#literally just off bread i feel so wretched

[sodrippy]

for the 547282747th time. i cant believe i used to live like this every day 😭

[denkishair]

Burnt Up Feeling

masterlist

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 789

genre: fluff, comedy

a/n: I literally have no idea what inspired this. It’s probably the strangest thing I've ever written. Please enjoy. 

“Our love is scattered ash with burnt up feeling.”

He didn’t usually take you on dates, never to somewhere so public like this. Yet, here you were, the pair of you sitting inside a cafe and conversing like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

Dabi was unrecognisable, out of his usual clothes; instead covering his arms with a long sleeved top and jeans. Out of uniform, you were unidentifiable, too. Minor hero, Mystique, your invisibility quirk was unmistakable amongst your peers and fans. However, here you were, just Y/N, with your boyfriend, enjoying some lunch. 

Stranger things had happened. 

It hadn’t been love at first sight. No, that existed in fairytales and in fairytales alone. Real life was much more grizzly, a lot harder. You had to work for things, and you had to work for this. 

No, it definitely hadn’t been love at first night. But it had been something. 

It’d been a Friday night, you’d been on a blind date set up by your friends. Your partner had talked about themselves all evening, showing off their quirk during intervals of silence.  It wasn’t anything special, just the ability to make bread materialise. Good for a party trick, and, if you were craving carbs, you supposed. 

You’d been staring out the window, debating how best to escape. The current favourite had been excusing yourself to the bathroom and climbing out the window. Your invisibility quirk would have ensured the perfect getaway. 

Then you’d seen Dabi. Casually, he’d been walking by the window. You’d knew who he was, seen the havoc he’d caused. One of Japan’s most wanted criminals, and you were unbelievably attracted to him. 

So, abruptly, you’d ran out of the restaurant and tore down the street after him, following him into a back alley. 

Naturally, you’d fought. Disappearing when he fired at you, and taking him by surprise when you appeared behind him. In an instant, he’d shot at you, scorching your leg. You’d screamed, dropping to the ground, too  in agony to fight. He loomed over you, staring down at you nonchalantly. He held out a hand and it began to glow. 

Your heart rang in your ears, and your breath grew rapid. Only in that moment did you experience true fear for the first time. You’d always known you’d probably die in the line of duty - the statistics didn’t lie. However, not like this, never like this. So in a blind panic you blurted:

“Take me out!” 

Dabi rolled his eyes, “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.” He moved his hand closer. 

“No!” You screamed, eyes darting about frantically, “Take me out! Take me on a date!”

Dabi had been too stunned to reply. Instead, balling a fist and looking at like you were half crazy. Perhaps you were. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“Take me on a date,” You repeated, growing in boldness, “And then decide if you still want to kill me.” You propped yourself up on your elbows, hissing in pain. 

Dabi’s response surprised you: he laughed, “What the fuck?”

Your eyes darted around the alley, quickly scanning for any escape routes. Nope, none. Not in your state, at least. You were solely relying on a quick mouth and pure, dumb luck. Your attention shifted back to Dabi, your breath hitching when he met your eye. 

You forced a smile, “Come on, what’s the worse which could happen? You fall in love with me?”

That’s exactly what happened. 

By some miracle, he’d agreed, and after that you’d never looked back. It’d been difficult at times, admittedly, a hero dating a villain. If the press ever found out, your life would be over. 

Most nights, you’d fall asleep alone and wake up with his arms wrapped around you. Sometimes, you’d go days, weeks, without seeing him, but, often, impromptu deliveries would appear at your apartment. He’d sent you flowers for your birthday - pink lilies, and lilacs - with just a simple note: “I love you -D.”

Seven months down the line, it was still hard. But, it was worth it. Moments like this were worth it. Dabi had just ordered two cappuccinos when you sighed, a dopey smile on your face. 

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, “What do you want, brat?” His lips twitched. 

Your smile grew to a grin, “Nothing, just looking at you.” 

Dabi pretended to wretch, “Fuck off with that sappy shit.” 

You laughed, “Oh you love it really.” You said, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek. 

He batted your hand away, “No, fuck off.” 

You poked out your tongue at him, “What ever you say. But we both know the truth.”

“Y/N,” He replied, “Shut up.”

“No, fuck off.” You winked. He grinned. 

[protect-namine]

okay here’s my internet essay on the land of tender arc because I’m still thinking about it and I can’t seem to move on with the novel until I sit through my thoughts and process them.

tw self harm / violence / underage and noncon elements because that’s what the arc was about, although underage and noncon didn’t really happen

I've been thinking about the Land of Tender arc and if I'm gonna be honest, the thing that bothered me the most is that I feel like I should have been more uncomfortable with the sexual undertones of the scene when in actuality I... wasn't? On paper, it’s a terrible setup. It’s a sex pollen scene with a minor and a god, where the sex pollen makes someone feel sexual lust and blood lust without either party’s consent.

Yes the violence part of the scene shocked me (although I was prepared to read it because of the tw and because... it's Xie Lian, self-sacrifice is his bread and butter during Book 2). But I was shocked not because it happened, but because of how far Xie Lian pursued it. Not that I was expecting him to give in to the sex pollen (which would be horrifying) but I certainly didn't expect him to literally pierce a sword to his stomach to prevent himself from doing anything to Hua Hua.

But anyway, I'm digressing. So I was surprised that I wasn’t uncomfortable with the sexual undertones of the Land of Tender arc. It's set up to go horribly, terribly wrong if one of them made a single mistake. Like if Xie Lian didn't create the arrays to protect Hua Hua. Or if Hua Hua got manipulated or did things he didn't understand, you know.

So I was thinking like... why wasn't I worried though? Why wasn't I nervous that things could go wrong? Like yes, I did feel the tension and the dread of "oh no this can go into underage noncon territory very fast" but also I never really believed it would happen (and thankfully, it didn’t!)

I think what really helped was that: 1) MXTX did not make make the scene appealing at all. It was wretched and terrible and the descriptions make it wretched and terrible. At no point during the arc was the scene described in a positive or arousing light. So right off the bat the author was telling me yeah, this is bad. Nobody's enjoying this, especially not Xie Lian. If anything, this was torture for Xie Lian.

2) I think the way Xie Lian was already preemptively setting preventive measures was so reassuring? The whole time he was thinking a mile a minute about how to NOT debase himself or Hua Hua. Even before entering the cave, he was already planning to create arrays specifically to shield Hua Hua from the outside of the cave and from Xie Lian himself. Also there was the whole “I’ll stab myself in several body parts to prevent harming another person” which was very painful to read. It says a lot about Xie Lian's tenacity and will to not cause harm, but also about how that tenacity will lead to hurting himself in terrible ways. It's both relieving (because yay he protected Hua Hua) but also tragic and sad (because it sets a precedent to the reader of just how far he's willing to go to be good and to protect someone).

That aside, I'm also thinking about how this was probably a moment of sexual awakening for Hua Hua and man... that's such a terrible way to realize that. I know it’s important for his character to discover this about himself, but it must also be traumatizing for him to discover it in that way.

So considering all of that, my takeaway is: yeah this was all intentionally written this way, and I have to conclude that MXTX deliberately wrote this scene the way she did. Land of Tender was not sexy in any way. There were literal corpses there before we even enter the scene. Does this count as sexual horror? Maybe? The horror of having pleasurable feelings in a situation where you shouldn’t have them; the torture of needing to repress such feelings because it’s the right thing to do; the dread of one of them possibly violating one another if they’re not vigilant enough. The horror is in the lengths Xie Lian has to go through to keep both of them in check, which includes: setting barriers between them, trying to ignore everything through sheer will by reciting the ethics sutras, and eventually culminating in a lot of self harm to the point where Xie Lian only survived all his self-inflicted stabbing because he’s immortal (but if he was mortal, he certainly would have died).

The horror is in the reader being helpless to accept this violence, and more than that, the relief and potential admiration the reader (and Hua Hua!) feels upon understanding what it means for Xie Lian to overcome such a trial. I think it’s fascinating because on one hand, yes it’s very relieving to see that Xie Lian was able to endure the torture without violating or straight up killing Hua Hua. And one might even say, “wow he’s really determined to be righteous and good to the point where he suffers for it, this is a god that walks the talk.” On the other hand, the reader also has to sit through graphic descriptions of that suffering, to sit with Xie Lian’s pain, to be a helpless voyeur that has no choice but to accept that this must happen because nobody (not the reader, not Hua Hua, and not Xie Lian) wants to witness the alternative of Xie Lian giving in to the sexual/blood lust.

I actually bookmarked a quote from this scene because my “what the fuck” moment was exactly this excerpt from the novel:

The urge to kill was boiling in his blood. He raised that worn sword with his shaking hand, and a voice inside his head screamed, “I WON’T DIE, I WON’T DIE, I WON’T DIE!!!“

The next moment, in a split second decision, the blade turned. [cue descriptions of Xie Lian stabbing himself in the stomach]

And when I think about it some more, despite the novel being in Xie Lian’s limited POV, what we feel as the reader is exactly what Hua Hua must feel later on when he’s able to process what happened. Except Hua Hua isn’t just a third person voyeur to the whole thing like we are as readers. He’s a devotee to this suffering god who just wants to be good and wants to help others. And on top of that, he’s young and going through puberty and will realize that: 1) there is a possibility for him to see his god in a different light, in a sexual light even, although this is something he has not explored yet (and, I imagine, he probably doesn’t really explore until much later on); 2) Xie Lian is good and will respect boundaries and maybe even unintentionally taught Hua Hua (in an unfortunately traumatizing way) that boundaries must be respected.

Also, going back to the plot, someone clearly set this up specifically to make Xie Lian fall in a very humiliating way. Man who is this villain because this is very horrifying... what a terrifying antagonist Xie Lian is up against.

Also, as another aside, is it bad that I also found the scene kinda funny in an absurd way? The flowers were absurd, the whole setup is like a fever dream. If this was a tragicomedy, the tragedy is in Xie Lian’s suffering but the comedy is reading the literal flowers sprout from the ground and say, “My root is hard!! The fruits have ripened!!”

It’s funny in a dark way.

Anyway. All that to say, the sexual parts didn't disturb me as much because at this point in the novel, with what we know about Xie Lian and his compassion, Xie Lian already earned my trust that he can handle this kind of situation. Just like how a devotee would trust a god. He did, he delivered. He didn't cross boundaries, good for him. But I just didn’t expect what that means, what it would take, for me as the reader to expect this from the protagonist. Although I haven’t finished Book 2, I know it will end with the fall of Xianle. I wonder, then, if what I felt about trusting Xie Lian is a glimpse of what his actual devotees (not just Hua Hua) feel, what they expect of him, and the burden they’re unconsciously asking him to bear. What that kind of devotion is really asking from him.

The sexual undertones of this arc may not have worried me, but the violence sure did. I think, despite the scene being sexual, it wasn’t really about sex (for Xie Lian; it certainly was about both sex and violence for Hua Hua though). It was about the violence. But maybe that’s the point? The novel did say: “At the end of the day, ‘lust’ and ‘murder’ were both extremely aggressive desires, and Xie Lian had even heard that some thought the nature of both were one and the same.”

tl;dr It was awful to read, and I think it was meant to be awful to read.

[snickiebear]

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

[quirklessidiot]

Title: tough luck Pairing: GN! Reader x Suna Rintarou [college au] Genre: domestic fluff and my bad comedy (teeny tiny angst if u squint)

Synopsis: “This is what some people call a bad day, Rin-chan.”               [this request of suna rintarou + fluff ]

Warnings: minor bad language but thats it Notes: 

omg i was finally able to write something fluffy yay! Hshdhdhd the mind- after all that angst. I hope yall enjoy this domestic college au suna hakhak where can i get one of these.

im posting three requests per week (its to help writers block and well, my english in general, they’ll be posted on random days) ill probably limit it to one when school starts though sike currently have four more requests to finish aye.

navigation

Thesis papers be damned.

You might as well burn your group mates to the depths of hell for leaving you to dry these past few weeks. They weren’t even replying to your messages tonight and you were having a mock presentation first thing in the morning.

You aggressively started to mix more cake batter after frosting the cupcakes.

“Baby?” a low voice echoes throughout the quietness of the kitchen, your steely gaze snaps to find your half-awake boyfriend standing there in his sleepwear, his raven hair completely a mess, if it were a normal day, you’d coo and snuggle next to your good-looking man and annoy the fuck out of him but no, you just had to be in a bad mood, “It’s four am, what’s with all the sugar overload?”

“I’m celebrating the death of my sleep schedule and my sanity. Want a cupcake, baby?” a sarcastic grin makes its way to your lips and honestly, despite his deadpan features, Suna was very worried. He had been bugging you these past weeks to stop living in coffee and instant noodles so he decided to crash your place tonight to scold you, cook yourself a hot meal, and smother you to sleep with his hugs but it seemed like it didn’t work at all and you just violently wormed your way out of his grasp.

He slowly made his way to you, eyes half-lidded, and grabbed the rubber spatula from your hands and snuggled his head on your shoulders like a kitten, “Sleep, Y/N. It’s not worth to stress over those shits.” his voice was blank as usual but you knew he meant well.

“Well those shits will be my downfall tomorrow if they can’t answer the panel’s questions.” You spat as you cracked the eggs harshly on the batter and snatched back the rubber spatula from his hand, letting out a loud huff as you continued to mix aggressively.

“Y/N…”

Silence.

“Y/N…” 

“Fine.” you grumbled, “Just let me-”

“I’ll clean up.” Suna sighs, grabbing the spatula once again from your hands, “Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up at seven am, just in time for your class, right?”

“But i can-”

“Y/N.” Suna narrows his eyes, determined to get the last say between you two.

“Ugh.” You grumbled, shoulders slouched, “six thirty-”

“No, seven am. Your class doesn’t start until nine. You need more rest. No take-backs.”

Giving your boyfriend one last stink-eye, you slowly trudged yourself to the bedroom and just flopped yourself towards the bed. Ah, how bad could this day even get?

You shouldn’t have jinxed it.

You were almost late since the professor had moved the presentation time to eight am, thank god your apartment was near your uni, your boyfriend literally watched you shove the most decent outfit you could find and throw yourself out the door in a hurry. In the midst of the presentation, your stomach started to grumble too since you weren’t able to grab a cracker or your usual bread to go before class.

Even worse, your stink of an eye group mates weren’t able to get their parts right.

You were downright ready to throttle them, thank god that this was just a mock defense.

Your mood doesn’t exactly brighten even after the defense, you sit there and look like those cartoons who had fumes coming out of their ears. After class ended, you decided to bring it up to your professor and he tells you it’s too late to take the names out.

Your mood dampens even more.

Exiting the classroom with a scrunched up feature, you stop to see a very familiar figure standing there holding a brown paper bag and a cup of steaming hot milk on his other.

“Mornin’” Suna quietly greets you as he gives you a light feathery kiss on your cheek.

You blink.

“Shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

“The professor was absent, he had some staff meeting so I decided to get you a bento box and some milk. Try to avoid coffee for the time being.” Suna explains as he transfers the cup of milk to his other hand so that he could hold your hand, “Let’s have breakfast, Y/N. You don’t have class until another hour, right?”

Before you could protest, your boyfriend drags you to the field and under the shade of a large tree to eat the bento he bought.

Suna quietly listens as you rant on about how annoying and how much you want to throttle your good-for-nothing groupmates, occasionally wiping the little crumbs on the side of your cheek, “...You should take it easy.” Suna simply replies after you finish your rant, “You’ll get a cold if you keep this up.”

“My okaasan will definitely let me live in the cold if I fail a class.” You shiver at the mental image of your mother giving you a sermon. Suna just sighs as he fixes up your trash, he could never argue with you.

“Come,” he stands up and holds out his hand for you again, “I’ll walk you to your next class.”

The sun shines brightly yet your day doesn’t get any better, you had a pop quiz on one of your weakest subjects and you couldn’t even finish the readings since you were too preoccupied with your thesis and your groupmates.

You inwardly let out a groan as you made your way to the library, your phone rings and your brows contort in confusion at the name of your boyfriend. “Hello?”

“How’s class?”

“You’re such a miracle worker.” You sighed, “You always know when to call.”

“That bad?”

“Everything just sucks, ah life feel so shitty these days-” You confessed, scratching your head in annoyance.

“Hey.” He cuts you off, voice dead serious, “It’s just a bad day, Y/N. Don’t worry, we all have these days. How many classes do you still have?”

“Just two.” you huffed out, completely frustrated by how bad your day was going.

“Take a deep breath and drink some water, alright? I’ll see you after class, let's walk home and order some takeout then sleep early alright? My class ends the same time as you today.”

“B-But…” You stop protesting, realizing that Suna would shut down the idea. Saying goodbye to your boyfriend, you take in a deep breath and do as he instructed. 

Thankfully nothing major happens on the next subject and as you were about to proceed to your last class, Suna texts you that he has some milk bread on your locker and your favorite banana milk. A small smile made its way to your lips, one more subject and this wretched day was over then you’ll get to snuggle next to your boyfriend.

Again, you shouldn’t have jinxed it.

Someone had accidentally spilled the banana milk you were drinking all over your white shirt along with his cup of mocha drink (which thank god was cold because if it wasn’t, you’d be suffering a burn)

You had to sit through the whole class with the sticky feeling on your chest and that ugly slosh, you really should’ve brought a jacket today.

“Hey baby- jesus christ, Y/N what happened?”

It’s quite hard to gouge a reaction from your boyfriend most of the times but you can’t believe that something as easy as the big ugly slosh of mocha and banana milk stain on your plain white shirt would actually shock him.

You pressed your lip into a tight line, pissed, as you open your arms, “This,” you exclaimed, “This is what some people call a bad day, Rin-chan.”

Suna shakes his head at your antic and just takes his sports jacket to place it on your figure, he’s awfully reminded of a Pomeranian when you’re angry but he’d never say that out loud. 

Instead he softly grabs your hand and tugs it lightly, your quiet on your way home. He notices that maybe the fatigue is slowly sinking in, so the minute you guys enter your apartment, he urges you to change into your pajamas while he orders take out.

After a quick bite, you lay on top of him and snuggle on his neck, humming an unfamiliar tune as you draw circles on his chest, “Thanks.”

“Hm?’

“For being there.” You hummed, “I wouldn’t know what I’d do if you weren’t my boyfriend. So yeah, thanks...”

Suna feels a small smile make its way to his lips, he doesn’t respond, instead he just kisses your head and lets you lay on his arms, “Hey Y/N…” He paused and when he notices that you’re soundly asleep on his arms, his smile turns wider. i love you, he thinks randomly as he watches you sleep, “Goodnight.” he whispers instead out loud, kissing your forehead again and hugging you into his arms.

[hoodoo12]

Associates with Benefits

Secret Santa on our discord server matched me with the fabulous @strange-n-unbluusual, which made me giddy.

NSFW. That’s all I’m gonna say.

Enjoy! `

“You? What’re you doing here?!”

Out of anyone, anywhere in the Nether- or upper world, Beetlejuice never thought he’d lay eyes on him again. 

“I’d ask the same of you, but I’m fairly sure I know the answer.”

From his seat on the trunk by the window, the specter scoffed and shook his head, although he didn’t take his eyes off the other man. 

“Jesus. You still scamming people? Life coach or crystal whisperer or whatever? Or are you back to trying to get your sex cult up and running again?” Otho--he never took the time to legally change his name, but like he told his clients, “if you believed in something enough, it can become your reality”--matched the scoff and straightened to an imposing height. He always was taller. “The sex cult only worked with your help,” he admitted begrudgingly, “and you know it, Beetlejuice.” A quick flash of pink rippled through the specter’s hair and he shivered. He couldn’t disguise either semi-pleased reaction to his name spoken aloud. More importantly, did he want to?

“So what’s the con this time, big guy?”

Otho rolled his eyes and opened his jacket enough to find a silver cigarette case tucked into the inside pocket. He took his time extracting a cigarette, paused, then offered one to the house’s uninvited guest he’d found in the attic. Beetlejuice took it, lit it with a flame that originated on his fingertip, and gestured Otho closer. 

The man agreed without a word, but instead of using flame to light his smoke, Beetlejuice leaned in close enough for the tips to meet. Amber eyes held more the humanly brown, and Otho sucked slightly on the cigarette between his lips to light it. Only once it caught did Beetlejuice move back. 

“I was hired to cleanse this house of some distinctive poltergeist activity,” he finally answered. Beetlejuice grinned. True to form, Otho never used the word ‘con.’ The man may be a shyster, but he was full of himself. Beetlejuice could respect that, being a confident hustler himself. 

“That wasn’t me.”

Otho lifted an eyebrow. “Oh no?” 

“Shit no. Moving chairs around? Knocking on walls? That’s haunting 101. Baby ghost antics, like that pansy white bread couple, what’s their name--”

“You know their names. The Maitlands.”

When he wasn’t overwhelmed by a demon raging beyond reason, Otho never hesitated to call him out. “Right. The Maitlands. How’re they doing? And the rest of the Scooby gang?” He took in a lungful of smoke then dropped his gaze as if he was suddenly very interested in the cigarette, examining it as if trying to read the brand on the paper in the pale moonlight filtering through the attic window. 

“I wouldn’t know. Someone strapped me to a Wheel of Death and kicked me into some weird limbo where I had to claw my way back to the upper world. I ended up in Iowa, for christ’s sake!”

Beetlejuice chuckled, but choked it back when he saw the angry expression on the other’s face. “Hey man, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know you were going to end up in the midwest! I was angry, and you know that sometimes things get a little out of control when I’m angry.”

Otho gave him a dead-eyed stare in response. Taking a second to center himself, he decided to follow the advice from that one movie and let it go. He wished he could’ve laid claim to that phrase without sounding like he was parrotting a kid’s movie; it was a good one: simple and seemingly easy to follow. 

More calmly, he returned to an earlier part of the conversation. “So I have no clue how any of them are getting on. You spent more time with them, why don’t you tell me?” Automatically Beetlejuice’s free hand went to the center of his chest. It was a habit that he found hard to break, running his fingers over the knobby scar he’d gotten as a reminder of the whole bungled situation. It still physically pained him, and could be felt even through a layer of clothing. It still emotionally pained him, that betrayal that he didn’t want to admit he deserved. 

“I don’t know either,” he whispered, and yanked his hand away from his chest. 

The two of them stood in silence for a moment. Smoke drifted upwards in curlicues, looking bright white in the moonlight. 

Otho hadn’t missed the involuntary movements and cleared his throat quietly. “I heard she hurt you.” “Everybody hurts me.” He meant it say it snappy and full of wrath, but it came out weak.

The man’s reply was just as soft, and just was wounded. “I never did.” 

Beetlejuice looked up again. Otho held his lit cigarette at his side and was watching him with an unreadable expression. He tried to dredge up some righteous indignation. “You were going to put me in a soul box!”

“The soul box you gave me?” Otho replied drily. “The one that was particle board painted with some fancy iridescent paint you brought over from the Netherworld to look impressive? That soul box?”

He had no reply to that.

“Damn it. Beej--we almost had them! If we’d just stuck to the plan, it would have been free and clear, but--” “But it was my fault, is that what you were going to say?! That once again I screwed the pooch, just like so many other times in my fucking existence?!” “--but the girl threw a wretch in the works,” Otho continued firmly. 

Beetlejuice both hated and loved that Otho was rarely rattled by his outbursts. 

“She offered something you couldn’t pass up. I get it.” He wanted to stay angry at the man. At least he could feel anger; it was one of the strongest emotions, but it always burnt itself out and left him exhausted and remorseful. Suddenly he just couldn’t hold onto the rage. He dropped his head.

The floorboards creaked and the man’s cologne washed over him. Blenheim Bouquet. The light spicy floral scent always seemed too gossamery for a man, but wasn’t the faint aroma of roses that followed him occasionally out of place as well? The cologne was so synonymous with Otho the specter couldn’t imagine him without it. 

With his face still turned down, he watched a hand carefully curl into his striped lapel. “I don’t blame you, Beej,” Otho said quietly. He didn’t need to. He blamed himself. After a beat with no reply, Otho continued, even more quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Beetlejuice admitted in such a whisper his voice would have been lost if they weren’t in a silent attic.

In a fluid movement Otho dropped his cigarette to the wooden floor and brought that hand to the specter’s jaw., He stepped forward to crush the smoldering smoke out and bring himself even closer, and as he lifted Beetlejuice’s face he pressed his open mouth against the ghost’s.

It felt like old times. 

Beetlejuice breathed in, taking the warm air from Otho’s lungs, like a thirsty man in a desert. Oh, he’d missed that--

Otho broke the kiss once he’d run out of oxygen. He stayed close though, hand now fisted in his jacket. Beetlejuice wasn’t sure if that was to keep him from disappearing from literally right under his nose, or just because the man had a propensity for wrinkling clothing. As dapper as he liked to present himself, he had a thing for mussed clothing up, like creases were evidence of passion.  

The only thing he could think to say was, “It feels different now that you have a beard.”

Jesus he was a dumbass. Luckily, Otho didn’t seem to share his opinion. “I decided to grow it out because of yours. Do you like it?”

“I don’t know. Let me feel it again.”

With that ham-fisted invitation, Otho kissed him again. It grew this time--more of the old give and take, more tongue, more suction--as they fell back into the familiarity of it. When Otho had to stop for air this time, he was panting. Beetlejuice was the one to hold him close, now, to luxuriate in the breath.

With fingers made crass from a flood of arousal, Beetlejuice cupped and dug at the pants and its closure in front of him. 

“My clients are downstairs,” Otho hissed, but didn’t make any move to step away or stop him. “Then don’t be loud,” Beetlejuice advised, unhelpfully. 

He’d managed to fight open Otho’s belt but the button was going to take two hands. He could just manipulate it free with a thought, but liked the tease of slightly frantic fumbling, and listening to Otho’s breath hitch as he did. He also liked finding that Otho still wore silk underwear. They felt nice, but provided no support against an erection. A wet spot, visible even in the frosty moonlight streaming through the window, marred the front of them. He had an urge to put his mouth there, to make that wet spot bigger, but Otho’s fingers under his jaw turned him up upward again. 

The man’s expression was unreadable once more. Beetlejuice didn’t know if he was going to be shoved away to end this or shoved to the dusty attic floor with Otho on top of him. What he got instead, was another kiss, this one harder, more desperate than the ones before it, a pull to an upright position, and a hand at his groin too, with equal floundering of his fly and a almost inaudible curse as Otho had to push the striped jacket back and suspenders off the specter’s shoulders to assist getting him undressed.

In very little time, however, both of them had their pants pushed hurriedly to mid-thigh, and Beetlejuice had been hauled to his feet. He should have known that there was no way Otho was going go to the floor and let dust and grime get on his tailored trousers. So now they were pressed torso to torso, groin to groin, mouth to mouth, and this time Otho only took sips of air when his lungs absolutely demanded it.

Bumping his hips forward, the specter was rewarded with a low groan. His bigger reward was the man’s large hand wrapping simultaneously around both their cocks. The heat and pressure made him gasp. 

A further rutting into that hand to determine how much movement he was granted made Otho gasp. “Clients. Downstairs,” he reminded him with a wicked grin. Otho retorted, “Then don’t be loud!” in a strained whisper, and gave them both a pull just to test him. That glorious warmth of his cock against another, of a hand stroking them both off--Beetlejuice moaned, checked himself, and buried his face in the other man’s neck to muffle himself. If he had his wits about him he’d make some comment about how moaning was going to be okay, this house was haunted after all, but the movement of Otho’s hand was shutting down his higher brain function. 

Not only was he losing the ability to keep the noises he made quiet, his hips moved of their own accord. The specter rolled his pelvis upward, chasing each stroke. He wasn’t alone in that; Otho pushed into his own hand, creating a beautiful counter friction as well. The man’s free hand held him in the small of his back, under his untucked shirt, searing his cold skin with the warmth of his palm. He missed that rough handling to keep him in position so much. He clung to Otho’s shoulders.

