#i find it harder to swallow when he's mean to the task force or whatever instead

[13eyond13]

Whenever I point out that L is often a sarcastic jerk and a bully and manipulative etc. it might help to keep in mind he's USUALLY being that way against people he is 1000% convinced are evil mass-murderers with supernatural powers on their side

[tth-pdf]

Burning for love; JJK [03]

Contents: Smut, little bit of dirty talk, supernatural themes, romance, fluff, unedited.

Pairing: Werewolf!alpha!jungkook x omega!reader

Summary: A handsome man is hunting you in the dreams world, making every day more difficult to repress the need to come find him in the middle of the night to submit yourself to his every wish.

Requests: ON

A/N: Hello angels, sorry for the LONG wait, was so busy with school and depressing myself, but here it is, I tried to do my best and please also remember that English is not my first language be kind (😩), sorry for any grammar mistake, enjoy it and take care besties! 💖

Jungkook was insatiable, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of you, he has already fuck you senseless on the kitchen counter, the sofa, the living room floor, the restroom sink, simply everywhere, but he seem to want more and more and more, he wanted so much that you could hardly believe it.

Right now you were waking up, feeling incredibly good, feeling like everything was fine, but those emotions were gone as soon as common sense started to come back to you. Yesterday, Jungkook’s hands everywhere, that incredible first orgasm, but the one who made it happen… His scent, his bright eyes, strong arms making you feel like you can do it all, but above all the interest he had in you, what makes you feel on cloud nine it’s the way he seemed to be mesmerized by your expressions and sounds, knowing right where to touch without a doubt. Almost every space in your skin was painted by the ferocity with which he seems to love you, that marks on your skin being the carnal representation of your wonderful night but insecurities started to rise right at this moment, your mother will be mad, she will yell at you that in the pack were more suitable omegas for alpha Jungkook, the nasty glances and the possibility that some of the females in the pack may try to take what is yours, damn, the mere thought of it makes your eyes turn bright red provoked by the sudden rage coursing through your body. Immediately sensing the unpleasant feelings in you Jungkook comes out of the bathroom, wet hair and drops of water running down his body, making your mouth water, so just like magic your body and inner wolf instruct you to crawl to the end of the bed and touch him, to offer yourself to him, second thoughts completely forgotten by now so you follow your instincts and touch and admire from his hard abdomen to caressing his broad shoulders and just show him that look in your eyes, the one he knows like the back of his hand consequence of all the hours spent admiring and getting to know your body.

“Little girl woke up hungry?”

A hand of his goes to your waist and the other caress your cheek and just like fire can light up the darkest place your senses explode inside of you and once again everything feels a hundred times more, all the textures around you, you can hear the sounds of children and women playing in the distance, even the steps of the smallest animal but his deep chuckle brings you to him again and you feel like melting. Even kneeling at the edge of the bed he is much taller than you, (like a shelter for the most difficult moments in life), warm and golden skin beneath your fingertips and the delicious beating of his heart calming all your nerves and insecurities.

You look right back at him with the same intensity, different shades of golden dancing in your eyes while his are different shades of deep purple, the connection between both of you more palpable than never, trying not to break the eye contact you turn your face to his nearest scent gland, which means is his wrist, basking yourself in his delicious aroma.

“I see what you are at puppy, but I’m afraid that I can only deal with you once before I leave”

His last words hit you hard making you feel like drowning and desperate from one moment to another.

“Are you leaving?, I thought that this days… Were for us”

He can see your teary eyes making him wish he had never said that, breaking his heart a little.

“Don’t be like that baby, I will make sure to end that meeting as soon as I can to come back to your arms but you will have to be a good girl and wait here”

You know he is in a hurry but you can not help but want submit to his wonderful hands and simply seduce him to have him eating out of the palm of your hand, have him only for yourself and memorize all his features.

“You promised it, you said you were going to make me a priority always, you lied to me”

You weren’t usually like this, but when he is around your common sense flies out of the window, so while you're throwing a tantrum and moving uncontrollably under his body he grows impatient and his alpha instincts kick in, putting with undeniably force both your wrists above your head and growls, the signal he’s giving you to submit, the air in the bedroom changing its way.

“Pretty girls know how to wait and to obey their alphas, I already told you I was sorry puppy and remember that I don’t fucking owe apologies to anyone, if I knew this wasn’t important I would have told them to fuck up, you should know your place baby, but good news for you, I’m feeling like even though you have been a little bit of a bad girl you deserve to remember me all over this pretty skin while I’m gone, isn’t that what my puppy wanted, huh?”

He manhandles you until you’re comfortably seated en his strong tights, holding his gaze you can see all the things he wants you to know, all that shit that cannot be said, all the things that are not expressed in a good way by putting them into words, so instead you will use your bond and body.

“Sit on my dick slow baby, make it hurt so you have something to remember, get yourself full of my pups”

And you do as you are told, you slip right where you belong to, starting to bounce yourself slow and hard but even though it feels like heaven you feel like you’re going to die because he doesn’t touch you, he is just watching.

“Touch me please or I’m going to hit you hard”

He laughs but you know he's holding back the urge to order you around.

“I love when my little girl turns all bossy”

You wiggle your hips not exactly knowing where to look but what makes you let out a loud moan of his name is the way he thrusts his incredible hips harder than you had planned, tip of his touching the spongy spot that makes you meet god in person.

“If I’m not gonna have you for a while at least show me that fierce side of you one more time baby, gods above, look at you, bouncing tits and pretty face with an even prettier voice filling my ears of pretty sounds, fuck puppy, turn around and see yourself on the mirror”

You tell him to wait a second because you want to remember him like this, beneath your body and that playful smirk but when you do turn a little your face to see the image that bites back at you is incredible, you even smile don’t exactly recognizing you but looking damn hot on top of your man. You can’t with the feelings so the first thing that comes to your mind is to grab a hold of some of his beautiful locks of hair and tug hard, enough for him to gain some more lustful rage and suddenly slam you in the mirror that both of you were looking a moment ago with such excitement, what brings you back to reality of the pleasure that does nothing but increase is the manly hand grabbing at your jaw, making it open slightly, enough for him to spit on it. And you fucking love it.

“That’s a good mate baby, swallow it all and show me”

All this time he hasn’t stopped that sinful hips of his so at this time it’s starting to hurt and you begin to loose all your grips but you now that he will catch you anyways.

All you are feeling is incredible, you fell full, satisfied. Your throat feels hoarse but it doesn’t matter as you held gazes once again, but it’s the whole moment, your own bubble. Watching his pretty eyes you realize that you have won in live, entirely.

“You don’t have a fucking idea of how bad I want to mount you everywhere until I know you are really pregnant, hell baby I love you so fucking much”

He is right in front of your face, both of your moths open but your not kissing, now he’s the one grabbing your hair into a fist but he can do whatever he wants with you right now and all you will say is thank you.

You’re both touching the finish lines and it’s then that you wonder if this is how it will always be, hot, sweaty and just incredible.

He kiss you right at the final, where both of you have reached the peak, smiling at each other like fools but entirely living the dream.

[...]

You know that Jungkook told you to not leave the room until he was back but you were really hungry and needing some fresh air, so knowing that maybe everyone was serving him in that meeting you dared to head for the nearest kitchen to just grab something and come back. You are happy when no one approach you on the way, focusing on the task to make you a quick drink and cut up some fruit.

You feel happy and complete, at ease with the environment despite missing your alpha a bit, but your clothes and body still smell like him so that’s something for now. That’s the same reason why you don’t hear the pretty and stealthy she-wolf approaching the kitchen, watching you closely.

“It stinks in here, you must have had a very good night young lady”

You jump a little because you are not supposed to see anybody in the sensitive state in which you now find yourself.

“Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to be here”

You murmured your words shyly so low that if it were not for the incredible senses of the lycanthrope body, the girl would have miss it.

She chuckles lightly and by her smell you know that she is a rare breed of a female alpha, but right now every smell its simply too much, almost unpleasant.

“No worries baby, no one else is here but me”

She is a little intimidating to be honest and It’s evident that she knows clearly what to do to get what she wants.

“I should… Probably go”

You try to rush towards the exit in order to feel protected inside the four walls where everything smells like Jungkook but just as you are about to walk through the door the pretty girl grabs you a little hard enough to make you let out a whimper. And it’s that exact moment that lets you know that something is awfully wrong, that you should have never left the room.

“Where are you going?, let me talk to you for a moment, I never had the pleasure of knowing you formally”

You know that she can her your heart beating uncontrollably and smell the fear mixed with nerves.

“Don’t be scared pretty thing just wanted to chat with you”

There’s something strange in her, something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“This shouldn’t be happening, I’m sorry but I really should get back to-”

While interrupting you she is also forcing you to sit on the small benches that are situated in the kitchen only to bring you to a full state of discomfort and nervousness.

“Is Jungkook really into you honey?”

The sudden questions makes you blink twice and hold a breath, this seems like a pointless conversation, she didn’t even try to do some more small talk .

“Pardon…?”

“Oh my, was I too direct?”

You still don’t see the clarity of the conversation because to your eyes she looks like a lunatic, asking questions about of nowhere.

“Honey, it’s just… Have you never heard what is whispered around the pack, about him and the pretty girl of the Kim pack or even worse… The boy with the deadly beauty from the Park family”

You do have heard the rumors, they were too strong when you were younger and more naive.

“I’m afraid that… I can’t help you with anything, I should really go…”

She puts his body in front of yours so that both of her arms are locked on the wall behind you, blocking any way out.

“Damn, just listen to me for a fucking second, I thought that you knew what was best for you”

You sit still because her harsh words came out more like an alpha command and you just couldn’t fight your true nature.

“Good girl”

You would never imagined that such a mundane phrase would disgust you so much.

“I know you don’t like me wolfie but I have been very well aware of the second thoughts that run at full speed in your little head about the bond that you share with that man”

if you had one wish, you would ask to disappear from this awful situation, if only you had listened to your alpha…

“I don’t understand what you want from me, please just let me go, I’m not going to tell Jungkook”

The female alpha just laughs a little, like you have said to her the funniest thing ever.

“He and I are at the same rank honey and of course you will not tell him anything, I have something that might interest you.”

Your posture is defensive but when she says that she backs a little and you take the opportunity to relax only little bit, a new look of curiosity in your angelic and innocent features.

“I don’t want to upset you honey but look at yourself for a second and tell me if you see yourself as the perfect representation of a good mate for someone like him”

She can easily see the insecurity cross your features because if anything has been bothering you since you found out about the bond it is that.

“I have the perfect solution to all of your concerns baby, there’s someone far more suited to take your place. Look at your neck, he hasn’t even marked you, but really, don’t worry and don’t overthink it, he will be in good hands. I know someone who can make the arrangements, all safe and of course you will be having a far more suited alpha”

It’s really stupid, but you actually think about it, as if all the previous moments with him didn't matter. At the end of the day all you're looking for is his well-being and happiness, isn't it?

People are going to talk, that's for sure, but you could assure him better commentaries and a better future, even if it's not by your side, but what will happen with the few moments that both of you have shared?

“In case you were wondering… No, you will not remember, everything will be gone as soon as the bond is broken. Just think about it for a second, remember all your insecurities and the bad feelings while being his mate, that must be annoying, let yourself be happy, both of you”

You are deep in your thoughts so you miss the way her canines grow in size and that dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“I… I’ll do it”

Call yourself a fool, but that tempting offer was enough for you to maybe, just maybe get yourself a better life, but above all a better life and opportunities for him… Or at least that was what your insecure brain thought.

Tag list: @min-nicoleee, @in-a-way-that-i-should-not, @imluckybitches, @teresaisla, @anachikartadze, @jeonwiixard, @seagulljjk

Nexts update: ?

All rights reserved.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[bffsoobin]

Spurred On

↳ Every year you worked your uncle’s fair simply for the extra cash and free food. It was far from glamorous, but you’d long since decided the benefits outweigh the costs. That was until you were forced into tending to the massive, intimidating cows your uncle raised for show. Hopefully, the new ranch hand can ease some of your pain. 

➤ cowboy!yeonjun x reader, fluff, a lil angsty (you shouldn’t be surprised), they have tension but in a good way, suggestive, mutual pining, stereotypical Country Boy shit

Word Count: 8,102

Warnings: none other than some swearing and some making out (a little tiny bit suggestive)

A/N: I had absolutely no plans to write another fic anytime soon but seeing Yeonjun’s teaser possessed me so here I am to deliver a cowboy!Yeonjun fic I never ever knew I needed. And yes the fair mentioned is based off of the one I go to every year in my college town and the one that happens in my own home town every summer too okay don’t judge me shhhh

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Sweat was beading on your forehead, streaming down the sides of your face in an almost constant torrent as you wiped a wet rag over every cleanable surface you could find. Every summer since you turned 16, you had helped your uncle set up and run his annual fair. It was far from perfect, but the job gave you some extra cash to spend and copious amounts of fair food to eat to your heart’s content. This year, you had managed to secure a spot working at the funnel cake stand- which had always been your favorite- and a promise from your uncle that you would get to go on all the fair rides for free.

It was a very busy day, as there was only one more day to go before the grounds opened to the public. All day you had been cleaning and helping people who rented barns to show their livestock find the way in. From where you stood now, you could see the line of barns and the people bustling back and forth from them. Arguably the busiest man you knew, your uncle, was hurrying over to you with a slightly panicked look on his face. 

“Miranda went into labor,” he simply stated. If it were possible, he was even sweatier than you had become, with a thick layer of dirt on his hands and part of his face. 

“Okay...” you began, unsure of where he was going as you turned your attention back to wiping down the funnel cake machine. 

“So that means Steven can’t help me with the cows, an’ they’re here now and I can’t expect the new ranch hand to it all himself.” 

Blankly, you stared at him, still totally unsure why he was bringing this problem to you. 

“So that means I need you fill in for Steven for a few weeks. Working in the barn.” Your uncle prodded, gesturing behind him to the barn bustling with activity as the cows were being ushered into their hay covered stalls. 

“No!” You groaned, dropping the wet rag with a plop. “No, I had to fight with my sister to get the funnel cake spot and now you’re gonna demote me to cows?” This had to be some kind of sick joke. Your uncle sighed, laying a heavy hand onto your shoulder and squeezing. 

“Please, Y/N. Your funnel cake spot will stay open for you until Steven comes back, I promise. But for now, if you want paid, you have to go to the barn.” 

----

By now, you were used to the scent of a barn. Your uncle had been showing cows for as long as you can remember, and as a child you often spent time following his older kids around the barn and caring for cows. 

As you stepped in now, you found yourself cringing at the chaos. Although you had always worked the fair, you never came close to dealing with any of the livestock shows, especially involving your uncle’s own group of hulking animals. The barn was as nice as a barn could get, with layers of hay on the floor and pens lined with silver food and water buckets adorning each one. Handmade signs boasted the name and age of each animal so that visitors could learn about them. Most of the cows were already in their place, so you simply walked between the stalls, glancing at them absentmindedly. 

“Are ya lost?” A smooth, low voice asked. 

“Uh, no,” you began, a little bit annoyed at whatever probably middle aged man assumed you didn’t know what you were doing. Whoever had spoken to you was wearing sleek, all black cowboy boots with a pointed toe. They seemed to have been freshly polished; free of any scuffs or scratches although it was clear by a few wrinkles in the leather that the boots had been well worn. Intrigued by the idea that you didn’t know any of your uncle’s workers to wear all black boots, you quickly flitted your eyes to the man’s face. 

Long, pinkish-blonde hair fell around his shoulders, cascading down his back in slight waves. The black cutter style hat with silver detailing covering the top of his head made it a little tough to put together the full picture, but you assumed from the few loose strands framing his face that he was sporting a mullet. Simple silver hoops hung from both of his earlobes, glistening in the low sunlight inside the barn. His eyes were a captivating amber-brown with a sparkle of gold that you could only catch on certain angles. His eyebrows were a bit darker than the blonde of his hair, cluing you in to the fact that he had most likely bleached the tresses some time before. From his taller vantage point, he looked down on you over the perfect slope of his nose. He was remarkably younger than you’d expected- probably only a year or two older than yourself. You swallowed harshly. 

“Are you lost?” You quipped back, in disbelief at the vision of the man in front of you who had seemingly blended the usual, tired cowboy fashion you were so accompanied with alongside an alternative flair that made your heart hammer wildly in the confines of your chest. 

The man snorted out a laugh, short and low as he leaned himself casually on a wooden support beam. Underneath the fabric of his black button up, his muscles flexed and glided deliciously as he settled his body weight again. 

“No, I wouldn’t say I am. I work here, and although I just started around here,” he passed an unabashed look up and down your body that made you flush, “I wouldn’t forget meetin’ someone like you.” 

At a loss for words, you simply gawked at him as you tried to reform yourself. 

“I-uh, my uncle owns the fair, and the uh-the cows, and I got stuck working in here until Steven can get back. So I’m really just looking for-” 

“Oh, you’re Y/N? Your uncle mentioned he’d be sending someone to replace Steven.” He interrupted, arching an eyebrow lazily when you nodded. There was a slight smirk befalling his lips, the perfectly plump flesh twisting in his clear scrutiny of your words. 

Simply nodding your confirmation seemed to be good enough for him as he pushed his lean body off of the wooden beam and took two measured steps closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked loudly each time, only punctuating his current upper hand. He stuck his hand straight out in front of him, simply waiting for you to meet him halfway. 

When you finally did, you hoped he would disregard your clammy palm that only compounded upon feeling his perfectly calloused skin tight against your much less worn hand. 

“Yeonjun.” He simply said, pressing his fingers into you harder as you finally actually shook hands. The blunt press of his fingernails digging into the back of your hand sent shivers down your spine, mind jumping to what they would feel like raking down the sensitive skin of your back or down the inside of your thighs or between the strands of your hair or-

“You okay there?” Yeonjun questioned, dropping your hand to cross his arms over his toned chest. Caught red handed, you busied yourself with looking at the stray pieces of hay which had littered the barn’s floor before you answered with a meek yes. 

‘Well,” you finally looked back up to see that his eyes were still trained intently on your face. There was absolutely no way he hadn’t seen your blush by now. 

“I’m your uncle’s new ranch hand, so it’s gonna be me and you in here till Steven comes back.” 

At his words, you suddenly realized just how calm the once bustling barn had become, and you were sure that everyone who had helped bring in the cows had moved on to other tasks. It seemed that you and Yeonjun were the only two people left in the barn. He was still standing dangerously close to you, bodies just about a foot apart until you took a tentative step backwards. Your heart was beating double the normal rate, distracted by the absolutely perfectly crafted man you somehow ended up in the sole presence of. He simply watched you back away, never dropping the sly smirk as he watched you panic. Damn Yeonjun and his perfect looks and perfect charm.

Maybe you should go to your uncle and tell him that there was no way you could work alongside Yeonjun. You could easily make up some kind of story that the two of you didn’t get along, and that he would need to find someone else to help out until Steven could be back and-

“Look out!” Yeonjun suddenly called, eyes widening in the split second you could still see them. In all your thinking, you had continued to slowly back away from him, so lost in your own mind that you didn’t realize you were seconds away from tripping over a stray bucket and hitting your head. Which is exactly what you did.

The floor of the barn, although partially cushioned by hay, was harsh against the back of your body. Your head bounced with a sickening echo, coupled with the skidding of the metal bucket in the opposite direction, it’s contents of some feed spread out messily through the hay, some kibbles sliding into the pens of eager cows who bent to gobble up their extra snack.

Yeonjun appeared over you as soon as you could open your eyes again, pain shooting through your head and top of your spine- where your body had bounced the most.

“Are you alright?” Yeonjun pulled you up gently, laying a large, warm hand on your back to keep you steady. His eyes were still wide, roaming your face in quick succession to see if you had any physical evidence of pain.

“Just- uh- gonna have a headache, probably.” You supplied, head still spinning. Yeonjun frowned, continuing to roam his hands over the back of you body. Although you knew he was simply looking for injuries, a shiver ran down your spine at his delicate yet assured touch.

“‘Don look like you’re hurt too bad, but I’m sure you’ll bruise,” his voice had become more gruff since he began his examination. “C’mon,” was the only warning he afforded you before hooking one arm under your armpits, easily pulling your weight off of the floor where you laid. The other arm came to hook under your knees until you were laid bridal style in his arms. Instinctively, both of your arms flew around his neck, almost sending his hat flying with your haste. Up this close, you could smell the intoxicating mix of the whatever musky-vanilla cologne he had sprayed on, undercut by the faint smell of the outdoors that was much earthier and full. You barely took notice of where he was hauling you off to, more than content to stare up at the smooth, sharp plains of his face.

Shortly, the two of you arrived at what seemed to have been his goal all along- his impressively well kept Chevy pickup. It was sleek black, shining in the high noon sun as if it had just been polished. The tires were sporting a bit of mud- but it was much cleaner than the pickup of any other man around your town. Carefully, Yeonjun led you out of his arms and on to the ground, but not before holding both of his hands on your hips until you steadied yourself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you commented as he swung open the drivers side door, giving you a good thirty seconds to marvel at the way his jeans stretched deliciously over the curve of his ass and fullness of his thighs. He was searching for something, rummaging through the center consol of his vehicle in intense concentration as you waited.

“Here,” he finally left the car, spinning back around to you smoothly and extending a small bottle of Advil in one hand and a water bottle, warm from the sun, in the other. “Take some of these.” You nodded, downing the two small pills with a little swig of the too-warm water. It was an uncomfortable feeling but you tired your best to mask it knowing that the cowboy was still keeping a close eye on you.

“I meant it, earlier. That you didn’t have to do that. Or this.” You waved vaguely to your throat to indicate the pills you’d just taken from him.

“Is’okay. Used to helpin’. Now are you gonna come back to the barn with me or should I expect to tough out the rest of the day alone?” Happily, you noted that the teasing inclination of his voice had returned. You assessed the pain in your head, carefully weighing his question before you decided that yes, you would come back to the barn with him.

——

The next morning you arrived at the fairgrounds, still fatigued from all the work you’d done the day before. Your feet ached deeply, seeping into the muscles of your calves even as you stretched your legs in every way you could think of. The temperature of the day had already risen to an unforgivable heat which blanketed your every move and had your thin T-shirt sticking to your skin with perspiration. Every step you took reminded you that the air was still and hot and unforgiving. Not to mention the still occasionally throbbing pain in the back of your head from yesterday’s misfortune. As you neared the barn, catching a whiff of the distinct scent of cows exasperated by the heat, you wondered if you’d finally gone insane.

And then you spotted Yeonjun, intently speaking to one of the largest cows your uncle owned as he brushed her, ensuring that her coat was nice and shiny for the visitors that would begin funneling in once the evening fell. He was dressed almost the same as yesterday, except he had swapped the traditional black button up for a simple white T-shirt, most likely due to the sweltering temperature. It was tucked perfectly into the waist of his belted jeans, slightly stained with dirt as evidence of his work so far. Every movement he made to brush at the cow defined the lines of his biceps, drawing your attention steadily toward his veined hands which you noticed had rings adorning them today. The silver metal matched the gleam of his earrings, shimmering in the streams of light that the sun provided.

Quietly you stood at the entrance of the barn, marveling at his physique and the way his voice filtered through the air until it collided with your ears. You held back a laugh as he began cooing at the cow, complimenting her for being so good as the animal chewed at some hay nonchalantly. His hair seemed less messy today, like he’d taken the time to style it despite the nature of his work. You would have been more than happy to stand at the entrance of the barn and silently watch him work, but life can be cruel.

“You see, pretty lady...” you heard Yeonjun continue talking to the cow as he put down the brush. “I would love to spend all day with you, but unfortunately I gotta lot to do around here. And Y/N...well she’s spent the last 5 minutes staring at me instead of stepping up to brush any of your friends.” Shock and embarrassment washed your nerves, and you were sputtering in an instant.

“I wasn’t just staring- I was, I was waiting until you were done so that I could ask-“

“Didn’t say I minded.” Yeonjun supplied calmly, finally fixing his deadly auburn gaze onto you. Fuck, how did he always look so good? Unabashedly, he swiped his eyes over your body, and although you would normally feel scandalized, you wanted nothing more than for him to look at you. For a moment, the two of you stared at one another from across the barn, appraising each other as your mind ran wild. A feeling akin to electricity sparked under your skin, as if you’d be connected to a live wire as soon as he took a calculated step closer to you. The heels of his boots clicked against the wooden floor with every step, punctuating just how slowly he was making his advance. You felt a bit like prey being stalked as your larger, more skilled hunter circled in on you, but you were far from complaining.

About a foot away from your now trembling body, Yeonjun stopped. Your heart was hammering so hard against your ribs that you assumed it was trying to escape the confines of your chest and jump to the floor.

“Here, you’ll be needin’ this,” he drawled, lifting the brush which he’d been using on the other cow up toward you. Carefully, you grasped the tool, pretending your digits didn’t shake when he purposely brushed the delicate pads of his fingers against yours. When he finally dropped his hand away, you cradled the brush close to your sweaty form and gripped onto it for dear life. Without another word, you hurried away from him to tend to the nearest cow. You needed a breather, to be honest. Too much Yeonjun could put you at risk for a heart attack if you weren’t careful.

For a while, it seemed as if he had vanished completely. It was easily to get lost in the simple work of brushing the cows, especially along with the low warbling tones of whatever country station the radio inside the barn had been set to. You were never one for country music, even considering your upbringing, but between the work you were doing, the oppressive heat and the yearning crush weighing on you, it just seemed right to listen to the twang of Jason Aldean.

When he came back, he seemed to materialize out of thin air. You had just finished up brushing the last cow and had moved on to rewriting some of their name tags when he shortly announced that he was back.

“Oh, hey,” you spoke meekly in the hopes to mask your excitement at his return. Cheekily, he grinned, showing off pearly white teeth and perfectly pointed canines.

“Missed me that much, huh?” He chided, brushing past you easily as he took in your improved handwriting on the tags. “Damn. Didn’t even know her name was Daisy. Your uncles’ writing had me calling her Paisly this whole time.”

A low hum of a laugh lifted into your throat as you nodded, focusing on the delicate loop of a J in the next cow’s name. There was silence for a bit, the only sound being the scratch of the chalk you were using to write.

“How’s your head?” Yeonjun asked, hazarding another comment that made your surmize he was trying his best to start a casual conversation. A smirk played onto your lips. In all your 20 years of living, you’d never had the pleasure of having the cat and mouse game being reciprocated.

“It’s okay, just hurts a little bit. I do have a pretty nasty bruise too.” You weren’t lying. The fall had created a large, purple-brown bruise on your lower back that extended slightly to your left ass check, where you must have taken most of the impact of the fall. Yeonjun fell silent, and you were a bit disappointed that he couldn’t come up with a counter as you focused on writing the next cow’s name. The aforementioned bruise had given you a little bit of a limp, and maybe you exaggerated it now in the two steps it took to reach the next pen.

