

Hu Tao blushes slightly at the praise, smiling brightly like she does.

"Well, it's all in a day's work for the director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor! But tell me more, what about the latest numbers for funeral processions?"

Zhongli adjusts his glasses before continuing, "Funeral processions have seen a steady increase, and that's not all. Our embalming services have also witnessed a surge. It seems that people are beginning to understand the importance of preserving the memories of their loved ones."

"I'm glad. Preserving memories is what we do best, isn't it?” Hu Tao's expression softens. “It brings comfort to those who have lost someone dear."

Zhongli nods in agreement. "Indeed, it does. Your dedication to your role and your profound understanding of the human emotions surrounding death and remembrance have contributed significantly to the Funeral Parlor's success."

Hu Tao looks at her friend with a mixture of admiration and mischief.

"And what about our dear Mister Zhongli? I've heard some whispers that you've become quite the popular consultant for funerary matters."

“I have been assisting some clients with their burial arrangements.” Zhongli can’t help but smile faintly. “My knowledge and experience in ancient rites have proven useful to them."

Hu Tao playfully nudges Zhongli's arm.

"You're just being modest. I bet they're fascinated by you! The ex-Geo Archon turned funeral consultant, it's quite the unique selling point! Although we keep it a secret. I know, I know~"

Zhongli chuckles. "Perhaps it is, but my focus remains on providing the best possible service to our clients. The Funeral Parlor's reputation is of utmost importance."

"You're right.” Hu Tao nods, seriously now. “And speaking of reputations, I've been hearing more rumors about the newly implemented post-Geo Archon fares in Liyue Harbor. People are excited about the changes."

"The people of Liyue have always had a deep connection with Rex Lapis.” Zhongli's eyes glimmer with nostalgia. “However, I do consider it a gratifying outcome to see them outgrow the need of a higher power to achieve their goals."

“It was about time we learned to live without you around, old man!” Hu Tao smiles playfully. “Not in the Funeral Parlor, of course. I still need you here to help me, hehe.”

“And that I will, Director.” Zhongli bows slightly. “As a matter of fact, it is time I go back to tending to my duties. I shall leave you to finish your tea in peace.”

When Zhongli leaves, Hu Tao takes some documents from her desk to work on them. She quickly grows disinterested, truthfully. Her crimson eyes fly to the box she bought from the antique shop. That, for some reason, she felt the need to bring with her to work. She opens it, taking a couple of letters in her hand. And yet again, there it is. Your handwriting, the letters faded with the weight of the years. Her heart clenches in her chest.

She begins reading.

My Dearest girlfriend Hu Tao, Dec. 1844

As I sit here beneath the starry sky, surrounded by the darkness of the night, my heart longs for you, my love. The echoes of war may be deafening, and the days filled with uncertainty, but amidst it all, your love remains my guiding light, illuminating the path back to you.

These days on the battlefield are filled with challenges and hardships, but your love gives me the strength to carry on. When the sounds of gunfire and explosions pierce the air, it is thoughts of you that keep me grounded, reminding me of the love we share, transcending time and distance.

The memory of your touch lingers in my mind, the warmth of your embrace like a gentle embrace even in the coldest of nights. Your laughter echoes in my heart, filling my days with hope and joy, even when the world around me seems so bleak. It is your love that fuels my determination to persevere, to fight for a better future, where we can be together once more.

Oh, how I miss the simple pleasures we once took for granted— Strolling hand in hand through the park, sharing a stolen kiss under the moonlight, and whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. Each moment spent with you was a treasure, and I cherish every memory we created together.

In the midst of this chaos, I often find myself reaching for the small memento you gave me before I left. It's a reminder of our love, a tangible symbol of the bond we share. It stays close to my heart, just as you do, providing me comfort in the darkest hours.

Please know that, even amidst the struggles and battles, you are always with me. Your love has become my shield, protecting me from fear and doubt. I hold onto the hope that one day soon, the war will be behind us, and we can build a life together, free from the shadows of conflict.

Until that day comes, my love, know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I eagerly await the moment when I can return to your loving arms and finally be home.

Love you always.

SO IN THIS MOMENT IN TIME you were in the war, it seems. A letter you had written during a time of war, a heartfelt message meant to bridge the chasm of separation between you and her. And Hu Tao pictures it, you being on the battlefield, waiting for letters that might never come, fearing the worst, watching the seasons change, the weight of time passing, all the while not knowing if you’d made it home to her. Tears gather in Hu Tao’s eyes, clutching the letter to her chest.

She continues reading the following letter, dated months after.

My Dearest girlfriend Hu Tao, Feb. 1945

As I sit here in this distant and foreign land, my heart swells with joy and anticipation. I have received the most incredible news– I will be coming home to you next Fall. The mere thought of holding you in my arms again, feeling your warmth, and seeing your beautiful smile has ignited a renewed sense of purpose within me.

These days of being far away from you have been challenging, but your love and unwavering support have been my guiding light. Your letters and words of encouragement have given me the strength to face each day with determination and courage. In the darkest moments, your love has been a source of comfort and inspiration, reminding me of the life we will build together once this chapter of my life is behind me.

I want you to know that my commitment to making it home to you has only grown stronger. No matter the obstacles, I will fight with all my might to return to your loving embrace. You are my anchor, my motivation, and the reason I push through every hardship that comes my way. Your love gives me the courage to face the dangers of war and the longing to overcome any challenges that stand between us.

As Fall approaches, my heart races with excitement. I imagine the joyous reunion, the warmth of our love enveloping us, and the new memories we will create together. It's the promise of our future that fuels my determination, driving me forward during the difficult days and nights.

I want you to know that while I may be far from home, my heart remains with you. Every step I take, every mission I complete, and every breath I draw is a step closer to you. The countdown has begun, and I can hardly wait to be by your side once more.

In the meantime, please take care of yourself and know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I will cherish every moment we spent together in my heart and draw strength from those memories. Until we meet again, remember that I love you more than words can express, and I promise to return to you as soon as I can. I will see you soon, my love.

Yours always and forever.

HU TAO’S HEART ACHES as she reads the words —Your words?— and she hopes you made it home alright in the end. There’s one more letter. Oh, but something is different this time.

It’s not your handwriting but hers.

This is a letter she wrote, all those years ago. Hu Tao swallows and starts reading, her chest beating hard against the cage of her ribs inside.

To my precious beloved, Sept. 1945

As the morning sun gently kisses your sleeping form, I find myself filled with immense gratitude and love. Having you here, in our home, after all those long months of separation, feels like a dream come true. Last night we spent the hours wrapped in each other's arms after you finally came back home. It was nothing short of magical, and I wanted to let you rest a little longer while I tiptoed downstairs to prepare a special breakfast for us.

Seeing you lying there, peaceful and content, warms my heart like nothing else. I want this feeling to last forever, and I promise to do all that I can to make every moment we spend together just as wonderful.

As you wake up to find yourself alone in the bed, I want you to know that there's nothing to be scared of. I'm just downstairs, making delicious food to start our day off right. I didn't want to disturb your rest after all you've been through.

Being reunited with you after your service has been an incredible blessing, and I'm cherishing every second we have together. Our love has stood the test of distance and time, and I can't help but marvel at the strength of our bond.

I want you to take all the time you need to freshen up and embrace the comfort of home. When you're ready, come downstairs, and we'll enjoy a delightful breakfast together. There will be plenty of warm pancakes, fresh fruit, and your favorite coffee waiting for you.

Once we've had our meal, we can plan the day ahead– Whether it's taking a leisurely walk in the park, reading our favorite books, or simply staying inside and relishing each other's company.

My love, thank you for your bravery, your dedication, and your sacrifice. You are my hero, and I am beyond proud of everything you've done. Now that you're here, safe and sound, I will do my best to make each day as special as you are.

Remember, I'm just a heartbeat away, and I'll be eagerly waiting for you downstairs with open arms and a heart full of love.

Yours always and forever, Hu Tao.

HU TAO CAN ALMOST FEEL the tears gathered in her eyes at the happy reunion. It seems like you both were alright in this lifetime.

She thinks of you making your way back to her, overcoming the challenges of war and distance, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, coming home to her. She pictures the moment when you would walk through the door, your weary but smiling face, and the warmth of your embrace after so long apart, and she has to blink to prevent the tears from falling down her cheeks.

Just then, the door to her office opens quietly.

"Director Hu Tao, may I have a moment of your time?"

Zhongli asks with his usual composed demeanor, and Hu Tao looks up, her eyes softening at the sight of her friend, blinking her tears away, placing the letters away on her wooden desk.

"Of course, Mr. Zhongli. What can I help you with?"

Zhongli takes a seat across from Hu Tao and leans forward slightly.

"As you know, my presence in Liyue Harbor has been attracting some attention. I have received a request from a family that seeks assistance from the Funeral Parlor."

Hu Tao's interest is piqued. "Oh? What kind of assistance do they need?"

"The family has recently lost their patriarch, and they wish to hold a memorial service in his honor," Zhongli explains. "Given the circumstances and the importance of the deceased, they desire a traditional and solemn ritual."

Hu Tao nods thoughtfully. "I understand. We'll need to make all the necessary arrangements to ensure the service is carried out with the utmost respect and reverence. I will be right there."

She sets the letters further aside, carefully tucking them inside the box, and follows Zhongli outside of her office.

LATER THAT DAY, THE GENTLE SEA BREEZE swirls through the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, carrying the aroma of freshly cooked dishes and the sounds of merchants hawking their wares. Hu Tao is making her way downtown after work hours have ended, the Timekeeper’s box carefully tucked in her bag, when she bumps into her dear friend, the Traveler from another world.

"Hu Tao! Fancy seeing you here!"

Lumine beams, her sunset eyes delighted by the unexpected encounter. And Hu Tao's eyes sparkle with excitement, too.

"Lumine! It's been ages! How are your adventures going?"

Lumine chuckles lightly. "They're going well, always keeping me on my toes. You know how it goes.”

“It’s such good fortune that I would run into you today.” Hu Tao says, smiling. “I have something fascinating to talk about, and I would love to hear your thoughts. Come with me!"

She exclaims, tugging Lumine's arm and leading her towards a quiet corner near the harbor. Curious, Lumine follows her friend.

They find a bench overlooking the harbor, the salty breeze ruffling their hair as they settle in together. The bustling harbor of Liyue, a cacophony of sounds and a vibrant tapestry of colors behind them, the ships from all over Teyvat docking and departing as Lumine leans to Hu Tao, curiosity drawn over her features.

"What's got you so excited?"

She asks, her golden eyes filled with curiosity. Hu Tao retrieves the small, intricately decorated box from her bag.

"Look at this! I found this in an antique shop called ‘The Timekeeper's Trinkets’ down the Harbor. Truthfully, I hadn’t seen it before. It had lots of things, a very eclectic collection of artifacts scattered throughout the shop, like… Ancient maps on the walls, porcelain dolls in glass cabinets, and lots of dusty books upon worn shelves. But it was this one thing that caught my eye!” Hu Tao gives it to Lumine. She watches her turn the box in her hands, staring at it intently. “It has letters and photographs inside, but what's really strange is… Well, the feeling they give me– It’s like a sense of familiarity, of sorts. Like… I know it might sound silly, but like it was me who had been photographed centuries ago. Like it was my pen that wrote these faded letters. And my wife, too…” She takes a moment. And then, “I can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with… Soulmates."

"Soulmates?" Lumine repeats with a tilt of her head, her golden hair falling over her shoulders at the motion. "Do you believe in them?"

Hu Tao stretches her arms above her head next to her and sighs dreamily.

"I can't say for certain, but I've always been fascinated by the idea! Haven’t you? The concept that two souls are destined to find each other, bound by an eternal connection. Sounds romantic and magical, doesn't it?"

Lumine nods, her expression thoughtful, her sunset eyes softening.

"It does. In my travels through different worlds, I've encountered many different beliefs and customs about soulmates, did you know? Some cultures believed in the existence of soulmates, while others didn't.” Lumine shrugs. “But what I found consistent is the longing everyone has to find someone to have a special connection with."

"That's true." Hu Tao agrees, her crimson eyes shining with curiosity. "What else have you seen in your travels? Have you ever met people who seemed like soulmates?"

Lumine leans back, reminiscing about her adventures across the various realms and ages.

"I've come across countless stories of people who believed they found their soulmates. Even across different worlds, yes.” She nods. “I’ve heard tales of star-crossed lovers whose love spanned across time and space."

Hu Tao leans forward, eager to hear more. "Tell me about one of those stories! I want to believe in soulmates, even if it's just for a moment."

Lumine smiles warmly, leaning more comfortably on the bench.

"Well, there was a couple in one world who were separated by fate. They couldn't be together due to circumstances beyond their control, but they were bound by a love that transcended dimensions. Every day, they would write letters to each other, even if they couldn't send them across worlds. It was their way of feeling connected, even from afar, you know?"

"Writing letters like the ones in this box?" Hu Tao asks, holding up the container, her eyes sparkling.

Lumine nods. "Yes, exactly like that. They believed that somehow, their words would reach each other's hearts, and their love would remain eternal."

Hu Tao is entranced by the story, her imagination running wild.

"That's beautiful! It's like the kind of love that can't be contained by the boundaries of the mortal world. So romantic!"

Lumine smiles knowingly, chuckling at her excitedness.

"Yes, very. Love has a way of defying logic and reason, connecting souls in ways we may never fully understand. But that’s part of the beauty of it, isn’t it?"

Hu Tao ponders for a moment, then smiles softly.

"You know, in Liyue, we have legends that talk about an ancient and powerful bond between two souls called the 'Yunfei.' They say it's a connection that exists across time and space, guiding two souls destined to be together."

Lumine's golden eyes light up with curiosity.

"Really? Tell me more about the 'Yunfei.'"

"Legend has it that when the Yunfei find each other, they experience a magnetic attraction, as if an invisible thread draws them closer together. Their souls resonate, recognizing each other across lifetimes. Some say it's love. Others call it destiny."

Lumine smiles at her words. "That sounds both beautiful and enchanting."

“I wonder…” Hu Tao looks at the box in her hands, thinking of you. “Would I be crazy if I believed it was real? That soulmates exist?”

Lumine shakes her head, her sunset eyes set far into the horizon. Hu Tao follows her gaze and the beautiful orange of the evening sun lights up the landscape when Lumine says,

“You know, after being in world after world, each more different than the last… I don’t think anything is too crazy.”

THE PILLOWS OF THE COUCH ARE soft against Hu Tao’s back. It’s Sunday morning and she has finished her chores and morning stretches. She sits back, the antique box in her lap, and her chest beating just the faintest bit faster. She is determined to find the truth behind the mystery of the letters and photographs, and how it’s connected to the two of you.

She opens the box up and goes through the letters she’s read before, the photographs she’s seen, the others she hasn’t, and finds a stack of letters she hasn’t seen before. She takes them in her hands and dusts them off. These seem to be even more worn out than the others, the letters yellowed by the passing of the time and the edges crumbled.

She reads the first one, worded with her unmistakable handwriting.

My Dearest beloved, Jan. 1507

As the quill touches this parchment, I find myself grappling with emotions that words alone cannot contain. The weight of my heart is heavy with sorrow, for I am bound to face a future that my soul cannot bear. The time has come for me to share a truth that pains me more than any words can express.

In this age where societal norms and expectations confine our hearts to cages of convention, I find myself destined to wed a man I cannot love. The decree has been passed, and I have no say in this matter. My tears fall as I imagine a life without you, my love, a life where my heart's desires are but distant dreams.

From the moment our eyes met, and our hearts entwined, I knew a love beyond the ordinary had claimed me. Your presence, your laughter, your touch, all have become the essence of my being. To be torn from your embrace and the warmth of your love is a fate I cannot fathom without trembling.

I am but a prisoner of circumstance, forced into a union that my heart cannot accept. How I wish to stand before the world and declare my love for you openly, to defy all those who would dare to keep us apart. Alas, I am confined to the shadows, where our love must remain a secret, hidden from prying eyes.

In the darkest hours, I will clutch this letter close to my heart, for it holds the truth of my feelings for you, unyielding and eternal. No matter the path I am made to walk, know that you will forever be the love of my life, the one who set my heart ablaze with passion.

I pray that time and distance cannot erode the love we share, that fate will one day smile upon us, and we shall be free to love each other openly and without fear. Until then, my love, let this letter be a testament to the depth of my affection for you.

Yours, now and always,

Lady Hu Tao.

HU TAO LOWERS THE LETTER to her lap. In this lifetime, it seems like she was forced to marry someone she didn’t love, a life filled with duty rather than passion. She couldn't help but imagine what it would have been like to be with you in that distant past, separated by the threads of fate and rules, aching with loneliness.

The letter that follows has your unique penmanship.

My Dearest Lady Hu Tao, March, 1507

As I hold this letter in my trembling hands, tears flow freely down my cheeks, for your words have pierced my heart with both sorrow and love. Your anguish, my love, is palpable, and I wish I could ease your burden and set you free from the chains that bind us.

It pains me beyond measure to know that you are forced to walk a path not of your choosing, that you must endure a loveless union that tears you away from me. How I wish I could stand beside you, to shield you from the cruel hand of fate and to defy those who dare to keep us apart.

Though we must keep our love hidden in the shadows, know that it burns with an intensity that time cannot extinguish. You are the light that illuminates my darkest hours, the beating of my heart, and the very essence of my soul. In every whispered thought and every stolen glance, I am yours, wholly and unconditionally.