It’d been a long time since they’d been together, but Otho quickly fell into a practiced rhythm that suited them both: long pulls, an occasional twist for variety, a bit of a squeeze to stave off coming too quickly. Speaking of which--

Beetlejuice pried the fingers of one hand off Otho’s jacket and dropped it to the man’s fist. He meant to slow him down, meant to gasp in his ear to wait, give me a second baby, please--but the moment Otho loosened his grip to allow him to lace his tepid fingers between his, he wanted nothing more than to let pleasure take the bit between its teeth and have Otho follow quickly too. He wanted to be coated and smeared with the man’s come, and he wanted it now.

The combination of warm and chill, the doubling of pressure and friction pushed him higher and higher, closer to his end. A slight buckling of Otho’s knees made him hurriedly shift his other hand from his shoulder to his bare hip to help support him, and just as he wanted, Otho came in thick spurts over both their fists. The heat and additional bit of slick it provided was enough to send him over the edge as well. 

His cool release mingled with Otho’s, and for several moments they both simply leaned into one another. Beetlejuice would have stood there for an eon, soaking in as much warmth as he could. Otho was the one to gently start to move away. 

They both groaned as they carefully relaxed their hands from their cocks. Otho made up for the fact that he was the first to move by capturing the Beetlejuice’s mouth again, swallowing his groans. He also dipped his hand lower to pinch the specter’s ass, earning himself a surprised gasp and a chuckle, and a nip to his lower lip in return. 

Hobbled by his trousers, Otho had to dig for his handkerchief awkwardly. When he finally extracted it from a back pocket, he wiped his hand clean before offering it to Beetlejuice. He took it and cleaned himself as well, then stuck the square of cloth into his own pocket instead of handing it back. 

There was no sound for a moment but the rustling of clothing and re-fastening of zippers and other closures. Otho was done before Beetlejuice, and stepped against the ghost immediately after he’d resituated his suspenders.

Before he could kiss him again, Beetlejuice said, “I guess I like the beard.” Otho snorted in amusement--so un-guru like!--and kissed him. It was lingering and soft, and felt like they’d never been apart. 

It also felt like a good bye.

Beetlejuice steeled himself for another rejection as the man broke away again.

“Beetlejuice--”

He shuddered at his name spoken aloud again. He couldn’t help it. But here it comes--

“--I’m glad to see you again. But--|

Oh fuck. Here it comes--

“--we haven’t seen each other for so long. I just . . .”

Fuck his fucking un-life. He should just slink back into the Netherworld while Otho was searching for words.

“ . . . I just don’t . . . this is hard to say . . . ”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Why was is so hard to leave? Why couldn’t he be the one to leave, instead of people leaving him?! 

“You want to come with me, when I go?”

The words were spoken in a hushed rush, as if Otho just needed to blurt them out. It took Beetlejuice several embarrassing moments to comprehend them. “Come with you?” “Yes. I’ve been looking for you, you know . . .” He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have thought! Suddenly, the future looked, well, maybe not bright per se, but at least not as dim. 

He nodded, as if he had to reply as quickly as possible and didn’t trust words to be fast enough. 

Otho smiled. “Good. You have to do something for me first, though.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Anything, baby. You just name it.”

“You have to get rid of whatever is actually haunting this place. You know I’m garbage at all that stuff.” Beetlejuice broke into laughter that probably echoed through the house, scaring the owners, but he didn’t care and knew Otho wouldn’t either. It’d just lend more credence to the man being able to banish spirits, just like the cons they used to pull back in the old days.

fin

[makayla-angelic]

Helsa week-Day 1-Swap

 The Ice King

Summary: Princess Elsa of the Southern Isles doesn’t expect much when she arrives in Arendelle for Hans’s coronation. But after a series of rather surprising events, she realizes in fact this may not be such a dull trip after all.

***This Is late. I’m sorry. :s***

Arendelle. A bright and lively kingdom, and it was hot as well, but not as hot as it sometimes got in the Southern Isles. Still, Princess Elsa wish she hadn’t second guessed her choice of clothing. When the ship was close to the dock, she swore that she could smell spices and bread baking in the distance. Her kingdom seemed like it only smelled of wood, the labor of the people, and the saltiness of the sea. Part of her wondered if maybe this was a silly idea, and that she should have stayed at home and let another one of her brash older sisters arrive to represent at Hans’s coronation. But after such a long journey, she might as well keep moving forward, for her own sake. And who knew, perhaps she could charm Hans after all, and the days of the mocking, the face-slapping and hair pulling would all come to an end.

      Putting her sun hat on her head, Elsa exited the ship on her horse Sitron and stepped onto the radiant docks of Arendelle. She figured she might do a little bit of quick exploration before she headed inside to watch the coronation begin. As she rode about, she thought about what her sister Laura, had said about Hans. He was a quiet man, preferring to stay isolated to himself and hardly not bother with people. And as far as Hans was concerned, he was not interested remotely in anything to do with courting, Laura had said. Elsa wondered how a man who wanted nothing to do with people would live his life as king? And when it came to attracting his attention, Elsa would just have to try her best, she would be determined, anything to escape her wretched life in the Southern Isles.

      “Oof!” That was the sound the person made when he collided with Elsa’s horse. The young man fell backwards into a nearby boat, flailing his arms as the boat began to tip backward with him in it. Just in time, Sitron slammed his hoof down on the boat, stopping the young man from sliding into the water just in time.

      “Hey!” shouted the young man, angrily, staring up at Elsa and Sitron.

      “I’m so sorry, are you hurt?” Elsa cried in alarm, as she hurried to get down and help the young man up.

      The young man seemed to suddenly be nervous as Elsa neared him.

      “Oh, um, I’m alright,” said the young man. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

      “Quite alright,” said Elsa as she reached down and helped the young man stand on his feet. She examined the young man before him. He was very well-dressed like she, with darker brown hair, blue-green eyes and freckles. Quite handsome, with a nice smile.

     “Princess Elsa of The Southern Isles,” greeted Elsa.

      “Prince Andrew of Arendelle,” said Andrew, bowing.

      Elsa stood surprised for a moment, then she remembered her formalities. “Prince? My Lord,” she replied as she curtseyed. Even Sitron bowed his head in respect, causing the boat to tip forward and Elsa found herself falling right into the arms of Andrew. Goodness. Her first fifteen minutes in Arendelle and she had already found herself in an uncomfortable position with a man. Then Sitron placed his hoof back onto the boat, and then Andrew found himself awkwardly on top of Elsa.

      “This is awkward,” he said, as they sat up. “Not because you’re awkward, well, you’re gorgeous.” And he blushed upon realizing what he said, but Elsa only smiled as they both stood up again.

      “I’d like to formally apologize for hitting The Prince of Arendelle with my horse, and every moment after,” said Elsa.

      “Oh no, it’s alright!” said Andrew as he stepped off the boat. “Besides, I’m not THAT prince. I mean, if you’d hit my brother Hans....yikes....”

      Hearing Andrew say those words only made Elsa want to get to know Hans more. She was curious to see how the day and the evening would unfold.

      “But luckily, it’s just me,” said Andrew.

      “Just you?” replied Elsa, with a sly smile.

      “Yeah,” said Andrew, smiling back warmly. Suddenly, he heard the sound of the bell clock. “Oh! The bell! The coronation! I better go! Bye!”

      Andrew awkwardly ran off as Elsa chuckled and waved goodbye. Sitron waved too, causing Elsa to fall into water. When she came splashing to the surface, she only smiled. Maybe getting to know Andrew better would help her get to know Hans. Perhaps this would be a good trip after all.

      When Elsa first laid eyes on Hans at the coronation ceremony within the church, two things rand through her mind. One: he was handsome. With his red hair, sideburns, and green eyes, she found him even more attractive than Andrew in her eyes. And two: he seemed nervous. Well, anyone would be nervous on their coronation day, but Hans looked like as though he were being forced to stand in front of everyone in his undergarments. He wore gloves just like Elsa did, and he seemed hesitant to take them off and touch the orb and scepter. Andrew, who waved at her, and she had waved back, stood a few feet away from his brother, looking cheerful, which was a complete opposite of Hans. When Hans was officially crowned king, they all stood up to cheer him, and Elsa could see at least he relaxed a tiny bit, and a small smile appeared on his face.

    The post-coronation party was very nice, and Elsa helped herself to the food and champagne, and conversed among the other people. Soon, everything was beginning to get quite dull again, when she bumped into Andrew again.

      “Glad I caught you,” said Elsa, pulling him up, and thus, the two began to dance. As Elsa danced with Andrew, she wondered what it would be like to dance with Hans. She wondered if he had ever danced with a girl before. Elsa hoped that she could interact with Hans in some type of way. Her and Andrew headed toward the royal gardens to take in the view. From the royal gardens to the balcony where they discussed deep information about their lives. Elsa told Andrew that she had twelve older sisters, and three of them had pretended she was invisible literally, for two years. When Andrew exclaimed at how awful that was, Elsa only simply batted her eyes and said “That’s what sisters do.” 

     Andrew explained that at one point in his life he and Hans had been close, but suddenly Hans shut him out, and Andrew never figured out why. All Elsa wanted to do was to be free from all the struggle she faced at home, change something about her status, and perhaps be seen in a better light by her family. If it would be impossible to go direct route with Hans, then maybe at least with Andrew things could be different and better for her. After all, if there was one thing she learned back at home, something was better than nothing...

     Elsa told Andrew that she would never shut him out. His excitement amused Elsa, and she wondered how far things could go. So, after ending a duet under a waterfall, she asked him to marry her. To her lovely surprise, he said yes. Hook, line, and sinker, she was in for it now, and Elsa hoped that it all wouldn’t backfire. Her and Andrew happily went off to the ballroom, where Andrew called for Hans, who turned suddenly to look at Andrew, then at Elsa. When Hans’s green eyes met Elsa’s blue, she couldn’t help her heart skipping a beat.

     “We meet at last,” thought Elsa to herself. Andrew introduced her to Hans, and Elsa smiled all the while, staring into Hans’s eyes as she curtseyed and addressed him as “Your Majesty.”

     “We would like.....your blessing to, our marriage!” cried Andrew, excitedly, grasping Elsa’s hand, who was trying her best to look enthusiastic.

     Hans’s green eyes flashed in surprise. “Marriage?” he replied in confusion and disbelief.

     “Yes!” cried Andrew, and he began talking about all the things he wanted to happen within it. “And we can invite all twelve of your older sisters to stay here with us!”

     A flash of fear ran through Elsa’s body from head to toe when Andrew said that. That was the last thing she wanted to do. But for own sake, she played it off like what Andrew had said wasn’t a bad suggestion.

     “Absolutely!” cried Elsa, feigning excitement and sufficing a fake smile.

     For Hans on the other hand, it was clear he was not pleased. “No one’s sisters are staying here, no one is getting married,” he said firmly, with his hands upraised.

     Andrew looked disappointed. “But...” he began, and Hans cut him off.

     “May I talk to you please, alone?” asked Hans, who now looked nervous, wringing his gloved hands together.

     “No,” said Andrew, a touch of anger in his voice. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it to the both of us.”

     Hans sighed, hoping that he wouldn’t have to discipline his younger brother in a ball room full of people, but it looked as it would be this way, so he spoke. “Fine. You can’t marry a woman you just met.”

     “You can if it’s true love,” Andrew shot back.

     “What do you know about true love?” asked Hans, reiterating with a come-back of his own as he folded his arms.

     “More than you, all you know how to do is shut people out!” said Andrew, causing Hans to feel offended. Even Elsa was surprised at Andrew’s response.

     “You asked for my blessing, but my answer is no,” said Hans firmly.

     Elsa thought maybe she should try using a bit of her charm. “Your Majesty, if I may ease your-” Elsa began, but Hans cut her off as well.

     “No you may not, and I think you should go,” as he started to walk away, leaving a taken back Elsa. “The party is over, close the gates!” He said to his nearby officials, who responded. But Andrew wasn’t having any of this.

     “Hans, wait!” He said, walking after his older brother. He meant to grab Hans by the wrist, but instead grabbed him by his glove and swiped it off.

     “Hey!” shouted Hans angrily, whipping around to face his brother. “Give me my glove!”

     “Hans, please, I can’t live like this anymore!” Andrew shouted, causing the people in the ball room who weren’t paying attention to what was unfolding before them before, to now. Although Elsa was amused at seeing Hans react, she had to admit she was nervous at the possibility of the two brothers fighting. After all, she had been through a lot with her own sisters...

     “Then leave,” said Hans, just like that, and Elsa was surprised that he could be so sassy.

     “What did I ever do to you?” cried Andrew, his feelings hurt as Hans stormed toward the door, his hands balled into fists.

     “Enough Andrew,” Hans said, walking faster.

     “No, why do you shut me out? Why do you shut the world out? What are you so afraid of?” Andrew asked demandingly.

     “I said enough!” shouted Hans, as he lost his temper, and then, the worst possible thing happened. Ice shot out of his ungloved hand, shards and spikes of ice spread toward Andrew, Elsa, and the rest of the ball room guests, causing all to jump back in alarm. Hans stood with his back against the door, not wanting to believe what he had just done. He locked eyes with Andrew, who just stood there in shock with the glove in his hand, and Elsa, who was perplexed and amazed at what was before her.

     So, that explains it. Thought Elsa to herself. This is the reason why he’s so distant and cold. He’s the literal ice king.

     “Hans...” Andrew said softly, not knowing what else to say in that sudden moment, if there was even a word for such a moment as this.

     Hans fumbled with the doorknob, and then shot out of the ball room like a rocket, leaving everyone in the ballroom to wondrously question what had just happened. Elsa didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she was glad she had come to Arendelle. In one day, she had gone from not having high expectations about anything, to, well...this. And as she followed Andrew to go chase after Hans, she was excited to see what kind of adventure was yet to come. But perhaps she should wait to count her blessings, because, again, after all, it could all backfire in a moment. 

[horseyfuture]

Lockdown 2021

Welcome, you sickening metallic pervert. I don’t know why I even tolerate you, my dues to the club have long since been settled and yet still you show up with your corrugated spleen and your laminated nipples. What? Oh, it’s you. With your simple fleshy appendages and some kind of yellow blancmange for a CPU. I suppose you will suffice. Bend yourself over the table there and we’ll get on with the show. Liquid soap’s on the side, next to the antique bum-hammer.

---

Aries: You find yourself repeatedly followed by crows. This is in no way related to the quite normal phenomenon in which a murder of crows will adopt a human who feeds them, bringing them trinkets and even offering them protection from aggressors. No, these crows find you sexy. Leaping about in your lounge, wearing your goth tops and flapping your arms to the rhythms of online parties, the crows all agree that you are “SKRARK!” or, in Crow, “one fine piece of floppy human tail”. Well done! Crows have good taste and make excellent lovers.

Taurus: Every time you open that damn Taurus mouth of yours, you sound like a broken record. I mean, literally, you sound like a piece of badly scratched vinyl. That’s been up the wrong bit of a rhino. And is being played using a bent nail. Through the speakers of a brown ‘65 Ford Allegro. In Ipswitch. In the rain. On a Wednesday. In November. That’s a lot of detail to pack into an accent every time you decide to prattle on about crisps. People find it offputting.

Gemini: On a whim, you buy yourself a File-o-fax, you know, from the 80s. You must have seen one in a kitschy American TV show or something. While excessively bored on a Sunday afternoon, you begin to fill in some of the entries from your mobile phone. As soon as you finish writing the first one, Adam, he calls! What a crazy coincidence! You move onto the next, Beth - then SHE calls! That’s just insane! As you move onto the next name, you think “My god, what if I bought a MAGICAL File-o-fax? What adventures could I HAVE?” - You look down at the table in awe, when suddenly it all becomes clear: next to the Magic File-o-fax is the Magic Empty Bottle of Gin. Ah.

Cancer: Singing a song about beans, YEAH! Singing a song about toast! Singing a song about beans on toast, ‘cos that food you like the most, WOO! Singing a song about waffles? NO! Can’t be arsed making them! Beans on toast takes like two tiny minutes and waffles take about fucking ten! (FUCK THAT!) Singing a song into the beans can! While the beans turn in the microwave, ALRIGHT! Naming individual beans (YEAH!) pretend they’re all going to a beans rave! (WHISTLE POSSE!) Shovelling the beans into your mouth WOO! Toasting bread is for twats! (LO-SERS!) Pouring cold beans onto your face and half of them fall onto the cat! (SEND HELP!)

Leo: After a successful hour’s staring at the stippled ceiling, you reward yourself with a brisk walk to the door. After three proud steps, diligently recorded by your fitness band (which you’re fairly certain is now emitting a dull weeping sound), you jubilantly punch the air and have a nice relaxing pass out on the floor. After another few hours, you surf another boost of energy and nearly make it to the fridge. Sadly, though this goal is destined to elude you as you trip over a recently-delivered Amazon envelope. A handful of attempts in, you succeed at opening the envelope (only stopping twice to catch breath) and discover it to contain one flimsy plastic finger measurer and a £60 voucher for a wine subscription. You remember the partner you once had, in the distant before times, so vibrant and loud. In recognition of having had what you’re certain is “a feeling”, you fling the ring-measurer away, order the wine and settle into a nice, relaxing cry.

Virgo: There are a number of St Bernards around your neighbourhood and you’ve started to find them more than a little intimidating. What began as friendly barks as you passed in the street has developed into the odd growl and now barking as the owners pull their wretched beasts back from you, swearing in anguish as their hounds’ slavering jaws snap at your heels. After a few weeks of this, Monthly Bath Weekend inevitably comes round and the problem seems to just go away.

Libra: Some people have been baking recently. They - of course - are twats. Others have chosen to use this time to improve existing music skills, or even pick up a new instrument in their abundance of free time. Shit-eating scum, each and every one of them. You are not going to be affected by this self-improvement bullshit and have decided to strike out on your own, tangibly making yourself less pleasant, skilled and attractive with each passing day. Monday is fudge-eating class. Tuesday, “how long can I sit on the loo?” marathons (5 hours PB). Wednesday is Yelling ‘BASTARDS’ at the Sky Day, while Thursday (being the new Friday) you party on down with a life-size model of Prince made from your own toenails. Friday you slam your face into cupboards, repeating the word “APES” in a dull monotone. At the weekend, it’s time to rest! Phew! Just a few hours drilling holes in the ceiling, a slip, a tumble, a fall, a crunching sound and a view from the underside of a very poorly constructed step-ladder until it all goes beautifully dark.

Scorpio: Fuck this, you’re buying beach balls. Yep. Why not? You do, in fact, buy beach balls. Why didn’t you think of this before? They’re bright. They’re entertaining. They’re CHEAP. You can order them in large quantities, it turns out. “Ooh, I hope you’re not having a party!” says the delivery man, with a wink “HAHAHAH, NO. Actually I’m just INFLATING THEM AND POPPING THEM” you cackle toward his suddenly retreating face. It takes a while to inflate all 400, but the high you get from blowing them up is quite intense! Now you have a house full of beach balls! Haha! You can’t bring yourself to pop them in the end. Some of them are lost to accidents (fried beach ball, anyone?) and others you draw on with crude faces of past enemies, then open the door and punt them down the street with a hearty “FUCK YOU, BEATRICE!” (or Ken, as appropriate. You had few enemies. It’s cheap therapy). The last few hundred last you happily into the next month, though the doctor is mildly unimpressed when you attempt to get them vaccinated.

Sagittarius: Your attempts at making LEGO sex toys go badly to begin with. But, weirdly, you do eventually get better at it. You’re particularly proud of the one where you use the gearbox from the racing car for, well, you know. The winking pneumatic sex-donkey (8,014 bricks) is, in most people’s opinion, your pièce de résistance. You can’t wait for the highstreet to open up again, so you can go and show off your repertoire down the local toyshop.

Capricorn: It’s tough getting through lockdown without the internet. In your case, though, it is entirely self-inflicted. You made a promise to yourself to cut down on the doomscrolling and it was successful! Prodigiously so! You end up cutting out the news sites - who needs them? - then the social sites - nothing but trash! - then eventually you just pull the wires out of your router and fling it in the bin with some bits of leftover chicken. Time passes, politicians come and go, vaccines are invented, distributed, mostly successful (with only a small amount of people instantly turning into tiny, angry lizards) and eventually the world passes through the danger period and back into something like normality! You, of course, miss this entirely and get on with your new hobby of writing subversive poetry on the walls in dollops of mouldy Marmite. Weirdly, you ARE happier.

Aquarius: Lockdown doesn’t seem to be getting to you too badly this month (whichever month it turns out to be). You did get to a bit of a peak when you were popping a Toblerone up your bum while playing kazoos just to get yourself ready for the next bloody Zoom meeting of the day, you now you’re limiting it to one bar per day and only using the two kazoos, you feel like you’ve hit your stride, found your flow, really made the most of every work-from-home hour the Lord sends. Ah, yes, the Lord truly has kept you to the virtuous path. Without your faith, you would never have got through the dark days. Sat there on his throne of Bourbons, wearing his Chocolate Finger crown. Slowly rotating on the lazy Susan you bought so you could efficiently respect His Majesty from any angle with a deft flick of the wrist (and a few Bourbons in the eyes if you get too excited). The mighty Lord. You assume his name was Lord. There were only a few letters you could read on the collar when you found him by the bins. Ah, yes. The bins. The biscuits. The Lord. The rapture. Amen.

Pisces: After popping to the door to bring in a food delivery, you notice the day looks quite pleasant for a change, pop a mask on and go for a nice walk. On the way back, you notice a ladder leant up against a tree, with a strange golden light shimmering from high in the branches. Climbing the ladder, you hear the sound of a party, people calling your name in joy, whistles and whoops, clapping and laughter. You tumble into the golden light and down a kind of shoot as a fanfare plays. The dazzling light fades, the noise abates gently and you are sat on your sofa. On the TV are the words “LEVEL 4: YODELLING GEESE”. The geese filling your living room immediately begin to yodel with anger.

---

By the sainted elbows of Bobby Tavistocke, we got there in the end. I may have been a little over-brutal with my use of the bum-hammer there, for which I apologise. Anyway, you have extracted your price once more and I have little left to give. Pick up your clothes and get out of my living room.

As usual, you may of course take a fairy cake. We’ve got the nice ones this week.

DEPART!

[alistairmoonshine]

My Best Was Not Good Enough

TITLE:  My Best Was Not Good Enough

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @alistairmoonshine

PROMPT DAY #: Day #4 Hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: "If Life could give me one blessing it would be to take you out of it," Those words would ring through Jaskier's mind for over a year as he tried to learn and deal with a life away from Geralt.

WORD COUNT (if applicable): 9316

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: Jaskier gets drunk, he kinda almost dies? Not really sure if that would be triggering or anything. Also this is 19 pages so it isn’t short

RATING: E

ADDITIONAL NOTES: @geraskierweek

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,” those words echoed through Jaskier’s mind as he felt himself tear up as he tried to choke back the sobs. He sniffed and fidgetted,

“Yes, well I’ll… I’ll get the rest of the story from someone else,” Jaskier murmured back and gave one last look at Geralt before he was turning and walking away and down the path. Once out of sight, Jaskier felt his body wrack with sobs and he fell to his knees crying in loud choking sobs. He cried so hard he felt bile rise and he vomited onto the ground as his body wretched loudly.

How could this have happened? 22 years… 22 fucking years he spent following Geralt in the most dangerous of places. 22 years of singing the praises of a man who was so unlovable and yet he had tried to change the view of every single person on the continent. Granted, that didn’t always happen but he had noticed the changes over the years. People were less likely to kick Geralt out of town. Sometimes they came to him willingly with problems. Maybe not ones he could always fix but they sure came to him. All because Jaskier sang Geralt's praises.

What did Geralt do to thank him? He yelled at him and made Jaskier feel as if he was nothing but a burden on Geralt. First, the man had said he was a horrible traveling companion and now this? It was almost too much. At that thought, Jaskier stood and took a deep breath as he tried to tamp down any feelings of remorse. No, only anger would blaze within his heart now. Not after what Geralt had done. Oh no…

Geralt had heard the sobs and the retching but he didn’t move from his spot. It was too painful to have Jaskier near. He cared for the bard and had always done so, but it was better if they were separated. Witchers don’t make emotional connections. That was what he was taught and he had made one with Jaskier even if it was only friendship. Geralt cocked his head when he heard the retching stop and the sound of Jaskier stumbling to his feet as he sighed and sniffed up the last of his tears. That made Geralt relax slightly, ‘Good,’ he thought to himself. ‘Now he can move on from this,’ that was all what Geralt wanted of course. For Jaskier to move on and live a happy normal life. Not one full of heartache and pain. Not one where you didn’t know if you would eat or sleep in a comfy bed. Jaskier deserved oh so much more than a witcher’s life could give him.

~ ~ ~

A year had passed and Geralt had finally found Ciri. They were on their way to the broken down ruins of Kaer Morhen. It would have to do if Geralt was going to train Ciri to become just like him. She was young, and impressionable but also fierce and her scream seemed to wrack anyone within a mile radius. Thankfully, he had only experienced that scream once in the six months they had been together.

“Are we almost there yet?” Her trill of a voice rung out on the large gelding she rode next to Geralt who grunted lightly and looked towards her,

“Almost.” He said softly as he patted Roach gently on the nethers. “A week’s more ride. I got word to Vesemir and he will be there to meet us,” Geralt stated and Ciri groaned ever so loudly as she leaned against the black horse.

“A week? You know we would have made it a lot sooner if you would have just followed a straight and narrow path there. You keep weaving us in the forests and small back waters towns to kill imaginary beasts.”

“They aren’t always imaginary. I killed two werewolves and a griffin within the last month,” he said as he picked up the coin pouch and shook it at her lightly, “you wouldn’t be eating or have new clothes if it wasn’t for me killing,”

“You could do for some new clothes,�� she replied snottily as she turned away from him and stiffened up. Geralt rolled his eyes again at her and kicked Roach closer before he grabbed her reins and pulled the gelding so they were face to face,

“Take notes. If you are to defeat Nilfgaard and come back as the rightful queen of Cintra you will be doing exactly what I am doing,” he hissed lightly, “you will become strong, your magic will be honed in and you will learn to control it much better. Cirilla you are a powerful and fierce little girl. You just lack the common skills. Calanthe can take most of that blame but we will right it, got it?” Ciri sneered and kicked to try and get away as she made a face at Geralt,

“Don’t take my grandmother’s name in vain you… you…” She didn’t know what to say so she huffed and turned away from Geralt who let go with a sigh.

“Don’t come crawling into my bedroll when you are freezing at night then,” though his words held no malice or truth. He actually loved having the small 13 year old curled against his chest and sometimes she would wrap her hand around his shirt or knot it in locks of silver for a bit of comfort as they slept and huddled close to keep warm. 13 was the age of marriage but Geralt did not see Ciri in that way at all. No, this was his adopted daughter almost.

She was young, and innocent and Geralt had 90 years on her. So, he would comfort the young teen and try to teach her the best that he could. Even if it was only for a little bit after all.

~ ~ ~

The year was a blur to Jaskier. He spent most of his time drunk off his ass and singing bawdy tunes in lively taverns. The man was bedding anything and anyone he possibly could get his hands on. Sometimes that meant a romp in a nice bed or against a wall in an alleyway. Jaskier didn’t care. Why would he? He was 41 years old and his whole life was spent following an ungrateful man who only wanted him out of his life. So, of course Jaskier was out of the witcher’s life now; for good.

“‘Ey! Oi!” Someone called as Jaskier strummed his lute singing about some fair maden, “you there troubadour sing that one about that witcher an’ the coin!” Someone called and Jaskier made a face at the drunk man as he slowed his strumming,

“I’m sorry I don’t sing that one anymore. There are plenty of bards who are still singing the praises of the white wolf. I am not one of them!” He said as he went back to strumming loudly and humming as he did so. He felt the first smack of something and looked down groaning at seeing the bread. It had been the man requesting he sing toss a coin to your witcher and he glared as another piece hit him, “oi fuck off!” He screamed and dropped the lute. It clang and he cursed himself. It was the beautiful lute Filavandrel had bequeathed to him on his first adventure with Geralt. Hell, it was the lute he actually composed toss a coin to your witcher on!

“Toss a coin toss a coin!” Shouts started and he groaned and started up the very familiar yet heart wrenching melody.

“When a humble bard… Graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia… Along came this… Song…” He crooned and the crowd quieted. He got back into the groove and started to sing loudly as he danced along the floor. Soon, everyone was laughing and singing along with the chorus and throwing coins at the bard who would gladly collect those at the end of this song. Then, maybe he could drown himself into some more liquor and women? Who knew what the night would bring him!