“Need someone to take a look at it?” His voice was suddenly right behind you, tickling the hairs on the back of your neck until they stood up straight. How he had snuck up behind you without the tell tale sounds of his boots was beyond you. Even though you were already sweating, you welcomed the radiating feel of his body heat coming off of his chest in waves. Trying your best to keep your letters from becoming shaky, you hummed in thought.

“Looks and feels pretty much like a nasty bruise to me, Yeonjun. Dunno if I need a second opinion when the damn thing makes it hard for me to even walk. But if you’re so inclined,” you turned your head to make eye contact with him, subsequently catching him in the act of staring down at your ass. He didn’t even bother to stutter out an apology or excuse- just simply looked back up at you with his steady gaze. You remarked that his lips looked plumper than normal, almost raw, like he had been biting at them during some point in the day. He didn’t bother to take a step back; simply maintaining his close distance and waiting for you to make the next move. He had placed the fate of this interaction in your hands, and now you were free to play with him a bit. Slowly, you lifted the hem of the back of your shirt just enough that you knew he could see the blooming bruise in most of its glory. He took a small step back now, to appraise the full scale of the bruise that spanned from left to right across your body.

“Why the hell did you come back today sportin’ an injury like that?” His voice was gruff, punctuated with the same concern that you had heard yesterday when you fell. The pads of his fingers skidded carefully across the afflicted skin, touch so light that you almost missed it. Suddenly insecure and a bit overwhelmed by his touch, you dropped the hem of your shirt and turned just enough that his hands fell away from your back. 

“I didn’t want to leave you here all alone, and who knows how long it’ll take to heal? I promised my uncle I’d be here. Plus I kind of really need the paycheck, so...here I am.”

Eyebrows knitted, Yeonjun opened his mouth to make his next comment when the loud, familiar voice of your uncle busted through the relative silence of the barn. Yeonjun shuffled away from you quickly as if he had already been scolded. It hurt a bit, but you understood his hesitation in being caught in a possibly compromising situation with his employers niece. 

Yeonjun called back to him, walking briskly toward the entrance of the barn and leaving you behind to strain your ears in an attempt to catch any important bits of information. You could have sworn you heard your name being passed between the two men, but there was no way you could be sure from so far away. A welcome breeze passed through the barn, bringing your attention back to the actual job at hand although you could still feel the ghost of Yeonjun’s touch. 

----

About a week later, the temperature had plateaued to a pleasant level and brought along a fresh wave of visitors to the fairgrounds. All morning, the barn had been bustling with wide eyed children and experienced farmers who came to size up the competition. You were busy refreshing the hay inside of one of the pens when you heard Yeonjun’s smooth voice for the first time in a few hours. The barn had been so noisy and loud as soon as the grounds opened for the public that you hadn’t seen him since you arrived in the morning. Across the barn, he was entertaining a group of girls, all listening intently to whatever information he was spouting. They all had perfectly styled hair and legs to die for- stretching perfectly out of their cut-offs and practically begging for attention. The one closest to him was staring at his arms with no regard for how obvious she was being, and you were sure that every other girl in the half circle was ogling him in some fashion. You shouldn’t have been surprised, you guessed, since he made you feel just as brain dead, but you still boiled inside at the sight of two of the girls murmuring amongst each other. It was tough to tell exactly what he had said, but the raucous round of laughter that shot into the air clued you in to the fact that he had probably just served them one of his sub-par farming jokes. 

He flashed them the same smile that had made your heart stutter countless times, and a sick feeling of anger pushed through your veins. With an unnecessarily hard push, you exited the pen you had just refreshed and moved on to the next. There was no doubt that Yeonjun took note of the unnecessarily loud clink of the metal gate, and you really fucking hope he got the message. Anger still bubbling just under your skin, you ignored the cow who sweetly bowed it’s head in search of affection. 

“Hello?” Someone asked as soon as you turned your back. Taking what you hoped would be a soothing breath, you spun on your heel to address the visitor. He was probably in his mid to late twenties, with cute curly hair and the usual t-shirt and jeans combo you were used to seeing men around your town wear. The way he looked was just about exactly what you would expect from a man visiting your uncles fairgrounds, as they all dressed about the same. He wasn’t your type, but over his shoulder you could see that Yeonjun had refocused his attention on you after you apparent fit with the door. A sickly sweet smile pulled your cheeks until they hurt, but you laid it on thick as you walked over to the door of the pen. 

“What can I do for ya?” Making sure to lay your voice on the extra sweet side, you took careful note of the way the man roamed his eyes over your face, stopping to flick between your lips and the low-riding cut of the shirt you’d worn today. 

“I was just uh, looking around. Got some pretty nice cows here, they yours?” You forced a laugh, throwing your hair over your shoulder before shaking your head. 

“Oh no, I just help out around here, ya know, cleaning and brushing the cows. They belong to my uncle. Like anything you see?” Deliberately, you tossed the bait and looked over his shoulder to find Yeonjun in the exact same spot as before, bottom lip locked between his teeth as he watched the interaction. Good. He deserves to have to watch this after you had to see him make those girls trip over their own feet just by existing. 

The man chuckled, clearly picking up on the inclination of your question as he hummed in thought. “I think I have my eye on someone,” he responded, resting his arm casually on the metal gate just a few inches from where you had draped your own. Instinctively, you looked at his arm- much less defined than Yeonjun’s- and noticed just about the biggest red flag you could ever see on a man you’re flirting with. A wedding band. 

“Ah, better be your wife you’ve got an eye on,” you quipped, mostly upset that your revenge on Yeonjun had been partially spoiled. There was no way you could stay here and flirt with a married man just to make Yeonjun jealous.  Defeated, you made to pull your arm off of the gate and go back to working on the hay when the man grabbed at the supple skin of your forearm to stop you. 

“She won’t mind, sweetheart,” he drawled, the cool press of his ring a persistent reminder of how much of a scumbag he was being. 

“No, somehow I really think she would mind.” You yanked your arm again, managing to gain just a few inches back from his hold. He huffed, pinching his blunt nails into your skin enough to scratch thin red lines. 

“I’d let go if I were you. Move on along, huh?” Yeonjun’s familiar tone met your ears, and you belatedly noticed that he had come right up behind the guy. You had never seen him look quite so intimidating as he did in the moment, with his eyebrows pulled together grimly. His mouth was set in a harsh line, unforgiving as he gripped at the man’s shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his tshirt. Finally, the man dropped his grip from you, shot Yeonjun a nasty look that you were sure he thought was manly, and strode off to presumably find his poor wife. 

Feeling small under Yeonjun’s gaze, you simply looked down at the faint red tracks now decorating your arm. 

“He could have really hurt you.” He muttered, keeping his voice low as to keep other visitors from overhearing. 

“He didn’t.” You spat, annoyed that he had to save you from yet another mishap. 

“Guys like that...they don’t have any respect for people like you. People who have a backbone.” His eyes were large, imploring you with the intensity of his stare. You avoided his gaze for a few more seconds, knowing that your resolve and previous anger would disappear. You shuffled some hay under your sneakers and a piece of you hoped Yeonjun would simply walk away, but you could still see the toes of his boots poking underneath the metal gate. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze and feeling the tension melt from your bones. His features had softened considerably, and you almost forgot the pain that had split your heart upon seeing him flirting with other girls. You knew he wasn’t yours, but you wished more and more every day that he was. 

----

“I won’t be needin’ you in the barn tonight, by the way,” your uncle bellowed from across the barn. In the whole time you’d been working alongside Yeonjun in here, you had never once seen your uncle actually come into the barn. You knew he was busy with dozens of other things, but for as much as he loved his cows you were shocked at his lack of attendance. Today he stood right in the middle of it, patting the head of one of the cows with a contented look on his face as visitors swirled around. Yeonjun, who was in the middle of refilling a trough of water, popped his head up in shock at the words. 

“Really?” You enthused, dropping the rake you had in your hands to rush over to your uncle and see if he was joking. 

“Really. Got an old friend comin’ in who I wanna show off the cows to, so I won’t need the two of you caring for ‘em. He’ll be here in about,” he paused to glance down at the watch he’d worn for as long as you could remember, “about twenty minutes, if the two of you want to take off now.” 

Not having to be told twice, you waved your uncle goodbye, shot a quick smile at Yeonjun, and made a b-line to your car. Just as you pulled on the handle of the driver’s side door, Yeonjun was calling your name. 

“Hey!” He called, a little breathless from the jog he’d taken to catch up with you. “What are you uh, gonna do with the night off?” 

“Why, you wanna hang out?” You offered, half-teasing but very much offering your time to him. 

“No- I wasn’t, that’s not what I was...”

“I’ll be here,” you responded coolly. “Might come with some friends, might just come to stuff my face full of fair food. All the things I normally do when I work somewhere that isn’t the barn. I’m finally gonna get myself a damn funnel cake. But first, I’m going home to shower.” You opened your driver’s side door all the way and hopped in before he could respond. “See ya there?” You asked, hoping to probe him toward offering to meet you there. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets, swaying on the balls of his feet. His face twisted as you assumed he was contemplating his options. 

“Maybe,” he finally conceded, nodding softly as he watched you through the rolled down window of your car. “Maybe I’ll see ya there, Y/N.”

----

The sun had just begun to set when you got back to the familiar fair grounds, painting the sky in a orange-pink mix that delighted you beyond words. You had ended up coming to the fair alone; partly because all of your friends had already gone on other nights you were working and partly because you were hoping to run into Yeonjun. The parking lot was full to the brim, and you found yourself looping around to the slightly hidden employee parking lot instead of being sanctioned to the overflow lot down further down the dirt road. As you pulled into the closest spot, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sleek black Chevy pickup in your rearview mirror. Excitement made you dizzy, hands shaking as you flipped down your overhead mirror to straighten yourself up. If you were going to see Yeonjun tonight, you were going to make it count. 

Throngs of visitors swirled around you, chatting and laughing over the piped in country music that you’d been hearing almost nonstop all summer long. With the sun setting, everything was casted in an idyllic golden glow that made you feel like you were in a coming-of-age film and not just your uncle’s fair that you had come to every year since your birth. A group of visibly drunk friends barreled past you, slurring and hiccupping as they narrowly avoided spilling their beers all over themselves. Grease and sweat mixed to create an atmospheric scent that was so inherently fair that you almost wished they sold candles that smelled the same way. Without even thinking about it, your feet carried you toward the funnel cake stand which was supposed to be your fate for the summer. To be honest, you were still quite upset that you hadn’t got to spend your days munching on pieces of fried batter and chatting with the family friends your uncle hired every year. 

Finding yourself at the back of a winding line, you resigned to the one thing that sucked about coming alone. There was no one around you to make conversation with as you waited for food. You had come to the fair many times with your friends from school and various dates, but you couldn’t think of a single time you visited the fair all by yourself. Idly, you scrolled through your phone and inched up appropriately with the line. 

“Y/N! Hey!” Yeonjun yelled, approaching you quickly. A wide smile split your face, giving away your excitement at spotting him. 

“Oh hey! I’m finally getting a funnel cake!” He was wearing his usual outfit, closer to the look you had seen him in the very first time you met. Outside of the barn he seemed much more casual, and even casted in an odd mix of setting sunrays and the harsh neon from the rides behind him, he looked ethereal. His eyes sparkled with that unmistakable mirth that he always seemed to harbor around you. 

“I saw that. Looked pretty lonely over here with your nose in your phone, figured I’d come see if you could use some company.” He was throwing you the line, waiting to see if you’d latch on. And who would you be if you didn’t?

“Hmm, I think that would be nice. Although I really can’t promise I’ll share the funnel cake.” You stepped forward with the line again, and he came with you easily, falling right beside you so closely that you could feel the heat radiating from his side. 

Once you finally had the hot treat balancing on a thin paper plate, you rushed Yeonjun to the nearest empty bench and dug in. The dough was still scalding, having just been pulled from the fryer, but the amazing taste was good enough for you to ignore the burn. Yeonjun sputtered a laugh as you shoveled in the dough, wiping powdered sugar onto your legs with reckless abandon. Teasingly, he snuck a hand up to the plate and pulled off a piece of funnel cake; pulling a teasing whine from your throat as you shook your head no rapidly. 

“Too late,” he mumbled, “already in ma mouf.” Swallowing your own piece, you widened your eyes and punched at his thigh, firm and muscular. 

“Rude! You should have gotten your own!” He smiled cutely down at you, nose crinkling as he finally swallowed. Some powdered sugar had slid onto his button up, but you decided not to tell him in favor of keeping his attention focused on you the way it was now. You felt hot but extremely comfortable under his gaze, feeling a stutter in your chest that increased the adrenaline in your veins. He was so close, and so endearing, and the way he was focused on your face was so fucking cute. 

“You’ve got,” he motioned to his own face, brushing his finger against his chin. You tried to mirror his action, swiping at the same spot, but the frown on his face told you that you had missed. 

“Lemme, can I?” You nodded before the words even came out, eager to feel his calloused hands on the sensitive skin of your face. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he cupped your jaw and inched his thumb, much slower than what would be considered normal, toward your chin. With one gentle swipe, the stray powdered sugar was gone, yet his hands remained. God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. The lighting had casted a gorgeous shade along his cheekbones, highlighting the beautiful length of his eye lashes and the rounded tip of his nose. 

Up this close, you examined the curve of his lips; the soft definition of his cupid’s bow and the perfect pink of his mouth.

“Yeonjun-” he surged forward, stalling the words in your throat as he finally pushed his lips against yours. His fingers gently curled around your neck, gripping at strands of hair like he was afraid you were going to run away. It was quite the opposite, actually, as you happily hummed and leaned into the kiss you’d been waiting for. He tasted like funnel cakes and a faint hint of mint gum, just intoxicating enough to have you clawing your hands into the collar of his shirt. The funnel cake plate began to slide off of your lap, but you could not  have cared less as you swiped your tongue over the seam of his lips, greedily pushing to get more out of him. 

He hesitates, still eager to kiss you back, but not enough to let you have full reign. Pouting a little, you decided to make the best of your time by nibbling at his bottom lip playfully. Yeonjun pulled away just enough to separate the two of you gently, chests heaving as you both readjusted to a life not attached at the lips. 

“Sorry,” he grunted, voice much rougher around the edges than you’d ever heard it. The sound sent a chill down your spine. “Sorry that I didn’t, uh, wanna-” his cheeks flushed startlingly fast and he sighed. “I just don’t want to mess this up, whatever this is. I just...I like you too much, ya know?” The shyness in his voice was endearing, and it wasn’t hard at all to let your own desires fall to the wayside. He likes you.

“That’s okay, Yeonjun. You know I really like you too, right?” 

“Hmm,” he pondered, leaning back into his usual persona at your acceptance. “Did I know that? Maybe all those times I caught you staring, or how fuckin’ clumsy you get if I even so much as compliment you...yeah. I think I know.” A permanent smile was stuck on your face, unbreakable in the presence of Yeonjun and his intoxicating aura. 

----

The next morning, you’d walked into work on clouds. You and Yeonjun had spent the whole night together; strolling hand in hand, eating your way through the grounds and dragging one another on the carnival rides. 

He wasn’t around when you entered the barn, but the evidence that he was somewhere around was enough to kick you into gear. You were shoveling food into a trough, making one-sided conversation with the cows in front of you when you heard him stroll in. 

“Hey!” You called over your shoulder, too focused on getting the food actually inside the container to turn around. Yeonjun didn’t answer, but you just finished the task at hand and figured you’d try again in a few moments. Once you were done with the food, you spotted him walking back from the storehouse with a fresh bale of hay in his arms. 

He plopped it down on the floor of the barn and you tried again. 

“Good morning,” you smiled, approaching him with a grin. He looked up at your breifly and simply nodded, turning on his heels to go back to the storage. Your heart plummeted to your feet just like it had on the rollercoaster he had forced you on to just about 12 hours ago. 

What the hell had happened in between the time you parted and the time you both came into work? If you hadn’t known him better, you would have chalked it up to a bad morning, or maybe he was still too tired. 

But in all the time you had worked together, he had never once ignored you. He always greeted you in the morning, began a conversation about nothing or at least asked you how you slept. No matter how shit he was feeling, Yeonjun had always made it clear to you that you were worth his time. Did you ruin it all with the kiss? Even though he had seemed so ecstatic last night, maybe he woke up this morning with regrets stacked up. Maybe he was afraid of what your uncle would think. In your idle thinking, you hadn’t noticed the accumulation of hay bales that he had brought in. A stack of four now stood before you, and he was just feet away with the fifth. He was huffing, face reddened with the sheer weight of the bales. 

“Yeonjun, do you need help?” You tried again, hoping that maybe lodging a question would garner a real response, but you got nothing. He simply dropped another bale and made to leave the barn again. 

“Yeonjun!” You bellowed, hopping around the bales to catch up to him. You jumped in his path, holding one hand to each shoulder. Despite his strength advantage, he stopped in his tracks and gazed down at you. You noticed that he looked tired, slight bags residing under his eyes, and you wondered if we had gotten any sleep at all. “What’s up with you?” 

He sighed, pushing his fingers into his temples. 

“I don’t have time for this, Y/N.” He tried to pass around you again, but you planted your feet and pushed at his chest with all of your might. 

“We are going to talk about this. The cows are fed, and the new hay can wait. Why the fuck are you avoiding me? After last night? If you don’t actually like me, or you regret it, just tell me the truth. Be a big boy, Yeonjun. Don’t leave me out here high and dry.” The steeliness in his eyes softened at your words and a frown marred his flawless face. 

“No, god no. I do like you, Y/N. And yesterday was great and I don’t regret any of it but I just...I just don’t trust myself. The last person I dated,” he rubbed his hand into the back of his neck, “I messed it up. Bad. And the last thing I want is to do that to you, too. I’m trying to keep you away from all of this mess. So I’m sorry, but you have to just...forget last night.” 

You were stunned to silence, disbelief bubbling in your chest. How bad of a fuck up could his last relationship have been? The Yeonjun you knew was nothing but caring, goofy, smart and charming. Everything you could have ever dreamed up in a man. 

“Look, I don’t know what happened last time, but I know that you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re...Yeonjun, you’re as close to perfect as anyone could get. And even if you are a mess,” you made sure that his tired eyes never left yours, “well, so am I. I fell flat on my ass the first time we met, I step in cow shit on the daily, and somehow you still find it in yourself to like me back. So whatever you’re worried about, forget about it. Okay?” 

A small, slow smile cracked onto his face, exposing the white, pearly teeth that you were so envious of. “I never told you this,” he began, the cheerful inclination of his voice made your heart soar, “but I had to try so hard not to laugh when you fell. Like- the look on your face!” His voice tapered off into a full-bellied laugh; music to your ears. 

“Okay, okay! I was trying to cheer you up, and now you’re just bullying me!” You yelled, pushing at his chest gently in a bid to get him to stop. 

“Hmm, well you did help make me feel better, but ya know what would really cheer me up?” His laughter had ceased, but the apples of his cheeks were still risen and rosy from the effort. His hands encircled your waist delicately, pulling you into his chest. “If you could just...kiss it better?” He pouted exaggeratedly, leaning down to level your heights. And how could you resist? 

You met him halfway with the same vigor as yesterday, still shocked by the easy way your mouths fit together. With every intention of respecting the boundary he set yesterday, you were more than happy to lean into the sweet roll of his lips until you were in need of a breather. The hands on your waist tightened, pulling your bodies impossibly closer and Yeonjun mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, although you didn’t have time to ponder it as he took the imitative to deepen the kiss. 

Finally kissing him the way you’d desired made you feel like you were on fire, every inch of your skin sensitive. Yeonjun was persistent, guiding you backwards slowly. You couldn’t see where you were going, but right now you would have trusted him with your entire life as he intoxicated you with his touch. Suddenly, your back was pressed against what you figured was the wood paneling just inside the barn’s entrance. Yeonjun finally backed away from you as your chest heaved, mind fuzzy from the rush of serotonin. Without a word he descended on you again, kissing sloppily down your jaw and neck, leaving at least two purpling bruises in his wake. Frantically, you knocked his hat backwards off of his head, weaving your fingers into his fading pink hair as he worked at the junction of your neck and collarbone. Losing yourself in his touch was easy, sliding your eyes shut as the flat of his tongue soothed the skin he had just finished raising into a blooming bruise. 

Yeonjun was just as consumed, mumbling compliments against your neck as his hands wandered to the hem of your shirt, sliding his large, warm hands under the soft cotton; roaming higher and higher-

“MOOOOO-” the cow closest to you bellowed, sliding her foot across the floor in a loud shuffle that alarmed you both. Yeonjun’s hands dropped away immediately, eyes comically wide as the cow stared at the both of you. 

“She defintely just told us to knock it off and change the hay.” You joked, trying to pretend like the loud animal hadn’t scared the living shit out of you. Yeonjun was flustered, fumbling to readjust his trusty hat as he cleared his throat and threw you a shy look. His eyes flitted to your neck, no doubt admiring his handiwork, before straightening his shirt. 

“I’m going to go...um, start on that hay now.”

[athenadione]

Prompt #88 with Jayrae, with Raven as the person who got hurt. Pretty please?

Muahaha *cracks knuckles* don’t mind if I do. Thanks for the prompt anon! It fed my angsty soul. (Also, sorry all for the hiatus in updates. Life is... hard).

‘Toxic Vengeance’

Pairing: JayRae Words: 2,296 Rated: M - Warnings for cuss words, graphic scenes of violence, and major angst. 

When the knife slashes her thigh, it instantly feels like it’s on fire. 

With a hiss, she draws back. 

It’s as if someone pressed a red-hot branding iron to her leg, then twisted it deeper into the marred flesh for good measure—but instead of dulling, the burning sensation is growing at an alarming rate, spiraling up her entire leg. 

Another hooded figure dashes from her right, and with a wave of power she forces them back with a glittery black claw. They hit the nearest brick building with a thud. Another jumps from above to replace them, and she throws up a shield with her other hand, halting the strike of their sword in mid-air. More are filling the alley, coming from the shadows. The burning in her leg is now more of an afterthought as her adrenaline spikes.

I need to end this now. “Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.” 

Her power flares, and strikes through the figure, sending it back, along with the others in one large surge. There’s a series of grunts, followed by the clattering of weapons, before all she can hear is her own harsh breathing and blood from her heartbeat rushing in her ears. 

Amethyst orbs search the alley with skepticism, expecting another cohort to flood the street. Another minute of scouring, then she releases a breath when she’s certain it’s over. 

The attack had happened the second she turned the corner to investigate the stain of dark magic covering the adjacent building. She had been following whispered rumors of a rising national occult for weeks, eventually leading her to Crime Alley of all places.  

A groan escapes one of the men. Her attention shifts to see him lying slumped against the wall, hood fallen. His face is covered in old ancient markings, confirming both the reasons for her suspicion and dread. 

The marks of Scath. It appears her father’s followers are growing in power. Now, she needs to find out why—and who is behind it. They know who I am and purposefully drew me out here. This is more than I anticipated.

Is their leader someone I know? Maybe Blood? 

As the adrenaline begins to flow out of her body, she becomes keenly aware of the burning pain that’s replacing it. When the burning in her thigh flows down to her toes and up the side of her body, she realizes that her heart rate hasn’t slowed and neither has her breathing. 

Glancing down at her leg, she curses at the blood flowing freely from the wound. It’s deep, and is now starting to bubble. A bright red streak grows across her leg—a clear sign of inflammation. 

Poison. It’s not one that she recognizes—nor is it one that her demon-half can expel. 

Not good. 

Once the severity of her situation sets in, so does her panic, and she stumbles when another flare of pain sends her head spinning. She staggers over to the brick wall, laying one arm against her forehead. It’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. 

It’s too late to call Nightwing or Batman; They wouldn’t be able to make it in time, and she doesn’t know if she has the capacity to transport herself to the cave. 

There’s only a handful of other people she trusts that knows more than just the basics of toxicology. 

Black specks dance along her vision and she tries to blink them back, shaking her head with considerable effort. 

There’s only one other option.

With the last of her failing strength, her eyes blind an iridescent white, and inky black tendrils snake around her, enveloping her into its depths. 

A moment later they release her and she stumbles across the threshold into a musty apartment. It doesn’t help that it’s completely dark, and the pound of her heart now seems louder than before.

Somewhere within the confines someone curses loud.

Her thoughts are becoming more clouded, and it’s getting harder to breathe. There’s a growing fervency to keep walking, and she does, intent to find him. 

A heat sizzles over her skin, heightening at her thigh. 

She whimpers, and her knees buckle—legs no longer able to support her weight. She’s so out of it she doesn’t even brace for the ground. 

He catches her before she hits.

“Jesus Christ, Raven. What happened to you?” His breath tickles her ear, and she shivers—though from his voice or her wound she’s not sure.

“Ambush. Poison.” She gasps through another wave of burning pain that shoots all the way up to her chest. 

Another curse and she’s being lowered against his door as fingers begin to ghost over her body. 

“Where? What kind?” He finds the wound and bright emerald eyes flare as they meet her. They swirl and morph into one before her eyes, and she blinks, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea. 

“Alley…knife…I don’t know. I’ve never… ” she trails off, barely getting the words out as her shortness of breath increases.

“Fuck. Fuck,” an arm presses her shoulder back when she begins to slump over. “You cannot pass out on me princess. I need you to stay awake.” 

“Sorry,” she says, slurring her words. She’s growing exceedingly dizzy and her vision is blurring faster. She can’t get enough air to breathe. 

Something jars her. “Raven, stay with me.” 

Her heart feels like it’s going to tear and claw its way out of her chest, and for a moment she thinks it is. 

It beats faster, and faster, and faster.

“Rae, open your eyes. Look at me.” 

But then it stops. 

“Raven.” 

And all she knows is darkness. 

.

“Stand by. Preparing to shock.” 

There’s a loud, involuntary gasp, and a charging whine. 

“Shit. I swear to God you better not fucking die on me Rae.” 

.

“Evaluating heart rhythm… no shock advised. Continue CPR.”

The sound of pumping compressions fills the air. Green eyes glow as they glare at her prone figure.

“Breathe Goddammit!”

When he bites his lip, it’s hard enough to draw blood, but at least he managed to blink back the sudden, unbidden tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes.

He tries not to shake his hands when he hears her sternum crack underneath the heel of his palm. 

. 

“What are you doing on this com-line Hood?” The growl in his ear is laced with caution, and he can’t blame him. At least he answered. 

He gets to the point fast. “It’s Raven, she was poisoned. I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s systemic,” he pauses as the voice in his ear curses. “She’s coding Nightwing, get someone to my apartment now.” 

There’s another tense pause as Dick listens to Jason’s sharp exhales coinciding with his compressions. 

“Where?” 

“The one closest to the Alley, on 3rd.”

“Z will come teleport us. AED?” 

Jason stops and sits back on his haunches as the defilibrator analyzes again. The machine’s response only heightens his fear. 