As you hold this letter close, feel the warmth of my love enveloping you, transcending the confines of distance and circumstance. We may be apart in body, but our souls are forever entwined, bound by a love that knows no bounds.

Know that I will wait, my love, for the day when we can cast away the veil of secrecy and embrace our love openly. Together, we shall overcome the trials that fate has laid before us, and we shall forge a future where our hearts can dance freely in the light of day.

Until that day dawns, let the memory of our stolen moments on moonlit nights and secret rendezvous under the stars sustain you. Draw strength from the knowledge that our love is a force to be reckoned with, an unyielding flame that will guide us back to each other.

My heart aches for you, my beloved, but take solace in the knowledge that you are not alone. I am with you in every breath you take, in every heartbeat, and in every whisper of the wind. No matter the trials we face, we will endure, for love is a force that transcends time and circumstance.

With all the love in my heart.

Yours, always.

HU TAO’S HEART IS HEAVY as she reads the words. She thinks of the emptiness that gnawed at your soul when she was not by your side, evident in the shape of your letters, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight in the room.

The following letter is from her, dated a couple of months after.

My Dearest beloved, May, 1507

As I pen down these words, my heart feels as heavy as a stone, burdened with the weight of a love that cannot be. The night has fallen, and I am now a wife to a man I cannot love, a husband who possesses none of the tenderness and affection that reside within my heart for you.

Last night, as I stood at the altar, my eyes searched desperately for your face among the crowd. I prayed for a miracle, a sign that would spare me from this loveless fate. But fate, it seems, has other plans, and I am left to navigate a life where my heart is torn asunder.

In the company of a man who calls himself my husband, I feel a void that only your love can fill. I yearn for the sound of your laughter, the touch of your hand, and the warmth of your embrace. These memories are the bittersweet sustenance that keeps me going in this loveless existence.

Oh, how I long for the day when I can break free from these chains and be with you openly, to proclaim to the world that my heart belongs to you and you alone. In the darkest hours, I find solace in the knowledge that our love is a flame that cannot be extinguished, no matter the circumstances.

Though we must hide our love, know that you are never far from my thoughts. In the depths of night, I close my eyes and envision you beside me, your presence a comforting whisper in my ear. It is the memory of our stolen moments that keeps me going, that gives me the strength to face each day.

My beloved, I promise you this— No matter where life leads me, my heart will always belong to you. In the quiet recesses of my soul, I will hold onto the hope that one day, fate will smile upon us, and we shall be free to love each other openly and without fear.

Until that day comes, please know that I am bound to you in a love that defies the constraints of this world. You are the beacon that guides me through the darkness, the reason I wake each day with the hope that love will find a way.

Yours, now and forever,

Lady Hu Tao.

HER STOMACH RUMBLES as she continues reading through the letter. She curses the terrible timing of her hunger. Hu Tao gets up to make some food for lunch, which she eats back on the couch, nestled again between the yellowed letters, the mysterious box, your ancient love story and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The letter is from you to her, months after.

My Dearest Lady Hu Tao, July, 1507

As I read your heart-wrenching words, tears blur the ink on this page, for the pain you endure is etched upon my soul. To know that you suffer in a loveless marriage, to know that your heart longs for me, leaves me torn between joy and despair.

In the darkness of the night, I have weighed the consequences of my actions, and I cannot bear to see you suffer any longer. My love for you burns with an intensity that defies reason, and I am willing to risk all to be by your side.

I cannot stand idle while you endure a life devoid of love and happiness. My heart tells me that you are mine, and mine alone, and I am resolved to defy any who dare to keep us apart. The thought of you in the arms of another haunts my every waking moment, and I cannot fathom a life without you.

So, with a trembling heart but a resolute spirit, I announce my intentions to march to town and challenge your husband in a duel. It is a desperate act, I know, and I risk everything —My freedom, my life— for a chance to be with you.

In this moment, I must be honest with you, my love. If I do not survive the duel, I want you to know that I would rather face eternity without you than endure a lifetime of regret and what-ifs. To have loved you, to have known your heart, is a blessing I would never trade.

But if, by some miracle, I emerge victorious, I promise you this— I will fight with every ounce of strength I possess to free you from the shackles that bind you. We shall face the world together, for love knows no boundaries, and our hearts will be united, unyielding.

Please, my beloved, do not attempt to dissuade me, for my mind is made up. My love for you is a force that cannot be contained, and I will not stand by while you suffer. I pray that fate will be kind and that we shall overcome these trials together. I love you.

Yours, now and always.

A DUEL FOR HER HAND? HU TAO FEELS her heart pick up the pace as she reads your thoughts with your beautiful and unmistakable penmanship.

When she’s about to reach for the following letter, hoping to see you made it safely alive out of the duel, somebody knocks at her door.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Hu Tao gets up from the couch, stretching her limbs and walks up the front door, feeling unsettled. Beidou stands outside Hu Tao's house, a basket full of fish in her hands, a glowing smile on her lips.

"Hu Tao, took you long enough!" Beidou teases, raising an eyebrow. "Were you reading one of those spooky stories of yours again?"

Hu Tao's eyes sparkle with amusement, the letters tucked in the corner of her mind now.

"As a matter of fact, I was. Kind of. But you know how captivating reading can be for me.” She opens the door further. “Come in, come in! What brings you here with all this fish?"

Beidou steps inside, handing the basket to Hu Tao. "Well, my crew and I caught more fish than we can possibly eat or store. So, I thought of sharing them with friends instead of letting them go to waste, you know?"

Hu Tao's grin wides, appreciating the thoughtful gesture.

"That's incredibly kind of you, Beidou! I must say, my wife will be delighted. She will be returning later tonight. She’s on a business trip right now, otherwise I would’ve kicked her butt for not coming to say hi to you, hehe~"

"Ah, good to know she'll be back soon," Beidou replies with a nod, smiling brightly. "It's been a while since we all sat down for a meal together, don’t you think?"

"I agree! We should schedule one of those soon!" Hu Tao says enthusiastically. She looks down at the basket in her hands. "Now, with this fresh fish, I can cook her favorite dinner tonight. Hehe, she'll be thrilled!"

"I'm sure she'll love it," Beidou replies, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You're quite the cook, Hu Tao. I have to give it to you, even if your dishes seem… A little strange, haha."

Hu Tao chuckles. "You flatter me, Beidou. But it's true that I enjoy cooking. For her especially. It's one of the ways I show my undying love~"

"And it's wonderful," Beidou says sincerely, nodding happily. "You two are lucky to have found each other."

"We are," Hu Tao agrees, her cheerful voice softening now. "She's been my pillar of strength, supporting me even during the most challenging times. But enough about us! How was your day out on the open sea, my friend~?"

Beidou's eyes gleam as she recalls the adventure.

"It was a thrilling day! We sailed through turbulent waters and faced a few harrowing moments with sea creatures. But in the end, it was worth it to see the bountiful catch we brought back!"

"I can imagine," Hu Tao says, her curiosity piqued. "You always seem to find excitement wherever you go!"

"That's the pirate's way!" Beidou proclaims, grinning proudly.

The two friends spend more time than they originally intended chatting and laughing, exchanging stories about their adventures and memories. As the sun begins to set beyond the windows, Hu Tao voices her gratitude once more for the generous gift of fish.

"It's my pleasure," Beidou replies warmly. "Remember, if you ever need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

When Beidou leaves, Hu Tao swiftly goes back to the couch, finding the following letter, her heart racing in her chest.

The fate of your duel for her hand.

My Dearest beloved, Sept. 1507

As I read your brave and selfless words, my heart swells with both love and fear. The thought of you risking your life for me fills me with a deep sense of gratitude, but I cannot bear the idea of losing you, my love. Please, I implore you, do not attempt the duel. I cannot bear the thought of you coming to harm because of me.

While your declaration of love and devotion warms my soul, I cannot allow you to endanger yourself in such a reckless way. The world we live in is harsh and unforgiving, and I fear what may come of this duel. I cannot bear the thought of losing you, for you are the light that brightens my darkest days.

My heart aches knowing that I am the cause of your pain and suffering. I never wanted this for you, my love. The circumstances that bind us are cruel, and I long for the day when we can be together without fear or hindrance. But until that day comes, we must be prudent and patient.

Please, my beloved, consider the consequences of your actions. Think of those who love you, who would be left heartbroken if you were to be harmed. I cannot bear the thought of my happiness coming at the expense of your safety.

Instead, let us find strength in our love for each other, in the knowledge that our hearts beat as one, no matter the distance between us. Though we are apart, know that you are always with me, and I am always with you. Our love transcends time and space, and it will sustain us until we can be together freely.

I will pray for your safety and well-being, and I will continue to hope for a future where we can be together without constraints. Until that day comes, my love, hold onto the knowledge that you are cherished and adored, and that my heart beats for you alone.

With all my love,

Lady Hu Tao.

HU TAO READS THE WORDS with a clenched heart, praying that you were okay in this lifetime. She can imagine the anguish and uncertainty, the emotions sinking into her bones like the cold breeze of the night at the thought of losing you.

As she finds the paper that follows, her heart shatters into a million pieces.

Local Paper Obituary - In Loving Memory of a Local Female Sword-fighter.

November, 1507.

It is with profound sorrow that we announce the untimely passing of an extraordinary woman whose life was taken too soon in a tragic duel that unfolded in the name of love. Her valor, courage, and unparalleled skill in the art of sword fighting leave an indelible mark on our hearts and in the history of our land.

Date of Birth: Unknown.

Date of Demise: November 22nd, 1507.

Born into a world where societal conventions stifled the dreams of women, the now deceased sword-fighter fearlessly broke free from the shackles that sought to bind her. With grace and determination, she embraced the way of the sword, becoming a symbol of strength and empowerment for others who dared to challenge the norms.

Her tragic tale intertwined with the fates of two noble hearts - her own and that of the Lord of these lands. Unbeknownst to many, the sword-fighter and the Lord’s bride, Lady Hu Tao, were deeply enamored with each other, destined to be together by the strings of love.

However, as is so often the case in this age dominated by arranged marriages, fate dealt a cruel hand. The beautiful Lady Hu Tao, whom the female sword-fighter cherished with all her heart, was forced into an arranged marriage with our Lord, extinguishing the flame of their love.

In the haze of sorrow and desperation, love turned to bitterness and jealousy. The female sword-fighter could not bear to see her beloved wed another and took up the gauntlet, challenging our Lord to a duel that would decide the fate of Lady Hu Tao's heart.

On a somber November day, beneath the melancholic sky, the clash of swords resonated through the air. The female sword-fighter fought with fervor, not to inflict harm but to reclaim the love that fate had so mercilessly snatched away. Her sword, an extension of her unyielding spirit, sought not vengeance but an opportunity to rewrite their tragic story.

Alas, despite her unparalleled prowess, fate remained unyielding. In a cruel twist of destiny, the duel ended with a fatal blow to the female sword-fighter. As her life ebbed away, she knew her quest for love was futile, but her heart remained steadfast in its devotion to Lady Hu Tao.

In her final moments, the unnamed woman held on to the love that had blossomed in her heart, the love that circumstances had deemed forbidden. In death, she found solace in knowing that her love for Lady Hu Tao would endure, even if unspoken.

Today, as we mourn the loss of an extraordinary soul, let us remember the female sword-fighter for her strength, her bravery, and her unyielding love. May her sacrifice serve as a reminder of the consequences of societal constraints on love and the importance of cherishing every fleeting moment with those we hold dear.

A memorial service will be held at the Temple on November 24th to honor her memory and celebrate her life. All are welcome to pay their respects to the fallen swordfighter and bid farewell to a soul whose love knew no bounds.

Though her life was cut short, the legacy of the female sword-fighter will forever echo through history, inspiring generations to come to embrace love with unwavering determination, regardless of the obstacles that lie before them.

May her soul find eternal peace in the realms beyond, and may her love for Lady Hu Tao endure throughout eternity.

HU TAO TAKES A MOMENT TO calm her clamoring heart. You died back then for her, to win back her hand, but you lost your life instead. The realization that you were gone, that you had paid the ultimate price for her love, is a blow that leaves her breathless. Tears stream down her cheeks as she clutches the letter to her chest, as if holding onto the last remnants of your presence.

She thought it would be the end of your story, but she finds more letters attached to these ones, her handwriting unmistakable in her eyes.

With trembling hands, she holds the following one and begins reading.

My Dearest beloved, Nov. 1507

As I sit here with tear-stained cheeks and a heart heavy with grief, I struggle to find the words to express the depths of my sorrow. The days since the fateful duel have been a blur of pain and anguish, for the loss of you, my love, has left an indelible void within me.

The weight of guilt gnaws at my soul, for it was my presence in your life that led you to such a perilous fate. I never wanted this for you, my beloved. I never wanted you to risk your life for me. The regret is a bitter pill to swallow, and I would give anything to turn back time and prevent this tragedy.

The sight of your passing reached me like a dagger to the heart, and I crumbled under the weight of my grief. To know that you are gone from this world, that I will never again see your smile or feel your touch, is a pain that words fail to describe.

Yet, amidst the darkness of this sorrow, there is a glimmer of solace. In the moments before your departure, fate granted us one last meeting, one final embrace. I held you in my arms, my love, and though your time was fleeting, it felt like an eternity of bliss.

In that moment, the world faded away, and it was just you and I, as it was always meant to be. I whispered words of love and gratitude into your ear, knowing that you could hear me, even in the arms of eternity. I will hold onto that memory, that precious gift, for as long as I draw breath.

Though your time in this world was cut short, the impact of your love on my life will be everlasting. You brought light to my darkest days, and your love made me feel alive like never before. You were my confidant, my best friend, and the keeper of my heart.

The pain of losing you is almost unbearable, and there are moments when I feel as though I cannot go on without you. But I know that you would want me to find strength and carry on, to live a life that honors the love we shared.

My beloved, though you are gone, you will never be forgotten. Your spirit lives on in my heart, and I will cherish the memories of our love for all eternity.

Rest in peace, my love, and know that I will love you always.

With all my heart,

Lady Hu Tao.

AND AFTER THAT LETTER, there comes another one. Hu Tao feels the room close in around her, and the weight of grief presses down on her like a crushing wave.

She takes the next letter in her hands and begins reading through blurry eyes.

My Dearest beloved, March, 1508

Months have come and gone since I last held you in my arms, and not a day goes by that I don't yearn for your presence beside me. The pain of your absence remains a constant ache in my heart, but I find solace in the memories we shared and the beauty of the world around me, which reminds me of you.

As spring arrives, the cherry blossoms once again grace the world with their delicate pink petals. Each blossom that adorns the trees carries your essence, and in their fleeting beauty, I see a reflection of our love— A love that bloomed and flourished like the blossoms in the breeze.

I wish you were here, my love, to witness the magic of the cherry blossoms and feel their soft touch upon your skin. I long to share these moments with you, to bask in the beauty of nature's creation together, as we once did. But even in your physical absence, I feel you beside me in every beautiful thing.

Your presence is woven into the fabric of my life, like the threads of a tapestry that tell the story of our love. Your laughter echoes in the wind, and your smile lingers in the golden hues of the setting sun. Each day, I find you in the little things— A gentle raindrop, a ray of sunlight, a twinkling star in the night sky.

Though you are no longer with me in the physical sense, your spirit lives on, and our love transcends the boundaries of time and space. You are a part of me, and I carry you in my heart wherever I go.

The nights are still long and lonely without you, my love, and I often find myself gazing at the moon, wondering if you see it too from wherever you are. The stars above, like tiny diamonds in the sky, seem to hold the secrets of the universe, and I find comfort in knowing that you are among them, shining bright upon me.

As the seasons change and time moves forward, my love for you remains steadfast. I will forever cherish the moments we shared and hold onto the hope that one day, we will be reunited once more.

Until then, I will continue to see you in every beautiful thing, in every whisper of the wind, and in the blossoming of the cherry trees. You are my eternal love, and you will forever be a part of my soul.

With all my love,

Lady Hu Tao.

HU TAO TAKES THE NEXT LETTER into her hands. Her handwriting seems faded and worn out, but she can still discern the words, laced with her undying affection for you despite the grieving loss of you.

My Dearest beloved, Jun, 1514

It has been several years since fate took you away from me, and the passage of time has not dimmed the love I hold for you. Life has carried me forward, and I now find myself a mother to beautiful children, a life I never envisioned, yet one that has brought its own moments of joy and warmth.

Though I do not love my husband as I loved you, I have found some measure of comfort in the life we have built together. It is not the passionate love we once shared, but it is a love born out of familiarity, companionship, and the shared responsibility of raising our children.

My heart aches every day, for I see you in the faces of our children. Their smiles, their laughter, their curious eyes all carry a hint of you, and in them, I find solace. I wish you could be here to witness the beauty of their growth and the love they bring into our lives.

As they grow older, I often find myself wondering what it would have been like if you were here with us. I imagine you playing with them, holding them close, and sharing in their milestones and achievements. The thought of you being a part of their lives fills me with bittersweet longing.

Life has granted me stability and ease, but there is a part of me that remains unfulfilled. I yearn for the love we once shared, the depth of connection that cannot be replicated. I wish for a reality where we could have shared this life together, as a family.

I hope you know, my love, that you are never forgotten, that your memory is cherished and held dear to my heart. The love we shared was a force that shaped me, and it continues to guide me through the trials of life.

I will always carry you with me, my beloved, in the depths of my soul and the love I have for my children. Though life has led us down different paths, the bond we once had remains unbreakable.