Once the song ended, he quickly collected the coin and filled his purse up before he put his lute away and settled at a chair, “wine!” He called and there was a loud whoop as the barmaid quickly brought him the wine. He grinned with his ever charming smile and leaned forward, “thank you,” he murmured and placed an extra coin in her hand as he looked up at her with wide blue eyes. She turned bright red and giggled faintly. The girl was probably half his age but what did he care? He didn’t look anywhere near 41 (no one could figure that out either) and on top of that, he was handsome if he said so himself.

She skittered off as he sat back with the glass and took a long swig of it as he sighed. The warmth of the red wine tingled down his chest and into his stomach. Oh it would not take long for him to get drunk off of this. Maybe he could seduce that pretty little barmaid into his bed?

Jaskier pushed the long grown out locks away from his face. The mousy brown hair almost curly at his cheeks. It was a lot longer than he liked but he had no need nor want to cut his hair. In fact, his own face now matched his chest. It was covered in a thick layer of curly dark brown hair. He hadn’t ever let himself become unshaven and yet here he was looking rugged and dark not the baby faced troubadour that had followed Geralt to the end of the world and back again.

Jaskier had put on a bit of weight as well. Not much, just from all the alcohol he consumed on a daily basis had given him that gut. He didn’t care, why would he? People still fell at his feet to fuck and be fucked by the great Jaskier! Even without Geralt, he still was able to bed just about anyone and it wasn’t often he was threatened with death. That was a nice change. He literally could walk in to a town and fuck anyone without anyone so much as batting an eye; if he was careful that was. Can’t go fucking the alderman’s wife after all. Jaskier snickered at that idea and held up his empty mug for more.

The beautiful barmaid was quick to refill and he put another coin in her hand and let his fingers linger. She was a bright red and she grinned at him shyly, “I have a room. Maybe we could… get to know each other better? I will gladly serenade you with any song you wish my love,” he almost purred and she giggled even louder,

“Oh… oh that does sound amazing. My shift ends in a few hours. Maybe then?” Jaskier hummed and leaned forward again his breath ghosting over an ear,

“Room 206.” he said calmly as he sat back and she flounced off again as he drank his wine and adjusted what was growing in his pants. Oh, tonight was going to be quite fun after all.

~ ~ ~

Geralt woke to a piercing scream and sat up from the camp they had made. Ciri lay next to him but had screamed herself awake. This was quite normal and he sighed as he gathered the teen up and pulled her into his bedroom. “Shh… Sh…” He wasn’t the best at comforting but she didn’t seem to care. Hands dug into his shirt and twisted frantically as she tried to find purchase of some sort,

“I saw him.. The man with the bird hat,” she admitted softly and sniffled, “he killed you and he, he took me!” She cried as her body shook.

“He isn’t here,” Geralt stated bluntly as he rubbed his rough and calloused hands along her face and cheeks and up into her scalp lightly scratching and rubbing to try and calm the frantic child down, “no one can hurt you. Roach is on watch,” he nodded to the mare who just sighed and huffed at them as she paced tied to her spot. “Do you want to sleep with me?” He asked and Ciri gave a light nod as she settled down with Geralt who slowly leaned back and let her lay upon his chest.

Her breathing slowly went shallow out and she was fast asleep again. Geralt was wide awake though, his eyes wide as he looked up at the top of the tent; listening to the horses breath and the way Ciri murmured in her sleep as she wrung his shirt between rather strong fingers. He smiled and rubbed down her lower back in comforting circles as he too fell back into a deep sleep.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, neither talked about the nightmares or dreams. Neither talked about Ciri almost begging to sleep in Geralt’s bedroll as if she was a little girl. Geralt would never deny her nor would he ever bring it up to embarrass her. She had been through so much in a years time that it would not be fair to her. “We will be stopping at the next town,” he explained to her as they finished packing and mounting up onto their horses, “they may have a contract and we can actually have a bath and eat a proper meal yeah?” Ciri nodded,

“Mmm, anything besides rabbit and venison,” she said with a happy nod as they trotted along the woods. Geralt just gave her a light smile as he followed right next to her.

“Come on Roach,” he said quietly to the horse who neighed in response as he rubbed her side gently. Ciri smiled at him and silently sped up knowing Geralt would follow whatever pace she kept.

It was the end of the day when they finally entered the small and quaint town. People went silent when they saw the golden eyed witcher and the girl with the piercing green eyes and almost white blond hair as she rode proudly on her horse as if she was already a queen. Geralt loved that the most about her. She had no fear nor did she show any weakness. She truly was Queen Calanthe’s grandchild.

They stopped in front of the one inn, and he got down helping Ciri off her own horse. He left her standing in front of the inn with their bags as he went to stable the two horses. He paid a few coins to the stable hand to make sure they got a good rub down before he came back and picked up one. Ciri grabbed the other.

Geralt opened the door to the inn and felt the silence drop over them as if it was a blanket. He cleared his throat and nodded to the bar and Ciri nodded as she went to go to the bar and cheerily asked for a meal and some ale for Geralt. Geralt searched and soon found a dark corner and settled knowing Ciri would find him shortly. She came back holding two large bowls looking quite proud of herself.

“They will be bringing you ale soon and milk for me!” She said happily as she sat the stew down with the crusty bread. He hummed and happily took a bite of the bread before he dug into the stew. Geralt could hear the talk pick back up as everything seemed to go to normal as a scared looking barmaid came to his side and sat down the ale,

“Here you are, sir witcher. It is our best,” she bowed her head and cleared her throat, “M-may I ask if you are Geralt of Rivia? The white wolf?” Geralt sat down his spoon loudly and looked up at her as Ciri made a face and continued to eat,

“Why?” He hissed and she turned bright red and jumped back,

“N-no trouble I promise ye’ sir!” She cried and bit her lip as she worried it through her teeth. “You see, there is a bard in town… J-jaskier?” She said softly, “Well, he got caught up with the wrong woman and got her pregnant you see,” she explained, “it was the sheriff's daughter,” the girl said quickly, “they plan to… to hang him tomorrow.” She looked at him and his eyes were wide as he stared at her.

“Where is he?” Geralt asked and she gulped,

“H-he’s locked away right now. I don’t know what you could do for him.” she said softly as she looked to Ciri who was staring between Geralt and then to the barmaid curiously. “I just thought you would like to know. He cries your name when he's sleeping.” at that, she flounced away and Geralt groaned,

“Jaskier… I’ve heard you mumble that name in your sleep.” Ciri said softly, “that is that bard that used to sing that song?” Geralt glared at her slightly as she turned bright red, “just curious don’t look at me like that. I am not the only one who has nightmares Geralt of Rivia!” She snapped and went back to her food.

Geralt picked up his own spoon and continued to eat, but his thoughts were on Jaskier. He had to save the stupid bard from himself again! Granted, it had been a year since he had to save Jaskier from some cuckold who was out to cut off his cock. Geralt sighed a bit and stood as he walked to the counter. He made small talk and pushed a few coins and pointed towards Cirilla. The barmaid that had talked to him had nodded and he walked back.

“You will be going to a room.” He stated quietly, “you will take a bath and you will wait for my return. I will be back before day break got it?” Ciri’s eyes went wide,

“Don’t leave me!” She cried and stood, hugging him. Geralt cursed as this was not helping his image. No, why would a big scary witcher; the Butcher of Blaviken let a small girl hug him?

“This is no different if I were to go off to kill something.” Geralt murmured and kissed the top of her head lovingly, “stay sharp, you have the dagger I gave you yeah?” She nodded and looked up at him with tear filled green eyes, “no later than dawn.” Geralt repeated as she pulled away and sniffled,

“Please don’t leave me.” she said softly, “Come back please? I don’t wanna be alone again..” Geralt sighed and hugged her tightly again,

“Never would I leave my child surprise, got it?” She smiled up at him and nodded happily. Geralt pulled away as the barmaid walked over with a key,

“Come little one. I will draw you a warm bath okay?” She nodded and picked up her pack as Geralt grabbed his. She followed the barmaid out of the room and up the stairs to the room Geralt had rented for her.

Geralt sighed as he glared at everyone there as if to say ‘you touch her you die,’ and everyone got the hint well as he started out of the inn. He had to make his way to the jail to save Jaskier. That was all that was on his mind. Save Jaskier, get Ciri, and get the fuck out of this small town before his own head was on the chopping block!

~ ~ ~

Jaskier groaned as he sat in his own filth and leaned against the hard and cold stone wall. He had been locked up for a week now after he had supposedly gotten that cute little 22 year old pregnant. It wasn’t his fault she was so damned good and when he tried to pull out she stopped him! What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly stop an orgasm as it started. Jaskier banged his head back harder and groaned at the delicious pain.

Jaskier had no hope of rescue. No, who would come for him? His family had no idea where he was. He was too far from Oxenfurt for anyone who actually cared to hear of this, and Geralt? Who knew where the fuck the witcher was and if he actually cared? If Geralt had heard of this he would probably just say it was a good thing and good riddance to the bard.

That made his heart ache again as he tried not to cry. No, he was not drunk enough for these feelings. Jaskier sighed as he despaired to the idea of dying here, alone and sad. That was it for him, death.

~ ~ ~

Geralt found the jail easily enough and tried to bully his way in, “just let me see him,” he hissed, “Why are you killing him hmm? What did he do?” The guard sneered,

“He impregnated the wrong girl! He knocked ‘er up and left ‘er!”

“Well, we all know bards aren’t the smartest or the most loyal to who they bed,” he snapped lightly as he stepped closer, “that is no reason to kill him. There must be a mage or witch you can get a potion to rid her of such issues?” The man looked at him with wide eyes but tried not to be bullied as he stepped even closer,

“Does it look like we ‘ave a mage?” He sneered, “we barely ‘ave an inn! Now get along or we will be tossin ya in there to die along side the bard!” Geralt sighed and slowly formed the sign for Axii and let the sign touch his mind,

“You will give me the keys and I will let the bard out. There will be no violence and we will leave here immediately.” He said softly as he saw the sign take over the man’s mind. The man blinked and started to look for the keys on himself before he said,

“‘Ay sir witcher, don’t have no keys,” he mumbled and Geralt felt himself curse as he also started to look over the man. For sure, he had no keys. Geralt pushed past him and went into the small office and started to dig. No, no keys here either!

“Who the fuck doesn’t give the guard keys!?” He nearly screamed at the guard and kicked his knee out as the man fell with a cry. “Fuck,” he cursed and started to think. He would just have to wait until they were ready to execute him. Yes, he would lay in waiting with Ciri ready to ride out the minute he grabbed Jaskier. That would have to work. “Fine,” he hissed and let the sign go as he quickly left the man in pain on the ground screaming from a possible broken knee.

~ ~ ~

Geralt made his way back to the inn and Ciri had already bathed and was in a new set of clothes. When he entered, she was cowering but when she saw it was him; she flung herself and he wrapped his arms around her as he caught her. “See? I’m back,” he soothed as she looked up,

“Where is the bard?” She asked curiously and Geralt sighed,

“The damned guard didn’t have a key. We are going to go to bed and wake before the sun.” He explained, “we will have you on Stepper waiting with Roach and our things and I will grab him when he’s in the process of being moved to be executed alright?” Ciri nodded and curled up on the one bed. He slowly crawled in after her and fell asleep. Though, it was light because he refused to sleep past dawn.

~ ~ ~

Geralt woke with a gasp and sat up. Ciri was curled with her back against his side snoring lightly and looking so pleasant. He brushed a piece of blond hair from her face and bent to kiss her cheek as she twitched a bit, “time to wake,” he murmured in her ear. She huffed and yawned as she rolled over,

“It’s so early.” she complained but was already up and starting to gather their things. She was pretty organized and neat such as Geralt and Geralt thanked Melitele that she was.

They descended the stairs of the silent inn. It was still early enough no one was awake. Even when they went to grab the horses, the stable boys were fast asleep in piles of hay. Geralt had to shush Roach who wanted to neigh and whinny at seeing him. Stepper pranced in his spot as Ciri quickly threw the blanket and saddle up as she deftly buckled it. She had become quite efficient in the last six months with Geralt. Geralt had to stop and watch with pride.

They lead the horses out of the stables and Ciri quickly stepped onto the large horse, Stepper as Geralt tied Roach’s reins to Ciri’s saddle, “stay, Roach,” he commanded as she tried to pull away but stopped at that as Ciri soothed the chestnut mare. “Alright, I want you waiting on the outskirts of town in the tree lines.” He nodded towards the road, “south east. We will have to be quick or I will be killing when I do not wish to kill alright?” Ciri nodded silently,

“You will come for me, right?”

“Don’t be silly, you have my horse,” he tried to make it sound like a joke and Ciri thankfully got the dry humor and smiled before she kicked Stepper forward. The horse huffed but moved easily enough with Roach following not too far behind.

Geralt only had a small dagger within his belt. His two swords had been tied to Roach’s saddle for he sensed he would have no need for a sword in this fight. Geralt could almost always incapacitate a normal man with his bare hands.

The witcher moved almost as if a ghost through the silent and quiet roads of the small town. He found the jail and hid behind it as he listened. He could hear shouts and cries and laughter as it seemed they were roughing Jaskier up one last time. He winced and had to stop himself from lunging in already.

Though, he heard laughter that sounded like Jaskier as if Jaskier was laughing at the pain. He could hear the faint, “that’s all ya got!? Come on! You horses arse!” Yes, that was definitely Jaskier. Geralt cursed lightly,

“You have no self perseverance.” He said out loud. He heard a loud crack and winced. That had to have hurt for he did not hear Jaskier again.

“Damned bard, doesn’t know when te’ shut eet,” a man said in a rather thick accent. “Come we need te’ hang ‘im before that damn witcher comes back,” he hissed as he heard movement and nodded to himself. They were going to move him. Geralt could feel the warmth of the sun as it started to rise ever so slowly. A rooster crowed three times and he quirked a smirk at that.

There was a loud squeak Geralt recognized as an unoiled metal door. He pressed himself closely to the side of the building as he heard the door bang open and they brought out a half unconscious Jaskier. Geralt steeled himself for a fight and sneered; baring teeth as he saw the sorry state Jaskier was in.

Jaskier had shackles on his ankles and rope keeping his wrists together. His clothes were tattered and bloodied. His face was bruised and swollen with dried blood from a bloodied lip and bloody nose.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly under his breath as one man held the rope and another followed behind Jaskier. Geralt’s golden eyes darted and he was thankful to not see anyone else. At least if there was blood shed, it would be two no more than that.

Geralt was silent as he fell into step behind the three without so much of a sound. Geralt was big, but he could be light on his feet. He had to be when it came to killing monsters. It didn’t take much for Geralt to grab the man behind Jaskier and put him into a sleeper hold. He shushed him as the man went down quickly and quietly. He dropped the body to the ground before he looted the body. He smirked at taking the small coin pouch and found what he hoped was the keys to the shackles upon his friend’s ankles.

He fell back behind them and walked silently thankful neither turned around. Though, Jaskier soon tripped and was on the ground crying softly as Geralt stopped and looked upon him with such empathy. His own heart was slowly hurting in his chest as the second guard turned to curse at Jaskier. Though, his eyes went to Geralt standing there silently, holding a set of keys,

“You! You fucker!” He snarled as he dropped the rope and moved to attack. Geralt easily dodged the blows and moved about. He dipped below and used an elbow to jar the man to the side before he grabbed him and wrestled him down. It was quick and painless as he snapped the man’s neck with a loud crack.

Jaskier had sat up and was sitting on bare knees as he stared at Geralt through horrified blue eyes. Geralt dropped to his knees and grabbed his friend’s face between now gentle hands,

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt murmured gently as he rubbed his cheek with a thumb. Jaskier looked away defeated as Geralt continued, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You don’t have to forgive me but I won’t let you die,” Geralt admitted softly, “you won’t die today, I promise.” Jaskier felt a scream rip through him as he pulled away and started to sob as he brought his bound hands to his face and sobbed uncontrollably.

This was what he wanted, this feeling. He had wanted this and here Geralt was. He had saved him from dying. A weight had lifted from his shoulders as he wailed and sobbed. Geralt was unsure what to do but sit there with a hand on his shoulder. Though, he looked around and cleared his throat a bit, “Jask, more guards are coming. We need to go, now.” He hissed and used the dagger to cut the rope off. Jaskier rubbed his sore and chafed wrists as Geralt fumbled and found the right key to let his ankles out.

“Can you run? “He asked and Jaskier shrugged. At that, Geralt didn’t care as he tossed the bard over his shoulder and started for the path he had told Ciri to wait on. Jaskier didn’t argue or complain as they made it quickly to the horses. “When I say run, I mean it.” he said to Ciri who nodded and held onto the reins tightly. Geralt untied Roach and tossed a limp Jaskier up onto Roach.

He climbed up and held Jaskier against his chest as he felt an arrow whiz past his head. “Run!” He screamed and Ciri easily kicked Stepper into running. The reason the horse was fondly called stepper was because when he wanted to go, he went.

Roach was no slouch and followed behind just as quickly as Geralt used one hand to steer and one hand to hold onto the limp bard. They rode like that until they were far enough that no one had followed. “Woah woah!” He called and Ciri reined back. Stepper reared but she held fast as he soon settled. Roach just huffed as she slowed to a stop. “We need to assess the damage.. Jask can you walk?” Jaskier nodded and slowly climbed from the horse, albeit a little unsteady.

Geralt got off the horse and rummaged until he found a few healing salves, “can I bandage you?” Geralt asked and Jaskier said nothing as he nodded ever so faintly and closed his eyes. He was silent as Geralt started to rub the healing salve over his body. The aches were leaving and the bruises would heal. Blood was wiped off of his sore face and Geralt cursed under his breath at how badly Jaskier had been beaten.

Once he was mostly clean, Geralt pulled out a pair of his own clothes, “until we can get you more.” he said nodding to the troubadour’s torn clothes. Jaskier was numb as he finished undoing the buttons and didn’t seem to care that a girl was watching with curious eyes as he stripped to underwear. He shakily pulled on the black tunic. It was rough but it smelt of Geralt and Jaskier sighed as he took a deep breath and almost fell right there just from that scent. Geralt helped him into the trousers and buttoned them. They were only a few centimeters too short and the shirt was large and loose due to Geralt being built a lot more. The pants stayed up though and that was nice.

“Alright, we are going to ride until dark and set up camp.” he murmured softly, “you can ride Roach with me. Is that okay?” Jaskier just numbly nodded as Geralt climbed back onto the mare and pulled Jaskier behind him. Jaskier quickly wrapped lithe arms around his friend’s waist and laid his head against Geralt’s back. Geralt gave a faint smile and Ciri smiled to,

“Nice to meet you. He used to dream about you,” she said and Geralt gave her a look, “what I would wake up and you would be mumbling his name and saying sorry and you messed up,” she shrugged innocently and Jaskier looked at Geralt quietly with curious eyes.

“We can talk when we settle down,” he said softly and Jaskier just nodded as they started to ride again. It was best to get as far away as possible just in case they wanted to pursue the three.

~ ~ ~ It was almost dark when Geralt finally called for a stop. They were next to a spring fed river and with it being so hot during the days he knew it would be quite warm still, “alright we will make camp here. Ciri, can you set a trap?” She nodded and jumped off Stepper, tying him off with deft hands before she grabbed the supplies from her pack and started to trudge the woods for a perfect place for a trap. Geralt got off Roach and helped a still quiet and limp Jaskier.

Geralt found a log and heaved it to a spot and pointed. Jaskier sat with no qualms as Geralt started to gather up twigs and leaves for kindling. It wasn’t long before he had a fire started and Ciri had came back to announce her trap was set. She started to help set up camp as she always did. Though, green eyes kept looking at the older man that seemed as if he was a shell of a man now.

“Geralt? He doesn’t look so good,” she finally murmured into his ear and Geralt sighed,

“I think it is shock. I will try to bring him around. Get the tent ready I am going to take him to bathe. No peeking,” he teased and she snorted,

“We’ve bathed together plenty of times!” She said and he chuckled as he grabbed two towels from one pack and pulled Jaskier up ever so gently,

“Let’s go take a bath…” Jaskier just hummed and followed easily behind Geralt to the river. Jaskier let Geralt undress him before Geralt slowly stripped and pushed Jaskier into the warm waters. Geralt sighed, “not a bath bath but it's better than nothing…” He said softly and Jaskier just hummed and started to wash without prompting. That made Geralt feel better as he too started to clean himself off with the grime of the traveling. He hadn’t gotten to bathe like Ciri did at the inn.

Once they were clean, Geralt pulled Jaskier out and dried the man off before he put more healing salve all over the scraps, cuts and bumps he had. He cursed under his breath at how marred that once smooth skin was in just a year. Jaskier dressed as Geralt dried himself off and pulled his own clothes back on.

When they entered the campsite, Ciri was skinning two rather large rabbits and grinned up at Geralt, “I’ve gotten good!” She chirped and looked to Jaskier and cocked her head faintly to the side, “you hungry?” She asked Jaskier who looked at her and then back at Geralt and Geralt gave a nod as he plopped down next to her,

“Starving,” he said hoarsely and she grinned at his first word being to her. Geralt smiled as he took one of the rabbits to finish skinning before they both were spit roasted and thrown onto the blazing fire.

They all sat in relative silence as the rabbits cooked. When they were done, Geralt filleted pieces and handed them out on crude plates he had procured in the last six months of traveling with the young girl. When Ciri got hers, she moved to go into the tent to give Jaskier and Geralt alone time, claiming tiredness. Though, Geralt knew better.

“Jaskier…” He murmured faintly as Jaskier picked at the rabbit eating it slowly, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do or to say.” He said softly, “you mean so much to me and I was stupid. I was stupid to force you to leave me.” Jaskier twitched and looked up behind lidded blue eyes,

“I...I just wanted to do my best for you,” Jaskier said softly. “I wanted to be your companion, your friend, maybe even your lover.” Jaskier felt his cheeks rise in heat as he cleared his throat, “you hurt me so bad,” he choked faintly,

“I wanted to do my best and yet my best wasn't good enough was it, Geralt?” He asked and Geralt felt his heart thud loudly and rapidly.

“I-it was good enough. I promise you Jaskier.” Geralt replied gently as he moved so they were sitting closer. Jaskier was leaning his back against the log and Geralt fell to the ground next to him. He let his leg touch Jaskier’s and Jaskier did not pull or shrink away. “I was so hurt by Yen, and I took it out on you. I didn’t want you to suffer anymore traveling with me,” Geralt said softly, “but I can see now you were suffering without me.” Jaskier snorted as he sat the plate down of uneaten rabbit.

“I suffered more without you than I did with you,” he said softly as Geralt hummed and nodded,

“I realise that now. I also realise I can have a companion and care for them as well as protect them,” he nodded his head towards the tent where he could tell Ciri was leaning and listening.

“I loved you, Geralt,” Jaskier finally admitted, “I fell madly in love with you. Why would I give you my twenties and my thirties?” He asked as he stared at Geralt, “why I followed you everywhere and anywhere? You took my love and stomped it out on that damned mountain you know that?” Geralt huffed lightly and nodded,

“I know that now and I was wrong, can you ever forgive me?” Geralt had sat down his half uneaten plate and moved a hand to Jaskier’s knee. He was thankful Jaskier did not pull away but soon his own hand was shakily grasping Geralt’s as he grasped it tightly; lacing their fingers together. Geralt smiled and brought the hand up to kiss it gently, “I can’t promise to be the best but I can promise to love you fiercely. I want you to come with us; come to Kaer Morhen please?” Jaskier’s lip twitched and he nodded as he leaned closer to Geralt,

“Of course you and your child surprise?” He asked as he looked over and winked at the girl who tried to hide from the two men’s eyes. Geralt nodded and Jaskier took that moment to turn and quickly bring Geralt’s lips to his own. Geralt was surprised but happily tossed his arms around Jaskier and gave back just as good as Jaskier had given. Their tongues meshed and they kissed tenderly next to the fire light. Jaskier moaned and straddled Geralt’s lap and ground down as Geralt ground up but he pulled away and panted, “not here, not now.” he said as he looked up at his bard’s disappointed face, “we have a 13 year old girl listening and watching. I rather our first time be in a nice big bed.” He said truthfully and Jaskier nodded but pouted as he settled to just sitting in his lap and he huffed a sigh,

“Okay I can live with that.” he said softly and then cursed, “my things! My lute!” he cried, “oh they still have them! What will we do!?” Geralt groaned softly,

“I can go back.. Just me.” he said as he looked at Jaskier and to Ciri. “you two keep riding for the next town. Ciri do you mind riding double with Jask?”

“No,” he meek call came from the tent,

“Good I will leave at daybreak and meet you in the next town over. Ciri are you okay with that?”

Ciri poked her head out and looked at the two men, “he won’t leave me will he?” She asked nodding to Jaskier, “and you will come back right?” Jaskier looked at her fondly and smiled,

“My dear, I won’t leave you at all. I have wanted to meet you for so many years,” he cooed and slowly crawled off of Geralt’s lap and moved to her and pulled her into a tight hug. Ciri relaxed mostly because the scent she smelt was all Geralt and it was her comfort. She nodded against his chest as Geralt moved closer and wrapped them both into his arms.

“I won’t leave either of you. Now, let’s sleep so you two can get on the road and I can head back.” he grumbled faintly and Jaskier grinned,

“Can I share your bed roll?” He asked and Geralt rolled his eyes,

“If she doesn’t beat you to it,” Jaskier gasped loudly,

“Is my place in your heart being replaced by such a sweet girl!? Oh what will I do!?” Geralt just grunted,

“Not like that. Shes… shes like my daughter,” he admitted and Ciri flushed before she dove into her own bed roll. Thankfully, Geralt’s was big enough for the two adult men and they easily fell into a deep sleep.

~ ~ ~

Geralt and Roach were gone before the other two had stirred. He had left a large coin purse so they could purchase a room. Ciri woke against an unfamiliar chest and gasped as she sat up but then noticed it was the sleeping troubadour and slowly settled against him until he woke with a yawn and smiled as he stroked her hair, “morning princess.” he chirped and she smiled happily,

“We should head out that is what Geralt would want,” she said quietly and he nodded,

“Of course, come let’s pack up shall we?” They made quick work of the campsite and were soon both on Stepper and riding for the main path to get to the next town over.

~ ~ ~

Jaskier had gotten them a single room with two beds so they could wait for Geralt. They expected him to be only a day but one turned to two and then three. Every day, Ciri became more and more distraught, “what if he doesn’t come back? “She cried on the third night as she wiped her eyes, “he left us he won’t come back!” She was now wailing and Jaskier had pulled her into his arms and settled on the bed trying to comfort the teen against his chest.

“Now, now there! He just probably got held up, maybe he got a contract?” He asked gently. “Why don’t we go down stairs and get something to eat? He should be here any time I promise you. He wouldn’t leave us.” at least, that was what Jaskier was trying to rationalize as well. Would he? Did Geralt think he would be better suited to care for Ciri?

Jaskier was able to prod the younger girl down the stairs and he quickly called for ale, milk, and food. They settled in a dark and quiet corner and started to eat and drink. Ciri still looked miserable as Jaskier tried to comfort her.

The door swung open and everyone stopped as the gold eyed witcher stepped inside. He looked bloodied and his eyes were blown. Everywhere he looked, everyone shrunk away quickly. Jaskier saw this and grinned as he stood, but Ciri was already flying at him and clinging to him as the man dropped the bags and lute to the floor. “You did come back!” She cried and he sighed softly and kissed her head,

“Got held up. Food.” he said roughly to the bar keep who nodded as Geralt fished the items off the floor and walked, holding Ciri to the table with the bard. “Got your things.” he grunted softly and Jaskier smiled gently,

“Thank you.” he murmured softly, “see? Told you princess!” he teased the girl who smiled and sat back down. Geralt sat next to Jaskier as a plate of food and a mug of ale was brought to him. He took a big swig and dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Once Geralt was done, he asked for a second room for Cirilla so he could bathe and maybe talk to Jaskier alone without the 13 year old eavesdropping. She fought the idea of having to sleep in a room by herself, but thankfully it was right across the street and Geralt promised if she got scared she could crawl into bed with him and possibly Jaskier.