“No shock. Continuing CPR, it’s been a few minutes,” he swallows thick as he checks her carotid pulse again. Nothing. “I’m losing her godammit, hurry the fuck up.” 

“On our way.”

He immediately cuts the transmission to focus on his task.

One, two, three, four, five...

.

He doesn’t know how much longer he’s been counting to thirty, just that he’s done it over and over. 

A cacophony of motion behind him almost interrupts his concentration. Someone places a gloved hand on his shoulder with urgency. 

“She needs to be transported to the Watchtower as soon as possible.” 

Lips press together firmly, then he nods. Allowing Zatanna to intervene, she envelopes the empath in her magic. They leave the AED pads attached. 

In seconds, they’re gone. Then the others turn to follow. 

“I’m going with her.” 

Nightwing stills, eyes flicking to Batman.

The resounding silence is near palpable. Nightwing takes a tentative step forward, breaking it. 

“Little wing… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

Fluorescent eyes shine with stone-cold defiance.

“You can’t stop me.”

Batman grunts—the closest thing he’ll ever get to an affirmation. It’s a sizable achievement, but he doesn’t feel victorious at all. 

She’s still in cardiac arrest, but if anyone can help her it’s Zatanna. 

And if there’s anyone that can overcome something like this it’d be her. 

Come on princess, come back to me. 

.

She codes three more times in the medbay. The crash team hovers as everyone else tirelessly searches for the right antidote. 

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

While he watches her Nightwing briefs him on her mission. He listens. It’s a distraction. Then white hot anger licks and gnashes up his chest to his throat with each word until he’s fisting his hands tight to hide the tremors. 

“... I thought it might be Blood but assassins and poison isn’t really his style. Do you think the League could have something to do with this?” Nightwing asks beside him.

His response is slow and level, revealing no hint of the turbulence of emotion that lies underneath, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” 

Nightwing gives him a pensive stare, but says nothing. 

Jason narrows his eyes. 

Dead. They’re all fucking dead. 

.

They’re able to create one an hour later. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see someone breathe. 

He waits until she’s stable before slipping away. The teleporter still recognizes him as Robin, and he’s not sure what to think about that when he steps onto the platform. 

Batman gives him a look that he acknowledges as both a warning and a threat; But why should he care? He lost respect for that man a long time ago, and doesn’t give two shits what he thinks.

Unlike Bruce, he’s not afraid to avenge those he cares about most through whatever means necessary.

.

A piercing cry follows the crack of snapping bone. Another finger, broken. That leaves seven more, and I’ve got all fucking night. 

“I won’t ask again,” comes a growl, “I want answers.”

The man’s panting is interrupted by a swift kick to the gut. He bends over with a groan, before he glares up at the Red Hood through one eye. The other is swollen shut. 

“Why would I tell you? You’re just going to kill me anyway.” 

Hood hums, cocking his gun. “True, but it’ll hurt wayyy less if you do.” 

The man spits at his boots, a mixture of saliva and blood. “Good luck. I won’t talk.” 

A malicious grin grows from underneath Hood’s mask. 

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t need it.” 

.

The hallway is empty, save for him and Nightwing.

Really it’s just a perfect place for a one-on-one scolding—and his brother clearly decides to take advantage of it.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He will retaliate. This is Ra’s we’re talking about.” 

Jason’s jaw clenches tight. 

“Who knows how many supporters he’s managed to convince that Trigon can fix all of their worldly problems? He could call on all of them at any given moment.” 

He bares his teeth. 

“You’ve made a mess, Hood. It’s going to take months to clean up what you did.” 

He can’t stand it anymore. “Are you shitting me? I did you all a fucking favor,” he points a finger in Richard’s chest. “I found out more information in an hour investigating my way than you all did in weeks. If you’re not happy with my methods then do a better goddamned job covering your teammates.” He nearly chokes on that last word, attention drifting to the unmoving woman in the room across from them. 

Dick’s eyes follow and widen, then narrow just as fast, and he crosses his arms. 

“You love her.” 

He should have known Richard would figure it out. Why even try to fucking deny it anymore?

“Yeah,” he winces when his voice comes out raw. “I do.” 

Dick raises a brow, unapologetic. “She’s not going to like what you did either.”

Jason doesn’t have the decency to look ashamed. 

“I know.”

He wonders if she would have done the same.

.

“The antidote stopped any further damage, but she remains comatose. We’ve deduced that her body’s gone into a healing trance to mend herself internally. There’s nothing else we can do but wait and continue to monitor.” 

He stares at her porcelain face, no longer resisting the urge to tuck a stray lock of indigo behind her ear. Even at rest her brows are furrowed—like she knows what’s coming.

He waits until he can no longer hear Zatanna’s echoing steps to draw closer to her, breathing in her familiar scent of incense and old books. It’s a welcome change from the sterile smell of antiseptic. 

“You’re really taking your time huh, sunshine? How rude of you, leaving me with these assholes,” he fingers another strand of hair before releasing it with a sigh. 

“You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again.” He gives her a mock glare, half-expecting her to glower back. When she doesn’t he swallows, and takes another breath. 

“There’s one more thing I need to do… and I know you’re going to hate it, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He imagines pools of lavender, ablaze with fire, and a mouth already poised to argue with a vehemence that makes him smile in the present. 

“I won’t be able to come back here after I finish, and I’m sorry I won’t be there when you wake up,” he takes her hand and squeezes. “But I’m not sorry for what I’m about to do.” 

The incessant beeping of the machines she’s hooked up to is his only response. 

He lowers his face, and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. 

“I love you.” 

Walking away from her is hard, and he almost turns back.

But he doesn’t.

[oncefutureemrys]

18. "I'm afraid."

hello, my friend! thank you for asking me this!

If you want to know what prompts we’re talking about, it is @night-faye’s incredible list of prompts that you can find here. If you would like for me to write another one, send me an ask and I’ll write it!

Anyway, I was honestly a bit nervous about this because I didn’t think it came out great, butttt there’s a thing called positive thinking which I’m working on so I’m going to say it’s not bad. (This is exactly how to get people to read your work haha) no but seriously, there are many Tumblr posts about writing bad fics are okay if we can learn something from them, and so here is me, writing some bad fics.

Hope you enjoy!

(It was also posted on my ao3. The link is here).

Merlin gazes at the darkening sky and the flickering light from the dimming campfire. He feels the breeze brushing his skin gently and hears the way the trees rustle like whispers in his ear.

It’s here, in this peaceful moment, when Merlin closes his eyes and thinks:

I’m not ready to die.

Five simple words, strung together to create one sentence Merlin’s more afraid of than anything else.

He’s not ready to die.

And yet he knows he must, for it is his destiny and his alone to always sacrifice his needs, his wants, his morals, his life for Arthur.

He knows this, he’s been told this since the beginning, and yet suddenly he feels so… unready. Unsure. Nervous, worried, afraid.

It was… odd, to say the least.

Before, when he was staring death straight in the face, when he was envisioning a world without his friends, Gaius, his mother, Arthur – it was easy. Merlin’s never been one to think his life was somehow more meaningful than others, that he was worthy of life more than anyone else.

Which is why he now finds it strange that he’s having second thoughts.

Maybe it’s because there’s more time to think about his inevitable death, more time to fixate on his fears and insecurities that plague his mind, haunting him with lingering thoughts he wishes would disappear.

Maybe because he’s reminded of his destiny, as this overwhelming burden that clings onto his shoulders, that beats down on his skin whenever he tries veering off course. This ever-hanging cloud that keeps him in constant darkness, the shadow that constantly reminds him, over and over again, how foolish he is, how ungrateful he is, how selfish and weak and useless he is.

Maybe because he’s sitting here next to his king, his best friend, the one man he has sacrificed his entire life and more for, unsure how he’ll be able to say goodbye. Not sure how to explain to him that he won’t be dying tomorrow, how Merlin’s planning on taking his place.

As if sensing his thoughts, he looks over at him in that moment, the warm glow of the fire dancing across his face. “Everything alright?” he asks.

Almost out of habit, he nods, not meeting his gaze.

Arthur studies him for a moment and Merlin swallows, afraid he will push. Thankfully, he simply nods and drops the subject, letting the silence sit still.  

Except the silence almost feels unbearable, this guilt clawing at his skin and threatening to suffocate him. Merlin knows that he needs to say goodbye, in a roundabout way if possible, but the words are sticking in his throat and he’s having a hard time finding the right ones.

He’s reminded of an earlier time, years ago, when he was willing to sacrifice his life for his mother and had to say goodbye to Arthur. It had been a bit difficult – his throat had felt try, his hands had been shaking. But it was different back then. While they were far more comfortable with one another than when they had originally started, they weren’t as close back then. Now, they had been through everything together – from evil sorcerers to betrayals, to friends dying and dead knights walking, they had seen and experienced so much. If it was hard for Merlin to say it then, it was even harder saying it now.

And yet, he knows that he must, knows that he doesn’t want to be another person that betrays Arthur. And so, he opens his mouth, about to let the words through – words he hadn’t planned yet – when Arthur sighs loudly, turning to look at him. “So… this is it.”

Merlin’s quite confused – he’s not exactly sure where this conversation is going – but decides to go along with it. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Well,” Arthur says, taking a sip of water. “I’d like to say I made the most of it, but I’m not sure I have.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, stunned by his declaration. How in the hell could he think that? Well, sure, not all of Merlin’s hopes and dreams were panning out the way he had wanted, but to say that Arthur had not tried, had not given his all for his people, was baffling. He says as much when he finally finds the right words to say.

Arthur simply smiles but Merlin notices it’s devoid of any mirth. “I appreciate that.”

“Arthur—“

“Merlin,” Arthur says abruptly, cutting him off. “You’ll make sure to let the others know, right?”

And there it is again, that guilt that twists in his stomach, reminding him of the many lies he has told this night, and every day since he’s met him. He forces himself to take a deep breath before finally choking out, “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

Arthur nods, turning to look at the fire in front of them. Merlin realizes this is his chance to finally tell him of all the secrets, everything that he has bottled up over the years. To finally release all of the remorse he has felt throughout the years.

But he’s selfish and a coward, so he keeps it bottled in, throwing it into the ocean and hoping desperately for the tides to wash it all away.

It’s during Merlin’s slight panic that he’s brought back to the present by a small chuckle. He’s surprised to almost see a smile lingering on Arthur’s face. “What’s funny?” he asks.

“Huh? Nothing.” When Merlin gives him a look he sighs. “I was just thinking… how strange this all is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… seven years ago, so many things were different. We were such different people.” Arthur shrugs, scratching at his neck. “It just feels crazy looking at how far we’ve come.”

Merlin remembers his journey to Camelot, his inexplicable wonder when he first entered and saw bustling crowds and the large castle. Now, years later, he finds no new wonder in the bustling crowds or even the wondrous castle. Merlin smiles to himself, memories of those days coming back to him. We were so innocent back then, he thinks to himself. I wish it had stayed that way.

“Yeah,” Merlin says when he’s managed to return to the conversation. “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.”

“Did you ever expect to end up here?”

“Not a chance,” Merlin responds immediately, chuckling at the thought. “I certainly never thought I would have to deal with a pompous, arrogant, supercilious, prat like yourself.”

“Hm, no I suppose not.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, turning to look at Arthur. “Did you just admit to being a prat?”

Arthur attempts to play it off, but Merlin knows him too well. Huffing, he crosses his arms as if he were a child. “Alright, so maybe I wasn’t the best person back then.”

“Yes!” He says gleefully, clapping his hands together. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Whatever Merlin, at least I changed for the better!”

Merlin grins, recalling memories of Arthur risking his find a flower to save him, memories of Arthur leading his people when they needed him, memories of Arthur smiling and laughing and praying pranks and knighting commoners and marrying a servant and Merlin finds himself softly saying, “Yes.” Then, “Yes, I think you have.”

Silence hangs in the air and he tries to think of a way to rein in his words, add a joke in to rid them both of the tense silence, to erase those truthful words. But Merlin realizes that he won’t ever get to say these words to Arthur ever again and so maybe he shouldn’t. Just this once.

“Yes well,” Arthur says after a few minutes of tense silence, “I never would’ve done it without you.”

Merlin immediately shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

Arthur looks at him incredulously. “I appreciate the lie, but truly Merlin, it’s quite obvious. You don’t have to pretend just to make me feel better.”

“Arthur, have I ever, in the seven years you’ve known me, attempted to sugarcoat anything for you?”

He starts to speak and Merlin raises his eyebrows. “No,” he admits. “I guess not.”

“Good because I mean it.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“…and everyone knows, I’m always right.”

Arthur huffs. “Sure.”

Merlin bites his lip worriedly before finally asking, “You know, I actually mean it right?” He makes sure to look straight into his eyes as he says this. “I know I mess around and call you all sorts of names, but the truth is, I am so proud of you. I know it may not seem like it, but you have done so much for your people and your loved ones. You are an amazing king, Arthur, and you will always be remembered like that.”

Arthur’s eyes hold so much insecurity and unsureness that Merlin wants to reach out and take it from him, take away the pain and the self-doubt that continue to torment his mind. Arthur takes a stuttering breath before asking, “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur swallows. “I’m afraid.” Two words that don’t need explaining, two words that Merlin understands perfectly.

Merlin finds himself nodding slowly, finding himself becoming more honest and open than he’d ever been before. “Yes... I think I am too.”

The silence following them feels freeing as if the words they had been struggling with had finally been released. For the first time that night, Merlin feels as if his last fears, his last bit of hesitation, leaves him. Merlin never thought he could be ready for such a heavy task, for such an enormous burden. But looking at Arthur now – his blue eyes of clear skies, his hair that brightens against the moonlight, the small scars, and cuts from the adventures they had been on – and realizes that he must. Realizes that he would do anything for him, not necessarily because of destiny, but because he was a good man and Arthur deserved much better than this. Arthur deserved everything and Merlin would happily give it to him if he could.

So, as they sit, the darkening sky now fully black, Merlin finds himself taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He feels the comfortable breeze against his skin and hears the familiar rustle of the trees as he thinks to himself:

I am ready.

[ashsilla]

Neutral Ground

Book: Foreign Affairs

Pairing: F!MC (Esther Averell) x M!Blaine Hayes

A/N: At a diplomat’s ball, Esther and Blaine repel each other like magnets under the watchful camera lenses studded all around the room--but who’s to say what might happen in the absence of surveillance? Perhaps the building’s elevator might be of some use...

*

Esther sipped moodily at her non-alcoholic cocktail. She was under strict orders from her mother to not touch a single drop of anything stronger than soda for the whole evening, and judging by the way it was going, the task was going to be a lot harder than it should be.

It’s not like the event itself was to blame.

The ballroom was decorated in flags from each country on the continent, and delicacies of each country were presented, sprawling, on banquet tables on one side of the room. A large space had been cleared for dancing at the center of the space, and clustered like floral bouquets against the far walls were silk-draped tables with matching chairs. 

It was hard for it to not feel almost prison-like, though, with all of the cameramen circling the room like vultures, snapping sly pictures of all the attendees.

Esther tried to ignore the lenses pointed in her direction. She knew what they were after. Almost instinctually, she raised her dark eyes from the sugary drink in her hand to the opposite side of the dance floor, where Blaine Hayes stood. He looked absolutely amazing in a perfectly tailored suit--dark green velvet with a cream silk shirt beneath, unbuttoned a little more than was appropriate for such an event.

She couldn’t help but to notice that her ensemble seemed to match his.

Her mother had shipped in a dress made by one of Rutherland’s best tailors: a gorgeous tea-length gown, cut like something from the 1950s, with a full skirt like a bell that swept elegantly out from the nipped bodice. She’d even been given some of the family diamonds to wear for the evening, twinkling at her collarbone, pulling everyone’s gaze to the sweetheart neckline of her dress.

The fabric was the same dark green as Blaine’s suit.

“Hel-lo,” said an insistent, irritated voice.

Esther started, looking guiltily to her right. Dionne, dressed splendidly in a slinky maroon shift, was tapping her gilded foot.

“Sorry.”

Dionne sighed. “Whatever. It’s not like I’ve been saying your name for the past minute or anything.” The princess took a dainty sip of her moscato and forced a smile. “I see you’ve found something more interesting to look at, anyway.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Esther replied quickly, eyes darting at the nearest cameraman. She hoped she hadn’t been that obvious.

Her friend followed her worried stare. “Oh, relax. I noticed because I know you. Otherwise I’d think you were just...dissociating.”

“Wonderful,” Esther grumbled, and downed the rest of her drink. “I think I need some air.”

Dionne snorted. “Well, the balcony’s closed off. You can thank your boyfriend’s antics from last year for that. You’ll have to go downstairs.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Esther warned, eyes sliding once again to the cameraman.

“You’re no fun right now,” Dionne sighed. “Find me when you work it out.” She pushed her way into the crowd and was swallowed by the room.

Esther rolled her eyes, setting her empty glass on the nearest table. She really did need some air. Carefully, trying not to draw attention to herself, she made her way across the room, towards the main entrance. Upon reaching it, she glanced back, but it didn’t look like any of the cameras were facing her.

She slipped out through the grand doorway and towards the elevator bank. Though she wasn’t on an upper floor, going down two flight of stairs in her shoes would be murder. Thankfully, the elevator arrived quickly, and she stepped in with relief.

As the doors began to glide shut, a green blur darted into the elevator. “What--” Esther started, but the words dried up on her tongue as she found herself looking into Blaine’s eyes.

“Fancy seeing you here, Rutherland.” He had that infuriating smirk on.

Finally finding her voice she said, “Stop it. I know you saw me get in here.”

Blaine shrugged, all nonchalance. “Seems possible.” His grin widened at her flustered look. “Going down, I assume?” He was looking at the elevator buttons.

“Um...yes.” Esther leaned back against the wall of the elevator. He mirrored her, resting his shoulder blades on the closed elevator doors. “Aren’t you going to push the button?” she pressed.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he replied, and his smirk was gone. Without it, his face was unreadable.

She shifted her weight to her other foot. “Well, there are cameras everywhere. I kind of have to.”

“You’re saying,” he drawled slowly, eyes running over her face, “that if there were no cameras, it would be different?”

Once again, Esther found herself speechless. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Blaine laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You know, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t laugh at me,” she finally got out, white-hot irritation sparking in her chest. “I hear it’s your fault I couldn’t even go out on the balcony tonight. What’d you do, anyway?”

Blaine met her gaze evenly. “Last year, my girlfriend and I...let’s just say we gave everyone on the ground a really really great show.”

She couldn’t help it. A slight sting of betrayal stopped her breath for a moment, though it was absurd. They weren’t anything to each other but enemies. They couldn’t be.

“Hit the button, please, or get out,” she snapped.

For a moment, he stood, watching her with the same emotionless expression. Then he pressed the button for the ground floor. The elevator began moving. Silence stretched between them. 

Then his hand darted back to the buttons and pressed the emergency stop. The elevator screeched to a halt, throwing off her balance. Esther grabbed the bar for support. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

In the next moment, his unreadable facade seemed to flake away, leaving something almost vulnerable. “I’m doing,” he said softly, “what I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

Before she had the chance to respond, Blaine had closed the distance between them and he was kissing her.

It was what she’d been wanting to do all night too.

He tasted like gin--clearly he was not sworn to the same sober night she was--and smelled of expensive cologne, something clean and pleasant. Beneath all that, he was solid and warm and insistent beneath her palms as she raised her shaking hands to cup the back of his neck, pulling his face down closer to her own.

“Let me tell you,” he murmured against her open mouth, “how amazing you look tonight.” His lips began to slide up the curve of her cheek to her ear. “I love the dress.” With a smirk, he slid a finger along her sloping neckline.

Her breath shuddered. “Tease,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened. “I’m not a tease if I intend--” he touched his lips to her left cheek, “--to follow through--” then to her right cheek, “--on all accounts.” His lips finally met hers again, and she slid her hands down his back, relishing in the softness of his velvet jacket, but wishing all the same that it was gone.

She pulled her hands to his chest and began to unbutton his blazer. He grinned against her mouth as she shoved it from his shoulders, hearing it drop down to the floor with a soft rustle. He pulled back an inch, meeting her eyes. “Careful with that. It was expensive.”

“Oh, shut up,” she sighed, and pulled him back for another kiss. He groaned against her mouth, hands splaying at her waist, gripping her tightly, holding her as if at any moment she might turn to smoke or disappear. Blaine spun her suddenly, lips never leaving hers, and pinned her against the opposite wall. Esther felt too late as her hipbone pressed too hard to the circuit.

“Blaine--” she said, and the elevator jerked back to life, descending once more.

She took in his disheveled appearance--his dark hair was tousled, tousled from her hands, and his jacket pooled, forgotten, on the floor. Panic flared in her gut. “There might be cameras down there!” she hissed.

Something like regret flickered in his eyes. “Don’t worry.” He swung down, retrieving his jacket and pulling it back on. “They won’t know anything.” Blaine reached out, tucking her dark locks back into place, and planted a last, gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now,” he murmured against her brow, “when that door opens, yell something at me.”

They jumped apart as the elevator pinged loudly, announcing their arrival on the ground floor. As the doors slid open, a slew of cameramen huddled just outside, lenses reared.

Esther glared at Blaine--hopefully it looked real. “Don’t come near me again,” she hissed at him.

Blaine scowled back at her, but as she stared back, a slight glimmer in his eyes gave him away.

She fled the elevator as fast as she could, barely making it onto the street before she burst into laughter.

[burntoutmatchstick]

Are you excited to see me, or is it hypothermia?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31498151

Slightly AU-ish - Robbe and Sander have to keep their relationship a secret because Sander has just broken up with Britt. Everyone is in college. It's cold, but Sobbe is hot. Mostly just fluff and a little bit of smut.

“Robbe Ijzermans, you are the greatest person to ever walk the planet!”

“Zoë Loockx, you are drunk.”

Zoë laughed, her breath warm against the side of his face. She pressed her lips against his cheek and then pulled back, grinning. Her mouth was stained red, from her lipstick or that neon cocktail she clutched in her hand Robbe couldn’t be sure. Probably a combination of the two. The bar’s pulsating lights were reflecting off Zoë’s pale hair as she tugged on his arm.

“C’monnnn” she whined, face close to his ear again to try and make herself heard over the thumping music. “You’re here now, just stay for one drink!” She gestured to the other side of the bar, where a group of girls were waving enthusiastically at him.

He could see Amber and Luca beckoning him over. Yasmina was there too, and she caught his gaze across the dancefloor, rolling her eyes slightly with a wry smile as Luca began a series of... animated... dance moves beside her.

Robbe groaned. He absolutely did not need another late night; he was working an early shift tomorrow and he had two assignments due the next day. He’d only stopped by the bar in the first place to drop Zoë her forgotten keys, specifically so he could avoid waking up at an ungodly hour to let her into the apartment. But now that he was here, and if he only had one drink...after all, he hadn’t hung out with the girls in ages. He was just about to give in to Zoë’s insistent pull, when Amber stepped back, allowing Robbe a view of the rest of the group. Britt was with them.

He felt something sink to the pit of his stomach, and he planted his feet more firmly against Zoë’s pull.

“Zo, Zoë, no listen - I can’t. Really, you know I’ve got work in the morning.” He laughed at her pouty sad face, gently extracting himself from her grasp.

"Fine," she huffed, wobbling backwards slightly.

He laughed. "Are you going to be okay to get back across the dancefloor, or do you want me to give you a little push?"

"Asshole," she replied, flipping him off with a big grin.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," he said, suddenly very eager to be out of the suffocating bar.

Love you! She mouthed against the loud music, moving back into the throng of people.

Robbe stood on his tiptoes, waving goodbye to the girls. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn't help it, Britt was waving at him too. He shot her a quick smile, hoping it didn't look forced, and then ducked back through the crowd. He didn't know if it was his guilty conscience talking, but he thought Britt seemed sad.

It wasn't really his fault if she was, he tried to tell himself as he pushed his way towards to door, trying to avoid sweaty armpits and overflowing drinks. She hadn't been happy in her relationship for a long time before Robbe showed up, and it had ended before anything became too serious, Robbe had made that a clear condition. But still, there was definitely some hazy timing around who had done what, and when, and Robbe had definitely known enough to know better. Hell, his guilty conscience was the whole reason he was still keeping the best thing that had ever happened to him a secret; he didn't think it was fair on Britt to shove their happiness in her face so soon after the messy breakup. And also, there was a part of him that was scared, and ashamed of that fear, because once Britt knew they were together, Robbe knew it was only a matter of time before she put two and two together herself and had some realisations about that hazy timeline of who was doing what with who, and when.

He knew they'd have to own up to it eventually, because it was getting harder and harder to keep it a secret, especially when all he wanted to do was shout from the rooftops that he was desperately, passionately, fiercely falling for Sander Driesen.

And then, almost as if Robbe had summoned him, Sander was there. Robbe actually stopped short in surprise, almost tripping over his own feet. Had he really become that obsessed with Sander that he was hallucinating? It was a possibility, but no, this time, it really was Sander leaning against a door frame, leather jacket clad, drink held lazily in one hand, devil-may-care aura radiating around him.

Robbe simply stood and stared for a moment, taking him in, admiring the way his Bowie t-shirt clung tightly to his lean frame beneath the leather jacket, the way the lights danced against his white hair, reflecting the changing colour with every beat of the music. Sander's expression was amused as he bent his head to listen to whatever his friend was saying, Robbe watched as he rolled his eyes and laughed, almost spilling the drink he was waving around. Robbe could tell from the way Sander held himself, relaxed and slouchy, that he was drunk.

Robbe had known Sander was going out with college friends tonight, and Sander knew that Robbe was working in the morning, so they'd agreed to catch up the next day. Sander hadn't seen him, and Robbe knew he could slip away unnoticed. It was the smart thing to do, especially with Britt and their other friends in the same room.

He didn't move.

He'd spent so long watching Sander in this very way, from across rooms filled with other people, with Britt, untouchable, that now that he could touch him (and God, he couldn't get enough), it was almost impossible to walk away. And then, like a magnetic force, Sander looked up, through the pulsing room full of people and music and bouncing lights, and directly into Robbe's eyes.

Robbe laughed to himself as Sander struggled to work through his surprise. Sander's brow crinkled in confusion as he registered Robbe's presence, his blond head tilting to one side, before his face exploded into a dazzling smile that shot straight to Robbe's knees, filling his stomach with butterflies. Robbe was a smitten schoolgirl, and he couldn't fucking care less.

He watched Sander lurch unsteadily from the door frame, and away from his friend, who called after him in confusion. Sander didn't seem to hear him though, or just didn't care, as he made his way determinedly, if a little wobbly, towards Robbe.

Robbe followed suit, not caring as he shoved his way past people until Sander was in front of him.

The boys stopped, taking each other in with stupid smiles plastered to both their faces, before Sander said, "you're here!" and crashed into Robbe's waiting arms. Robbe staggered back against the force of Sander's embrace, wrapping his arms tight around Sander to steady them both. Sander had his head bent into Robbe's shoulder, but Robbe could practically hear the crooked grin in his voice as Sander said "wait, am I that drunk, or are you actually here?"