With each passing day, I find myself yearning for the day when we shall be reunited, where we can be together once more. Until then, I will continue to hold onto the love we shared, finding strength in the thought of you, in the faces of my children, and in the hope that one day, our souls will meet again.

With my forever love,

Lady Hu Tao.

HU TAO BECAME A MOTHER in that lifetime without you? Her heart aches as she reads the words, thinking of how it must’ve felt like to witness the passing of the years with your absence weighing heavy in her chest.

She grasps the next letter in her trembling hands.

It’s the last there is.

My Dearest beloved, Oct. 1532

As I write these words, my body feels frail and my spirit hovers on the threshold between this world and the next. The doctors speak of illness, of a journey that may lead me to where you are. The years have flown by like fleeting moments, and now I find myself facing the uncertainty of life's end. But fear not, my love, for my heart is strangely at ease.

My children, my beautiful blessings, have grown into kind and hardworking young souls. They stand on their own, strong and capable, and I am filled with pride and gratitude for the time I have spent with them. I have poured my love and wisdom into their hearts, and now they walk with the strength to carry on without me.

Though I know that my absence will bring sorrow to their hearts, I find comfort in the knowledge that they will be surrounded by love and support. They will be there for each other, just as we were, a testament to the love that binds us all.

As I reflect on my life, I find that my heart longs for the day when I shall be reunited with you. The thought of your arms embracing me, your laughter ringing in my ears, and your love surrounding me brings a sense of peace unlike any other.

I have no regrets, my love, for the life we shared was filled with love and joy, even if briefly, and my children are a testament to that love that filled my soul all these years. They are living proof of the love you poured into me, that we poured this world, and that love will continue to ripple through the generations to come.

Now, as my journey nears its end, I yearn for the moment when I shall cross over to where you are. I ask you to wait for me, my beloved, for we will be together soon. The love that has united us in this life will continue in the next, and we will find each other once more.

I am not afraid, for I know that our love is eternal, transcending the boundaries of time and space. I will watch over my children from beyond, and my love will guide and protect them as I know yours has done with me through all these years we’ve been apart.

Until the day comes when we are united again, my heart, hold onto the love we shared, as I will hold onto the memories of our time together. I eagerly await the moment when we shall embrace once more, and our souls will dance together in eternal bliss.

With all my love forever,

Lady Hu Tao.

HER VISION IS BLURRY WITH the shape of tears, the trail they’re leaving down her cheeks is starting to grow cold on her skin.

There are no more letters, but there is one last paper tucked on the bottom of the box. An extract from a newspaper, faded in time. She reads it with a heavy heart.

Local Paper Obituary - In Loving Memory of a Lady Hu Tao.

December, 1532.

It is with heavy hearts and profound sorrow that we announce the passing of our beloved Lady Hu Tao. She departed from this world on December 2nd, surrounded by the love of her family and friends.

Lady Hu Tao was a beacon of light and love to all who knew her. Throughout her life, she touched the hearts of many with her kindness, playfulness, and unwavering spirit. She was a soul born from light, a fun friend, and a source of inspiration to those fortunate enough to cross her path.

She leaves behind her cherished children, who were her greatest joy and pride. The love she poured into their hearts will be a guiding force in their lives, and her memory will forever be etched in their souls.

Though her time with us was marked by moments of strength and resilience, it was her unwavering love for her deceased female beloved that defined her life. Their love transcended the boundaries of time and space, and even in her final days, she held steadfast to the hope of reuniting with her beloved once more.

Lady Hu Tao lived a life filled with love, laughter, and purpose. She was known for her easy-going nature, her fun smiles, and her ability to bring happiness and joy to those around her. Her presence was a balm to the souls of many, and she leaves behind a legacy of love and compassion that will continue to touch lives for generations to come.

In her final days, she found solace in the thought of being reunited with her beloved, and we take comfort in knowing that they are now together, dancing among the stars.

A memorial service will be held on December 3rd at the Temple, where family and friends will gather to celebrate the life of Lady Hu Tao and bid her farewell.

May Lady Hu Tao rest in eternal peace, forever surrounded by the love and light of her beloved and the memories of all who cherished her. She will be deeply missed but never forgotten.

"Love is not finite, for it transcends the boundaries of life and death."

HU TAO FINISHES READING THE PAPER. There are tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving with the overwhelming emotions of a life she lived, centuries ago, that’s now pouring down her veins and soaking her bones. She sniffles, trying to steady her breath.

And just then, she hears the main door open. You have come back home from today’s work. Hu Tao doesn’t waste a second.

She rushes through the hallway with an almost desperate urgency and pounces on you, her arms wrapping around you tightly. The force of her tackle sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

“Tao— Whoa. Hello to you too, my—”

You start, but you’re quickly cut off.

“Don’t ever die and leave me behind!” She demands, her face burrowed in your chest, her voice quivering with raw emotion. “Don’t do anything silly like risking your life for me!”

Confusion creeps into your voice.

“I don’t— Tao, where is this coming from?” You try to make sense of the sudden intensity.

“Just say it! Say you will be with me now, always.” She pleads, lifting her head to look at you. The intensity in her eyes almost scares you. “Please. I don’t— I don’t know what I would do if something bad happened to you… So, please… Please, don’t ever leave me.”

“Oh, my love.” Your heart aches at the depth of her fear. Gently, you cradle her face in your hands, smiling softly at her. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me. I am going to stay right here, right where I am, with you, for as long as you want me to.”

“So you promise, right? You promise to stay with me forever? For as long as the sun shines and the birds sing?” She insists, her eyes searching yours. “You won’t lose your life in a duel to the death for my hand, and I won’t stay missing you for all the years that come after?”

“What—?” You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh. “No, my love, I promise I won’t lose my life in a duel to the death for your hand. I will stay right here. Right where you can see me, okay?”

“Thank you, my pumpkin pie… That makes me feel better.”

Hu Tao nuzzles her head into your shoulder, burying her face into your shirt’s fabric and breathing in. You can feel her chest swell as she continues to breathe, her warmth pouring all over you and her auburn hair cascading down her back.

“Tao… Where is this coming from, really? I was gone for one weekend and I come back to you feeling like this…” Your voice is gentle. “Did something happen, my love?”

Hu Tao sighs, her fingers nervously tracing patterns on the fabric of your clothing.

“It’s silly, really. Maybe I’ve been reading too much lately…” She shakes her head. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

With a reassuring smile, you reach out to cup her face in your hands, your touch tender and loving.

“My heart, nothing you could ever say would make me think you're crazy. Just say what's in your heart, I'll listen." You stroke her cheeks lovingly. “No judgment, remember?"

A flicker of uncertainty crosses her crimson eyes, but then she takes a deep breath and decides to open her mouth again.

"I don't know how to describe it... It's a lot easier to understand if I just showed you instead... But, I don't want you to freak out." Hu Tao closes her eyes, trying to decide if she should continue. She looks up at you with a hopeful look before speaking. "Do you want to see it?"

You nod without hesitation. “Yes. Show me.”

Hu Tao guides you to your shared bedroom and pulls out the ornate Timekeeper’s box. She opens it up, revealing dozens the of letters that appear to be from you to her, and vice versa. Your handwriting is distinct and your words are as easy to identify to you as they were to her.

“And these, too…”

Hu Tao shows you the photos she bought from the antique shop, also carefully nestled inside the ornate box. You see the small collection of photos taken centuries ago of two lovers, different throughout the ages. Although the quality is poor, they both share an unmistakable similar appearance to the two of you that you can quickly tell.

Hu Tao notices your bewilderment as you look at the photos, and continues to speak, her gaze fixed on the old photographs spread out before the two of you.

"The photos are almost like a window into another life... A different me, or another you... and it's so strange, but I've got to admit... I could see us in every single one. Am I going crazy?"

“Tao, what… What is this? Where did you get these from?”

You say, confusing swirling within you. Hu Tao glances up at you, her eyes filled with wonder and uncertainty.

"I just found them from a small antique shop earlier this week... I wasn't expecting anything particular out of them, but... It's just so weird, right? It's almost like destiny brought these to me... You can see what I mean, right?"

With a growing sense of intrigue, you lean in to examine the photos more closely. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the figures in the pictures, unmistakably the two of you. Your hand moves to touch the letters, tracing the familiar curves of your own handwriting.

“These… These are us. That’s you, Tao.” You say, taking it all into your uncertain hands. “And this is my handwriting. How…?”

Your voice trails off as the implications of this discovery start to sink in your mind and body. Hu Tao opens her mouth again.

"I know. The moment I saw them, I knew that I had to have them... It was as if for at least a moment, I got to look into a world that's almost exactly the same as ours, yet somehow different... It all seemed so... familiar."

Hu Tao looks at the photos in your hands as you examine them too. You nod, now looking at her, her beautiful wide crimson eyes.

“They do look familiar. This feels… Like I have seen this all before. Like a dream. Something I… Can’t quite remember.”

Hu Tao nods to your words, taking some photographs in her hands.

"I feel the same way. It's as if this is something we always knew, but we never remembered. Look at the photos, you look exactly like how you do now. But yet you are someone else. It's all so... Uncanny. It's as if I'm looking into a mirror, but it's not quite me..." Her words become quieter. "It doesn't feel like a dream, even if it's like a dream. Is this just a fantasy? Or could this really be who we used to be?"

The longer you look at the photos, the more you notice subtle differences. The two lovers in the photos wore clothes you've never seen before, and their facial expressions seemed to carry a sense of sorrow not found in your world. Yet, you also feel like it is all something you've seen before, and your head starts to swirl with strange memories. You can’t quite tell how familiar this all is, but there is definitely some connection.

Seeing your face scrunch with confusion, shock, and a slight bit of fear, makes Hu Tao’s heart sink. She gently pushes your hands with the photos down to your side.

"Don't worry, it doesn't mean anything. We probably aren't the only two people in this world to look like that. I'm sure we'll forget about it tomorrow as if it was a bad dream. It's not like it's some kind of past life or something, haha."

Hu Tao chuckles a little in an attempt to lighten your mood, her laughter tinged with a nervous energy. You swallow, voicing the very idea that had haunted her since the discovery.

“Past life… I know this sounds… Absolutely bonkers. But what if— What if it really was us? In past lives?”

Hu Tao blinks, then bursts into laughter, the sound matching the incredulity of your suggestion.

“Oh, now you're going down the same insane train of thought as I am? Hahaha~” She pauses, her laughter fading. “But... What if it is true? What if we've just been separated over and over again, throughout all of time... It's such a ridiculous idea, but that tiny thought at the back of my mind still makes my entire body tremble.” Another pause. And then, “Would you think I'm going mad if I believe it?"

You meet her gaze with a newfound seriousness, shaking your head.

“Half an hour ago, yes. I would. But now… Tao, the more I look at these pictures, these handwritings, the more I… Remember. The silk of the prom dress… The echoes of war in my ears…” Hu Tao’s heart clenches as you begin to describe the memories that are starting to resurface. “The weight— Tao, the weight of the sword in my hand. I have never in my life yielded a sword, I— What if it’s true?”

Hu Tao feels her blood run cold as she listens to your words. Her heart skips a beat, making her stomach churn and her lips quiver.

"Don't say that... Don't say things like that, because what if it really is true? Who knows, after all, what lies beyond life and death..."

Hu Tao buries her face into your shoulder again, too weighed by the revelation to look up from her spot. She curls up, hugging you tightly, claiming your safety and comfort in the midst of the bewildering revelations that have shaken your world.

In the hushed atmosphere, you ask a question, one that hangs in the air like a delicate thread, soft and gentle.

“Do you want to know what I… What I remember the most, of all this?”

Hu Tao shifts her head from where it rests against your shoulder, her nervous eyes searching your gaze as she waits for your response. Her heart races with anticipation as she says, "What do you remember?"

“You.” You draw a soft smile, the affection pouring out of your curved lips for her eyes only. “I remember you, Tao. I remember loving you ardently, life after life. It sounds absolutely crazy, but… I swear I remember yearning to be back to your side. To spend my life with you. To fight for you. I remember… I remember loving you, before I was even born into this life.”

“You... You remember loving me? You mean it?"

Hu Tao stares at you, her eyes brimming with tears. You’ve been sharing the most intimate thoughts and feelings with one another, her heart pounding rapidly as if she’s been running a marathon, but this realization makes her heart feel like it's dropping like a heavy rock into a bottomless void. She wipes her tears away and leans her head back against your shoulder. She wraps her arms around your body, as if to hold herself together with you.

“I really mean it.” You chuckle, caressing her cheeks in disbelief. “As ridiculous as it sounds… I really do, my love.”

Hu Tao's face lights up with joy, her crimson eyes tearing up as she wraps her arms around you tight, squeezing you tighter, her face buried into the welcoming softness of your chest.

"You remember loving me... before you were even born into this life...? That's the exact same way I've felt about you since the first day that I saw you... What if it's true? What if you were always my true love, waiting for me in every life?"

Your gaze holds a deep sense of certainty when you say,

“Then, I am glad I found you again in this life. I promise to make the most of the years we have this time around.” You gently kiss her cheek. Then smile, open and honest like she’s learned to love from you. “And I promise to find you in the next one, too.”

Hu Tao looks up at you, her ember eyes glistening. With gratitude. With love.

"My dear... I knew our love was meant to be, that we were destined for each other... But I never knew we were fated like this. No matter where, no matter when, and for all of time itself, we'll always find a way to each other. I'll always be the love of your life... and you'll always be the best of my worlds. Please, I beg of you, don't ever let our hearts be parted again."

As the intensity of the moment wraps the both of you, Hu Tao brings her lips close to your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine as she whispers, "Promise me."

“I promise…” Hu Tao smiles as you whisper back with a shaky breath.

“You're mine, and I'm yours... It's funny how fate works. I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this, even though I've read so many stories about such things in the past. But I think I'm happy with it, so long as it’s you with me."

Hu Tao pulls back from your neck, as her face lights up in the sweetest smile you've ever seen.

“You look silly when you shiver like that. Come give me a kiss."

You draw an easy smile at her teasing, your cheeks growing a slight shade of pink.

“A soulmate kiss?”

“No, a wife-kiss! Hehe~ We are married, you know?”

Hu Tao places a finger to her lips and winks, playfully waiting for you to kiss her on her lips.

“You’re right, my lovely wife.”

Your heart warms at the reminder, and you lean in to give her a kiss. The moment is gentle, tender as your lips brush together, slowly savoring the connection.

However, that’s nearly not enough to satisfy Hu Tao.

"That's not how you kiss a wife! Here, I'll show you~"

Hu Tao leans toward you, eagerly locking her lips with yours in a passionate kiss. You feel her tongue lightly dance against your own, as a warm flush rises to your cheeks. She pulls away from the kiss, looking at you with a playful grin adorning her beautiful face.

"That's more like it~"

You feel your face flushed, entirely too warm. “I… Yes, that was nice.”

"Mhm, then come back here for more~"

Hu Tao chuckles and leans in to capture your lips again, this time pulling you by the collar of your shirt and giving you a soft, sweet kiss now, closing her eyes as you two lean into the other in a warm embrace. Your lips tingle as they meet with hers, your fingers gently brushing the nape of her neck. Her hand rises to your hair, cradling your head with care as she continues to kiss you— A kiss filled with all the love of all your past lives. Finally, she pulls away, and smiles at you sweetly.

“I'll always be yours, my beautiful wife, and I will never love anyone else. Just you. That’s my promise for this lifetime.” She winks at you. “And all the others that come next too, I suppose~”

You brush her cheeks softly, tracing the shape of her cheekbone with your gentle fingertips, looking at her with affection drawn all over your eyes.

“A lifetime— No, an eternity with you, my love.” You pinch her cheeks, chuckling. “A blessing or a curse, I wonder?”

"Hehe~ I don't really care, because regardless, we'll be together, for better or for worse. The world could be ending and even when we're old and wrinkly, I'm willing to go through it all just to be by your side." Hu Tao smiles, bringing her nose close to yours. "But hey, it's not all sappy and lovey-dovey. I mean, even if we're destined to be together, that doesn't mean I'll stop teasing or pranking you. That much, I will never change."

She closes her ember eyes and you gently brush away a stray hair hanging in front of her face, before kissing the tip of her nose, laughing out of love and saying,

“You know? I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

THE FOLLOWING DAY, YOU WOULD stroll down the Harbor together, hand in hand. You would walk the same steps that lead Hu Tao to the antique shop days before, looking for the shop's weathered sign that reads "The Timekeeper's Trinkets", the creaky door, the musty scent of old books and polished wood and the elderly shopkeeper with twinkling eyes.

But instead, you find nothing. Like such an antique shop had never really existed in the cobblestone streets of Liyue Harbor.

And perhaps, you think, it never had.

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3!

You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x you #hu tao x you #hu tao x reader #soulmates

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squintyeyedjoel · 8 months

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Sneak Peek of Part 2 of Through Your Eyes (Joel x Reader) - More than Meets the Eye - Coming Soon!

A/N: So sorry this took so long! I have 14k to make up for it, though, coming soon. 😉 (Under the cut for those who want to avoid spoilers.)

“Joel? Where’s Will?”

He smirked with a gentle shake of his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Gripping the reins of his horse, he clicked the side of his mouth softly as he got near the creature's head, stroking it gently with one hand as the horse nickered at him.

You led your horse over toward him, reins pulled tight as the giant, powerful, dapple gray wonder named Delilah balked, digging into the earth and tossing her head side to side with a discontented snort.

She’s as stubborn as he is.