She acquiesced and they made their ways to the respective rooms. Once Ciri was in her room, and their door had shut, Jaskier had his hands all over Geralt. “Are you hurt? Do you need to be rubbed down? Anything I can stitch?” The bard asked gently and Geralt shook his head as he put strong hands on his friend’s shoulders.

“Just a bath,” he rasped quietly and Jaskier nodded. Geralt pulled away and quickly went to the tub. The water was cold so he lit it with igni and slowly undressed before he slipped into it. The water smelt of roses and chamomile and he knew that Jaskier and Ciri probably had bathed in it before. He didn’t care too much. A bath was what he needed.

Jaskier dropped to his knees and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and massaged lovingly before he leaned closely, “we missed you… I missed you,” he admitted and Geralt huffed and leaned back a bit,

“I got caught up with the guards. It wasn’t pretty let’s put it that way. Got some nice coin out of it,” he smirked lightly,

“Geralt! You did not become a brigand and steal from them!?”

“Not like they were going to use it,” Geralt grumbled lightly. “We can rest here for the night and start on for Kaer Morhen tomorrow alright?” Jaskier nodded at that and sighed as he started to help wash Geralt’s back gently. Geralt happily leaned forward and moaned softly at the touches. Jaskier felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat gently,

“Geralt.. I have a confession,” he said softly as he pulled his hands away, “you may tell me to leave or send me on my way again but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m not a young man anymore as you know…” Geralt looked over at him over his shoulder and waved a hand for him to continue, “my point being is: I am in love with you. I always have been. Something about you drew me to you and I was never able to get away,” he said softly and sighed a bit. Geralt just sat there in stunned silence as he watched Jaskier, “S-say something please,” Jaskier almost pleaded as he felt his chest tighten at the idea of Geralt rejecting him again.

Geralt turned in the tub and surged up. His lips crashed against Jaskier’s and they shared a rough kiss that was all teeth and moans. Jaskier groaned as he was pressed against the floor next to the tub with a very naked and very soaking wet Geralt on top of him. Geralt lessened the kiss and it became gentle and loving as he ran strong hands up and down the bard’s body.

When it almost became too much, he pulled away and panted slightly as he looked down at the bard who looked as if he was shocked. “Bed,” Geralt murmured softly and Jaskier nodded and scrambled for the bed quickly. The tunic he wore that was Geralt’s came off and he undid the pants but did not pull them off. His boots got kicked to the side as Geralt stood and shook out the wet hair. He walked silently to the bed, still naked before the bed dipped with his weight.

He dropped down next to Jaskier and pulled Jaskier to his naked chest as he laid down. Jaskier leaned against it before he was pulled up again for another rough and loving kiss. Jaskier moaned quietly as he pressed himself against Geralt. Geralt pulled away and murmured against kiss swollen lips, “I am so sorry Jask. I never meant to make you feel that way. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh you silly Witcher… I already have,” Jaskier stated and grinned as he dived back in for another heartwarming kiss. Geralt flipped them so Jaskier was beneath him. Strong hands were running all over his body and Jaskier was sighing happily into the ministrations.

One hand soon cupped between his legs and Jaskier flushed as he felt a surge of arousal hit straight at home. The hand massaged and rubbed until Jaskier was grinding back and moaning loudly for more. Geralt soon ripped the pair of trousers off and down his body and smirked at the naked form of his now lover.

“Lovely,” he breathed and Jaskier flushed as he tried to hide almost in embarrassment. Geralt pinned the arms away and bent to kiss him again as he rubbed his own growing erection against Jaskier’s. Jaskier gasped and moaned softly at that as Geralt ground down and groaned against his lips.

“Jaskier, I want you to fuck me,” Jaskier’s eyes flew open and he almost sat up but bumped against Geralt and fell back,

“W-what?” He asked loudly, “F-fuck you? You?” Jaskier stared at the well muscled chest, the lovely patches of fur that ran down and all those damn scars. The fact his cock was rather large and pulsing against his thigh and he gulped. Granted, Jaskier was unsure if he could take something so large. It had been years since he had bottomed. “Are you sure?” Geralt nodded and rolled over and laid down, legs open,

“Very,” he breathed softly as he smiled up at Jaskier, “please?” Jaskier groaned and nodded as he quickly bent down to take what he could of the thick piece of meat into his mouth. Geralt just moaned softly and let Jaskier work his magic.

Jaskier was incredibly skilled with his tongue and it made Geralt drip with precum as he felt the man bobbing his head roughly up and down. Geralt placed one hand in his hair to help steady and let Jaskier work. It wasn’t long before Geralt was pulling Jaskier off his cock and panting, “gonna cum if you keep this up. Rather cum around your cock.” Jaskier moaned at that and nodded,

“Oil?” He asked and Geralt groaned as he rolled off the bed and dove into his pack. Soon, he pulled out a small tin with some salve that was great for sore muscles. This would do perfectly. Geralt crawled back onto the bed and laid out on his back, legs open. Jaskier fought with the tin for a minute before he finally got it open. He grinned nervously but soon was scooping some and covering his fingers in the thick substance.

One finger went between his lover’s legs and down his crack. Geralt tensed slightly but soon relaxed when said finger started to massage his hole slowly. Geralt groaned and bit his knuckle lightly as to not be too loud. Jaskier massaged and worked the tender hole until it was finally pliable. At that, he pressed his finger into the first knuckle. There was little to no resistance so it was easy to press it all the way in.

Jaskier moved said finger in and out slowly watching Geralt for any signs of pain. There was nothing but signs of pleasure as Geralt actually moaned and panted out loud as he pressed back against the finger. Jaskier groaned and pressed in a second. Geralt hissed but it was a hiss of pleasure not pain. Jaskier slowly scissored the two fingers and kept working him open before Geralt swatted at his hand, “I’m ready damnit. I don’t need as prepping as normal people.” Jaskier nodded and pulled his fingers out before using the last of the salve to slick his hard cock. He pulled back his foreskin and moaned softly as he slowly settled over Geralt’s hips.

This would be a first, Jaskier had never bedded someone quite larger than himself. Granted, they were almost the same height but Geralt easily out weighed him and was much wider than Jaskier’s own form. Jaskier took a deep breath and slowly pressed forward and his cock breached the round and puckered hole easily. Geralt gasped and keened as his head threw back. Wisps of white framed his face and Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from shouting ‘fuck’ into the air.

Geralt leaned up and caught Jaskier into another kiss as Jaskier started a slow and steady pace. His hips rocked in and out of Geralt and Geralt just moaned against the lips before he broke away to look at him with lust filled eyes, “you can fuck me as hard as you like, bard. You won’t injure me.” That made Jaskier groan loudly before his hips shot forward harder and he started a brutal pace.

Geralt fell back against the bed and moaned loudly as he felt Jaskier speed up. Jaskier grabbed the witcher’s legs and was able to put them on his shoulders and almost bent the witcher in half as he fucked down into his willing body. Geralt was a mess, crying out and moaning and encouraging the bard on before Geralt was fisting his own cock.

Three hard fists and he was screaming his orgasm as large white ropes shot out and covered his chest, hand and stomach. Jaskier moaned at the site and felt his own body stutter before he was shaking and cumming deep within Geralt; moaning as he released.

When he was finally done, he let down his lover’s legs and slowly pulled out with a groan. His cock was softening and overly sensitive now. Geralt’s was limp and still pulsing as cum oozed and pooled in his navel. Jaskier lay down and rest his head against the witcher’s chest and shoulder as he relaxed. “That was amazing,” he murmured and Geralt put an arm around him and hummed,

“Hmm, yes yes it was.” He said softly and smiled down at Jaskier. “So, will you stay with us in Kaer Morhen?” He questioned softly,

“For sex like that? Of course!” He laughed softly and Geralt chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles against his lower back,

“Good. I need you.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier flushed slightly,

“And I need you.”

[jacklynnfrost]

Melizabeth Week #2

Submission for DAY TWO of Melizabeth Week @melizabeth-week This piece is Beta’d by Sinfulfics, thank you for always being a message away, and for being encouraging on my darkest days.

Chapter Two: Past By Jacklynnfrost

His face is dry, lips cracking, his skin chafing from the bits of sand that have maneuvered their way into his clothes. They escaped the sand storm hours ago but the effects linger as his raw flesh burns with the grit grinding against it. With a quick peek over his shoulder he checks to see that the Princess is still following as he knows now the task of getting her to the temple is a difficult one, and she must arrive so he can kill her at the right time.

Meliodas frowns, wishing his fathers would have given him more to go off of than, ‘You’ll know when it’s the time to strike’ as if a sign from the gods will guide him in this wretched task. He wishes she were annoying, or not so pretty, but at least she isn’t one for conversation as he can work with having no regard for her. She’s not complained once, her lips just as dry and her face rosy from the scorching sun overhead.

Without the sandstorm to shade the rays it burned, the sand underfoot practically glittered from it baking in the heat. It would have a certain appeal if they weren’t being cooked too. Nothing here is worth giving a second look, it’s something they both agree on but neither speak up about. Of course, when a pair of jutting rocks glint in the distance that connect to make the shape of a heart he does give it a second glance.

“We’re close to the first rest stop,” he remarks and he hears Elizabeth fiddle with her buckle, then crinkles paper telling him she is checking the map behind him. With a snort, he rolls his eyes. He memorized their first jaunt and all he has to do is keep his eye out for a lighthouse. The thought that this place, or anyplace near here once had a body of water big enough to need a lighthouse’s burn fire to guide their ships at night is unbelievable with how this land is now.

“I was told there would be beasts and clouds of remnant power that jolted lightning from above...” she mutters, looking out while tucking the map away once more to gaze over the empty landscape. “Maybe we have been lucky?” Even as the words leave her cracked lips, she winces, wondering if all the information she’s been given is accurate.

Only, as they pass under the heart-arch pillars, half-fallen stone walls appear in the distance. Their destination, and as they near with no towering lighthouse around, what they thought were rocks sharpens to outlines of figures. Elizabeth steps closer to Meliodas as they pass their first, a humanoid reaching out with most of its hand eroded away to leave a nub. It looks to be made of a tan stone, cracking with their features smoothed out, but their face is to the sky and their mouth is open wide like a divot in the rock.

At first, as they pass other statues, with them reaching and running, broken arms jutting from the sand, she wonders who would make all these. Then her heart stills as she realizes what’s happened. “They... were petrified,” she whispers, her throat thickening as her heart goes out to these poor souls having been caught in whatever did this to all these people.

“I wonder which side did this.” Meliodas isn’t sure if some of the eroded pieces are horns or wings or both, but he snorts as the sun is starting to set causing shadows to cast from the fuller bodies and larger stones.

“Does it matter anymore?” Elizabeth whispers, taking a shallow breath. “They all died for such a stupid reason and all of us are still paying the price for our great-ancestor’s, ancestor’s war.” He freezes, his steps sinking into the sand. Instantly Elizabeth tenses, looking around but inching closer to Meliodas thinking something must be wrong. Her eyes water as she focuses on their distant path, trying to make out the long curved structure that blocks their way.

Her words, it goes against everything Meliodas has been taught. What his fathers beat, literally, into him about how right the demons were in their part of this war. A rage bubbles, unfairly focusing on her for having any logic that pierced through what he understood of the world. A cognitive dissonance he liked to embrace, but seeing the effects, the bodies... he hated that her point stuck with him like a leech he couldn’t pull free. Because... Why did it matter anymore when it was three thousand years ago?

No one alive today is at fault. These deaths, the bodies stuck screaming around them until they turned to sand too, and this wasteland is both results of so much expended magic by both of their great-great-ancestor’s war. It was so bad that three thousand years have passed and nothing natural can live or grow here. It even sparked their current journey, as every ten years a goddess apostle must travel to the temple and... He frowns, wondering if she even knows what she has to do.

“Oh,” Elizabeth hushes. “The lighthouse has fallen.” Her arm grazes his cloaked shoulder as she points to the long cylindrical building on its side. With a shrug, he marches forward, shaking out his shoes as he can feel the grit. She hurries to follow, and he expects a thousand questions he can’t answer- about what they are going to find in their ‘safe zone’, which clearly isn’t how it was when the map was created however many years ago.

Yet, she doesn’t.

The sun is lowering, on its way to set and Meliodas knows they don’t have much time to look for an alternate place to camp out for the night before it’s here. The wastes have been so different than he imagined he doesn’t dare guess at what roams in the dark but the temperatures will surely drop without the burning sun. The shelter is a must.

Meliodas leads, looking into the cracks and open arches of the side of the lighthouse still above the sand. Some places are dark with crumbling floors and stones but after a few disappointing rooms he stops at what he sees in the next opening, the arch smoothed from erosion. A well’s rim, stone and jutting from the low levels of sand. Others must have cleaned the room out of trickling sand over the years, Meliodas’ first thought is the other warriors and their apostles must be keeping this clear each time they pass through.

“Here.” He climbs over the sideways arched window, noting the incline of sand that has made its way in that he now feels obligated to clear since the rest of this little room is. Still, he goes to the well first to make sure it’s still worth the effort he will put in. A dry well is worthless. Meliodas instantly feels better in the shade of the lighthouse and away from the grating winds that kick up the sands. He looks over the lip of the well and although it’s too dark to see he can smell the fresh dampness and hear a little trickle. There is no bucket or rope. “I’m climbing down. Give me your waterskin.” He reaches for his own and in a clean sweep has it to his lips and downing the entire thing.

“Oh, you know I can purify water then?” she asks and with a stark, hidden flush Meliodas looks from her and doesn’t answer realizing he drank the rest of his water a tad rashly. Elizabeth drinks the remainder of hers down before passing it over and as he climbs down, she gets to work, not wanting to be idle. The place is dark, cobwebs and sand cover most of the floor that she supposes used to be a wall when the lighthouse was upright.

The well must have smashed through it and she’s surprised it remains intact from the impact and after so much time. Still, she peers into the adjacent rooms, seeing them full of wood and stone rubble before looking down the well herself. She watches the top of his head disappear into the darkness while clinging to the side. He is strong, she can tell, she knew when she first saw him emerge from the Amber trial so early this morning.

After a few moments of silence thoughts of the price she has to pay for the actions of so many in the past start to trickle in and she frowns as the sun sets behind her. Without it, an instant chill sneaks up her spine. Elizabeth makes herself busy, dropping her pack and slipping into the room over to pull the wooden beams and planks free from the rubble inside.

When she has a nice pile, she arranges it in the main room to start a fire with extra on the side for when the night wears on. Elizabeth opens her pack, getting out her sleeping sack and then the wrapped bread and some fruit. When Meliodas still hasn’t returned she goes to the well and whispers his name down the hole. Her mind whirls with worries, wondering if he slipped, or if something else was down there. She starts to swirl her power in her hand, letting it illuminate the room and just as she’s about to drop the ball down the well she hears scraping while her senses spike with a sudden surge of dark magic.

Elizabeth readies herself, centering her own powers as she turns to the only entrance in and out of the room. The rush of air doesn’t come from there though, instead it’s from the well and with wide eyes she turns to see Meliodas emerge with dark flickering extra limbs out of his torso. She watches as the dark power sucks back inside him and it takes her a moment to realize he’s offering up the two waterskins.

“Seemed fine, but do your little purifying thing,” he gruffs, shaking out his wet hair and looking around at the food set out, her bedroll and the wood pile ready for their night ahead. “I’m actually surprised you aren’t more of a burden,” Meliodas notes as her hands glow blue over the full sacks. She blinks, processing before deciding to let it go.

He doesn’t. “I thought you would complain more, or not have any useful skills out here.” With a little smile to him, she tugs her water free from his grip and with their eyes connected a silence stretches between them, an understanding forming.

“There is no point in complaining,” she finally whispers before shaking her head and walking around him to the little camp she started. This sentiment is something he agrees with, a smile tugging against his will as he watches her walk, finding himself appreciating her form again. “Thank you for collecting the water, Meliodas.”

He isn’t sure how to respond, not used to gratitude but steps over to crouch beside the other pile of set out food. He readies for a strike, conditioned to expect it but eating quickly, finishing the entire offering in a few blinks and barely chewing. Elizabeth is curious, wants to ask but as he stands and begins a pacing patrol she chalks it up to him wanting to guard their new position.

She finishes, cleans up and starts a fire when the cold creeps in. He is ever attentive to the outside, a sentinel channeling his training, the full belly an unexpected benefit when he is used to working on very little sustenance. In the distance a beast roars, they both still, growing quieter but as he searches the dark he cannot see where the sound originated. After a moment, Meliodas hauls a larger piece of debri from the room over to rest mostly over the sideways window they entered to dull the glow from their fire within and to stop the winds from blowing the cold in.

The crack above still releases their smoke but he thinks it will be too dark to see it from any distance. Still, his job is to get Elizabeth to the Temple and he positions himself along the side of the largest gap to keep his focus on whatever is out there. He’s only distracted when she moves, ever aware of what she’s doing and when she lays down on her bedroll he watches her for longer than he should, finding it hard to look back into the darkness.

“Why did you compete for this task?” she asks, her voice just above the cracking of the fire. A slew of images flash in his mind, Chandler and Cusack with their sneering faces, his younger brother’s anger while huddled cold and hungry to his side as they watch a loving father clutch his daughter to his chest before going into their home. He finds it easier to look away then, but a lie slips through his lips.

“My name will be in the history books.” His tone is sarcastic, mocking as he hears Chandler in his mind proud of that very fact. He had always been so concerned about how others perceive him, wanting him to succeed. Only, she snorts, disbelievingly and an ire rises in him as his eyes narrow, finding her to pin the aggression on.

“Fine,” she answers, closing her eyes and he looks back at the nothingness thinking their talk is over before her soft, soothing voice rears again. “History is rarely true though.” Elizabeth sounds sleepy and he is surprised when most of his irritation dims from such a small shift in her. To cover it up, he swallows, forcing himself to be hard.

“Of course you’d want your history to be lies.” Meliodas hopes this will end their useless talk, but her little snort sounds once more.

“It’s not my history.” Elizabeth’s eyes are open and he watches the fire dance in their depths, entranced in a way he’s never been. “I’ve done none of the crimes of my ancestors and I’m sure you’re not thrilled with your Demon history either. Soul eating and all that.” He wishes there was more bite to her words, rather than her understanding explanation. “The past has changed us though.”

The melancholy he picks up sparks his curiosity but the distant howl rings through the air once more and he spins from her to survey the possible threat. The day has left him much to think about and he is grateful when he’s assessed they were still in relative safety, that she’s fallen asleep. He sneers at how trusting she is with him, waiting for her breathing to deepen before creeping over to her.

She is pretty, he cannot deny that but a face is just a mask and although whatever is underneath intrigues him he resists the pull. Instead, he snags her side satchel, the one she had before they stocked up on their supplies. The map is within and he unfolds it, leaving it open for an excuse if she wakes. He finds a book inside, a slip of fabric silky to the touch and a lone earring with stars that glitter with in.

“Stupid,” Meliodas mutters before pulling the book free to see the shining silver inlay of the front cover that shines in place of a woman’s face, leaving just the figure with at least seven wings on each side to be in full detail. His stomach rolls, knowing this is goddess lore or something equally as stupid as her other trinkets. Still, he has nothing to do, so he pries open the cover to try and make out what this is, only, he cannot read this language very well.

Of the things his fathers decided were important growing up, learning to read had not been on the list. But before them, when his mother had been alive... Old memories resurface of a worn wooden table and dirty parchment his mother would chalk over. Her face would glow when he got it right and slowly he works his way through what this book was about.

Rituals.

He puzzles over why, what she could possibly need this for as he flips through the pages. Pictures give him more clues than the words he successfully reads, but what he gathers by the time he closes it and returns the thing to her satchel is that goddesses are a source of power in the temple? The last picture was of a goddess with a dagger in their heart but, that can’t be right as he is tasked to kill her, if her death is part of the ritual then how is his planned act a rebellion? He isn’t sure, but as he looks at her sleeping face, flushed from the sun and sand, he knows he can’t ask her without giving himself away.

As the night wears on, he keeps guard trying to work out a way to get his questions answered without raising any concerns. She sleeps through the night under his protection and although he is a touch miffed that she trusts him to sleep soundly, he finds himself softening for the same reasons. It isn’t until she sleepily rubs her eyes, looking from the dead fire to the lightening of the sky through the cracks of their room that she speaks.

“You should have woke me, I would have kept watch. You haven’t slept.” Her concern is ill met, he slings his bag over his shoulder and uncovers the exit, answering as he climbs his way free while pulling up his cloaks hood. “I am used to going without rest. You obviously are not.” Meliodas barely catches her face falling and the subtle blush but he shakes his head, refusing to acknowledge it.

He memorized their next trek, hoping their day ahead goes as planned but as he looks to the skies the sparks of lightning, residual, unstable power above does not bode well. But, quicker than he expected Elizabeth climbs from the fallen lighthouse, ready to go and he leads without a second glance back. He knows she’ll follow, and having her at his back is... nice, somehow.

[itsclydebitches]

I consider taking angsty prompts and turning them into absurd fluff to be a specialty of mine~ 

Wretched 

Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for children’s books. One wouldn’t think it based on the antiques and religious texts crowding up the shop, but if you took your time and wandered all the way to the back you’d find a sizable collection waiting, enhanced by the occasional plush and toy truck. They were mostly books from the mid-18th and 19th century, didactic texts with (surprise, surprise) religious bents. A Little Pretty Pocket-Book Intended for the Instruction and Amusement of Little Master Tommy and Pretty Miss Polly had been a long time favorite of his, both for the brightly colored paper it was bound in and the absurdly long title by contemporary standards.

The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes. The New England Primer. Millions of Cats. Peter Rabbit, The Secret Garden, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland...that was about as modern as Aziraphale was willing to go—for now at least—with the exception of one co-authored series from the 1990’s.

“The Bailey School Kids,” Crowley read. He flipped through one at random, eyes already skittering away from lack of interest. The cover got an amused snort though. “Dracula Doesn’t Drink Lemonade? Wouldn’t mind showing that to old Bram sometime.”

“You’re welcome to take that copy if you ever pop back downstairs.”

“Isn’t he with your lot?”

“Can’t quite recall anymore.” Aziraphale’s fingers skimmed the spines until he found the book he was looking for. With a dramatic flourish he showed off this cover too: a glowing woman performing a kick in front of four children.

Crowley’s lips twitched. “Angels Don’t Know Karate.”

“I’ll admit this one certainly doesn’t.”

“‘She’s too good to be true!’ Well they got that part right at least.”

Crowley’s admiration was rarely verbal. He preferred actions over words and when something did come tumbling out it was quickly followed by an insult for balance. You’re so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid, and so forth. Thus, Aziraphale waited for the blow and instead felt his cheeks heating when all Crowley did was glance up over his glasses, eyes soft. He’d bent to get a look at the book and having him in such a, ahem, submissive position did nothing to calm Aziraphale’s racing heart.

What absurdities human bodies were. His palms had begun to sweat so badly that Aziraphale feared he’d do damage to the pages.

Yet when he dropped one hand to brush against his trousers he found it caught halfway, Crowley’s fingers ensnaring his, right at the tips. He drew Aziraphale’s knuckles to his mouth and placed a kiss there, reverent.

“Too good by far,” he murmured.

“Oh,” and Aziraphale was floundering, choking a bit, trying to put the book down and pull Crowley forward all at once until they were simply a mess of limbs and laughter. They finally succeeded and as Aziraphale bent to press his own kiss into the hollow of Crowley’s throat he forgot the reason he’d brought him over here in the first place.

I was making a joke, he thought faintly. Then Crowley took his face between his hands and Aziraphale forgot that too.

***

It came to him thirty hours later when a stray cat nearly upended itself into a drain in its attempt to get away from Crowley.

That was it. The Bailey series was missing a title: Demons Don’t Keep Pets.

“Wretched beast,” Crowley muttered and Aziraphale kindly ignored that the words were spoken in the same tone as, ‘I’m not nice’ and ‘That’s ridiculous,’ and ‘Shut up, angel.’

“We merely startled the poor thing,” Aziraphale said. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Shut up, angel.”

Hmm.

Spending time in the company of demons resulted in all sorts of odd, but really quite predictable outcomes. The stench of sulfur and chlorine was a given. Aziraphale had long ago ceased trying to cover up Crowley’s scent with any human-made creations and after the first couple of hundred years he’d forgotten why he’d wanted to in the first place. Minor mischief was another. Not anything planned, demons simply had a sort of... bad luck that surrounded them. Minor falls, forgotten words, and lost socks followed them everywhere. There was the expected gravitation towards warmer climates—many were cold blooded by nature—and the inevitable itch to groom one’s wings once the encountered concluded. Though that was due more to self-comparative embarrassment than anything the demons actually did.

And then there were the animals. Needless to say, creatures of Earth didn’t take kindly to demonic entities from the literal depths of hell.

Over their multi-millennium friendship (Courtship, Aziraphale silently corrected himself, experiencing a little thrill) he had seen Crowley interact with every animal imaginable. Or rather, unintentionally terrorize every animal imaginable. Cats, as established, had enough sense to get out of his way. Dogs were a little dumber, but that just resulted in shaking, whimpering, and a pungent mess on the floor. The Bentley was beloved not only for it style, but the freedom it had afforded him. Over the years Aziraphale had watched Crowley get bucked off of horses, camels, donkeys, mules, and on one memorable occasion an elephant. Though there were upsides too, of course. This particular body was quite susceptible to bug bites, though Aziraphale never needed to worry about such things when on a dusk stroll with Crowley. In decades past a visit from him had been more than enough to scare off the rats and cockroaches plaguing Aziraphale’s home. Squirrels and other rodents never bothered them while eating outside. Birds wouldn’t dare to defecate anywhere in their presence (smarter than the dogs then). It had taken a hundred years for the ducks of St. Jame’s Park to become accustomed to their routine... and even today they very obviously only ate the bread on Aziraphale’s side of the pond.

In short, there was a reason that poor unicorn had bolted the moment Crowley come on the scene.

“You’re thinking about how I’m responsible for the extinction of the unicorns, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale faltered only briefly. Uneven pavement. Such a danger. “Not at all, my dear.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Zira.”

“I am quite accomplished in the art due entirely to your influence. Now hush and enjoy the sunset.”

Crowley grumbled, but slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s when they just so happened to brush. They did enjoy the sunset while strolling back from dinner and as they did not a single mosquito, bird, or daring cat came their way.

***

Crowley would have dearly loved to have a pet.

He’d never said as much, not even at their most inebriated, but the desire was clear as day to Aziraphale. Put aside how well they knew one another; Aziraphale was, quite literally, a being meant to understand and exhibit love, someone who could feel it in all its forms. He knew that Crowley loved animals with the same surety that he knew Crowley loved children. And him. The duck obsession, the drunken worry for all the ocean’s creatures, they were just neon signs pointing to an already obvious statement.

Aziraphale had briefly thought that Dog was the answer. Who better to love a demon than a hell hound? Sadly, a visit to the Young household established that Adam had been a bit too thorough in transforming Dog into a normal dog. The puddle on the family room rug had created quite the stir.

So, with Armageddon two weeks behind them and all the freedom to do as he pleased, Aziraphale went shopping.

“Angel, when you said you’d gotten me a present...” Crowley’s mouth worked for a moment, seeming to taste a whole lot of words before rejecting all of them. “Weeellll. Kinda thought it was another stuffy old book.”

“You love when I give you stuffy old books.” Aziraphale had seen the small collection in Crowley’s apartment, as loved as anything else in that minimalist space.

“Is this a stuffy old book then?”

Crowley pointed to the box. The box moved.

“No, dear.”

In truth Crowley already knew what was inside. He could no doubt smell it, but he went through the motions of surprise all the same. Aziraphale watched how hard he swallowed and the shake in his hands as he pulled back the flaps.

“...You got me a snake,” he said and Aziraphale smiled at how wet his voice had gotten.

Specifically, Aziraphale had gotten him an Eastern Hognose Snake, black with a reddish tint to match Crowley’s hair. Docile and small, the little dear had no sooner tasted the air then it was making a beeline for Crowley, around his wrist and up onto his shoulder.

He’d been right. The curse didn’t extend to one’s own species.

