#anyway. my wrist is in agony and i stayed up all night finishing this. worth it >:]

[rockabillywonder]

i couldn't pick just one or two :']

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 20: Found family, Blanket

*shuffles feet*

...in my defense, I almost entirely finished this yesterday, I just wasn’t about to go trying to edit and post it at like 11:30 at night (though this note probably would have been a lot more interesting if I had lol).

Anyway. Continuation to day 17! I apologize for the delay and hope the wait was worth it 😓

Day 17

Read on ao3

Warnings: same as day 17, injuries, torture mentions, a short nightmare, just bad times for Twilight

————————————————————

Getting out was a blur.

Link forced himself to stay awake as the leader of the heroes (had he even said his name? ...If he had he couldn’t remember) carried him, but focusing on much of anything was difficult. The ever-present pain weighed him down like a heavy load, old scars and new injuries adding endless layers of suffering, and even just being carried in someone’s arms was agony.

There was the leftover burn from the magic too— though the chains that had secured him were gone, the manacles were still on his wrists and the collar was still around his neck, and they ached, his whole body still shaking from the ordeal of removing the chains.

It was a struggle not to just pass out.

But the part of him that still screamed not to trust stay on alert be prepared for him to come back was stronger. It had been honed from countless jarring awakenings, pain ripping him back from already restless sleeps, and so he stayed awake, no matter how badly he wanted to rest.

The man holding him shifted his grip as he went up some stairs, and Link felt his breath hitch as some of his injuries were nudged. The man whispered an apology, and gently squeezed one of the few spots of skin that didn’t have an open wound on it.

Link flinched anyway.

The touch immediately retreated, and Link was torn between being relieved and crying at the loss of it.

Part of him still expected them to suddenly turn on him, the kind touches becoming bruising ones, gentle hands turned to claws and knives. But... he also craved it. He desperately wanted somebody to pat him on the shoulder and hug him and run their hand through his hair, but any of the touch he’d received so far had been like torture.

He truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a touch that didn’t involve pain in some way. He could barely stomach it now, no matter how well-meaning, and he hated it.

Was there anything left the Shadow hadn’t taken from him?

Voices suddenly rang down the hall, and Link stiffened, straining his ears to try and figure out who— or what they were.

One of the other heroes who’d gotten him out (the one with the Master Sword, he thought. He really needed names) called out, and soon there were unfamiliar faces and words being exchanged and questions directed at him and all he could do was close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden amount of people surrounding him.

How many were there?

“... got Legend pretty bad, but we beat him off and he disappeared,” a polished voice spoke, and Link twitched an ear his direction. What was he talking about? A legend?

“I’m fine,” a sharper voice cut in, and Link thought it seemed younger then the other one. “You didn’t need to use that fairy, that was our last one!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“Save it for the reason we came here in the first place! He’s way more injured than I was!”

“Legend,” a softer voice spoke up, sounding exasperated, “...you were pretty bad. And you know we don’t take chances with injuries caused by the Shadow.”

A sick feeling abruptly surged over Link at the name, along with an intense hatred and fear and horror and too many emotions for his mind to handle at the moment. Link’s breath stuttered against his will, and the man holding him frowned.

“You don’t think the Shadow is still here, do you?” The small hero with the colorful tunic asked, and the voices paused.

“Probably... not,” Link croaked, and they all looked at him.

He swallowed.

“Do you know where he is?” a man in a deep blue scarf asked, and Link exhaled, gathering his strength.

“No,” Link managed to get out, and the voices stayed quiet. “Probably not. But he usually... usually powered ‘self before... fights.”

“...powered himself?” a younger voice asked in an anxious tone, and Link closed his eyes again. Hadn’t they known? Or at least figured it out based on what they’d seen?

All he was was a battery.

“Thank you Link, I’m sorry we brought it up,” the leader apologized, and Link made a noncommittal noise. “We’re almost out, hold on.”

They began moving again, and Link caught several people looking at him, though most of them stopped when they realized he’d noticed. A teenager with a stripe of pink in his hair didn’t though, and Link found himself staring, curious about the look of him. He gave him an awkward little nod, and Link tried to return it, though he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

They were all so different, were these really heroes like him?

The Shadow had mentioned other heroes once or twice, but Link usually had no clue what he was talking about, or if he did, refused to say anything.

Besides, he was usually too busy screaming to listen anyhow.

Something bright shone out of the corner of his eye, and Link turned to look at it, his heart speeding up at the sight of a large entryway. The group hurriedly went through it, and Link was almost blinded from how bright it was after they walked through.

He blinked furiously, needing to see what was going on, and finally his eyes adjusted and he looked around in shock.

Sunlight.

Faint, barely-there, dim autumn sunlight that struggled to shine through the trees, but the sight of it nearly made Link sob.

He was outside.

He could see sunlight shining through yellow and orange leaves, eventually joined by the sound of birds and other creatures as they went along, air that wasn’t stale rushing past his face and making all his injuries hurt more but he didn’t care a bit.

He was out.

He was crying he realized, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by it all.

It wasn’t a trick. He’d never gotten this far the few times he’d been brought out, they were really who they said they were, they must be, and they’d gotten him out of the darkness.

Someone might’ve said something to him, but the overwhelming sensation of being outside had finally pushed Link to his limit, and he gave up on his fight to stay awake.

Darkness swept him away, it’s touch more gentle then he’d felt in a long time.

(...)

The heroes didn’t stop traveling until they were plenty far away from the oppressive ruins where they’d found Link, the trip passing in almost complete silence.

Link had passed out in Time’s arms not long after they’d finally exited, tears on his face, and Time couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved.

Watching Link remain in an almost stubborn state of alertness, ears twitching towards any sound, flinching when Time adjusted him, had been agonizing to watch. His body desperately needed rest, but he’d been stubbornly refusing it until they were out.

He’s certainly one of us, no doubt about that, Time thought with a sigh.

Sky grabbed a bedroll the moment they found a safe place to stop, and Time carefully lowered Link onto it, trying to avoid any injuries. He had several on his back, but they set him down as softly as possible, and Link didn’t wake.

“That’s really him?” Wind asked in a small voice as Warriors moved over to carefully look over all of Link’s injuries, cursing under his breath more than once.

“This is him,” Time replied quietly, trying to clean some of the blood and dirt out of Link’s hair. Now that they were out of the ruins, it was even more obvious how badly Link was in need of being cleaned up and cared for, and Time focused on not being overwhelmed by the task.

What all did he go through in there?

“What happened to him?” Legend said in a voice full of quiet horror, and Wild harshly kicked a rock into a tree.

“What didn’t?” he bit out in a fragile voice, and Sky put a hand on his arm, saying something that Time didn’t catch.

Warriors accidentally brushed a hand against Link’s collarbone then, and his eyes shot open, nearly throwing himself backwards away from the touch.

“Get away!” he snarled, voice hoarse, and Warriors immediately backed up.

“Whoa, easy,” Warriors quickly reassured, putting his hands up. “I’m only checking which of your injuries need to be cleaned so we can give you a potion. We don’t want anything healing inside them.”

Link glared at him in suspicion, but when Time moved into his line of sight, he relaxed a little.

“He’s helping, Link, I promise,” he reassured, and Link slowly relaxed, though he remained awake. Time glanced around at the other heroes as Warriors finished his examination, and saw that most of them were either looking at Link, or pointedly not looking at him as they worked on setting up camp.

It seemed none of them were quite certain how to deal with seeing one of their own in such a state.

Wild came over when he noticed Time watching them all, and he looked at Link, uncertainty on his face.

“Can I help at all?” he asked, voice stronger then it had been, and Time looked over at Warriors.

“These all need to be cleaned, and it’s not going to be easy for him,” the captain reported quietly, looking over his chest. “The faster we can get it done the better.”

“Link, we need to clean you up before we can heal you,” Time said as he knelt at his side, and Link gave him a bleary look. “It won’t be pleasant, but it needs to be done.”

Link breathed out and nodded, looking up at Time with shadows under his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

Time gave him a faint smile, and Wild knelt beside him as they got to work.

It took a long time scrubbing all of the dirt out and disinfecting the injuries Link was coated in. They focused on cleaning the actual wounds, but Time knew Link would need the rest of himself cleaned up at some point, dirt and blood and all sorts of grime coated on his skin.

But that can wait.

Link was stiff throughout the entire process, trembling when they got to certain injuries, and trying not to cry out when they used the alcohol Warriors had provided to disinfect. The worst part was his face, which Time carefully washed up, but Link was nearly in tears by the time he finished cleaning the slice that cut right through the dark lines on his forehead.

But they finally finished, and Link sagged, his breathing shaking. Hyrule came forward then, and offered to heal him, and Link gave him a curious look.

“It’s a healing spell, it’ll be more thorough than a potion,” he explained. He faintly lit up his hands to demonstration, but Link immediately recoiled from the light.

“No, no n-no magic!” Link breathed, a flicker of terror in his eyes.

Hyrule immediately backed off, and Link’s cheeks flushed as he calmed down.

“I... I’m sorry, I-I...”

“No, I understand, that’s okay,” Hyrule said kindly, and Link swallowed and looked away, cheeks still red.

“Potions will be enough,” Time said peaceably, and Hyrule took out a few, handing them to Time. Though a fairy or healing spell would be preferable. “Take it slow, Link.”

Sky helped him carefully sit Link up, and Time helped him drink the entire red potion, slowly so as not to overwhelm his stomach. He eagerly sipped at it, and the most intense of his injuries began to knit closed, angry lines and deep gouges, and places that must be barely healed-over stab wounds—

Time exhaled, and lowered Link back to the ground as he finished, anger stirring in his chest.

The Shadow will pay for this.

“Try and get some more rest, Link. You’re safe with us,” Time said gently as he set the bottle aside, and rested a careful hand on Link’s.

He flinched, but after a long moment, slowly gripped it back. His hand shook as Time brushed his thumb over the dirtied triangles on the back, but he didn’t let go, even though Time knew holding on was hard.

You’re safe.

(...)

The next few days trickled by slowly, Link struggling to adjust to life not imprisoned in a hole being used as some sort of dark power source.

His injuries were healing, albeit slowly due to the sheer amount of them, but he was struggling more with the other scars his imprisonment had left him. He still couldn’t handle much touch, or large amounts of food, and he’d rarely sleep for long periods of time, waking up sweating and shaking from memories he hadn’t told the rest of them about yet.

Four made it his personal mission to remove the collar and bands from around his neck and wrists, since all they did was serve as a reminder for all them of the torture he’d endured.

Link wanted them off more than anyone, and he patiently sat through all of Four’s attempts at removal. The smithy finally succeeded with the help of some of Legend’s items and tools, Link nearly crying with relief at them gone, but the pale scars underneath the metal were almost worse.

They couldn’t be removed.

Time tried his best to help Link adjust, but it was hard when he could only give them the bare minimum of what he’d endured, and stubbornly tried to insist he was fine and they didn’t need to fuss over him. Even after he’d wake up gasping from a nightmare, Link would try to muffle his cries in order not to wake anyone, and couldn’t stand even a grounding hand on his shoulder.

It was at times like these Time wished Malon were here. She would know exactly how to comfort the traumatized boy they’d all found themselves with, better than Time ever could.

How do we help him, Malon? he thought one night as he studied Link’s slumbering face. His scars were harder to see in the dark, but Time knew they were there, slashed across his forehead, his chest... and his heart.

How did you ever handle me?

Time didn’t find any one answer, but as time slowly went by, Link did open up, at least a little. As they all explained more about themselves, he was willing to do so a bit too, explaining some of his journey, and telling the dark marks on his forehead actually weren’t a result of his imprisonment, though not exactly explaining what they were from.

His favorite thing to talk about was his home village though, and the longing in his voice was impossible to miss.

Time would have carried him there himself if it had been at all possible, but they were a long ways away from Ordon, and Link could barely walk across the clearing they were camped in without needing a rest. Taking him home would have to wait, as much as Time disliked it.

But in the meantime, the other heroes did their best to help Link as well, Wild figuring out what was easiest for him to eat, Warriors and Hyrule dutifully checking up on his injuries. Wind liked to tell him stories whenever he was struggling not to dwell on memories, sometimes getting Four to tell a few, and Legend even laid out his weapons and offered to let Link borrow one, until they could get him a sword of his own.

Sky often just let him hold the Master Sword, Link’s hands clutching the hilt as he sat in silence.

It seemed to comfort him, often when the rest of them couldn’t, and while Time couldn’t relate, he was glad it helped.

Time could also tell it was killing Sky not to be able to comfort Link with touch, at all, but Link was still working up to anything more then his hand being held. He would just have to do it at his own pace, as hard as it was to watch him struggle.

And things didn’t change in that regard, until all of a sudden they did.

(...)

Link closed his eyes as the tip of a blade pressed against his chin. He wouldn’t panic. This happened almost every day, and he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t give the Shadow the satisfaction of it.

“You’re not going to beg today?” he asked almost curiously, and Link licked his lips, tasting blood. “I might even listen, you never know.”

“I’ve never begged,” he said in a cold voice.

He wouldn’t stoop to that level, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. It was one of the few ways he felt like he had a choice in the matter, and he knew it made the Shadow mad when when he remained silent.

He wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction.

The Shadow leaned in so they were eye-to-eye, and Link stared at the crimson glow of his eyes, trying not to let his breath hitch.

“Well. Let’s see if we can change that, shall we?”

And then the blade flicked down, pain ripping across his chest. At at the same time the metal around his neck lit up like the lava on death mountain, burning into him, searing down the line where the sword had struck, and Link screamed as he felt magic bore into him and sap away every bit of his strength—

He woke up.

Link jerked upright, pain still blinding him, and he might’ve screamed but he wasn’t sure. Darkness was around him, lit only by the Shadow’s glowing eyes and he knew it had all been a dream, he hadn’t been rescued after all and he was never going to get out—

Link breathed heavily, clutching at his neck, certain he could still feel the collar, magic burning into him, feel his strength ripped away as injuries were torn into his chest—

“Link,” a soft voice said, and he heaved in another breath, hands still pressed to his neck. “Link, you’re out, you’re safe.”

He managed to raise his head, and saw Time kneeling carefully beside him, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture.

He swallowed, breathing in another shaky breath, and looked around, slowly recognizing the campsite they’d been at for the past several days. The light he’d seen was the campfire, not the Shadow’s eyes, and he felt relief start to soak through the terror.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t back.

His breath hitched, and Time moved closer to him, offering him a hand to take if he wanted it.

Link stared at it, then began to shake, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at everything again.

He was out. He wasn’t a prisoner. He was out and safe and he’d been there for so long but he was out but he wasn’t home but he was home, brothers he never knew he had saving him and their kindness made his chest ache because he’d done nothing to deserve it and despite waking them up and slowing them down and pushing away their help they kept coming back and he’d done nothing—

A sob broke out of him as the sheer scale of everything suddenly crashed down onto him, and Time’s eye widened.

Then he leaned forward, and slowly, carefully, put an arm around him.

Link’s breath hitched with another sob, stiffening as the touch settled across his back, but as Time tried to move, he clutched at his arm, silently begging him not to let go. The touch was like fire on his back, but it soothed a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been hurting so much.

Time hesitated as Link shuddered, then he lifted his other arm, pulling him into an actual hug, tight and warm.

That destroyed any composure Link had left, and he buried his face in Time’s shoulder, crying harder than he had in a long time. The touch all around him was awful and wonderful and agonizing and pure relief, and the sensation made him shake with how overwhelming it was.

“You’re okay,” Time whispered as Link fell to pieces in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, and Link’s breath hitched on another sob. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Link.”

Link had no clue as to the last time he’d received a hug, but this one, as messy and awful and painful as it was, was probably the best.

(...)

After that night, Link often found himself in a pile of heroes whenever he went to bed.

Wild would curl up at his side, Sky would end up with an arm flung out on top of him, Wind and Four by his head. Sometimes all of them would end up around him, and Link would nearly cry if he woke up and realized, falling back asleep more deeply then he had in months.

It was wonderful.

He was still struggling to get back on his own two feet, building his strength, still dealing with the fact that he’d always have the scars from his imprisonment, that he still sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

But he knew he’d have the others to support him, as hard as it was to let them. He still had moments where he’d push them away, when touch hurt instead of helped, when the thought of giving up crossed his mind, and didn’t seem like too bad of an option.

But he wouldn’t give up. Dark Link may have crushed him, but he wouldn’t be kept down, even though at times it seemed nearly impossible.

He would keep going.

And as Link leaned against Sky’s shoulder one night, Time’s arm over his shoulders, Wild and Four sitting leaned up against his feet while the others sat close by, it wasn’t nearly as hard to believe that he might be... okay.

Ordon would have to wait a bit longer, until he’d regained his strength, and could properly swing a sword, but until then...

A hand ran through his hair, and Link exhaled, the feeling of safety like a warm blanket around his shoulders.

...Link could wait.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

hi!! i hope your day is going well! may i request a shinobu or mitsuri fic where they meet a selectively mute!reader as reader gets injured from a demon, then from there they take care of reader and mayhaps fall in love? thank you and i just wanted to say that i absolutely loved your sdv leah fic :)

Love Blossoms in the Dead of Winter

Mitsuri Kanroji x Shinobu Kochou x Selectively Mute! She/Her Reader

A/N: I decided to combine these, hope that was okay! I started this on January 30th and I was attacked by my slow burn heart so that’s why it took so long and it still wasn’t slow burn enough for me, but like, I had to finish it sometime! So here it is! It may also be worth mentioning that Mitsuri is also dating Obanai during this because I feel bad about only mentioning him for two seconds during ShinoMitsu Week so let’s goooo! Word Count: 14,250

Just keep running!

(Y/n) trampled through the bone chilling shallow river, the cold, winter air sticking in her throat as she tried to breathe. Her foot slipped on a smooth rock, causing her to tumble and splash face first into the icy water, making her sputter and choke. She stumbled once, twice, trying to get back to her feet. The cold water numbed her further, shocking her body and destroying her already failing balance. Another nasty cut thanks to the fall, blood staining through her drenched, and torn kimono, quickly freezing in the sub-zero temperatures.

Despite it all, she kept running. She had to if she was going to survive the night.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!” The wicked voice behind her taunted, laughing all the while.

(Y/n) finally crossed the river, her bare feet burning as if they were on fire, she ran upon crunchy snow as hard as ice. It might as well have been broken glass, really.

“I’m catching up!” The demon crowed.

Sure enough, his taunts sounded closer yet. (Y/n) was so cold she was starting to become stiff, falling into the water hadn’t done her any favors. She saw the fallen tree in her path, but in her current state she could not clear her attempt to jump over it, instead she caught her ankle against the rigid trunk and fell across it.

“You’re mine!”

She tried to stand, but couldn’t even get to her knees. She tried pulling herself along with her arms, but then sharp claws tore at her shoulder, turning her around to lay on her back. She cried out in agony. The demon baring down on her cackled wickedly, digging deeper into her arm.

“What delicious screams, I knew you could deliver with the right motivation!”

(Y/n) grabbed weakly at the demon’s wrist, trying to pull his hand away and failing miserably. She was getting colder as her blood left her body, however… perhaps she wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. Her hands slid weakly to her sides as even the simple act of holding them up became too difficult to manage.

“Done so soon? Pity.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, her eyelids too heavy to stay open. Not that she wanted to see what the demon would do next anyway. She wanted to sleep and she knew it was crazy, but she was starting to warm up again. Maybe it was all just a bad dream. She’d wake up soon.

An inhuman wail of pain managed to cut through (Y/n) brain fog and she tried to open her eyes, only managing to crack one open the tiniest bit before it closed again. A flash of pink and green being all she could perceive. The weight on top of her was pulled away and calloused, yet remarkably soft, warm hands rubbed at her frozen cheeks a muffled voice called to her. She had to really focus to hear what it was saying.