Dropping the reins you closed the last few feet between you and Joel, arms coming to cross over your chest once you landed behind him. “Well, I’m gonna.”

Joel sighed, resting his head against his horse’s, who let out a soft contented bray, before pulling back to look at you. “He’s okay,” he said softly. “Now, leave it alone.”

“How do you know?” You swiveled to follow him as he walked over to gather your horse’s reins, shushing the large mare until she, too, was nickering at him, then he led her back over to you.

Joel shrugged, pulling his face tight in amusement as he placed the horse’s tack back in your hands. “Jus’ do.”

“If you don’t tell me….”

Joel mounted his horse with a groan. “I patrol with the man. I just know his little quirks, okay?” Looking down at you, his horse stepped back and forth, eager to get going. Joel reached out to pat the back of the large chestnut’s head, muttering calming words. “Shhhh…. Calm down, Old Beardy….”

“Your horse's name is-”

“He’s not in trouble…. Yet,” Joel cut you off, sitting up abruptly on the back of Old Beardy. “But if he keeps pestering Jane like I think he’s wantin’ to, that could all change very quickly….”

You scoffed. “Really? Was that a not so subtle dig at me to stop pesterin’ you?”

Joel shrugged. “You said it. I didn’t.” And with that, he nudged his horse forward, trying hard not to smile.

Xxx

Tags: @dilf-din @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker @what-the-heckin-heck @telarnidaniela @kalea-bane @morgaussy @enjoythelittlethings @paleidiot @telepathay @carlyreneeinthemoon @competitivedust @ruthyalva96 @brittmb115 @rollingfields97 @hiddenbabynyc Wanna be tagged if/when I write any future Joel stuff? Here’s how to sign up!

#joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 1 year

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2023.10.09

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Darling by @mypissedoffsandwich [E, 2k] *typo

►“Hello Gorgeous,” Draco greeted, lightly stroking a hand along the emerald lace adorning Harry's ribcage.

2. Making It Up As We Go by @jtimu [M, 5k]

►Years after the war, Draco Malfoy works in the International Portkey Terminal, living a life of people-watching and paperwork. Around the same time, Harry Potter starts getting sent on work travel. A lot of work travel.

3. mockingbird by velkalopsia [?, 4k]

►Teddy Lupin loves his godfather, Harry Potter - his godfather's boyfriend? Not so much.

4. The Moon, The Messenger by words_wording [T, 3k]

►One night, out on the countryside, seventeen-year-old Harry, who is on the run, takes some time to think. His boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, who is not on the run, does the same.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. The Doe Between Us by Anonymous [G, 11k]

►Draco's teaching career is taking off alongside his friendship with Harry Potter. The rain that had endured all of summer time turns to snow as the winter solstice comes nearer, and the two of them spend a few chilly nights in the Forbidden Forest. ★ HP Drizzle Fest 2023 | @hpdrizzle

2. Peacocks of the Bride(groom) by Anonymous [T, 7k]

►The Big Day is here! Draco and Harry are finally getting hitched. Will the wedding be a smashing success or will peacock-induced chaos ensue? (It’s the latter, for sure) ★ Unleashed! Fest 2023 | @unleashed-fest

3. show me how you like it by @emeryhall & @hihimissamericanbi [E, 14k] *typo

►[...] Harry is bored. Draco is a brat. Maybe they should settle their rivalry through a wanking contest using McGonagall's handy dandy Pensieve. ★ HP Kinktober 2023 | @hpkinktober

4. Thunderstruck by Anonymous [E, 8k]

►Professional Quidditch players Malfoy and Potter have been at each other’s throats since they became teammates. When things get ugly during a thunderstorm, their captain is so fed up she’s ready to kick them off the team if they don’t solve their differences, by any means possible. There’s really only one way this can end, right? ★ HP Drizzle Fest 2023 | @hpdrizzle

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2023 #2023.10

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rachellhicks · 8 months

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***NOT A PHOTO/EDIT

16 hrs and 14k brush strokes.

This was fun! Go follow me on instagram @ rachel.l.hicks

💋💋💋

P.s. please don’t steal my art and try to pass it off as your own. Happens way too often and I’m TIRED.

#renee rapp #mean girls the musical #mean girls #digital painting #digital portrait #lesbian food #digiral art

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chronic-ghost · 1 year

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Chapter 10 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 31K (part 1: 14K + part 2: 17K)

chapter summary: how they find each other again . . . and everything else

chapter warnings/tags: discussions of mental health, medication discussions, therapy (so much therapy), everything about theater and theatre production is nothing but fake lies, and yes lots of smut

a/n: there's a longer, sappy-er reblog coming but i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who came along with me on this journey. this wouldn't have been possible without you and i hope to see you again soon!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 2 + Epilogue

▲ AO3 Link (posted there as a single chapter if you like to read it all at once)

▲ Taglist Form

“Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.” - Jane Austen, Persuasion

SEPTEMBER

“And so we can see that with the abstract paintings, color theory, as well as a fundamental understanding of color under light, is more important than ever. We can have a more immediate reaction to abstract art precisely because it digs at our unconscious thought. We see what we want to see and that can give us perspective on our own lives as well as that of the artist.”

One hand jumps up from the back of the crowd.

“Yes?”

“Is it true that Van Gogh ate yellow paint because he thought it would make him happier?”

You nod. “He did. But Van Gogh was a deeply disturbed man and while many of his best works come from his Yellow period, art historians have debated for decades about whether or not the madness was worth the beauty.”

The same boy in the back, blonde, lanky, frowns out of frustration, not boredom.

“So he ate yellow paint and then painted yellow things?”

“It could be said that he wanted to literally take what he was feeling inside and put it on the canvas.”

Another boy, bigger than the first and clearly used to all eyes on him, snickers. He points to a frame at the end of the salon wall.

“So, what, the artist who did that one wanted to get their blood all over everything?”

You cross your arms, unphased by yet another teenage smartass. “What does color theory tell us about the color red?”

“It’s associated with anger,” a young girl at the front says with confidence. “Or more often, love. Intense emotions.”

The same jokester in the back chuckles, louder this time. “Wow, so that guy must have really been in luuuurve to paint that.” He pinches the waist of a girl next to him and she wriggles away, giggling.

“Actually,” you say, straightening up, “I had just come out of a horrific break up and was trying to process grief, trauma, and heartbreak unlike anything I’d experienced before.”

That successfully manages to silence them all. It usually does.

“You painted that, miss?” The girl at the front asks again, her eyes wide in awe.

You smile at her. You remember being her age, fourteen, and thinking the world of art, theater was all so exciting.

“I did. Am I a vain bitch for putting my own paintings in my gallery? Probably, but for some reason, people like to buy them and I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to fund another kitchen renovation in my home.”

There’s a surprised chuckle amongst the students. Nothing endeared you faster to teenagers by some light cursing.

“What other paintings are yours, miss?” The blonde boy asks, eyes suddenly leaping from wall to wall, trying to spot similar brush strokes. You don’t miss when the girl looks at him, her cheeks red.

“Miss Lorraine only has a handful of her paintings in this gallery.” Marie steps forward from around one of the salon walls, her trusty iPad clutched against her chest. “If you are really interested in her work, I highly recommend going to see her charcoal sketches upfront. But this is the end of the tour. Your teacher has given you fifteen more minutes to view any last pieces or purchase a souvenir, but then it’s back on the bus. ”

The gaggle of high school students disperses, an excitement buzzing as a few surge towards the charcoal exhibit.

You roll your eyes, as bodies flow around you, and flick your best friend of the past ten years on her earlobe.

“That was supposed to be a secret.”

“Oh, whatever.” Marie bats your hand away. “It’s honestly some of your best work. You should be proud.”

“This is meant to be a business, not a housing facility for my ego.”

“Well, the second your ego starts to suck money out of this place, I’ll let you know.” She taps her iPad with her stylus. “Speaking of which, Andrew should be by in about ten minutes to discuss that piece he wants for his new show.”

You groan, falling behind Marie as she leads you to the front desk, where some of the students are purchasing posters of the art they liked. You watch as the sales girl rings up a few posters and some postcards, as Marie continues to scroll through her tablet, always thinking of the next thing, the next move.

“This had better be the last one,” you sigh, particularly pleased when you see someone buy a postcard of your red painting. “Why am I starting to think this damn show is going to be the death of me?”

Marie scoffs as she leans forward onto the corner of the sales counter, your bark always worse than your bite. “If you’re so concerned, think about what the notoriety of designing a set for an off-broadway production will do for this gallery.”

“Does it always have to come back to this dump?” You smile at her, knowing you are the only one who is allowed to tease her precious child.

“Duh.” Marie sticks out her tongue at you.

Despite the absolute horror you felt about starting your own gallery three years ago, you can’t say it hasn’t been a success. A reasonably-priced gallery in Brooklyn, you worked to showcase small local artists who needed a leg-up in the industry. Not that breaking into the art world yourself had come easy, but with your old connections in Hollywood and Marie’s in the music scene, you recognized the sheer number of doors open and available to the both of you. The community received the opening of the gallery better than expected, given that it was occasionally used as a center and study hall. It was small, quiet, and unassuming, but it was yours. Yours and Marie’s. You wouldn’t be here without her. Quite literally.

“Once you’re done sulking, we have a meeting with a local council member about expanding the property at two, then that new artist from the Bronx is coming by to measure his space.” She scrolls through your day, with the sharp eye of someone who never missed a beat. You told her she didn’t have to wear that crisp white shirt and pleated black pants, but she rolled her eyes at that: “I’m going to be thirty-three in two weeks. I cannot wear plaid shirts to work every day.”

Same old Marie. Using any small excuse to dress up. Unlike her, you had zero compunctions against wearing old concert shirts and paint-splattered jeans to “the office”. Except, you conceded, on days like this where it was tour after tour, client after client. You attempted something “professional” for her sake, but these heels pinched your feet and the emerald green top seemed to draw the eye of every teenage boy who walked by you.

“Ah, shoot,” Marie says suddenly, standing up right from her iPad. She glances at her watch. “Andrew asked to see a print of King Square and I totally forgot to grab it.”

“Want me to get it?”

She waves you away. “Nah, mingle. I’ll be out in a second.”

You smile as she struts away. Again you wonder what you possibly did to earn a friend like her, what you did to earn her devotion for a decade of friendship. It was as if the universe had been steering you away from all other friendships, keeping you a friend-virgin, until you met Marie. The One. The girl, now woman, who had saved your life more times than you could count, even before she became the manager of the gallery. You hoped to spend the rest of your life proving to her that she had chosen well.

The class of teenagers has thinned. Only a few remain to chat with friends, or check out one last piece they might have missed, a plastic bag with a rolled-up poster in their hands. The noise in the gallery dulls, as the patter of feet against the wood grain and the sound of eager voices falls away. You hear the front door swing close and the room goes silent. You inhale, the saw-dust smell of the space always soothing to you, even before you turned it into a gallery.

This place felt like a destination, a culmination, a breakthrough after so many dark nights. You poured your heart and soul and nearly every dime you had into building this space and its community. You could wander through the salon walls, easily identifying the artwork done from different points in your life, what each of them meant to you, by the colors or mediums used. You experimented a lot after rehab, trying every creative outlet you could find until something stuck. Hell, you even attempted cross-stitching – Marie still laughed herself silly every time it was brought up.

Early on, you processed a lot through clay, through sculpture. It wasn’t very good, but it gave you somewhere to put your rage, your frustration, those hot emotions that made you want to squish warm goo. You could never make bowls or vases – instead just absurd creations with teeth and wide eyes.

Next came the paintings that covered entire walls. You’d come home after spending hours in a rented workspace, covered in paint, hot and tired and teary, but relieved. The scratchy ball in your chest loosened after those hours of working yourself into exhaustion. That was also around the time when you had started to process decade old feelings and memories regarding your parents with your therapist. It all went hand in hand.

It was only recently that you’d turned to charcoal and your canvases shrunk. There was something hypnotic about charcoal as a medium, the stark contrast of black and white, of the delicate shading required to give depth and offer light, the way it stuck to your palms, your forearms as if the subject you sketched lingered on you.

You turn a corner and are welcomed by the sketchings of dozens of artists who also worked in charcoal. The exhibit is called The After Effects of Flame and the artists had completely risen to the challenge. The soft paper, the light etching, it makes the space beautiful, quiet, warm.

But your eyes fall to a single piece across the room, your heart thrumming in your chest.

He had shown up in your work in prior years, of course, as much as you tried to swallow him and the memories down. A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes – they were there as you sorted through the cracked pieces of your life in rehab and continued on in therapy. As you moved on from that night in the hospital.

As you moved away from him.

But you still found slivers of him, splinters that dug into your skin against the wood grain. Marie said it wasn’t noticeable, that only you saw those flashes because of what you had been through, what he had meant to you. But he was there, inside you somewhere, after ten years, and he became a different sort of ache. What he had been to you was never clear, never given structure or form, and perhaps that was why closure had been so hard to find: there was no road map to moving past whatever Dieter Bravo had meant to you. What he had become. What he still, in the fitful state between dreaming and awake, was to you.

He wasn’t haunting you; you had never known a silent ghost. But he lingered, like the remnants of last night’s perfume or the body warmth of a loved one after they’ve left the bed. You saw him in everyone and in everything and, simply put, Dieter wasn’t going away.

Much like with grief, you learn to hold this part of you that held him and let the memories, the good and the bad, pass over you without judgment.

The world is hard enough on you as it is, your therapist told you, don’t add to it by beating yourself up.

So you let him stop by, hang around if he wanted to. He kept you company as you sketched and drew and created in a way you had never experienced as an actress. This is what you were meant to do. It just took you twenty-two years and a decade of heartbreak to get here.

You stepped closer to the centerpiece of the exhibit.

A simple sketch, nothing outwardly advanced or difficult, but it is detailed. Thoughtful, introspective. It comes from an image that appears to you in the morning light of your empty bed, or as you fade into the welcoming arms of sleep. It feels like it should be a memory, but if it is, you don’t know when or where it sits in your history. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel real. Other times, it’s too real, the added weight in your bed almost palpable – you can smell him in the air, you could reach out and touch the curve of his shoulder – and you blink, the image is gone and you’re alone. Your outstretched hand floats through empty air, the tears stinging so sharply in your throat you can’t breathe for a moment.

To anyone else, the sketch is that of a man, naked, sleeping partially on his stomach, partially on his side, turned away from the viewer. His arm curls beneath his head, under the pillow, and the sheet slips low on his hips, the turn of the light dictating whether or not the exposure is playful or sensual. The waves of his hair fan out across the pillow, tuck around the back of his neck in a way that begs to be teased, tugged on. To everyone else, it’s a loving image of relaxation, of peace, of quiet, joy.

To you, it’s the image of Dieter that visits you most frequently.

You stand before it now and try to find that solace, that imaginary morning where domesticity dripped into your bed with him, the tension it takes from your bones. But you can’t find it. The day is coming up again, the first blush of fall breathing down the New York streets, and like a thready hangnail you forget to cut, you find pain with every movement.

He sits, melancholic, in your heart. I know, darling, I know.

Unconsciously, you rub a hand up your shoulder, unease mounting. You rub again, and something catches in the corner of your eye.

Someone is still here.

Tan coat nearly the same color as the floorboards, the man somehow blended in amongst the cream paper of the charcoal sketches. His knee-length coat looks expensive, the white Converse do not. His head is tilted back, looking up, inspecting one of the pieces.

Okay, yes, you saw him in passing on the streets – a flash there, a blur here – but this is getting ridiculous.

You stare, immobile and silent, at the dark curls that catch against his collar. At the broad shoulders that curl inwards. This is not a ghost, a specter. This is not a haunting. He even stands, holds his weight, just like – no, no, this is just desperation, you’re overworked and tired and –

Oh, fuck, the black rings –

“Darling!”

Your head snaps to the front of the gallery, seconds before you are nearly tackled to the ground by your friend and long-time benefactor Andrew Young. He had started to go gray at twenty-five, and never to be outdone by the ravages of time, he dyed his entire head silver. It’s been this color for years, blinding and shining, the only thing he changed was how it was styled. Nearly forty, he’s shaved the sides and let the top grow long. It flops in his face as he pulls back, grinning from ear to ear.

“This looks fantastic!” He beams around your latest exhibit. “Baby girl, I am so proud of you!”

You drag out a smile, your lips catching on your teeth, the buzzing in the back of your mind at a low hum.

“T-thank you, Andrew. I– uh,” you blink up at him, “sorry, it’s been a day and I haven’t eaten. I’m just a little dizzy.”

Andrew frowns and throws an arm over you. “You work too hard – has anyone told you that? And that, quite frankly, I simply cannot have. You see, I can’t do the set without you, and then I can’t do blocking and stage production, and then the damn thing itself is off the rails. Do you see my problem?” The designs you had been planning are back in your office, some initial sketches drawn up and laid out based on Andrew’s requests over the phone. You smile, settle, that gnawing sense of panic easing. Andrew watches you visibly relax in his arms and he taps your nose with a bright blue nail. “Besides, it’s up to you, you New York native, to help me show my star a good time around town.”

He steps back, arm thrown out wide, and your heart plummets.

You know who he is before he turns that thick head of hair, before you see that aquiline nose in his profile, before you are swallowed up by those endless, warm brown eyes that flicker in the corners of your heart.

“My dear, I’d like you to meet –,”

“Natalie?”

The noise is barely human, a punched out groan from a hit that maybe broke a rib, popped an organ loose.