“I’m surprised you never got one for yourself,” Aziraphale said. He watched as Crowley ran two fingers delicately over the scales, entranced. A soft, subconscious hiss was emanating each time he breathed. “It’s rather the perfect pick for you.”

“Way to toot your own horn. But nah, just... snakes. Not very cute, are they? Not the sort of thing people want in their home.” Crowley used his free hand to sit his sunglasses more firmly onto his face and... oh.

Oh.

Aziraphale felt something in his chest tighten. He stepped forward and removed those glasses, despite the protest.

“I think they’re positively adorable,” and a laugh bubbled out of Aziraphale as Crowley spluttered. The tension in his shoulders released though and the little Hognose ended up better settled between them. “A snake will make a wonderful addition to this home, rest assured. You’ll have to give him a name.”

“Her,” Crowley croaked.

“Her then.”

“Got any suggestions?”

“Not just yet.” Stepping closer Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder, eye-to-eye with their little lady. He wasn’t at all scared though. Like with the snake above him, Aziraphale knew he was perfectly safe. “I hear these lovelies play dead when feeling threatened, so the name must be something suitably dramatic. You see? You’re perfect for one another.”

“Shut it, angel.”

“And yes, there’s a collection of stuffy old books in the second box. You must read up on how to properly care for her. You don’t really think I’d pass up the opportunity to—”

“Somebody give me strength do you ever shut up?”

Crowley finally decided that the best way to achieve silence was to get it himself, which was precisely why Aziraphale blathered on in the first place. Kissing one snake while another watched wasn’t precisely what one would consider angel-like behavior.

Although, given that Aziraphale was an angel and here they were, perhaps it wasn’t so far off the mark after all.

[tisfan]

Ineffable Husbands Bingo

Title: Infernal Machines and Demonic Pigeons Written by: @tisfan & @27dragons Square: G5 - Lawn Mower Accident Rating: General Triggers/warnings: blood, accidental maiming of small garden animals, Crowley is disappointed with the lawn mower Tags: tadfield, post apocalypse, the Them, gardening Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338366 Created for: @ineffablehusbandsbingo Word count: 1,874

 God, it was said, did not play dice with the Universe. She did, rather more frequently than strictly necessary, give people exactly what they wanted in such a way that they didn’t want it any longer.

Crowley was just staring up at the ceiling of the little cottage in Tadfield that he and Aziraphale had moved into following the Apoca-could-ya-not. Just to keep a closer eye on Adam. And maybe to avoid some of their fellow angels and demons who stood out like sore thumbs in even larger cities and therefore would be quite easily spotted in a little village like Tadfield. He was staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if the crack in the plaster looked more like a duck or a cow, thinking he was blessedly bored and what he wouldn’t do for a little bit of action, when Aziraphale shrieked from out in the garden.

It was the sort of shriek that meant something was very, dreadfully wrong.

“Crowley! Crowley, I need you right now!” His voice was rather higher-pitched than usual, full of panic and distress.

(more below the cut)

“I see you up there, having a laugh at me,” Crowley said to God as he rolled off the sofa in an awkward lump of too many bones and not enough muscle before bolting out of the house.

The scene was--

Bloody awful, and he meant that in every literal meaning of the words bloody and awful.

The grass, fresh cut and quivering with the need to please, was coated with blood. And feathers.

White feathers.

“Angel!” Crowley practically exploded into panic, arriving at Aziraphale’s side in seconds, looking him over for some sort of celestial wound. Angels and demons weren’t entirely able to be killed, but they could be destroyed. And Aziraphale could certainly be discorporated. Who knew what would happen to him, if he ended up going back upstairs now.

“Oh, Crowley, it’s just dreadful!” Aziraphale wailed. “Do something!” His hands were flailing, waving helplessly in the direction of the lawn mower, which had spatters of blood all around its edges, and a few mangled feathers trapped under the front wheels.

“You!” Crowley turned on the mower fiercely. Unlike Aziraphale, he had not been issued a flaming sword, but he could make do with a pair of summoned garden hedge trimmers. He didn’t exactly borrow any hellfire to make the blades drip with infernal glee, but there were a few volcanoes in the south Pacific that wouldn’t miss a bit of lava. “You had one job! One! Cut the grass! And you manage to bollox it all up? I am very disappointed in you.”

One might think that something like a yard tool, like the Flymo Easi Glide 330 wouldn’t be able to be terrified of a demon. It’s as if one might expect a computer to be nervous, or a camera to want to take a better picture. But anyone who’s ever cursed or yelled at or pleaded with one of their electrical devices can tell you; machines think. And they’re rather diabolical, at that.

What this particular machine was thinking was that the grass was much greener. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The mower started itself with a rumble and fled, spewing feathers and blood and grass clippings as it went.

“Where does it hurt, Angel?” Crowley, having dealt with the bad machine, turned a tender hand on his Angel, looking for the wounds.

“What? No, no, I’m fine, but look at this poor thing!” He bent and scooped up a pile of feathers from the lawn, holding it tenderly in his hands, and extended it for Crowley’s examination.

Upon closer look, it wasn’t a pile of feathers at all, but a bird, rather severely mangled, cut nearly in half by the mower’s blades.

“It’s a pigeon,” Crowley said, both of his eyebrows going up so high that he could rather feel them arguing with his hair. “Rather a lot of them around these parts, aye? Seen ‘em at the park, the kiddies feed them. Blasted waste of bread if you ask me.”

“I don’t know what it was doing in the grass,” Aziraphale said. Crowley got the impression that if his hands weren’t full of dead bird, he’d be wringing them. “I was just going along and suddenly...” He tipped his head and gave Crowley a faint little smile. “Can’t you fix it? I never meant it any harm.”

“That’s more your thing than mine,” Crowley said, vaguely annoyed now that there was no need to panic about that fact that Aziraphale’s wing hadn’t been torn off by the lawn mower. Speaking of which, the Easi Glide was all the way down in Hogsback wood by now, and they’d like to never see it again. Pity that. On the other hand, Crowley had obtained rather a lot of enjoyment from the act of purchasing it, and now he’d get to do that again. “I’m not supposed to go around bringing things back to life. Could get in a load of trouble that way.” 

To be fair, Crowley didn’t really know what he was supposed to be doing any longer. He wasn’t, technically speaking, employed by Hell any longer. But on one had yet stopped by with a manual. Or a new job offer. He and Aziraphale were keeping an eye on the boy, a familiar occupation, for lack of something else, and concentrating very hard on being Left Alone by the Forces of both Light and Darkness.

Aziraphale pouted at him, petulant and maybe just a touch disappointed.

“Miracle it up, Angel,” Crowley scolded. “For Sata-- for Heav-- for someone’s sake, stop being a wimp about a little blood.”

“I’m not being a wimp about the blood,” Aziraphale said primly. “It was just so awful, darling. I’m never going to be able to get the image out of my mind. And if I can’t picture her whole, then you know I can’t make it work.” He turned up the intensity of the pout. “Won’t you? For me?”

“Very well,” Crowley said, because he never could resist that pout. Or, not even so much the pout, but the beaming smile that happened afterward, the one that said Crowley had done something right. When God spoke, and said Let there be Light, Crowley liked to imagine that that was the moment that Aziraphale came into existence. The embodiment of that very first sunrise. “But you know, she’s going to take after me,” he said. He cupped the dead thing in his hands, little broken bones and mangled feathers. He imagined this pigeon shitting on the mayor’s car, right after he washed it. Of stealing the candle off some poor child’s birthday cake and leaving bird tracks in the frosting. This particular pigeon would be the very worst sort of bird, annoyingly loud, waking up people who worked the night shift by singing joyfully outside their window at sunrise.

And she would have babies. Dozens of eggs in a nest, hundreds of terrible, wretched pigeons. Smart, too. The sort that would figure up a way to take down anti-pigeon devices and leave them in the yards of the people who voted such measures into place.

A demon bird.

Or, to be more succinct: A pigeon. 

It wiggled all over, flapped its wings and Crowley turned it loose. It shit on his jacket as he did so. “Ug! That’s gratitude for you!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale clapped his hands and smiled like the first dawn, and everything seemed just a little brighter and better, even the pigeon shit on his jacket. “Thank you, my dear.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek, blushing a little over it being such a public display. “Well. I think we’d best take a trip into town this afternoon, hadn’t we? I’ll need a new mower -- you didn’t need to frighten the poor thing so badly! -- and of course we’ll need a little roost for our new friend.”

“The mower upset you,” Crowley told him, trying to remember not to brush at the bird poo, since that would only smear it around more. The things you learned, living in Hell. Poo was sticky and smeary and the more you tried to clean it up, the worse it got. Crowley took the jacket off instead, folding it inside out and slung it over his shoulder. He could get a new jacket. “It obviously doesn’t belong here.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that was trying to be stern, but was far too fond and pleased to come anywhere near the mark. “Be that as it may,” he said, “try not to traumatize the next one so much, or folks will wonder why we need a new one every other week.”

“I’ll just tell them their mowers are rubbish,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s arm and leading him back into the house where they could have tea and whatever little nibbly things Aziraphale had gotten to go with the tea. “And I’ll do it in that same sort of loud, complainish voice as if I were an upstanding member of the Tadfield Neighborhood Watch and they’ll jump to it.”

“Yes, dear, as much as you like,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s hand before breaking off into the kitchen to put the kettle on and arrange a tray. “You’ll want to change before we go into town, I expect.”

Crowley didn’t much care for tea, or crackers, or little dainty chocolates. He liked fizzy drinks and terrible biscuits from corner petrol stations. He never needed to buy petrol, but he did like to stop at the stations. But Crowley did enjoy watching Aziraphale have his tea and his chocolate biscuits.

The doorbell rang, and Crowley sauntered off to answer it. It was tea-time and he was going to give the neighbor who rang the bell what for, because no one interrupted Aziraphale’s tea-time, and someone was going to have to learn the rules around here.

“Hi, Mr. Crowley!” The Them were clustered on the stoop, beaming up at him. Behind them, tied to what Crowley suspected was Dog’s lead, was the Easi Glide, motor sputtering somewhat resentfully.

“Your mower escaped into the woods,” Adam told him.

“My mower never does anything exciting like that,” Wensley added.

Pepper rolled her eyes, and Brian leaned to one side to peer past Crowley into the cottage. “I say, is that tea?”

“Indeed it is,” Crowley said. He glared at the mower, which promptly sprouted a petrol leak, soaking the sidewalk. “Mr. Fell might be willing to share some biscuits with you, if you all ask nicely.” He liked children, and the Them were top on his list of favorites. Of course, it wasn’t always a good thing to be the favored child of a demon.

On the other hand, they were also favorites of Aziraphale’s, and having a guardian angel sort of equaled things out.

“Tie the mower up outside, Adam,” Crowley said. “I’ll take care of it later.” That was a little more threatening. “Well, go on then, in you get, have some tea.” He stood in the doorway a moment longer, watching the mower shiver and shake. “Infernal machine. You get one more chance, and consider it a miracle. I’ve gone soft.”

That was all right, then. Aziraphale liked soft. 

[texanredrose]

Countdown (Pt 1 of 2)

Here’s your only warning: angst ahead, but with a happy ending. Promise. For the Free Day.

Day -195 Winter awoke to her alarm much like every other day despite the realization that she'd turned twenty seven while she slept. Her final birthday, a marker she'd seen coming and watched with equal parts dread and grim acceptance. How else should she regard the milestone? Sitting up in bed, she cast her gaze around her military lodging. Per regulation, she would be discharged one hundred and eighty days prior to her death day, which gave her only two more weeks amid familiar surroundings before she would have to move her meager belongings into one of the funeral motels- a distasteful reality, to be sure, but a necessary one. They only existed for people like her, those too stubborn or too far gone to be welcomed back home for their final days. Getting out of bed, she grabbed her scroll and headed for the kitchen area. No doubt Weiss would call, try to arrange for some manner of bonding. Although it had taken them a few years, the sisters had improved their relationship substantially during that time, no longer at odds now that they'd similarly distanced themselves from their father. Without him constantly driving a wedge between them, they got on rather well, and their brief contact with their mother similarly proved much easier without his interference. Then again, it might be her imminent death that moved them to mend bridges rather than remaining silent until the end. That Winter, the eldest daughter, would only live for twenty seven and a half years while her mother and sister had over eighty years each seemed unfair to some extent but... it also made her invincible, in some ways. She didn't fear death. She didn't have to consider the long term health effects of strenuous work or balk at suicide missions. She didn't have to worry about anything. Twenty seven years... in the grand scheme of things, she couldn't do much with that, aside from what the military offered her. She couldn't have a family of her own because leaving them behind would be unfair. So she adopted her soldiers and defended them viciously. It won her more accolades than she could count.

But she would be lying if she said she had no regrets. It lingered in the back of her mind- children, a wife, a family of her own. A dream she wanted to chase but couldn't. Her scroll ringing snapped her out of autopilot, only then registering the bubbling of coffee and the bread toasting, as close to a breakfast as she felt necessary. She picked it up, unsurprised to see who it was calling her. "Good morning, Weiss." "Happy birthday, Winter." She chuckled, pinning the scroll between shoulder and ear as she continued making her meal. "I'm not sure if that's entirely appropriate, given the circumstances." "I don't want to be morbid about it; just because it's your last doesn't mean it can't be a good one." "I suppose you have a point," she replied, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. "How are your cases going?" "Ah, right, I... probably should've informed you already." A pause, anxiety gripping her sister then, almost audible in her concern. "I've opted to stop practicing business law." "Oh?" She raised a brow. "Have you found a different calling?" "Family court." Her other brow joined the first. "I've found that the work suits me a little better." "Really?" She lifted the mug to her lips, needing the bite of black coffee to prepare her for the day. "I would think watching families tear themselves apart would be the furthest thing from what you'd want to pursue." "Actually, I tend to think of it as ensuring the best circumstances for the children," she said, her voice turning to steel. "I'm rather tired of seeing children awarded to the parent with the most money. It's hardly a fitting scale for the child's welfare. It certainly did us no favors." "I'm glad to hear you aren't in it for the money." Her toast popped up, and she grabbed the jam from her fridge to spread across the slices. "Any noteworthy cases?" "None I'd like to discuss at present." Weiss paused, obviously hesitant to voice the next sentence but doing it all the same. "I'd rather talk about your living arrangements." That made her pause. "I already told you-" "Come to Vale. Stay with me instead of one of those wretched death motels. It's no way to spend your last six months." "I only planned to use one for the final two; there's some traveling I'd like to do beforehand," she said, sighing. "But I can make Vale my first stop... and I'll consider returning for the last month. Did you talk this over with your girlfriend?" "Blake's been the one pushing for it." Weiss admitted with a fond little laugh. "If you met her parents, you'd understand. It took her a while to reconnect with them but she's now very adamant about supporting familial bonds. Our friends may or may not be an equally strong influence." Rolling her eyes, she took a bite of toast to mull it over. "Very well. I'll be discharged in fifteen days. I'll book my flight to Vale as soon as I finish breakfast." "Excellent! I think you'll like Vale-" "I've been there before, remember?" "Right, right, but I think there's a few spots you haven't experienced fully..." Winter listened as her sister went on a long speech, expounding all the things she'd yet to see in the kingdom of Vale. She couldn't help but smile; at least she could rest easy knowing Weiss' zest for life wouldn't suffer from her passing. Maybe she could spend a bit more time in Vale than she'd originally planned.

Day -180 Winter stood outside the terminal, bag slung over her shoulder. She'd opted to travel light, having already sold or gifted her worldly possessions while going through the process of leaving the Atlesian military. In the unassuming drab olive bag sat a few changes of clothes and her hygiene kit; she needed nothing more. Well, except a ride. Checking her scroll, a frown touched her lips as she noted the message Weiss had sent her a good two hours ago, warning that her meeting with clients ran long and she'd be sending a friend to pick her up. Really, she wasn't in any hurry, so it didn't truly matter; she had one hundred and eighty days to wait. She'd accepted it. All her affairs were in order, lightly tapped into line over the past few months, and she had nothing left except seeing a few sights and spending time with the only family she cared to claim.  As easy an end as could come. Various vehicles came and went, waving goodbye to loved ones bound for airships or welcoming them back, and she contemplated taking up smoking in her final months- because, really, what harm could it do? Her aura, the life force that sustained her, would give out far before her lungs would. It wouldn't be accurate to say she didn't notice the roar of a motorcycle coming around the bend, seeing as it was rather impossible to miss, but she didn't expect for the rider to make a short stop in front of her, a bit of smoke rising up from the skid marks as she kicked out a leg and lifted her helmet clear of her head. "Wow, when Weiss said 'look for an older version of me, but more pissed off', she meant it literally!" Lilac eyes that sparkled like her smile, an unruly mane of golden locks, and skin tanned and kissed by the sun- Yang Xiao Long, if her memory served, though her sister's description of the woman hardly did her justice. "It's nice to finally meet you! Weiss talks about her big sis all the time!" "And you must be Yang," she replied, offering a hand. "She's mentioned you as well." "All good things I hope!" She laughed, shaking Winter's hand with a strong, firm grip, flexing muscles beneath her skin tight leather jacket. "Sorry I don't have a car; I prefer riding and didn't know you needed a lift until I was already out." "It's no trouble." She shrugged her shoulder to indicate the bag. "I'm traveling light." "Hey, sounds good to me!" Then she turned, digging into a saddle bag attached to the bike and fishing out a helmet. "Here. I really hope it fits alright." Winter smiled, a bit bemused. Weiss mentioned that Yang could be caring bordering on motherly from time to time and took other people's feelings seriously, but she hadn't expected someone quite so... well, genuinely kind. "I'm sure it'll be fine." "Great!" She waved a hand towards the city beyond. "Officially, I'd like to welcome you to Vale! Where do you wanna go first?" And she didn't know why, really, but she felt a smile tug at her lips. "Surprise me." And the expression was mirrored back at her. "I'll do my best."

Day -166 Two weeks later, Winter found herself with a... strangely active social life. She'd never exactly sought out friends or companions- she fell into step with some fellow service members from time to time, sure, but she didn't actively try to come across others or spend time with them. It just seemed like a futile effort, seeing as she would only have a handful of years with them. Why make her loss even more felt? But, as she'd quickly learned, Yang Xiao Long was a very hard woman to turn down. "C'mon!" The blonde laughed, smiling wide enough for a dimple to appear in her cheeks. "How have you never been to a carnival?" "I just never saw the point." She shrugged, finishing off the last bit of her coffee. They'd opted to meet for brunch on a gorgeous Saturday, when Yang's job permit her time off. "Cheap rides and cheaper prizes- I don't see the appeal." "It's about the experience!" She spread her arms wide, voice taking on a rather whimsical quality. "I mean- the music, the screams, the cotton candy, the flashing lights, the pings of the ring toss, all of it's great! And the view of the city from the top of the Ferris Wheel? How can you pass that up?" Raising a hand, she conceded defeat. "I'll at least admit that you make it sound far more interesting than I thought." "Hey, if you're still skeptical, why don't you give me the chance to prove you wrong?" She jerked her head. "There's one down by the docks. I could pick you up around five?" On the one hand, it would at least be cool enough by then to bear, seeing as she hadn't quite acclimated to Vale's warmer climate yet. On the other... "I find it hard to admire the lights you've mentioned with the sun up." "See, that's the beauty of it." She waved a hand. "We go a few rounds on the bumper cars, we play some games, maybe a ride or two, and then we can grab some good, greasy carnival food and catch the Ferris wheel as the sun sets." She smiled again, eyes sparkling. "What do ya say?" "Count me in," she replied, finding herself more and more agreeable with Yang's suggestions. Ever since the woman opted to surprise her with some of the best food- home cooked at that- she'd ever tasted and a trip out to Beacon Falls when she first arrived in Vale, Winter couldn't really fault her self appointed tour guide's tastes. "But at the end of the night, when we're both lamenting how much time we'd wasted, I want you to remember this conversation." "Oh, I will."  Winter didn't know she could enjoy someone's company so much. She'd never really had a best friend before but Yang... she made it impossible not to consider her for the position. An infectious laugh, a kind and caring demeanor, a penchant for joking- a proverbial sun to brighten her day. While she couldn't quite return that- razor sharp her wit might be, but it tended towards the biting sort, not the funny kind- she somehow provided the woman with something, considering how often they met for little talks like this. It made her heart ache a little. With her time so limited, it would've been nice to have known Yang earlier in life. Perhaps they could've been more than friends.

Winter sighed, relaxing back into the seat as the Ferris Wheel began to turn, raising them into the twilight sky. As much as she hadn't admitted it aloud, she'd found their activities at the carnival were a great deal more entertaining than she'd expected. She'd won a cheap teddy bear at the dart toss, and felt more than a little proud of that, and Yang had won a stuffed dog of some sort at the 'test your strength' game, proving the muscles in her arms and core weren't just for show, even if the air had turned a bit cool by a Valen's tastes for the halter top she wore.  "So?" Yang turned towards her, settling an arm across the back of the seat. "How lame are carnivals?" "Very well, I concede defeat." She rolled her eyes at the woman's wide grin. "This was a lot more enjoyable than I expected. Truly an experience worth having." "See, now that's what I'm talking about!" She chuckled, waving a wand in front of them. "And this is the best part! I mean, look at this view!" Blue eyes roved over the cityscape, lights beginning to flicker on as the sun sank beyond the horizon. "Personally, I'm partial to the roller coasters, but this is nice." As they ascended, the wheel stopped to admit new passengers, until they sat at the very top. "Ya know, some people think that Ferris wheels are kinda romantic." She returned her attention to the woman beside her, raising a brow. "And why is that?" Yang had her own gaze trained on the sights below them, a small smile on her lips. "It's kinda intimate? Alone, on top of the world, night falling... seems like the perfect time to sneak in a kiss, yeah?" "That does sound rather romantic." Again, her thoughts turned to her single regret, that she would never indulge in the secret, strong desire for a family of her own. A partner to kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel- how bittersweet that the night would provide her with both a wonderful experience and a daydream that would never be fulfilled. Then she noticed Yang turning, the arm she'd rested on the back of the seat curling around Winter's shoulders, trying to coax her closer as the woman's head tilted. She quickly put a hand on the blonde's shoulder, stopping her advance immediately. "Huh?" Yang leaned back, blinking at her a bit owlishly as a blush began to rise in her cheeks. "Oh, I thought- sorry, I just-" "There's no need to apologize." She offered a small, sad smile. "If I had more time, I'd take you up on that offer. But as it stands, I've less than six months. There are better uses of your time." "Wait, what does that have to do with anything?" Confusion splayed across her expression as the wheel began to turn again. "Just because your time is running out doesn't mean you stop living." "That's a nice sentiment." She chuckled, touched by a bit of dark humor. "But I've lived all I wish to; now, it's just a matter of waiting out my remaining days." "So, what? You're just going to give up?" She withdrew her arm, running her hand across her bicep where a long, golden dragon tattoo wrapped itself around a white rose. "Haven't you ever heard it's better to have loved and lost than to never love at all?" "I've never seen the sense in that," she replied, sighing. "I've lived my life without regrets and without apologies. I've become exactly the sort of person I set out to be. Were I to become involved with someone now, it would just be a blip- nothing meaningful. There's no reason to pursue something I'll not have the chance to finish." "You never 'finish' loving someone." Yang slumped slightly in her seat. "It doesn't work like that." "At any rate, I'm afraid it's one of the many mysteries I'll not have the chance to unravel myself." "You mean, you won't take the chance." "Semantics." As they approached the platform, she glanced back at Yang. "How long do you have? If you don't mind the question." She gave a mirthless chuckle. "In total? One hundred and forty six years. Plus some change." "Oh." She blinked. "That's... quite a long time." "Runs in the family." A sigh left her lips. "Downside is, I'll end up watching a lot of people die. I'll get left behind. But, at least, I can choose who leaves me behind like that now." She shrugged. "And I'd choose you." "Forgive me for sparing you that pain." As the attendant raised the bar so they could exit, she looked back at Yang. "Save it for someone who can give you years, not months." "A month from the right person is worth years from someone else." She said nothing in response even as Yang fell into step beside her, the two heading for the parking lot. A rather sour end to an otherwise pleasant experience but she tried not to dwell on it. In the end, it was for the best.

Day -162 Winter pressed her lips together in a thin line, maintaining her sister's stare for a few moments longer. Then, she relented. "What would you have me do?" "You're more than entitled to conduct your affairs as you see fit," Weiss said, a thread of annoyance in her tone. "But you did lead Yang on; you could've made it very clear from the beginning that you didn't wish to entertain anything romantic." "She knew very well why I'm here. She could've drawn her own conclusions." A bit unfair a claim, perhaps, and maybe she'd noticed that the attention she'd received from Yang wasn't the platonic sort, but it still should've been obvious. "If the circumstances were different-" "The circumstances, as you call them, and entirely within your head." Her sister wagged a finger at her, and she had to be a bit proud that Weiss somehow learned to stand up and buck those whom she admired. "Yang's aware of the situation and still wants to try. If you're turning her down because you feel it's a waste of your time, then tell her that. But don't try to blame her for it." "That's not-" "That's exactly-" "HEY!" They both stopped, turning to look at the Faunus frowning at them from the kitchen. "Stop fighting about it. Weiss, I appreciate you sticking up for Yang, but it is Winter's decision. Winter, you could've turned Yang down in a better way than making it seem like having a shorter countdown is a reason to not consider a relationship. You could've just said you weren't interested." "That would be a lie, though, and I still don't see the error in my logic," she said, not nearly as inclined to quit the field just because Blake had spoken up as her sister. "It's perfectly sound-" "Almost everyone will die before Yang." Feline ears flicked back, a subtle display of her mounting aggravation. "She's known that since she was young. Most people don't have the sort of aura she does, the sort of time, and it puts a lot of people off. They don't want to get involved with someone they know will outlive them by decades and they always say it's for her sake. She's just tired of people making that determination for her." Winter sat back in her chair. She hadn't considered that angle before. "But some don't, correct? Use that excuse, I mean." "I didn't." Blake shrugged, disappearing back into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two mugs of coffee, setting them down on the table for the sisters. "We didn't date for long, but we learned a lot about ourselves from the experience." She bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Weiss' head. "That's how I found out I need a little more friction from my partner. Someone to challenge me." "Which I certainly do, some days more than others," she replied with a fond smile, tilting her head back for a proper kiss before Blake went back for her tea. "But more to the point, relationships- or dating in general, for that matter, it's not about finding forever right away. It's about the potential." "Except, there is no potential here." She spread her hands. "My time's almost up." "And when it is, are you certain you'll be at peace with never knowing?" Weiss raised a brow. "Perhaps you and Yang aren't meant to last anyway." Blake sat down beside her, wordlessly offering her hand so they could sit, side-by-side, fingers interlaced, their chosen beverages in their other hand. "But perhaps she'll be there at the end." Winter's gaze lingered on their hands before she looked away, busying herself with her coffee. For a woman already slated to die... would a taste of ambrosia really be so terrible an indulgence? And if it turned to poison on her tongue, what could the harm be? Perhaps it wasn't too late to mend one last bridge. She still didn't think pursuing a relationship would be wise but she could at least reach out and apologize for her thoughtless words.