Robbe laughed quietly into Sander's hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and the beer on his breath. "I think you might be that drunk, but I am here too. Except not for long, I have to go."

"No!" Sander whined, twisting his hands into the front of Robbe's hoodie, pulling them closer together.

Even with Sander this close, their entwined bodies forming a little bubble among the crush of people around them, Robbe was acutely aware of Britt and the girls' mere metres behind them. This was not the way anyone was meant to find out, but especially Britt.

"Sander, we can't do this here." Robbe felt his heart twang slightly as Sander pulled back and looked at him, a flicker of hurt behind his eyes.

"Wha..."

"No - I don't mean, it's just that the girls and..."

"What, I can't hear you!" Sander shouted, as a new song began, and the beat kicked in again.

Robbe laughed at the confused expression on Sander's face and jerked his head towards the door. Sander nodded, so Robbe laced their fingers together, and began the task of navigating them through the swarms of people in varying states of soberness. It felt like moving through toffee - sticky, alcoholic toffee - but finally with one last tug, Robbe pulled both he and Sander free of the clutches of the bar and out on to the street.

The cold struck him instantly, a stark contrast to inside, and he pulled Sander closer to his side as he moved them both away from the people queuing at the door to get in.

Sander shivered slightly as they came to a stop, and Robbe looped his arms around the taller boy's neck, drawing them into each other's body heat.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear myself think in there," Robbe said, finally getting a good look at Sander away from the unnatural fluorescent lights.

The first thing Robbe noticed was that Sander was even drunker than he thought. The second was how goddam gorgeous he looked anyway, his eyes slightly hooded and unfocused, his lips glistening under the streetlights as he leaned against Robbe to keep himself upright. Robbe had seen Sander in a similar state before, after they'd....

Robbe swallowed hard.

"What are you even doing here, I thought you were meant to be sleeping?" Sander said, his voice thick and deep. He twisted his hands into the front of Robbe's hoodie again, his iron grip pulling them closer.

"Zoë forgot her keys, I was just dropping them off."

"Mmm, I'm glad Zoë is forgetful," Sander said. He dropped his head, and suddenly his mouth was at Robbe's neck.

"Sander, Sander wait..." Robbe gently pulled his head back, despite every nerve in his body telling him not to.

Sander froze, and looked down at Robbe, his face going blank.

"Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Baby, no - " Robbe laughed softly, unwrapping Sander's hands from his shirt, and pulling them up to gently kiss his knuckles. "It's just that - did you know the girls are here too? With Britt?"

Robbe tried not to laugh at the confused expression on Sander's face, heightened by his drunkenness as he tried to decipher the new information.

"The girls..." Sander said slowly. "...and Britt?"

"Yes," Robbe said, annunciating carefully. "Britt. Here. Britt is here."

"Fuck," said Sander with a sigh, though he made no attempt to move.

"My thoughts exactly," Robbe agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Robbe gave Sander's compromised thoughts a chance to catch up with their current situation.

"Wellllll...." Sander said, his slow drawl drawing out the word. "She's going to find out eventually..." and with that, he tugged Robbe closer, dropping his mouth down to that fucking spot again, that spot that even drunk Sander knew could get Robbe to do just about anything.

"Sander," Robbe said, except that it came out as less of a protest and more of a moan, and Sander responded as such, his own moan vibrating against Robbe's neck as he continued to pull Robbe even more firmly into his space.

Robbe wondered whether intoxication was catching, as Sander's hands made their way down and under his hoodie, cold fingers against his waist causing him to gasp. Sander lifted his head then, swallowing Robbe's gasp into his mouth as he crashed their lips together. Robbe could taste the beer on Sander's breath as his mind began to go blank, any thought of Britt, or the cold, or the time vanishing from his mind as Sander's tongue pushed clumsy but insistent against his own.

Suddenly, a group of girls emerged from the bar, their laughter erupting into the cold night air. Robbe jerked away from Sander as if he'd been electrocuted, putting a good three feet between them in a millisecond. His eyes scanned the exiting group quickly, and he let out a tiny sigh of relief when he realised he didn't recognise any of them. It was enough to break the spell, and Sander and Robbe looked at each other, guilt written on both their faces.

"Shit," Sander breathed out, his breath clouding against the cold air. He ran his fingers through his recently tousled hair and looked down at Robbe. "On second thoughts, I really don't want her to find out this way."

"Me either," Robbe agreed quickly.

They looked at each other, the thud of music from the bar bleeding out into the quiet between them.

"I'm going to tell her soon, Robbe," Sander said, his voice suddenly quiet. "I can't keep this a secret much longer... I don't want to keep you a secret much longer..."

"I know," Robbe said, giving him a small smile.

"The world deserves to know that I have a really hot boyfriend named ROBBE IZJERMANS!"

Sander shouted Robbe's name, and Robbe tried to hush him, laughing, as the butterflies erupted in his stomach again. He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing those words fall so easily from Sander's mouth.

They started at each other a moment longer, but neither dared to breach the physical gap again.

"You should get back to your friends, and I should get to bed," Robbe said finally.

"You're right," Sander said, but he looked so miserable about it that Robbe couldn't help but laugh.

"You looked like you were having a good time before I showed up!"

"I was, but that's only because I didn't know what I was missing!"

"We can grab lunch on my break tomorrow?" Robbe suggested hopefully, but Sander shook his head.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I walk you home?"

"Aaah, maybe because your friends might wonder where you've gone, and also, you live closer to here than I do?"

"Both of these points are irrelevant in light of the fact that you currently have an empty apartment..." Sander said, raising an eyebrow, his gaze suddenly intense.

"You know, for a drunk man you make a lot of sense."

***

"Hurry up Robbe, it's fucking freezing," Sander complained as they stood on the landing while Robbe fumbled for his keys.

In retrospect, they probably should have taken an uber. It really wasn't a long walk from the bar to his apartment but adding a drunk Sander who couldn't easily move in a straight line and freezing temperatures to the mix, and, well...they probably should have taken an uber.

Finally, Robbe flung open the door and ushered them in, flicking on lights and kicking off his shoes as he went. He fumbled with the thermostat on the wall for a moment, cranking up the temperature. It took him a second to realise that Sander hadn't moved down the hallway with him, and instead was still standing by the doorway, struggling to stay upright as he did battle with his shoes.

Robbe laughed quietly. "Need a hand?"

He didn't wait for Sander's answer, dropping down to his knees to help yank off the offending items.

"I like the view," Sander said, his voice suddenly low and deep. Robbe looked up at Sander, registering his compromised position as something struck a chord low in his stomach.

"I'm surprised you can see straight at the moment," he said, finally releasing Sander from his Doc Martens prison.

"Believe me, there's nothing straight about what I'm seeing."

Somewhat unwillingly, Robbe got up from the floor, but before he could step back, Sander pulled him in close, pressing their lips together. It was at that moment Robbe registered the slight tremor to Sander's frame, and how icy his skin was.

"Sander, you're freezing!" Robbe said accusingly.

"I know! That's why I'm trying to warm up!" Sander replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You were definitely too drunk to walk home in this weather," Robbe said, pulling Sander down the hall. "Come..."

"I'm trying to," Sander said, with a mischievous wink which Robbe steadfastly ignored.

Robbe pulled the taller boy into his bedroom, closing the door behind them, trying his best to ignore Sander's grabby hands.

"Robbe," Sander whined, his voice cracking slightly as Robbe began pulling the blankets back from his bed.

"Jacket off," Robbe commanded.

"That's more like it," Sander said, ungracefully shucking out of his leather jacket and tossing it to one side. He reached for Robbe again once it was off, but Robbe was prepared this time, and quickly wrapped Sander in a blanket. Sander laughed, wriggled, and fell, pulling them both down onto Robbe's bed.

"Hi," Robbe said with a smile, his nose pressed against Sander's cold one.

"Hi," Sander answered with a content sigh, his heavy eyes closing slightly.

"Are you closing your eyes because you're tired? Or because you're drunk? Or because you have hypothermia?" Robbe asked, suddenly slightly concerned.

Sander laughed and pulled one arm out from his blanket cocoon, wrapping it around Robbe's shoulders."I'm closing my eyes because you're so beautiful up close, it hurts to look at you."

Robbe groaned and rolled onto his back, so he was looking at the ceiling, Sander's arm now draped across his chest. "Drunk Sander unlocks corny Sander, noted."

"You love it," Sander said with a laugh, and honestly, Robbe internally agreed.

They lay in silence for a while, their breathing slowing until it was in synch. Robbe was still surprised at how the simple act of just being with someone you cared so much about, without talking or doing anything, could bring so much happiness. It was still all so new, but he really didn't think he would get tired of this, of just existing in Sander's orbit. After so much time spent resisting its pull, he was so grateful now to just bask in the force of it.

They were quiet for so long that Robbe began to think that Sander had fallen asleep. He hated the thought that he'd have to wake him up again soon, so that he could leave before Zoë got home. Not that she'd care. She'd be happy for them, in fact Robbe was pretty sure she'd already guessed, but it wasn't fair to expect someone else to keep their secret as well.

They needed to tell people, and soon. But not right this second. Right this second Robbe could just soak in the warm glow of the lean, blonde boy taking up so much space in his bed, and even more in his heart.

"What are you thinking about?" Sander asked, startling Robbe slightly.

Robbe shifted onto his side so they were facing each other. "You," he said with a smile. "Always you."

Sander smiled back at him and craned his neck forwards to press his lips against Robbe's. They were much warmer now, Robbe noted with a happy hum.

They stayed that way for a while, gently kissing, Robbe peppering small pecks all over Sander's face to warm up the cold spots. Robbe propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over Sander's chest to press kisses to his ear, his neck. Sander laughed, and Robbe felt the vibrations in his throat.

Suddenly, without warning, Sander snaked his arms up beneath Robbe's and with a skilful manoeuvre, flipped them so that Robbe was lying flat on the bed, caged beneath Sander who hovered above him.

"How's the view from up there?" He asked Sander.

"Definitely not straight," Sander said, and his mouth was on Robbe's again, except this time there was nothing gentle about it.

Sander still tasted like beer, but Robbe didn't mind, as their mouths crashed together in a jumble of lips and teeth and enthusiasm. Robbe slipped his tongue out and traced Sander's wet lips, licking away the last of the cold evening. Sander sighed deeply, his eyes closing, head rolling back to allow Robbe access to his neck. Robbe obliged, his mouth insistent against the points that he was learning drove Sander wild. Not close enough for his liking, Robbe pulled Sander down. The force of it caught Sander by surprise and he crashed against Robbe's chest, their ribs flush against each other, hips meeting in a motion that caused both boys to gasp slightly.

"You certainly seem to be warming up," Robbe said breathily, as Sander ran his hands down his chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt and pulling. There was a jumble of limbs and fabric as they both wrestled with their clothing until finally, shirts and jeans were discarded on the floor, and they were pressed together again in nothing but their boxers. Robbe's mind was blissfully empty, filled with nothing but Sander, his taste, his smell, the feeling of him growing harder beneath his hand as he palmed at the front of his boxers. Sander's fingers plucked at the waistline of Robbe's own underwear, but Robbe put a gentle hand against his wrist and pulled it away, flipping them over again so Sander was on his back.

"You're the one that needs warming up," Robbe said, by way of explanation, one of his hands dropping to Sander's upper thigh, lightly tracing the hairs that painted a line up to Robbe's goal destination.

On cue, Sander shivered, but from the way his head fell back and his eyes rolled, Robbe thought it was probably from something other than the cold. He'd been so excited, so nervous, the first few times they'd done this, so worried about making sure Sander felt good. It was amazing how fast those nerves had been replaced with complete confidence; the noises coming from deep in Sander's chest as he squirmed beneath Robbe's mouth providing all the proof Robbe needed that he was on the right track. Robbe gripped Sander's thighs as Sander wound his own hands tightly in Robbe's hair, panting and gasping Robbe's name as Robbe's pulled him deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Sander was bursting, hot and fast over Robbe, leaving no doubt in Robbe's mind that he wasn't at risk of hypothermia anymore. Robbe didn't move until he was sure Sander was done.

"Robbe,' Sander moaned, pulling him back up to kiss him, deep and slow.

Robbe leaned down into him, and Sander, no longer cold, traced down Robbe's side until he found his mark. Sander took Robbe into his hand, not breaking their kiss even as Robbe began to pant jaggedly into his mouth. It didn't take long; seeing Sander come undone always pushed Robbe right to the edge. With a groan, Robbe came, gripping Sanders shoulders tightly as Sander moaned his name.

They lay panting next to each other until their breathing slowed, taking their time to come back up for air. Once Robbe had regained the semblance of a thought, he rolled away from Sander, feeling around for something on the floor. Sander whined at the sudden absence of warmth, his hands scrabbling weakly against the mattress, grasping for Robbe's return. He did, after a moment, pulling the hastily discarded blanket up with him and throwing it carefully around Sander, making sure he was fully covered before he dropped back down next to him, kissing him softly.

"No chance of hypothermia," Robbe said, his voice slightly raspy.

Sander sighed contentedly into Robbe's shoulder. "Nope. But there's now a very real risk of heat stroke -" he paused for a moment for dramatic effect, " - get it? Because you're so damn hot."

Robbe's groan turned into a laugh. "Oh my god, you're the worst."

"You love it, though," Sander said, eyes closing gently.

"Yeah," said Robbe after a moment, voice soft, his own eyes beginning to droop. "Yeah, I do."

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 6, 3943 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Back to Vex, on her path to hunt a fiend...

----------------

“It’s fine, thank you anyway.”

Vex slams the red button on her phone, as if clicking on it harder will make her frustration known to the world. She wishes she had an older phone so she could slam down the handset onto the base. It would be like slamming a door at the end of an argument; a physical show of her feelings.

She’s been on the phone all morning, trying desperately to get some answers on what she’s supposed to do with the fiend now that it has killed at least one person. Not anyone, at that, someone trained to take things down and keep parks protected. If Regae was anything like her, he had put up a fight before dying. But the creature had prevailed.

The one thing she was told about was the Grey Hunt. Not only did the Pale Guard officer tell her about it on the crime scene, but pretty much everyone she’s tried calling told her to ask them. Except they don’t exist anymore. They haven’t in years.

There are no records of previous members either. Vex wants to scream in frustration. For the first time since she’s arrived, she realizes how alone she is. She wasn’t so alone before. In Shademurk, she could ask Saundor and if he was in a good mood and if she played her cards right, he would use his amazing influence to help her. Here she has no one. She almost misses him.

What? No. She doesn’t miss him. She can’t miss him, she won’t. The fact that he was supposed to love her and that she had to bargain with him, the very sovereign of Shademurk Bog, to get him to do anything for her, from dishes to actually working with her to make Shademurk better.

She doesn’t miss him. At all. Her new home is completely clear of him, empty of memories of him. She’s not going to choke on his presence every time she looks somewhere. It’s better here. She’s better now than she ever was before.

If Saundor was here, he would take credit for her strength, for her work. He would say he made her, shaped her into the ranger he is today. He always used to say that. She used to believe him.

Vex stands from her chair and paces a little into the cabin. No Grey Hunt. No Pale Guard. As far as she knows, Pike Trickfoot and Grog Strongjaw are still willing to go hunt a fiend with her. That’s all she has. Her own limited abilities, a cleric and a goliath. And no Vax.

She told him to stay in Westrunn a little. She was hoping to have the fiend problem sorted before he arrived, to be honest, so she wouldn’t have to ask for his help. He’s helped her way too much already.

Besides, she’d rather know he’s with Gilmore, enjoying himself and his boyfriend. They don’t see each other enough. She can manage without him. She should be able to. She’s a strong, capable person.

In the bathroom, she splashes cold water onto her face, forcefully clearing her thoughts. When she looks up from the sink to look into the mirror, she swallows, hard. She looks tired. There are dark circles in the brown skin below her eyes. Her lips are cracked, from the cold. She’s forgotten to put on lip balm. Her hair is dirty, greasy.

It’s been three days. Three days since she’s received that call on the forgotten radio. Three days and she’s already forgotten to take care of herself. She’s really holding on by a thread, isn’t she?

Her nails dig painfully into her palm and only then does she stop staring at her own tired face.

She walks away and slams the door behind herself. The force makes the wall shudder and it feels right. Vex smiles a little. That was the first hint of satisfaction she’s felt since her arrow shot through Donovan Clarence’s hand.

The cub at her feet whines a little, turning over from where he’d been napping.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly and crouches to pet the dark brown fur. “Slamming the door woke you up, huh?” She asks softly.

The cub leans into her hand like he’s starving for touch. He’s always going to forgive her for these things, isn’t he? Her smile widens slightly, growing more relaxed and genuine.

Her phone buzzes and she reaches for it, before sitting on the floor next to the cub. It’s a text from Vax, with an image attached. She opens the image first.

It’s a photo of the inside of a shop, large and filled with glass-covered shelves. She can see the shine of gold and silver and precious gems behind the glass. Her eyebrow raises. The fact they’re still behind glass and not in Vax’s sneaky hand is surprising. She looks over at the caption of the image.

Exercise in restraint: Gilmore’s shop. Many trinkets, none for me.

About five different dirty remarks come to Vex’s mind but she pushes them back. Vax is a bit uncomfortable with discussions of his sex life, joking unfactual remarks or not. She’s not going to make him uncomfortable now.

She takes a picture of the cub snuggled in the space between her crossed legs.

I saw this one and couldn’t help myself… Trinket addiction running in the family?

She sends the picture but looks down at the cub with a thought. Trinket is a good name. She likes it. Loves it, actually.

“May I call you Trinket, darling?” She asks. Giving him a name means keeping him, but she’s far past that point now. She’s known it, deep down for a while.

The cub doesn’t seem to mind it. Vex presses a kiss to the furry head with a smile, the biggest in a long time.

They say rangers often find companions. Vex has just found hers.

-------------

They meet at the mouth of the trail, the way they’d originally planned. It’s a few days later than expected, yes, but Vex has been busy desperately trying to get some sort of official help. She was hoping not to have to ask Pike and Grog.

She sees the goliath before the gnome, the giant axe hanging heavy over the man’s shoulder. By his side, the cleric looks way less aggressive. Vex doesn’t know which one will be more useful. Divine healing or brute force. Either way, she’s incredibly glad to have someone by her side right now.

“So,” she smiles nervously. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for pushing back the date of meeting. I was hoping to get some sort of professional help, but it seems like Whitestone doesn’t have the infrastructure.”

The cleric, Pike, nods. “The city has seen a lot of things.”

Vex doesn’t know what that means, really. She doesn’t ask. Not right now. She’ll ask later, once they have a dead fiend and a victory under their belt. People were much more likely to spill secrets if adrenaline and serotonin were flowing through their veins.

Sometimes, she’s almost ashamed of the many tricks she’s learned throughout the years. And then she remembers it was people like the Syngornian Elves and Saundor who made her learn these things,and she stops feeling like she should have somehow stayed innocent through all the shit they put her through.

They start on their way, not to where she initially sensed the fiend, but to where the body was found. It’s more likely that they’ll find usable traces there.

The winter cold bites at her cheeks, but the goliath is shirtless. She raises an eyebrow, both respectful and thinking him mad to be out there like this. They start climbing up the trail in relative silence, with the crunching of their boots and the jingling of the cleric’s chainmail.

Vex doesn’t know what kind of small talk to do now. This is not a light-hearted situation, and she just wants the creature out of her woods.

“Have you killed fiends before?” The goliath asks after a moment.

Vex looks over at him over her shoulder. “Not a fiend, no. I’ve killed other things. Fey, mostly.”

Pike raises an eyebrow. “Fey? Were you around the doors to the Feywild before you came to the Alabaster Sierras?”

Vex hesitates for a moment. It’s a lot of information to give to complete strangers. She shrugged the paranoia off however. “I was. I was tasked with keeping an eye on a part of the Verdant Expanse, that, just like Syngorn, can switch between the Feywild and our plane. I lived in the Feywild for a part of my time there.”

“That’s so cool!” Pike grins and Vex can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.

It is pretty cool.

The Feywild is somewhere most people have barely heard of, let alone visited. And Vex, though in pretty horrible circumstances, has been able to call it home for a moment of her life. On the way up the trail, her two companions manage to coax her into recounting the Feywild.

She tells them of the permanent dusk, of the sun that’s always at its most beautiful, its most reddening and purpling state duskward of Shademurk. She tells them of the dark of the night on the other side, of looking at the sky and never knowing exactly the time. She tells them of age-old trees that hold secrets they only tell the worthy.

She tells them of dryads and naiads and the howling of lycans. She doesn’t tell them of Saundor but she tells them of Fenthras.

One day, she’ll reach under her bed, take it out and shoot. It’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, the wood alive and the power tangible. She still dreams of wielding it, as she runs free through ever shifting woods, laughter on her lips.

When they make it to the campsite where the body was found, she feels lighter than she has in a long time. Both the cleric and the goliath are smiling lightly. They exchange a look, and then get to work.

Vex sits on a stone and starts expanding her consciousness as Pike runs identifying and tracking spells on whatever magic trace they can find. It’s hard to tune out her kind babbling or Grog’s regular deep-toned comments, but Vex finally manages and exhales.

With her breath goes her mind and soon she finds herself floating, drifting, one with the wind and with nature. She barely has to wait to find the fiendish presence. It pings on her mental radar loud and clear and close.

Way too close. They’re close to its lair.

Vex’s eyes open wide and she comes back crashing into herself. She barely gives herself time to come back into her body before she shoots to her feet and shares her findings. Grog takes his giant axe out. Pike unclasps a mace the size of her body from Grog’s back.

Vex takes her bow in hand and notches an arrow, ready to draw and shoot. They start walking in the direction where she can still feel the echoing presence of the creature. It rests heavy on her back of her neck, a pressure she can’t shake.

They walk into higher grass off of beaten paths. Vex slips into the underbrush with ease, but it’s far from the case for the two accompanying her. Pike in particular makes great noise and gets caught in almost every weed she can possibly get caught on. Vex huffs. Here goes the effect of surprise.

They find the lair empty, and her heart tightens in her chest. Fuck. It knows they are there.

A shape moves from the shadows overhead and Vex immediately reacts. Her body moves without her thinking anything through. Her arrow shoots through the air and hits right in the middle of the creature’s chest. It screams in pain. Vex smirks. She’s good at this.

The creature has stopped long enough for all of them to see what it is. It’s tall, Vex’s size. Its skin is spiky, barbed, horns sprouting from its skull. Its scream makes the air around it shiver with heat.

The scream is immediately answered by one from Grog. The goliath steps forward with bloodshot eyes and angry determination. He swings his axe forward and pounces on the creature. Maybe his rage has distracted him, because his axe swings wide, the creature too fast to be hit by the massive weapon.

The cleric immediately jumps into action, hands shining with divine light as she reaches up with her holy symbol. Vex can see the wings of Sarenrae carved onto the metal before they disappear behind the burning white light. It shoots out of the symbol and hits the creature.

It screams again as the radiant light engulfs it, lighting it up and burning it with divine power. If they were in darkness, it would be obvious to all of them now. There’s no way any of them are going to miss their next hit against it.

Grog has gotten too close to the creature however, and though it’s still burning with light, it takes no time to attack the giant target the goliath makes. It swipes at the grey-skinned man, one hand missing before the second catches the goliath in the chest, dragging into the skin. Vex winces, but the goliath seems more okay than expected.

The creature tries to hit him with his tail but Grog dodges it with a shiver-inducing grin. “Come on, devil devil!” He taunts. “Is that all you can do?”

Vex’s eyes cross with the creature’s and she takes the opportunity to Hunter’s Mark it. She reaches for another arrow, but her fingers rip against her quiver, shaking lightly now that she’s realized what they were facing. She curses. Pike sends her a slightly worried look.

Grog retaliates against the clawing he’s just received. The axe cleaves a giant gash into the shoulder of the fiend. The goliath immediately reiterates, hacking at the shoulder. The arm of the fiend is now hanging by tendons. It seems to be in incredible pain.

Reaching up with its good arm, the creature screams, warmth radiating from it. Flames erupt from the hand of the creature. Both tries miss the massive target of Grog. The creature seems confused. That’s what pain like the one being inflicted to it does.

Vex notches in another arrow. It grazes the creature but is deflected by its spikes. She groans in annoyance. None of this is working. Why is she so useless right now?

Grog’s axe finally cuts off the creature’s arm, but it doesn’t seem to slow it down that much. Another ray of blinding light hits the devil, however. Pike is breathing hard, but her spells are finding purchase and Vex is incredibly thankful for that, even if they do not do a lot of damage.

The goliath keeps taking a great amount of injury from the furious and in pain devil. Fire burns onto the grey skin, scorching it and a sickening smell permeates the air around them. Vex wants this to end, but she knows it won’t be that easy.

Vex’s next arrow finds purchase right as the great axe slashes through the devil’s chest. A handaxe flies by Vex and hits it square in the thigh. The wounded creature turns around, tail whipping at Grog, before pouncing in with one undamaged arm, missing the goliath entirely with the last two.

They keep hammering at the creature, arrows and great axe wounds and additional mace wounds from a determined Pike hacking at its defenses and crushing its bones. Vex is sweating, she’s a little unfocused, and the screams of the goliath’s rage resounds in her head.

When it finally falls down, it’s one of Vex’s arrows that lodges itself in its eyeball, deeply. It gurgles as it falls, twitching for a few seconds until it stops moving entirely. Vex exhales. She feels like the combat has lasted hours when it’s probably only been minutes.

Pike rushes to her friend and heals him immediately, the burn and other wounds healing and disappearing from the grey flesh as Vex watches. A little unsteady, she finds somewhere to sit and to search.

She waits for a while, searches for something she could have missed, but all fiendish presence is gone from the perimeter of her searching abilities. Relief floods through her system and she finally smiles. It was hard, but they did it. They killed the fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are safer now than they were before.

Vex’s entire body unravels suddenly, her shoulder slumping. They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re all alive and safe and the fiend is gone and she didn’t die killing it. She looks at Pike and Grog. They both look messy and fight-tousled. Vex imagines she looks like that too.

“Thank you,” she says. She means it.

Grog smiles at her, a warm smile. He’s nice. Big and scary, but nice. “It was really fun.” He probably means it too.

Pike nods. “It was!”

Vex is a little more surprised at that, but she can’t help the grin that stretches over her mouth. They start walking again. Vex invites them for tea or coffee. They both ask for alcohol and she chuckles.

They settle around Vex’s table. The cabin feels a little cramped with the two of them. Vex manages to find three containers for the strong old whiskey that Regae left behind. They cheer and drink.

“I’m from Westrunn. The Everlight brought me here,” Pike says when Vex asks if she’s from Whitestone.

“I’m from Westrunn too,” Grog smiles. “And I follow her.” There is unbridled affection in the way he looks over at Pike.