The gallery has gone silent, or maybe it’s just you’re so suddenly stuffed full of memories, of rage and joy, grief and giddiness, that there’s no room for any sound.

He’s not a ghost, not a haunting, but he is pale, the whites of his eyes bright and round and staring.

He is not the Dieter that curls up against your neck at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, no, this one’s different. The lines marking his eyes are deeper, more pronounced – laugh lines, you remember, he’s clearly laughed a lot in the time that he’s been gone. His beard is speckled with gray, here and there, drawing your gaze to that lovely bare spot where the hair refuses to grow. His hair is longer, unkempt, and wild, and in his ear sits a small silver ring. This is not the Dieter you remember.

He’s older and so are you.

The coffee cup drops from his loose fingers and splatters against the ground, light brown liquid splashing everywhere. It rolls towards his shoes, but he doesn’t move. Neither do you. You couldn’t, really, even if you wanted to.

To cope, in the beginning, in the cold, sick days in the hospital, you told yourself that he had died. That’s why he left you, why he abandoned you to get the drugs out of your system alone. To get him out of your system. It was childish and petty and completely irrational, but it soothed you in a way that made living manageable. You could walk around those long white hallways, talk, eat, exist without a giant gaping bloody hole in your chest.

Consciously, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but in all the chunks inside of you that made up his lingering presence, the old idea, the old comfort, embedded itself.

Seeing him now, seeing him ten years older, it’s like he had come back from the dead. You could not have made up a more surreal dream.

“Oh, hey, Andrew, I got your print and I –,”

Marie stiffens the instant she sees who’s in your line of sight. Her mouth drops open and the poster joins the spilled coffee on the ground.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Andrew’s perfectly manicured eyebrows eject into his hair. “What? You’ve met before?”

“W-we . . .” the rest of the sentence dies in your mouth, catches fire and turns to ash. “We – I . . .”

“We used to . . .” his voice is raspy, deep, as though scraping through a wet crevice. “We used to work together.”

It doesn’t sting, the casual distance in his words, because he’s right. All of you met a decade ago for work.

Marie swallows as her eyes slide to you.

His have traced every line of your body, once, twice, and three times over. They stay on the bridge of your nose, the crook of your neck, the arch of your cheek. He’s not looked at Marie once. Given the circumstances of your last meeting, perhaps it should have been you to appear as a ghost from beyond the grave.

“Uh, Andrew, do you mind if we give Dieter and Natalie some time alone to –,”

“No!” You both bark, a sufficient reason to tear your gaze away from the other.

He sounds genuinely frightened. Your stomach twists. Your gaze flickers to the spill at Dieter’s feet.

“Marie, would you get some towels for that?” She nods, completely forgetting the print and nearly sprinting for the bathroom. You swallow, set your shoulders, and turn to Andrew. “I’ve got the designs in my office. If you’d – if you’d both – like to–,”

“Natalie.” He tries again and you flinch as though his voice is a physical force that has pressed roughly against an internal bruise. At his side his hands clench over and over, mouth opening and closing, brow furrowed as if he’s scrambling through every word he knows and can’t find the right one.

Your chest suddenly squeezes so tightly you have to put a hand over your sternum to keep your ribs from collapsing into your spine. You can feel the blush breakout across your cheeks, down your chest, and you’re so confused as to why, a hot bloom of anger overwhelms everything else.

Andrew’s eyebrows are in danger of falling off his forehead. Dieter still hasn’t looked away.

“Okay, what am I missing here?”

“We dated.” You say. You keep your gaze on Andrew, knowing your knees would buckle if you look anywhere else. “While we worked together. We dated about ten years ago on the set of one of our movies. But,” you swallow, your knees shaking in these stupid fucking slacks, “that was a long time a-ago.” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You want to hear him say your name again, just to make sure he got it right.

“Are you sure you don’t want a second?” You nod. “Then, uh, let’s see this design.”

Dieter doesn’t follow you and Andrew. Small miracles, you suppose. As you walk Andrew through the designs, you can see out the clear office door that Dieter had taken off that rich tan coat and is using it to soak up the spill. You can’t tell by the twist in his mouth if he’s regretting that particular decision, or regretting something else, but Marie appears a moment later with a rag. His expression changes as she hands it to him, softens, that wind-swept, knocked-back-on-his-ass surprise creeping into the opening of his mouth. She says something to him – her back is to you – and his mouth flatlines. He nods and Marie turns on her heel towards the office.

You avert your eyes from her and look back at Andrew.

“So what do you think?”

He grins, completely obvious to the exchange outside, as he shuffles through a few papers. “As always, darling, you’ve managed to somehow crawl into my brain and recreate exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

You won’t be designing the actual set pieces, but more of the backdrop, what the audience will see through the open windows and around stairs. Most productions use lights to fill in their backdrop, but Andrew described wanting to make the stage feel as claustrophobic as possible. “Nothing breathes in here,” he had said over the phone. “We need something sturdier than lights.”

You have never felt claustrophobic in your office, but staring at Dieter, an older Dieter, a different Dieter, absurdly scrubbing your gallery floor spotless, the walls nestle tighter, the air stagnant and stale. You feel like you’re seeing the entire place with new eyes and you realize how dingy it is. You can’t look Marie in the eye as she opens the office door.

“How goes it in here?” She says, surprisingly breathless.

“Fantastic!” Andrew claps his hands together. “The theater has given us access to the space starting Monday, so I’d like to get to building this as soon as possible. The back lot is huge so I’m hoping to do all painting onsite.”

You nod, the request somewhat expected – Andrew was a bit of a micromanager.

Behind you, Marie is humming with unfocused energy, but only in a way you can pick up on after ten years of knowing her. To Andrew, she calmly asks,

“Would you like us to bring out those other pieces you won at the fundraiser? We can have them loaded up, if you’d like.”

Andrew’s eyes widen. “Oh god, yes, please. I’m so sorry – I told you I’d pick those up weeks ago! I’ll go get the car.”

Marie’s gaze latches onto you as he jogs past her.

“What do you want me to do with . . .”

You can’t find him through the window, but the floor is spotless.

You shake your head, that slightly dizzy feeling returning. “Go help Andrew. I’ll . . .” you shrug. “Actually, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be alone with him if you don’t want to.”

You feel your back muscles tighten. “No, no – I want – I mean, it’s fine. If I’m going to help Andrew with the designs, then we’ll have to see each other, right?”

Her look is apprehensive but she gives in. “Alright. I’ll be just a minute.”

The second the door closes, you push your palms into your eyes and groan. What the fuck is happening?

You spot him again in the charcoal exhibit, as if this is the area he is confined to. He holds his coat over his arm, the bottom half of it damp and a different color, as he slowly roves from piece to piece. He’s on the opposite side of the room from your contribution, but a part of you wants to yank it down and shove it under the floorboards. A very large part of you.

“Dieter,” you say, hands up, but your voice startles him anyway. His stark white t-shirt matches his converse, and you vaguely think, he’s going to be cold without a jacket.

He physically steps back the closer you come. You don’t know if that hurts or if you feel relieved.

“Andrew went to get the car,” you say, your focus going in and out as you stare at his earring. “He has some paintings he won at an auction here and he hasn’t picked them up so Marie is bringing them out to the curb to load up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah.” You lose track of the earring as you meet his gaze. Terror, in his eyes. Concern, worry.

Sadness. Yeah, you definitely know that one.

Without a single coherent thought in your head, you head for the front doors, feeling him fall in step behind you.

You can almost hear the storm brewing in his head.

“Natalie, wait.”

Just in front of the glass doors, you stop. On the other side, Marie and another backend worker load wrapped canvases into a Black Escalade. Even without the faint howl of wind, it looks cold outside.

He stands in front of you, older after ten years, but no less beautiful. He’s thickened over the years, more solid, an oak instead of a stretchy willow. The thought of what it would be like to wrap yourself around his chest, feel the warmth of his stomach against yours, comes crashing down on you. The inclination is to yank it back, submerge it, but you don’t do that anymore.

You look into his eyes and the old ache hums. You thought it was gone, despite the many times you think about him, the many versions of him that live in your memory. But it’s there. You’ve missed him.

“Look, I’m sorry – for, um, the surprise visit.” Voice low and quiet, like trying to pass on a secret, his thumb spins through his rings distractedly. “Andrew said he had some errands to run around the city a-and the names didn’t register with me . . . a-after all this time.” He swallows, glancing at your shoulder for a second before finding your eyes again. “Had I known it was yours, I would have . . . I’d . . .”

“You’d what?” You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Shake him until he speaks, until he explains himself for showing up and cracking your world in half.

His mouth crumbles, stricken with regret, and he shakes his head. “I – I –,”

Someone taps on the glass beside you and it’s your turn to jump ten feet in the air. Marie waves to you and Dieter, her arms wrapped around her chest to stave off the cold. On the street, Andrew gets into the Escalade as the worker heads for the warehouse around back.

“For what it’s worth, it was really, really good to see you.”

Your head snaps back to him. No stutter, no unease. Confidence. This is what he feels. This is what he means to say.

And then Dieter Bravo smiles at you. Genuinely, gently, full of wonder. He is . . . relieved.

You nod, dumbstruck, as he pushes through the glass doors and you’re following him before you know what you’re doing. The air has a bite to it, the threat of winter swirling in the gray clouds above the city streets. A particularly rough gust of wind barrels down and Marie staggers into you. Wrapping her up in your arms, you watch as he climbs into the Escalade and the passenger window rolls down.

Of course Andrew hired a driver. He leans out, his silver flop fluttering in the wind.

“We’re having a party tomorrow, my place. A little kick-off party before production and rehearsals begin. You two should come.”

You can’t see Dieter behind the tinted glass but you know for a fact he just tensed up. Beside you, Marie is shivering, the little thing.

“Maybe, you know? We’ve got a lot to do around the gallery before the weekend,” you say as you rub her shoulders. “It’s kind of a bad time.”

“Well, the art director is going to be there, so it might be nice to get to know him before we get started.” Andrew shrugs, seriously, unaware of the consequences of his simple request.

Nothing about this feels like a good idea. You nod. “Lemme get Marie here back inside before her lips go blue. I’ll text you tonight about it.”

You both step back from the curb as the Escalade eases its way into New York traffic. Your eyes stay pinned to the window until you can no longer see it in the distance. Holding her close, you kiss Marie’s cold forehead.

“C’mon, Frosty, I think we both deserve the biggest cup of coffee our Kerig can make.”

The hum of the potter’s wheel is loud in your concrete basement. Cold air curls in from the small open window at ground level, chilling the floor and the walls. It stings your bare toes just a bit to keep you awake and focused, your arms and hands already chilled by wet clay. You pump the wheel a bit faster as you try to thin the edge of this bowl – or what may be a bowl. This rarely ever works out, but at least the concentration forces out everything else in your brain. And, as an added bonus, the sound of the wheel also blocks the incessant buzzing of your phone.

Andrew and Marie had not stopped trying to call or text you since the gallery closed. Marie was not above simply barging into your brownstone if you had been quiet for too long, but this was a special case and she knew it.

Hands wet, back aching from your hunched position, fingers as steady as they’ll ever be, you smooth the rippling clay as it spins. You pump the pedal steadily – too fast and the clay will spin off, but too slow and you’re basically playing with playdough.

To your enormous surprise, the clay curves, molds between your finger tips. With every rotation, there comes a clear, distinct solid edge to this unfinished ceramic.

Yes! Okay, just a little bit to round things out and –

Your phone alarm goes off, you jump, and the maybe-bowl deflates into a pile of squishy goo.

“Damn it,” you mutter, even though you have only yourself to blame. You set this alarm because you needed two extra minutes to clean off before accepting the incoming Facetime.

You just finish rinsing clay out of your nails when you hear the familiar chimes from your phone. Switching between your phone and a dry rag, you accept the call and smile into the face of a sixty-five year old woman. Blue tips on the edges of her gray hair, oversized cat-wing glasses, Dr. Carla Holstein always reminded you of Ms. Frizzle’s evil twin sister, in appearance only.

“Natalie, how the fuck are you doing?”

Her non-existent brain-to-mouth filter was one of the things that initially endeared you to her. Talking to a shrink about your childhood trauma felt less embarrassing when the woman taking notes had electric blue nails.

“I’d say I’m good, doc,” you smirk at her as you head up the wooden stairs of your basement, “but then I probably wouldn’t be calling you.”

“It’s like you only wanna talk about the bad things with your therapist,” she shakes her head mockingly. “As if I wouldn’t appreciate you calling with good news.”

You chuckle as you drop onto the floor of the living room, mindful of any furniture that might get smeared with errant clay from you overalls. “I’ll save those for our weekly meetings, alright?”

“Which brings me to my next question – what the fuck is going on? You haven’t made an emergency appointment in years. What gives?”

You set your phone up against a stack of books on the wooden table you lugged here all the way from 42nd street. Frowning, you lean against the redbrick fireplace, in a home you decorated with ugly little trinkets and overused furniture. Tidy and messy, this place holds everything that over-spilled from your brain, a place that feels like what the inside of your heart might look like, if you could see it.

“Seriously, Natalie, what is it? You’re kinda freakin’ me out.”

“It’s Dieter.”

Those perfectly drawn on eyebrows arch into that silvery hairline. “What? He called you?”

“He showed up at the gallery this morning.” A motormouth when left unchecked, Carla is a fantastic therapist, first and foremost. She knows exactly when to shut up and let everything pour out of you. And you hated when she did that. You scrubbed your face with your hands, groaning. “Not like that, but he’s the lead role in Andrew’s new production. I don’t know how the fuck he even found out about the part in the first place, but he swears he didn’t know that Andrew and I know each other. I know it wasn’t an intentional ambush but . . .”

“But it still feels like one?” You nod, your bottom lip snagged between your teeth.

“It’s just . . . it doesn’t feel real, you know? Like, what are the fucking chances that everything has to line up perfectly in the universe for him to come stumbling into my gallery after ten years?”

I really thought I’d never see him again.

“Was he actually stumbling? Is he sober?”

“No to the stumbling part, but I have no idea. I mean, I don’t think Andrew would hire someone so coked out they couldn’t remember their lines . . . but he was always so good at hiding it.”

The desperate anger in your voice makes you cringe. Even after all these years, you hate when you confess something you didn’t mean to. Dieter’s ability to mask how high or drunk he was used to scare you. Like you were never quite sure which version of him you were going to get. But then again, you were also so high and drunk you never really cared. Which was entirely the point.

“Well, that’s his shit to work out,” Carla scoffs. “I wanna talk about you. What did you feel at the time?”

“Nervous. Shocked. Surprised. Angry.”

“Talk to me about the anger.”

“I’m angry that I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say to him. Not even a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ or a ‘hello’. I’m angry that he’s back in my life in a way where I’ll have to see him again and again. And I’m fucking pissed that after all these years, after all this work, I see my ex for thirty minutes and I’m running scared to my therapist.”

Carla’s face softens. If you were in person with her, this would be the part where she lowers her clipboard and looks at you with warmth you are barely accustomed to.

“But did you run for a drink?”

“No.”

“Did you run to the nearest street corner and pick up a bag of coke?”

“No.”

“Then the process is working. The tools we built to manage your anxiety, to find healthy outlets for your emotions, they held up under scrutiny. You can be pissed all you want but you should also be fucking proud as hell.”

Something hot and sharp threatens to choke you, your cheeks flushing. The word “pride” and you in the same sentence always fucking did that to you. You cough, clearing your throat.

“Okay, then what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do I act around him? Do I treat him like a stranger? A friend? Can I be his friend? Should I?”

“Is that what you want? Don’t forget you always get to set the boundaries of any relationship you have. He doesn’t get to decide that for you.”

Your toes squeeze into the plush forest green carpet beneath you, thumb pressed into your palm.

“I . . . don’t know.” The truth of what you want sears the back of your throat, a vomit-burn on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. “But I shouldn’t be around him, at the very least, right? Isn’t rule number one for ex-addicts to keep away from contacts in their past lives?”

“Sure,” Carla nods sagely. “Old friends can bring back old patterns. But are you saying that because you are genuinely concerned about what would happen if you reconnect or because you feel like it’s what’s expected of you as a recovering addict?”

You bite your lip harder. “I don’t know, Carla. It just seems stupid to willingly let someone like Dieter back into my life.”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to. This is a hard case because not only is he an ex, but he was also your dealer and fellow addict.” Carla leans into the camera – this is the part where she put away her clipboard entirely. “But whether or not you let Dieter back in is irrelevant. I want you to go through life with the security in yourself that your past doesn’t have to own you. You have come so far and done so well. You’re on medication and in therapy. You’ve built a great life for yourself, in spite of everything. There will always be temptations, cravings to go back, and I’m not saying you should be overconfident and assume nothing can go wrong, because it absolutely can. But you are not the old Natalie anymore, have faith in yourself. You get to decide your life.”

Once again, you are reminded of all the people who let you forget that. The anger, the hurt, decades in the making, it’s still there. But its bite is no longer cruel.

You nod. “Thank you, Carla. I needed to hear that.”

“I know that,” she smirks. “I’m a damn good therapist.”

“As if you’d let me forget.”

You thank her and end the call. With a sigh you lean back, staring into your living room. Back then, you grew spikes to keep back a world intent on consuming you. Dieter had been the only one to not mind the spikes, even mold around them.

If he’s still a fuckhead, I’m gonna kick his ass.

Your stomach makes a displeased noise, irritated at being empty for so long, so you stand, taking your phone with you as you head for the kitchen.