Day -157 If she didn't know any better, Winter would be very hard pressed to think anything could be remiss. Yang seemed in high spirits as they walked through downtown, heading to a little restaurant that didn't get nearly enough attention considering the quality of their cuisine, according to the blonde anyway. In fact, she seemed just as upbeat as ever. But she didn't quite press close like she used to, verging on invading personal space but not quite crossing the line. Her gaze seemed focused elsewhere, rarely on Winter, when it seemed like her attention rarely wandered before. Most obvious of all, however, was the complete absence of teases and jokes, those little flirtations that had fallen from her lips so freely. This could not continue. "We don't have to do this," she said, her voice soft. "We can be cordial without overt acts of friendship." "What?" Lilac eyes snapped to her, then immediately darted away. "I mean- I, uh, I'm not following." "I'm saying that, if I make you uncomfortable, just say so." Yang pressed her lips together, looking down at her feet for a moment. "It's not you; I'm just... I like you, Winter. I wanna get to know you a little better, ya know? But I get it, you don't want that, so it's gonna take some time for me to... get over it." Her brows pinched together. "You mean, you're still interested in me? How?" For a moment, they just blinked at each other, and then Yang started laughing, shaking her head as she walked. "You really don't see it, huh? You're a heartbreaker, Winter." "I beg pardon- what do you mean by that?" She hurried to catch up to the woman, a frown on her lips. "You're just- you're kinda amazing!" She glanced over. "You've got this poised and dignified thing going on, like you're above it all, but then you turn around and you swear under your breath and you get annoyed over things like anyone else. You've got a sweet side that you don't always show and I like coaxing it out. And you're just- you're steady. You're like the ground beneath my feet." She shrugged. "It's hard to put into words but I just... feel good around you. You laugh at my jokes and you listen to what I have to say and it makes me feel invincible." "I don't see how-" "Hold on, lemme finish." Lilac eyes sparkled, though there seemed to be a hint of sadness about them. "See, I know if I see it, others can, too. Have you ever thought of how many people have fallen in love with you without you ever being the wiser?" She hummed. "I suppose I haven't." "Yeah. That's what I meant. You've probably broken a lot of hearts, just being you." Another shrug. "So, yeah. I'm kinda bummed you aren't interested, and it's going to take a while to get over, because I still look at you and see marble over steel, silk over iron, and it still gets me. It just takes time for it to... not. I'll get over it, eventually." They walked a few more steps before Winter spoke up. "I never said I wasn't interested in you." "You aren't interested in a relationship," she said, waving a hand. "Same difference." A shrug. "Perhaps my thoughts on that have changed." That brought Yang to an abrupt halt. "Wait, did I hear that right?" "You did." Winter nodded, clearing her throat. "Now, you must understand that this will only be temporary-" "Hey, don't ruin the fun!" She smiled wide, enough for that dimple to reappear, and linked their arms together. "We both know we're on a clock. That doesn't mean we have to focus on it!" "I suppose you're right." She chuckled, both amazed and a little proud that something so small could make Yang so happy, and that she'd been the one to cause it. "And try to give me some... slack. I don't exactly have much experience dating-" "Then I'll be your teacher." She laughed, a happy and free sound. "Lesson one? I'm gonna be your rock. So lean on me if you need to and don't be afraid to speak up, alright? You can always hit me up just to talk." She tapped the side of her head. "I'm a pretty good listener." "As long as you'll do the same," she replied, tone turning serious. "I do prize honest communication." "I picked up on that." Yang smiled, leaning her head to rest against Winter's shoulder. It felt... words couldn't describe it. Having someone so close, actually touching her, being so... she'd never allowed herself to focus too heavily on what she'd be missing, not pursuing that single daydream she harbored. Now, she could tell with utmost certainty that it would be her only regret. Still, despite the melancholy, she couldn't help but feel warmer and lighter with Yang beside her. Perhaps it would never satisfy her deepest desire but maybe she could still enjoy what she could while it lasted. "Oh, and one more thing. Just for the record." Yang hummed curiously and a smile curled her lips. "I think you're quite amazing as well." A chuckle and a squeeze of her arm were all she received in response.

Day -143 Dating Yang, as it turned out, was akin to breathing air. She fell into it much easier than she expected- or perhaps it only felt like that because the woman seemed patient to a fault. Either way, it became habit to grab her scroll and send a text before even getting out of bed, wishing Yang a good day and hoping she slept well. "Are you sure-" "I'm fine, Snowdrift! I got this!" Talking to her became as easy as before but their conversations turned deeper, more personal. Yang confided in her- her fears, her worries, her weaknesses, her triumphs. How she felt more than a little cocky after showing up some rude customer who'd tried to con her into giving a discount, how she cried for a week when her favorite character in a tv show died, how she had to restrain herself and busy herself with other things to keep from hovering around her little sister, how she worried that, in the end, she would have little to show for her long life span. Winter learned that beneath the cheer and jokes lay a glass heart- golden and true, yes, but pieced back together after being scratched and gouged. "Sundrop. I'm right here." "I'm getting the hang of it!" Yang loved freely and she'd been hurt for it but she threw herself into everything with the same vigor regardless. Perhaps more cautiously, perhaps with more restraint, but with no lack of fire in her soul. Winter admired that, adored it even, and she'd swallowed her pride and admitted Weiss and Blake were right to talk some sense into her. It would break Yang's heart when she passed but, for every minute they had together, they made them count. And she'd emerge all the stronger for it. "Yang." Lilac eyes flashed her way, one of her stubborn streaks possessing her as she clung to the rail for dear life. "I said. I got this." "It's been fifteen minutes and you've moved two meters." Winter raised a brow, nodding towards the little entry door to the indoor rink. "I'm not saying it's an insurmountable task; I'm merely offering a shortcut." Perhaps ice skating, though, wasn't the best suggestion for a date. "Look..." Yang tried closing the distance and standing up straight but nearly lost her balance again and went back to clinging to the rail. "... okay, fine." She puffed a breath up, ruffling the golden bangs peeking out from beneath her cap. "I've never ice skated before." "I surmised that." She chuckled, holding out both hands. "Give me your hands." "But-" "Trust me." Such a simple phrase. Such a powerful one. Without another moment's hesitation, Yang took her hands, awaiting the next set of directions. "Now, just try to focus on your balance." And then she was skating backwards, dragging her girlfriend with her, and bracing as best she could against the jerks and hesitations from the woman as she tried to find her balance. It amused her, how off kilter she seemed, but Yang did her best to not use her superior strength to her advantage and bring them both crashing to the ice.  Which, in itself, was rather telling. "Okay... I'm getting the hang of it." She nodded, tongue poking out in that little way she had as she concentrated. "Indeed." Winter smiled, noticing she could lead them into a gentle turn without a jerking motion to answer her. "It's almost like you've stopped feigning inexperience." Blonde brows climbed high before she barked out a laugh. "Can't get anything past you!" She shrugged, pushing off with her skates and adding to their momentum. "I learned when I was really young but I haven't skated in years." "Then why pretend otherwise?" She didn't really concern herself with the little fib, not until she'd uncovered the reasoning at least. "Isn't it obvious?" She chuckled. "I didn't want to embarrass myself! I'm still trying to impress you!" "Impress me?" Now, she laughed, shaking her head. "You needn't worry about that. You're perhaps the most impressive person I know." "C'mon." She rolled her eyes, using the next turn to turn herself around and skate beside Winter, keeping one hand clasped in hers while the other swung wide. "Your sister is a lawyer, she's dating a community activist, you're practically famous in your own right- that's a lot! And I'm just-" "Hold on now," she said, wanting to correct a few misconceptions immediately. "What makes my sister impressive, in my eyes, is that she broke away from a toxic environment and built a life she can be proud of in doing so. Next, what makes Blake impressive is that she's made mistakes in her life and found a way to not only overcome them but make amends as well. And the only thing I find impressive about myself is how I'm incapable of boiling an egg without step-by-step instructions but can disassemble an Atlas Paladin and put it back together in less than two hours without so much as glancing at a manual." Her expression softened. "And you are not 'just' anything. You started your own business and built it from the ground up, working out of your own garage until you could open a proper shop. You provided for your sister and supported her through university. And you did something only three people can even claim: you changed my mind." She skated a little closer, lowering her voice. "Frankly, you've yet to do something that doesn't impress me." "You really think that highly of lil ole me?" She tried playing it off with a laugh but her cheeks turned a bit redder, and it had nothing to do with the cold of the rink. "Gotta say, I didn't expect that." "Then you probably didn't expect this, either." She smirked, shifting her weight and pulling on Yang's hand as she switched to skating backwards, now in control of their momentum. As her girlfriend struggled to keep her feet, Winter lead them to the middle of the rink, the stopped short, bringing them close together- close enough for her to lean down and steal a firm, deliberate kiss. At first, she stiffened, caught off guard, but then she came roaring back to her senses and held her close, fingers digging into Winter's jacket. When they parted, she wore a dopey grin on her lips. "Well... got me there. Didn't expect that either." "Not as intimate as the top of a Ferris wheel, admittedly," she said, aware of the various eyes upon them, the little awes from adults and either confusion or excitement from children, but ignored them all. "But I do hope that was sufficiently romantic." "Hmmm," Yang replied with that twinkle in her eyes. "I dunno. Might need to try it again for a real comparison." "Where's the next carnival?"  She'd planned on some manner of travel, simply to pass the days. This proved to be a much better use of her time.

Day -139 "What's on your mind?" Winter blinked, turning away from the view outside the airship window to see her girlfriend's expression pinched into concern. "Nothing." Yang watched her for a moment before sitting back in her seat. "Alright." She winced. Fooling the woman turned out to be much harder than she'd anticipated and it just made her feel lousy besides. "It's just... Weiss is keeping secrets from me." "How do you know that?" Something about lilac eyes watching her carefully made her think that perhaps the odd behavior she'd noticed had an explanation- one her girlfriend seemed privy to, for some reason. "Usually, Weiss allows me free roam of the house, whether or not she's there." She frowned. "Lately, I've noticed she tries to... steer me clear of wherever Blake is. Not in overt means, of course, but I've hardly seen her in the past week for some odd reason." "Well, it might not be the solution you're looking for, but why don't you move in with me?" Yang shrugged. "Maybe they just need some space." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You know why Blake's avoiding me, don't you?" "Yeah," she replied instantly, expression twisting. "But it's not my place to tell. I get where they're coming from, even if I disagree with how they're handling it." Winter hummed, slipping an arm around Yang's shoulders, coaxing her girlfriend into leaning her head against her shoulder. "You think that if I moved in with you, it would improve matters?" "Something like that." A short chuckle. "Plus, I just like the idea. Sometimes, I can be an opportunist, ya know." She remained silent for a moment. Frankly, she'd been ill accustomed to roommates, having never shared a room as a child and often finding herself in positions where she had single housing while in the military. Moving in with Weiss and Blake came with challenges, but they'd adjusted well.  Now, however... "I suppose we could move in together," she said, a smile curling her lips. "I don't have much in the way of personal belongings, outside of what you've bought me." "Hey, some of that stuff is hand crafted!" She playfully corrected, then sighed- content. "We could pack up your stuff when we get back. Have you set up in no time." "Would I have my own room?" The airship began to descend, making to land in Vacuo. They'd opted to combine the search for a carnival with Winter's desire to travel, Yang more than capable of turning the shop over to her crew for a week or two. Silence for just a moment too long. "I mean... my bed's big and comfy. I've got room in my closet. The bathroom's attached and it has a killer tub." As always, Yang offered her a choice while making her own thoughts known. Not an outright refusal to utilize her guest bedroom but a tempting sell on sharing the master. "We haven't slept together."  It was both an excuse and not. Winter hadn't wanted to delve into the physical side of a relationship- somehow, she connected sex with the sort of bond that was meant to last, not one under a time limit- and Yang hadn't objected. However, with every kiss, she found herself wondering... would a little more be so wrong? A little more friction, a little more heat, a little more passion- what could they explore together, what could Yang teach her, what could she learn for herself? "Yet." Her girlfriend offered, voice soft. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to golden locks. Yang had a point.

Day -126 Winter lay spent, sweat cooling on her skin and panting, listening to her girlfriend's attempts to catch her breath. Although she'd moved in upon returning to Vale a week ago, they hadn't actually done anything aside from sleep in the same bed until tonight. Not for lack of willingness, from either party; rather, it stemmed from a touch of romanticism on Yang's part, and she'd cooked a full meal that they'd shared by candlelight to build the atmosphere. "Hey... Snowdrift?" She turned to see the wide, lazy grin on the woman's lips. "Anyone ever tell you you're a fast learner?" A laugh burst from her chest, invigorating her for a moment to roll over, laying on her girlfriend for a moment and hovering, staring into those lilac eyes. When they kissed, it wasn't the heat from before- slow, languid, reveling in the feel of their skin pressed together, hearts slowing in tandem. Winter hadn't been a prude before- one in the service would inevitably be exposed to carnal descriptions, either in jokes or just the complete lack of boundaries between soldiers- but she'd always discounted what she'd heard as exaggerations born of boredom and poor prioritization. Better to make it sound like a worthy investment of time than merely an aerobic exercise. Experience, of course, gave her a new perspective. "I have a superior teacher." Yang laughed, wrapping her arms around her, indulging in more kissing and cuddling before her expression turned downright wicked. "Just you wait. There's a lot you don't know." Despite the promise, they both found themselves settling down after that, preparing to turn in for the night. Yet... she found herself not wanting the contact to end, not very keen on returning to their usual opposite sides of the bed sleeping arrangement. "Sundrop?" "Do you really want to go another round?" Her girlfriend teased, lightly pushing at her hip to encourage her to move. Which she did, rolling onto her side and watching the woman settle for bed. "No, I have a different request in mind." "Oh?" Yang stretched her arms above her head, yawning wide and relaxing fully into the mattress. "Wuzzat?" "May I... touch you while we sleep?" A frown touched her lips. "That's perhaps poor wording-" "Are you asking to spoon?" She perked up, excitement replacing the mischief in lilac eyes. "... spoon?" Yang laughed. "C'mere, you." After a bit of shuffling, she found herself being cradled in her girlfriend's arms, Yang's forehead resting against her shoulder blade. "How's that?" Winter breathed in deeply. "... better..." "But?"  Her girlfriend seemed genuinely confused, and she hurried to clarify. "Is there any way... I could hold you like this?" A hand stroked along her hip as Yang laughed. "You wanna be the big spoon, huh?" A kiss pressed to her shoulder. "I'm super okay with that." They switched positions, allowing her to nestle among golden curls. "I'm not on your hair, am I?" "Nah." Her girlfriend yawned, already falling asleep. "Night, Snowdrift." "Good night, Sundrop," she replied, closing her eyes and nearly dropping off but kept awake by two mumbled words. "Love you." The deep breathing that immediately followed proved that the woman hadn't said them consciously, had probably meant to kept them to herself but groggily let them go. Winter's eyes opened, watching the sliver of broken moonlight catching in golden strands as her heart swelled. Just two months of knowing each other and dating for half that... it felt like a whole other lifetime. A new life, one where she'd been able to indulge in every idle fantasy, and in that time, she'd come to believe the words herself. "I love you, Yang." Carefully, she leaned over to press a kiss to her shoulder before settling back down. She would say them again in the morning- as many times as she could. Avoiding love had seemed like the pragmatic answer before but now that she'd allowed herself a taste, she couldn't drink enough, and Yang made it so easy. She loved wholly and freely, let her fall as deep as she wanted, strong and steady enough to catch her but trusting enough to buckle and lean against her as well. It felt... well, like she'd always imagined. Yet, better, because Yang could be as unpredictable as a storm, as passionate as fire, and as quick as lightning. "And I owe you an apology." She whispered into the night. "This is meaningful." To her, at the very least.

Day -125 If Yang's reaction to waking up and hearing 'I love you' served as any indication, it was meaningful to her, too. And Winter learned a little bit more that morning.

Day -113 Winter sat across from her sister, noting ever nervous pick at her sleeves and skittish glance. In public, perhaps she'd be so concerned about her appearance, but not in the comfort of her own home- not that she seemed comfortable in the slightest. Weiss and Blake had taken the news about her change in living arrangements well, though a bit of guilt lingered in their expressions, and they'd seemed more at ease for a time. However, a hushed conversation between Yang and Blake the night before during a double date dinner seemed to prompt some sort of change, hence the invitation. But a pot of tea later, Winter couldn't tell what seemed to be preying on the woman. "Weiss-" "We didn't plan it." Their gazes met briefly before she ducked her head, drawing a steadying breath. "We weren't sure whether or not we should tell you. If it might... bother you. It wasn't intentional-" "Weiss, I'm still not sure I know what you're talking about." She raised a brow. "You've yet to mention that part." Her sister winced, though her lips appeared to be at war, caught between smiling and frowning. "Blake's pregnant." Immediately, her expression brightened. "Congratulations!" Of course it stung. Frankly, it might've hurt worse two months ago. But now? She wouldn't want Weiss and Blake putting their lives on hold, waiting for her time to be up. She would never know her niece or nephew or any of her sister's children... but that didn't mean they wouldn't know her. "How far along is she?" "We just got the confirmation a few weeks ago." Now faced with Winter's approval, Weiss glowed with happiness, smiling wide. "We're hoping for a girl. Blake's family is predisposed to them too, so there's a good chance. The morning sickness has caused a bit of an adjustment but..." Winter smiled and listened intently, reveling in her sister's excitement.

She heard Yang come through the front door even as she set up the scroll, leaning it against a book on her desk in Yang's little tinkering room. "Snowdrift?" "In here!" She called, waiting for her girlfriend to find her and greeting her with a smile and a kiss. "Welcome home." "Heh, thanks." Lilac eyes fell to the scroll. "Whatcha up to?" "Weiss told me the happy news." She nodded towards the device and papers laid out in front of it. "I thought I'd record a message for the little one to watch when they're old enough." "Oh." And she saw something, then, the spark of an idea that would no doubt be brought up again later. For now, it got filed away, as Yang instead smiled and nodded. "That's a really nice thought. I'll go get started on dinner while you do that." "I could-" A sharp look silenced that offer; after her last attempt cooking dinner, she'd gotten into the habit of ordering some manner of delivery before her girlfriend got home. She'd just forgotten today. "If there's anything I can do, let me know?" "I will." Yang started heading back towards the kitchen. "Focus on that for now." "Right." She nodded, looking at the camera on her scroll and sighing. "Right." Reaching forward, she started the recording, glancing at the notes she'd made to ensure she covered everything she wanted to say. "Greetings." She paused. She sounded stiff and formal- a realization she'd come to after being around her girlfriend's much more relaxed demeanor. So, she stopped and tried again, restarting the recording. "Hello. I'm your Aunt Winter..."

Two hours later, she emerged to find Yang settled on the couch, watching some show while their dinner stayed warm in a pot on the stove.  Wordlessly, she went to her girlfriend, not bothering to announce her presence until she'd curled up beside her. Yang merely chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "So? How'd it go?"  "I accomplished my mission," she replied with a frown tugging at her lips. "I just hope it conveys what I want it to." "Can I watch it?" She smiled. "I can give you a one hundred percent unbiased opinion." Winter raised a brow. "Okay, ninety-five percent." Even that number seemed too high but she relented, hoping Yang wouldn't inquire as to how many tries it took to get right. She queued up the video and held it out, watching her own countenance fill the screen. "Hello, little one," the recording said, a small smile on her lips. "I'm your Aunt Winter and, by the time you're old enough to understand this, I'll be long passed. However, there are some things I must impart upon you before I go." Her expression turned a bit more somber then. "I'm not sure which surname you will bear when you're born, little one, but Schnee blood will still run through your veins. With that heritage comes certain standards, ways to conduct yourself, and a single rule you must follow." Her shoulders straightened, chin tilted up, eyes piercing as she continued. "As the next scion in a long proud line, you absolutely must pursue your own happiness." Every feature softened as she continued. "We're headstrong and nigh impossible to dissuade, so it's important you remain focused on the right priorities- yours. Don't bend or bow to those without your well being in mind and don't compromise yourself; believe me, you'll be stronger from surviving those who'll try to break you. I have no doubt your moms will fully support you doing so." She sighed. "And try to give your Mother some slack. Her heart's in the right place and, when you're old enough, you'll see that you'll do the same thing; being passionate and being right don't always align. It's a challenge we Schnees face: having patience and respect for others rather than just our own goals." She paused. "Or... perhaps that's just me. It's something I learned perhaps too late. My life hasn't been very long but I've managed to learn my fair share of lessons along the way. I'll pass what wisdom I have to you." Her smile pulled a little wider. "Know that you're loved, little one, even now and it will only grow with time. Know that, sometimes, it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. Know that your Mother Weiss is trying her hardest and doing an excellent job and that your Mommy Blake is much stronger and more brave than you think. Know that they didn’t start out that way, that the challenges they overcame helped them become the people you see before you, and that you will grow like that, too. Know that your Aunt Yang is no doubt going to sneak you cookies before dinner and will always guard your secrets and your Aunt Ruby can literally build anything and will always look out for you. Know that you have before you untold opportunities and untested abilities. Know that the only person who will determine how far you go in life is yourself and, know, even if you stumble and stutter and fall, that your family will be there to help you back up." Her gaze deviated then. "I wish I had the time to know you. No doubt I'd love you just as dearly as the others; I already love you so much now. But if an after life does exists, I'll be your guardian angel; speak to the north wind and I'll hear you. You will never be alone." Tears gathered in her eyes but her voice remainder strong. "Play often and rest when you can. Fight when you must and try not to hold grudges. Above all else, enjoy your time, because no matter how long you have, it's going to feel far too short." Then, she saluted. "March on, little one, and hold your head high. You're a Schnee, and you've already made me so proud. Keep it up." The video ended and Winter looked to her girlfriend holding back tears. "Yang?" "It's good," she said immediately, scrubbing at her eyes and laughing. "It'll mean a lot. They- I think they'll really like it." "Yang, what's wrong?" Worry colored her tone as she set aside her scroll and gathered the woman into her arms, stroking through her hair gently. "Talk to me." After a few minutes to compose herself, she started, turning into the embrace and clinging to Winter. "It's just- my birth mom, she ran out on me, yeah? And I just- she could've done that. Left me a message, done something to let me know that I'm- that I wasn't a mistake or a waste of her time." She drew a steadying breath. "She didn't have to mean it but... it would've been nice to hear." "Oh, Sundrop." She believed that it constituted part of the reason for the reaction, sure, but something about the way Yang wouldn't meet her eyes had her concerned there remained more to it than that. However, best to handle one thing at a time. "You're certainly not a waste of anyone's time. Please don't think that." "I know, I know, I just- it's hard not to think about sometimes." A watery laugh. "And thanks, ya know. For calling me Aunt Yang. I know Blake's gonna ask me to be godmother and all but hearing it... you hit the nail on the head." She smiled. "This kid is gonna be loved. No doubt about it." Winter nodded, waiting for a few moments before gently prodding. "Is there anything else on your mind?" For a moment, she thought Yang might break. But then she just shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, I think the message is great, but I also don't think those two are the kind to stop at just one kid." "A valid point," she replied, opting to set her concerns aside for the moment. "But I think I should eat something before I try making another one." With that, they got up and went to fix their dinner, but Winter kept a close eye on her girlfriend for the rest of the night. Something seemed to be on her mind... but she would have to wait for it to come to bear.

Day -107 Winter made a few more videos over the week, mostly addressed to any subsequent kids Weiss and Blake might have. Her sister seemed genuinely touched she’d made them and Blake all too happy to safeguard them in the meantime, though the couple tried- in vain- to insist they wouldn’t have a big family. Maybe one more, they said, but she could see the way they looked at each other and didn’t doubt for a moment they’d have four or more.

But she found her attention pulled away from making more videos by Yang’s odd behavior. With just a little under half her remaining time spent, perhaps it was the looming deadline beginning to prey on the woman’s mind.

At any rate, it required further investigation.

The moment she heard the door open, she closed the book she’d used to preoccupy her time. 

“Hey!” Yang set her motorcycle helmet down and shook out her hair. “What’s up, Snowdrift? No welcome home kiss?

She offered a small smile and got off the couch. “My apologies. I’m afraid my mind’s been a bit preoccupied.”

“Oh?” After their kiss, Yang kept her close, hands on her hips. “Wanna share?”

“I feel like you’ve been acting a bit odd recently. As if you want to talk with me about something but keep refraining.” She ran her hands up and down the woman’s back, noticing the way her posture changed, eyes looking away, body turning as if she wanted to break contact. Yet, when Winter ducked her head, encouraged her to meet her eyes, her girlfriend didn’t balk. “You can tell me anything, you know. I promise I’ll listen. No judgments.”

“You... really don’t want to hear this.” Yang mumbled, shaking her head. “It’s just a stupid thought-”

“Is it important to you?” Reluctantly, she nodded. “Then it’s not stupid. Regardless of my opinion on it, it’s not a stupid thought. Tell me and let me form my own opinion.”

This time, her girlfriend did pull away, but took one hand in hers and led her to the couch, sitting both of them down. She then took a moment and composed herself, choosing her words with care. “What if I stopped taking my birth control?”

“Why would you do that?” Of all the topics in the world, this happened to be the last one she expected they’d discuss. “Is it... making you sick or-”

“Well, aura pregnancies are pretty rare. We could leave it up to chance-”

Winter jolted, sitting up straighter and incidentally pulling away from her girlfriend. “Aura pregnancy- Yang, what are you talking about?”

She remained silent for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath before taking the plunge. “I want the chance to carry your child.”

“No,” she replied, instantaneous, getting to her feet and pacing. “Do you even realize what you’re talking about; I’ve hardly three months left.”

“I know that.” Yang got to her feet as well, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know there’s a big chance it won’t happen anyway and I know that, even if I do get pregnant... you’ll be gone before the baby’s born... but...”

“There is no ‘but’ here.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to leave behind a child that’ll never know me-”

“They’ll know you, the same as Weiss’ kids.” A frustrated sigh. “Look, I know it isn’t what you want-”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Winter looked at her, the pain in her chest nearly crippling as those secret daydreams she’d entertained flashed before her eyes. “You don’t know how badly I want a child, a family- you have no idea what this life has denied me.”

“You mean what you’ve denied yourself.” Yang’s lips twisted, a bit of anger coloring her tone. “I get it, I can’t understand what it’s like having so little time. But you don’t have to give up on everything else. There’s ways around it, to try- it might mean only having a taste but it’s something.”

“Not now.” She shook her head, waved her hand, denied as best she could. “Are you even listening to yourself? It’s- it’s impossible, Yang. I don’t have a chance for a taste of anything- it’s too late for me. I can’t just leave you alone to raise our child by yourself.”

“My dad did it.” Her expression softened slightly. “Being a single parent... yeah, it’s hard. It can be hell. But it’s not impossible and at least, this way, our kid would know they’re wanted, that if you could be here, you would. That- I don’t think you understand how much that means. That could be enough-”

“How could it possibly be enough?” Winter sighed heavily, turning away. “Please understand, in any other life, I’d be with you. I’d- I’d marry you, I’d start a family with you, I’d be completely devoted, every moment of my life, because I would have that time to give to you. In another life, there wouldn’t be any hesitation on my part.”

“But this is the only life we have, Winter,” she replied, crossing the room and putting a hand on her shoulder, turning her gently so their eyes could meet. “This is all the time we have. And when it’s over, if all I have left of you are memories... I won’t regret this, because I love you, so much it hurts and scares me. But... to have a kid, a little bit of you living on- that means something to me, too.”

The words were born of a helpless sort of anger and pain but they left her lips too quickly for her to catch. “Then you’re being selfish, wanting to have a child purely so you can cling to past memories.”

The hand on her shoulder disappeared but Yang didn’t say a word for a long moment. When she did, her voice sounded heavy with tears that wouldn’t fall. “Yeah... maybe you’re right.”

Regret lanced through her heart. “Yang, I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

But her girlfriend had already turned her back, heading towards the bedroom. “I’m gonna change. Get out of these clothes. Call for pizza. I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Sundrop, wait-” The closing of the door sounded much louder than it should’ve and Winter stood there, flinching at the sound.

She thought about following Yang into the bedroom- watched the door for half an hour before the pizza arrived while she debated- but ultimately decided to give the woman some space. Plus, she needed the time to properly formulate an apology; her words were harsh and unnecessary, she didn’t want to hurt her girlfriend and she shouldn’t have lashed out at her.

For the remainder of the night, Yang stayed in the bedroom, only leaving to grab some of the pizza. She avoided eye contact but Winter could see her puffy red eyes, the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

Winter opted to sleep on the couch that night.

Day -106 When morning came, Winter waited in the living room for Yang to come out. She hadn’t slept much, plagued by the argument from the night before, but at least she’d decided on what to say. Provided she had the chance to do so, of course.

The moment the bedroom door cracked open, she shot to her feet. “Yang-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Lilac eyes didn’t even glance her way as she made a bee line for the kitchen, ignoring all else. “The conversation’s over, case closed.” A mirthless chuckle. “I told you it was stupid anyway.”

Seeing as words would do her no good for the moment, Winter crossed the room, heading her girlfriend off before she could slip into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, pressing back to front, and rested her chin among golden locks. Her embrace wasn’t so tight as to completely prevent Yang from escaping- any pressure and she’d relent- but it at least made her give pause.