“My brother’s currently in Westrunn,” she points out. “Spending some time with his boyfriend.”

Pike nods. “That’s sweet! I hope he enjoys the city. It’s a little quiet, but it’s a nice place.”

Vex doesn’t say that she doesn’t expect Vax to do a lot of sight-seeing while with Gilmore. The three of them share some food, the rations they’d taken for a possible camping in the mountains, had the fiend evaded them for much longer.

The camaraderie wraps around her like a warm blanket and she finds herself laughing more than she has in years. When she herself starts to feel a light buzz from the alcohol she’s been very careful not to drink too much of, she shifts and prepares herself to start asking questions.

“Have you spent a lot of time here in Whitestone?” She asks after a moment.

“It’s our first time here, actually,” Pike smiles. “We usually stay in Westrunn, or travel south, not north. There is not much for us here.”

Vex raises an eyebrow. “What changed?”

Pike shrugs. “As I said, the Everlight. I’m a cleric, and when my deity calls, I always answer.”

Vex tries to figure out if that’s true, if Pike always answers to Sarenrae but the gnome is hard to read, her blue eyes staring right back into Vex’s as she speaks. There is a steadiness about her though. Something Vex usually senses in the druids and clerics and acolytes of this world, and also in some arcanists, who have faith in their studies the way others have faith in their gods.

Vex wonders how she feels to people. Is she steady with faith? Or is she chaotic and unstable? She wishes, in this moment, that she could see herself through someone else’s eyes. She wants to know what she is to others, so badly.

“What did the Everlight tell you to do here?” She continues.

Pike’s eyes grow a little sharper for a moment, before she smiles again. “There is something for me to heal here. A soul yearning desperately for redemption. My goddess is the patron of healing and redemption, of second chances. This is what I am here for.”

Vex swallows. “Would that be related to the De Rolo Massacre?”

“Maybe,” the gnome shrugs. “Or maybe not. If we had all the details of what exactly our deities want us to do, all these divine quests wouldn’t be quite the challenges they are supposed to be.”

That’s true, she guesses. Vex is definitely not faithful enough for this. She smiles anyway, leaning back against her chair.

The gnome keeps talking. “Maybe the fiend we killed was that soul. Maybe someone we’ve crossed paths with in the street. Maybe it’s you.”

Vex freezes.

“Many people would ask questions about someone like you deciding to live alone this way, in a cabin in the forest,” Pike shrugs. “It’s none of my business, of course. And I will never fault anyone for unconventional life choices.” She hums. “But you ask many questions.”

Kind, warm, but very perceptive. Vex holds up her hands. “You got me,” she huffs. “Just trying to get answers about what’s going on in this city. No one will answer my questions.” She’s tired of it now. So fucking tired. “It was incredibly difficult to find people to help me with this fiend business because no one will talk to me about anything.”

Pike reaches for her hand. “You are a stranger to these people, Vex’ahlia. Give them time to get to know you. For all they know, you have bad intentions. I come with the symbol of my goddess, and that opens some doors to me, and to Grog.” The goliath nods at the mention of his name. “You don’t have that. Unless you’re some deity’s chosen or champion… But you don’t seem like it.”

Vex almost gets offended by that. But the gnome is right. Vex came into town with suspicious eyes. That’s not something people can trust.

“I’m sorry,” Vex sighs. “For the questions I’ve asked. You didn’t have to answer them.”

Pike shrugs. “I didn’t really mind. I’m here because I need to be. And Grog’s with me because he always is, and always will be.” She smiles at that. “You’re here for a reason too.”

Vex huffs. “Right,” she shakes her head. “Did Sarenrae tell you that?” She asks sarcastically.

“You’re not a believer,” Pike chuckles. “It kinda comes off of you like waves. That you don’t believe in anything.”

Vex lost her reason to believe when a dragon burnt her home village to the ground, taking her mother with it. Every snide remark from Syngornian elves, every time she had to fight for Saundor to do anything for her, those were all nails in the coffin of her faith, in gods or in people.

“I think… I think you should start the way back to Whitestone. The road is long, and I don’t want you to get caught by the night. There are creatures.”

Grog huffs. “We can take them on. You fought by our side, you have seen our power.”

Vex doesn’t reply. Pike gets the memo. She gently pushes Grog into getting up. Vex walks them to the door and to the trail and bids them goodbye.

She sits back down at the table. The cabin is small but it feels huge now that she’s alone. Sounds seem to reverberate now that it’s only her breathing, only her body. She wants to run off and tells those two kind people to come back, to stay, to not leave her alone like this. She doesn’t though. She exhales and she starts preparing for more work, and for a good night of sleep.

Did she get any answer? No she didn’t. But at least she’s killed a fiend. The Alabaster Sierras are a bit safer than they were when she arrived.

[fullsunalicia]

since i just noticed we are in DIRE need of some yuta around here and i love your writing to bits... may i request a friends-to-lovers!au with our one and only osaka prince?🥺 some tooth-rotting fluff with a dash of angst sprinkled in between? thank you so much!💚

velleity • NMY

velleity (n.) - a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action. an accurate example: the love that has been blooming inside your veins for nakamoto yuta, long before you even knew what it was like to fall.

thank you so much for your request !! i love yuta with all my heart and i was so happy when i saw your message 🥺 i hope you enjoy bubs!

You meet Nakamoto Yuta in elementary school, back when his Korean was clumsy and his beautiful features had still been a mystery beneath these chubby cheeks. The grimace the boy presented when you pulled at them didn’t reveal them, either, so for a very long time both Yuta and you couldn’t ever imagine calling the other ‘beautiful’.

Now, it would be blasphemy to call him anything but. Yuta’s face is what people claim to be picturesque. Perfect, down to the last detail. To assume that he is flawless would be a lie, but you’re convinced that your best friend isn’t far from that. He looks like he jumped straight out of a fairytale, like the prince you had been imagining every time your mother read you a good-night-story. You see him when you close your eyes, long after you slipped into a dream. But because you never reduced him to looks, you get to brag with the title ‘Yuta’s best friend’. You know him inside out, all the little things and the trivia behind it. Your knowledge is a treasure, expanded over the many years where you get to know this precious soul and watch it grow. Take shape, a rose exploding out of its’ bud.

That knowledge contains the silliest facts. He loves takoyaki, especially when you cook it. Despite the fact that you’re not japanese and will never reach the culinary skill level his mother is on, he inhales the food like it’s his last meal and then bombards you with every single compliment he can muster up. He also loves soccer, but quit it to focus on school and later on becoming an idol. Another funny fact is that Yuta hates the taste of limoncelli, because it’s the first alcoholic drink you ever gave him and then procceeded to get him wasted with. An hour later, he vomitted it out. (To be fair, he asked for you to get him drunk because he claimed it’s the only way to cure a broken heart. Clearly, this man has never had the perfect comfort food.)

You have read Nakamoto Yuta and studied him like a favorite book, a favorite read. There are folds in his soul from pages that you hold more dearly than anything else, and torn pages that represent the many fights that you both had. Yuta is familiar, constant. From time to time, you take him out the shelf, dust him off and fall in love with him all over again. The story enamours you every time. Your best friend stole your heart when you were sixteen and unknowing, undisturbed, when he held you so tightly you were going to suffocate. The smell of perfume and home. Loud whistles from both of your friend groups, a heartbeat that resonates inside you as if it was your own.

Befriending Yuta had been fate. It had been like meeting a kindred spirit, and you broke the golden rule. You fell in love. You feel that love even now, when you look into those ebony eyes. You’re looking at him, but he’s looking at her.

Heart-wrenching. That’s what it feels like when you serve him his favorite food but he still can’t tear away his gaze from her, and you reminisce the days where he would cheer like a little boy and thank you with the brightest light in his eyes, even though your first tries at the dish must’ve been only edible at best. You grab for a chopstick and aim for his head, and he whines loudly when it meets its’ target. “You’re so mean! Is that the thanks I get for visiting you at work?”

“You mean bothering me, idiot?” You roll your eyes and turn around to wipe the counter. Of course your stupid heart had beat faster the second you saw him step into the restaurant, just for it to shatter into a thousand pieces when you realized that he was here for someone else. Sweet Sana, who had been on the receiving end of your envy for years now, based on the fact that she was Yuta’s dream girl and not you. The envy is always accompanied by guilt, because Sana is nothing but kind and selfless, the shoulder you had been leaning on for years now ever since Yuta dedicated himself to his career. You watch as she rounds the tables and picks up dirty dishes, a smile adorning her lips despite the tedious task. An angel. She must be. “You just showed up and demanded to be fed. Not a single please and thank you, you spoilt brat. Aren’t you ever getting sick of takoyaki?”

“I could never.” Your best friend seems disturbed by the thought. If Yuta was ever served a death sentence for having killer looks, you’d bet a thousand dollars he would still choose Takoyaki as his last meal on death row. To look that good should be illegal. And it should also be illegal to steal your breath every time you guys meet gazes. There’s so much warmth in his eyes, reserved only for you - it’s a look that not everyone can be grazed with, not to those who haven’t known his entire being by heart. But never will you find the romance you crave in them, and that thought pushes you to look away every time.

You swallow down the pain and force yourself to keep a neutral face. “I’m putting you on a diet, if that’s the way you’re gonna act when I serve you your favorite food. Stop staring at her already, creep, you’re scaring her.”

Yuta sighs, long and heavy. Dramatic. He’s always been open with his crushes. “But she’s sooo pretty,” he pouts then, resting his head in the palm of his hand to look at Sana more comfortably. Right when both of you look at her, she turns to where you guys are sitting and waves, a cute little blush exploding on her cheeks. Very relatable. There’s not a single girl who is immune to your best friend’s charm. Yuta immediately springs into action to wave back, and you try to ignore the way his excited grin makes your chest hurt. “See? She’s not even doing anything and I’m still falling even harder!”

Yeah, that feeling seems familiar. The only difference is who you associate it with.

— ❅ —

Falling in love is so easy. Too easy, considering the fact that it can take years for your heart to recover and even then, the person never leaves your heart fully. You have wasted many years trying to get over Nakamoto Yuta, but your heart refuses to do so; the farest you ever get is closing the door on him, but you can never quite get yourself to lock it. The keys are always in his hands, impossible to tear away. Some people just aren’t meant to leave.

You’ve learned too many lessons from Yuta for you to ever forgot about him. You will never be able to not associate warm summer nights with him, will never forget the way he runs off the soccer field straight in your arms and whirl you around after a particularly good game. The first person to ever teach you how to cut off people that cause more harm than peace, who showed you how a proper friend should treat you. A first kiss, though left undiscussed. The many nights spent cramming in information before an important exam, getting drunk together and letting your hands wander because you trust each other. It’s all Yuta, and it always has been. You look for him in other people, in hopes of moving on but also easing the pain in your heart that is solely caused by the boy with the chubby cheeks.

Your eyes search for him everywhere.

Sadly, you even find the boy in Sana’s eyes. Her eyes emit warmth, a home inside a soul. You met Sana in highschool and love her the way you should’ve loved Yuta - she’s family, a sister, a best friend. She knows secrets you never even dared to think about in front of Yuta and treats them like treasures, a pirate taking his precious things to the grave. Trust is like gold to Minatozaki Sana, and the fact that you willingly give her your entire world is the greatest gift you could’ve ever given her. You can’t hate someone who is a part of you - Sana is you as much as you are her, one soul in two bodies. It’s a pity you got the half that Yuta would never desire.

Her fingertips are coarse; so unusual for the girl who looks like the definition of soft. At the end of every shift, you guys take turns massaging sore spots in your shoulders since both of you are too broke to pay for a professional massage inside a salon. You make do with what you have, at ten in the evening. There’s too many chores that are still unfinished, but the laziness is more powerful than your sense of duty. Whatever. Your manager has never complained about you staying longer to clean, so there’s no rush.

“You’re tenser than ever.” Sana sighs over the groan you let out when she hits a painful spot, her thumbs digging in to erase the knot she found. For someone who claims to possess no strength, her grip is pretty hard. “Have you been sleeping properly? You know I told you to stop pulling so many all-nighters... It’s not helping you.”

“I’m aware, mom. But my college degree isn’t earning itself.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her apron hits the empty barstool beside you before she moves to grab a rag to start wiping the counter. The artificial light usually creates an unpleasant ambiance, but it looks like moonlight when it hits Sana’s skin. So surreal, out of this world. The gods must have shaped her, there’s no other explanation. A perfect fit for Yuta. For a second, you contemplate how you managed to befriend the most precious people in the entire world. She rips you out off your train of thought, though. “Your grades are fine. You’re just throwing a hissy fit. Here’s a deal, either you start sleeping on time or I knock you out. How’s that sound?”

“Very pleasant,” you deadpan, and that’s the end of the discussion. She pinches your waist before moving along to put the chairs on the table. It’s always quiet in the evening, especially in this corner of the city. Every night at the same time, an old couple passes the window and waves at you, like the precious members of society they are. There’s a distinct routine that Sana and you established over the years, and you fall into it on instinct. The clean-up is quick as always. The bell on the door signals the end of your shift, and you step out into the cold night as Sana turns the key in its’ lock.

You guys are like two peas in a pond, to the point where traditions and habits have been assimilated together. It has now become a reflex to know what to do in any situation - while anyone else panics at your tears, Sana grabs a bottle of wine and a good movie. When the world turns blurry and the stress is the only thing Sana can see, you’re the first one to cook some spicy food and watch as she eats it, just to catch that special, grateful smile. Cogs working in clockwork. A perfect fit.

“How are things going with Taeyong?” Sana sounds neutral, but the cheeky undertone in her voice is evident to you. You know her better. “Drop it,” is the immediate answer you shoot back. Her laughter rings in your ears like a melody. You wish you would be able to dislike it.

“Hey, I just asked you a simple question. Is that forbidden too, now?”

“Yes. You’re not even allowed to say the T in Taeyong. Move along now, I want to go home and get some food in my stomach.”

Sana hums. “I heard Taeyong is a pretty great cook, too. Did you know that?”

You don’t answer her. Taeyong is nothing like the man that is truly inside your heart, and yet there’s no possible way to deny him. You’ve once told him over a bottle of whiskey about the feelings you harbor for his fellow band member, and yet he doesn’t let that deter him from his conquest of your heart. Taeyong knows unspoken secrets that neither Yuto nor Sana are even aware of, and that thought is strange to you. Taeyong isn’t connected to you like he is to Yuta. It’s barely been a year since you’ve properly gotten to know him. And yet, he coaxes things out of you that you wouldn’t even admit in your wildest dreams.

Lee Taeyong is dangerous. Point, blank, period. Still, you let him court you because he doesn’t mind the constant reminder that your heart belongs to Yuta. It even hurts to tell him that, because Taeyong has one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen. His heart is yours to take, even though you don’t want it. Just looking suffices, though. You threw one look inside and have yet to tear your eyes away, locked into a spell. Like looking at a car crash.

He claims that look is enough for him to keep trying. To you, it’s just torture for an innocent man who could have everyone if he wanted. Girls who are kinder, more selfless. Selfless enough to finally move on from a childhood crush and give him all he craves.

“Hello? Earth to (y/n)?” Your blonde companion waves a manicured hand infront of your face. “I didn’t mean to step on a landmine. I’m sorry, okay?”

The sigh you heave out is more alarming than intended. Meeting Sana’s eyes, you already know she’s got you figured out. Lying is useless now. “There’s no reason to be sorry,” you mumble, but it sounds half-hearted. “I just feel guilty about Taeyong. You know, since it’s unrequited and all.”

“I’m telling you, you’re missing out. I get that you want to focus on finishing college, but that boy could be heaven for you. I wish a boy would look at me like that. You deserve the world, (y/n).”

If only she knew.

Your shared apartment is freezing. Sana hurries to turn on the heater, while you finally get rid of jacket and work clothes. The walk to your room is quiet, accompanied only by the sound of Sana’s playlist starting to quietly reverbate through the apartment. Every nook and cranny is filled with a reminiscent thought, a story that only the owners of this apartments can recall. Despite your awkward predicament, you’ve always been thankful to have Sana.

Life is so much better with friends, especially those who see your entire being and decide to love it. No matter what comes with it, no matter how many disputes. It’s been a rocky road, but Sana and you have moved mountains to honor your friendship. You wouldn’t give her up for anything in the world. Especially not for a boy.

To your luck, you fall asleep just in time before Sana can scold you. Atleast in your dreams, everything is perfect.

— ❅ —

Though you claim that Taeyong is dangerous, you’ve always been someone who likes to play with fire. He looks like an artist’s dream-come-true, with sharp edges and soft doe eyes. Not even the dye in his hair can jarr the perfect image he creates, though he claims you’re just trying to make him blush by saying that. Your eyes may be locked on another man, but you’re not blind. Taeyong is as pretty as they come, with the kindest heart you’ve ever seen.

Since you reject an invitation to coffee and cake because you need to study, Taeyong climbs the many scary stairs up your fire escape so he can tumble through your open window. Accompanying his sweet grin is a bag of macarons and other pastries, which makes your stomach grumble embarrassingly loud.

“I thought you weren’t hungry.” Taeyong sets down the paperbag on your biology book, before he settles in the chair beside you and curiously peeks at your notes. You asked him once if he ever wanted to attend college, and he said that he had considered. He’s too in love with being an idol, though. It’s an attribute that connects him to Yuta - their ambition for the stage. Your best friend gave up soccer for it. You wonder what Taeyong has left behind to perform for the world.

You open your mouth to answer, but your stomach interrupts you again - now the blush settles on your cheeks, the very thing Taeyong had waited for. He laughs as you grab the paperpag, murmuring a “I’m not hungry” before stuffing your mouth with a lemon macaron. Normally, you’d offer him the other half, but it seems like you’re starving. “I thought I told you to rest today,” you say instead, eyes raking over his face. His hair is tinted red and white, like blood on snow. Beauty in controversy. “Since, you know, you’re like the most popular idol in the game right now and everything is pretty busy as it is.”

“Did you really think I’d miss the chance of finally being home alone with you?” Taeyong throws your legs over his lap and leans back - shirt riding up to reveal his defined tummy - and you avert your eyes. He’s already being tortured, you don’t have to make it worse by thirsting after him. But his statement opens up a gaping hole inside your stomach, so unsettling that your heart starts to clench. “He told you?” you ask dumbly. Of course Yuta had. Who hadn’t he told of the happiest moment in life, right after being accepted into SM? After months of pining, Yuta had finally been able to score a date with the Minatozaki Sana. Now the apartment lays empty, like a hollow tomb. For your dead heart, maybe. You realize that you’re being melodramatic, but it’s the only thing cheering you up right now and you have no wit left to make up for it.

Sana had accomplished what you never did. In a few weeks, those dates will evolve into a relationship, and it’ll finally be your turn to vomit out the cold limoncelli that burned the back of Yuta’s throat. It’s a tradition to down it after a heartbreak, one you guys kept up long after highschool. For the first time in ever, it’s going to be Yuta’s fault you’re drinking it. An Irish Wake for the girl who got away.

She had locked sickening in that dress. You sent Sana off with one of the most hurtful smiles you had ever been forced to put on, before all your tears ruined the sociology notes of today’s class.

You stuff your mouth with another macaron. “I should’ve known he’d tell the entire world,” you sighed. A warm hand covers your thigh in comfort, but it’s useless. A band-aid can’t help with a wound that’s located on the inside. “You know, Taeyong, maybe I’ll just change my name and move to Hawaii. I’d be a lot happier on Hawaii. Is there any way for me to like, legally get rid of my identity and disappear under mysterious circumstances?”

You hate the look of pity inside his eyes. It makes you lower you own gaze, reminds you of the sea of pain that you’re drowning in. It’s hard to stay afloat. You don’t need anybody to make it harder. “We could start with some mimosas, first,” Taeyong gently says. The gentleness banishes any kind of annoyance that had developed under his pitiful gaze, and he lets you climb into his lap, hides you away from the world in his embrace. Until you are ready to face it, ready to return to reality. The one where you’re an unaffected roommate who’s simply happy for their friends. “But I feel like I’ve barged in on enough Yuta-(y/n) traditions. So how about we grab some food?”

“I told you I have to study, Tae.”

“Bullshit. I think I’ve been watching you stare into the air for about five minutes before I even came in, you loser. Admit it, I’m doing you a favor.”

The punch you deliver to his chest does nothing to quiet down his little giggles. “You suck,” you growl as an answer, but stand up nonetheless to change into something more presentable. Taeyong respectfully turns away while you do, humming a melody under his breath. The pants you put on are only pulled over your hips before you halt in motion and watch in awe as the sun casts shadows over Taeyong’s face; his face contorting into art as his cat-like eyes slip closed. For some strange reason, Yuta’s words come to mind; about how photographers always gush at the leader’s photogenic features.

For a second, you ponder over this reality. The reality in which you stop clinging to a lover long lost and face a new one, something that could be good and healthy for you. As easy as breathing. It would be like spring, the end of an era, getting rid of the chains that held you back. You only have to accept him. Almost in trance, you take a step forwards, toward Taeyong and that warm reality - just to get a closer look at the artwork - before those chains rattle again. You’re a fool to think that you’d ever be able to discard of them. The freezing metal rips you out of Taeyong’s summer dream, back into the room that is filled to the brim with Yuta’s memories.

It’s far too late for you now. Silently, you finish changing and tap Taeyong’s shoulder as a signal that you’re ready to go. His smile hurts to look at, and he doesn’t even wait for permission before he interlocks your fingers and pulls you along. You wonder how he deals with the pain of rejection. It looks like nothing on him, but you feel like you’ve been poisoned, slowly rotting away. The guilt seems to crush you a little bit more now that you’ve got a taste of Taeyong’s experiences. “Wait,” you say, voice tiny. Feet skidding to a halt. Taeyong’s curiosity is as innocent as ever, and you feel bad for how hard it must be for him to look at you and know you’re never going to be his. “Tae, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the one you want me to be... I....”

“Stop.” Taeyong’s voice is strangely calm. It soothes your many worries, enough for you to quiet down. He raises his hand as if to cup your face, but decides against it - dropping it again to cover both of your hands. Smile never leaving his lips. “(y/n), I knew what I was getting into. It’s me who’s selfishly accepting every slither of affection you even grant me.”

“But am I not hurting you?”

“Sweetheart.” Taeyong laughs, as if you had said something funny. His thumb traces your knuckles, once, twice, a habit that he picked up from you. This time, he confidently tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, still giggling when he speaks again. “We all suffer for love. How could I ever judge you when your pain is essentially mine?”

You think you understand. If you imagine the pain to be a heavy bundle, it’s easier to carry it together. In awe at his strength, you let your gaze wander over Taeyong’s face again as he starts blabbering about a new K-BBQ place he’s been wanting to visit. When you catch the train, you finally feel like the poison’s slowing down. It hasn’t spread through your entire body yet.

As always, Taeyong is the remedy to all your problems.

Sadly, he can’t protect you from the awful sight Sana and Yuta offer when you find them tucked in the booth of a restaurant you used to frequent with Yuta. It would’ve been too much to be happy for one afternoon atleast. Despite standing outside the glass windows, you can hear Sana’s melodious laughter in your mind when she dips her head down to quieten the soft sound; golden curls flying with every shake of her head. Your best friend is beaming at her, drink in hand long forgotten, and you tear your eyes away from the scene before your broken heart starts piercing your lungs.

If only you had recognized the citrine liquor sloshing against Yuta’s glass, for you would have noticed something was definitely going wrong. You don’t take notice of his drink, instead quickening your speed and forcing Taeyong to keep up with you. When you start rambling, your companion says nothing, opting to shoot back his own anecdotes to take off your mind of the thing that is evidently bothering you. For the entire evening, he doesn’t let go of your hand once, and you return home with your belly stuffed with delicious dinner and your heart patched up by your new favorite member of NCT.

— ❅ —

You pass your exams with flying colors.

The pride that fills you when you see the grade on the piece of paper almost makes it worth all the things you’ve endured the past few weeks, even though it had been increasingly difficult to keep up. Silently, you watched your pretty roommate leave your shared home more times when you would have liked to count, while you remained stuck inside your stuffy room. The only escape you had for a while were the fire escape outside your window(which had been making you nauseaous the first few times you sat on it, but Taeyong had insisted it was fine) and work, where Yuta only came to blab about his idol life or test your culinary skills. You never ask him about Sana, and he never spills. His quiet support during exam season was the only reason you could handle Sana’s nightly meets, and you clung to the few moments where you could call Yuta yours.

There had once been a time in highschool where studying had been much more fun. Every correct answer had earned you another piece of candy, which became so addicting that Yuta and you upped the stacks by making the other treat them to dinner if they had more correct answes by the end of the free period. What started as school work evolved into a competition, which in turn had led to your first kiss under the lights of Seoul’s summer festival, the roar of passerbys and the loud music booming through the streets accompanying that precious memory. You had been glad, so glad it was Yuta who had stolen away that first experience, because you know for a fact he would never waste it. You had bet him a ticket of the ferris wheel, since it was terribly expensive and pocket money was barely cutting it for you. Not only had he purchased the ticket, but also won you the biggest teddybear on the market. You couldn’t remember what instilled it, but seconds after the plushie was placed into your hands, Yuta had cradled your face and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Your first kiss was magical. The sweet taste of cherries and the unimaginable trace of love that Yuta had left on your tongue had made you feel alive, as if for the first time in your life, your heart finally started to beat. The blood rushing through yours veins was powered by fireworks and adoration for one single boy, the sweet boy who taught you how to ride your bike without your training wheels, made you cook takoyaki atleast twice a week, and bothered to create silly traditions and inside jokes like limoncelli or Hello Kitty band-aids, placed over Yuta’s nose after he got a soccer ball to the face.

That summer had been the summer Yuta was accepted into SM. You had never talked about the kiss again. But what a vivid memory it was! Like your personal, handmade movie, your own living piece of magic. You had never imagined love to be so powerful. But you understand it now, as you look into Yuta’s eyes and realize that all you had ever wanted for him in life was for him to be happy. And he was.

That was enough. The pain, the endurance, you’d do it all again. For Nakamoto Yuta, who reached for your hand and never had let go. Not for soccer, not for the industry, not even for the many people he had dated in the past. That must be worth something.

“You’ve been looking at me weirdly all day.” Yuta scrunches his nose in fake disgust, but his eyes are still crinkled from the pleasant smile that curved around his plush lips. His mom always says that he looks like a fox; it had been his halloween costume three years in a row. Right now, he looks just like that. Coy and dangerous and in the wait. “You trying to pick a fight or what? Because I’ve got all day, and a little wrestling never hurt anybody.”

“So what, I’m not even allowed to watch now?”