You bring up his contact and type out your message:

Hey Andrew! Would love to come to your party. What time?

Marie did not want to go to the party for a variety of reasons.

Too busy at the gallery. Invoicing. Nothing to wear. Straight up tired.

All valid reasons. Except they weren’t and it was bullshit and you made her go anyway.

Groaning all the way on the subway, she won’t even look at you as the elevator doors open to Andrew’s hallway. She’s gone uncharacteristically silent as you near the party. This is not her usual “I’d rather be in my Snuggie” scowl, but something else. Her eyes are sharp, hard.

“What?” You bump her with your elbow. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”

“Maybe I am.”

You still and she does too. It’s like you can see inside her brain. “This is about Dieter?”

“Andrew’s a good guy,” she huffs, waving at the shut door. “He doesn’t deserve Dieter’s drama and bullshit . . . and neither do you.”

About a foot shorter than you, Marie carries enough spitfire to fill someone twice her size. You’ve never actually seen her in a fight, but you really don’t want to. Her cold pink nose from the wind outside does nothing to deter her rage.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was cleared by my therapist to be around him.”

She harumphs.

“Look, if I can make this much progress, this much change, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he can too?”

Her scowl deepens, but the murderous glint in her eyes fade as she knocks on Andrew’s door. “You are too nice for your own good.”

You mock-gasp. “You take that back!”

Just like every other party you’ve ever been to hosted by Andrew, the vibe is intimate, warm, and friendly. You run into and greet a few of the costume designers and lighting techs he’s used in the past, ones you’ve met before by way of just hanging around Andrew during rehearsals. Andrew is very fond of adopting creatives like pets and if he likes your work, chances are he’ll use you again – something uncommon in the industry, but very welcome to those whose paychecks are never steady. However, you notice how small the gathering is. You’ve seen this open-floor plan apartment full of people, partygoers nearly stacked on top of each other during Halloween parties or on New Years Eve. But this production team is a fraction of that size.

Private. That was the other word Andrew mentioned over the phone for the backdrop design. He wanted the space to feel private, as though you were staring into something that was none of your business.

That feeling doesn’t persist here. Here, everyone is welcome.

Everyone, including –

“So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you and him, or am I going to have to think up a very elaborate con to get you to confess?” Andrew snakes an arm over your shoulder, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. His green eyes are full of mischief, the faint lines around his eyes crinkled with glee, as he watches for any change in your expression. Dieter sits on a chair across the room from you, leaning in to listen to a story a man on the center couch cushion is animatedly telling with his hands. To his right, and nearly touching Dieter, is a blonde, beautiful, twenty-year old actress who everyone is telling you will be on Broadway any day now. You know someone told her your name, but you can’t remember it. You swat away your annoyance.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. I’m dying to know –,”

“Is he sober?” Your frown falls on Andrew who takes a step back, his own thick eyebrows scrunched together.

“Who, Dieter?”

“No, the man on the moon.”

Andrew shrugs, the lilac pullover he wears looking soft enough to eat. “As far as I know, yeah. We met when Toby and I went to that yoga retreat in Oregon last year. It was a substance-free commune so unless he was getting drunk off the atmosphere –,”

“You’ve known him for a year?” You gape at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I tell you about some actor guy I met out on a co-op in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? I didn’t know you knew him! We didn’t reconnect until I asked him to come read for the part.”

“And why did you ask him?”

“I . . . dunno,” Andrew says, clearly ruffled. “I liked his vibe. Matched what I had in my head for the role of Sam. And he’s got the best puppy dog eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.”

It’s not like you can disagree so you turn away from him, scowl on the verge of pouting.

“Oh, no, the conversation does not end here, not after you’ve given me the third degree. Who the fuck was this guy to you?”

Across the room, the blonde’s knee knocks against Dieter’s and something acidic like bile claws the back of your stomach. You take the cup of water from Andrew, other hand digging into your purse.

“We dated. It didn’t end well. In fact, just watch Recovery Road – kinda says the whole thing.” You know Andrew doesn’t deserve your ire and you’ll apologize with coffee and a biscuit from his favorite bakery, but right now, if you don’t leave right now, you’re liable to pop something. “I heard it even won an Oscar.”

It’s stupid and childish and wrong to get jealous every time he talks to a woman.

Okay, notice the thought. Observe it. And let it go.

You inhale, the orange ring immolating the paper around the tobacco, and exhale smoke over the railing of Andrew’s balcony. It’s a nice balcony, as far as metal balconies go in New York. It’s private, sturdy, and a perfect place to contemplate the insanity of your own life. The sunset bleeds rapturous colors, bright and loud, across the city, light reflecting like stars in the glass windows of the buildings. The sight and the smoke is enough to ease the burden in your chest, just for a moment.

It’s not like you are even really jealous. You know that feeling and this isn’t it. The pain is farther away than the immediate nip of jealousy. You follow the feeling, careful not to nick yourself too hard on old memories as you use your toolbox to sort through the undulating waves of feeling.

But therein lies the problem. You remember.

You remember when that girl curled up next to Dieter, eyes full of adoration, used to be you.

You tap the ash against the metal railing, feeling terribly sorry for yourself, when the door to the balcony slides back. A few people had come and gone, shared a smoke, then went back inside. You know you are probably being a party pooper, gazing alone and wistful at the sunset, and you promise yourself this is the last one. It’s officially getting cold the lower the sun falls. But then you turn to the person who just came outside.

“Ah, shit.” He blinks at you as the noise from the party inside is muffled behind the closing door. “I mean, uh. Hi. Um. I didn’t know . . . look, I’ll just come back later –,”

“Andrew says you’re sober. Have been for at least a year. Is that true?”

Maybe you should have just brought a police hat and badge if you were going to grill everyone like this. You lean your hips back against the rail, the burn of the smoke forcing you to breathe slowly.

The autumn wind tugs at his hair, threatens to pull that black sweater out of his pants, as he stares, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes in his clenched fists.

“Um, yeah. He’s right. I’m . . . I’m sober. Have been, for a while.”

You nod, reeling in that invisible electric fence you kept him at the edge of. He senses it and hesitantly, cautiously, he takes a few steps forward and joins you at the railing, but at least two arms lengths away. Eying you, he taps out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes, a full inhale and exhale, before continuing.

“Going on about ten years now.”

The way he says it knots your stomach. His tone of voice. You know exactly what he means. How could you not?

You sip slowly, unable to look at him.

“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol or smoked a single joint in ten years?”

He shrugs. “Doc says weed’s actually good for unfucking my brain.” He swallows and props himself up against the railing. “But, uh, I did go to therapy in rehab again and for the first time, I continued going after I got out. Turns out risk taking behaviors and mood swings are not things normal people experience. Looked lot at my anxiety around self-acceptance too. Triggers included feelings of inadequacy. I even got a new syndrome named after me in the DSM. Baffled my therapist for months.”

“Really?” You stand up right, mouth parted.

“No.” And there’s that Dieter grin. After a decade, it blooms across his face without any hesitation. Your heartbeat pounds rough against your throat for a second. But then his expression grows heavy. “But, uh, I was serious about the therapy part. It’s helped with the depression and anxiety attacks.”

You roll your cigarette between your forefinger and thumb as another wind blows by. You nip at your lower lip.

“Personally, I found Buspar was really good at keeping me from wanting to claw my skin off. Anxiety’s never been better.”

His eyebrows jump and he shuffles a bit closer.

“Oh, yeah? Used to give me the worst headaches, but we fucked around with the dosage and it helped.”

You nod, remembering those weeks of trial and error. You don’t know what to say, what else to admit. His gaze flutters up your shoulder to the side of your jaw and he leans forward with you.

“Did they, uh, put you on Campral too? Wish they had that the first time I went to rehab.”

You shift your weight as you glance over your shoulder. “Yeah. Makes coming to shit like this easier. I, um, don’t feel so overwhelmed to fight the urges, you know?”

“Yeah. I fuckin’ do.”

You blame the catch in your breath on a particular rough gust of smoke. He taps out that cigarette and eagerly lights another one. Yours is barely holding on. He must think of something, remember a joke, because he smirks again.

“They also tried to put me on Metoprolol, but I told them to fuck off.”

You frown at him. “What’s that for?”

Dieter shakes his head, barely containing the smile on his face. “Fucking blood pressure medication. You turn forty-five and they wanna put you on Centrum fucking Silver.”

“Centrum? Isn’t that for –?”

His look dares you to tease him for it, all low eyes and curling lips, but you can’t swallow the fit of giggles. You snort, which makes him laugh, and then you do too.

You laugh with him, until you remember you shouldn’t. You swallow your giggles, sipping more fervently on your cigarette, hoping your abrupt end wasn’t too obvious.

But if Dieter notices, he doesn’t say. He watches the city skyline, contemplative.

“But of all that, therapy seems to be the thing that sticks the best.”

You groan, smacking your palm against the railing, hunching your shoulders. “God, doesn’t that fucking suck? The one thing that actually helps is talking about your stupid fucking feelings?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “yeah, it really does.”

Grinning, you flick your cigarette into the concrete pot Andrew has specifically out here for that sort of thing and go to light another one, but your packet is empty. You both stare at the empty box and then each other.

Dieter pulls on his cigarette, with a big inhale. “Well, I guess you, um, gotta go back –,”

Your past does not own you. You decide what you want.

“Do you wanna get lunch sometime?” That is not how you should have asked that question. His eyes go wide and he’s consumed by a coughing fit. You realize your mistake only seconds too late. “That’s not a line, I swear–,”

He bats your concern away, eyes watering, shaking his head.

“No, I know–,” he croaks. “Yes, I’d like — to catch up. No – I didn’t think it was – a line.”

He barely gets his breathing right, your own hands knotted together, as the balcony door opens for a second time.

“There you are!” Marie tsks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere and –,”

She frowns at the hunched-over coughing man in the shadows. He tries to smile at her, cheeks red, eyes wet.

“Hi, Marie, how are–,”

“Andrew wants to make a speech.” She talks like she didn’t hear him. “Come on.”

She all but takes you by the scruff of your neck and hauls you back inside. You wave over your shoulder to Dieter and realize you don’t have his number anymore. Haven’t had it for years. You no longer have any way of contacting him, even if you wanted to.

As speeches go, Andrew was always very good at them. Short, sweet, and to the point. He thanks everyone for coming as he stands on his dining room table, thanks the caterers and the staff. You stand in the corner with Marie, chatting with the art director you finally met until Andrew started his speech. You focus entirely on Andrew, resolutely not searching the crowd or the balcony, as he continues to welcome everyone to New York, cracking a few jokes here and there. But then the perfunctory part of his speech is over, when something thoughtful comes over his face.

“I know you’ve all got better things to do than listen to me rant and rave, but I know each of you personally, and I’d like to say I’m so happy you’re in my life. I’d like to think everyone touches each other’s lives for a purpose. Not to sound utilitarian, because those purposes can be healing an emotional wound, or filling a hole you didn’t know was there. Or, in Jack’s case, the best damn audio technician I’ve ever seen. Thanks, Jack.” He holds up his glass as the crowd laughs. Andrew smiles and shifts his weight. He had never done any sort of acting himself, always more content to be the conductor of the chaos, but you always think he would have done well. He has a presence and it’s comforting. “Every day we interact with each other in ways that we can’t foresee and leave lasting consequences we can’t explain. That’s what’s at the heart of this story, this play we’re about to create. The effects we have on each other, how those chance meetings can have lasting consequences.” He grins across the crowd, to where you know his husband, Toby, stands. “How love is the only thing that matters in this fucking world. I really hope you remember that as we start production. If nothing we do matters, then love is the most important thing we’ll ever do.” He holds his glass high and everyone follows. “To love.”

“To love,” the chorus chants.

You’ve never been good at sitting still but this is getting ridiculous. Beneath the table, your toes curl and uncurl in your boots, rubbing blisters with your thick socks. Your teeth nibble the thinnest piece of skin behind your lip, chomping constantly like an uneasy horse chewing at its bit. You stare at the menu and read absolutely nothing. It could be written in French for all that you retain.

This is such a dumb fucking idea.

The restaurant is nice. Too nice for something like this. They have glass cups and plates that clink together when stacked on top of each other. The lighting feels low, even for the middle of the day. The paneled wooden walls are too stuffy, too old money. When you asked Andrew for a brunch suggestion, you never should have trusted the recommendation of someone whose idea of loungewear is a pair of hot pink Puma track pants. You loosen your grip on the leather-bound menu out of fear of breaking it in half.

“This is so weird.”

Your eyes snap across the table to your lunch companion. Sunglasses pushed up and nestled inside his long hair, Dieter distractedly tugs at his earring, frowning at the cream-colored menu. Everything about this is wrong. The location. The vibe. The white fucking table cloth. The fact that he’s here, sitting with you, like this is some chat with a business acquaintance –

“This is so fucking weird,” he says again, slowly. “Not a single thing on this menu looks good.”

He pauses for a moment, letting it settle, before he grins up at you. With a sigh, all the air rushes out of your chest. You smile back.

“There’s this really good hot dog cart down the road.”

He snaps his menu shut with glee. “Lead the fucking way.”

Ten minutes later, Dieter groans into a steaming chili cheese dog. You’ve found a concrete bench overlooking a small nearby park. It’s Saturday so the park is full of children and their parents, dogs and their owners. It’s . . . normal.

“Holy shit, this is good.” He licks melted cheese off the space between his thumb and forefinger and goes back in for seconds.

You suck a drop of chili off your thumb and grin. “Found this place when Marie and I first moved here. We lived just down the road and Tony with his cart became our guardian angel. And even now, even though I live across town, I’ll still come by just for his hot dogs.”

The man, round as he was tall, waves over his shoulder, heat rising from his chunky yellow cart, and you both wave back.

“Can Tony adopt me? Please? I clean the dishes every time, I swear.”

You chuckle as Dieter continues to slurp every errant stream of meat juice careening down his wrist.

“I think his other kids would object, but you can try.”

He chews slowly, suddenly thoughtful, glancing over the cold autumn air at the vendor. “You told me once you felt like it was hard to make friends. Guess that’s not the case anymore.”

He glances at you and you finish off your hot dog in two bites, your mouth dry. You shrug. “I do a lot of things now that I didn’t back then.”

He nods – rather, moves his head up and down rigidly – and finishes his lunch as well. You hand him a napkin and he takes it gratefully.

“But, uh, speaking of friends, how’s Heidi? Do you still keep in touch?”

Dieter’s eyes light up. He tosses away the napkin as he takes out his phone. “They just adopted another little kid.” He scrolls through his pictures before handing it off to you.

And once again you’re struck with the weight of memories that had been at the bottom of the box for years. Heidi’s older too, her hair now completely sheared off, cut shorter even than Dieter’s, but she’s smiling. She and another woman hold up a boy who looks to be about six, while two others, another boy and a girl, sit in front of the couch. All of them smile up happily for the camera. It tugs at a soft place inside of you.

The thing that’s been circling your mind for days lifts its head out of the churning mixture of your thoughts, sniffing the air, knowing it’s almost time.

“Oh wow! He’s adorable!” You grin genuinely.

Dieter smirks as he closes his phone. “Carlos. Heidi asked me to help him practice his Spanish, but I’m pretty sure he knows more English than I do.”

“So they’re happy?”

His brown eyes fall on you like autumn leaves and your toes curl again. “Yeah, they’re happy.”

“And Mark? Do you still keep up with him?”

Dieter glances away, biting his lip. “Um, no, actually. It’s kind of hard to hang out with someone after you’ve punched them in the face and called them a liar while being so coked out you’re hallucinating.” He picks at a callus on his palm. “Wouldn’t be the first time I lost a friend because I did dumb shit while I was high.”

You nod, the shame and embarrassment all too familiar. Plus, every memory you have of that hotel you handle with radiation tongs and chemical-resistant gloves.

“But, uh, what about you?” He leans back against the bench, hands in his lap. Behind him, children run and scream in the cool sunlight. “Were you and Marie always friends, even back then?”

“That’s a complicated question.” You sigh and tuck your hands up into your jacket pocket, matching his position on the bench. His legs sprawl out far longer than yours. “I wanted to be her friend back then, and I tried, but then things got . . . intense, with you, and the drugs, and I stopped responding to her calls and texts. For weeks at a time.” His gaze flickers to you as you talk, between your face and your pockets. “But she was also there for me . . . afterwards. She says Heidi called her and told her what happened and she immediately came to the hospital. She just fucking forgave me. Forgave all the shitty things I had done to her, just like that. To this day, she doesn’t hold it over me and I don’t know why but I’m so grateful for her . . .” Your voice cracks and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. You can feel the wind on your cheeks, your unspilled tears sitting in your eyes.

You have to get this thing off your chest.

“Dieter, I’m so sorry.” With a gasp to stifle your tears, you turn to him to look him in the eyes. “For the first two years of my rehab, I thought about writing to you, or calling you. Just to say how sorry I was. I had no idea what it was like on the other side of sobriety, how every day is a such a fucking struggle, and I rubbed that in your face, over and over again until you snapped. I’m so sorry.”

He studies you for a moment, arms crossed, dark eyes almost black in the thin light. You can hear children yelling and shrieking with glee. Faint, distant. He taps his teeth together twice before finding his answer, his jaw tight.

“That’s not why I snapped and you know it.”

His voice holds like iron in the wispy wind. Everything blurs around you but not that. Not him. He shakes his head gently, eyes falling to the scarf around your neck.

“And please don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.”

He meets your eyes and you swear they’re damp. A shade brighter than they were before. You stare at each other, on that park bench in Brooklyn, on a cold autumn day, for a long, long time.