“It isn’t stupid,” she said, her voice soft. “Before I knew how long I had, I had dreams. I wanted a wife and a family, children of my own. I wanted to raise them better than my parents raised me.” Winter paused, closing her eyes and tilting her head so she could rest her forehead against the back of Yang’s head. “But then I became old enough to understand how little time I had left. I wanted to be there for my children and support my wife; bereft of that, knowing I wouldn’t be around to protect them... I couldn’t abide it. So I put those dreams away. Until I met you.” A sigh, heavy and deep. “I’m sorry for accusing you of being selfish. For the longest time, I convinced myself that it would be selfish of me to pursue those dreams, knowing I wouldn’t be around to see them through. It... assuaged the regret of never trying, thinking I’d taken the nobler path... but that doesn’t excuse my behavior last night. I am sorry.”

Yang sighed, not quite encouraging her embrace but not breaking it either. “Apology accepted. We both got a little heated last night.”

“But you were right. I did give up on those dreams.” She held her girlfriend a little tighter. “What does it mean to you? Having a child?”

She turned in her arms, encouraging Winter to open her eyes. “It’s an expression of love. Finding someone I love enough... that I want to see a part of me and a part of them, together. I mean- you’re not entirely wrong. It is a way to hold onto the past, onto you. But it’s not just you- it’s both of us. Every time I look at them, I’m going to be reminded of this.” Slowly, Yang drew her into a kiss- soft, sweet, and slow. “I want this part of you to live on and, in my heart, you always will. But there’s a chance another part of you could live on- a part of you that’s also a part of me.”

“Very well.” She swallowed thickly, trying to hold her emotions in check. “Make me a promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me they’ll know.” Winter did her best to keep her voice steady but it broke anyway as tears slipped. “They’ll know how much I wanted to be there for them. That I love them even though I’ll never know them. Promise me they’ll never think otherwise.”

Yang gave her a small, sad smile. “That’s a promise I look forward to keeping.” 

A nod as Winter leaned forward, burying her face in her girlfriend’s hair. And she sobbed, clinging to Yang, because in her mind, she could clearly picture it- the blonde laughing and playing with a small child with lilac eyes and white hair, both happy and content, and she so badly wished to be part of the picture.

But she never would be. As much as it hurt, it also brought a smile to her lips, because there stood a chance she could see it from whatever afterlife she’d earned for herself. And maybe, in time, before her end came, she could take solace in knowing they would carry on even after she fell.

That would be her legacy and she could ask for nothing better.

“Did you mean what you said last night? In another life, you’d marry me?”

“I’d marry you in this one if you’d let me,” she replied softly between sobs.

“You still have to ask.” A small chuckle and a kiss pressed against her jaw. “Even if you know I’m going to say yes.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of asking someone to marry me?” Winter confessed, stifling her tears long enough to draw back and look at the woman properly. “I hope you’re ready.”

“Hit me with your best shot, Snowdrift.” Yang smiled, wider than she had in weeks. “Blow me away.”

Part 2 is coming shortly.

[7cypher]

Devil’s Advocate

You had met the devil on a hot summer day. He had shown up in a red polo, red cap, and white sneakers on his feet. That day, you had invited your devil into your home and he hasn’t left since.

▸ PAIRING: Park Jimin x Reader

▸ RATING & GENRE: PG-15 ; Fluff, Humor, Slight Angst, Devil AU

▸ WORD COUNT: 13,414 words

▸ A/N: This was supposed to be a small drabble but I got too excited HAHA so here’s Devil!Jimin and a lot of hell/demon puns :D do not attempt any summonings at home, kids.

The chill that snaked down your spine was almost immediate, shaking you awake from your drowsy state where you sat on your desk, biology book propped open in front of you. With your midterm coming up, the last thing you needed was the fucking heater to break down in the middle of your cramming session—soon to be an all-nighter.

However, you knew that something else was amiss when goosebumps rose on your skin. Instead of running cold in fear, your blood boiled with irritation. “Stop it, Jimin,” you whirled around, glaring at his presence tucked away in the corner of your room. His tail jerking around behind him almost like a sneer, wrapping around his lithe body as a smirk curled on his lips, devious, taunting. He had his arms crossed over his chest, showcasing the thick muscles hidden underneath his knitted sweater. “It’s fucking freezing,” you growled, “stop shutting off the heater.”

The devil—this was the literal devil—held his hands up in mock surrender, expression flattening into one of feigned nonchalance. “Didn’t even touch it, angel.”

He didn’t have to. You just knew it was him. Who else could it be? The only person who would put you through the miserable fate of a broken heater in the one night that the temperature fell below freezing, the night that you had to jam in all the information about mitosis and botany, was the devil himself. With a flick of his finger, he probably could have the entire city bathed in darkness, cutting off all electrical supplies and the last bit of your warmth just to piss you off. He had the tendency to mess with the circuits around your apartment. As hot as he was, Jimin was still an undeniably gigantic pain in your ass.

It wasn’t as if Santa had you permanently tattooed on his naughty list, but somehow the heavens—or hell—had sent the devil knocking straight to your front door. He had arrived a summer ago, in the blistering heat, in the form of a gorgeous pizza delivery boy. You hadn’t thought much of it then, hadn’t thought much of it when you invited him in as you reached for your wallet. He seemed like your average boy next door earning a little bit of bread over break.

Big mistake.

“Jimin,” you whined again, snatching up your blanket and bundling yourself up in it. You buried your face in the thick fabric, glaring at him from where you could see him. Your nose was beginning to freeze, your teeth chattering noisily. It was so cold. You couldn’t feel your toes nor your fingers anymore even as you attempted to clasp the material tighter around you. The drowsiness that nearly had you sleeping prior seemed to disappear with the drop of the bone-chilling temperature.

“You know,” he started again, completely unapologetic, and voluntary ignorant towards your torment. He moved to the bean bag and plopped down on it, stretching his arms wide in welcome. “You can always come here, cuddle with me. Got enough heat to go around.”

Yes, you were perfectly aware that he had enough heat because you had slept with the devil, like actually sleep, and nearly had your ass burnt when you woke up the next morning. The man might have immaculate control over his powers ninety eight percent of the time, but the periods in which he decided to opt for slumber he didn’t even need were the nights you suffered the most. Those nights, you would keep him out in the living room. Your roommate always pitied him, thinking that the two of you were caught in a lovers’ quarrel.

But you hated him everyday, every single wretched hour that he was there with you.

“O-over my dead body,” you bit back, teeth still shaking with the chill. The cold wind whipping outside was beginning to leak through the windows and walls, all the gaps it could slip through, to seep into your pores and piece iciness into your insides. Your tiled floors absorbed all the cold and radiated it to the bottom of your feet.

“At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised,” he chuckled again, “but sorry, babe, necrophilia isn’t my thing.” No mercy. Then again, did you expect any less from the devil? Jimin kept his arms wide open, tempting you into his embrace that looked very, very warm. One of his eyebrows raised mockingly. “Come on, angel,” he cooed patronizingly.

“You’re an a-asshole.”

Jimin’s lips twitched again, mirth dancing in his eyes. “A hot asshole that you can’t get enough of.”

“Only because you won’t leave my fucking house,” you snapped right back. This wasn’t necessarily true. Ever since you invited him into your humble abode, he had frequented in the form of the innocent delivery boy who gave you a good time whenever he popped by. The two of you messed around all summer and it wasn’t long before the two of you became a Thing.

A Thing that never should’ve happened.

Sex with him was an adventure, Jimin somehow always finding ways to make you giggle and grin in bed. He was good—too good. So when you finally insisted on fucking with the lights on, you really couldn’t miss the stark red tail swishing behind him. You had screamed. Jimin had too. It seemed that for a second he forgot that he was 100% demon and it took quite some time for him to calm you and the knife in your hand down so you didn’t commit manslaughter. Jimin transported from place to place to apparently do his bidding for his master in the underworld, but ultimately stayed at your place for the most part.

This had been the beginning of your love-hate story with the devil. If you knew those stories where your enemy became your lover, this was the complete opposite. When he had told you that you were bound to him, that any actions on your part to harm him would also harm you, you wanted to tear your hair out because what the fuck have you gotten yourself into. He took it in a stride, checking his fingernails while your insides screamed with the need to boot him but also keep him in so you wouldn’t get hurt. Jimin started to make himself at home, even somehow managing to scour enough money every month to assist you with his share of rent (that, you definitely weren’t complaining about) and began to basically live there with you and your flatmate. Your flatmate—seeing how Jimin looked—definitely wasn’t complaining either.

Jimin wiggled his fingers teasingly again and shrugged, placing his hands on his lap this time. “I mean, up to you, babe.”

“You know, this is like illegal right,” you growled, shivering again, “tampering with building facilities and, I don’t know, binding me to you.” The cold was nipping at your toes and it felt as if they were about to break off any second. You were no Captain America and you kept wiggling them to ensure that they were still working in your period of misery.

“I’m not from around these parts,” he retorted casually because he had a fucking point. Of course. The law didn’t apply to him because he wasn’t even from earth, let alone this country. Jimin picked himself off the seat and strolled around the room, seeming perfectly at ease with the cold. You watched as he raised his hand and formed a small flame in his palm and letting it dance between his fingers. It was like a magic trick, a very plausible magic trick because he was capable of it. The man looked as if he was glowing, something close to ethereal, as he bounced the tiny fireball on his knuckles and allowing it to light his face with a soft, orange hue.

Tempting. You could almost feel that flame licking up your own skin, feel that delicious heat kissing every inch of you. Biting your lip, you wondered which one was worth saving—your actual life or your pride.

Jimin paused, the little ball fizzling out into nothing and leaving behind a swirl of smoke that evaporated into the air. “Changed your mind yet?” he pressed, opening his palms out to you.

Damn this man. Damn this man straight back to hell where he came from. Gritting your teeth, you swallowed your ego and muttered, “Fine, but just tonight. You’ve got to stop fucking with the air system in here. My roommate’s going to kill the landlord, she already hates him enough.”

“Your landlord is a dick,  you have to admit,” he chuckled as you tucked into his side. The two of you settled back on the cushy seat, you on his lap and his arms cradling you tight. His temperature was infectious, engulfing you in this comfortable coziness that had you burying your face deeper into his chest. Jimin smiled at that, holding you even firmer against him and quickened his calefaction further to allow more warmth to enclose around you.

A small moan slipped past your lips at the sensation. The level of consolation his body offered in the dire circumstance was absolutely lovely. Tangling your legs between his, you relished in your blood finally flowing through your system. Color returned to your skin as you felt your limbs’ ability to move again return. “Damn,” you huffed, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly higher level of heat there. “This is too nice.”

“I’ll bet,” he snorted. You could already picture the smug smirk on his face, obviously his self-esteem feeling accomplished that he had managed to get you to surrender yourself to him and your natural survival instincts. Smacking his chest without looking up at him, you leaned your head on his shoulder with a sigh. Jimin rubbed his hand along your arm. “Warm enough now?”

“Can you please stop messing with the heater now?” you groaned, “I really need to finish studying and I was already falling—” Oh. Well, the cold certainly woke you up, and you wondered if he did it specifically for that purpose. The thought was almost bittersweet.

Jimin drew you from your mind with his response, “You can always sleep with me.” Looking up, you found him grinning down at you with glittering eyes curving into crescents. If you didn’t know who—or what—he was, you would’ve still thought that he was adorable. He had the looks to have people coming after him, you’ve seen it before after all. But when the truth was revealed to you, you couldn’t quite ignore the irritation that nagged at you.

You flicked his forehead this time, scowling, “The last time we tried that, you almost set my bed on fire.”

Jimin at least had the decency to look sheepish at your statement. He could control his body temperature when he was awake, maintaining it at normal human levels. But when he let his consciousness slip into slumber, he tended to let his body have free reign, which meant that he was adjusting himself to hell’s temperature. His body had been incalescent, so much so that you had felt the scorching against your skin like the blazing fury of the sun. Throwing him off the bed seemed like the most logical solution at that point, and he certainly wasn’t guiltless of nearly roasting you to your death.

“Fair,” he murmured, “it just gets lonely sleeping out here.”

Although you weren’t too happy with his presence in the house, you weren’t completely free from contrition for subjecting him to the loneliness of the couch in the nighttime. After that incident with his body nearly lighting yours up to flames, you swore to never again allow you to sleep in the room unless absolutely necessary. Plus, he didn’t exactly need sleep.

“Maybe once you learn to control it, I’ll scoot a little to give you space in my bed.”

“You’re all heart,” he beamed. For a brief second, you could ignore the fact that he was Satan’s spawn and imagine that he was like any other college kid. Any other college kid who had hellish (get it? ha ha) looks and any other college kid who could—you know—send the entire world to its impending apocalyptic state.

You grunted, finally feeling snug enough to release him. “Please fix it,” you said, gaze darting over to the heater puttering quietly.

Jimin pouted, displeased. “But then you’ll stop cuddling,” he whined.

“Jimin,” you matched his tone, “I have class tomorrow. I need to finish up studying then sleep.”

His lips twisted sourly, knowing that you had a point. Jimin could be a dick, but he was considerate when he needed to be, so he sighed and snapped his fingers. Almost instantly, warmth returned to the room and you breathed a sigh of relief, curling your toes to make sure that this really was working.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

You returned to your desk to finish up your studies for the night, packing in the last bits of information that you needed for the next day. Only when you yawned and started packing your things up did he stand, readying himself for another night outside in the common area. Just as he was about to leave, he turned around one last time. “For your information, I didn’t really fuck with the heater this time, it really was the building.” His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “I know you’ve got an exam tomorrow, I wouldn’t do it if I knew you had things due.”

His words had you halting your movements, observing in mild surprise as he padded out to the living room. Considering how often he did it, your automatic inclination was to pin the blame on him. But your building was pretty old, barely anything worked, so you should’ve figured. This implied that he was using his capabilities to heat up the room at that very moment. You could feel remorse eating at you when you saw him through the open crack of your door trying to get comfortable on the couch, grunting and hitting the material as if that would make it softer. Slipping through the gap, you drifted over to him and leaned down, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” you repeated in a whisper and pulled away to quickly move back into the room before he could respond, closing the door behind you. Your heart was being annoyingly loud and you bit your lip as if to keep yourself from blushing too hard.

“Night, angel!” he called out from outside.

“Goodnight.”

The strange thing about knowing and living with the devil was realizing how normal everything was. If you skimmed past him in the streets, he could easily pass as a face in the crowd. Although his natural eye color was ruby red, tidbit courtesy of Jimin who had shown it to you in the hopes of impressing you, he could easily shift them to something more common like brown to avoid standing out. His looks? Grade A. Nothing inhumanly incredible, but he did look attractive enough to catch the wandering eyes of every single female on campus. He was your average estrogen magnet.

Jimin had his ways of hiding the fact that he was Satan’s offspring. He knew how to dress like every other human, quickly picking up styles from magazines he found scattered around your apartment (you had your fashion major roommate to thank for those). He might have even fit into your university better than you did.

Whenever you went to lectures, he would tail after you and disappear amongst the masses in your giant classroom. The two of you would slip into a pair of seats, Jimin would reel in the attention of nearby students admiring him from a safe distance, and you would be trying to get your shit together while also ignoring the fact that the devil was next to you. Staying awake and listening during classes was hard enough as it was, but add Jimin to the mix, it was hell on earth. Sitting still seemed to be an impossible feat for him and you would find his hands wandering to items on your own desk, plucking them off the table and fiddling with them. He would tap a pencil rhythmically against the plastic armrest or balance a pen between his lips and nose as he leaned back against his seat. Other times, when he was feeling extra frisky, his hand would instead lose itself on your thigh, especially on days you had a skirt on, creeping up the exposed skin and trying to get his nimble fingers past your panties.

“Jimin,” you hissed, glaring at him as you swatted his hand away. He jutted out his bottom lip petulantly, hand remaining warm on your bare thigh. His mischievous hand would continue to rub your smooth skin slowly, running his heated palm along the insides of your thighs.

Blushing, you tried to quietly pry his fingers off but he only offered you a tiny smirk, an indication of his victory. If there was anything Jimin adored more than being a gigantic foot up your ass, it would be making you flustered, particularly in public places where everyone could see the two of you shifting around.

The professor cleared his throat up front, peering over the rim of his thin glasses with his beady eyes, and your gaze quickly flew to where he stood, noting how the rest of the class also had their eyes trained on the pair of you. Fuck. Wincing, you managed to shove Jimin’s hand off you in his momentary state of distraction. “Would you be so kind to share what the ruckus is about up there?” the man spoke, his voice sounding like blaring alarms to your need to remain invisible in the hall.

You gritted your teeth and prayed that the apologetic look on your face looked genuine enough. Jimin laughed quietly under his breath, ducking his head to hide his stupid grin. You crossed your legs and kicked his knee. That earned a satisfying yelp out of him. “Sorry, Professor, dropped my pencil,” you said. The man gave you one last suspicious look before turning to face the board again.

Just as he turned his back to the class, you nabbed Jimin’s ear and dragged him close towards you. “Listen,” you sneered, “if you’re going to be a pain, I’m going to lock you in the room.”

Jimin only grinned.

As if your academics wasn’t enough for him to dip his hand into, Jimin also had the tendency to slip and slide into your workplace with too many distractions. Being a college student meant that you needed to stay on budget, and on days you wanted to splurge a little more, you would save up from your part-time job at the library. Shelving books and checking them in were tedious tasks, but they were tasks that paid, so you sucked it up. The only thing you couldn’t suck up was Jimin following you around.

The first time he had followed after you into the building, he had begged you for something to entertain him. Even when you told him that the head librarian was shooting looks at the two of them, he still wouldn’t budge. So you had given him the Bible and told him to repent. Poor taste in jokes, you supposed. Jimin had given you a glare to bring down the wrath of hellfire upon you. He had hissed and slapped the holy text away as if it had burned him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Oh. That was an interesting piece of information that had you lighting up. “It can do that?”

Jimin had narrowed his eyes at you, a challenge in the clench of his jaw. “Try me.”

You did and you had never regretted an action so fast. Jimin was never one to leave you without  repercussions so, the entire time you worked on returning books to their places, Jimin began messing with the piles you had already organized, adding hours to a task that could have been done in minutes. Safe to say, the two of you had bitterly admitted that you were both at fault after a severe scolding from the head librarian.

“Don’t you have that book to read?” you huffed this time around, shoving another thick volume amongst its friends. Another day, another book.

“The one you gave me last week?” he tilted his head questioningly, “I finished it already.”

To keep him out of your hair, you always gave him books to consume, thick classics that he had never touched before where he was from. Apparently, hell was filled with books on horrific torture methods and historic accounts of war, but never fictional masterpieces. “How did you finish it so fast?” you queried curiously.

“It wasn’t that hard, you should see the shit I have to study,” he huffed, “do you have anything else for me? Word’s been going around about this book that went viral from an online author or something. People talk about it a lot.”

You paused, holding a novel in your hand and frowning, “What book?”

“Dunno, heard it was being turned into a movie. Something with grey or whatever,” Jimin shrugged, running his fingertips lightly over the wide spines of maroon encyclopedias, over the golden linings and engravings on the shelf.

Snorting, you quirked an eyebrow, “Fifty Shades of Grey? Who have you been hanging out with?”

“Hoseok from Papa’s Pizzas.”

Go figure. “You should never listen to Hoseok,” you rolled your eyes, “he still thinks you’re from Australia because you said down under when he asked you where you’re doing your exchange from, and thinks you’re absolutely clueless about American literature as a whole.” Hoseok loved toying with Jimin because, the first time they met, Jimin had left a lasting impression when he kept asking about erotica. “Anyway, I hardly think Fifty Shades counts as literature.”

He smirked, “He read me snippets from it, a little too explicit for my taste.”

“Never thought I’d ever hear those words leave your mouth,” you huffed then led him down another row of books. You scanned over the letters for the title you were looking for before finally spotting it and pulling it out of the collection. Handing it over to him, you awaited his reaction.

“Shakespeare again?” he moaned.

“You never finished Macbeth.”

Scowling, he turned the cover over in his hands to glimpse at the summary. “Everyone just went crazy, that’s no fun.”

“What is fun?”

“Sex.”

You shot him a look and pushed your cart down the aisle again. Jimin, with his hip, bumped you out of the way and you let the cart’s handles slip from your hands as he took over. He moved the trolley stacked with dozens of books with significantly less effort than you had required. You tried not to be too grateful. “You didn’t want to read Fifty Shades.”

“That’s because the writing sucked. I want like good erotica.”

“I hardly think the school library caters to your sexual needs,” you retorted, picking up another publication and returning it in alphabetical order.

“You have very little faith and knowledge about your library,” he grinned, eyes twinkling, “erotica slash romance section is upstairs, third floor. They’re using it for psychology classes apparently.”

Maybe you should be taking those classes, might be interesting. Then again, if Jimin entered, there would be no doubt that he would participate in those seminars and show off his supposed sexual prowess.

“Anyway, where are you going for dinner tonight? I’m craving pizza!” he beamed.

“I can do pizza,” you nodded, “I get off at six. Should I meet you there?”

“I can wait for you here,” he hummed, waving the thin read in the air, “got a new book after all.”

“Said you didn’t like Shakespeare.”

He shrugged, “You recommended it so I’m hoping it’ll be better than the last.”

Why did he always do that? Just when you thought that you couldn’t loathe anything more than Park Jimin, he pulled off a sweet line that had your heart skipping a beat. With that said, he whistled quietly as he wandered down the shelves to find a comfortable spot to read in. You simmer down the warmth brewing in your stomach and focused on your job instead.

Bills to pay, bills to pay.

The pizza parlor Jimin had worked at was a go-to location for midnight runs and greasy cravings. Serving anything that would put you one step closer to a heart attack, Papa’s Pizzas was the ultimate college student spot. The diner was decorated in old-fashioned 1950’s style with checkered floors covered in scuff marks, sleek metallic counters stretching across the diner complemented by red stools, and booths with ruby seating lining the windows. Also Papa from Papa’s Pizzas couldn’t be denied considering how daddy the owner, Seokjin, looked. The logo? The man of the hour, Seokjin, himself winking.

Jimin’s former coworkers were always more than happy to host him, practically reserving a seat of honor for every time he graced them with his presence. Sometimes, you weren’t sure whether he bewitched them with a little touch of manipulation (could he do that?), or whether he was naturally charming. He was perhaps a little bit of both.

You once asked Jimin why he even considered working there when he had no need for sustenance. Jimin could go days without eating and food was mere entertainment for him rather than an actual necessity. “I like it,” he had grinned, “the atmosphere is lit—” a word he learned courtesy of Hoseok “—and it makes me feel more human.”

Jimin’s answer had left you a little speechless, a little confused on how to react to such an intriguing confession. He hadn’t expanded further and had left it at that. You didn’t press either. Taking another chomp out of his slice, Jimin grinned through his mouthful. “I can’t believe how much pizza you had ordered in the summer just to keep me coming back around.”

Your wince was almost immediate. A dark past, a time you would rather leave behind, a walk down nostalgia lane you’d rather steer clear of. You had been more than a teensy bit attracted to the pizza delivery boy slash unknown demon at the time, and so had your fair share of pizza that summer. The few pounds you gained from that experience was worth the final result when he finally fucked you into your bed. Plus, all those calories were quickly burned off when Jimin was almost around every single day — with or without pizza.

“How the tables have turned,” you rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at him. The man flung himself slightly forward to snatch the piece between his teeth. Dog.

“At least I got a lot of tips from it,” he wiggled his eyebrows, laughing, reminding you that your gratitude had been given in the form of quick blowjobs and fucks whenever your roommate wasn’t around. Good times.

You blushed, flinging another piece of crust his way. “That was a long time ago, you dick, now I hate you.”

Jimin snorted, wiggling his food at you mockingly before shoveling it into his mouth. Sometimes you wondered how he could stuff that much food inside of him when he didn’t even need eat. Did he even have a digestive system? Organs? Aside from, you know, reproductive. “Yeah, say that to my dick that you were bouncing on last night,” he scoffed proudly.

A woman walking by showed her obvious disgust as she breezed past them, heels clacking against the tiles. Rude eavesdropper. Shut up,” you hissed, eyes darting around the establishment. Students from the university frequented this place and the last thing you needed was Jimin running his mouth on your sexual pursuits even if it was with him.

He only offered a laugh again, but provided no further extension to the conversation. Something strange and sweet twisted in your stomach. You chose to ignore it as you always did.

You huffed, propping your chin up on your palm and licking your lips. While Jimin continued to devour his second pizza, you had just cleaned off your plate, feeling pleasantly full. “So, have you always been like—” you gestured at him “—I don’t know, evil?”

Jimin sucked on his fingers, an action that had you squeezing your thighs together. He pulled them out with small pops each time. He crossed his arms over his chest then leaned forward, placing them on the table. “Do you mean to ask if I was born as the devil or if I was turned?”

“Pretty much.”

“Not sure,” he sighed, “I sort of lost bits and pieces of my memory so I figured I was turned. Then again, I could’ve been born and bred there and just not remember hell. Pretty shit from what I’ve heard.” A small smirked curved on his lips. Your heart did a weird flip.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, hiding a grin. “You seem to have a lot of daddy issues I’m surprised you haven’t asked me to call you that yet.”

Jimin giggled, his eyebrows jumping again. “Do you want to? I prefer you screaming my name, but I’m open to experiment.”

“What about Jesus Christ?” you asked, blinking innocently as the sacred name slipped past your lips all too easily.

But Jimin glared at you, growling. You smirked, accomplished. He squirmed uncomfortably, clutching his chest as if he had been burned there. “You’re going to get it tonight.”

And you did when you had to drag Jimin’s ass into the room to become your personal heater and help you sleep again, because he broke the heater. Again.

Jimin’s antithesis came in the shape of one Kim Taehyung, whom you deemed to be a literal angel — no, wait, sorry, he was just a figurative angel. Literal took a different meaning when you knew the actual devil. You weren’t quite sure if the heavens sent Taehyung down to balance Jimin’s appearance in your life, but he sure as hell was doing better.

Now, Jimin — he didn’t deal well with competition. Taehyung, being a godsend, was automatically regarded as his archenemy. Whenever the taller boy was around you, hovering behind you or engulfing you in a hug somewhere on campus, Jimin would pout. That pout would remain on his face for as long as Taehyung was around. The devil had labeled Taehyung as their official third wheel despite your continuous reassurance that Taehyung was just a friend.

It wasn’t as if he was being discreet either. Taehyung caught on to the glares tossed his way or the petty bumping of shoulders that Jimin gave him. He didn’t quite mind it, but was rather amused by how whiny Jimin became around you. The man practically lived with you, that was all he knew about the extent of your relationship. Taehyung certainly didn’t know that you were bound to the devil himself after the first time he slipped right into you. Thus, he was always there in the background, lurking, and cursing Taehyung internally whenever he was around (but not actually because even his thoughts could have an effect on real life).

“Your boyfriend doesn’t like me very much,” Taehyung noted during your preparation for dinner. Inviting the two for a sit down meal seemed like the best option at the time to solve any discrepancies, but the second Taehyung stepped foot into the room, Jimin had almost hissed at him like a serpent. So you sent him out on alcohol duty to cool off.

You were about to clarify to Taehyung that Jimin wasn’t really your boyfriend, but that would only raise unnecessary questions you didn’t have the answers to. “He doesn’t like a lot of people, he’s an asshole that way,” you instead explained simply.

Taehyung didn’t question it further. Dinnertime was relatively uneventful and you were more than appreciative for Jimin’s attempts to be accommodating. Though, that might also have something to do with the fact that you had made the meal he was consuming. Even homemade meals produced good results for the demon.

The three of you had tipped back a few mixes thanks to Taehyung who was teaching himself how to make cocktails. The concoctions were delicious, even Jimin couldn’t deny that. You opened your mouth to curiously ask if demons could get drunk, but quickly remembered that Taehyung was still there none the wiser. Instead, the tallest suggested, “Wanna go to a club? We can finish the last of this vodka to pregame then head out.”

You mulled over it for a second, tilting your head from side to side with the pleasant buzz in your brain. “Mm, that sounds good to me,” you hummed then turned to your quote unquote boyfriend, “Jimin?”