“Can you still hear me? Gods, you’re so cold! You poor dear, I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I need to get you out of this, okay? Don’t be afraid, I’m going to save you!”

(Y/n) is vaguely aware that her tattered and frozen kimono is being pried off of her skin until only the last layer remained. She can’t find it in herself to care. If things are going as badly as she thinks, she won’t need any of it anyway.

“There we go, who said that was going to be easy, huh? I know it’s not a lot, but this will have to do until I can get you somewhere warm, okay. Just keep breathing for me!”

(Y/n) feels something… she can’t really make out any details, but something is being tugged up her legs. Then she is propped up against the fallen tree as something is draped over her shoulders and tied tightly to her front. Finally, she’s lifted into strong arms, a pleasant and soft warmth pillows her left cheek and ear. If she had the strength to move, she would try to bury her whole face there. She felt jostled now, the old snow crunches and shatters under pounding footfalls and it becomes harder to hear the voice that seems to have been talking to her nonstop.

“We’ll be there soon! You are doing so well! I know you can do it, you’re a fighter, so strong!”

A fighter? Strong? (Y/n) felt anything but at the moment. She was so cold she felt hot, so tired, she wanted to sleep and never wake up. The only thing keeping her from doing so was that sweet, determined voice.

“Shinobu! Help her!”

“Follow me, Aoi, Kanao, heat up several water bladders. We have to warm her, but it must be gradual or she could go into shock.”

Who was that now? That voice was softer, harder to hone in on. (Y/n) thought she could feel herself slipping. The arms that had carried her so surely gave way to something softer.

“I tried to protect her skin with my haori and socks, but she looks really bad Shinobu, especially her feet.”

“Yes, this frostbite is rather severe, but she shouldn’t have to lose any fingers or toes. Whether she’ll regain proper feeling in them is a whole other matter. We will need to focus on warming her core first before we tackle the extremities. You had the right idea striping her down and covering her with dry clothes. Well done, Mitsuri… Yes, Aoi set those there, Kanao, wrap the bottles up in these extra sheets before setting them on her stomach. Aoi, prepare an IV of warm fluids, we may need it.”

As weight was slowly added to (Y/n)’s core, she felt much heavier. She was having a harder time of following the thread of conversation. Eventually, she stopped trying to listen all together as warmth seeped through to her veins, making her succumb to a dreamless sleep.

***

When (Y/n) wakes, it’s because of a sudden pressure against her forehead. She struggled to open her eyes and was startled to find a face mere centimeters away from her own. Her flinching jarred her body, throbbing pain enveloped her. The movement alerted the person hovering above her that she was awake. Their eyes opened, engulfing (Y/n)’s vision in purple.

“Oh, hello there.” The person coos so softly that (Y/n) feels she could go back to sleep. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

(Y/n) blinks, and tries to look around at her surrounding to figure out where she was. The person, a young woman, sat straight in her chair and gave (Y/n) some space.

“Looking for someone?” She asked.

(Y/n) did not answer her and tried to sit up, only for the woman to press a hand to her chest, keeping her flat on the bed.

“Don’t move just yet. You are still healing. How is the pain, manageable?”

(Y/n) looks up at the woman and manages a deliberately slow double blink. She doubted she’d understand, but she really could not bring herself to speak in this situation. New place, new person, new smells and after what happened in the woods… too much too soon.

“Hmm, not very talkative, are you? I can’t say that I blame you, I imagine you must be exhausted even after sleeping for the last several days. So are you trying to tell me something with that slow blink or are you falling asleep?”

(Y/n) blinked again.

“Very well, one blink yes and two blinks no?”

This woman sure caught on fast. (Y/n) appreciated it. She blinked once and the woman smiled at her beautifully.

“I’ll insert another dose of pain killer into your IV drip then.” The woman stood from her chair and messed around with something behind (Y/n)’s bed. “There, you should start to feel a change in a matter of minutes. Hungry?”

(Y/n) blinks twice.

“Alright, don’t worry about your lack of appetite just yet. Plenty nutrients are coming to you through your IV, but I would like you to be eating on your own by the end of the week. How about a little water, I’m sure your mouth must feel dry.”

(Y/n) blinks once, eagerly. The expression does not escape the woman and she laughed, pressing a cup to (Y/n)’s lips until the cup is drained.

“More?”

Two blinks.

“I wish all of my patients were as easy as you.” The woman says with audible mirth. “I should introduce myself, I’m Kochou Shinobu. I’ll be helping you through your healing and recovery efforts. My staff and I are experienced in various courses of care so you can trust that you are in good hands, okay?”

Of that, (Y/n) had no doubt. She relaxes and blinks once. Shinobu’s fingers brush her hair out of her face and her skin heats with the gentle graze.

“Sleep now, we shall reconvene later,” she pulls away and stands up, “Maybe next time you can tell me your name so I can put something other than Nanashi-no-Gombei on your charts.” She winks playfully. Before (Y/n) can watch her leave, she falls asleep.

***

The Next time (Y/n)’s eyes flutter open, an excited gasp next to her ear makes her jump.

“You’re awake, I’m so relieved! Shinobu said you had woken up yesterday, but it’s always more reassuring to witness such things yourself. So, how do you feel? Do you need me to get you anything?”

Feeling a little to overwhelmed, (Y/n) could only stare at the woman hovering above her. There was something familiar about the color of her hair, the tone of her voice.

“Um, can you hear me?” The woman asked, suddenly getting shy, “Oh! Maybe you don’t remember me. You were rather out of it after all! I’m Kanroji Mitsuri, I brought you here after that awful demon chased you down.”

The clarification did help (Y/n) somewhat. She blinked once, acknowledging that she could both hear and understand Mitsuri. However, Mitsuri didn’t seem to understand the meaning of it.

“You are so quiet! Is something wrong? Oh no, you poor girl! What should I do? I’ll get Shinobu!”

Before she could run off and disturb the peace, (Y/n) fumbled with her hand, weakly latching it to Mitsuri’s. Mitsuri froze, looked down at their hands, and then melted.

“Ah! You are so cute!” Mitsuri maneuvered (Y/n)’s hand to rest in hers, holding it with such tender warmth that (Y/n) just knew this woman gave the best hugs. “Your fingers are looking better already. You were so frostbitten, it hurt just to look at you. I had to cry for a bit afterward, I thought I didn’t get to you in time.”

(Y/n) skimmed her bandaged fingers over Mitsuri’s hand, hoping that the gesture was reassuring. It seemed to work well enough as Mitsuri smiled down at her with such vibrancy that (Y/n)’s heart began pounding double time.

“Is she awake?”

Mitsuri turned around, excitement abound, “Shinobu! She is, come look!”

The purple-eyed woman from before came to stand beside Mitsuri in (Y/n)’s field of vision. She noticed (Y/n) and Mitsuri’s hands and rolled her eyes, giving the taller woman a knowing smile. Mitsuri, for her part, blushed at the attention, but did not pull her hand away.

“Good afternoon Ms. So and So,” Shinobu teased, “Still not feeling talkative today?”

(Y/n) blinked once, a small smile worked its way on her face at the little jab. She couldn’t really help that she didn’t have it in her to speak right now, but Shinobu seemed to understand somehow.

“I see, perhaps another time then. Do you think you could try to eat something for me?”

(Y/n) mulled it over in her mind before blinking once.

“Wonderful! Kiyo, can you bring something light, please?” Shinobu asked someone behind her, turning back when she heard an affirmative answer.

“Shinobu-chan!” Mitsuri’s eyes blew wide open, “Can you read minds?”

An amused sound, a short release of air from (Y/n), fully gained the attention of both women. They seemed eager to hear (Y/n), but unfortunately that was all they were getting from her for now. Shinobu addressed Mitsuri then.

“It’s not mind reading, my dear. We had established a bit of a code yesterday. One blink is yes, two blinks is no.”

“Oh…” Mitsuri’s blush rose to her ears, but then she peered back down at (Y/n) and wiggled, “Oh! In that case, are you feeling warm enough?”

(Y/n) blinked once, much to Mitsuri’s delight. Suddenly, all of Mitsuri’s weight was resting against (Y/n) and muffled squeals of delight vibrated against her ear. It was very nice, if not a bit suffocating. (Y/n) was glad her hypothesis about the hugs was right.

“Mitsuri, gentle…” Shinobu warned softly, like she had just introduced a large dog to a new born baby.

“Aw, she’s okay,” Mitsuri sat up on her elbows for a second and addressed (Y/n), “You’re okay, right?”

Blink

Mitsuri settled back down again.

This. Was. Heavenly.

“Mitsuri, her food is here.”

Ah, easy come easy go.

They helped her sit up, (Y/n) sucked in a breath and winced.

“I’m sorry, that hurt a bit I imagine. Your shoulder and neck are still healing where you were slashed, but your whole body must ache considerably. It’s been long enough now that you may have more pain killer, do you want some?”

(Y/n) ponders. She hurts, but it’s manageable. She blinks twice.

“Very well, let me know if you change your mind.”

(Y/n) eats what she can stomach while Shinobu and Mitsuri sat beside her and talked. Eventually, Mitsuri had to leave, something about another mission. She patted (Y/n) on the hand and kissed Shinobu on the cheek, waiting eagerly for Shinobu to return the favor before leaving. Shinobu continued to sit with (Y/n) for awhile until she started to nod off.

“Sleep well, Ms. So and So.” Shinobu said, smoothing over the blanket once before heading towards the door, “we’ll have you up and moving again in no time.”

The door closed and (Y/n) shut her eyes. She could hardly imagine walking again. Today she only ate while watching two people talk and she was exhausted. If anyone could help her recover her mobility, she was sure Shinobu could do it. How lucky she was to have been found that night. She had never felt more safe.

***

Three Weeks Later

“Good morning, Ms. So and So. Are you ready for recovery training today?”

(Y/n) gave Shinobu a look, making the Hashira chuckle.

“Yes, yes, sorry (Y/n). I’m just used to Ms. So and So... also, it’s just more fun to say.”

(Y/n) had been steadily getting better. When she was finally able to sit up on her own, Shinobu provided her some paper and ink to write answers to questions that required a little more than a yes or a no. It was hard, given how the frostbite (Y/n) had suffered left the nerves in her fingers and toes damaged, but she managed to clumsily scrawl out what she needed to.

“Come, let’s do a lap together, okay?” Shinobu helped (Y/n) sit up in bed and swing her legs over the side. Then Shinobu pulled the walker she had brought up to (Y/n) and helped her stand.

“There we go, is it manageable?” Shinobu asked, her hand placed protectively against (Y/n)’s stomach in case she lost her balance.

(Y/n) pursed her lips as something in her throat quivered. She was quite comfortable with Shinobu these days and she was getting used to the routine of the estate, but now she was dealing with a whole other issue, which was that she had an undeniable crush on her and just the idea of talking to her gave her butterflies, so fitting. Remembering that Shinobu had just asked her a question she gave a jerky nod that agitated the healing wound on her shoulder.

“Easy now, take it slow.” Shinobu cooed, rubbing (Y/n)’s back and making the butterflies in her stomach double in volume. “One lap around the medical wing and then we’ll try some walking without the walker.”

(Y/n) managed a quiet, abrupt hum and looked down at her discolored toes, taking her first step with determination to make it the whole way without having to turn around a quarter of the way through.

“Aw, what a cute little sound,” Shinobu teased, “I don’t think I could help myself if I got to hear more!”

‘What is she talking about? At this rate, I don’t think I’ll talk ever!’ (Y/n) pushed herself forward, her face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh, are you trying to get away from me? Are you embarrassed?” Shinobu poked further, easily keeping up with the snail like pace (Y/n) had set.

(Y/n) couldn’t believe how flirty Shinobu was. (Y/n) knew pretty much day one that Shinobu was dating Mitsuri. She knew for sure by the end of the first week when Mitsuri was telling her about something funny that had happened on a date she and Shinobu went on one time. Maybe she was just a naturally flirty person, or didn’t even realize… no she definitely realized. Whatever the case, (Y/n) was going to try her best to ignore her. She would hate to be a point of contention between Mitsuri and Shinobu. Especially since she also liked Mitsuri very much. Although, Mitsuri was quite affectionate with her as well in Shinobu’s presence… too much to think about!

“Concentrating hard I see. We’ve almost completed the loop, good job!”

Sure enough, (Y/n) could see the door to her room just ahead. Her toes were throbbing, but she managed to focus her weight to rest on her heels than the front of her feet. The walker she was using also helped her keep the weight off. Only a few more yards!

“Okay, this looks like a good place to stop.”

Shinobu placed a hand over the walker, making (Y/n) come to a stop. (Y/n) faced Shinobu with a look of obvious confusion, prompting Shinobu to explain.

“You’re going to walk the rest of the way yourself.”

“???” (Y/n)’s mouth fell open, making Shinobu giggle as she pulled the walker away.

(Y/n) felt her balance shift immediately and she slumped into the wall to try to keep herself upright while she watched Shinobu glide to her room with the walker. When Shinobu reached the room, she turned around and motioned (Y/n) over with a smile.

“Come along, you can do it.”

‘Easy for you to say.’

(Y/n) wasn’t interested in giving up so soon, however. She sucked in a huge breath of air and began scooting over to Shinobu. She tried to only use the wall as an assist when she felt like she was going to fall and she was surprised and excited that she was doing as well as she was. Shinobu was right, she could do this!

“You made it, I knew— oh? I didn’t know you were such a hugger, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) had collapsed into Shinobu’s arms, exhausted but feeling rather accomplished. She hugged Shinobu tightly, hoping her gratefulness was expressed through the action. As she began to separate, she heard an excited gasp from the opposite side of the hall and the thumping sound of stocking feet, then an almost crushing weight on her back.

“Group hug!”

“Mitsuri, careful.” Shinobu gently reminded, “She’s getting better, but she’s not healed yet.”

“Aw, okay, but she is really getting better, right? That’s great!” Mitsuri spun (Y/n) around, “Pancakes to celebrate?” She asked.

(Y/n)’s eyes gleamed at the prospect. Mitsuri had made pancakes for (Y/n)’s first full meal and they were amazing. She leapt into Mitsuri’s arms without thinking and would have probably fell if Mitsuri hadn’t caught her.

“I will take that as a yes, let’s go!”

To (Y/n)’s surprise, Mitsuri swept her off her feet and began almost skipping down the hall with Shinobu by her side. The couple began talking about something one of their fellow Hashira was up to and somewhere between the safety, and the warmth, and the familiarity, (Y/n) uttered a quiet,

“Where…?”

The Hashira couple’s steps faltered, Mitsuri’s more noticeably than Shinobu’s. Mitsuri looked at (Y/n) in awe while Shinobu quickly recovered with a grin.

“We’re going to the kitchen to make the pancakes. Let us know if you need to rest, okay?”

“Okay.” (Y/n) exhaled and felt herself relax in Mitsuri’s arms. She felt good. She hadn’t felt so comfortable in a long time. Maybe when she was all healed up, she could ask Shinobu about a job so she could stay.

“So cute!” Mitsuri wailed adoringly, cradling (Y/n) almost like a baby.

***

(Y/n) was starting to feel a lot better. She could stay awake longer and wasn’t bound to bed rest as often. She was taking a quick breather from her exercises, watching the snow fall outside from the warmth and safety of the mansion when she heard Shinobu, Mitsuri and an unfamiliar voice steadily drawing closer to the recovery room she was using. The door slid open and (Y/n) looked away from the window to watch Shinobu and Mitsuri enter with a person she had never seen before wearing bandages across their face and a striped haori.

“See, there she is! Isn’t she cute?” Mitsuri asked the stranger, gesturing at (Y/n) wildly with her hands.

“You think everyone is cute to some extent, Mitsuri.” The stranger replied, looking over at (Y/n) and giving her a good view of mesmerizing green and yellow eyes.

“We get it, we get it. You love Mitsuri, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to acknowledge when another girl is cute, Iguro-san.” Shinobu teased, “Especially when your own girlfriend is constantly telling you about who she thinks is cute.”

Shinobu’s words gave (Y/n) pause. Did she just refer to Mitsuri as that guy’s girlfriend? Was she privy to some kind of affair without realizing it and they didn’t feel like they needed to hide it from her because she wouldn’t say anything? (Y/n) would have never guessed they were those kind of people!

“(Y/n), meet my boyfriend, Iguro Obanai! You think he’s cute, right?” Mitsuri asked, slinging her arm over (Y/n)’s shoulders and using her other to do a jazz hand in Obanai’s direction.

It would have been a bit of an understatement to say (Y/n) felt rather overwhelmed. First the new person, the knowledge of an affair, Mitsuri shaking her around… she tensed and clammed up. She was only able to dance her eyes between Shinobu and Obanai until a lightbulb seemed to go off in Shinobu’s head and she stifled a laugh beneath her hand. Mitsuri and Obanai’s attention then focused exclusively on Shinobu, waiting for her to explain what could possibly be so funny.

“Mitsuri, have you by chance mentioned to (Y/n) that you and Iguro-san were together before now?” Shinobu asked between giggles. Obanai could already see where she was going with this and rubbed the bridge of his nose. No wonder the girl was looking at him like that.

“No, I guess I haven’t. Not like I didn’t want to, it just never came up. What’s your point?” Mitsuri blinked, mind still churning.

“Mitsuri, up until this point (Y/n) only knew that you and I were together. Imagine her surprise when you suddenly introduce her to your boyfriend. She probably thinks we’re having an affair behind Iguro-san’s back.”

Mitsuri blanched and suddenly she was all over the place. Apologizing to (Y/n) for not being more clear, apologizing to Obanai for the awkward first impression and scolding Shinobu for still laughing at her.

“Shinobu-chan! Stop, it’s not that funny!” Mitsuri whined, tugging on Shinobu’s haori.

“I’m sorry my dear, but it’s actually hilarious.” Shinobu grinned before handing Mitsuri a handkerchief to deal with her profuse sweating. “Here, I’ll be clear for you (Y/n) so there isn’t any further confusion.” Shinobu assured, stepping to stand between Mitsuri and Obanai. She put a hand on Mitsuri’s shoulder as the poor girl dabbed sweat from her face.

“I am dating Mitsuri, Mitsuri is dating me, but she is also dating,” she put her other hand on Obanai’s shoulder who gave her a look of mild annoyance, “Iguro-san. However, Iguro-san and I,” Shinobu withdrew both of her hands to form an ‘X’ in front of her chest, “are not dating. Does that make sense?”

That did make sense. At the very least it made (Y/n) feel better that she wasn’t a home-wrecker’s reluctant accomplice. She nodded, a small, relieved smile spreading across her face.

“So does she just not talk or…?” Obanai trailed off and Shinobu raised an eyebrow at Mitsuri who seemed to start sweating all over again.

“I know you know how to communicate Mitsuri-san. Please practice relaying relevant information between parties in the future, my sweet.”

“Will do.” Mitsuri squeaked, blushing heavily.

Shinobu then addressed Obanai, “She can, but is not always in the correct space to do so. Don’t be offended if she doesn’t speak to you, it takes some time to warm up and even then sometimes it may be too daunting.”

(Y/n) was surprised and rather touched that Shinobu paid enough attention to her to give a nice little summary like that. It made her feel dizzyingly warm… or maybe she had been standing for too long. Shinobu seemed to notice her swaying and came to her aide, testing the warmth of her forehead with the back of her hand.

“You’ve been working hard today. We were just going to sit down for some snacks and tea. Do you think you can come, or do you want to lay down?”

(Y/n) took hold of Shinobu’s hand and removed it from her forehead. Then she gave her a tug in Mitsuri and Obanai’s direction and nodded, signaling that she would be happy to join them with a shy smile. She then let go of Shinobu’s hand, expecting her to do the same. However, Shinobu kept a hold of her and took the lead, starting up a conversation with Obanai and Mitsuri about what had happened at the Hashira Meeting. Something about the progress of a boy and his demon sister that (Y/n) couldn’t wrap her head around.