You have to ask it now. You can’t avoid it any longer.

“You wanna get coffee?” You pass the tremble in your hands off as a shiver. He nods, still chewing on his mouth, and you gather your trash.

It slips out of you as casually as you slip your napkins into the trash bin.

“How’s Chloe?”

You barely have turned around when his hand seizes your upper arm. His grip is almost too tight, his eyes wide and manic.

“Oh, shit.” He blinks as though he’d been slapped. “Natalie, I never told you – I didn’t even think – fuck –,”

“What, Dieter?” You want to pull away, but the touch around your arm is warm, thick. You peer up at him from furrowed eyebrows. “What didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows.

“The baby – it’s not – it wasn’t mine.”

Your entire body goes slack as your mouth drops open. The hold he has on you is welcomed; the entire park is in danger of spinning sideways.

Somehow he has the good sense to pull you both back onto the bench. Your knees buckle the second you move and you all but collapse into the concrete. Dieter releases you and rubs his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes still wide and blank.

“How do I say this?” He murmurs and that old hurt turns to panic, to anger.

“How to say what, Dieter?” You snap, hotly. “Just start at the beginning. Please.”

He shakes his head, tongue up against his molars, finally turning to look at you. “Chloe and I got divorced. Years ago.” He takes a steadying breath, thumbnail absent-mindedly against the black ring on his third finger on his left hand, as if to remind himself what was there. This is why no one over the age of twenty-five needs to wear this many rings, Dieter!

“Look, Chloe and I – our marriage was shit from the get-go. I didn’t want to admit it back then, but it’s true,” he says, still soothing himself with gentle strokes. “I used Chloe, like all the people in my life, like a crutch and she felt it. I was smothering her and she couldn’t get far enough away from me, even halfway around the world. She started seeing someone in Portugal and I think she was happy there. I hope so. But, uh, she didn’t want it to get to the papers that she’d cheated on her movie-star husband and got knocked up as a result, so she passed the baby off as mine. We were about seven months in when she finally told me. I don’t know if she could tell I was coming apart at the seams or she was finally ready to be happy, but she confessed. And I confessed to her – the drugs, the affair with you – all of it. I think I just wanted it to be over, done. We weren’t going to come back from something like that and I think we were both okay with it.” He stops spinning the ring and, against all expectations, grins. “This is probably kind of fucked up of me but we kept in touch for a while. She married the baby’s dad about a month after we divorced. He’s actually a really nice guy. I was even invited to the wedding, if you can imagine.”

There must be something wrong with your hearing. He’s stopped speaking but there’s a high pitched whine nestled between your ears.

“So you don’t . . . you aren’t . . .”

“No, I don’t have some ten year old kid running around out there,” he huffs, shaking his head. “And no, I’m not a father. Or a husband. Not anymore.”

You say the first thing you think of.

“Dee, that’s fucking crazy.” His old nickname slips out while your brain is offline. “That’s, like, soap opera levels of insane. That’s . . . I can’t believe . . .”

With a massive inhale, where you can see the hot steam of breath enter into his mouth and nostrils, he sits back, hands limp in his lap.

“I don’t blame her, you know. After what I had done, to her, to you, I didn’t have the right to be angry that she cheated on me. In some fucked up way, it made sense and it wasn’t just my paranoid, druggy brain telling me something was off. I was never a good husband, was never going to be a good father. When I think about it, the kindest thing she ever did was agree to leave me, even when that seemed impossible.”

His massive palms smooth across his thighs, his soft hair tugged on by the wind. His fingertips stop just short of touching yours, inches from your own lap.

“Natalie, I’m sorry I never reached out after that night. Or even years later. I lost hours of sleep thinking about what I was going to say to you if you ever let me see you again. I had all these grand plans of finding you and showing you how sorry I was. But then,” he swallows, “I realized what damage that would do and I . . . I thought it would be better if we just never saw each other again.”

Your ribs expand out into your chest, just once, just enough for it to hurt, before everything settles.

“I didn’t try and find you for the same reasons. I wanted to, though.”

If that counts for anything.

Back then, Dieter always had a fascination with your hands. Holding them, inspecting them, drawing invisible artwork across your palms and over your veins. He even sketched them on notebook paper and post-it notes from time to time, when you sat still long enough to let him.

You can see it in his eyes that he wants to touch you, to hold your hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his own back into his pockets.

Anxiety churns in your stomach. There’s more he wants to say and so do you, but for now, you’re content to let the confessions of the day settle.

It’s funny, the little things that you pull together in your mind to create an image of someone. You didn’t think of it often, but when you did, you tried to imagine him happy, with his wife and child. And now you know that’s all they were, imaginings. You wonder if you thought about it more than he did.

The label of father for Dieter was gone, after ten long, insufferable years. You had no idea what would take its place.

“Can I ask you something?”

When you look at him, the intensity in his gaze is lifted. Something lighter has taken its place.

“Sure.”

“Why were they called The Sixers?”

The whiplash between conversation topics is colder and sharper than the air around you. You suddenly remember you’re in a park full of children with Dieter Bravo inches from you.

You grin at him.

“Because it sounds like the sex-ers. Like sex-havers but said fast.”

That press of skin, the dimple on his right cheek, deepens and he smiles. “Nick came up with that one, didn’t he?”

You giggle. “Yeah, but the rest of them signed off on it.”

He nods, eyebrows arching as he shrugs. “But I actually meant why are they called The Sixers when there’s only five of them?”

Not once, after a decade, after millions of memories you shifted through, pulled out and examined and held up to the light – after shifting weight and blame and shame, putting your entire life under scrutiny – after sobriety and founding the gallery and finding Marie as the best friend in your whole world –

Not once, had you ever stopped to consider that.

It starts low in your stomach, expanding rapidly, arching up your spine, pulling your lips open, your head back until it bursts out of your mouth so absurdly loud, you clap a hand over your lips to keep from drawing attention.

You laugh so hard, you cry.

Dieter is bent over, howling alongside you.

When he orders your coffee, he remembers how you take it.

“Cream, no sugar, right?” He smiles as he hands you the steaming cup.

What else of you still lives inside of him? You hesitate to wonder.

You nod, thanking him, and follow him down the street.

A brisk evening settles between the high rises and rows of brownstones. The air has a mean bite to it now, a chill that nips at the bone. But you don’t really notice it. Not with his warm shoulder pressed up against yours, the warm styrofoam keeping your fingers from numbing. You’d brought up Andrew and the discussion quickly turned to the play. Dieter gestures wildly, chatting about this role, something so different from Hollywood.

Not that he had done much in the way of the public eye after Recovery Road. Smaller stuff, indie films, a few local LA plays. Then when all that became insufferable, he wrote a few treatments for some films, scripts to movies that never saw the light of day, and sold off the rights of those scripts to keep himself busy. He even directed a short film or two, but still felt a restlessness you were all too familiar with.

“So when Andrew called, I got the next flight out. This is the first part I’ve been excited about in years.”

You smile at him as you sip your coffee. “I’m really glad to hear that. Andrew’s a great director, I think you’ll have fun with him.”

As you led him near and nearer to your street, the conversation wove between artistic inclinations, production management, set design, character work – things you thought you’d forgotten about for the most part, but came back all too easily. You laughed easily too.

You were laughing when you stopped in front of your brownstone, but then instantly sobered when you saw who was waiting for you on the steps. Which was intentional because she absolutely had a set of keys.

“Oh, uh, hey, Marie.”

“Dieter.” But she’s looking at you, her jaw set and eyes blazing. “I just came by to get those invoices. Did I interrupt something?”

The back of your neck warms and you put more space between your shoulder and his. “No, i-it’s fine. Dieter was just walking me home. The invoices are in my kitchen.”

The chill of the air settles around you, tapping against the bubble you’d found yourself in after the park. You have him at arm’s length and you don’t know whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. You go with neither.

“It was good catching up. I’ll see you Monday?”

He nods, grinning in that silly way that makes him look like a fourteen year old dumbass. “For sure. See you Monday.”

It’s not the way you wanted your afternoon with him to go, but in honesty, it was probably the best way it could have gone. Dieter waves at Marie as he heads back the way you came, towards the subway station.

He’s not entirely out of earshot when Marie turns on you.

“So, what the fuck was that?”

You don’t meet her eyes as you fumble for your keys, your fingers numb from the cold. The door to your brownstone creaks as you stumble inside, as if irritated with you that you’re letting all the warm air out.

“What are you talking about? We were just catching up.”

She’s hot on your heels as you slide off your jacket, almost running for the kitchen.

“You don’t just catch up with someone like Dieter Bravo. He knows all your weaknesses, Nat.”

You scowl as you toss your purse onto the kitchen island. You face off with her, your hands on your hips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s your blindspot,” she says, carefully watching your face. “Always has been. He’s not just some guy and you know it. He broke your fucking heart.”

It had been all smiles and laughing and remembering the good this afternoon. But she isn’t wrong. She rarely was.

She can see the understanding cross over your face.

“Where’s his wife anyway? Chloe?”

“They’re divorced, okay?”

Marie’s mouth falls open in disgust and you cringe. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

“So he’s back in your life for five minutes, single, and you’re getting coffee with him?”

“I didn’t know he was single when I asked him — you know what, it’s fine. I asked if he wanted to get lunch and that turned into coffee and we spent a lot of time talking about the play. That’s it.”

She crosses her arms, reading every line in your body for secrets, as if he might have slipped you a bag of Oxy. You stare back. You have done nothing wrong and neither did he.

(You store away the fact that this was the first time you hung out with Dieter Bravo in a capacity that didn’t have you both hiding in shadows, ready to examine later alone in bed.)

“And you can honestly say you didn’t feel anything for him?” Marie arches an eyebrow, waiting for your stony face to crack. “No flicker? Nothing after ten years of radio silence?

“It’s not like it was before,” you answer as honestly as you can. “Even if it was, I can’t imagine he feels anything but guilt over me, which isn’t a great starting point for a relationship. You saw his face in the gallery – he looked petrified, not in love.”

When she nods, it stings, just a bit. She eyes the paperwork, knowing the income and good word coming from Andrew’s production would benefit the gallery for years to come. And of course she knew – she was the one who came up with it. Would she have said yes if she knew Dieter was attached to it? Would you have?

“Are you going to see him again?”

You wave a sweeping hand at the invoices, as if to show how the gallery and Andrew’s show are completely intertwined.

“I have to, right?”

Marie frowns at you, angry but not at you, and then her face softens, all fight gone, and she goes around the island to hug you. This is what saved you. This is what kept you going.

“I know my boundaries, Marie,” you say to the crook of her neck, unwilling to look her in the eyes while you say this. “And I know what happened in the past. I’m not going to make the same mistakes.”

She kisses your cheek. “Good because I really can’t run the gallery by myself.”

You laugh, pulling apart, and you shuffle the invoices together. “Yeah, who would you have to cart all this paperwork around?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

You wave her goodbye from your porch, locking the door after her.

You want to google his name and “divorce” to see if it’s true. If anything he told you today was real. You want to curl up in bed, with your head under the sheets and try and piece his life without you together. But you don’t.

That was the thing with Dieter. You want things, but you can’t have them. You have this indescribable urge, but it must be tempered. The obsession is lesser, a blindspot more than anything, now that you know your next hit and how you felt about him had been horrifically tied up into one, incessant, painful need. It would never be as bad, you assure yourself because now that you don’t have that overwhelming urge to get high; whatever you would be feeling is just good plain old human brain chemicals. And if you survived being coked out for nearly a year straight, you’d probably survive your own stupid emotions.

You would survive Dieter Bravo. All you have to do now is be his friend.

OCTOBER

A sharp chill had descended over the city, bringing with it an explosion of color. A consolation prize for the painful nip in the air. It was too early in the season for snow, or anything to prevent the wind from being so cruel, so everyone had to bustle from one structure to the next, careful to avoid the cold that hounded them like dogs. Teeth clenched, hands clutching scarves, the streets were filled with scowls and pink cheeks, raw knuckles and frozen ears. The crowds moved faster, eager to get where they’re going, out of this cold, out of this wind that pressed unsuspecting bodies together with the force of it. It made getting out of bed, leaving the cozy warmth of duvets and covers, planting your feet on the freezing wood, almost a monumentally impossible task. Especially for those who hated mornings anyway.

As much as you tried – really, truly, desperately tried as you sorted through the mosaic of your life, shining up as much as you could – you simply could not turn yourself into a morning person. Yawning widely, you stirred the cup of terrible coffee aimlessly, as if with enough glaring it would not only taste better, but startle you awake.

No such luck.

“Hey, miss, where would you like us to put these?”

You grimace as you choke down the black sludge, pointing the workman to a far wall at the back of the stage. Six in the morning and you already know it was going to be a long day. There are supplies to organize, materials to sort out, work to delegate, but you can’t seem to climb out of that sleepy haze. It had been a while since you’d been on the set of a production but if you don’t plant your feet now, you are liable to get swept up into the chaos.

You shake your head and blink. Focus.

Your designs had mapped out six separate moveable pieces of extra thick balsa wood. Attached to wheels, stage hands could rearrange the pieces as needed, depending on the scene. The “walls” are light enough for Andrew’s skeleton crew, but with some shadows and shading, you could give them depth and visual weight. You just had to build the damn things first, but Andrew assured you that all of his stagehands are basically master carpenters. By the confused but eager looks on their faces, you doubt that’s entirely true. Maybe by the end of this you’ll all be master carpenters.

Smiling to yourself, you go to help them unpack the planks of wood, but freeze when you hear Andrew’s voice unexpectedly. Assuming he’d come by when most of the work is nearly done, you poke your head around the thick black curtains.

Andrew stands facing the house, his arms wide and mobile. You smirk at the Lululemon sweats – his version of dressing down – as he addresses the small crowd in front of him. It’s the cast, you realize, only about seven of them and in the center is, of course, Dieter, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d never been a morning person either. He has his arms crossed over a thin black shirt and he’s focused entirely on Andrew, thick brows furrowed.

And focused entirely on him, is Emily (you finally remember her name), the cute blonde twenty-something.

Friends help friends get dates, right? Maybe this would be a good first step.

Getting Dieter Bravo laid.

Lunch arrives well past noon, leaving everyone tired, hungry, and a little irritable. Cast and crew go off into their separate corners, looking for peace and quiet and somewhere the pounding of hammers isn’t audible.

You’re deciding between a ham or turkey sandwich when he sidles up next to you. His plate is half a sandwich, three strawberries, and four cookies. Good to see his voracious sweet tooth hadn’t dulled even a little bit.

You glance over your shoulder. Emily sits on the edge of the stage, munching on a bag of chips and reading over her script. With your elbow, you nudge Dieter and he turns to look.

“She likes you,” you grin.

He frowns, glancing back between you and the girl on stage. “Who? Emily?”

“Duh. She has eyes, doesn’t she?”

Dieter’s mouth goes tight and he turns back to the craft’s table, suddenly interested in adding something healthy to his plate.

“She flirts with everyone. Besides, I’m kind of out of practice.”

“What do you mean?”

He picks at a melon, noses through the box of chips. “Rehab makes dating kinda hard. Unless . . .” he pauses and puts down his plate, “unless you’ve figured out the secret to dating in rehab.”

Your neck heats again. “Um, no, definitely not. It’s been a while, for me too.”

“How long is a while?” His eyes darken as he asks.

You are completely baffled at how quickly this conversation spiraled out of your control.

“Dieter – I – it’s been – you —,”

He spares you and bites the corner of his cheek. He glances over to Emily as she swings a long, bare leg over the edge of the stage.

“I’m not sleeping with her.” You nod, dumbstruck by this complete and total opposite reaction you thought he’d have. He works his jaw before looking back at you. “Her or anyone else. Okay?”

Andrew calls the cast to the stage to review blocking before the buzz saws start up again, so Dieter is pulled away before you can sputter incoherent consonants at him. He leaves his plate with you.

“Don’t let anyone steal my cookies,” he says very seriously before wiping his hands on his jeans and heading back to work.

What you said is true. You didn’t date anyone in rehab, the practice actually rather forbidden, and didn’t really have the inclination once you got out. It had been years before you actually tried to date anyone, but most of them ended after the first awkward hug goodbye or when he tried to put his hand up your skirt at dinner.

You hadn’t been a nun this whole time – you weren’t a fucking saint – but there hadn’t been anyone, anyone who really mattered in, years. For the first time, that struck you as odd. There wasn’t time, you reason with yourself as you watch him cross the stage on Andrew’s direction and jot notes in his script, his hair sticking up in all directions as if a cat’s tongue had licked him up the back of his neck. With moving to New York and starting the gallery and then running it, expanding it, there just simply wasn’t time to find something to fill that giant, gaping hole in your life. A hole you didn’t seem to mind or even notice, until Dieter came back.

Okay, maybe, friends didn’t need to help friends pick up dates. He didn’t seem interested anyway.

You pick up his plate, careful to not spill his precious sweets, only vaguely aware that his first inclination after loading up his lunch was to come find you.

🤍 Next: Part 2 + Epilogue

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016 #dieter bravo/f!reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 years

Text

Come rest for the winter

The fifth installment of the Don't know what's out there series is up! This one is pretty much pure holiday fluff (yes, it's March, but let's just pretend it's still December.)