Yuta winks before you realize the extent of your words. Cringing, you turn away, but not before seeing the laughter burst out of him, the sound addicting as always. “Don’t get weird with me now, Nakamoto,” you warn him, sliding off your soft bed to close the window. The cool wind was enjoyable, but it kept messing up your many exercise sheets that still needed to be sorted out before september came. Next time around this year, you’ll finally have finished your degree and would return to a proper working life. What an adventure that would be. “Are you planning to camp in here for the rest of your life or are you going to leave eventually? Because I actually got plans and I’m not afraid of kicking you out.”

It was already strange to you that Yuta was sitting here, and not in the living room with Sana. To your knowledge, they were still dating, and the reminder still stung. But no, your childhood best friend remains seated where he is, wrapped in your favorite blanket that you bought on a family trip to Osaka. Another memory that ties him to this place. Your parents had offered to surprise him since you guys were always seperated during summer vacation, and they had always wanted to go to Japan. You learned how to fish there. Weirdly, you kinda miss sitting on the cold river banks while your father tries to explain how to properly kill a fish.

Yuta clutches his chest in faux pain, dramatic as always. “So mean,” he whines. “Here I am making time for my best friend in the entire world, and it is not even appreciated. I’m kicked out, even! Tell me, what has happened to justice? Is it not first come, first serve anymore?”

“First of all - I’m your only best friend.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He nonchalantly waves you off, like someone would an annoying fly. “I still love you the most out of all of my friends, so it’s different. Pick up a book once in a while, (y/n).”

You try to shake off the pain that one single word had incurred in you, but it’s so unbearable. It makes you want to scream. Your life would be so much easier if Yuta truly loved you and you’d be able to tell him aeons worth of confessions, of how you found heaven in his soul and salvation is his heart. It sits on the tip of your tongue, a heavy burden to carry for someone who’s as frail of you, but you only tell him: “It is first come, first serve. Taeyong has been planning to take me out after my exams for a while now, while you were out being lovey-dovey with a certain roommate.” You raise an eyebrow at his awkward expression. A fox in the trap. “So much for loving me most, oh best friend.”

On any other circumstance, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to argue. Yuta is very clingy, and very affectionate. You’ve seen his band members on the receiving end of it, and are glad that they atleast don’t suffer his temper tantrums whenever someone challenges the position of ‘best friend’. Today though, he nitpicks: “You have plans with Taeyong?”

You blink. “Yeah, I guess. I told you we guys got closer in the past few months.”

Yuta’s hand feels more heavier in yours than Taeyong’s did. He pulls you onto the bed again, hands latching to your waist to hold you close, treating you like a personal teddybear. It doesn’t take long before your back is pressed against his chest while he rests his head on your shoulder. “How close, exactly?” he grumbles, childish annoyance peaking through his voice. “You’re not giving him all my Hello Kitty band-aids, are you?”

“Are you accusing me of treason?”

“Maybe so.”

You try to escape his death grip, but ultimately fail. God damn those muscles. “Get out of my room, traitor. I would never ever give away the holy Hello Kitty band-aids.”

“Hmm.” Yuta loosens his hold, and you suck in the breath you so desperately needed. Do you look like a ragdoll or what? “I suppose it’s alright then. When are you getting back?”

“Who are you, my father?” You smack his thigh in retaliation for him caging you in, but your friend only laughs it off. A pinch to your waist makes you jump away from him. “Since when do I need permission from you to come and go?” you complain then. Never once had Yuta been so protective because of a boy than now. It made you wonder what was going on with him. He only shrugs, not offering a explanation. With a last grin, he falls back into the mattress and crosses his arms behind his head, as if the room belonged to him. Ass. “Be back before twelve,” the man only hums.

When you leave Yuta in your room(although with a heavy heart, since you’re sure he’ll join Sana in the living room after you leave), he offers you his cheek as a goodbye. You freeze in place, since this is the first time since sixth grade you sent him off with a kiss to the cheek. Nonetheless, you bow down to do him the favor, his warm hand keeping you in place for a few moments longer, before he lets go of your waist and gifts you a smile that seems rather melancholic. You almost stay.

Almost. You’d rather choke than watch him lock lips with your only female best friend.

“What are you doing on saturday?” Taeyong asks you after offering you a bottle of soju, abandoning your side to place the fluffy picnic blanket over the grass. Han River glistens golden in the light of the sun, a honeyed mirror of the world. It’s almost tragic that life is so heartstrickenly beautiful, no matter what the circumstances are. You suppose that’s what makes it so beautiful. A few moments later, Taeyong has tugged you down so he can rest his head in your lap. With a happy sigh, he closes his eyes and soaks in the last warmth the day has to offer, as always ressembling a statue.

“Nothing, I think,” you tell him. The soju is sweet, easy on the throat. A stark contrast to the Yuta-(y/n) tradition. You don’t have the heart to tell Taeyong that the festival starts on friday, since it’s evident that Yuta is going to take Sana and not you. The magic spell from that fairy-tale kiss had long worn off. This is the real world. “Not until now, since you’re taking me out, I’m deducing?”

“Absolutely correct. No wonder you passed your exams, you’re so clever!”

“I feel belittled.”

Taeyong laughs. The sound rumbles through his chest, as harmonious as the lyrical verses he creates and incorperates into songs. “It wasn’t meant to be,” he promises, hand reaching for your own. His fingertips are cold from the bottle he had held for you until you reached the riverbank. “I’m very proud of you for passing your exams. You did exceptionally well, even though I mothered you so much.”

“Thank you.” Your answer was demure, but it came from the bottom of your heart. Taeyong had been an important emotional crutch, and he had even fulfilled your promise of seeing someone else so he could move on from you. Even though he does, he vows to be a friend for life like Yuta is. It’s so different from the Osaka prince, but Taeyong has truely gotten to the point where he became vital for you, in another way than Yuta is, but how Yuta should have been. He hasn’t told you the name of the secret lady, though. “You think I’ll get my degree?”

“A hundred percent.” A tight squeeze is reassurance enough for you, and Taeyong’s face contorts into a happy grimace when you squish his cheeks. “Thank you,” you say again. “You’re the best friend in the entire world, Taeyong. Really. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“If you want me to live, never say this in front of Yuta.”

“Sure thing.”

You’re not the only people bathing in the evening light, as the riverbank is crowded with families and friends all alike. Their joyous laughter takes you to a time where breathing had been a little easier, a little freer. Where your heartbeat didn’t resonate through broken shards. You’ve come to realize, though, that you wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

Not if it meant Yuta.

— ❅ —

[08:26pm] yuta-chan ♡: do you think you could meet me at 9 at the ferris wheel? i have to leave for japan after that.

[08:29pm] (y/n): so that little cuddle fest in the kitchen today didn’t mean goodbye already?

[08:29pm] (y/n): that was embarrassing to do in front of taeyong, by the way.

[08:30pm] yuta-chan ♡: he can handle a little pda. i came first, you know.

[08:31pm] (y/n): i don’t think i’ll be able to make it, yuta. i’m out with taeyong.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: boo, you whore.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: can you please atleast try? for me?

[08:32pm] (y/n): yuta... ✓

[08:32pm] (y/n): are you serious? you lose service now?? ✓

calling yuta-chan ♡...

[08:34pm] (y/n): yuta, i cant just leave ty!! pls come back online 😭. ✓

Sighing loudly, you slam your forehead down onto your phone. The line infront of you was getting shorter and shorter, and the tickets to your movie were already purchased. What was so damn important for Yuta to want you to meet him at nine? Even if you went now, you don’t think you could be there on time. Taeyong watches curiously as you pound more messages into the device, only for you to whine since they aren’t getting through. “For God’s sake! I’m gonna kill him!”

“What did Yuta do now?” Taeyong sounds way too amused for your own liking.

Angrily, you try to call your best friend again, but to no avail. Apparently, Yuta had chucked his phone away after ominously telling you to meet him at the festival. That stupid festival, and the stupid emotional value it came with for you. “He wants me to meet him at the ferris wheel in twenty minutes!” you shout then, exasperated. The loud volume of your despair brings you a few nasty glances from the people standing in queue, but you cannot bring yourself to care right now. “And he knows exactly I’m out with you right now. I can’t just drop everything and go just because he wants me to! He didn’t even tell me why!”

“Just go, (y/n).” Taeyong pinches your cheek. The gesture would have been adorable if you weren’t so annoyed right now. “It’s just a movie, and we can just rewatch it - I’ll just call someone else.”

“No, I don’t want to.” You stuff your phone back into your pocket. You can’t come back running to Yuta, just because you love him. Being at his beck and call will just ruin you, as it always has over the many years you had been spent motionless at his side, too cowardly to step forward. The allure of velleity stops here. You have to break free of your curse now, or you’ll never be able to. “I’m sure it’s fine. I bet he just wants help with Sana or something, it’s not like he can’t do it on his own. He’s a grown man.”

“(y/n), it’s not about Sana.” Taeyong’s eyes turn serious now, shaking at your resolutement. “I think you should go.”

“Trust me, Tae, I know him. He’s just panicking because he has to leave Sana behind for a few months because he’s never dated someone over long distance, even though it’s not forever. I’m going to finally move on and accept that Yuta and I are never going to be.”

“He’s not dating Sana, (y/n)!” You squeak when Taeyoung abruptly turns to you to shake your shoulders, so unusual for the calm man he usually is. Your second mom, as you lovingly called him. “I am. They stopped dating a long time ago because Yuta explained he wasn’t into her, he was into you. He was trying to move on and failed! Do you understand, (y/n)? Nakamoto Yuta is in love with you!”

You gape at Taeyong like a fish out of water. For a few seconds, which feel like centuries, you’re so speechless you forget the urgency of the situation. Your brain can’t register everything at once, despite the fact that you just received the biggest news of your life, so it latches on to the most logical one at hand. “You’re dating Sana?” you repeat in utter shock, rumbled to the core. “When the hell were you planning to tell me?”

“I’d love to tell you more about my secret romance but I’m afraid if you stand here any longer, you’re going to miss out on your last chance to ever confess your feelings to Yuta ever again!”

The veil drops. In a matter of seconds, nothing in this world made sense but Yuta, because why wouldn’t it? Your best friend, the love of your life - suddenly growing overprotective and so hellbent on PDA, the long, sad gazes that seemed to trail after you that you had interpreted as pouting because you were neglecting your friendship. All of it falls into place, and awakens one instinct that has been buried deep inside you for years now, unused and unpolished ever since Yuta left the soccerfields behind.

Whenever the team had won, it was a race about who could tackle Yuta first. Yuta, the star player, dubbed score god by his teammates as he keeps carrying them to the win. You had learnt pretty quickly to leave your friends behind in the dust just to reach him in time, to fall in the arms that had always been waiting for you and you only. You barely remember the few occassions where Johnny had in fact been faster than you were, just for Yuta to avoid him so he could embrace you and whirl you through the air like some kind of doll. The sound of victory, the heavy pattering of a heart that is so familiar that you that it seems like your own. Now, it comes back to life - you barely remember placing the ticket into Taeyong’s hands as you stumble around and push past all the people, in direction of the main festivities. Your legs are light, lighter than the wind and the air as you run like you were running for your life, heartbeat hammering in your ears. Was it your own, or Yuta’s, the melody that has been accompanying all your life? No time to wonder as you pick up speed and pray, pray for any god willing to listen for Yuta to wait.

How could you be so silly and let him leave before telling you goodbye at the ferris wheel? Was it not another one of your silly traditions, like that disgusting alcohol and the awful takoyaki you had made in the first weeks of learning how to cook? The sweaty jerseys that were always exchanged to show your support at his games? The whispered promises, the untold ones, was it not always there? You feel blind, so blind - and so stupid! How could you not have noticed the ways Yuta’s gaze had stopped trailing after your roommate? Was it not you who left him in that bedroom and never saw him join Sana in the living room, crawling into the bed beside him when you returned like he hadn’t ever moved? Was it not you who had taken up all his time?

The festival is as stuffy as ever, as well-visited as ever. It is 09:08pm and you fear for your life, for your heart, because it’s with Nakamoto Yuta and he is about to leave with it forever. You fall onto your face a few times and scrape your knees bloodly, but you keep walking, praying.

No one familiar is standing in front of the ferris wheel.

This must be karma. It truly is, fate paying you back just in time for you to cripple in metaphoric debt. For years, you had prided yourself with knowing Yuta best, your favorite book, one you’d read for the rest of your life. Now, when you finally break out from the spot you were frozen in, it is already too late.

Atleast that’s what you think for ten long seconds.

There’s a warm hand who pulls you back, the hand that has been guiding you all your life. Late-night walks back home, your first time in Osaka. Han River’s riverbank and the streets of the city when the festival lights lit everything up. Yuta’s beaming smile goes straight to your heavy heart, and it soars in happiness as he hugs you and whispers: “You came back for me!”

“I did, you big idiot!” Without second thought, you jump into his embrace and throw both arms around his shoulders. You are right where you’re supposed to be. You’re home, you’re home, you’re home. While the salty tears of relief blur up your sight of the buzzing marketplace around you, loud, sincere laughter pearls from your lips. It’s a hymn of joy, your unofficial serenade to the man of your dreams. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Yuta pulls back to cradle your face, something he had never done so carefully except that one time, almost seven years ago. “You’re here with me,” he says then, almost in disbelief. There’s a moment of silence where the magic of your teenage days returns, spell-bound, and just a second later, Yuta’s warm body finally crashes against yours as familiar lips cover your own. Of course he tastes like limoncelli, but below that, he tastes of precious memories and secret thoughts, the silent adoration that was never one-sided. His fingers trace your jawline while you tousle his hair, both mapping out each other as you imprint it into memory.

You are unconditionally, irrevoceably in love with Nakamoto Yuta. You tell him that when he finally lets go of you, and he repeats it back, as many times as he can. Confessions and explanations are exchanged, but nothing really matters except the fact that you managed to jump back in time and finally fulfill your chance. You finally made your move.

“I don’t think I can let you go to Japan yet,” you tell him then, several minutes later, while you stand in line to the ferris wheel, even though he should be long gone by now. There’s a flight to Tokyo going in two hours, and yet he’s still here. Clinging to your hand like you’re going to disappear if he looks away. Love-stricken eyes that make your knees go weak. “You owe me some explanations.”

Yuta pulls you closer with the arm he keeps hooked around your waist, bright smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll have plenty of time up there to spill,” he responds and kisses the tip of your nose. He smells like home. Like forever and beyond. “I love you. I’ll give you the rest of my life in exchange for just one evening with you.”

No, one evening wasn’t enough. You’d give Yuta eternity in exchange for his heart, but let’s just start with today. In celebration of being inclined to move. For two hearts who were lost at sea, meeting again after what they thought would be never ever. He’s definitely going to miss that flight, though.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? V

A/N: So, I had SOMETHING I wanted to add at the end of this chapter, but I have entirely forgotten what that was. This means the chapter isn't *quite* as long as I'd have liked to be. Hopefully it's still enjoyable, especially as I do think a lot still happens in the character development here. Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive… she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

--

You Forfeit All Right to My Heart

Freydis received a, truthfully, rather horrible shock in her opinion. Everyone had seen how badly putting her and Ivar in the same room had gone. But, Professor Andersen had come to speak with her, and asked her what had happened, why their reunion had gone so wrong.

She’d told him the truth, told him how history had been inaccurate, and the man had simply watched her in shock. If the two were to be a team, they were going to need to learn how to better get along with each other. So far, it didn’t seem that would happen, even if they were made to talk to each other again.

Freydis had said that if she were put in a room with Ivar again, locked in with him, she’d just find a way out. This was what she’d meant when she thought giving a prisoner powers would backfire. They couldn’t control her, and they knew it. Her power was growing every day.

A plan had to be devised, then, to bring Freydis and Ivar together. They couldn't be left to figure things out slowly, over time. The whole purpose in choosing two people who had been married before they died was that they'd already be a perfect team. They weren't meant to choose a couple who had fallen apart in the final years of one's life!

But, as Freydis told Professor Andersen, when he had expressed this to her, fate had a funny way of making things more difficult for those who were determined to outwit it. It wasn't that, in her belief, this couldn't be done. It was simply that one would have to fight harder if that was what they wanted to do. And even so, how could one be sure that wasn't their fate after all? To overcome what they believed to be their fate?

Professor Andersen had simply been more confused by what she said, but after discussing this with Dr. Schmidt, who then talked to the doctors and scientists in charge of Ivar, he had been tasked with the role of coming up with a way to bring Freydis and Ivar together. He'd considered putting them in a perilous situation together, so they would have to work together to survive, but he knew how that would turn out from the conversation the two had had before. Ivar would sacrifice his life to let Freydis live, she'd let him, angry as she was, and they'd be done. No team there if half the team is dead.

That didn't mean he hadn't come up with something he thought was brilliant, though. No, in fact, he had come up with something that he was sure would work. His plan had required new technology to be developed, technology that would be able to restrain the magic that now ran through Freydis's veins, and eventually, they'd come up with something.

It was a space in which she couldn't use her powers. Ivar wouldn't hurt her (again) they didn't expect, so it wasn't as though she would need those powers. Besides, security would have access to the room at all times. If he did try to hurt her somehow, for any reason, they could step in.

So, that was how Freydis found herself being offered a new space to live in, being told it would be much more comfortable. When they took her in and she saw Ivar, she'd tried to escape as fast as a cat being put in the bath. Finding that her powers didn't work sent a shock of fear through her, and very little to do was made before the door was shut, locked from outside, and she was left in there with Ivar.

The plan Professor Andersen had concocted was to force the pair to learn to live with each other, as now it was almost guaranteed Freydis wouldn't be able to kill Ivar with a flick of her wrist. With a weapon, sure, but that would be when security would step in before she could.

A thick silence filled the room as they stood and watched each other. The shock of Ivar being alive had worn off for her, the shock of being in the same vicinity as him, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about any of this, or let him off easily. Instead of trying to make peace with him, she crossed her arms, looked over him once, and said, "Your legs work now."

She seemed almost skeptical, and it brought an honest chuckle out of Ivar when he heard that. "They work," he confirmed, nodding a little. "The technology is quite impressive here, you see. Better than anything we had in Kattegat."

Freydis cocked a brow for a moment. "I would still prefer to be in Kattegat," she said sharply.

"As would I," Ivar said. "But we are here."

"We wouldn't have to be here if you hadn't killed me," she now snarled.

Ivar sighed. "Are we going to spend all of our time going over that?" he questioned. "Yes, I killed you, because you betrayed me to my brothers. Would you have preferred I let you be put on trial before our people? Found guilty of treason and executed in front of them? I was saving you the humiliation."

"You lost! If you had waited to see what happened, you'd have seen I didn't have to die!" she snapped. "That is the problem with you! You never believe you can lose, do you? Everything you do must be successful, because you have the favor of the Gods! Do you realize not everything good comes to those with their favor, but sometimes you fail because it is their will regardless of what their favor is?"

Ivar chuckled bitterly, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms, and Freydis glared. "I know I cannot win everything," he said. "I learned that when my campaign with the Rus in Scandinavia was crushed by my brother. I learned that when you betrayed me. When our son- no, your son- was born how he was, and I realized I would never have a family of my own."

"Perhaps you could have if you hadn't left him out to die," she countered, and he began to laugh, leaning his head back.

"Or perhaps if he had truly been my son!" Freydis opened her mouth to protest, but Ivar cut her off before she could. "Do not lie to me and tell me he was, we both know the truth! I could not have children. Not when I was with you. We could not have had a child together. Whatever you told me, about how you conceived that child, was a lie, I know that now. Because if he had been mine, it would have meant I was a God, but I know that cannot have been true because of the way he was born!"

Freydis glared at him harshly, in the sort of way he recognized as her anger cooling off. Which, in all truth, was worse than when it was hot. When it was cold, she was giving up the argument.

"I did it for you," she hissed. "I wanted you to have a family, and an heir."

Ivar blinked as he looked at her then, the cold, harsh anger in her eyes. When he realized Baldur could not have been his son, his mind had immediately pictured the worst. He'd pictured Freydis in love with some other man, carrying a child she could not confess was his because she had married Ivar the Boneless. If he had discovered the identity of the child's father, had even learned it wasn't his, they both knew his temper. He might have killed someone for it- certainly would have if he'd found the child's father.

But the way she spoke now, it almost seemed as though she hated what she had done. Perhaps there was guilt, perhaps disgust, he couldn't say. But he knew who could, he knew that Freydis could say what she felt about what she'd done. Freydis could also say what she had done.

His anger seemed to subside out of almost nowhere, and he looked at her with a cool, curious expression. "And what did you do, hm?" he asked. "You seem upset about what you did, and that is why you are angry with me for being angry with you over it. Is that right? Or am I wrong, and you are angry for another reason? Aside from the death of your son, and your own death, I know those things already." He waved a dismissive hand, to keep her from bringing it up again.

Freydis huffed, crossing her arms and turning away from him. "If you must know," she began. "I killed him. Baldur's biological father. He was one of the slaves we had. As soon as I knew I was with child, I had him killed. The official story I gave for wanting it was that he had behaved inappropriately with me. It was not questioned. Who would question it? I was the Queen. If I said it was true, it was true." Her eyes swam with some expression he couldn't quite understand, but if he had to guess, it was a mixture of guilt, and pain. "I never even asked his name. He probably had family. I don't even know he was a slave- for all I know, he was a servant in our house, and he had a wife and a family, children of his own."

She swallowed hard, and looked back at Ivar. "I was not a killer before I met you," she said. "I told you I would do whatever you wanted me to do, whatever you asked of me. I told you I would do anything for you, and it was true, what I told you. You wanted an heir, even if you believed you could not have one, so I concocted a plan to give you one. And whether you want to believe it or not, he was your son. You were with me through every day I carried him. You were there when I birthed him. You held him. And you killed him."

Her voice cracked under the emotion she felt at her last words, and Ivar's jaw clenched. He swallowed hard and his eyes fell to the ground. Somehow, Freydis was pleased to see he still had the same tells when he felt guilty. The truth was out, and he knew now why she was angry whenever he just cast aside what she had done to give him a son.

Because, the truth was, Baldur had been his son, in all but carrying his DNA. (Ivar had only recently learned about DNA, but he decided just then he would have to see if people took care of children now who were not theirs by birth.) Everything Freydis said about that was true. He distanced himself from what he'd done by claiming the boy hadn't been his, by distancing himself from the child himself, because perhaps he wouldn't hate himself for what he'd done if it was just some poor man's son.

Sometimes, Ivar thought back to that night. Especially after seeing Freydis here again, after their confrontation, he found himself unable to stop thinking about that night. He still believed what he told Baldur, the reasons he had left him, but he wondered if Freydis had ever known why he'd done it. Regardless of what she had known before, he decided she was going to know now.

With a great sigh, he began to speak.

"I couldn't let him suffer how I had suffered all my life," he said. "Even if it would only be a few days, I could not let him endure such a thing."

Freydis looked up at him, her brows drawn tightly together as she considered what he'd just said. He couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't handle seeing the devastation he imagined in her as she relived this nightmare. He was certainly reliving it, he knew that much.

But, not looking at her, he couldn't see how tightly her arms were wrapped around herself, the pain that seemed to radiate from her. Well, no, that he could feel. It was thick in the air, just as the silence had been when they'd first been left alone. He hated it.

After quite some time, Freydis finally said, "He should have been at home with us." He didn't need to look to hear that tears were now leaking from her eyes. Ivar knew her voice better than anyone's- perhaps even better than his own mother's, by now. But he owed it to her, to face what he'd done to her, so he finally looked up, and met her eyes.

It was so much worse than he could have imagined. He didn't know when she'd started crying, but the tears that rolled down her cheeks, just as he predicted, were clearly not the first she'd shed in this conversation. She looked so much worse than devastated, she looked desperate, and all he could say was, "He should have been."

When all had been said and done, and Ivar found himself in Kievan Rus without his wife or son, he had thought often about how Baldur's life had ended. When he was dying himself, lying there and looking up at Hvitserk, he realized how much worse it would have been to have died alone, the way Baldur had. Everything had fallen into place in that moment, so many moments too late.

Shock registered then on Freydis's face, or rather a more mild sort of surprise at his confession. No part of the woman had ever expected Ivar to admit he was wrong about something, and yet here they were.

She gave a curt nod, and wiped the tears from her face. "Then we agree on something," she allowed, and walked into the kitchen the pair had been provided with. Ivar watched her go silently, and swallowed hard.

Perhaps this was going be the beginning of healing. Or, perhaps at least the beginning of a peaceful coexistence. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't take the screaming again and again. He was a strong man in his former life, was stronger now, but he wondered if any man had been strong enough to see the woman he loved in that sort of pain so frequently. He couldn't.

Neither of them ate that night, despite Freydis having gone into the kitchen at one point. She’d looked around rather aimlessly, but found her appetite was rather nonexistent after their conversation. Ivar’s was as well, and so silence reigned in the little apartment until night fell.

It wasn’t a very comfortable silence. The air in the room was tense still, and when night fell, they stood together in the doorway of their new room. The apartment was only built for one couple, and so there was one bedroom, with one bed. Freydis turned to look over Ivar again, and then the bed.

“Your legs are healed,” she said. “You can sleep on the floor or the couch.”

Ivar grimaced a bit, but watched her go into the room. She turned around and looked at him as he stood in the doorway. It seemed like there was something he wanted to say, and she waited just a moment to let him, but when he didn’t, she grabbed the door, and moved it so that she was about to close it. Ivar swallowed as he looked down at her.

“Goodnight, Ivar,” she said. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but her words were final.

He took a step back, and replied, “Goodnight, Freydis,” before watching her close the door.

Ivar sighed quietly and went to the couch, laying down and getting himself comfortable- well, as comfortable as he could be. The couch wasn’t exactly great. He missed Freydis, and she was right there. He wanted to be with her, but she wasn’t open to it. But, they had managed to exist in the same space without fighting for some of the day. Maybe that was a sign that things were getting better. If they could get used to living together, maybe they could heal.

It was a start, if nothing else, and a start was better than nothing. It meant there was hope.

 Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @punkrocknpearls, @pomegranates-and-blood

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 7

Chapter: 7/8

Content warnings: Blood, respiratory distress, mentions of alcohol and use (no depictions)

Add'l Notes: Patton is a sweet, gentle bear, Janus is a scheming, diabolical manlet, I'll die on this hill, etc etc.

This was getting unbearable. Janus buried his face in his handkerchief and coughed and coughed. His blood was warm against his tongue and lips, streaking the blooms dark red. His chest burned constantly now, his throat always irritated and raw.

To top it all off, Patton had disappeared without a word of warning, leaving Janus with no answers. If anything, he had more questions than ever before. The vase of poppies on Patton's dresser could not have been a coincidence, but there was just no way this was Patton's fault.

So Janus was saddled with a mystery, with flowers in his lungs, and with Remus' awkward attempts at support.

"I'm just saying, you can't rule it out until you try it," Remus said, pausing in his pacing to give Janus a doe-eyed pout.

"For the last time, Remus, I'm not going to huff weed killer." Janus threw his head back against the couch cushions and tried his best to sigh. The effect was somewhat muted by the sputtering coughs that followed.