They all sat around a low table with a spread of tea and various treats that made the snack break look more like a full course meal, but it was a very warm and comfortable affair with Mitsuri intermittently sharing bites between Shinobu and (Y/n).

(Y/n) noted with concern that Obanai was not partaking and questioningly gestured between him and the tea, silently asking him if he’d like a cup. Mitsuri squealed and clapped her hands, finding the sentiment very sweet. Obanai thanked her, but passed on the offer. She seemed nice enough, not one to stare, but he’d rather keep his face hidden for now. If she stuck around long enough, they would probably become more comfortable around each other in the future.

Obanai looked back at Mitsuri, listening to her ramble about a new food stand that opened up a few towns over and absently rubbed at his neck, surprised not to feel Kaburamaru’s scales beneath his fingertips.

“Oh?” Shinobu chuckled, watching the serpent wind it’s way into (Y/n)’s lap and up her arm. “And here I thought I was his favorite.”

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I promise he’s harmless.” Obanai said already reaching across the table to scoop the snake, but paused when he saw (Y/n) stroke the underside of Kaburamaru’s chin in just the way he liked it and sat back while Mitsuri cooed at the sight.

Yeah, if (Y/n) stuck around like Mitsuri and Shinobu hoped, he could see them getting along.

***

(Y/n) was anxiously pacing the length of her room. Shinobu would be coming to give her a final checkup before she would be cleared for discharge. That meant she would have to implement her plan to ask Shinobu for a job and she was already so nervous. There were already plenty of people who already held employment around the estate, her hopes that Shinobu would have a place for her were already low.

“Up and about already I see.” Shinobu commented as she glided through the doorway, spooking (Y/n). “Sit down so I can get a good look at you, okay?”

(Y/n) heeded her words and sat down while Shinobu checked her over and asked a bunch of questions. Lastly, she took one of (Y/n)’s hands in her own and studied the skin. Some splotchy discoloration still remained, but Shinobu had healed them to the best of her ability.

“Your nerves might give you trouble from time to time, but as long as you keep your fingers and toes adequately covered it should spare you from too much aggravation.” Shinobu informed, “Other than that,” she smiled warmly, “you have a clean bill of health. Congratulations, Ms. So and So.”

“Thank you, Shinobu-san.” (Y/n) swallowed thickly. This was it, now or never. She took a deep breath and,

“I know your all healed up, “Can I have a job?” but would you ever consider staying?”

(Y/n) and Shinobu spoke in unison, their words meshing into unrecognizable gobbledygook, making Shinobu laugh.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). What was that?”

“Job! Can, can I have one? Here?” She stammered, face growing warmer by the second.

“You want a job?” Shinobu blinked. She hadn’t expected that, but it certainly made things easier. She couldn’t wait to give Mitsuri the news.

“Yes. Can I? Is there…?” (Y/n) trailed off, already mentally preparing herself for the journey back to her ransacked, lonely house. Hopefully Mitsuri had eradicated any other demons that had been lurking around the area. Oh, Mitsuri, (Y/n) wouldn’t even have a chance to say properly say goodbye.

“Sure!” Shinobu said cheerfully, causing (Y/n)’s eyes to refocus back on her, “I could always use an extra set of hands around here.”

“Thank you!” (Y/n) was so excited she leapt at Shinobu and hugged her tightly, bouncing her around the room until she remembered herself and abruptly let go.

“Um! Sorry, Shinobu-san… ah, Kochou-sama!” (Y/n) bowed at the waist several times in rapid succession, the heat of her blood rising back to her face was like an inferno now. That was no way to treat her new employer! She needed to pull herself together!

“No, no, none of that,” Shinobu pushed back on (Y/n)’s shoulders to keep her up right, “Shinobu is just fine like before and your hugs are always welcome. Everything between us will be the same as before.” But hopefully subject to some change. She told herself.

“Okay.” (Y/n) exhaled a big breath of air and nodded. Shinobu was so nice! She would make sure to work as hard as she could! “What should I do first?”

“You want to get started already? (Y/n), I just discharged you five minutes ago.” Shinobu reminded.

“I can handle it! I want to be useful!”

Shinobu bit the inside of her cheek. Truthfully, the Butterfly Estate ran a tight ship. Everything was done in a timely manner, most of it done without her presence being needed. Hmm… she had been letting her paperwork get away from her recently. It would be nice to have someone to help keep her organized.

“Very well, come with me.”

Shinobu led (Y/n) to her office and showed her heavy stack of papers that was nearly a fourth of Shinobu’s height. She explained that they all needed to go into corresponding binders based on the subject matter, showing her that each paper was already marked with a little dash of color to show in which colored binder they belonged.

(Y/n) nodded with sure fast determination and took the heavy stack into her arms. She walked to the table full of binders and got to work. Shinobu sat at her desk and got through more work of her own, stopping to watch (Y/n) toil away every so often with a soft expression.

And that was how the first couple weeks of (Y/n)’s employment went. Shinobu always found something in her office or in the lab for (Y/n) to do whether it was organizing papers, washing petry dishes or having her help in the greenhouse, Shinobu preferred (Y/n) work close to her. Although it was heartwarming to watch the younger girls enlist her on occasion when Inosuke and Zenitsu became too rowdy. To Shinobu, it was almost as if (Y/n) had always been there. That was just how well she fit in.

Currently, Shinobu was showing (Y/n) how she made certain medicines while (Y/n) made no effort mask just how amazed she was with Shinobu’s work and it really stroked the Hashira’s ego. It even drove Shinobu to show off a little.

As she explained the various compounds, procedures and reactions, Mitsuri surprised them both with her first visit after being sent off on a long mission with Obanai a few days before (Y/n)’s discharge and she came armed with a heavy looking bag.

“Hi!” Mitsuri greeted, giddily jumping into Shinobu’s arms and peppering her face with kisses. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too. Did your mission go well?” Shinobu asked, giving (Y/n) a warning look over Mitsuri’s shoulder as the other girl made teasing, lovey dovey gestures at her behind Mitsuri’s back.

“Yup! Very successful!” Mitsuri nodded vigorously before turning around to focus in on (Y/n), who had quickly taken on a more unassuming stance. “I did have to make a little stop on the way once I read Shinobu’s letter about how you were going to be living here, (Y/n).”

“Really? Where?” (Y/n) asked.

Mitsuri grinned and pushed the bag into (Y/n)‘ s arms. Since the poor girl didn’t expect the hefty bag to fall into her hands, she sunk to the ground, unable to carry its weight.

“Oops, sorry!” Mitsuri apologized sheepishly while playfully slapping at Shinobu for laughing. “Go on, look inside!”

(Y/n) slowly pulled the drawstring of the bag loose and she looked into the bag, a quiet gasp of surprise escaped her lips upon recognizing the familiar objects inside. She looked up at Mitsuri in awe.

“How did you…?”

“Since you were going to be living in one of the residential rooms here, I thought it might be nice to have some familiar things to make it more homey!” Mitsuri explained, moving to sit on the floor beside (Y/n). “So I asked around the town nearest to where I found you and found where you lived before. Not everything was salvageable, but I packed up everything I could.”

“Thank you very much, Mitsuri-san. That was very thoughtful of you.” (Y/n) wrapped her arms around Mitsuri and hugged her tightly. She didn’t particularly miss her old house, but there were some sentimental items that she assumed would be long gone. The fact that Mitsuri would go through the trouble even after many nights on the road slaying demons, made her heart swell with gratitude.

“You’re welcome!” Mitsuri nearly swooned at the attention, returning the hug with vigor, even going as far as to wrap her legs around (Y/n)’s waist as well.

Shinobu, although she would never admit it, felt a bit left out. To remedy this, she tapped them on their heads to redirect their attention on her and motioned to the bag.

“Let’s go to your room and get this all sorted out then, shall we?”

(Y/n) nodded and Mitsuri untangled from her with a small pout upon her lips. It only broke into a smile when (Y/n) offered her hand to help her stand up. Mitsuri then grabbed hold of the bag and swung it over her shoulder like it weighed nothing and the trio went on their way.

They were just putting the finishing touches to the room when Shinobu’s crow ducked in through the open window and flapped it’s wings at her, signaling for her attention.

“Mission, mission, head eastward. People have been disappearing!”

Shinobu stroked the bird’s feathered breast and offered it her arm as a perch.

“Really? A mission now after I just got back? What rotten luck!” Mitsuri whined while (Y/n) looked on worriedly.

“It’s to be expected in our line of work, but it is unfortunate timing,” Shinobu sighed, “I must prepare quickly and be on my way.

“Hugs and kisses first!” Mitsuri insisted, scaring off Shinobu’s crow when she launched herself at her shorter girl.

“Mitsuri, Mitsuri!” Shinobu couldn’t help the giggles that escaped her under Mitsuri’s ticklish touches and overly excited kisses. “This is a little much in the presence of company.”

“Hmm? Oh, right!” Mitsuri blushed hotly, turning to give (Y/n) an awkward apology.

“I could wait outside?” (Y/n) said it more as a question, but she was already heading out the door. As sweet as she found their relationship, it was a bit much for her heart to take.

“Wait outside of your own room? Not necessary. Come here, (Y/n).” Shinobu waved her over and patted her on the cheek when she was within range. “Be good while I’m gone. I shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

(Y/n) leaned into Shinobu’s touch, her brow wrinkled with concern despite Shinobu’s reassurances. “Is there anything you want me to work on while you are gone?” Some busy work would certainly help keep her mind from buzzing.

“That will be up to Mitsuri I suppose,” Shinobu grinned mischievously at (Y/n)’s confusion. “I suppose we forgot to mention it. We determined awhile ago that when I receive missions, that should Mitsuri be available, you would stay with her.”

“Is that alright, (Y/n)? You will love my estate. You will have a great time, I promise!” Mitsuri interjected.

“Okay, if it won’t be any trouble.”

“No trouble at all!” Mitsuri insisted.

“Now that everything is all sorted out…” Shinobu tilted her head, facing away from (Y/n), she tapped her cheek expectantly.

(Y/n) hadn’t the foggiest idea what the gesture was for, but Shinobu was definitely waiting for something. After a few seconds of silence she finally asked,

“What is it, Shinobu-san?”

“I’m waiting for you to give me a good luck kiss, (Y/n).” Shinobu explained. “It will be the last thing I ask of you until I return.”

(Y/n) felt her blood pressure skyrocket at those words Shinobu spoke with such ease, and the heat only got worse as Shinobu closed her eyes, slowly tapped her cheek again, waiting. (Y/n) pursed her lips. Well, if it was what Shinobu wanted…

Shinobu chuckled, having had her fun she opened her eyes. “I’m merely teasi…” her words slowly died on her tongue as the soft pressure of (Y/n)’s lips fell upon her cheek.

“Good luck, Shinobu-san,” (Y/n) whispered near her ear, making Shinobu shiver, “come back safe.”

“Thank you,” Shinobu cleared her throat, a fine blush dusting her cheeks, “I will.”

Mitsuri was so giddy she almost jumped right out of her socks as she bounced in place. She loved it when Shinobu blushed. It wasn’t always easy to make her do so. She wondered just how much longer Shinobu would hold out before asking (Y/n) on a date. She wondered how long it would take her to do the same. She wasn’t usually as bold as Shinobu, but she would like (Y/n) to kiss her cheek too!

“I’ll be off then. Be good while I’m gone.” Shinobu gave them both a final hug before vanishing quickly, leaving behind only a cool breeze. Her crow took off out the window to find its slayer, so only (Y/n) and Mitsuri remained.

“Let me help you pack an overnight bag!” Mitsuri clapped, switching gears.

(Y/n) nodded, a small smile tugged her lips upward. They packed a bag and Mitsuri bundled (Y/n) up to the point that she could hardly walk.

“We don’t need you getting frostbite again nor do we want to agitate your already damaged skin. Not on my watch!” Mitsuri argued while she wrapped a huge scarf around (Y/n)’s face until only her eyes were visible.

Then they said their goodbyes to the other residents. Well, Mitsuri did. (Y/n) struggled just to wave with the several layers Mitsuri had wrapped her in.

***

“Here we are, home sweet home!” Mitsuri sang, twirling around with her arms outstretched. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful!” (Y/n) exclaimed after pulling at the layer of scarf covering her mouth.

It really was spectacular. There were several bare trees, their spindly branches reached high into the hazy blue sky and several wooden hutches amongst thorny bushes that (Y/n) eyed curiously. There were also signs of a sizable garden, shriveled and browned in the snow.

“I can’t wait for you to see how it all looks in spring and summer! That’s when everything really comes to life!” Mitsuri grinned, tugging (Y/n) into her side as she guided her closer to one of the wooden hutches. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen my little babies.” She sighed wistfully, placing a gentle hand against the wood. “Do you know anything about bee keeping, (Y/n)?”

“Not really. You keep bees in there?” She asked, tentatively poking the wood near Mitsuri’s hand.

“Yes! I just love honey and bees are so cute the way they buzz and rub themselves on blossoming flowers. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Are they okay in there? It’s not too cold?”

“The wood in insulated and they stay cuddled up all winter long.” Mitsuri informed, snuggling (Y/n) for further emphasis. “Shinobu helps me make sure they’re healthy. She knows a lot about insects. Maybe you’d like to help me harvest some honey when the weather warms up?”

“They won’t sting me?” (Y/n) asked, a little hesitant.

“Not at all as long as you’re polite. I’ll show you how it’s done so you don’t have to worry.”

“Okay, I trust you. It does sound kind of exciting.”

“I can’t wait!” Mitsuri wiggled. “Come on, let’s get inside and have something to warm us up.” She said, already pulling her guest towards the house.

The Love Estate was not as large as the Butterfly Estate, but it was still nothing to sneeze at. There was a coziness here that just felt much more warm and homey, more lived in. Although (Y/n) didn’t know a more lived in building than the Butterfly Estate. Maybe it was because it was a little more messy here than it was there with all the Kakushi running around, cleaning.

Mitsuri helped (Y/n) unwrap from her cocoon of fabrics and led her to the biggest kitchen she had ever seen. It was filled with various gadgets and cupboards and a large shelf fit to burst with tightly packed cookbooks.

“How does tea and cake sound?” Mitsuri asked, exchanging her haori for an apron.

“Wonderful, can I help?”

“Of course! Here,” Mitsuri took another apron and handed it to her, “Oh! We could even make waffles! If you loved pancakes, you’ll enjoy waffles for sure!”

“Sounds good.”

“And we could make something more salty and savory too for some balance!” Mitsuri added, riffling through her cabinets and carrying a small mountain of ingredients in her arms.

“Okay.” (Y/n) was starting to wonder just how long this was all going to take. However, Mitsuri looked very cute and happy, and to keep her glowing like that, (Y/n) was wiling to make a twelve course meal if that was what Mitsuri wanted.

And that was basically what happened.

The kitchen was a mess by the time they were done, and (Y/n) was hardly hungry because Mitsuri kept feeding her little servings of everything throughout the session. (Y/n) was admittedly exhausted, but Mitsuri made it fun and the time flew by.

“You have a little frosting on your cheek.” Mitsuri informed, giggling.

“Really?” (Y/n) swiped at her cheek, the wrong cheek, then looked at her smearless hand before trying again.

Mitsuri smiled radiantly, watching the adorable display and as (Y/n) tried swiping her cheek a third time, Mitsuri had the beginnings of an idea start to form and acted on it impulsively. As (Y/n) went for the same cheek a fifth time, Mitsuri cupped it first, leaving (Y/n)’s hand to land over hers. Then amidst (Y/n)’s confusion, Mitsuri leaned in and gave her free cheek what could really only be described as an open mouth kiss, quickly lapping up the sweet frosting before pulling away, savoring the taste without a care in the world.

Mitsuri was right. She wasn’t intentionally bold like Shinobu, intentionally being the key word. Surely if she had thought about it even a few seconds more, she wouldn’t have gone that far.

“There, I got it. So sweet!”

“Uh huh.” (Y/n) squeaked. She would be feeling that wet pressure on her cheek long after she dried it off. “…Thanks.”

“No problem! Now all we have to do is dig in!”

(Y/n) wanted to ask about the state of the kitchen. They really should start cleaning first before the grime became more stobborn, but before she could inquire, a troop of people came flooding in at the clap of Mitsuri’s hands and they began cleaning the kitchen.

“Thank you for your hard work everyone! Help yourselves to whatever you’d like as well!” Mitsuri said invitingly, receiving a chorus of jovial affirmations of gratitude. (Y/n) had never seen a group of people more happy to do dishes.

“Winter is a beautiful yet harsh season.” Mitsuri informed between bites of waffle. (Y/n) found the free for all in the kitchen style a little unorthodox, but she rolled with it. It was actually kind of fun.

“With the vegetable garden dormant, berry season long gone, no fruit to pick from the trees and the cold too harsh for the bees, I spend way more money on food than in any other season. It also leaves less for my staff to tend to so they get a little stir crazy.”

(Y/n) hummed in understanding, chewing on some odd western cuisine Mitsuri had told her to try. She was starting to get cabin fever as well. She wanted nothing more than for the snow to melt and to see the sun shine brightly against a clear blue sky. Though this winter had been especially cruel, she was also thankful for it because it had lead her to meet Mitsuri and Shinobu who had changed her life for the better.

“What’s on your mind?” Mitsuri asked. She had been not so subtly watching (Y/n) as she grazed. She just found her captivating from the first moment she laid eyes on her on that almost completely devastating night. She could still remember just how cold she felt against her skin. Sometimes, she even had nightmares about not killing the demon in time or Shinobu coming out from (Y/n)’s room to deliver terrible news.

Mitsuri reached for (Y/n)’s free hand over the counter and interlaced their fingers, gently stroking her knuckles above the still noticeable frostbite scarring, the warmth of (Y/n)’s skin against hers helped remind her that she was okay.

(Y/n) shrugged, butterflies taking flight against her ribs because of Mitsuri’s proximity and the pure look of adoration on her face. What had she done to deserve such a tender look like that!

“Come on, you can tell me. Oh! There is kinda a lot going on right now, when we’re done eating I’ll take you somewhere quiet, okay? I have just the place in mind!” Mitsuri assured.

When they were full, they ducked out of the rowdy kitchen and Mitsuri pulled (Y/n) through the halls, before stopping short at a door and making (Y/n) bump into her.

“This is my bedroom! Well, my first bedroom. There is someone inside I just can’t wait for you to meet!”

(Y/n) watched Mitsuri slide open the door and followed her inside. She half expected to find a third partner that no one had told her about, but was instead met with a very large cage and a mountain of toys that took up nearly half of the room. She watched Mitsuri coo and baby talk as she opened the cage and when she turned around, in her arms was the biggest fucking rabbit (Y/n) had ever seen in her life. It had to be almost a third as long as Mitsuri was tall.

“(Y/n), meet Chibi, Chibi meet (Y/n).” She said before plopping the slab of flabby fur on the ground.

Chibi? (Y/n) thought if there was one thing this rabbit wasn’t, it was Chibi.

“He’s… huge.” (Y/n) stated, watching the rabbit’s nose twitch before he decided to lazily make his way towards her. In the interest of protecting her toes, but not wanting to appear frightened of the giant creature, she knelt to the ground.

“He’s a Flemish Giant. Isn’t he adorable? I got him when he was just a baby. They grow up so fast. You can pet him if you’d like. He’s really gentle. He might even sit in your lap.” Mitsuri said moving to sit beside her with a bag of treats in hand.

(Y/n) tentatively reached out her hand and brushed two fingers gently over Chibi’s ear. He was very soft. He hopped closer and splayed out before them, belly half exposed.

“Aww, such a sweet baby!” Mitsuri cooed, grabbing a little handful of treats to put on the floor. Chibi immediately struggled to get back up so he could nibble the treats, quickly sucking them all up before half sitting in Mitsuri’s lap in hopes for more offerings.

“He is cute.” (Y/n) smiled, petting the length of Chibi’s back this time.