Relationships: pre-Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer; established Geralt/Yennefer

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Word count: 14k

Summary: To help Jaskier combat a bad case of writer's block, Geralt and Yennefer invite him to celebrate Midwinter with their family at Kaer Morhen. But between making Midwinter ornaments, learning how to hold a sword, and tagging along on forktail hunts, Jaskier starts to realize something about his feelings for his two dearest friends.

Read the first couple of scenes below or here on AO3!

***

“Gerrrrrrrralt!”

Jaskier has an incredible ability to make Geralt’s two-syllable name stretch out to five or six syllables when he’s whining. With a sigh, Geralt peers into Jaskier’s living room, where his friend is sprawled dramatically on his couch, laptop perched precariously on his chest. “Hm?”

“In your professional opinion, is it possible to die of writer’s block? Because if so, I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a professional.” Geralt finishes stirring a ludicrous amount of cream into Jaskier’s coffee and strides into the living room to hand him his mug. As Jaskier reaches for it, his laptop starts to tilt. Geralt catches it just in time and relocates it safely to the end table.

Jaskier tilts back his head and lets out a groan that sounds more than a little like a dying kikimora. “I’m never going to finish this book.”

“You said that about the last book. Probably about the one before it too.”

“Yeah, but my publisher didn’t send either of those back to me because they hated the ending so much.” Jaskier heaves the sigh of a man who has seen untold horrors and will never be the same. “You should hear what they’ve been saying online since the release date got pushed back. People are saying I’m going to be the next C.R. George.”

Geralt shoves his legs out of the way so he can perch on the end of the couch. “You have to know I don’t know who that is.”

“He wrote the Heartsword Cycle.”

“Hm, right, one of my favorites.”

Jaskier lifts his head from the couch to squint at Geralt. “Really?”

“No.”

With another sigh, Jaskier flops back down, sloshing a good deal of coffee down his arm. “He wrote four of a five-book fantasy series, then got hit with writer’s block. For ten years, the final book kept getting delayed, until he went and dropped dead of a stroke. Then his publisher hired someone else to write the last book, but it was an enormous flop and everyone hated it. And two years later, his daughter announced she’d found a nearly-complete handwritten draft among his papers and released it online. There was a lawsuit and there’s this whole thing about which book is the real final book and—”

“Jaskier, you’re twenty-four and in reasonably good health. You’re unlikely to drop dead of a stroke.” Geralt takes a sip of his own coffee. “You just need to sit down and write it.”

“Oh, that’s easy for you to say.” Jaskier scowls up at him. He seems to be hamming up the whole tortured artist thing, with a week’s worth of scruffy facial hair. From the smell of him, he hasn’t bathed since at least yesterday, if not the day before. “What do you do when you’re stuck?”

Geralt shrugs. “I usually try one of Lambert’s bombs.” At his friend’s pensive look, he adds, “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“But what if—”

“No.”

“Fine, then leave me to my suffering.” Jaskier takes a swig of what’s left of his coffee.

Geralt is tempted to do just that, except for the fact that he came over here just to alleviate Jaskier's suffering. He's been worried about his friend ever since the release of Will of the Order got delayed, especially since it came on the heels of yet another messy breakup. It's not like Jaskier to be lying on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, unshowered, still in his PJs, and seeming to not even have noticed that he just spilled coffee all over himself.

“Do... you want to go grab a drink?" Geralt asks. He has no desire to go grab a drink, but maybe an excuse to put pants and deodorant on will cheer Jaskier up.

That earns him an arched eyebrow. “Are you having a stroke? You want to go somewhere? Outside the house? With people?”

“I do occasionally go out and interact with people.”

“Since when?”

Geralt thinks about it. “I came to your college graduation.”

“That was two and a half years ago and Yenn made you.”

“I was still there,” Geralt says. “And I came to the launch party for Will of the Enchantress.”

“Yenn made you come to that too. You spent the whole night standing by the appetizers.”

Geralt shrugs, conceding the point. “The shrimp was good.”

Jaskier snorts with laughter. “Ugh, am I that pathetic that you’re willing to go out to a bar with me to cheer me up?”

“Yes,” Geralt says.

“Geralt, I’m touched.” Jaskier puts a hand over his heart. “And a little offended, but mostly touched.”

Geralt shrugs again. “When’s the last time you showered?”

Jaskier looks outraged. “Yesterday!” At Geralt’s raised eyebrow, he deflates. “Okay, maybe the day before.”

“And the last time you shaved?”

“I refuse to have my hygiene criticized by someone who uses 2-in-1 shampoo.”

“And yet, I showered today,” Geralt says. “And yesterday too.”

Jaskier groans. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Do you want me to be honest or encouraging?”

Jaskier sniffs. “Next time I need cheering up, can Yennefer be the one who comes over?”

“Do you really want that?”

“No.” Jaskier groans again. “It’s just, I was so proud of that ending! It was the ending I’d had in mind since I started the first book! And they just said it was ‘trite’ and ‘out of character’ and told me to start over.”

Geralt makes what he hopes is a vaguely encouraging noise.

“And I don’t know what to do now,” Jaskier says. “I just keep staring at my computer screen, hoping inspiration will strike, but words just aren’t working and ugh.”

“You have time.”

“I have a month. That’s no time at all.” Jaskier looks up at him beseechingly. “Geralt, I need you and Yenn to go do something heroic and inspiring that will get my creative juices flowing. If it contains some dramatic irony and moral ambiguity, all the better.”

“It’s winter,” Geralt tells him. “Most everything that requires me to be heroic is hibernating right now. And Yenn and I are leaving for Kaer Morhen this weekend. The whole point of going to Kaer Morhen is not having to do anything heroic.”

‘Fuck, I’m doomed.” Jaskier sags. “I’m going to be the laughingstock of the literary world. Everyone will know I’m a fraud.”

With a jolt, Geralt recognizes the salty scent of approaching tears. It’s been over five years since he first met Jaskier and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the kid cry, except for that time he got his wisdom teeth taken out and then tried to watch nature documentaries with Geralt. Apparently, watching a gazelle get taken down by a crocodile was too much for him under the influence of painkillers.

But even that wasn’t this kind of despairing hopelessness. Geralt has seen Jaskier angry, frightened, indignant, hurt, and sick. But he’s never seen him so defeated.

“You could come with us to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt hears himself saying. “We’re spending Midwinter there. There will be five other witchers there, plus Triss, Ciri, and Cerys. That’s a lot of inspiration.”

Jaskier looks up at him with wide eyes. “I thought Kaer Morhen was just for family.”

“It is,” Geralt says and promptly regrets it when Jaskier’s lower lip begins to wobble. “It’s not a big deal.”

The next thing he knows, Jaskier’s arms are thrown around Geralt’s neck. Geralt just manages to save his cup of coffee, enduring the embrace for a long moment before he asks, “Does this mean you want to come?”

“Do I want to see the hallowed ground where you became the man you are today? Where you held your first sword and killed your first monster? Of course I do.”

“You can come so long as you don’t say shit like that.”

“You already extended the invitation, Geralt. No takesies, no backsies.”

“You should have no trouble finishing your book, with turns of phrases like that.” Geralt waits a moment for Jaskier to let go of him. When he keeps clinging on, he says, “If you keep hugging me, you’re going to need to at least put deodorant on first.”

“You were alive in the Middle Ages. There’s no way I’m the worst smelling thing that’s ever hugged you.”

“You’re right. There was the time I had a grave hag covered in alghoul guts clinging to my back. Long story.”

“And that hug is over.” Jaskier scrambles backwards. His eyes are still a little watery, but he seems to have composed himself. “Thank you, Geralt. Genuinely, I’m honored.”

Geralt shrugs, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “Lambert’s been wanting to meet you anyway ever since you put Eskel in the second book. He wants to one-up him and get his own spin-off.” He pauses considering. “On second thought…”

“Nope!” Jaskier scrambles for the bedroom. “I’m going to go pack now. You can’t uninvite me if I’m already packed”

Geralt rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “We leave the day after tomorrow. You better shower first. I’m not spending all day in the car with you smelling like that.”

“Love you too, you grumpy fuck!”

With a sigh, Geralt goes to finish his coffee.

***

“Wow,” Priscilla drawls from her perch on the bottom of Jaskier’s bed. “You’re spending Midwinter with the sugar daddies. It’s getting serious.”

Jaskier raises his head from where he’s searching under his bed for his favorite sweatshirt to glare at her. “You need to stop calling them that.”

“I don’t think I do,” she says. “Since they are, in fact, your sugar daddies.”

“If they are, they’re quite bad at it. They gave me socks and a gift card for my birthday.”

Priscilla shakes her head mournfully. “They just don’t make sugar daddies like they used to.”

Jaskier throws a pillow at her. “I’ve already told you, it’s not like that. They’re just being nice and inviting me along to Midwinter so I won’t spend it alone with a frozen pizza and a blank Word document.”

Priscilla doesn’t even bother voicing her skepticism; it’s well-documented at this point. “You could have come to Midwinter in Cidaris with me and Valdo.”

Jaskier shudders theatrically as he throws his sweatshirt into his suitcase. The fact that Priscilla is now dating and fronting a two-person folk band with his college sometimes-crush, sometimes-nemesis, Valdo Marx, is still bizarre to him, though he thinks he’s taking it with a measure of grace. “The frozen pizza and blank Word document is better company than Valdo. No offense.”

“He would say the same about you.”

“Well, he never had very good taste.” At the raised eyebrow that earns him, Jaskier hastens to add, “About everything besides girlfriends, of course.”

“Of course,” Priscilla says dryly. “So, back to the sugar daddies—”

“I already told you, they’re not—”

“You’re going to spend two weeks in the mountains with them and their family?”

“Yeah, Geralt has two brothers and a father,” Jaskier says carefully as he throws a handful of boxers and socks into the suitcase. “And then there’s their daughter and her girlfriend—”

“Geralt and Yennefer have a kid?” Priscilla’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “You’ve never mentioned her.”

Abruptly, Jaskier remembers that for all Priscilla’s jokes about sugar daddies, Geralt and Yennefer look no older than their mid-thirties, while Ciri looks like she’s just out of college. “They adopted her when she was twelve,” he says, which is technically true. “She lives in Skellige with her girlfriend now, but I’ve met her a few times.”

“So.” Priscilla’s lips curl into a smirk. “Does this make you her brother or her stepfather?”

Jaskier throws another pillow at her. “You’re the worst and I don’t know why we’re friends.”

“We’re friends because I was the only person in our hall who didn’t threaten you with bodily harm freshman year for blasting showtunes all day, every day. And because I had the good sense not to sleep with you when you hit on me.”

“You and Valdo have equally terrible taste.”

Priscilla throws the pillow back at him, hitting him full in the face. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’re going to be spending two weeks at some picturesque cabin in the mountains.”

From what Jaskier has heard, Kaer Morhen is more of a looming castle than a picturesque cabin, but he doesn’t bring that up.

“There will be hot chocolate, Midwinter lanterns, snow. It sounds awfully romantic.”

Jaskier blinks at her. He’s never considered Midwinter a particularly romantic time of year, given that he’s spent most of his Midwinters either being reminded of what a disappointment he is to his parents or at Essi’s place, watching her and Shani canoodle. “Their entire family will be there.”

“I don’t know, it’s like something out of a movie. They take you to meet the family, you bond with their daughter, maybe you twist your ankle skiing and Geralt has to carry you gallantly back to the cabin—”

“Skiing? Really, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Maybe you twist your ankle walking down the stairs?”

“Slightly more likely.” Jaskier starts to zip his suitcase, realizes that he doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting it closed, and grabs a duffel bag to relocate some of his things. “Have you forgotten that Geralt and Yennefer are as good as married? To each other? And I don’t think they’re looking for a third.” At Priscilla’s pointed look, he hastily adds, “Not that I would be interested if they were. I’m just going to spend some time with friends and to get my creative juices flowing.”

“I don’t know if it will be the creative juices flowing.”

Jaskier throws the pillow back at her, and then the two remaining pillows on his bed for good measure. She makes no effort to defend herself, which he takes as an admission that she knows she deserves it.

***

“He won’t be any trouble,” Geralt says, cradling his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he throws an armful of underwear into his suitcase.

Zipping her own suitcase closed, Yennefer snorts pointedly.

Geralt’s eyes flicker to her and his lips twitch. “Well, he might be trouble, but not the kind you’re worried about. He won’t write about Kaer Morhen if we ask him not to. He’s respected the other things we’ve told him were off-limits, like Ciri.”

Yennefer can hear the rumble of Vesemir’s voice from the other side of the phone.

“Sorry for the late notice,” Geralt says. “I would have invited him sooner if I realized he didn’t have plans for Midwinter.”

Yennefer cocks an eyebrow at that. Geralt has never given a single damn about holidays, including Midwinter, in the entire time she’s known him. The only reason he deigns to celebrate Belleteyn is because it’s Yennefer and Ciri’s birthday.

“See you in a few days,” Geralt says. “Tell the others not to drink all the White Gull without me.”

As he hangs up, Yennefer asks, “How did he take it?” Vesemir has always been fiercely protective of Kaer Morhen. It took him years to get used to Yennefer’s presence, and even longer to get used to Aiden’s.

Geralt shrugs. “He’s not thrilled by the late notice, but he says there’s plenty of food and liquor to go around. I think he’s just happy that there will be something to distract Lambert from finding new ways to blow things up.”

“It’s not like Vesemir to be overly optimistic,” Yennefer says. “Have you warned Jaskier that he’s in for two weeks of drinking that horrible White Gull and watching you spar?”

“I’m not letting him touch White Gull. Kid’s a lightweight.” He circles around the bed to stand behind her, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Anyway, I think a quiet Midwinter will do him good.”

She leans back into his embrace, closing her eyes. “I wouldn’t call Kaer Morhen ‘quiet,’ especially once the bombs come out. Remember to keep Jaskier away from those. I can’t heal him if he gets his arm blown off.”

Behind her, she can feel Geralt’s wince. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“Probably not, but it’s just as bad an idea to leave him unattended for two weeks. He’s good at finding trouble.”

Geralt huffs a laugh and presses a kiss to the sensitive spot under her ear. “That he is. Befriended us, after all.”

“A rare moment of good sense on his part.”

“Hm, if you say so.” Geralt kisses her again. “Not looking forward to the drive though. Sixteen hours is a long time to spend in the car. And you can’t curse him to be quiet.”

“Oh, Geralt.” She turns to face him, cupping his face in her hands. “You know that I love you more than anything in this sphere or any other, right?”

His face softens. “It may have come up once or twice.”

“And there’s almost nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.” She brushes her thumb over the scar slashing across his eye. “Almost nothing. Because no matter how much I love you, I am not spending sixteen hours in a car. I will be portaling to Kaer Morhen. You and Jaskier have fun on your road trip.”

***

When Jaskier pulls up in front of Geralt and Yennefer’s townhouse, he finds Geralt leaning against the bed of his truck, arms crossed over his chest and an unimpressed look on his face.

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier calls as he scrambles out of his car, nearly forgetting to park the car and turn it off in his haste. “I know I’m a teensy bit late—”

“I told you we were leaving at six. It’s nearly seven.”

“I stopped for coffee!” Jaskier raises his tray of drinks like an offering to the sky. “Caramel latte for me, cappuccino for Yenn, black coffee for you.”

“And that took you an hour?”

“Well the barista wrote her number on my cup so I had to stop and chat so she’d know why she probably won’t hear from me for the next two weeks. I’d hate for her to spend her Midwinter pining.”

“Can’t have that.” Geralt’s annoyed expression softens as he takes the tray of coffees. “And Yenn portaled ahead, so it will just be you and me. She refuses to spend two days driving to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier covers up his surprise by rolling his eyes. “What a diva.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“We’ve discussed this,” Jaskier says as he retrieves his bags from the backseat of his car—his suitcase, a small duffel bag, his guitar case, and the messenger bag where he stores his laptop. “I’m not even a little bit afraid of your partner.”

“Sure you’re not.” Geralt’s eyebrow raises as he surveys Jaskier’s luggage. “I invited you for Midwinter, not to move in. Don’t think Vesemir is looking for a roommate.”

“Har,” Jaskier deadpans. “You did warn me that it would be cold in the keep.”

“So your plan is to wear all your clothes at once?”

“It’s adorable that you think I could fit all the clothes I own in this little thing.” Jaskier pats the duffel bag.

“Looks like you could fit your entire apartment in there, couch and all.”

“Well, I have no idea what to expect, so I packed for all occasions. Drink your coffee. Maybe it will make you less grumpy. I’ll get the next round too.”

“We’re not stopping a thousand times for coffee.”

“It’s what, sixteen hours of driving in total?” Jaskier flashes his most innocent smile. “That means I’ll need at least eight stops for coffee. Once every other hour is reasonable, don’t you think?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Get in the truck, Jaskier.”

“Six times? That’s my final offer.”

“I will leave you.”

“No you won’t.” But Jaskier climbs into the passenger seat anyway. “I stayed up late making us a road trip playlist. I think you’ll like it. It has everything from modern pop to classic rock to sea shanties.”

“A playlist?” Geralt says the word like Jaskier has announced he’s going to set a wyvern loose in the car.

“But of course! It’s not a road trip without music.”

“Of course not,” Geralt grumbles and starts the car.

***

“Baby, you’re a firewooooooork!”

“I’m going to leave you at the next rest stop.”

“Make ‘em go ah ah ah!”

“Not going to wait for the next rest stop. I’m going to leave you right here on the side of the road.”

“As you shoot across the sky—Geralt, why are you pulling over? Geralt!”

***

Read the rest on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #ghost's fic #ghost's writing #don't know what's out there au

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