"I can tell you want to scream," Remus said.

He was right, though Janus would never admit it. "Yes, I think that--" Breathe, breathe, breathe-- "that'll fix me." What Janus really wanted, disgusted as he was to admit it to himself, was Patton. Not that Patton would be able to do anything that Remus couldn't do, but Janus missed him. Quite terribly, if he was being honest with himself. Maybe he would feel better if he cried, not that he'd ever allow himself to do that. He'd have to be out of his mind on hypoxia and poppy seeds.

"I just wish there was something I could do," Remus said, dropping hands to his sides. "Other than just sit here and watch."

Janus hadn't told him about the flowers in Patton's room. He kept things close to his chest by nature, determined to solve his problems on his own. He didn't ask for help. Even if he would have dearly liked another perspective on this mystery, he couldn't put that responsibility on Remus. It would only make him feel worse if he failed.

"You can make me ginger tea," Janus said, forcing a smile. It wasn't right seeing Remus fret like this. "With honey."

A teacup appeared on the coffee table alongside a bottle of whiskey. So much for occupying Remus with busywork. "What I should do," Remus said, brandishing his morningstar, "is go maul Roman until he agrees to fix you."

"As entertaining as that would be, I'm not so sure that's the most efficient course of action, per se." Janus shifted, trying to work out how to leave Remus without making him feel abandoned. He just wanted to go check on Patton, but didn't feel at all up to the task of refereeing whatever confrontation would result in Patton and Remus sharing space. He could always just get up and leave with no explanation…. But Remus didn't deserve that.

In the end, he decided to wait until Remus got bored. There was no guarantee he was even going to find Patton. He had been AWOL for the past two days and Janus had had a near run-in with Virgil last night when he'd gone to look for Patton, an experience he was not keen to repeat.

And if Janus expedited the process of ditching Remus by pretending to fall asleep, well, he'd never tell.

Patton had a distinctly hungover look about him, with his glasses missing and his hair sticking up in the back. He blinked at Janus, bleary-eyed, and Janus' heart started to jackhammer in his chest. How utterly cute, how endearing. He wanted to smooth Patton's hair down and kiss him on the forehead, though he'd have to stand on his tiptoes to reach. Damn the subconscious for making him tiny.

"Where have you been?" Janus asked, planting himself in the middle of the hallway. Patton's door disappeared into white ether, a fact which Janus filed away to think about later.

"Sleeping," Patton said, holding up a bottle of NyQuil.

Well, that explained why he didn't smell like alcohol despite the obvious hangover. "And here I thought you were avoiding me," Janus teased. Despite the awful sting all up and down his chest, Patton's mere presence seemed to lighten the burden and ease his fears. He could bear this as long as he had Patton by his side.

"No," Patton mumbled, dragging hands down his face. "Coffee. Then talk."

He swayed a little, steadying himself on the wall. Janus held out his hand. "Come here, let me help."

Patton nodded and let Janus lead him to the kitchen. Not trusting Patton with high chairs at the kitchen island, Janus instead led him to the table and turned a chair out for him so they could face each other. Patton coughed behind closed lips and a spike of fear paralyzed Janus' heart. He was already fighting for breath and this new bolt of adrenaline made him dizzy. He took deep breaths (as well as he could, with his lungs all entangled and bleeding) and forced himself to make coffee step-by-step. It was the one thing he regularly did by hand instead of just imagining it to completion, a ritual and a reward.

"I hope you didn't catch what I have," Janus said. Maintaining the lie.

"Doubt it," Patton mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Janus narrowed his eyes. What did that mean? Was Patton coughing up poppies, too? Suddenly, the drip-drip-drip of coffee into the pot, the rich, reassuring smell of the grounds, seemed unimportant. Janus imagined the coffee done percolating, imagined two mugs on the table. He pushed one toward Patton. "Cheers."

"What time is it?" Patton asked before downing half the contents of the mug in one long swallow.

"Around noon, I think." Feeling his diaphragm seize, Janus turned away, shaking his handkerchief out of his sleeve, and gave in to the fit. It was getting harder and harder to swallow the pain. Inhaling was not just uncomfortable now; it hurt like clenched fists around his lungs. But Janus was a practiced liar and tucked the pain away behind a velvet curtain. "I haven't seen you in two days."

"Sorry," Patton said, looking fractionally more alert now. "I was trying to sleep off this… Cold, I guess."

"Mm," said Janus, taking a sip of coffee to keep from having to answer properly. He couldn't decide how he wanted to pursue this, if he wanted to pursue this. What did it matter if Patton was coughing up poppies or daisies or African violets? It brought Janus no closer to solving the puzzle.

"You sound really bad," Patton said. He finished his coffee and blinked hard. "Oh! I'm sorry, but I don't think it's Roman."

"You're sure?" Janus asked, blood running cold.

But a lot of things seemed to be hitting Patton all at once with the introduction of caffeine to his system; he whipped his head up to look at Janus with something akin to panic. "I wanted to thank you, and-- Oh." He looked at their coffee mugs with obvious dismay. "I did it again."

"Did what?"

"I… I let you take care of me," Patton said in a small voice.

"Oh, Patton," Janus sighed, unable to help himself. The breath that ghosted across his lips tasted like blood and black coffee. He wondered if Patton would mind terribly if Janus kissed him anyway. "I really haven't been." That was true. Janus had been deliberately holding himself back from giving himself over to Patton. How little support did he get from the others, that Janus' minor attempts at friendship felt so significant?

"You have!" Patton insisted. "Right from the start. You've been right by my side through all of this, reminding me to take care of myself, spending time with me. You even helped me with that dog puzzle."

"I don't understand," Janus said. These were normal friendship behaviors. Had he been too obvious? Did Patton suspect? "Wouldn't the others have done the same?"

"They would," Patton said. "If I had asked."

"Oh," said Janus, blinking away a wave of dizziness. Even he couldn't begrudge the others their lack of understanding. It wasn't their fault they couldn't give Patton what he hadn't asked for. But what did it say about him that he had?

"You've been a really good friend to me, Janus. Even though I don't deserve it."

"Don't talk about my friend like that," Janus said, nudging Patton in the ribs. It was a soft, familiar gesture, something he'd done to Remus a hundred times before. It was the first time Janus had touched Patton without announcing it, getting permission.

Patton smiled at him, and then they both ruined the moment by dissolving into twin coughing fits.

Janus' lasted longer; he felt Patton's eyes on him as he repeatedly tried and failed to get himself under control-- Was that an entire flower in his throat? What did that mean? He banished it with difficulty, trying to master the animal impulses screaming it hurts it hurts it hurts as if to drown out his rational thought. He should leave, but he didn't want to. So he straightened up and washed away the taste of blood in his mouth with another swallow of coffee.

"Ohhh," Patton whispered. "You really don't sound good."

"I'm fine," Janus said, reflexively bringing out an old standard. It was the one lie everybody told.

"You didn't believe me when I said I was fine," Patton said. "Why should I believe you?"

"There's not really anything to be done about it," Janus said, hating the shallow breaths he had to take between every few words. If he stayed, he would have to pretend he wasn't in agony. But hadn't he been doing that this whole time? It was agony, being so certain that Patton could never want Janus the way Janus wanted Patton, yet unable to crush that sliver of hope that never died out.

Patton brandished the NyQuil bottle and Janus forced himself to laugh. Patton smiled at him, so soft and gentle and honey-sweet. "Why don't you sit with me?" Janus blinked and they were on the couch with two fresh cups of coffee. Patton had left no space between their bodies. "Is this okay?"

It wasn't, really. Janus burned with the contact, burned all over until he could feel it in his face and had to hide behind a cooler mask, though he was sure this one was still pale and pinched with pain. It wasn't fair at all, this horrible parody of romance. It shouldn't have been a problem. He should have been satisfied with friendship, like he was with Remus. It was nothing to sit in Remus' lap or play with his hair because they were both happy with the arrangement. But this? This made Janus want to put a fist through the wall. So of course, he said "Yes" and took his hat off in case he worked up the courage to rest his head on Patton's shoulder.

"Are we still gonna be friends the next time Thomas needs us for something?" Patton asked.

"So it's just a given that we're going to disagree?"

"Janus."

"Okay, okay." Janus sighed as deeply as his strangled lungs would allow. "I promise."

Patton beamed and didn't even question him. He just took it at face value now, that Janus wasn't lying about this. "Oh, good."

"So what are we doing?" Janus asked. "Going to drink coffee and gossip like a couple of old ladies?"

"Whatever you want, really," Patton said.

"Oh, good," Janus said drily. "I want to take shots and play strip poker." Patton blinked at him. "Kidding."

"Oh!" said Patton, shaking his head. "Sorry. Guess the NyQuil hasn't worn off yet."

"How about we watch something?" Janus asked. It was probably a little too early in the friendship to force Patton sit down and watch Perry Mason with him, but then again… He was a practiced hand at being selfish. The TV flashed to life and Janus sat his mug down on the coffee table before leaning back to watch.

"Ha," said Patton, apparently recognizing the show. "Should have guessed."

"Oh, enlighten me," Janus said, feigning innocence. "What's so funny?"

"I should have guessed you'd be into courtroom dramas," Patton said.

Janus would have ribbed him further, had his lungs not decided to turn themselves inside out. He barely got his handkerchief in front of his mouth in time before blood started spilling over his lips. God, this was miserable. His resolve was cracking, he was starting to doubt he could make it much longer without vocalizing the pain. "Maybe I will take that NyQuil," he said, the words feeling like coarse grit sandpaper as they dragged themselves up his throat. He took it from Patton before Patton could take the cap off-- He still had his pride even if he wouldn't have his voice for much longer. The thought loomed so terrifying in his mind that denial smacked it down to nothing before it could get out of control. Janus poured out half a dose of NyQuil. Everything would be fine. He would be okay. The subconscious would set him straight before the flowers could completely take over his respiratory system.

Beside him, Patton coughed a little too, and Janus sincerely hoped that he wasn't suffering the same ailment. Patton didn't deserve that.

The NyQuil kicked in gently, drawing Janus so subtly toward sleep he only noticed he was drifting off when his head touched Patton's shoulder.

[solari-writes-things]

Return

🛑 WARNINGS: Spoilers to The Phantom Menace. 🛑

✨ requested by: @sazafraz​​

✨ Pairing: Gray Jedi!Maul x OC

✨ Summary: Maul returns to Norella after a journey of self-discovery, having kept in contact with her through their Force Dyad.

✨ Solari Says: You’ll recognize this plot, Saz, because it is one we’ve talked over before on Discord. I hope it brings you as much soft as I hope. <3 For those who do not know, Norella is the Empress of a system called Lucent Prime, a fan-made kingdom that @sazafraz​ has thought of and told me all about. Also, Maul had only been stabbed. Not bisected. Know this, before moving forward.

✨ Prompt(s) -

Kunzite - experiencing unconditional love.

gif credit: to the OP.

MORE MAUL | MORE STAR WARS | > MASTERLIST < |

Norella’s eyes bore into the bustling city outside of her quarters window. Her drapes were pulled apart just so that she could thoroughly observe everything that was occurring--for any sort of signs that she could possibly receive. She remained hopeful, passionately hopeful that he would find himself back on her planet once more.

She missed Maul. Her heart ached every time that they would see each other, as clear as she saw the structures that were sprouted out of the ground below--all without the physical presence that she so craved. Her hands crossed behind her back, letting out a heavy sigh as she turned slowly to finally go perform the duties she was set.

Heron, her assistant and father figure since her parents’ passing, had his arms folded behind his back properly and bowed when Norella had moved her attention to him.

“What is on our agenda today, Heron?” she asked quietly, her posture professional but her eyes just hinting at her small bit of sadness.

“Nothing out of the ordinary today, my lady,” he answered honestly, straightening out.

“Good... I do not think I can handle something out of the ordinary,” she responded, her eyes averting downwards.

It was like a switch flipped, the parental side of Heron beginning to peer through the cracks of formality. “Is there something troubling you, Norella? You seem... off balance.”

The charm of Lucent Prime was that Norella and her direct assistants were all force-sensitive. As much as it made the Empress feel more at home, it also made things much more difficult in terms of stowing emotions.

Heron had been privy to Norella’s growing feelings for Maul. She had been responsible for him when he was found, stowed away on a supply ship headed for her planet after his battle with Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was injured, barely hanging on through the sheer anger and vengeance he had stored inside. She had helped him regain himself, and during this time they had discovered the Force had directly connected them.

He began to calm down. He became less angry, less fueled by vengeance, the longer he stayed in her care on Lucent Prime. When he processed that he had been abandoned by his prior Sith master, he had decided to leave Lucent Prime in order to discover what his life was meant for. He wanted to figure out what he wanted for himself, if he wanted to build something after he had realized that no one from his past life was coming back.

It had been months now. After he had made his presence known for almost three months time, he had promptly disappeared.

She could not fault him for wanting to pave his own way, it was something that she knew he desired. A life of hatred, a life of abandonment, was something that would have drove him mad should he linger on it for longer.

She was happy to get any update she could. Little by little, she could see him change. His posture, the way that he spoke, began to change.

“I miss him,” she says simply, knowing Heron would understand.

“I know you do, my lady,” Heron responded, his eyes much softer than they had been before. “I’m sure that he will reach out to you again, in time. For now, we must focus on the task at hand.”

Norella nods her head a bit solemnly, before beginning to walk beside Heron out of her quarters. The door shut behind her, she lets out a soft exhale as they traverse the massive halls. The clicking of her heels echoed in the empty halls, as her mind began to wander during their short trip to the throne room.

When she was about to begin her ascent up the three steps leading to her throne, she pauses. There was a shift in the air, a breach in the Force that she just felt stir in her stomach. However, as sudden as it was, there was a familiar warmth that accompanied it. She places her hand over her heart in response to it, feeling it begin to pick up it’s drumming in her chest.

Maul.

She turns, her eyes much more lively as they searched in the throne room--as if he were going to barge through the door. She hears his ship fly overhead through the walls, lifting up her skirt slightly so that she may begin to move quickly.

She begins her running, her heels clacking on the floor. Her guards tried to step and stop her to due her sudden movements, but Heron raises a hand for them to stop. And they do, pausing in their tracks and watching as their Empress moved as fast as her garb would allow.

She charges through a blast door that opened up, causing the warmth of the sun to leak through and crash against her skin. She winces a little due to the sudden light change, but her eyes quickly adjust to the ship that had made its home on the landing bay.

The doors hissed open, and she could feel her heartbeat rise the lower it got to touching the bay floor. When it gently clattered, she began to approach it slowly.

She could see the beginnings of his dark boots stepping down, making her heart race just a little more. More of him began to reveal itself as he descended down the ramp. He had his dark robes on, his hood up and over his horns and tattooed skin. He paused when his eyes rested on Norella, and she could feel his content coursing through his veins through their dyad.

She picks up her skirt again, speed-walking towards him. As she drew closer, she could see the difference in his tunics that lay against his form. They were black, with intricate designs that only shown when the light hit against it. They were beautiful, and they suit him much more than the simple black that he had worn when she met him.

“Maul,” she greeted, smiling sweetly when she got close enough. She wanted to hug him, pull him close so that she could receive the physical affection she so craved.

“Empress Norella,” he greeted back, bowing in formality when she addressed him.

“I... I wasn’t sure that you would be returning,” she admitted, attempting to swallow the feelings that she could feel boiling between them.

She could feel that he missed her, just as much as she did him. That he was also starved of affection that he so craved, hungry for her presence. She watched him closely, on his body language that gave away her assumption. And if she payed enough attention, she would begin to notice more differences with him.

He gazed into her eyes, and she felt entrapped by the blue that he had. Something about the way it contrasted against his red and black skin drew Norella closer and closer to him, finding it harder to look away. “To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure if I was to return when I had left here, but... I found myself thinking of you. Often. So I reached out to you.”

“I... appreciated that, you know. I enjoyed seeing your progression, your face,” she folded her arms behind her, averting her eyes downward.

She could hear Maul step closer and closer to her, and soon his body was only about a foot from hers. She looked up at him once more, a little surprised to see his soft expression as he studied her. He felt as if it had been years, even though it was only months, and seeing her beauty in front of him was almost surreal.

Like he had been dreaming.

They didn’t need to say anything to each other, in terms of their feelings. Their dyad made it impossible for them to hide the swelling love that they felt boiling in their chests. It was almost overwhelming, as Maul reached up and placed a hand at her cheek.

She leaned into his ginger touch, the aspect of it almost feeling imaginary. Something that she had craved for so long, and finally able to receive it. Nothing that they experienced through their dyad could surmount to the moment that they were in now.

So he leaned in, his blue eyes much more gentle than she had ever seen them. She knew what he was trying to do, and frankly hurried for their lips to meet in the middle. To describe their kiss would be a cliché, but she was half inclined to agree with them; there were butterflies in her stomach, fireworks setting off between the two of them. Whatever it may be, she felt it amplified by the Force--by their dyad.

And when they reluctantly pulled away, he brought her in close so his arms wrapped around her. His palm held the back of her head, so her temple was placed against his chest. She hummed in content, her arms raveling around him as she relished in the attention she had finally been able to receive.

“I take it this means you’re staying...” she said, her voice a low mutter as she almost drowned in the feelings she had.

“I realized on my journey, that I couldn’t see myself anywhere else,” he admitted, his thumb brushing against her white hair.

And she smiled.

__

Star Wars Tag List: -

General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting​

if you wish to be a part of any tag list, please comment below or message me!

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Reader being friends with Eskel and late one night they're chilling or w/e and they confess that they like him but like. Fully expecting him to not feel the same and really nervous about ruining the friendship? But eskel likes them too, just didn't want to mess things up as well and it's just really soft???

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Eskel x Reader Word Count: 1,851 Rating: G a/n: Part II. It has been 84 years since I wrote a kiss but I hope you like it xo

            It took three weeks to find him after you’d healed.

            You woke in a room you did not know and had thought for a moment you were taken captive. When Yennefer entered the room and welcomed you to Kaer Morhen, and consciousness, she acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world to wake up in the notorious home of the witchers. Then again, for her it probably was.

            She didn’t answer half of your questions and what she did share you’d assumed. Eskel had brought you and immediately called for her (“Rather impatiently,” she’d sniffed as she said it, though there was a note of respect in her voice.). After Yennefer arrived and you’d been declared stable, he’d left. She didn’t know where and she didn’t know why or if he would be returning. She refused to let you leave until all that was left of your injury was a pale, puckered scar and the warning that it may ache as the seasons changed.

            “Be careful with that one,” she said to you, a final piece of parting advice, “At the best of times a witcher is hard to pin down. Eskel was not at his best when he left here.”

            “You worry about your witcher and I’ll worry about mine,” you’d said coolly, the truth of her words as chilling as the early morning air. You began your trek, focused on the task ahead, but her final words chased after you and echoed in your head long after you’d left the grounds.

            “Is he your witcher, though?”

-----

            Eskel absentmindedly scratched the goat’s scruffy chin as his mind replayed memories he had long since given up repressing. The harder he tried to forget the brilliant red of your blood on his hands or the grey tinge to your skin when he laid you on his bed, the more strongly they returned. His new plan was to surrender to it as he had so many other painful memories that haunted him. He knew it was cowardly to leave but he hadn’t been able to make himself stay. It was a poor excuse but he didn’t have a better on to offer. People praised the witchers for their strength and courage but what was a monster to the loss he’d nearly suffered? The goat wriggled off of his lap and bounded away and Eskel rose quickly to go after it lest it was trying to fight another of its kind. He’d gotten as far as his knees when he froze.

            He’d grown used to seeing you in unexpected places. Moments before your near death and after, but never like this. Never with this expression on your face, half-joy and half-fear. You’d never looked afraid of him before. He stayed in place and watched as you moved closer. This could be witchcraft, he knew, but before long it was too late to fight it as you stood in front of him and when your hand tentatively reached out and touched his face as it had in what felt like another lifetime, he didn’t care.

            “You’re a real bastard,” you said, though your tone of voice lost all of its bite as soon as they left your lips. You had begun to give up hope that you’d find him, and filled with a deep dread that when you did he simply wouldn’t care. Your fingers moved to his lips, softer than you’d expected, and then pulled away.

            “Well?” you demanded.

            “Are you really here?” he asked, a note of awe in his voice.

            “Don’t be so surprised, Eskel, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” you said, falling back on sarcasm as the reunion you’d imagined began to dissolve. You weren’t sure what you’d expected. After all, he’d left of his own accord. And he hadn’t asked you to find him.

            “I thought you might be,” he confessed, “I dreamt it a hundred times. Thought maybe Yennefer had been mistaken and you’d come for me one day.”

            You opened your mouth to make a joke about coming for him, more out of discomfort at the strangely vulnerable look in his eyes than any genuine desire you felt at that moment, but before you could speak he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close. His head pressed into your stomach and you rested your arms around his shoulders. One hand slid into the coarse, brown hair, brushing it out of his face as he wordlessly embraced you. When he finally looked back up at you there were tears shining in his golden eyes.

            “Eskel…,” you began, feeling slightly ridiculous for being so nervous but also knowing better than most that there were no guarantees in this world. Men didn’t usually drop to their knees and cry over people they felt nothing for, but witchers were not men. And Eskel was not like most witchers. He watched you expectantly, arms falling to gently rest against the backs of your calves as if he couldn’t quite force himself to stop touching you until you asked.

            “Y/N?” he prodded gently after he couldn’t take the silence anymore. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. Yennefer had asked a question and you needed an answer.

            “Well, when a person nearly dies it makes them think about things. I mean, you probably know, you’ve nearly died a thousand more times than I have…”

            His eyes grew sorrowful and he hung his head, forehead brushing against your belt.

            “I should have moved quicker,” he said, saying aloud the words he’d been chasing in his mind since you’d been struck down, “I should have seen it coming.”

            “Eskel we’ve gone over this, it wasn’t your fault. It’s a natural part of hunting, sometimes people die. Anyway what I meant to say was –”

            “I shouldn’t have let you come,” he said, turning his head back up to look at you, a determined expression you didn’t like settling into his features.

            “I get to make those decisions myself thank you but what I was going to say-”

            “I promised myself I wouldn’t let another get hurt due to my carelessness. I won’t break it again. We’ll find you someplace to be, someplace safer, I’ll talk to Ves-”

            You clasped a hand over his mouth and though he could have easily brushed it aside, he fell silent. The amber eyes looked up into yours, waiting for condemnation or instruction.

            “I am trying to say that I love you,” you said, enunciating each word clearly because you knew you wouldn’t be able to repeat them if he asked. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest as you watched the words sink in, the expectant shifting to curious. The brow furrow and slacken as realization dawned on him, and for a moment he were gazed up at you as if waiting for a caveat. You slowly released your hand from his mouth but still he was speechless.

            “Eskel?”

            “Hmm.”

            Your arms slackened and you forced your spine straight though your body wanted nothing more than to crumple in on itself.

            “I value your friendship and if I’ve ruined it I would never forgive myself but obviously you don’t have any obligations and gods please don’t try to let me down gently or go along with anything because of some misplaced sense of guilt because I would rather look at Roach the wrong way in Geralt’s presence than make you feel… burdened with my love or whatever we want to call it we don’t have to call it love we don’t have to call it anything in fact we can just-”

            He pressed one finger softly against your lips and you fought the sudden urge to slide it into your mouth. His mouth quirked into a smile and you saw a glint in his eyes as he shook his head. Amusement, and something more. Something that gave you hope.

            “So many words, pretty girl,” he murmured, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb, “There are so many words for what I feel. But right now I’d just like to kiss you, by your leave.”

            He felt your heart skip a beat but he waited for your answer, given in a series of surprised blinks and then an eager head nod.

            Eskel had thought long and hard about the many different ways your first kiss may go. He’d imagined them brusque and passion driven or soft and practically chaste or even accidental, lips brushing at a glance and then going back for more at the recognition of how right it felt for them to be together. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up in one fluid motion, lips finding yours instinctively. Your lips were chapped from the journey and cold from the evening air and a goat bleated indignantly in the background and it was perfect. His arms wrapped back up around your waist as your hands clasped his face. He didn’t wince as your fingers ran against his scar or when your tongue brushed up against a rough, sword-hewn edge of his mouth. He let you in, yielding to you with a soft sigh that you swallowed, rolling it into a moan as you moved your body even closer. He pulled back, placing a quick kiss on your nose as he did before pressing his forehead against yours. His hair fell into his face and you reached up and tenderly brushed it back, tracing the strong contours of his jaw and cheekbone and chin.

            “I lo- I have loved you, Y/N,” he breathed the words, a final submission.

            “How long?” you asked, the warmth of the words sinking deep into your bones and filling you with a soft, radiant happiness unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

            “I don’t know,” he admitted with a shy smile, “The day I met you? When you made Lil’ Bleater a flower crown to match your own at the festival? Every time you scowled at me when I tried to shrug off your healing? I love you in so many ways it feels as natural as the tides, building and growing but never truly more or less. Just in different forms. The only constant I have for you is my love. I hope that’s enough. I hope I…”

            His words trailed off but you saw their meaning in his amber eyes.

            “It’s everything,” you answered, “You’re everything.”

            The tears that came unbidden to his eyes were happy but you brushed them away just as tenderly as any other and when he kissed you again he pulled you down to the ground next to him, eager to give as much of himself as you wished to take.

-----

Yennefer was woken by the sound of insistent cooing. She rolled over to face it, gently extracting Geralt’s arm from her side to reach out to the pigeon that had alighted on the window. As soon as she loosed the note from its leg, it jutted away again. Cautiously she unrolled the tiny piece of parchment and smiled at its contents.

            Yes.

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Eighteen

Today has been a Bad Day, so here have some feelings.

In which a decision is made

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen

--

Lan Wangji wakes him up before five.

“Nooo, Lan Zhan, have pity,” Wei Wuxian whines, covering his face with the pillow.

Lan Wangji pauses in dressing and sits next to him, removing the pillow. “Would you like Wen Qing to take the children again today?”

“Ugh, no, that defeats the whole point.”

Lan Wangji yanks the covers off of Wei Wuxian, who yelps.

“But Lan Zhan, growing children need their sleep. Let them sleep. It’s better for their temperament. Surely waking up so early every day is the reason your uncle is the way he is. Come on, kiss me some more before we get up.”

Lan Wangji thinks for a second, then leans in. Wei Wuxian makes sure the kiss isn’t the quick peck he intended, wrapping as many limbs as possible around him. 

“My uncle was right about you,” Lan Wangji murmurs into his ear. Wei Wuxian shoves him off.

“Ew! What?”

“You are a problem.” Satisfied, and looking far too smug, Lan Wangji continues dressing.

Wei Wuxian sighs and finds his clothes on the ground. Pulling up his trousers, he feels something in his pocket.

“Ooh, my bun!” It’s cold, but still tasty, so he munches as he gets himself together. He’s got half the bun shoved in his mouth and is tying up his hair with both hands when he notices Lan Wangji watching him. “What?” he tries to say, but it mostly comes out “Mmpf?”