I’m glad you think so!” Mitsuri beamed, stroking the length of Chibi’s ears. “Shinobu doesn’t like him very much… too furry, she’s allergic to pet dander so he makes her get all puffy.” Mitsuri then whispered, “Don’t tell her I told you this, but I also think she’s a little afraid of him.”

(Y/n) couldn’t say she blamed her if it was true. Chibi was easily half of Shinobu’s height.

“And then there’s Obanai and Kaburamaru. Obanai says that Kaburamaru is too small to try to eat Chibi, but I swear I saw this look in his cute, red little eyes that he would try if he had the chance. So between Obanai and Shinobu, I had to make myself another bedroom across the hall for when either of them sleep over.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full.” (Y/n) chuckled, scratching Chibi’s belly.

“Oh, it’s no trouble! In fact, I wouldn’t mind if they were a little fuller, I mean— yeah! No trouble at all!” Mitsuri fumbled a bit, distracting herself by grabbing a rabbit toy from the pile to fiddle around with.

They played with Chibi and (Y/n) helped Mitsuri clean his cage and fill it with fresh hay and water despite her light protests. When they were done, Mitsuri kissed Chibi and put him back in the enclosure. She then guided (Y/n) to the bath house so they could get cleaned up and dressed for bed. What (Y/n) did not expect was for Mitsuri to take her back to her room and pull out another futon to lay beside hers. They laid in the darkness and (Y/n) listened to Mitsuri’s stories and the occasional rattles and rustles from Chibi’s cage until she fell asleep. When she awoke in the morning, it was to Mitsuri snoring directly into her ear. Apparently sometime in the night, Mitsuri had rolled into her futon and snuggled up against her back.

The next few days went much the same way in terms of activity. Obanai came over for a bit one day to hang out and they played with hanafuda cards and went through a few variations of riichi mahjong while Kaburamaru made his rounds amongst the three of them looking for attention.

On another day, Mitsuri taught (Y/n) a bit about dancing and happily waltzed her around the estate for a good portion of the afternoon. (Y/n) had a lot of fun with Mitsuri, but as a couple of days became a week, she was starting to become more worried about Shinobu. Mitsuri seemed to pick up on this as they went to bed that night and consciously invited herself into (Y/n)’s futon to hold her to her chest and stroke her hair.

“Don’t worry, Shinobu is strong. She’ll be back any day now. Sometimes missions last longer than projected, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that anything is wrong.”

(Y/n) nodded against Mitsuri’s chest. Her assurances helped, but she really wanted to see Shinobu herself. She missed her a lot. She could tell Mitsuri did too. Even Obanai seemed a bit down when he had visited. Kaburamaru especially seemed to have been searching around for her.

Mitsuri’s passes through her hair slowed before stopping completely and the rumbling snores began. (Y/n) sighed. As much as she loved Mitsuri, it was hard to go to sleep if she did so first. Her snoring wasn’t terrible, but it did make going to sleep difficult. After awhile, it became white noise and she faded into unconsciousness.

When (Y/n) awoke the next morning, it was before Mitsuri. She carefully disengaged and pulled the covers up over her shoulders before getting dressed for the day, giving Chibi a little pat on the head and then heading out to the kitchen to get a start on breakfast. As she beat an insane amount of eggs for omurice, she felt as if another presence had joined her in the room. She turned her head towards the door and saw nothing.

“Looking for someone?”

(Y/n) jumped and turned to look the other way, finding Shinobu standing there. She looked a little tired and disheveled, but the smile she wore was genuine. (Y/n) was quick to leap at her. She nuzzled her face into Shinobu’s neck and held her tighter when Shinobu’s arms circled her waist.

“Oh my, I do believe you trying to crush me.”

“I missed you.” (Y/n) said candidly, but she did ease up.

“I missed you too. I trust Mitsuri kept you busy while I was away.”

“Mhm. We made a lot of food and played games with Iguro-san one day. She taught me about waltzing and bees communicating through dance. We spent a lot of time with Chibi too.”

“Ah, yes… Chibi.” Shinobu chuckled, though it sounded a little forced. “I’m glad you two had a good time. Mitsuri is still sleeping I take it?”

“Mhm. I’m making breakfast.”

“Here, let me help.”

“I appreciate the offer Shinobu-san, but you should rest.”

“Do I really look so frail?” Shinobu crossed her arms, a bit of a dangerous spark in her eyes.

“N- no! Not at all!” (Y/n) waved her hands around erratically until Shinobu laughed.

“Now, what are we making?”

***

Mitsuri awoke searching for a warmth that she could not find and popped out of her covers with a loud yawn and her hair hopelessly tangled. She scented the air and rocketed out of bed.

“Something smells delicious!”

She got dressed as quickly as she could. Then she painstakingly brushed her hair and braided it with practiced ease. The lovely aroma wafting down the hall called her name, but she wasn’t done yet. She let Chibi out to wander, refreshed his water and hay, then cleaned out his litter box. When everything was in place, she picked the giant rabbit up, snuggled and kissed him, then put him back inside the enclosure.

“Look at you, shedding already? Does that mean spring is on the way?” She cooed as she washed her hands. “I can’t wait!”

Mitsuri skipped down the hall, excited to see (Y/n) and what she had decided to make. She was glad that the other girl felt comfortable enough to make herself at home. She turned in to the kitchen ready to greet (Y/n), but instead of saying, ‘good morning!’ like she planned, the words became an excited squeal of nonsense when she saw Shinobu helping (Y/n) make breakfast.

“Good morning to you too.” Shinobu laughed, trying to push Mitsuri off of her as she pounced on her like an excited puppy. “Careful, you’ll make me burn the food.”

Over breakfast, Mitsuri got Shinobu to talk about her mission a bit and made sure she was okay. Then she went into detail about what she and (Y/n) had done all week, but as she talked, Shinobu seemed to grow more and more distracted.

“(Y/n) said she might be interested in helping with the bees in the spring. Won’t that be a fun group activity for us all to do?” Mitsuri said excitedly. Just the thought of working together with three of the people she loved most made her feel giddy.

“Hm.” Shinobu hummed distractedly, absently rubbing at the corner of her right eye.

“Are you tired, Shinobu-san?” (Y/n) asked.

Shinobu opened her mouth to reply, but quickly turned away to sneeze loudly into the crook of her arm. She sniffled loudly, the sound almost like a bubbling cauldron. Then she sneezed again.

“Oh no!” Mitsuri gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth. After a few seconds of finalizing the data in her mind, she moved her hands away from her mouth to say, “I have Chibi’s fur all over me! Shinobu, I’m so sorry! I- I didn’t think anything of it and then I saw you and I— I’m so sorry!” She covered her mouth again.

“Mmph ‘ine,” Shinobu waved with her free hand, her other arm still glued to her face, “accidns happn.”

(Y/n) gave her a handkerchief which Shinobu snatched up graciously before turning away to wipe at her nose and sleeve.

“(Y/n), we have to take Shinobu home so she can get her medicine. I’ll be right back, just need to change quick!” Mitsuri said before darting away.

(Y/n) nodded in understanding and nearly jumped out of her skin when Shinobu blew in to the handkerchief and made a sound like a trumpet. (Y/n) patted Shinobu on the back and the Hashira groaned.

When Mitsuri re-emerged, she gave Shinobu a cold compress for her irritated eyes and continued to apologize profusely to her as she bundled (Y/n) up for the cold like she had before she had taken her home. When they arrived, Shinobu made them take a back entrance and shut herself into her lab, motioning for the other two to wait in the hall.

(Y/n) hugged Mitsuri as they waited, trying to comfort her and assure her that Shinobu wasn’t angry with her. They waited for about an hour when Shinobu finally came out. She still looked a little red and puffy under the eyes, and she still sounded a bit congested, but overall she looked much better than before, albeit a little embarrassed.

She gazed at Mitsuri with sympathetic, warm eyes and reassured her that she was fine and she wasn’t upset over the accident. She wanted to teasingly ask Mitsuri if she was trying to kill her, but she could tell from the unshed tears bubbling in her eyes that it would be unwise to joke so soon, even if she was really alright.

After the allergy crisis had been dealt with and Mitsuri had been calmed down, they took some time to breathe and relax. Aoi caught wind of their arrival and greeted them with tea. Upon seeing Shinobu’s puffy eyes, she already had an idea of what had happened. As that same scenario had probably happened at least once every other month, but the look Shinobu gave her kept her quiet. Even if she did think both Mitsuri and Shinobu needed a little scolding. Seriously, why didn’t Shinobu keep medicine at Mitsuri’s house for just this scenario?

A while later, Obanai’s crow appeared with a message for Mitsuri, inviting her out to eat, even extending the invitation to (Y/n) and Shinobu if she had returned from her mission. Unfortunately, Shinobu was admittedly beat and wanted to rest. She also expressed that there was something she needed to talk to (Y/n) about if she didn’t mind staying behind, which she didn’t. Mitsuri hugged (Y/n) and thanked her for a wonderful week and then she gave Shinobu several kisses of apology before setting off to meet Obanai at the address the crow gave her.

“I’m exhausted,” Shinobu sighed once Mitsuri was well on her way, “I need a nap, but before I get to that, there is something I want to give you. Come with me.”

(Y/n) followed Shinobu to her room and watched her fish swim around while Shinobu searched through the drawers in her desk.

“Ah hah, so this is where Kanao put it.” Shinobu said, pulling out a thin, wrapped box. “This was set to arrive two days after I was called to my mission. I’ve been waiting for this for nearly a month.” She informed, presenting the box to (Y/n) with an almost nervous smile. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything, Shinobu-san. Just being allowed to stay here is more than enough for me.” (Y/n) said, feeling the near weightlessness of the box Shinobu had put into her hands. What could it be?

“I hope you know that everyone believes you belong here. Do not be surprised that the Butterfly Estate is just as much your home as mine.” Shinobu said seriously, making a mental note to herself to periodically check in on (Y/n)’s sense of self worth. She didn’t need another Tomioka on her hands. “Go on,” she coaxed softly, “open it.”

(Y/n) tugged the string loose and unwrapped the wooden box. She put the wrappings aside and undid the little metal latch, opening the lid, she gasped softly as a beautiful butterfly hair ornament was revealed to her. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the colors were her favorites. It was clear Shinobu took her time designing it before handing it over to an artisan to bring it to life. The significance of the gift was not lost on her. Shinobu really thought she belonged here. She didn’t know what to say.

“I wouldn’t mind a hug if my gift was so great that it left you speechless, Ms. So and So.” Shinobu teased.

(Y/n) quickly, yet carefully, set the box down on the desk and did just as Shinobu had suggested. Overcome with emotion, she sunk into Shinobu’s embrace and drew out the characters on Shinobu’s back serval times.

Arigatou Arigatou Arigatou

***

(Y/n) could feel that winter was finally coming to an end. They still had some chill left to endure, but the sun shined brighter and longer, leaving little patches of mud and grass for the returning birds to peck at. It made her feel excited.

She pushed a stray swatch of hair behind her ear and pulled her haori a little closer to her body. She and Kanao were peering outside of the open side doors from the warmth of a kotatsu. Kanao seemed to be looking forward to the snow melt as well and (Y/n) enjoyed her company. Few words were ever spoken. They would just point at certain aspects of the landscape and the other would nod sagely or smile acknowledgingly.

(Y/n) absently played with the edge of her hairpin as she watched the puffy white clouds roll along in the distance, thinking back to how Shinobu did her hair that morning. Well, more accurately Shinobu had offered to do her hair every morning she was available after gifting (Y/n) her hairpin. How ever she wanted to do it, (Y/n) left it to her discretion. Today was just different because Shinobu had leaned in from behind her and kissed the back of her exposed neck when she had finished. Shinobu then got up to go to her meeting and (Y/n) hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The movement of Kanao’s arm as she pointed to something broke her out of her reminiscing so she could focus on what, or rather who, it was. Shinobu, Mitsuri and Obanai were coming into view over the slushy path. She waved at them from the comfort of the kotatsu and braced herself for impact as Mitsuri caught sight of her and began sprinting down the path, slipping and sliding right out of her shoes, she jumped onto the engawa and tackled (Y/n).

“Why are you sitting here with the door open! Aren’t you cold? Are your fingers and toes okay? Here, let me see!”

“I’m fine, Mitsuri-san, really.” (Y/n) giggled as Mitsuri pulled her further under the kotatsu.

Mitsuri didn’t listen however, and fanned her breath over (Y/n)’s hands, carefully rubbing them. “You are a little chilly, my poor girl. We should go have hotpot! That will warm you right up. Hey, did you do something different with your hair? Turn, turn let me see!”

(Y/n) bashfully turned her head and Mitsuri wiggled and cheered. Mitsuri knew that Shinobu was planning on asking (Y/n) out soon but she hadn’t expected her to act before the snow had completely melted.

“Shinobu gave you a butterfly! That’s so sweet! She gave me some cute little ones for my braids when we started dating too. I usually don’t wear them though because I’m afraid I’ll break them. I keep them in a special box on my dresser.”

“Mitsuri, you’re lucky you didn’t smash your head on the engawa. Please don’t run on the melting ice.” Shinobu admonished lightly when she and Obanai arrived and calmly removed their shoes.

“Sorry, I’ll be more careful next time!” Mitsuri promised, before bringing her attention back to (Y/n). “Anyway, what’s the plan for your first date? Shinobu said she wouldn’t tell me before asking you.”

(Y/n) blinked owlishly.

Kanao, took a sip of her tea.

Shinobu stiffened and her cheeks gained a pinkish hue unrelated to the chilled air.

Obanai took one look at Shinobu silently freaking out beside him and put his head in his hands. Kaburamaru also seemed to be hanging his head.

“What? Why are you all looking like that?” Mitsuri whined, looking over everyone for an answer.

“Mitsuri,” Shinobu sighed, “I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Huh? Waahhhh?!” Mitsuri panicked looking between a shellshocked (Y/n) and an unusually pink Shinobu. Mitsuri found her own skin heating up to match Shinobu’s. “I thought— but you— the butterfly!”

“It’s the Butterfly Estate, Mitsuri. All the residents have them.” Obanai reminded. “Tsuyuri wears a butterfly pin, Kanzaki does, the little ones do…”

“AHH! You’re right!” Mitsuri fell over and covered her face in her hands. “Sorry Shinobu I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Shinobu sounded a little far away. She was the kind of person that liked to have control of her surroundings, liked to steer things in the direction that would lead to the most favorable outcome. She had planned extensively how to best confess to (Y/n) without her feeling pressured and Mitsuri had unwittingly made all of that planning come crumbling down in one fell swoop. Well, can’t go back now.

“I think that (Y/n) and I have something important to discuss. Could you all give us some privacy, please.”

(Y/n) watched everyone file out into the main hall, silently willing them to stay. She didn’t know what to make of any of this. She knew Shinobu liked her well enough, that she was flirty with her, but she never thought she would actually want to date her. Or maybe Mitsuri had read it wrong and now they were going to have an awkward conversation about Shinobu not really feeling that way and (Y/n) was just going to have to smile and nod and pretend like her heart wasn’t squeezing painfully in her chest.

When they were alone, Shinobu released a deep breath and gestured to the spot Mitsuri had occupied moments before.

“May I sit with you?”

“Mhm.” (Y/n) nodded shakily and scooted over, giving Shinobu plenty of space.

Shinobu knelt beside (Y/n) and gave her a small, almost shy smile.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes Mitsuri goes a little overboard with her assumptions. She’s excitable.” She said, fiddling with the edge of the kotatsu blanket.

“Mm.” (Y/n) could feel her own polite smile twitch. It was coming. Just rip the bandaid off.

“I was hoping to ask you once all the snow had melted and the flowers had started to bloom. I had thought it would be more poetic, symbolic of how my feelings for you had blossomed.”

Huh?

Shinobu’s hand brushed (Y/n)’s beneath the kotatsu and her skin sparked like electricity.

“I’m a little out of my depth here. Mitsuri was the one who had confessed to me first, as accidental as it was. I must admit it is a little nerve-wracking when you are unsure of the other person’s feelings… (Y/n)?”

“Hm?” She squeaked.

“Before I ask you this, I want to be clear. Be true to your own feelings, nothing has to change if you do not want it to. Can you do that for me?”

(Y/n) nodded, brushing her hand back over Shinobu’s, giving the Hashira a little boost of confidence to fully take (Y/n)’s hand in hers and pull it into her lap.

“(Y/n), you have brought warmth and color to this winter that has brightened our lives. Getting to know you and working with you, I’ve come to discover that you make my heart flutter now with even the simplest touches and expressions. What do you say, Ms. So and So, can you accept my feelings? Would you go on a date with me?”

(Y/n) opened her mouth to speak, thoughts and feelings sticking in her throat.

“It’s alright, take your time. You don’t even have to answer me today if it’s too much.”

“N- no, I can…” she took a deep breath and exhaled, “Is Mitsuri-san, she’s alright with…?”

“We have discussed it, yes.” Shinobu assured. If only you knew just how much. “As you may have noticed, she’s actually very excited about the idea.”

“Then I, I would really like to if it’s really okay.”

Shinobu grinned, and it felt so different than her day to day smile that it gave (Y/n) heart palpitations. Shinobu freed their joined hands from beneath the kotatsu and brought (Y/n)’s knuckles to her lips to press a barely there kiss upon them and her smile took on a more teasing shape.

“Thank you, I’m sorry it wasn’t exactly a noteworthy confession. I promise I’m usually more tactful.”

“It was perfect!” (Y/n) yelled before cringing at her own volume. “I mean, I guess I’m a bit biased, but the fact that it came from you is what makes it special and I’m sure the view in spring is breathtaking, but it is a beautiful day today as well.”

“You are very sweet. So, how would you feel about—“

“Mitsuri!”

Shinobu and (Y/n) turned to the door facing into the mansion. They had never heard Obanai call for Mitsuri so sternly.

“I need to know what’s going on! It’s been ages!” Mitsuri yelled back, her footsteps thumping ever closer against the hard wood floor. The door rattled and she burst through, “Is everything going alright in here? Do you need a mediator? Snacks? (Y/n), if you want I have several entries in my diary I could read to you about what makes Shinobu such an amazing girlfriend! I’ll even show you the spicy pages if I have too!”

“That won’t be necess—”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mitsuri!” Shinobu clapped.

“Just let me run to my house real quick—“

“Mitsuri, she’s playing with you.” Obanai said, stopping her before she could rocket out in to the snow. “Look at them, they’re holding hands.”

Mitsuri gasped like she had just found a litter of kittens and wormed her way between the budding couple to hug and congratulate them both.

“This is cause for celebration!” She cheered.

Mitsuri then began to pull Shinobu, (Y/n) and Obanai out of the room, only stopping long enough to close the door leading out onto the engawa like Shinobu asked before continuing on to show the others what her idea of a celebration would entail. Mitsuri spread the news faster than a fire through a field of dry tall grass, telling every Kakushi and Butterfly Resident they passed. Shinobu shot (Y/n) an apologetic smile in response to the chaos and (Y/n) gave her a reassuring grin in turn. It was a tad overwhelming, but she was still walking on air knowing that Shinobu felt the same as her.

***

“There you go my lovely, all done.”

(Y/n) giggled as Shinobu worked kisses around the back of her neck, to her jaw, and finally her lips after doing (Y/n)’s hair for the day. Winter was behind them, spring had come and gone and it was a beautiful morning in early summer. Today they had plans to go to Mitsuri’s home to assist with the bees and help with an invasive bug that was nibbling on the produce in the garden.

“Shinobu, if you keep this up we will be late.” (Y/n) said, gently pushing her away.

“A few minutes won’t hurt anyone.” She answered, pulling (Y/n)’s hands from her shoulders to wrap them around her waist.

“From the sound of it, it would hurt Mitsuri’s garden with the speed those beetles are eating holes through her crops.”

Shinobu sighed and nodded, but perked up considerably when (Y/n) kissed her. She eagerly reciprocated and when (Y/n) pulled away to breathe, her tongue darted out between her lips and then her lips tugged up in a satisfied smile.

“So much for being concerned over making good time.”

“No more teasing, let’s go. Your other girlfriend needs our help.”

(Y/n) clung onto Shinobu’s arm as they made their way down the path. The early morning sun shined softly through the trees and birds chittered around them. When they reached the Love Estate, they could see Obanai rubbing Mitsuri’s back comfortingly as she cradled a head of cabbage. Kaburamaru’s tongue flicked against her cheek and she smiled at the snake and stroked his chin.

Obanai seemed to sense (Y/n) and Shinobu’s approach and looked up, raising a hand in acknowledgment. Mitsuri then looked away from her hole ridden cabbage and and ran up to Shinobu with teary eyes.

“Shinobu! Look, tell the mean bugs to stop!” Mitsuri whined, pushing the cabbage into Shinobu’s chest to take before seeking comfort from (Y/n).

“Mm, I see,” Shinobu said, pulling a couple leaves back to expose a shiny beetle munching away, “these are a nasty sort. I’ve dealt with them before, I brought a repellent that will keep them away. I’m sure you already do this anyway, but just make sure you wash the crops before consumption.”

“Thank you, Shinobu-chan. You’re a life saver.”

“You are very welcome. Now can I have a proper greeting or does only (Y/n) get one?” Shinobu teased before quickly finding herself swept off of her feet.

Obanai made his approach and gestured towards the garden. He told Shinobu he’d help her weed out the beetles and spray the crops while Mitsuri and (Y/n) took care of the bees. If Shinobu was surprised by the suggestion, she didn’t show it and patted Mitsuri’s arm to signal her to put her down. She gave Mitsuri an interested look over her shoulder before continuing to the garden with Obanai.

Shinobu and Obanai both knew that Mitsuri had been trying to confess her own feelings through the whole of spring and had little success. If (Y/n) didn’t figure it out soon, Shinobu was going to have to spell it out for her. As funny as she thought (Y/n)’s ignorance to Mitsuri’s advances were, she could tell that Mitsuri was getting a bit disheartened.

“Do you think she’ll just come out and say it this time?” Obanai asked her as he tossed another beetle in a glass jar Shinobu had given him.

“I doubt it.” Shinobu answered as she sprayed the remaining healthy crops. “If progress isn’t made today, I’ll talk to (Y/n) and give her a push in the right direction.”

“It’s going to need to be a big push.” Obanai scoffed. He had seen Mitsuri pepper kisses all across her nose and cheeks and even that didn’t seem to register as anything to think twice about.

“It’s not exactly easy to realize when Mitsuri is such a physically affectionate person.” Shinobu defended. She could see it from (Y/n)’s perspective too. Mitsuri had always been sweet on her. It would be hard to tell that Mitsuri’s touchiness was not wholly platonic. She hoped that they would have a breakthrough soon.

***

“Thank you for coming out to help today.” Mitsuri told (Y/n) as they walked to the farthest end of the estate to start working their way in, their connected hands swung between them. Because that was just something some friends did right? They both showed affection through physical touch, this was normal of them.

“You’re welcome! It’s no trouble, I love getting to spend time with you.” (Y/n) replied, smiling bright.

“I love spending time with you too!” Mitsuri yelled excitedly. She could feel herself start to sweat. Her hand wasn’t getting sweaty, right? She sure hoped it wasn’t! She spotted one of the flower beds nearby and got a quick idea. “Oh! Wait a second!” She said, letting go of (Y/n)’s hand to go to one of the shrubs, discreetly drying her hands on her skirt along the way. She expertly snipped a flower, a pink camellia, and shyly presented it to (Y/n).

“For you.”

“Thank you, Mitsuri-san. I love it.” (Y/n) said, holding the blossom close to her heart.

“Do you know anything about flower language?” Mitsuri asked, trying to get a read on her.

“Not really. Shinobu told me a couple of things, but there is still plenty I don’t know. Does this one mean something?”

“Oh, look! The first hive, let’s take a peek!” Mitsuri quickly changed the subject and carefully opened the box to find a healthy swarm buzzing about.

“Does this ever stop feeling so exhilarating?” (Y/n) wondered aloud, cautiously peeking over Mitsuri’s shoulder.

“It is kind of a rush, isn’t it?” Mitsuri blushed when she turned to face (Y/n) to find her not only very close, but with the camellia blossom tucked behind her ear. She was too cute! Mitsuri could not deny just how in love she was. If only she just knew how to say it! She didn’t want to just blurt it out like she had with Shinobu, or leave (Y/n) questioning what she had meant like with Obanai. People always said the third time was the charm, but she felt like she hadn’t learned a thing!

As they checked the hives, (Y/n) knew something was off with Mitsuri. In fact, she could trace the difference as far back as mid-spring if pressed to do so. She wasn’t exactly sure what was going on with her friend, but she was hoping for a moment alone together like this to try to figure it out.

However, Mitsuri denied her at every turn. (Y/n) knew that Mitsuri could get distracted at times but even this was a little much for her. She managed to visit every hive without so much as a vague answer to single one of her inquiries. Shinobu noticed the crease in her brow as soon as they returned and hung back while Mitsuri and Obanai went inside to make some refreshing drinks before they went fruit picking.

“What’s on your mind, darling?” She asked, motioning for (Y/n) to sit beside her on the engawa. “You look pretty as a picture with that flower in your hair.” She added, stroking (Y/n)’s cheek with the back of her hand.

“Thanks,” she smiled bashfully, grazing a petal with her finger, “Mitsuri gave it to me. What does it mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Shinobu answered with a question of her own, tapping a finger against (Y/n)’s forehead.

“I think that maybe… I don’t know, I think I’m just being silly.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that. I’m quite good at it.” Shinobu teased.

“Does… does Mitsuri-san like me? In a romantic sense.”

“Yes.” Shinobu confirmed. “She has been trying to find a way to tell you for months.”

“Really? I- I should say something! Gods, I, she’s been trying to tell me all this time and I’ve been confusing all of her advances for her just being her usual friendly self!”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You know for certain now. You can talk about it in the orchard when we go fruit picking. Iguro-san and I will give you two a little space.”

“Iguro-san knows? What am I saying, of course he does, and you too.”

“Of course. Do me a favor darling and confess first. Iguro-san and I have a wager going.”

Shinobu laughed when (Y/n) pushed her away with a disbelieving huff. When Obanai and Mitsuri came back with the drinks, they all sat and made small talk. Mitsuri and (Y/n) kept sneaking glances at the other and quickly pretended to be busy with their drinks when their eyes would inevitably lock.

As Shinobu had promised, she made something up about wanting to make sure the insect repellent was working and brought Obanai with her to have Kaburamaru scan between the rows.

(Y/n) and Mitsuri continued on through the orchard until they made it to the peach trees. Mitsuri broke off to retrieve a ladder and left (Y/n) to hold the basket while she got on the ladder and picked the heavy, low hanging fruit. As she picked, (Y/n) tried to talk to her.

“Mitsuri-san?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to tell you something important, can you come down please?“

“Um! Just a few more peaches, okay?” Mitsuri promised.

“Alright, but don’t you think you should move the ladder? You’re leaning out kind of far…”

“Don’t worry, I got it!” Mitsuri exclaimed. She could see a perfect peach just a bit further to her left. She would certainly lose track of it if she took the time to readjust the ladder and she could not afford to do that. She wanted to give it to (Y/n). A perfect peach for a perfect girl. Almost there—!

“Ah ha! Oops!” Mitsuri grabbed the peach, however, the ladder shifted and her foot slipped. She held the peach above her head. She knew how to take a fall, but she’d be damned if she let this peach be ruined before she gave it to (Y/n)!

“I’ve got you Mitsuri!”

Instead of landing on grass and maybe a root or two like she had expected, she fell onto (Y/n) who in turn fell onto her back. (Y/n) batted one of Mitsuri’s braids out of her mouth and gasped for air.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Am I alright?!” Mitsuri blinked turning over so she was straddling (Y/n), one hand holding the peach, the other searching the girl below her for and obvious injuries, “I should be asking you that! Why did you do that?”

“I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing you get hurt.” (Y/n) said candidly. “I, I love you, you know.”

Mitsuri stalled for a minute and then her skin began to glow pink.

“And I don’t mean as only a friend, I really, really lo—!”

Suddenly, (Y/n) found herself with a mouthful of peach. She instinctively bit down, raising her arm up to take the rest away from her mouth. Wow, it was probably the best peach she had ever had.

“Wahh! Sorry, I don’t know why I did that! I just wasn’t expecting you to, for you to—!”

“Want a taste?” (Y/n) swallowed, holding the peach up to Mitsuri, “It’s really good.”

“Y-yes!”

Mitsuri’s heart was pounding. She pushed one of her braids away from her face and leaned down, past the peach straight to (Y/n)’s lips. It was not what (Y/n) had expected but she certainly wasn’t complaining, moving her lips in tandem with Mitsuri’s. It almost felt like she was trying to devour her.

“My, a confession and a kiss, pay up Iguro-san!”

While Obanai grumbled and counted out a handful of yen into Shinobu’s waiting hand, (Y/n) and Mitsuri fell over each other to get back on their feet, smoothing out each other’s clothes.

“Oh, aren’t you two just the cutest?” Shinobu cooed, “How did I get so lucky?”

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) pouted, watching as Shinobu took hold of her wrist and stole a bite of the half a peach still in her hand.

“Don’t think this means I’m going to let you take all of Mitsuri’s time for yourselves.” Obanai warned, almost making Mitsuri swoon on the spot.

“Don’t worry, Iguro-san. We would never!” (Y/n) promised.

“Speak for yourself, my dear.” Shinobu smirked, taking another bite of the peach while Obanai narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m the one who feels lucky.” Mitsuri sniffled, ignoring the trouble Shinobu was trying to cause, “I, I have three loving partners! I never imagined that I could be loved like this just by being myself. It’s like a dream!”

“It’s no dream, Mitsuri-san.” (Y/n) smiled, “Although I share the same sentiment. Ever since you saved me, I feel like I’ve been living a in a fairytale.”

“Aww! Come on everyone, bring it in!” Mitsuri cried, throwing her arms around everyone in a warm embrace.

They spent the rest of the afternoon eating peaches under the shade of the trees. Watching the bees buzz and rub against the nearby flowers, the four of them enjoyed the bright light of summer, marveling at how far they had come since the dead of winter.

[wherethewordsare]

Jay’s 500 Follower Title Event! (Pt2!)

This title was sent in by the amazing and wonderful @dapandapod and as always, betad by the love of my life, @kuripon. Thank you both for all your love and support.

So it’s come to my attention recently that I never got around to posting chapter 2 of “You Could be My Unintended” here on tumblr. But you can also read it here on AO3!

Part 1 Here

CW: A bit of angst at the front bit then straight into smut. Against a tree. Also a super long post! ((strongk bard rights))

You Could be My Unintended Pt 2: True to his word, Jaskier wore his gloves, his fingers always fiddling with the material as he walked. With them on, his lute stayed firmly in its case. He didn’t speak much either but that scent of sour agony clung to him like a new soap. 

It had taken Geralt far too long to find a mage that knew how to remove the bands. Every other one he asked would only look between himself and the bard and frown. 

“Why would you think that’s possible?” One had asked with a frown as he examined Geralt’s arm and then Jaskier’s. He looked between them again and shook his head. “I don’t, it’s as easy as all that.” 

One after the other had been the same, for nearly three months. Geralt found himself sleeping in the stables more often than not when there wasn’t two rooms for them in the towns. He really didn’t mind. It tended to be drier than just camping on the edge of the village. 

As the weeks dragged on, Geralt realized he had barely heard Jaskier speak, let alone sing. They traveled together and set camp together, but other than that, he made a point to avoid Jaskier. Most nights he found himself tracing the lines that made up the lute strings around his arm with a heavy heart. This was the most of Jaskier he would ever get to have, a few mere lines etched into his skin like a handfasting.  

Geralt trailed a finger tip around where the flower was wrapped around his knuckle and hummed. The skin there felt warmer than the rest of him, like there was something underneath, quietly burning. 

Some nights from the stables, Geralt could hear Jaskier singing well into the night. He wasn’t sure when he had realized that some of those nights, it was because Jaskier had opened the window of his rented room and sang out into the night. Geralt was thankful for the shelter of the stables as he carefully made his way to linger just behind one of the support beams. He caught sight of Jaskier leaning against his window, his face up turned to the night sky. He wasn’t wearing his gloves and his fingers traced the broad lines that looked like wrought iron shackles from the ground. They must have felt that way to him, Geralt thought, and retreated back to the stall, trying not to wonder about the words of Jaskier’s latest lament of unreturned love. 

There was word of a sorcerer just south of the Blue Mountains that was familiar enough with elven magic to make the trip worth it. Jaskier followed, his hands constantly moving in their gloves as he walked alongside Roach. 

“You know…” He started to say before he snapped his jaw shut again, looking out over the field. 

“Hmm?” Geralt’s own hands were gloved, tightly wrapped around the reins. The night before, they had camped at the edge of a lake and Geralt couldn’t help but notice the way Jaskier had given him a wide breadth. It wasn’t like Jaskier to step away from Geralt. He still held that anxious sour smell to him that now over ran every bit of sweet that usually clung to him when they traveled together. 

“I was just thinking. We could just do this trip later in the year. I’m sure you’d still find better contracts south of here,” Jaskier pointed out, even as he didn’t look back up at Geralt. 

“Figured you’d be eager to be rid of me,” Geralt said flatly and immediately regretted it as more of the sourness Jaskier carried wafted into the air. 

“Geralt…” he finally looked up at him and there was something unreadable in his eyes. Geralt only shook his head at him and urged Roach on a little faster. He didn’t think he could hear if that was the case from Jaskier. It would be easier for him when Jaskier just simply wasn’t there one morning, but for him to actually have to listen to a goodbye would have been far too much. 

They arrived well before dark and Geralt was thankful for that, at least. It meant Jaskier would be able to make it back to the village in relative safety. Not that Geralt wasn’t about to follow him just to make sure he made it anyways, but still. 

When the sorcerer opened the door, he took one look at Geralt and raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, you two might as well come in. As miserable as you look, I imagine I’ll have my work cut out for me.” He stepped aside and let them into the small one room cottage. He pointed to a low bench by the table and told them to sit while he started putting together an assortment of crockery. “Going to be one of those spells, I believe,” he said as he went along making tea. 

“We’re here to see if you can remove these,” Geralt explained as he pulled off his glove and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He glanced at Jaskier as if to say ‘you too’ and watched with mild confusion as Jaskier pulled off his glove with reluctance. 

“But…” the sorcerer looked down at the marks and then back at the two of them. “Why would you want them removed? The process is extremely painful and will cost you both dearly.” He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “It’s no easy thing to make the heart forget, even harder when it’s two of them.” 

Geralt looked up from where he had been glaring at the floor. His chest ached. His heart would be made to forget Jaskier. He would be made to forget how much the empty spaces of his previous existence had been filled  and how life had been breathed back into it by his bard's presence. But Jaskier wasn’t his, and not even fae magic could change that because, for once, he had dared to let himself want something. 

“What do you mean ‘two of them’?" Jaskier asked before Geralt could. "It's just... there’s only one heart here that needs to forget,” He looked away when Geralt turned to face him. “We’ll only need the one spell, sorcerer.” 

“At this point, Geralt, I’m sure he can handle it and send me on my way when it’s done,”  Jaskier said to Geralt. He reached up as though he were going for a handshake before he clenched his fist and pulled it back again. 

Sour distress and bitter agony filled Geralt’s mouth. Something was starting to turn over and click into place ever so slowly. 

“But,” the sorcerer leaned away from them, his hands pressed together and he nodded towards their uncovered marks. “You both wear the marks of the other. That wouldn’t happen unless…” He stopped and made a curious humming sound. “Witcher, tell me. How many hearts do you think need to be full of someone else to make two sets of marks?”

Geralt blinked slowly, looking between his arm and Jaskier then back to the sorcerer who only nodded at him slowly. 

“Wait,” Jaskier whispered and looked down at Geralt’s arm. He licked his lips nervously before he looked up at Geralt with a cautious smile. “Geralt… Why were you so determined to get here? For me to wear those gloves?” He asked softly. That thing that was turning so slowly for Geralt had apparently fully flipped on its head for Jaskier. 

The sorcerer sighed heavily. He reached over and picked up the cup of tea he had been nursing when they had arrived. “The fae are many things, but they only bind the willing. At least when it comes to betrothals outside of their realms.” He raised an eyebrow at the two of them. It reminded Geralt sharply of when he and the other young witchers had done something fullhearty and Vesemir would catch them in the act, calling them out for their stupidity. 

Hope, warm and sweet like honey and wheat and sword oil cut through every sense. Geralt watched in wonder as Jaskier tilted his head at him with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

“Because I assumed you didn’t want... me,” he finished lamely as he looked down to where their arms lay bare next to each other. The bands around Jaskier’s wrist made the skin surrounding  them stark pale in comparison. The wolf around his ring finger seemed to shift and shiver, waiting to sprint. 

Jaskier was the one who turned back to the sorcerer with a sad smile, laughing wetly. “I apologize. We’ve seemed to have taken up so much of your valuable time.” He pulled out coins and handed them over easily. “For your trouble and our idiocy.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a weak grin and nodded towards the door. “Come on, you big oaf. We should talk.”

Geralt followed Jaskier out of the cottage and down the path. His feet carried him almost automatically as he went, not knowing where Jaskier was taking him but somehow trusting him all the same. He had always trusted Jaskier, without fail. He felt like this was more important than being stitched back together after a battle or sleeping next to some kid he had picked up in a dusty little back water that he had only really known for a week. Even then, he had trusted him enough to fall asleep around the same camp fire. 

“Who do you think was going to be drinking that potion, Geralt? Whose heart was supposed to forget?” Jaskier turned, his hands crossed back over his chest. He was holding the gloves in one hand, clenched tightly as if trying to anchor himself. 

“I was going to… Mine. I had to forget that… If you were ever going to be free from those marks. From… my marks…” Geralt looked down to where the black bands were peeking out from under the cuff of Jaskier’s doublet. 

“But you have marks, my marks, too,” Jaskier pointed out as though he were pointing out a cloud in the sky on a day that there wasn’t supposed to be rain. 

“Hmm.” Geralt looked down and frowned, turning his hand over. The flower ring seemed to warm again under his skin. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier reached out and with a kind of twisting pain in his stomach, Geralt realized that Jaskier hadn’t touched him at all since they had first woken up with their tattoos. All the casual light touches, the long nights patching Geralt up, the playful nudges when Geralt was taking up too much room in a shared bed. Geralt had been avoiding all of those, knowing that if Jaskier touched him, he would have never been able to walk away. But here he was, leaning out into the touch like it was a life line. 

They both gasped when Jaskier’s hand closed around his wrist. Their marks began to glow and heat, bright warm light shining just under their skin. Geralt reached down, taking Jaskier’s other hand and letting himself finally run his fingers along the broad bands there, his thumb swiping over his knuckle where the wolf had rested. Those too glowed. 

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. He chuckled softly and his hand squeezed around Geralt’s wrist gently. “Dear heart, why didn’t you say something? How could I possibly…” Jaskier swallowed thickly and seemed to have made up his mind about something. 

He pressed into Geralt’s space before the witcher could stop him, his hands sliding from where they had been on Geralt’s arms to around his neck, pulling him close. 

“I wear your marks because it’s the only thing I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember,” Jaskier murmured. 

Then he was kissing Geralt. He went slowly, giving the other ample time to pull away but Geralt only surged forward, capturing the bard's lips as his arms wrapped around his waist. The marks on his skin tingled and flared the closer Jaskier pushed into his arms. Geralt was remotely aware of the glowing light around his shoulders from Jaskier’s tattoos. 