Lan Wangji says nothing, just wrinkles his nose.

Wei Wuxian swallows a giant mouthful. “Too good for pocket buns, are you, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji does not dignify that with a response.

“It’s too late.” Wei Wuxian cackles around the next bite. “You already love me.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound particularly happy about it.

Life is almost back to normal in the Cloud Recesses—no one else seems to have noticed the massive shift in the universe that has taken place. Wei Wuxian would like to stay and watch Lan Wangji teach, but he’s hardly been helpful for the past few days so he helps with repairs and deep cleaning the guest quarters. 

It’s not a punishment. It’s honest work. It’s annoying, just because he knows Wen Chao is responsible, but helping Wang Xiaolu scrub the floors and rigging a way to air out the soiled mattress makes him happy. These are his friends, and helping them could never be shameful. Sure, maybe he used to create clever spells and melodies to control bodies, call down thunder, but this is still creative. There are new ways to clean, domestic tasks that could be faster, more efficient, more fun. In fact, if he’s no longer a prisoner, then perhaps he can create some useful talismans. He could teach the other servants.

“Uh, Wei Ying,” one of the younger servants says, teetering under the weight of the mattress.

“Sorry, Chen Shu! I was just thinking.” He puts the idea to the back of his mind and turns back to work.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing join the disciples for dinner, which is cause for much delight from the children. It’s incredibly difficult for Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing keeps giving him significant eyebrow raises and half-smiles, and he can’t knock her soup into her lap because he must set an example for the children. Lan Wangji is listening to Lan Sizhui tell him a very repetitive story about a frog he saw, and the combination of his patient attention and his broth-wet lips, red and ready and unbelievably distracting, is tying Wei Wuxian in knots.

Wen Qing pokes his arm with her spoon. Get ahold of yourself, she mouths at him.

He means to mouth back Fuck you, but Ouyang Zizhen has a question for him about how long silkworms live, so he has to settle for a glare.

Perhaps Lan Wangji’s glare will rub off on him.

After the children are put to bed, he and Lan Wangji walk down to the Cold Spring.

“I will not marry Wen Qing,” Lan Wangji says, like it’s nothing, like he’s commenting on the weather, and Wei Wuxian runs into a tree branch.

“What?”

“Obviously, I cannot marry her.”

“Are you insane?”

Lan Wangji looks confused. “I love you. I cannot marry someone else knowing that you are the one I love.”

“Lan Zhan, what does love have to do with anything? You didn’t love her before and you were still ready to marry her! What’s changed?”

“It is dishonest. Before, I loved you but never thought it could happen—”

“It still can’t happen! Lan Zhan, my dear, I adore you, but you can’t marry me.”

Lan Wangji gets that look that says he’s digging in his heels.

“I don’t need to marry you. But it would be dishonorable to marry Wen Qing.”

Wei Wuxian groans in frustration. “You can’t betray her! Lan Zhan, there is about to be a war. This is bigger than us three fools, and if you don’t marry Wen Qing then she’ll have no protection. She’ll have no option but to go back to Qishan or go rogue, and any alliance between the Wen sect and Lan sect will be compromised. Not to mention Wen Ning. Look, this marriage might not protect everyone from Wen Ruohan, but if you go back on your word then you are asking for Cloud Recesses to be the first attack. Please, I know what it’s like to watch my home burn. Do not underestimate them.”

Lan Wangji stays quiet for a long time, looking out over the water. “I cannot be her husband,” he says, finally.

Wei Wuxian leans against his side. “You don’t need to be her husband. You just need to, you know, be her husband.”

Lan Wangji gives him an exasperated look out of the corner of his eye.

“You know what I mean. Look, just marry her, and then we’ll cross whatever bridge comes next. And if you need an heir, a blood heir for whatever reason, then we’ll figure it out. The three of us.”

“Do you love her?” Lan Wangji asks, not looking at him.

“Of course I do. She’s the dearest friend I’ve ever had.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m thinking.” He plucks a leaf and spins it between his fingers. “Maybe, in a world where I never met you. Where none of this had happened. And where Jiang Cheng wasn’t smitten with her, of course. Maybe in that world I’d love her the way I love you. But in this world—we’re too similar. And we know each other far too well. What’s romance without a bit of mystery, eh?”

“Please do not tease me.”

Wei Wuxian tucks his arm around Lan Wangji’s waist. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m just trying to be honest. My life is better for knowing her, and yours will be too. I am loyal to her. Devoted. I will not stand by and watch her hurt.”

“Neither will I.”

“Well, that’s that then. And who knows what will happen. The three of us together, Lan Zhan? The cultivation world won’t know what hit it.”

Lan Wangji leans farther into him, just a bit closer than is proper, and it feels like acceptance. “Are you saying burn it all down?”

“What would you do if I did?”

“Hmm.” The water rushes, the wind picks up the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, brushing it against Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “I would agree.”

“Really?”

“The world that took so much from you, that hurt you, hurt Jiang Wanyin. That forces women into marriages to stay alive. Wen Qing, my mother. Jiang Yanli. The world that turns honest people into puppets, pulled apart by wicked men with power for their amusement, for their pride. That world doesn’t deserve to stand.”

“So.”

“Burn it all down.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “It’s going to burn anyway. Whatever we do, the fire has started, it’s just waiting to spread.”

“So we let it?”

“We can’t stop it. No, our job is harder than that. We have to build what comes next.”

“Is that pride, Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. Yes, says the voice. “You know, I was about to ask the same thing. Maybe. Probably. But you know what?”

“Hmm.”

“Someone’s got to do it, so it might as well be us. And if we go wrong, the little ones will burn us down when it’s their time.”

“Yes, the little ones.”

Wei Wuxian grins, letting the leaf go. “Plant them in the ground. Let ‘em grow.”

“Hmm.”

“You like that. I can see you smiling.”

“I do like that.”

The sun goes down, the reds and oranges dancing off the water like the reflection of flames.

Part Nineteen

[bssaz97]

RWBY Post AU: Training Pains Part 3

|Day 1|

– Rose Household –

[05:59 AM]

Rowan lightly snores as he sleeps on his comfy bed, covered with warm blankets. Turning only slightly as to find a more comfortable sleeping position.

..........

[06:00 AM]

BBBEEEEEEEEERRR!!!!

Rowan screams in shock, jolting up from his bed into a sitting position and extremely alert.

Whitley puts away the air horn he was holding, storing the item into his coat, “Well it’s about time you woke up.”

Rowan rubs both of his eyes, blinking confusingly at the man before him whispering, “Wha, Mr. Whitley? What are- What are you doing in my room?!”

The young boy was still recovering from the shock of being so abruptly awakened in the morning. However, his new tutor gave no instance of remorse, “I seem to recall telling you not to be late. So I decided to wake you up myself.”

Rowan was baffled at his tutor’s words, “But you said to wake up at 06:00!”

Whitley rolls his eyes dismissively at young Rose’s objection, “It was a figure of speech. It means you should have been up and ready to start by now.”

“Then why didn’t you ju-?”

Rowan is interrupted by a bundle of clothing that was tossed at his face. He looks down and upon recognition sees that it was a set of his clothes that were picked out for him.

“We’ve wasted enough time. Get dressed and be down in five,” Whitley tells the boy sternly and begins leaving the bedroom.

Gasping, Rowan quickly sits up on his bed and starts to change out of his pajamas to get ready for his first day of training, “Yes sir! ...Can I at least-?”

“You’ll eat when we’re done,” Whitley shouts from behind.

The boy whined silently, but continued getting prepared for their first day.

—————————————

Rowan, now fully awake and clothed, opens the door to the back of his home where he sees Whitley standing by a nearby tree. It looked like he was marking something on the bark of the tree.

“You’re here, good. Did you get plenty of rest last night,” Whitley asks but never turned around to face the boy.

“Uh, yes sir,” Rowan tells the man.

Whitley nods then turns to face him, “Good, you’ll need it. Today’s lesson is simple, we’re going to be going over the importance of Aura in battle.”

Rowan blinked, raising an eyebrow, “Huh? But Mr. Whitley I know about Aura though from class.”

“Oh really? Well then, enlighten me on what you know about Aura,” Whitley said.

“Ok... Well, aura is the embodiment of one’s soul. It can protect us from mortal wounds and it empowers huntsmen with the ability to use a unique ability called a semblance. With this we’re more able to combat the Grimm,” Rowan recites to his tutor.

While listening to Rowan’s understanding of Aura, Whitley began pacing back and forth while a smirk formed on his face. However that look on his face took new meaning when the Schnee began shaking his head.

Whitley chuckles, “‘...we’re more able to combat the Grimm.’ So that’s your honest belief then?”

“I... guess so,” Rowan replied.

Whitley sighs, “Well that certainly explains a lot.”

Rowan tilts his head, “What do you mean Mr. Whitley?”

“Unfortunately what they’ve been feeding you children is that Aura is a magical force field that gives you superpowers.... Of course they’re not entirely wrong but they sure did take the liberty to sugarcoat the absolute hell out of that mess of an explanation,” Whitley said to the young student.

“So you're saying that there is more to aura than what they’re teaching us?” Rowan asks.

“Precisely. Granted I never attended a combat school like yourself so I have little knowledge on how gradual your education progressing. But I believe we shouldn’t have much challenge getting you ahead,” Whitley stops pacing to face the boy.

Rowan quickly perked up at that, his eyes shining with excitement and hands shaking, “Really, you mean it?!”

Whitley motions the boy to settle down, “Rowan, you’re at ten again. Go to a four.”

Rowan does as he was told and returned his hands to his sides, “Sorry.”

“Now onto what we will be doing today,” Whitley began instructing.

Rowan clenches his hands together in excitement. He was certain that whatever this training was going to be, it would certainly be epic!

“You... are going to stand in place and focus on maintaining your aura to its maximum state until the sun reaches noon. I’m going to watch you from by that tree over there,” Whitley said, pointing towards the tree he was standing by originally.

Rowan’s hands fell as did his excitement, “....Wait, that’s it?”

Whitley nods in confirmation, “That’s right. So get your aura all the way up and keep it up for as long as you can.”

Rowan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Keep his aura up all the way to noon? That was the easiest thing in the world! Too easy!

“Mr. Whitley I thought-?”

Whitley cuts the young boy off, “Also you can’t speak until noon. Just focus on breathing and keep your aura up. No words.”

Rowan's mouth was gaped, this was how his training would be starting? By just standing in place?!

Rowan sighs, ‘...well I might as well get started,’ he thought to himself.

—————————————

[ 5 Hours Later ]

Rowan admits that he may have spoken too soon about the ease of this task. While he remained in place, Rowan began to feel his body ache. After standing in place for a few hours without moving an inch his limbs became tired and were almost on the verge of collapse. It seemed that the only reason he was still standing was because he was focused on maintaining his aura, which was beginning to become harder and harder to maintain. Who knew focusing on your Aura was so tasking?

Just hold it... hold it... you can-

“Bah!” Rowan cried his knees giving out and fell on his butt.

Whitley looks up from his scroll to see his student has fallen over, “Well it’s about time.”

Rowan pants tiredly, “I’m sorry Mr Whitley... I did my best, but I- ‘pant pant’ couldn’t hold it ‘pant’ ...any longer... I failed.”

Whitley stares curiously, “Failed? Who told you that you needed to pass this lesson?”

“...wait what?” Rowan said, looking up at the man confused. “But you said-?”

“I told you to focus your aura until noon, yes, but this particular task wasn’t designed for you to pass,” Whitley explained.

“Wait so ...this was a test? For what?” Rowan asks.

Whitley sighs, but starts to explain further, “I wanted to see how long you could endure continuous aura application. Most kids your age and skill would’ve dropped after one hour. You, however, managed to stay on task and keep your aura which means either of two things.”

Whitley walks over to the boy and tosses him a towel. Rowan catches it in his hands, looks up to his white haired tutor before rubbing the towel on his face, cleaning off beads of sweat that had been staining his face.

“One, it means that your natural aura capacity are quite high. While not a rarity, it does speak volumes of the amount of control you have over it at such a young age,” Whitley said.

Rowan looks at his tutor surprised, “Really? But I barely held onto it for the last one and a half hours.”

Whitley shakes his head, “That only means you were able to push through the strain your aura and body was undergoing. You were training your aura as if it were muscle, an extension of yourself.”

Rowan looks down at his hands with curiosity, “Extension of myself? But I thought that only the semblance was meant to be an extension of ourselves?”

Whitley nods his head, “True, a huntsman’s semblance does indeed derive from oneself. But remember, aura also comes from within. It’s often said that aura is to be a finite source of power that ranges differently from person to person. I do not believe that to be the case. I have come to believe that aura is an infinite pool of energy that exists in every living being, and that only those with powerful wills can fully utilize it. Those that can accomplish this are often unstoppable in the battlefield.”

Rowan stared in awe after listening to Whitley’s words. They seemed to have a sense of clarity but also depth that he never heard from the man before.

“Whoa...” Rowan mouths.

“Or two, it just means your dumb and don’t know when to quit,” Whitley commented.

Rowan frowns, “Hey!”

“Either way, you did well. How did you feel?” Whitley asked.

Rowan groans, “A bit tired. But I think I’ll be ok.”

Whitley hummed in approval, “Good. Now get up so we can start the next part of training for today training.”

Rowan stood up on his feet, “Ok, I’m ready!”

“Very well. Your next task is... to take this flag away from me,” Whitley instructs as he began wrapping a handkerchief around his neck.

‘Ok Rowan, you can do this. All you gotta do is be smart about this, do a fake out, reach for that handkerchief and step away before he notices. A piece of cake,’ Rowan told himself mentally.

Rowan moves toward his tutor, fakes a reach for the handkerchief with his left hand but pulls it back quickly. With his right hand going for Whitley’s neck, Rowan gets caught off guard when the man simply grips his right forearm.

‘Uh oh...’

“You have made a grave mistake.” Whitley chides as he uses his other hand to grip Rowan’s shirt.

Rowan swallowed, “I figured. WWOOOAAAAH!!”

Whitley lifts Rowan above his head and tosses the boy to the ground. Rowan, with his aura still recovering from his earlier training, experienced the literally meaning of being ‘tosses like a sack of potatoes.’

Rowan groaned painfully as he laid down on the ground.

Whitley crossed his arms as he looks down at the young Rose, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rowan groans, “Regretting following through...”

“That is true, but I don’t seem to recall telling you to take a break. Now... get up,” Whitley said.

Rowan groaning continued as he got up from the ground, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

—————————————

[ 4 hours Later ]

Mother and daughter are seen walking up a trail that leads back to their home, after a long day out taking care of some errands and getting groceries in the process.

“Hey Mom. How do you think Rowan’s training is doing?” Summer asks her mother.

Ruby looks to her young daughter and smiles, “I’m sure they’re doing fine. Whitley is a friend of your Auntie Yang and Auntie Weiss’s little brother. So I think anything they’re doing is standard and–”

“AAAH!!”

*THUD!*

Both mother and daughter stopped mid-stride, having heard the loud cry in close proximity of their cabin in the woods.

Summer swallows in worry, “That sounded close to home. You think-?”

‘Darn it Yang!’ Ruby mentally cursed.

The two Rose women made a beeline to their house to investigate what caused that scream. Once they arrive and quickly place their things down, they go to the back of the house and see the young boy and tutor in the back opening. The man looked unharmed, standing wearing a handkerchief scarf and the boy very much on the ground with an excess amount of dead grass and grime covering his face.

“Get up. You’re not done yet,” Whitley said to the boy.

Rowan groans, straining to getting back up.

Ruby’s eyes widen and her face pales, her motherly instincts kicking in and her only focus at the moment is her child who is still struggling to get up off the ground. With one foot in front of the other she strides towards them.

Whitley turns his head taking notice of both the mother and daughter’s arrival, but fails in anticipating the atmosphere, “Oh you’re both home already? How was your day?”

Ruby looks at him, giving him a menacing stare, “My day? Whitley what have YOU BEEN doing?! Rowan, are you ok?!”

Quickly the young mother runs to and cradles her child’s head.

Whitley's eyes widened upon realizing how this situation was making him look, so he tried to defuse the mother’s frustration, “Ruby listen, he’s fine, I didn’t throw him that hard.”

“Fine? Fine! Look at him! Does he look fine?!” Ruby shouted angrily.

“A bit dirty but that’s about it.”

“Wha- Whitley, I can’t believe you! I thought you were training him, not beating him up!” Ruby continued to shout.

“Technically-”

“AH! I don’t want to hear it! I can tolerate many things Whitley but I won’t tolerate this! ...Whitley I want you to leave,” Ruby said.

Summer tries to interject, “Mom-”

“This isn’t a discussion Summer,” Ruby quickly tells her daughter, then turns to look at Whitley with narrowed eyes, “this contract is over. Now please leave my-”

“Not yet...”

Rowan shook himself from his mother’s grasp until finally he’s able to break from her hold and roll himself face-down on the ground. Despite feeling his aching arms begging him to stop, he raises from his sides and uses them to partially lift himself by upper torso which feels thousand times more heavy.

“Rowan, what are you doing?! You’re hurt!” Ruby said as she tried to reach out to him.

“No!” Rowan yells.

Ruby halted, staring in shock at her son who raised his voice at her. Sounding both frustrated and sad, almost pleading.

Slowly his legs slide up, despite lacking any strength. Even so he pushed on.

“I-I’m... n-not... d-done yet,” He groans.

The boy manages to raise himself to rest on his hands and knees. His breath is hoarse and he feels his heart racing through his ears. Rowan closes his vision was gets blurry, perhaps from all the times he was tossed into the dirt.

He closed his eyes and all he saw was Peri with his smug face, but it wasn’t just his face he saw. Rowan saw the faces of the three Beowolves in the forest, looking to make easy prey of him. Then he saw the faces of everyone in class that looked at him in pity. He knew not all of them were doing it intentionally, but he didn’t want them to look at him like he was hopeless!

Rowan needed to be better before his next match, he couldn’t afford to hold back a year. They were all supposed to be going to Beacon after completing their fourth year of basics. Summer, Liena, Joanna and Blaze. They are expecting him to be there!

Rowan slowly stands up, groaning out, “I-I’m... not... done...!”

Slowly Rowan walks towards the male Schnee, who remained standing in the same spot he had for four freaking hours! After nearly falling under his weight three times, Rowan finally made it close enough to where he could grab tight hold of his tutor’s shirt. So that Whitley couldn’t throw him again, and to have something to hold onto because he could barely stay standing for so long.

One of his hands lets go of the man’s shirt slowly and reaches up until his fingers had met and were firmly gripped onto that damned handkerchief. Then in an eased motion, Rowan removes the handkerchief off Whitley’s neck.

Rowan began laughing with glee, “Hehehehe! I did it... I finally got... that stupid... flag...”

His eyes drift close as he begins collapsing.

Whitley catches the boy with one of his arms, then carefully lifts his weakened form in both arms.

“Well done,” he whispered.

—————————————

Rowan stirs upon awakening and quickly regrets the action as he still feels slight pain in his limbs, but not as significant as before. He slowly looks around the room and sees that he is back in his room and on his bed and not outside on the ground. What happened?

“Rowan?”

He turns to his left where he sees his twin sister’s face, her eyes puffy and dry. Something had made her upset, and judging from how her expression turned from worried to annoyed, it seemed to be directed at him. Rowan was going to ask what was wrong but she beat him to the punch by using her finger to block one of his nostrils by poking at his nose really hard.

“You stubborn dummy! You had us all worried after you passed out! Why did you push yourself so hard?! Do you want Mom and me to have a heart attack?!” Summer cries out.

“Summer! Can’t breathe!” Rowan shouts, voice becoming nasally due to the poking.

Summer ceases her poking, then glares at him angrily, “Well I’m sorry, I’m just the one who was worried sick, thinking if my twin brother died during his first day of training!”

Rowan’s eyes widened in shock, “Wait what? I almost died?!”

“Yeah dummy! You were barely standing yesterday and you almost stopped breathing three times while you were passed out!” Summer yelled.

‘Whoa... Mr. Whitley really wasn’t holding back was he?’ Rowan mentally said to himself.

“Why do you always gotta be the one to make me worried sick? First with the beowolves, now this, can you ever not get into situations that will not let you almost die in the process?!” Summer cried out, her eyes began shedding tears again.

Rowan looked at his sister guiltily, “Summer-”

“Look I know you’re trying your best. So just.... don’t be a dummy and die before you get to Beacon. Because if you do, I’m gonna kick your butt!” Summer said while dropping her head down, her bangs covering over her eyes.

Rowan didn’t know how he was supposed to react to his twin’s statements, on one hand she was correct to call him out on his reckless abandon for his safety, but on the other hand neither of these instances did he ever predict would happen. So how would he calm his sister down?

“Summer, look at me,” Rowan said.

Summer reluctantly looks up, wet streaks falling down her eyes.

Rowan asks, “How long have you known me for?”

Summer looked at him with confusion, “What? What kind of a question is that? I’m your twin sister, I’ve known you my whole life.”

“And how many times have I ever left you behind or hanging?” Rowan asked.

“Not....many times, ‘sniff’ or any times I think,” Summer said.

And when I make you a promise?” Rowan asked her.

Summer sighed, “Rowan...”

“Come on Sum, what do I do with all my promises? What mom taught us to do?” Rowan asks his sister.

“...We keep them,” Summer answered finally.

Rowan laughs, “Good. So when you hear me say, ‘I promise to not die on you or leave you all by yourself,’ you can always trust that I will alway be here for you. That’s because...?”

Rowan pats her head, then uses strands of her hair to wipe away her tears.

Summer does her best to laugh, wiping away the remainder of her tears, “You’ll keep it.”

Rowan nods, “Yep, so don’t expect me to die or anything, anytime soon. Kay Sum? I’ll make it through this training and be up to par with the rest of the class in no time.”

“Hmm right,” Summer sniffs before she pauses, remembering something important, “Oh... yeah, I just remembered something.”

“What’s that?” Rowan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Summer pokes her fingers while looking to the side,“Well, while you were unconscious, Mom kinda... fired Mr. Whitley as your tutor.”

“She WHAT?! Why didn’t you say that before?!” Rowan questioned.

“I was under a lot of emotions at the time! I’m sorry it wasn’t the first thing on my mind,” Summer said defensively.

Rowan groans, “I gotta talk to Mom-Ah!”

Summer reaches to help her brother, “Easy Rowan! You’re still pretty banged up. Also why do you want to talk to Mom?”

“Why else? To change her mind,” Rowan tells her.

“Wait, you want to keep Mr. Whitley as a teacher? Why? All he did today was toss you around,” Summer asks him.

“That’s not the point Sum, I know it doesn’t make sens but there’s a theory to his teaching. He’s methodical in his own way and was testing me today,” Rowan said.

“By pommeling you to the ground?” Summer asked unconvinced.

“...Yes? Look, I know it sounds really backwards, but he’s my last chance at passing this class, so if I have to get my ass whooped in order to get better then so be it. But to do that, I need to convince Mom to change her mind,” Rowan said urgently, trying to get off his bed.

“No need, kiddo.”

The Rose twins directed their attention towards the entrance of Rowan’s room to find both their Aunt and Mother standing outside. The former smiling at her niece and nephew, the latter looking at her son with concern.

“We heard a good bit of your conversation from here,” Yang told her niece and nephew.

“That we did,” said their mother.

Rowan swallowed, “Mom, I-”

Ruby raised her hand, causing Rowan to stop what he was trying to say and pay attention to his mother, who looked to want to say something.

“Rowan, I know you want to do anything that could help you get better in combat class, but I also want you to be safe while doing so. Training this way... being toppled until your black and blue, is not the way to go about it. I’m only looking out for your safety,” Ruby said to her son.

Rowan lowered his head, guilt swelling inside his stomach after seeing his mother’s concerned face.

“But it’s not Mr. Whitley’s fault...”

Ruby sighs, “Look I know you’re trying to defend him but he went-”

“It’s mine mom!” Rowan said to her.

Ruby looks confusingly at her son, she didn’t understand what he meant but decided to hold her tongue to hear what he had to say.

Rowan takes a moment to find the words he wants to say, “...Mr. Whitley wanted to stop after he saw that my aura was going into the red, he insisted that I stop and that I was done for the day. But I didn’t stop.... I kept pushing myself, kept charging him for nearly two hours because... I didn’t want the day to be wasted for nothing! I wanted to win! I want to prove to those other students that I have just a right to be there and not to feel like I’m some.... loser!”

After finishing, Rowan is left panting, his face red from all the hidden frustration that had been plaguing his mind. He now waits with nervous trembling, fully certain that his mother’s reaction will be very disappointed now that he has metaphorically spilled the whole can of beans.

He was partially right.

“Rowan, who’s been saying that you were a loser? Is it another student?” She asks.

“Peri Phelps,” Summer said.

“Summer!” Rowan yells.

Yang's eyes widened in realization, “I remember that name, he’s that student you were sparring with the other day wasn’t he?”

Rowan sighs, “Yeah, he was.”

“Rowan why didn’t you say anything to me about this, if he’s bullying you then the teacher has to be notified,” Ruby asks her son.

“It’s not that he’s bullying me mom, he’s just a competitive jerk who thinks he’s the best in the class and likes to rub his victories into other’s faces, just because his semblance gives him a better chance at winning,” Rowan tells his family.

“Yeah,” Summer said angrily while pouting.

“Well either way, training like the way you did today isn’t going to help you get better,” Ruby chided gently.

“Okay...” Rowan tells his mother.

“Which is why Whitley is going to make sure you’re being properly trained and not pushing you’re self too harshly,” Ruby adds.

Rowan perks up on listening to her, “Wait really? You’re not firing him!”

Ruby wasn’t finished, “Only because today’s mishap was your doing and he’s a family friend, kinda, so I’ll give him a break. But I expect you to do everything he says, understand?”

“Yes mam!” Rowan said happily, giving a nod and toothy smile.

“Good, now get some rest, both of you,” Ruby tells her children.

“Yes mom,” Summer said.

With that all three female members of the house began leaving Rowan’s room to allow the boy to continue resting. Ruby stood by his door and told him goodnight.

“Goodnight sweetie, sleep tight,” Ruby said.

“Goodnight mom,” Rowan returned.

Ruby whispered, “Also, don’t think we’re done about this Peri issue...”

“Yes mam,” He nods.

“...and make sure to hit him extra hard, ‘kay?” Ruby adds with a smirk.

Rowan laughs before smiling, “Yes mam.”

– End of Part 3 –

A/N: I wanna give special thanks to @thatorigamiguy and @tanakaclinkbeard for both being Beta-Readers and giving me feedback on this post. I spent A LOT of time on it and it’s thanks to them I was able to get it done.

Also thanks to you, everyone, for sticking with me, I know I haven’t been too active on this blog for awhile, but hopefully I can get back into the groove of things.

So I hope you all enjoy this post. Have a great day and be good people :)