“I thought you were going to leave,” Geralt practically whined into Jaskier’s mouth, the bard walking them back slowly from the path. 

“How could I ever leave you, dear heart?” Jaskier hummed in return, pressing Geralt carefully into the trunk of a tree. “You’d have to send me away, and even then, I’d still find a way back to you.” 

“I claimed you in that wood, the fae tied you to me and I thought you didn’t-” Geralt pulled back again, searching Jaskier’s face. 

“Geralt,” he sighed, put upon and fond and smiling. “You’ve had me for so long, they didn’t need to hear the words out loud. Not when I was right there, practically screaming a confession in their faces.” He pulled away and Geralt’s body leaned away from the tree, swaying to stay in his arms. A hand came up and pressed him back gently by the shoulder and rested there. 

Jaskier pulled back his sleeve where it had fallen around his wrist and smiled at the marks there, glowing softly. “You’ve always had me, White Wolf. How could you possibly think otherwise?” 

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle again, pulling him back under the tree. Their mouths clashed in a graceless mess of teeth and tongue and need. He groaned when the fingers on his shoulder slid up his neck and back into his hair, fingers tangling in silver strands. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. They were pressed from knee to forehead, panting into shared air. “Keep this up, love, and I’m going to have to do something about it.” It was a tease but suddenly it was all Geralt could think of. 

He nodded eagerly, guiding Jaskier’s mouth back to his before sliding his fingers down the bard’s chest to start plucking open the buttons of his doublet. Jaskier only laughed and deepened the kiss, licking into Geralt’s mouth with hungry abandon. A knee came up, slipping between Geralt’s thighs and pressed against where his trousers were growing tight.  

“You delightful creature, how have we wasted this much time.” Jaskier nipped along his jaw, one hand coming up to rest against the broad trunk of the tree while the other slid down Geralt’s body and squeezed first his hip, then his thigh. He tugged then, pulling Geralt’s leg up to wrap around him. 

“Is this… is this alright?” he whispered, nudging Geralt’s chin with his nose. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt growled in warning but it was tarnished by the soft keen he made when Jaskier pressed up again with his thigh. His fingers dug into Geralt’s leg, making him shiver. 

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier smirked, pressing light kisses to the corner of Geralt’s mouth and along his cheek. 

“Should have figured you’d be a pain in the ass in the sack, too,” Geralt grumbled. He gasped sharply as nimble fingers slid over his hardening cock through too many layers of clothes. 

Jaskier had a wicked smile in place as he repeated the motion, watching Geralt with near adoration in his eyes. 

“Oh, is it a pain in the ass you want?” He all but purred. Jaskier dipped his head down again, biting just below Geralt’s jaw, making his body bow and his thighs tremble where one leg was still trying to support him. It felt like Jaskier had taken on most of his weight though and Geralt was caught in a kind of free fall that sent his stomach swooping. 

“Jask, please,” Geralt’s hips bucked and his fingers tightened in Jaskier’s doublet, nearly ripping the fine material. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier huffed and slowly let Geralt down onto both feet. 

The witcher all but whimpered when Jaskier pulled away, his hands clinging tightly. But then Jaskier’s fingers worked his trousers open, a hand slipping inside without finesse, stroking Geralt roughly. 

“Here I’ve always thought it would be you to take me apart with those hands I’ve bandaged and cared for. But now I have you practically singing for me, witcher, and I think I could get drunk on those sounds alone.” He twisted his wrist deftly, pulling another moan from Geralt, far louder than Geralt had intended to be. 

“Perfect, darling. Fuck, you’re perfect.” Jaskier panted and pulled his hand away. “Let me care for you? Please, Geralt. This one thing. Let me…” Jaskier begged, though it seemed neither of them could really understand what exactly he was asking. Geralt found that he really didn’t care. If Jaskier was going to ask for it, he was going to get it. 

Jaskier kissed his cheek, far more chaste than what Geralt needed and turned, walking to their packs. Geralt clung to the tree, trying not to follow the bard and push him down onto the ground simply to ravish him. Years of hunger and need and something far more complex battled every rational thought he had as he watched Jaskier return to him, a bottle in hand. 

As he approached, Jaskier was peeling off his own shirt, his hands fumbling with his trousers and then those same hands reaching for Geralt. He stripped them both down, nearly dropping to his knees as he yanked down Geralt’s pants. Jaskier’s mouth never left his skin, biting and sucking marks into every inch he could get to as he unwrapped Geralt with a wanton kind of hunger. Words were murmured into his skin, soft promises and growled praise before teeth sank into his hip making Geralt buck and keen. 

He didn’t give Geralt a moment to register the cool air on his overheated skin before he was scooping Geralt up by the thighs and pinning him to the tree. Geralt automatically wrapped his legs around his bard and squeezed, pulling him in tighter as his hips grinded down eagerly. 

“The number of times I have thought of this, of you, of all the ways I wished you would look at me… And all it took was me getting us into trouble. You’d think it would have happened far sooner than this, hmm?” Jaskier chuckled. 

Geralt only growled, rocking his hips to make his point. “You talk too much, bard.” 

His low growls turned into soft whines as a slick finger was suddenly pressing just behind his balls. His back arches as he gripped Jaskier’s shoulders, his heels digging into Jaskier’s ass. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, love?” That slick finger traced back along Geralt’s skin until it brushed lightly over his rim, teasing in a slow circle. “What other noises can I pull from you? Would you let me?” Jaskier rasped, dipping his head down again and sinking his teeth into Geralt’s neck. 

The air left Geralt’s lungs like it had been punched out of him as Jaskier’s finger slid in, just to the first knuckle, slowly working him open as his teeth raked against Geralt’s skin. Jaskier’s free hand was in his hair again, scratching at his scalp. It was too much and not enough and perfect. Geralt bore down onto Jaskier’s finger eagerly, his thighs squeezing the bard tightly. 

“Jask… fuck!” He groaned and pulled Jaskier from his neck to kiss him. Geralt grunted as another finger joined the first, Jaskier pumping them slowly into Geralt’s tight heat. It had been a long time since Geralt had been taken like this, but he felt like his bones were going to melt from the heat that was building at the base of his spine. 

Jaskier became wordless, his mouth and free hand never leaving Geralt for too long as he took his time working him open. Once or twice, his hand would be pulled away only to return with more slick and more urgency. Geralt squeezed his legs tighter around him, rolling his hips to meet every thrust of Jaskier’s hand until there were four fingers buried in him and curling just so. He threw his head back and groaned, heat wrapping around his gut and chest and pulling him ever closer to the edge.

“Oh no you don’t, darling witcher. Not without me,” Jaskier chided gently and his fingers disappeared from where it stretched Geralt’s opening. 

“Then fucking get inside of me,” Geralt tried to growl but it came out as a groan. 

“Oh, scary witcher…” Jaskier chuckled, leaning in to kiss Geralt’s mouth gently. There was a bit of a shift and Geralt was being lifted and then slid back down. The blunt head of Jaskier’s cock prodded once then twice at his entrance before Jaskier rolled his hips up and let Geralt sink down onto him. 

They both took a shallow breath and held still, Jaskier’s eyes fluttering for a moment while Geralt clung tighter to his shoulders. 

“Oh ho ho… You really are just,” Jaskier rolled his hips up to punctuate, “perfect.” He buried his face into Geralt’s neck as he started at a slow pace. 

Geralt tangled his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, his eyes snapping open as the angle shifted and Jaskier’s cock hit just right, making him shudder. Something on his wrist caught his attention. The vine of the flower that had been wrapped around his finger glowed brighter than it had when they had first touched. The stems seemed to grow and spread, wrapping around his hand and then his wrist, warm and grounding. 

He felt supported, looked after. Geralt felt like his chest might have imploded as another thought came rushing in with the soft mutterings against his neck. 

He felt loved. Jaskier had- 

“Fuck, Geralt. I-” the bard bit off, his body shaking with effort as he picked up his pace. Geralt dragged his mouth back out from where it was marking up under his jaw and kissed him roughly, swallowing every wonderful moan on the bard’s tongue. 

Jaskier’s nails dug into Geralt’s bare thigh, clutching him tighter. He felt like he was about to shake apart, caught between Jaskier’s broad chest and the rough bark of the tree. His shoulders were going to be sore the next morning but he couldn’t be fucked into caring. There was a single minded need coursing through him just then and he was going to get it, so help him.

He clenched around Jaskier’s cock eagerly, his body gripping and refusing to let go the deeper Jaskier drove into him. 

“Jaskier,” he panted through eager moans, “Jask!” 

Jaskier only thrusted into Geralt harder, his hands bruising tight against his thighs as they jostled. 

“Come on, darling. Come on, come for me. Fuck… Geralt, I love you.” Jaskier pressed their foreheads together, his voice completely wrecked. “Yours. Of course I��ve been yours, love,” he babbled, giving the answers to questions Geralt couldn’t find the courage to ask. “Come on, Geralt…” 

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest and suddenly everything was overwhelmingly good. His muscles went taut and he arched against the tree. There was a howling and his vision seemed to white out for a moment. It must have been him making that noise because his throat suddenly felt raw with it. 

Jaskier had followed him over that edge, spilling into Geralt with one final hard thrust, burying himself as deep as he could with a low groan. 

Geralt felt like he could float, the way his body nearly went limp against the trunk of the tree. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier grunted, his fingers petting against Geralt’s thighs. They were trembling. When did that happen? 

Geralt was set down carefully, soft hands brushing the hair back that had fallen in his face. Jaskier’s voice drifted to him as though from very far away and for a moment, all he could see was light, two thick bars of warm light that felt like coming home after the darkest of nights. 

Jaskier had been there, just a moment ago and then he was gone. He felt dazed but he relaxed into it, not worried that something might come out of the brush and get them as he leaned against the tree. It didn’t surprise him when Jaskier came back. Geralt trusted that he would always come back.

He let himself be cleaned up and led back to their packs. A single bedroll had been laid out and he was guided down into it. And then…

Jaskier was still there, wrapping around him, his arm around his waist and his head tucked under Geralt’s chin. His chest was bare against Geralt’s, though he couldn’t quite remember taking his shirt off. Jaskier had been the one that had taken him apart and put him back together again, strong and whole and wanted. 

There was something nagging at him though. Something in the back of his mind told Geralt that he had missed something. 

He turned and wrapped his arms tightly around Jaskier, burying his nose into his hair. “I love you, too. And I have always been yours. Without a question, I have been yours.” 

Jaskier sighed happily, hiding his face into Geralt’s shoulder. “I know, love. I know.” 

When Geralt woke the next time with his arm around his bard, he did not pull away because he knew then that there was nothing to pull away from. So he simply slid in closer and let himself enjoy the closeness of his unintended husband. 

[whereflowersbloom]

Let me heal you

Jason Todd didn’t hate Bruce or Dick. Nah. Waste of valuable energy. In fact, Jason respected, dare he say even admired his ward and brother. What he despised were their inflexible morals, or rather his family forcing their morals on everyone else. Specially him. We don’t kill. Yes, yes. Fine. What exasperated him was when Bruce decided that his morals applied to everyone else that he took issue. Including the black sheep of the family. He didn’t precisely kill, he let himself go for a single minute. He lost it one time. Batman gave everyone unlimited chances at redemption, except the Red Hood. One mistakes and he’s exiled. In the end it didn’t matter. Nevertheless, he was aware that was not the reason he was angry tonight. No. It was entirely something else.

He could hear her anywhere he was, no matter what time of day or night, what state of sobriety or inebriation, critically wounded. In the dark dangerous streets of Gotham, the sparring ring with the smack of fists and bodies, between the breaths he took as he was falling into the arms of Morpheus. He could always hear Raven. Foolish. She was too far from him. He lived and painfully yearned for her. She was soft curves and he was hard edges. She was a fierce and magical Phoenix while he was a fucking jay with broken wings and a delirious mind. What a catch, Jason.

It drove him mad, how much it didn’t make sense, at all. A soldier wouldn’t fall asleep to a lullaby, but rather the drumbeats of wrath and screams of his opponents. But she was that, for in each beat of her heart Jason heard the call to arms. These complicated feelings, he didn’t remember when they started surging in him. He tried to sort out his feelings, even though he knew that would hurt worse than the burning pain emanating from his cracked ribs. Tsk. He could use a cig right this second.

She was probably at the Manor with Richard, staying in the guest room which was Coincidently next to his old bedroom. And here he was alone, in his modest studio apartment. The pain of his bruised and broken flesh and bones was nothing compared to that excruciating knowledge. Jason rubbed his palms over his weary eyes trying to calm himself. Attempt to dampen the burning rage that was about to send him to a dark place in his mind he didn’t want to think about. He had control. He couldn’t lose control over the voices. Feel the boiling anger, burning in his chest, squeezing his heart. Let the eternal agony that burned through his blood and singed his eyes an unnatural green color. He left that fucking bullshit behind. He loathed the Pit for taking his chance to offer her something...relatively normal.

Since Artemis and Bizarro were gone. Officially, Jason was on his own for the first time in a long while. As he pulled his arms up to finish bandaging his wounds, his shoulders stung and in a gasping breath Jason quickly dropped his arms. He was useless. The pain was worse today than it usually had been. Probably from all the previous battles against Black Mask and his personal army of mercenaries. They had become a pain in the ass. Perhaps a short visit to good Doctor Tompkins would have been a better idea. He cursed breathlessly.

A knock at the door was his only warning before he turned around to see her. Raven opening the door and striding in as if this was her room and not his. Not that this was the first time she sneaked into his apartment.

She was here. It wasn’t a vision or product of his imagination or effect of high dosage of painkillers. He swallowed hard as he found himself speechless, mind blank in her presence. With her dark cloak and hood down, serene expression and looking at him with intense amethyst gems.

He paid a high price after using the pit to have his life back and this anew tremendous strength. But there’s something else, something he’d never felt before. A pull in his chest, as though someone had tied a string to one of his ribs and it was tugging on it, gently but insistently, coaxing him towards her...She was his answer. For a half-demon goddess she was the closest thing to heaven to him. The wings of freedom.

“What is it?” Jason growled harshly. It wasn’t a threat. He simply didn’t want her to see him like this. In such a weak position that he couldn’t even patch up his own damn body. Those little bits of his bloody past stopped him from reaching out to her. What right did he have to ask her to love him despite everything? Indeed he paid a high price.

“Came here to gloat, little bird?” He spat poisonous words with a half smirk. Poisonous words and threats were all he ever had. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply, getting air into his lungs, refusing to be beaten by this, refusing to be anything less than civil and let her see right through him.

There was no answer. She watched him closely for a moment before slowly closing the distance between her and him. As if she was nervous that he would order her away. Like last time she had been here, her palm caressing his cheek with such tenderness he had forgotten it existed. Her breath was warm against his neck and he was dying to mutter ‘please stay’.

What a joke. Jason Todd. Unapologetically and insanely in love with the little Raven. A Titan. Each atom of his body breathed longing into the space between them, aching to be with her, love her as a whole as it should be. But with a fractured mind, chained with firm mania cuffs. So hateful and yet insanely in love with this creature capable of drowning him in his ashes.

“I came to offer my help healing you but if you don’t want then...” She studied throughly his figure for a solid minute but at his reaction, furrowed forehead formed a thin line. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to regain her elegant composure, taking a step back.

He quickly wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her from leaving. It was our of instinct or his body ice cold starved for a ray of light. He kept his face clear of the pain his shoulders felt at the movement, but Raven’s eyes flickered to them. A flash of genuine worry. Why he couldn’t apologize and be a gentleman like the golden boy. Damn it. Manners Todd.

“Are you mad at me?” Raven asked serious. She twisted her body around to face him yet she didn’t pry her wrist from his grip that had gentled as soon as he halted her.

Did she want the truth? No. He was mad at himself for not fighting for her. For being weak. For his wickedness. For all his bullshit. But the beat in his chest was now pounding like a hammer against an anvil, erasing the other sounds around him. He could only focus on her.

“No.” Jason forced a chuckled though it lacked the usual mirth. “I’m not mad at you. Which is surprising considering we are usually infuriating each other every other day, sunshine. Missing me much?” Letting her go was far more unbearable than his cracked ribs. She continued staring at him deciding whether he was telling her the truth or guessing what game he was playing tonight.

He felt his body tense in anticipation of her answer. Did she miss him? Did she think of him as often as he did? He considered briefly sending her away though every fibre of his being rebelled against the action.

Raven knew she shouldn’t be here but yet she found herself coming anyway, despite her rationality telling her to run, to flee, to hide, to forget that she ever came here…But something deeper, something stronger, urged her forwards. She didn’t dare fight it any longer. Yes. She missed him every second since their last encounter. She bit her lip out of habit. She was a Titan and he was an outlaw. Different sides of the coin.

“Jason.” Her free hand stretched for his that had loosened from her wrist. His callouses scraped across her skin and she found herself enjoying the touch perhaps too much for her own good. She recalled the last time they made contact. First he gave into it like a malnourished kid offered a piece of bread, but then he rejected it unreasonably. So adamant on pushing her away. Not this time.

Raven let out a heavy and deep sigh.

“How long do you plan to continue this ridiculous dance? Running around in circles.” She asked him openly with a soft voice. Her heart seizing painfully tight in her chest.

As long as it takes for you to leave me, he thought to himself. No answer.

“Jason” Raven repeated his name until his eyes met hers, it was a combination of lake blue and cyan. Impossibly beautiful and perfect, usually brightening with amusement or laughter, slightly shadowed by regret. Except now they were dull with contained sorrow. Let me heal you. All the hurting parts of you.

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you reject me?” She spoke with a cracked voice and glassy eyes. Doubting her worth snd pride wounded.

What. No. No. Hell no. The least he ever wanted was to hurt her. His fists clenched with frustration. How could she ever think he was ashamed of her? He adored her with his broken and dammed soul. He was ashamed of himself.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Jason said with a shake of his head. “I’m disappointed in my own weakness. I could never be whole...” He admitted out loud with the weight of his past deeds and his unpredictable future. He inhaled deeply as he ruffled his dark curls.

She narrowed her eyes in understanding, wetting her lips before speaking. “Jason. You’re stronger then you think. You can deal with this. Don’t let this ruin who you are and what we could have.” She whispered softly, words caught between mustered courage and steady resolve. Voicing the possibility of a ‘us’. There was no point denying their attraction at this point.

One moment he was standing there. Motionless. Then he was moving, moving towards her, closer, before he’s quite given his body permission to do so because he couldn’t just stand there and not hold her.

At that Jason stopped breathing for a moment and his eyes shot to her. He wrapped his arms around her frame, tightening a fraction. His eyes were filled with something Raven was unsure of how to describe even with her empathic abilities. It was a mixture of emotions she couldn’t keep up with. Something she’s seen in him before but no one else.

Surprise. Fear. Worry. But over all happiness. Yes happiness and divine peace.

He stared down at her, a rational protest rising in his throat, the terrified assertion that she can’t help him, she can’t put up with this side of him. The rage and the voices and his uncontrollable anger. But in her eyes he found the answer. She’d already made up her mind. As if she was saying ‘I choose you’. Him. The damaged not charming and righteous Dick.

She could feel Jason’s volatile emotions call to her, voice hoarse and raw from his injuries but distinct and sharp, piercing straight to her soul. Pleading with his spirit. “Please…Stay with me.” She automatically snaked her arms around his neck. Her touch. Merely touching her used to be enough but now he couldn’t get enough.

He had been terrified by what her touch had inspired in him at first, terrified of what he might be able to do to her body if she let him…The things he wanted ro do to her. But unable to stop thinking about it, craving it, his lips on her neck, his strong, hard body pressing hers into the wall of his apartment, not caring anymore about his own physical pain. He pressed a passionate kiss to her lips.

Jason had never believed in soulmates, that was folks tales for mindless romantics. This didn’t change his mind about the topic. One thing was certain, if there was a person whose edged fit his perfectly regardless of the roughness, that would be Raven. She was darkness herself but in his mind she was the sun encasing him in gentle warmth. The stars were meant to reflect in her eyes. If there was a heaven, Raven was the owner of his.

Small jayrae prompt for @alerialblu @ravenfan1242 @amaati @niahti @jasonrae117 @catyypss 💜💖

[more-miserables]

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

[izzy-b-hands]

You Send Me: Chapter Two

A bad night that gets better, and a sign that maybe this tour will be special for more than just being Y/N’s first with Queen. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The next day was a whirlwind. In part because you were fighting to be not behind on time anymore, and in part because...well. It was a tour with Queen. For it to not be a whirlwind would perhaps have been more unusual, as far as you knew. 

And this show was a rough one. Issues with the power, issues with instruments, and a crowd that, just as Freddie would get them hyped and standing, was immediately shouted at by security to simmer down. 

“Fuck!” 

The mic stand half flew in your direction, and you just managed to catch it as Freddie stomped backstage.

He stopped when he saw you, and for a moment his anger over the night seemed to pause. “Christ, did I nearly spear you with that?” 

“Good hand-eye coordination practice,” you replied, holding the mic stand half as if it were gold (and as far as you were concerned, it was.) “No harm, no foul.” 

“Sorry,” Freddie muttered, before dropping into the first chair he saw. “That would be a fitting end to the night. Running you off to hospital, because I accidentally stabbed you.” 

You hesitated. There wasn’t really anything good to say; the night was what it was, and there was no way to magically make it better. 

“Well, it was good dodging practice, in case I ever do anything to get myself fired.” 

Freddie had been glaring up at the ceiling tiles, but tilted his head back down to smirk at you as the rest of the band trickled into the room. “I like this one. He’s funny, the rest of you never are on nights like this.” 

“And why the fuck should we be?” Roger spat.

“Don’t,” Brian said sharply, and you winced as Roger whirled around.

Instead of shouting, he pouted, and sighed. “The rest of the shows will be better. They have to be.” 

“Who says that?” John asked and smiled, but the smile dropped along with the temperature in the room as the rest of the band glared in his direction. “Fuck’s sake. I was just joking.” 

“We’re all just tired,” Freddie sighed. “And frustrated. We should go before we tear this room to shreds.” 

“You were thinking of that?” Roger asked. “I thought I was the only one.” 

“No,” Brian responded as Freddie nodded. “Me as well. Would be satisfying to just...” 

“Lose it?” John finished the sentence with a raise of his brow. 

“That,” you said with a slight tremor in your voice. “Could be fun. But, and stay with me-” 

“What if we didn’t?” Freddie chuckled. “So you all don’t have to clean up after us? That’s a fair point. We’ll have to shake this off some other way.” 

“How?” Roger muttered as he changed, tossing his used clothes back into the suitcase they’d come from. 

“Let’s ask the American,” Freddie mused. “You know the place best. Where can we go to let off some steam?” 

“Uh,” you mumbled. “This is a big city, I’m sure I can find something. For now, maybe drinks and venting round the table together, I mean that’s what I do usually, well, I’m usually alone but I vent to myself and that’s helpful at times so maybe-” 

You stopped as you felt all of their eyes on you. 

“You willing to play Agony Aunt?” John asked.

“Me? I’d come with?” 

“Why ever not?” Freddie asked. “Your suggestion, you should come with. And you know just how bad the night was, seeing it from your side of things, so you can vent with us.” 

You hesitated. “The rest of the crew...” 

“Crystal!” Roger shouted into the hall.

“What?!” 

“Are you busy?” 

Crystal’s head popped around the doorway, and he gestured for you to bring him Freddie’s mic stand half. “No, just shutting down and cleaning up an entire fucking stage set, not busy at all. Do you need something, or is this one here incapable of helping you all?” 

“That’s what I mean,” Roger replied. “He’s gonna come listen to us bitch at the bar. Said it’ll be better anger management than tearing this room to bits and pieces. Think you can spare him?” 

Crystal looked at Roger, then at you, then back to Roger, his face a mix of confusion and frustration. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do with him, so long as you consider it him working and helping out.” 

“There,” Roger said with a grin. “They’ll be fine without you, you even have permission from one of the boss men. Come on, let’s go!” 

“I’m still changing!” John protested. 

Freddie hadn’t even started to change, still slumped in the chair, an arm tossed over his eyes. “John is still changing, and I will be. Eventually. Just relax, Rog.” 

Roger shook his head at you. “Musicians. Honestly.” 

Brian scoffed. “And what are you then?” 

“The man who didn’t take an hour to change out of his trousers,” Roger replied with a clap of his hands. “Come on, get moving! I need a drink.” 

It took another fifteen minutes and a lifetime worth of frustrated grumbling, but finally you all were out the door and on the way to the nearest bar. 

“God, fucking finally,” Roger muttered as the first round was brought to the table. “So, are you ready?” 

You nodded, though you weren’t really. You were used to friends venting to you, but this was essentially as if your bosses were using you as a temporary counselor. What should you say to certain complaints? What shouldn’t you say? Should you say anything at all, or just listen? 

“The fucking power,” John groaned. “How do you have a building that isn’t even that old, and you can’t keep the damn power on in it? I swear, the next venue that can’t keep the lights and electric on-” 

“You’ll promptly rewire their entire place?” Freddie interrupted with a smile. 

“I just might,” John sniffed. “I could.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Freddie said. “And the security! What was their problem? I mean it, does America have something against people enjoying music?” 

It took you a moment to realize the question was directed at you. “Ah. No. I mean, not exactly. But I think they worry about the crowd getting out of hand more than anything else. That’s what security at my old venue always told me, at least. Said it could be dangerous to the band.” 

“They’re mostly kids though,” Brian said. “And even the older ones I mean...so what? A bunch of people our age, how much damage are they going to do?” 

“Crowds can, when they want to,” you admitted. “There was the night a chandelier fell, one of the last nights I worked the old venue...” 

In an instant, all eyes were on you. 

“Did it fall on anyone?” Roger asked. 

“No,” you replied, sipping politely at the beer you weren’t exactly thrilled with the taste of, but were grateful for nonetheless. “They just kept climbing up to it and yanking on it, any way they could, in their excitement and want to get ‘wild’ I guess, and not five minutes after the last patron was out of the auditorium area, down it went!” 

“What a shame,” Freddie murmured. “Was it insured? I’m sure it must have been, if the venue was an older one.” 

You winced. “It was. But that policy lapsed in 1946, and our boss never re-upped it.” 

They shared your wince at that. 

“I bet I can guess who got to clean it,” Brian smiled. 

“I bet you can,” you replied. “I still have a scar to show for it, actually.” 

They leaned in as you showed off a white and not yet fading scar on your wrist. “I slipped, on my knees picking up some of the glass that had been on it. Didn’t even feel it though until I my boss came in and gave me hell about the blood on the floor.” 

“Christ,” John murmured. “He helped you clean then?” 

You chuckled. “No. He told me to finish up, and then he brought me a first aid kit, a mop, some water, and a brush for the floor so I could clean the blood!” 

“Better that you’re with us now,” Freddie said. “We won’t put you on lone chandelier clean up, or let you bleed out on a floor.” 

“Among other benefits, like this round that is on me,” Roger said as a new round was brought to the table. 

“Oh no, I can-” 

But your protests were quashed each time, with varying defenses from ‘But it’s my turn to pay anyway, Y/N,’ to ‘We pay you so it would be like you paying us to drink if you pay for these. We’ve got it.’

You didn’t mean to drink so much, and you didn’t think the band meant to either, but it was a good thing you were all able to prop each other up as you made it to the hotel. 

“Careful!” Freddie cried as you stopped first at John’s room, helping Freddie to drop him on the bed. “He’s fragile.” 

“How so?” 

“He’s the youngest,” Freddie explained. “His mum worries about him, on tour, you know. It’s all very sweet.” 

“I’m sure your mum worries about you being on tour as well,” you replied, struggling not to slur your way through the sentence. 

He waved away your words as he led you back into the hall, to retrieve Roger and Brian from where you’d leaned them against the hall wall. 

Roger managed to get into his room on his own, giving you a monster of a hug before he did. “You’re a smart man, d’you know that? That was much better than breaking shit backstage.” 

Freddie helped free you from Roger’s grasp with a giggle, before waving him off to bed. “It was a good suggestion. Only thing we had to pay for was drinks, not damages!” 

“Not sure it was any cheaper,” Brian frowned.

“That’s John’s worry, and he’s sleeping,” Freddie protested. “We’ll worry about it later.” 

“I did try to pay for some,” you noted. 

They both shushed you as you all made it to Brian’s room, helping him slouch inside and find a glass of water before wishing him a good night. 

“Where is your room again?” Freddie muttered, looking down the hall as if it might magically appear. 

“I think it’s my turn to sleep in the van tonight,” you replied. To save on costs, each crew member took a turn either sharing a hotel room with other crew members, or would sleep in the van to make it one less room to have to rent. 

“No!” Freddie scoffed. “Absolutely not, it is freezing out!” 

“It’s August,” you giggled. “It can’t be freezing in August.” 

Freddie half led, half dragged you down the hall, then up the staircase to his room. “Well, it is freezing in here, I know that much. So you can’t sleep in the van, you’ll be too cold.” 

“That doesn’t track though,” you protested weakly with a laugh. 

“Would you really rather be in the van?” Freddie asked, and there were the deep brown eyes again, locked on yours. Not as intense this time, a bit tired, probably in part from the alcohol and from the overall exhaustion of the night, but just as captivating nonetheless. 

You shook your head, and let Freddie lead you into the room. 

“Take the other bed, if you want,” Freddie said before flopping face down on the other. “No idea why they got me a room with two. Maybe it was the only one left. Worked out though, I suppose.” 

You sat on the other bed, and giggled as you watched him roll back over. 

“What? Do I look that daft right now?” 

“You look cute,” you said, before you could halt your tongue. 

Before Freddie could reply, you continued. “That was out of line, I’m sorry, maybe it’s because I’m drunk, I haven’t gotten drunk in ages, but that’s no excuse, but you are really cute, and pretty? Your eyes are gorgeous, has anyone ever said? Well, surely they have, and that’s even more out of line, and-” 

Freddie struggled to his feet, only to stumble over and sit heavily beside you on the other bed. 

“Can I ask you something? And you have to answer me honestly, and I think you will, because I think you’d tell me anything honestly right now,” Freddie said. “Are you saying all that just because...” 

His gaze dropped to the floor, and you knew what he had been going to say. Because he was famous. Because he was who he was, the Freddie Mercury. A voice gifted from the gods, and performances that electrified anyone who saw them. 

“No,” you replied. “I’d say that no matter what. Because you aren’t...” 

It was hard to put into words, especially in your current state, but you tried. “I mean. You’re you, you know?” 

Freddie nodded, and you were so glad he was just as drunk so your drunken rambling made some sense.

“But...there’s a difference. Between Freddie Mercury on stage, and Freddie greeting fans, and then Freddie here, who drinks with me and keeps me company when Crystal tricks me into stupid shit,” you continued. “And I like them all. I’ve always liked the Freddie on stage of course, who wouldn’t? And you’re incredibly kind to every fan I’ve ever seen you meet.” 

You took a deep breath as one of his hands moved to yours, his long fingers moving yours to intertwine with his. “But I like this Freddie the best, I’m finding. You’re funny, and kind, and sweet to me. And I like talking to you, a lot.” 

Freddie’s eyes met yours again, much more focused than they had been in the hall. 

The kiss was soft as his lips, and his other hand moved to gently hold your face, the thumb brushing over your cheek. 

“Does that mean we get to talk more after this?” you asked after he had moved back away, your eyes still closed as they had been for the kiss. 

They burst open as he broke into laughter, his other hand still in yours. “Is that what you’d like it to mean?” 

You nodded. “Maybe more?” 

He nodded, but hesitantly. “This isn’t like-” 

“I know,” you said, and his brow raised. 

“Not because I’ve dated a rock star before,” you clarified. “But where I’m from...boys don’t...you don’t do this, what we just did, in public much. Not every one accepts, not many at all, so to be safe, you keep it quiet. Just for you and him and anyone who you feel safe to tell.” 

He smiled. “You have no idea how nice it is not to have to worry about that. Or then again, maybe you do.” 

You let your head slump against his shoulder, and nodded. “This isn’t going to end tomorrow, will it? It isn’t just because we’re drunk? Because I mean it, every word.” 

He pulled you close and sighed happily. “No. Not ending tomorrow. It isn’t happening just because we’re drunk. I promise.” 

You hoped desperately that it was really true. It wasn’t that you wanted to doubt him, it was just that in your experience, the doubt was often necessary and correct, and in the morning there was no boy to speak of or to, already gone with the sunrise. 

“We need to sleep this off,” Freddie mumbled. “What time is it?” 

“Early,” you said, looking at the clock on the wall that read 4 A.M. “Or late, depending on how you look at it.” 

Freddie snickered as he pushed you gently back onto the bed and flopped down beside you. “Maybe both.” 

“Both,” you agreed, and wrapped an arm around him, to match the arm he had already wrapped around you, pulling you close. 

“Morning is going to hurt,” Freddie muttered before his eyes fluttered shut. 

[katastroficwriter]

Cutscene #5

*Once again, I apologize for the late update. This update would feel very rushed--but that’s because of my inexperience with writing action/fighting scenes. And because I needed to push the story to where it needs to be as soon as possible. I hope this fact won’t reduce your enjoyment of my au. ^^;

May 18, 20xx, 4:43 pm

“Hey, Kiiboy?”

“Not now.”

“Yes now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Ye~s!”

Kiibo leaned against his seat, sighing in exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want this time? Can’t you see that I still have a lot of schoolwork I need to catch up on?”

“What I see is that you are in desperate need of a good walk in the park, my friend,” Ouma shamelessly plucked his roommate’s reading glasses and wore it on his head. “Getting stressed about doing work while doing work is hardly productive, you know.”

They spent a couple of minutes in an impromptu staring contest, to which Kiibo eventually forfeited.

“Fine. I suppose I do need a breather,” Kiibo snatched his reading glasses back from his roommate’s head. “As long as we don’t stay out too long, I guess it’s okay.”

“Great! There’s this good hotdog stand by the park. My treat!” Ouma grinned. ‘Step one--cleared.’

Kiibo shook his head. “No. I’ll treat you. You took care of me while I was sick.”

Ouma blinked in surprise before moving to cover his pleased smile. “Be careful there Kiiboy. Keep doing this and I might just fall in love~”

The albino simply rolled his eyes as he pocketed his wallet. “Ha, ha. Anyway, are we going or not?”

“Heck yeah we are!” Ouma skipped towards the doorway after shrugging his backpack on.

“What’s the backpack for?” Kiibo asked as he locked their room.

“It’s just in case something happens! Like sauce spilling on my shirt. Also first aid kit in case you...I don’t know, slip and fall or something. You’re just so clumsy that I can’t afford to be confident that you’re getting out of this trip unscathed.”

“Is this how you see me?” Kiibo huffed.

“I’m just stating facts, my good sir,” Ouma tipped his invisible hat. “Anyway we better hurry! If we wait around any longer they might run out of the good stuff!” He grabbed his roommate by the wrist and made a dash for the school gate.

After paying for their hotdogs, Ouma led Kiibo farther and farther from the crowd of people and into the forest. Which normally would raise alarm bells in any sane person who was being tugged into a forest. But this was Ouma. If Ouma wanted to murder him, he would have done so as soon as he went to sleep.

“Why are you taking me into the forest?”

“I usually go for walks while eating, and I happened to find this great spot to watch the sunset. There’s also a bench there! The best part is, no one really wants to walk all the way here just for a seat. So it’s practically all ours,” Ouma grinned.

“I see...”

“Oh it’s here! Man the light reflects really well in the lake--”

“A lake?”

“Yeah, a lake!” Ouma grabbed Kiibo by the wrist for the umpteenth time that day and led him to the bench with unbridled excitement.

Kiibo had his doubts, but the sunset view had rendered him speechless. Ouma wasn’t lying--the view was gorgeous. The way the sun’s rays bathed the forest with a soft yellow glow was something worth painting. Oh, if only he were a painter...

“You sitting or not?” Ouma punctuated his question by shoving the hotdog in his mouth as he patted the free space beside him.

“Ah,” Kiibo shook his head a little to snap out of his daze. “I’m sitting.”

Ouma simply smiled at him with his eyes since he was still busy chewing. At least he still had the manners to not speak while eating.

They spent time eating their snack in comfortable silence as they watched the golden orb that is the sun slowly sink under the horizon.

“Soooo...whatcha think?” Ouma tilted his head as he grinned--cheek stained with ketchup and mustard. Not at all ashamed of breaking the silence.

“...I think you need to clean your face up,” Kiibo heaved out a sigh as he made a move to wipe the other man’s face with a tissue. “And...you’re right. It’s pretty good. The price is affordable too.”

“Riiiight?! I always try to drop by their stand everyday--except when my schedule doesn’t allow me at all,” Ouma grabbed the tissue from the albino and started wiping his face on his own.

“By the way, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“Mm?”

“I still find it weird that there’s a bench all the way out into the forest.” Kiibo looked around their vicinity. It was his first time visiting the forest area located in the park, and he wasn’t too sure if it’s normal to find a well furnished bench hidden by trees and foliage.

“No, actually,” Ouma paused to finish his last bite. “It wasn’t here before, but maybe I’m not the only person who found this spot after all. Probably asked some of the people in charge to move a bench here.” That’s a lie, of course. This was simply Step 2 of his plan.

“I see...I suppose that makes sense.”

“Well, at least we benefited off of it,” Ouma smiled, stretching his arms over his head before standing up and walking towards the lake. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if it weren’t for the bench.”

“So the bench was the most important thing here and not the view?” Kiibo quirked a brow.

“Of course! My comfort--and in this case, our comfort is way more important than watching the sun,” Ouma wagged a finger as though he was sharing valuable wisdom. “We can enjoy the view better if we’re comfortable.”

“You’re right,” Kiibo then crumpled the hotdog wrapper and shoved it in his pocket. “...Anyway, it’s getting dark. We should head back now.”

“No! Not yet!” Ouma puffed his cheeks. “We’re not here just to watch the sun set. We’re also here to watch the moon rise!”

“The moon...you do realize it would be really dark in the forest if we actually wait for the moon--”

“I know! That’s why I packed a flashlight in my backpack,” Ouma waved a hand in the general direction of his backpack which was resting on the bench.

“You’re awfully prepared for this. Did you plan to lure me out here from the start?” Kiibo shook his head in mild disbelief.

“What if I was? It worked, didn’t it?” Ouma winked. Now this was definitely not a lie. “Relax. Just stay in your seat and watch the moon, alright? We’ll go home as soon as it’s over.”

Aquamarine eyes stared into amethyst. He’s really doing a bad job at winning in conversations today. “Alright. Dinner’s going to be on you tonight.”

“I accept your terms,” Ouma could see it--how relaxed the albino was. His pupils were slowly dilating--the moon wasn’t out yet but the dark sky was starting to affect him. His body knows what’s about to come. Fortunately for both of them, Ouma knows too.

Truth be told, the thought of watching the moon rise filled him with dread.

Kiibo found it odd how he couldn’t remember anything that’s transpired during nighttime for the past few week. He can’t trust himself to study at night because of this. Which is why he rescheduled his studying time to the afternoon. It scared him a little--feeling this way. But surely there wasn’t anything wrong with him? Maybe he was falling asleep without him realizing which is why he doesn’t remember much about the night before…

“Kiiboy, it’s here.”

Prompted by his roommate’s voice, he looked up at the rising moon.

That was when he felt completely odd. His body froze at the sight of the glowing white orb on the darkened sky. His body felt hot. Extremely hot. His bones were aching. His entire body was shaking. His mind was growing blank the longer he stared at the glowing celestial body.

The worst part were his thoughts.

Kill.

Destroy.

Tear it to shreds!!!

Such violent words invaded his mind. Words that have never crossed his mind were filling his headspace. Commanding him to obey. He moved to stand up, trying to steady himself with the bench.

The pain that followed was sharp. Excruciating. It felt like he was being ripped apart and then later reassembled into a form that’s only vaguely his. Much like a badly sewn ragdoll that was given the Frankenstein treatment.

“Gghhk!!” The pain was unbearable. He couldn’t hear himself. But he could feel it. He could feel his throat growing raw from all his screaming. He felt like he was being slowly ripped apart from the seams.

Deaf to his own screams of agony, Kiibo didn’t realize that the sound that left his mouth were no longer screams of a pained human being--but rather the angered howls of a wild beast.

The soft rustling of the trees and the sight of leaves falling like gentle rain did little to calm the situation.

“Heh...not a bad form at all, Kiiboy. You’re honestly a lot bigger than what I expected you to be.“

“But size has never stopped me from putting a pup in its place.“

Their battle was without ceremony. What else do you expect when one of the parties is a rampaging werewolf?

Kiibo was completely acting out on his new instincts. The instinct to kill any and every vampire in sight. Despite his rather large form, his agility was not to be underestimated if Ouma wanted to live. Which he does.

Ouma swiftly transformed into his bat form and flew above his rampaging roommate before reverting to his previous form and landed a strong kick across the werewolf’s torso--sending it flying into a lake. He took this chance to catch his breath and to assess the damages he’s sustained.

“Tch...I won’t be able to hold out for too long at this rate...” he panted. “The one thing I desperately needed but failed to get a hold off--blood. Fucking awesome.” He glared at the torn sight of his navy blue hoodie. “He owes me a new hoodie too.”

The werewolf let out a furious howl as soon as it got out of the lake’s watery depths. It seems kicking him in ice-cold water only made him angrier.

Ouma cursed his exhaustion when he lost his footing mid-dodge. He grunted as his head collided against a tree before getting pinned beneath the growling creature.

“Shit--!!!” Ouma screamed when he felt Kiibo’s canines dig in his right shoulder. “Get off me you dumbass!” he aimed his punches at the albino’s eye in the hopes of making it lose its grip on his shoulder. Fortunately, it worked.

The vampire then struggled to move his legs upwards until his knees are pushing against his chest. “I said get off!!!” He kicked Kiibo on the chest with both of his feet as hard as he could.

Ouma then grabbed a fallen tree by its roots and smacked Kiibo away from him, not giving the werewolf time to recover at all. With a palm resting against his bleeding shoulder, he teleported on the werewolf’s back and dug his nails into its shoulder, eliciting a pained howl followed by another angrier one.

“Oh shut up! I’ve had enough of your BULLSHIT!” It had been centuries since he’s had his fangs out in its full length. It almost felt alien to him. Almost. He made sure to put in all of his strength into this one bite.

The deliciously rich flavor of werewolf blood mixing with Kiibo’s human ones filled his throat much to his content. His strength was returning and he could already feel his wound closing. Even Kiibo was having a hard time getting him off his back due to his growing strength.

Ouma only let go once he felt the muscles and bones beneath him shifting and crunching. He licked his lips as he watched his roommate slowly revert back to his original form. His naked and shivering form.

The vampire then moved to grab his backpack from the mess of fallen trees and pulled out a fresh change of clothes he got for Kiibo. He didn’t miss the confusion in the albino’s eyes when the latter saw his bloodied form approaching him in calm strides.

“What...happened?“ Kiibo’s voice was hoarse. Raw from all his screaming and howling before, during, and after his transformation.

“Oh, nothing much. Just had some intense make out session that got of hand. Ended up destroying a few trees here and there because of how amazing a kisser I was,” Ouma deadpanned. “--Of course that’s a fucking lie! You turned into a werewolf Kiiboy! I could have died!” He tossed the clothing at the albino with a frown.

“A...a werewolf...?” Kiibo blanched at the thought.

“Wear your clothes first. I’ll answer your questions later,“ Ouma idly rubbed his right shoulder, hiding his satisfaction of finding that the wound was no longer there.

Due to the roughhousing earlier, the bench got wrecked into mere splinters, and so they had no other options but to sit on the grass. As Kiibo listened to the voice recording Ouma took with his new phone, he felt dizzier and dizzier. The screaming was definitely his. And although it was a little vague--even during the growling parts, he could still hear traces of his voice coming from it.

Ouma’s bloody face and clothes were an indicator that this wasn’t an elaborate plot just to mess with him.

“I...how? This never happened before!” Kiibo regarded his companion with panicked eyes. “How could I...how could I suddenly turn into a monster?!”

“The ‘dog’ you took care of was a werewolf, you ding-dong,“ Ouma huffed. “How could you even mistake a wolf for a dog!?”

“It was barking, Ouma-kun. Wolves don’t bark! They howl, they growl--they don’t bark as often as dogs do!” Kiibo hissed, faltering a little when the pain from the previous skirmish was finally registering.

“Tch. Terrific acting from an old bastard, I see,” Ouma bit on thumbnail. “...In any case, everything’s going to be okay.”

“Okay? No I’m not! How am I supposed to deal with this?!” Kiibo grunted when he felt a slightly dislocated shoulder pop back into place. One of the perks of his new predicament is his enhanced healing. Not that it made him any happier. “There’s going to be another full moon tomorrow and--I still have a lot of schoolwork to do! I can’t--I can’t possibly juggle being a student and a monster at the same time!”

“Of course you can! All you need is some proper training and you’ll be able to keep your self-awareness even during a full moon,” Ouma patted him on the back. “Dogs can be trained. And you’re practically a big dog. Chin up!”

“Training. I don’t even know where to start.... For one thing I won’t be conscious tomorrow to even think of training, am I?” Kiibo groused, burying his face in his knees.

“It’s fiiine. Because I’m a vampire. I can keep you in check,” Ouma smiled.

Kiibo lifted his head to glare at him. “Look, it’s nice and all that you’re trying to cheer me up. But cracking jokes like that just makes me want to smack you. Because now is definitely not the time for jokes like that.”

“Huh? But it’s not a joke though! See for yourself!” Ouma tapped his neck on the left side, prompting the albino to do the same.

Kiibo froze when he felt two deep puncture wounds on his neck which was still in the process of healing up. He looked up at Ouma, eyes widening in shock when the latter unabashedly showed him his fangs.

He knew that he really should be more shocked--but the revelation that he’s going to be stuck as a werewolf monster for the rest of his life took the brunt of his shock. Not to mention how it felt like he had solved a mysterious riddle surrounding his odd roommate.

“Is that why you’ve been going around licking my wounds all this time?”

“Yup!”

Kiibo hid his face in his hands. His days of peace are now over.

“Nishishi! Don’t worry, I know a thing or two about werewolves~” Ouma snickered. “I’ll train you in exchange for your blood!”

“M...my blood?” Kiibo gulped.

“Mmmhm~” Ouma placed a finger against his own lips. “Now that you’re a werewolf, I could feed to my heart’s content without worrying about turning you~”

“I...I see...” Kiibo’s mind was reeling from the new knowledge. He knew he didn’t have much choice. Ouma was a vampire--another monster. He was pretty much the only person who can restrain him in his werewolf form as proven by this night alone. This was his only bet of maintaining his normal life without causing trouble for everyone. “...Alright. I accept.”

Ouma’s pupils narrowed into slits as he smirked. “That settles that then.”

[shadowsong26fic]

May Fourth Bonus Fic: Part 3

Title: It’s Like Deja Vu (All Over Again); Part 3

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: R

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Padme Amidala, Anakin Skywalker, etc.

Warnings: War, violence, referenced genocide, referenced murder, these two dorks and their AOTC angst…

Summary: Three days ago, Padme Amidala closed her eyes for the last time in a sterile white room on an asteroid at the edge of nowhere. Three days ago, she opened them again in a sleek, chrome starship, watching Dorme put the finishing touches on Corde’s headdress, her own weighted braids a comforting blanket on her back.

Padme decides to change things, decides she can save Anakin this time. Except, as time passes, she starts to realize things aren’t happening exactly the way she remembers…

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Bonus fic! May the Fourth be with you :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Coda

Somehow, things didn’t seem quite so bleak the next morning.

It’s not that he doesn’t want this, she reminded herself. He said that himself. It’s that--he feels that he can’t have it. I know what’s that like.

It was, in fact, the exact same position she’d been in the first time around. Which meant that he would come around. Eventually. Just like she had.

Hopefully, it won’t require another mutual near-death experience…

In the meantime, she just had to be patient, and trust in his love for her. It didn’t really make it hurt any less, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy, but it was something she could do.

The two of them settled into a routine of sorts after that--discussion. Anakin wasn’t avoiding her--he was too faithful a protector to do that--but he might as well have been. She would catch him looking at her, sometimes, with a wistful, longing expression on his face; she knew he had caught her doing the same. But they never touched, not even by accident, and only rarely spoke. There were certainly no more picnics in the meadow, or long, intimate dinners, or desperate confessions by the fire. They simply--existed, side by side, in the same time and place, but unable to intersect.

It was complete and utter agony. The second-worst week of her life; beat only by the one leading up to her death in the other timeline.

And he--he seemed tired now, drained; she knew he wasn’t sleeping well.

Neither was she.

She tried to at least get some work done. If nothing else, it filled the time. And, even if she was out of contact for safety reasons, there was still research she could do; memos or even bills she could start drafting, to act on when she finally returned to Coruscant.

The time was...less than productive. It was impossible to focus, with Anakin so close, and yet entirely out of reach.

And then, finally, in the early afternoon of the third day of this hell, everything changed.

“Padme?”

She looked up. She was in her study; he’d been out in the garden until about twenty minutes ago, running saber drills. She had watched out her window for a while until he finished his kata and disappeared from view, then returned to her desk.

He was tense, his hands hidden in his sleeves again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have a...there’s a...situation.” He paused. “I need to show you something. May I?”

“Of course.” She cleared a bit of space off her desk, and he set his comm on there, keying up a recorded hologram.

One she remembered.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s tinny voice came through the little speaker, “my long-range transmitter has been knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant. I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundries on Geonosis. The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here, and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala. The Commerce Guilds and the Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku, and are forming a--wait. Wait.” He pulled out his lightsaber, met by blaster bolts and then disappeared from view, replaced by a pair of droidekas.

“Oh,” she said.

“Master Windu is going to help him,” he said, studying the empty space where the hologram had been. “But Coruscant is--far. I have to...please understand. This isn’t--this isn’t about what we...what we discussed the other night. And I know I...made a promise. I know I have a responsibility to you, I know where my duty lies. I was given strict orders to stay here and protect you. But I...I have to go help him. He’s...I know he’s still alive, and he’s in trouble, and he’s all--he’s my--he’s like my...” He trailed off, then turned beseeching eyes on her. “Please, understand.”

“Of course,” she said again, without hesitation. Even if she hadn’t agreed with him already, she never had been able to resist those eyes. “I understand completely. Of course you need to go. I’ll go with you.”

“I...what?”

“I’ll go with you,” she repeated. “That way, no promise of yours is being broken. Besides, I can help.”

“What--no, Padme…Padme, it’s too dangerous. We don’t know exactly what...what he’s facing.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t let you--”

“You can’t stop me,” she cut him off evenly.

He blinked.

She softened her voice. “He’s my friend, too, you know,” she said. “And even if he wasn’t, I owe him--you know what I owe him.”

He nodded. “Yes. I remember.”

“So,” she said. “You can do what you like, but I’m going to go save Obi-Wan. If you want to follow your orders and protect me, you’ll just have to come along.”

“I--” He cut himself off, and smiled at her, a slow, crooked smile. The one that meant adrenaline and adventure and explosions but damn it all if he wouldn’t come out with a stunning victory in the end.

She really loved that smile.

“I guess I can’t really argue with that,” he said. “I’ll go and get your ship prepped, then. Milady.”

“You do that,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

He bowed and turned to go, picking up his pace until he was almost at a dead run when he hit the garden.

Only then, when he was out of sight, did she let herself sag a little, worried.

Geonosis.

Where Anakin would lose his arm.

Where the Clone Wars were about to begin.

I...may have overreached, Padme thought.

They were standing in the chariot in the arena’s staging area; the cuffs were digging into her wrists; Anakin was ramrod-straight and silent at her side. Attempting to rescue Obi-Wan had gone exactly as well as it had the first time.

She’d hoped--she’d hoped that, with Anakin on a more even keel, between Master Jinn’s prolonged influence and the fact that he wasn’t still reeling from his mother’s death, they might have had a better outcome.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. We’ll get out of it, probably, just like we did before, but--I exposed us to unnecessary risk.

Well, it wasn’t entirely her fault. He had been planning to go by himself. At least this way, he wasn’t here alone.

She stole a glance up at him. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. Preparing himself, for what was about to happen. So far as he knew.

The Geonosians fluttered around them, and at last he stirred a little.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, quietly.

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid to die.” She wasn’t. She’d been through that once before, after all. And it wasn’t the dying so much as how it had happened.

And--the leaving people behind. Obi-Wan, Bail, her children...

She took a deep breath, as everything crystallized into perfect clarity around her. Now or never. Whether things change from here or not, if you don’t take this moment, you will never get another one. “I’ve been...I’ve been dying a little bit each day, since you came back into my life.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Padme…”

“I love you,” she said, and she realized--maybe that had been her mistake. On the balcony, in the meadow, even by the fire--she’d been so caught up in the moments, in the history she was trying to save that…

She hadn’t said it. Not in those words. Not straight out. Not in this lifetime.

And Anakin--Anakin needed to hear these things. He always had. Which meant she needed to say it. Explicitly and often.

I’m sorry. Oh, my love, I’m sorry.

He sucked in a little, strangled, almost sobbing breath. “You love me,” he said. “But--we...we talked about this. We would--I would--if we--it would destroy our lives.”

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway,” she pointed out. For a given value of ‘destroyed.’ Even if--even though we survive the arena, there’s still the war on the horizon. She met his eyes, held his gaze. “And I don’t care about that, anyway.”

“Padme,” he breathed.

“I truly, deeply love you,” she said, enunciating each word carefully. “And before we die, I want you to know.”

For a split second, he did nothing, just looked into her eyes, searching for--something; she didn’t know what. Then he nodded, once, and smiled softly, and he leaned down, as far as the restraints would allow, and--

For the first time since Padme had woken up in this strange, altered past, Anakin kissed her.

It only lasted a moment, before the Geonosian guards pulled them apart and the chariot began to move, but--

Anakin had kissed her, at last.

Anakin loved her, still.

Despite the danger all around them, she smiled, and shifted her hands in her bonds just enough to brush his fingertips with hers.

He smiled back down at her again, eyes soft and warm and finally showing all the love she knew he felt, melting the pain away to nothing.

And for that--for that alone, that look in his eyes, that smile, it was all worth it.

With the taste of him still sweet on her lips, she squared her shoulders and held her head high as they entered the arena and the First Battle of Geonosis began.

She reached the landing platform at a dead run, her heart in her throat. So much had changed, so much was different than the history she remembered, that even though everything here on Geonosis had gone almost exactly the same--

When she rounded the corner and saw the body on the floor, she stopped.

Count Dooku’s sightless eyes stared up at her, mildly surprised above the still-smoking hole in his chest.

That...that changes everything.

Would there even be a war now? Well, maybe--Dooku wasn’t the only Separatist leader--but would it be as long? Would it be as terrible?

Everything--everything from here on was up in the air. Even Qui-Gon Jinn’s survival couldn’t have changed things this much. Except, maybe, in changing Anakin just enough to let it happen.

And Anakin--

She spotted him, a few feet off to the side, dazed and semi-conscious, a deactivated, borrowed lightsaber hilt dangling from his left hand.

His only hand.

“Ani!” She stepped hurriedly past Dooku’s body and knelt at his side, splaying one hand lightly across his chest and tilting his chin towards her with the other.

He blinked confusedly at her for a second, then his eyes finally focused. “Padme,” he said. “You’re...you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him, resisting the urge to kiss his hand.

“Good,” he said. “Good. That’s...that’s good.” And then his eyes slid shut and he slumped against her, unconscious.

She held him close for a long moment, reassuring herself that he was still breathing, his heart was still beating, he was just--hurt.

He survived this before. He will again.

And then she remembered where she was. Witnesses, Padme, she lectured herself, then gently lowered Anakin to the ground.

Without kissing his forehead, tempting as it was. She was sort of proud of herself for that.

She took a breath and looked up at the clones who had accompanied her. “The--the Jedi need medical attention. One of you--is one of you a medic?” There should be one, this was a full squad. But she wasn’t supposed to know that yet. And they hadn’t really started differentiating their armor much, so she couldn’t have picked him out anyway.

“Uh, I am, Senator,” one of them said, stepping out of line and saluting her. “CT-6116.”

“Right,” she said. “Do you...do you have a name, or just a number?”

“Uh.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “They call me Kix, sir.”

“Right,” she said again. “Is there anything I can do to help you, or should I just get out of your way?”

“You’re injured, too,” Obi-Wan pointed out from across the platform. He hadn’t moved since she’d arrived, which worried her a little.

...wait, I remember this. Anakin told me; Dooku cut him, severed a key tendon or maybe damaged a nerve cluster? Whichever it was, it was reasonably easy to fix with bacta and maybe a minor surgery, but for the moment, his wounded leg would not bear any weight at all.

And he wasn’t wrong about her. The scratches on her back twinged, and she could feel them start bleeding again as she shifted away to give Kix room to work--he seemed to have taken her question as permission to go ahead and do his job--but, comparatively…

“I can wait,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” he said, and carefully sat up. “Thank you,” he added, after a beat. “For trying to rescue me.”

“Of course,” she said.

And then she almost--almost went on; almost told him what she and Anakin had said, what they had almost done.

But she stopped herself, just in time, and shut her mouth. They hadn’t technically done anything yet that would need to be confessed. And, while she did want to read Obi-Wan in this time, as soon as it was practical, she couldn’t do that without Anakin’s approval.

Maybe I’ll tell my sister, too, she thought absently, watching as Kix got Anakin secured on a stretcher and moved on to tend to Obi-Wan. And my handmaidens. Rather than just letting them fill in the banks. Maybe Bail, too?

She would give the idea some serious thought. True, each person they brought in on the secret made it a little less secure, but a wider support system would probably be better in the long run, for both of their peace of mind.

A second squad of troops arrived as Kix was getting Obi-Wan loaded up, to secure the landing platform, and she could no longer delay getting dragged off by the medics herself.

But that was okay--Anakin was being seen to, and so was Obi-Wan. And she knew where to find him later, after his surgery. When he was stable and conscious and able to talk.

And then, she thought, leaning forward to allow the medic easier access to clean her wounds, then, I figure out my next move.

Because, with or without Dooku, there was still a war to win. She had a lot of work to do.

He can never know what I’ve seen. It would break him. And I will not let that happen.

She had bullied her way past the Jedi healers to see him, just like last time, and whispered, “Marry me,” in his ear.

“Marry me. I can’t lose you.” Again, she’d added silently, resisting the urge to tighten her grip on his hand.

He had held her gaze for a second, as if memorizing her face; fixing this moment in his mind forever. His eyes were clear; he was in some pain still, but not enough to cloud his thinking, and he wasn’t too heavily sedated. His answer would be real.

“Yes,” he’d whispered at last, and squeezed her hand. “Yes, I will marry you.”

And now they were here again, on the balcony at Varykino, making true vows under false names; his metal fingers cool against hers, his mouth warm and soft by contrast.

Everything was different now. She couldn’t predict what might happen next. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that it would be better this time.

As if to prove her point, Anakin smiled down at her, shy and sweet and achingly beautiful. She smiled back, weaving her fingers tighter in with his, and made a second, private vow.

I’m going to get it right this time. I’m going to save you. I promise.