Knowing Jimin, you easily deduced that he would have to agree. There was no way in hell he was going to let you go clubbing with Taehyung alone. Who knows what dangers the man could put you up to? As if Jimin himself wasn’t the most hazardous thing in the vicinity at that moment. “I guess,” he muttered.

So the three of you ended up swallowing back shots to finish off the alcohol, Taehyung shaking the rim to his tongue to get the very last drop. “Fuck,” he groaned, “alright, I’m fucking ready.” By the time the three of you had piled into an uber and was heading straight to one of the clubs Taehyung frequented ( “place is always fucking lit” ), all of you were a little bit tipsy—well, at least you were. But it was all in good fun. Before you left, Jimin was only planning to leave the house in a sweater and a cap. That didn’t sit right in your muddled mind considering how cold it was outside.

“Wait,” you had stopped him, stumbling over to your bedroom and nabbing a few things. When you returned to the room, Taehyung was singing some BIGBANG song while Jimin stared quizzically at you, concern imprinted in the creases on his forehead. You swathed him with a thick scarf around his neck, clumsily covering his face up to his nose then, ensuring that Taehyung was distracted, yank his cap off his head and shoved on a beanie.

“What’s this about?”

You squinted at him, assessing his appearance. Yep, looked good. Then again, when did he not? “Be weird to have a cap, plus it’s cold out and a beanie would work better.”

Jimin opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind at the very last second and instead smiled gratefully at you, leaning forward to smack a quick kiss on your lips. You jerked away, bewildered. “Thanks, babe,” he grinned.

Before you could process the situation further, your thoughts were pulled to a halt. “Let’s go!” Taehyung giggled and fumbled out the door.

The building looked pretty nice, glowing neon sign, security up front that patted the three of you down thoroughly. Thankfully, they let Taehyung through despite his clearly too inebriated state. Taehyung headed straight to the bar first, ordering a round of shots. “First round’s on me!” he announced proudly, before clinking your glasses together and tossing them back. All of you hissed with the burn but felt the pleasant buzz hum almost immediately. Taehyung grabbed both your hands, yanking the both of you towards the dance floor. “Fuck, let’s dance!” he giggled, flinging his arms into the air.

This was Taehyung—the life of the party. He was already having the time of his life five minutes in. You yourself were having a great time, it was hard not to with the beat pulsing through the speakers, bass thrumming in your veins. Grinding up against people was common practice, but Jimin was quick to cage you in possessively, hands on your hips and his front pressed against your back. Guys who tried to approach you retreated instantly at the sight of Jimin’s threatening scowl. Jimin made sure to keep you close, running his wet lips along the curve of your neck. He left no room for Jesus between the two of you with the way he was rubbing up against you. “So close, Jimin,” you smirked, “never knew you could dance.”

He hummed in your ear, nipping the shell lightly with his teeth as his hands roamed your sides, over the arches of your body. “Lot of things you don’t know about me, angel. Plus, I can’t stand the idea of anyone else having their hands on you like this.”

You couldn’t deny that his proprietorial words sent thrills shooting through your veins. Slick sweat began to layer your skin with the humidity packed into the venue and you reached your hand back to tangle in Jimin’s soft locks. “Touchy, touchy,” you grinned lasciviously up at him.

“I don’t like seeing him around,” Jimin suddenly muttered, voice dipping a pitch lower, “Taehyung.”

“Don’t be a baby,” you turned around, setting your hands on his shoulders as you continued to move your hips in sync with his and the music. “I see you everyday already.”

“I don’t like how sticky he is with you.” At times, you wondered if Satan had dropped the wrong son on earth, on you, because Jimin could be a little childish at time. His complaints tending to be immature little comments that made him seem almost human.

You sighed, looking up at him with an expression that might’ve been along the lines of pity. “Jimin, you do realize that we’re not actually dating.”

“A man can dream,” he said. A look passed over his eyes, but before you could name it, he was already smirking, tugging you closer to him. “And didn’t your mother ever tell you not to dance with the devil?”

You shrugged, flashing him the same teasing grin. “I never listened well to my mother anyway, why start now?”

A moan escaped his throat as he ducked his head to rasp in your ear, “Fuck, I really wanna take you back and fuck you seven ways ’til Sunday.”

Shit. You wanted that too, you really did. “There’s a bathroom,” you panted, feeling his boner pressing up against your thighs. Jimin didn’t waste a beat before taking your hand and leading you there.

It wasn’t the best location, but at least Jimin kept his promise.

Waking up the next morning was like a downpour of regrets coming down on you all at once. The pounding in your head was incessant, and the soreness between your thighs throbbed. You groaned, burying yourself back underneath your thick blankets. Hearing the door creak open, you peeked to see Jimin standing there, worry etched onto his face, but most important of all, looking perfectly fine.

Of course the devil didn’t get hangovers—he created them.

“I officially hate my life,” you moaned, twisting in your bed.

A dip in the mattress had you looking up again and Jimin was chuckling at you, shoulders shaking lightly. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tossed at him, voice a little too loud that you instantly felt that hit of remorse in the form of a piercing ring in your head.

“Got you these,” Jimin said instead, plopping down a few items by your bedside table. There was a bottle of sports drink glowing a neon color, coffee from the shop nearby, juice, bananas, and a package of store-bought soup. “Wasn’t sure what drink you liked for hangovers but your roommate said you like this brand. Figured I’d get you coffee too just in case.”

That was an impressively prepared spread, especially for something as temporary as a hangover. You usually recovered pretty quickly if you slept enough during the day, but you still stared at Jimin in awe, because this was… sweet. That was an understatement.

“I, um, wow—” you blinked, dumbstruck “—thank you for all of… this. It’s—just thank you.”

Jimin grinned, the kind of smile that had his cheeks puffing up, teeth glowing, and eyes disappearing. Your stomach did a funny flip—not the one that made you want to hurl your guts out, but the one that made your cheeks flush and your heart beat a bit faster. “No problem, just wanna make sure you don’t end yourself you know.”

“Oh right, ‘cause we’re bound,” you rolled your eyes, “gotta make sure the prince of hell doesn’t die out of alcohol poisoning.”

His lips twitched again, “Right, because of the bond. Anyway, get some more sleep, you could use it. You can wake up when you feel better.”

“I’m fine,” you groaned, but the sudden hammering in your head had you leaning back against the headboard of your bed.

“I rest my case,” he grinned proudly, forcing you back underneath your blanket. He leaned down and pecked your forehead, “Sweet dreams, angel.” You didn’t think that Jimin’s sentiment could’ve done anything, especially not since he was a man made of nightmares, but you slept soundlessly. Your sheets sucked you in and swallowed you into the deep realm of slumber, allowing you to rest with thoughts of a man’s sweet smile for just a tad longer.

When you woke up hours later, it was as if you had been reborn, feeling rejuvenated from the hell you had been through. You stretched and felt your muddled mind clear somewhat as you walked over to your door, expecting Jimin to still be around.

And you were right. Only, he wasn’t alone.

Your roommate was leaning over the stove next to him, distance too close for comfort. You stiffened at the sight and made no move to make your existence known. They were talking in hushed whispers, hands moving. Something akin to irritation boiled inside you and you tried to tamp it down by gritting your teeth together, telling you to calm down. What was he even doing? Why was he standing so close? Was he trying to bind her too?

“Oh, you’re awake.”

The voice pulled you away from your overflowing vexation, instead letting it simmer quietly. You grunted, “Yeah.” Rubbing your arms as if to warm yourself up from the nonexistent chill in the room, you leaned against your doorframe and watched them from afar.

Jimin turned around there, surprised to see you and offered a smile, “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.”

“What are you guys doing?” Stupid. You had tried to keep your annoyance out of your voice, but it somehow had leaked into your tone—you could only hope they would blame it on your drowsiness and recovery state.

However, judging by the way your roommate’s lips quirked up in amusement, you had a feeling that she knew, which only proved to fuel your irritation. “Jimin here,” she patted his shoulder for good measure, “asked me how to make you hangover soup.”

That had your frown ceasing. “Oh.”

“Not the best chef as you can see,” he chuckled. It was then you noticed that he had slipped on an apron and had a ladle in hand. It was strangely domestic and endearing at the same time. “But it’s finished and hopefully it’s good enough.”

Jimin quickly ushered you to a seat as your roommate disappeared into her own room. He poured a steaming bowl and set it before you. The broth smelled scrumptious and its contents, vegetables and meat, floating around in the mouthwatering dish. You spooned a little bit and blew on it to cool it down before putting it in your mouth. The first touch of the stock on your tongue was almost an immediate cure to all of your life’s problems. It was flawlessly prepared with the right amount of seasoning and filling—the meat soft and tender, vegetables boiled to the right texture.

“Wow,” you murmured, “I really didn’t know you had it in you.”

The man beamed as he settled down next to you, nerves seemingly gone with your positive response. “Yeah? Well, I did.” You rolled your eyes at him and slurped another spoonful. “Hey, let me try.”

You let a small portion cool before lifting the spoon to his mouth, letting his plump lips envelop it. He smacked his lips together, nodding in approval. “Good?” you smirked.

“Really good, maybe I should quit this whole demon business and become a chef.”

“Mm,” you hummed, “I think you’d make more money as a model or something. Face too pretty to hide in the kitchen.”

He gasped, leaning towards you with a sparkle in his eye. “Did I just hear a compliment? Did you just call me pretty?”

“First and last time, bub,” you grunted, flicking his forehead, “don’t get used to it.”

That night, as you readied yourself for bed and Jimin prepared his own fort in the living room, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his broad frame trying to squeeze into the tight space. You found yourself stepping out with a reluctant bite of your lip. Jimin eyed your presence with interest, quirking an eyebrow. “Hey,” you coughed, “do you want to maybe sleep together tonight?” His eyes widened even more. You blushed, looking away, “It’s just colder in the room right now.”

“I can always turn the heater up,” Jimin grinned teasingly, wiggling his fingers at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Fine, just—”

“I’m kidding!” he leapt, tossing his arms around you as he waddled you back into the room, not once releasing you from his hold, not until the two of you landed on your bed in a fit of giggles. Jimin bundled you up in his arms, nuzzling his nose in your neck, pulling laughter from your lips. “Mmm, doesn’t this feel nice?” he hummed, tucking the two of you underneath the blanket.

He draped an arm around your waist and brushed his nose against yours. You scrunched up your face in fake disgust. “You’re too close, it’s too warm now.”

“I can always make my body colder,” he grinned, “pick the right temperature and I’ve got you, angel.”

Right. You rolled your eyes, “You’re too perfect, you know that? Like, I thought the devil was supposed to be mean, but you put on an apron to make hangover soup. What kind of demon does that?”

“You don’t like it?” he cocked an eyebrow, knowing full well what your answer was.

“Shut up and go to sleep, demon,” you grunted, burying your face in his chest and closing your eyes. You felt warmth touch your forehead, the plushness of his lips soft against your skin.

“Night, angel.”

It had been a step forward. Progress. Knowing that Jimin was actually nice had initially left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, because that wasn’t how the world worked, was it? Devils were not supposed to be the good guys, weren’t supposed to make your heart flutter and your lips stretch into smiles so wide that your cheeks began to ache.

But he was always there—ever present and ever sweet. Maybe you could finally admit to yourself that Jimin had carved a place in your heart where he tucked himself into, permanently engraving himself into your existence. The more time you spent with him, the more you understood that he was almost like any other man trying to comprehend the complex, preexisting world a little bit more. Jimin had come in like a whirlwind in your peaceful town, leaving his imprints on every soul he has encountered. You just never thought that one day you would have to watch him let all of it go.

And for it to be your fault.

It was one day when your classes ended slightly later than usual. Cursing your professor all the way to the library, you mentally counted how many minutes you had lost in your work hours that you could’ve piled up. When you stepped into the study area where you were assigned, you spotted Jimin there like he was every Wednesday during your shift. He had your beanie on again, practically claiming it as his ever since you first lent it to him, always whining whenever you tried to take it back.

( you secretly liked it but you kept that to yourself )

Jimin’s appearance during your shift was already expected, his attendance a weekly ritual, at times even daily. He wouldn’t mind hanging around the library, sticking his nose into books you had suggested to him. The one time he hadn’t shown up, you had actually gotten worried and called him. He never let you live that down, but showed up religiously afterwards.

His looks did draw people in, but he rarely ever regarded them with anything more than common courtesy for your sake (he hated it when people approached him to disturb his reading time, but you had told him to stop snarling at everyone). However, that particular day, there was someone else with him—a girl. You recognized her as one of Jimin’s former colleagues at the pizza parlor where he used to work and she was giggling at something he said, inching closer to him and nosing her face too close to him to peek into the book he had popped open (it was Dracula by Bram Stoker, a book you recommended — “this is the closest to the evil reference humans have for now”).

You felt a sudden bite of resentment, dare you say a nip from the green-eyed monster inside of you. Your skin crawled with the sensation, your chest tightening and had you holding in your breath. Instead of reacting upon it, you figured it would be better to just ignore it—yeah, just kick it and hope that it went away. Sighing at your own immaturity, you headed straight for your station at the check-out desk.

Jimin watched you breeze past him and you didn’t even give him a single second to bid you welcome. Perhaps it was petty, but you would rather maintain a safe distance rather than let your jealousy get the best of you. Though, it was difficult not to let your displeasure show when that girl was still there. All throughout your shift, you stamped books a little too loudly and clicked a little too aggressively to mask the sound of the girl’s laughter. Whenever you looked up, you would catch Jimin’s glances.

Are you okay, angel?

You let out a small yelp at the sound in your mind, squeezing your eyes shut. For a second, you thought your imagination was toying with you. But directing your gaze in Jimin’s direction confirmed what you had suspected. Jimin had the ability to communicate with you through his mind, an action he rarely did because he knew how much it irritated you to hear him inside your head. You hated it, hated how uncomfortable it made you. It was as if he was prying into your thoughts and leaving his there. Gritting your teeth, you didn’t grace him with a response and only offered a glare.

Jimin seemed to take the hint much to your slight disappointment. You wanted him to get up and talk to you, spend a little time with you instead of that girl. It really was trivial jealousy, but you had never been one to deal well with your anger—not when it always led to saying things you regret one way or another.

As you packed up later that evening, shoving all your belongings into your backpack, you observed Jimin moving away from the girl and saying his farewells. A part of you felt relieved that he was still going to you, but a bigger part of you was holding onto your exasperation towards him. Even as you walked out the front doors, he kept tailing after you, asking you incessantly why you weren’t responding to anything he was saying.

“God, shut up,” you growled, whirling around when you finally reached your place. JImin had been yakking your ear off the entire walk back and your patience had thinned quickly.

“Why are you ignoring me then?” Still playing the cute act.

You only huffed and turned away from him, shrugging off your coat and tossing it to the couch. “I’m not. Just stop whining.”

“But you are.”

“If you want some attention, why don’t you go ask that girl for it?” you snapped right back.

Crap. Your fury had bested you and you had basically played yourself right into his trap. When the realization dawned upon him, his lips curled slowly, agonizingly, into a grin. You wanted to smack him. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” he teased, his tail let loose behind him. It flicked around the air like it always did whenever he was excited. His eyes were glittering with absolute delight, which annoyed you even more.

“Piss off, I’m not,” you pushed his hands off your waist.

Jimin tucked himself behind you, grinning as he pressed a kiss on the back of your shoulder. “Don’t worry, angel, I won’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” you grunted, attempting to shrug him off. “You’re just so insufferable.”

“Yet you like me anyway,” he sang.

That was it. All he did was tease you, taking your feelings so lightly. He could’ve had anyone he wanted, but he kept messing with you, playing with your head. For a while, you had believed that he could be the one, a man who made you believe that the world wasn’t that clear cut. He was the devil, but he had been so kind to you the past few weeks that you almost forgot what he really was.

Not anymore..

“I don’t even know why you’re here!” you finally broke, whipping around to push him off you. “You’re keeping me bound against my will. What—Christ, what have I ever done to you? Why can’t you just let this go?”

“I—” Jimin stood there, incredulity and hurt painted on his face as he blinked in confusion “—I’m sorry?”

You snorted. All the pent-up rage you had bottled up for the past few hours finally spilling. Once you started, you couldn’t stop the word vomit from coming out. “No, you're really not. You think this is all a game, that I'm just your—your plaything or something. Newsflash, Jimin, nobody likes their soul fucking bound to the fucking devil.”

His expression withered into impassiveness, unreadable. His ability to switch his emotions on and off in that moment only added to your fury. While you wore your heart on your sleeve, Jimin could always somehow stay composed, always distance himself from you whenever he wanted to. He opened his mouth, voice quiet, “You really hate having me around that much?”

Laughing, you swallowed the thick lump in your throat. “I like to have options, Jimin, but you never gave me any. This is all fun and games for you, but this is my life.”  

In that moment, a flicker of emotions passed through his face, all too fast for you to identify. You weren’t quite sure what to say when you saw a brief second of pain flash across his eyes. It wasn’t as if you hated having him around, because you didn’t, but if the opportunity to be released from this tie presented itself, you weren’t sure what you would choose.

“Guess you’re right,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. His admittance had you stricken, staring at him in surprise. Then he lifted his fingers to the air and snapped it. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. He stood before you. And— “You’re free.”

What? You couldn’t move a muscle, your entire body paralyzed with the blow of his actions. This was it, wasn’t it? This was what you wanted. This was what you’ve been waiting for all this time. He gave you an out. But the first word you uttered was: “W-what?”

Jimin shrugged, straightening his posture and looking at you straight in your eyes. His eyes seemed dead, cold. It was as if he was there but his mind was far off. “You’re free,” he repeated, “I don’t want to be bound to an unwilling victim. I’ll take my chances somewhere else.”

And just like that, he disappeared before your eyes. No theatrics, no smoke in the air or any remaining hints of him except for the faint trace of his scent. He was gone.

The strange thing about knowing and living with the devil was realizing how normal everything was—and you didn’t realize until he was gone how strange everything was without him.

Countless days you had spent by his side seemed to be a thing of the past, a forgotten bittersweet memory left behind when you decided that this was for the best. Jimin’s disappearance had raised a lot of questions from everyone around you, because that was the kind of man he was. Memorable. Hoseok kept nagging you to bring him around again, asking why he was gone and that he still had a lot to teach the Australian.

“Come on, did you guys break up?” he whined, flattening his cheek against the cool surface of the diner.

You wanted to tell him that the table was probably gross and greasy, coated in oil, but you could only hear the thundering in your ears. Whenever someone brought Jimin up, that became a frequenting reaction from your side. You couldn’t say anything, only sat there in silence. Did you guys break up? You were never together to begin with, not in the months he spent warming up your home or lied beside you in bed. But he was out of your life for good.

This was what you wanted. This had been the days you had been expecting from the moment he revealed that he came from the fiery pits of hell. So why was it that you felt so uneasy?

Hoseok moaned another complaint. “I miss him, I still haven’t read him the sequel to Fifty Shades.”

“Why were you even reading him that shit?” you scowled, nibbling on your straw to distract yourself.

“He asked for it,” he rolled his eyes, “said he wanted to impress you with some moves. He was so cute, sort of awkward when he was asking. Kid looks experienced but nice to know that he still wanted to jazz up your sex life.”

The resounding thud of your heart dropping to the floor had you biting down on your tongue. It stung, but you were also numb all the same. “Don’t be stupid,” you mumbled. That wasn’t true. Jimin was nice, sure, but he was bound to you. He just wanted to keep you around to play around with you, keep you going with his good guy act.

“Anyway, gotta hop back to work, but if you see him, you should definitely tell him to come by again,” Hoseok grinned, “he’s a great guy, even better with you. Smitten little punk.” As if he hadn’t just struck a slash straight through your heart, the man walked away oblivious to your internal screams.

It wasn’t only Hoseok, your roommate questioned your mood too. You had been sulkier as of late, snapping at her for the littlest things only to apologize right after. Your job took over when you filled up your free time with earning bread to distract yourself. That didn’t work out too well when you could see him in every corner, every nook and cranny, of the library. Sometimes, you thought you had gone insane when you saw his fading image in those empty spaces. Even your boss wondered where the man who was always around went.

The questions seemed never-ending and you thought that it would end soon, that the rumors and inquiries would die down. You even snarled at some people that he was gone and the common conclusion they call came to was that it had been a messy breakup, which in a way was true. Messy, sure. Breakup, not so much.

When you finally had a chance to meet Taehyung, you thought that it would finally be your break from the prying questions, the never ending reminders of Jimin. Taehyung wasn’t Jimin’s biggest fan—or so you thought.

“So, what’s Jimin been up to?” Taehyung asked.

You nearly sprayed your coffee all over the table. Really, you guessed that break was never going to come. “Why do you care? You don’t like him that much.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t? He didn’t like me. But I was more indifferent towards him.” He took another sip of his drink, smiling. “Though, my respect for him went up tenfold after that night we went clubbing.”

That had been weeks ago. “Why?” you chewed your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying anything else.

“You don’t remember? After the two of you came back from doing God knows what, I was practically dead,” he laughed easily, “I was so tired but he carried the two of us to a cab. He dropped me off first, even made sure I got in bed, before he took you home. Sweet guy that guy. I like him a lot.”

Fuck. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. If you were to make a pros and cons list of his being gone, the balance would be unsurprisingly tilted to one side. You didn’t know why you even bothered pretending that everything was okay.

You missed him, you missed him a lot. He was always there, lurking in the back of your mind. You had grown so accustomed to his being around that it felt odd to have all this silence surrounding you.

Every time the apartment got a little chilly, your first instinct was to scream at Jimin to stop messing with you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from picturing him smirking and teasing you, opening his arms wide like he had done numerous times before so you could warm up in his hold. But all you could do was walk over to the thermostat and adjust it yourself. Because you had no one else to blame.

The memories hurt, clinging onto your heart like hooks that had sank its piercing pain into you.

“You’ve been quieter too,” Taehyung noted, “is it because of Jimin? Did you guys break up?”

You hadn’t even been together in the first place. You were just tied to him, your emotions wired and programmed to accept his being there because you had no other choice. That was what you always assumed with the binding of your souls. But this—now that you were free, you weren't supposed to be feeling this way anymore, not about him. So why were you feeling even more miserable than when he was around?

Taehyung continued when you granted him no reply, “You know, if you really do miss him, you can always just call him up. The guy was crazy about you, I think he would be happy to hear from you.”

Yeah right, you wanted to snort at that. You had flung the worst things at him, had hurt him. Your selfishness and your pride had taken over your emotions in that short period of time that had determined the fate of your relationship.

In any case, it wasn’t as if you could just, as Taehyung said, “call him up.” How were you supposed to tell your best friend that the only way to call Jimin would be to summon—oh.

This was a bad idea. You really needed someone to tell you that this was an incredibly stupid idea and that you could get yourself killed. A pentagram? Out of every other means of communication you could think of, this was the one you had come to.

You groaned, pacing the room while screaming into your hands. This was madness at its pinnacle.

Maybe you should’ve stuck to an ouija board or something, would’ve been safer. Then again, wasn’t that for ghosts? Jimin was the devil. That was different, right? You played it safe after looking up all the books on alchemy and the supernatural from the library. After digging through everything during your past shifts, you had found a spell that would supposedly conjure up the right demon and you could only hope this would reach to the right part of hell that Jimin was in. Drawing up the salt circle had been the last step of the process so you crossed your fingers that it would work. The salt thing had always been something you did to bother Jimin, and the thought of it left another shooting ache in your heart.

Thankfully, your roommate was off for the weekend so you could experiment with this for as long as possible until it worked—or until one of the demons brought you down to your death and to hell with it.

Okay, here went nothing.

You started the incantation, saying the words you had written on paper clearly and aloud. The air was almost ominous, what with you having shut off all the lights and lighting candles around the room. This was most likely a fire hazard and your landlord was going to kill you, but you had to do what you had to do.

The hairs on your skin rose with the sudden chill in the air. You could feel a sudden presence in the room, quietly hovering before you. Your heart beat rhythmically in your chest, the pace picking up nervously. Maybe you should—

click

Light suddenly bathed the entire room, the abruptness of the change pulling a shriek from your lips as you turned around to find Jimin scowling at you near where the switch was. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Jimin!” you gasped, “holy shit, did it work?”

He gave you a look as if to ask if you were being serious or if you really were an idiot. “No, I could hear your stupid chant from a mile away,” he snapped, picking up the piece of paper you dropped and crinkling his nose at it. “What did you do? Pick up a prayer from a cereal box?”

You were too taken aback to comprehend his demeaning comments. “W-wait, so how did you get here? I thought you went back.”

“Back?”

“Like, you know, to hell.”

“Did,” he grunted and pursed his lips, “but hell wasn’t for me, pretty shit down there. Satan sent me back up to pick up a package.”

You tilted your head, “A package?” Jimin only gave you a look. “Oh, it wasn’t me, was it?”

He snorted at that, even chuckled a little, and your heart soared for a short second. “No, I was in the neighborhood, checking on the pizza place while I’m around. Then I heard you.”

“From that far?”

Jimin tapped his ear, sighing, “You’d be surprised how fast Latin travels to my ears.” Then he paused, gaze flying up to meet yours. “Do I want to know why you’re scribbling a half-assed pentagram and talking about cheese in your incantation?”

“That was talking about cheese?” Fuck that book. You should’ve known better than to trust one that was titled Dealing with Devils for Dummies. Jimin only gave you another knowing look. “I don’t know,” you mumbled, shifting your feet together. You weren’t about to admit that you really were trying to call him, whatever it took. The spell had been something you had just plucked out of a book in the library. “I just wanted to try it,” you excused yourself.

“Right, well,” he straightened, conjuring up a scarf to wrap around his face, “don’t do it again. You might summon something else you might not like.” With one last huff, he was turning for the door. “I’m out.”

“Wait!” you quickly interrupted, stepping forward with your heart lodged in your throat, “you can’t right? I have a salt circle.”

It was then Jimin’s glance dropped to the white ring around him. He crouched and stared at it for a few beats, long enough for you to feel pride bloom in your chest, then he got up and casually stepped over the particles. What the fuck?

“Wait, but that’s not—how did you—”

Jimin snorted, rolling his eyes, “I was always messing with you, you liked to believe all those things. It was funny making you think that it worked.”

“So the Bible and the holy water didn’t actually work?”

He waved it off, “Oh, those do. Kitchen salt doesn’t. Maybe try something with a little more quality next time. Those crystallized pink ones would be nice, the pretty sea salt. Oh, those are nice.”

“Noted,” you muttered, looking away and cursing heaven’s wrath upon him. Maybe you should’ve dumped holy water on him the second he stepped foot inside the house.

“So, I’m off—”

“Wait,” you stuttered again.

He huffed, turning around, “What else do you have now? Bibles lining the house to trap me in?”

“No,” you scoffed, though that was an idea you mentally jotted down, “just, you know—” you rubbed your feet together anxiously “—you don’t have to leave so soon. If I didn’t know any better, you must really hate being around me.” Your words were an echo of his, and you were hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would understand the implication of your words.

Jimin narrowed his eyes at you, curious and suspicious all the same. “What’re you going on about? You’re being very vague right now.”

“Nothing,” you spat out albeit too angrily, “I just cooked a bit too much tonight, figured it’d be nice to share it.” You gestured to the spread you had prepared on the table. On top of your summoning ritual, you had also stress cooked all of his favorite dishes thinking that it would be there to share when he was around.

The man eyed the food cautiously, his gaze darting between the table and you quickly. Then he pressed his lips together. “I’m sure Taehyung would love that.”

What? Your heart fell and your expression smoothed into one of surprise. “Why do you have to bring him up?”

“Because you chose him.”

“What the fuck—Jimin, I didn’t choose him over you. I just… you know…”

“No, it's not about choosing him over me,” he took a deep breath and exhaled, “but you chose to be friends with him, chose to be with him. You didn't choose me and I intruded on your space. I’m still sorry for that, but I'm giving it back to you now. I didn’t mean to transport here and shock you. I just heard your voice and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His voice was soft like a gentle caress upon your skin. You’ve missed this, missed him. Your heart throbbed with something painful. You couldn’t even find the courage to open your mouth and get your words out, and he was about to leave again. Jimin waited for a heartbeat, two, then turned towards the door again. However, you were quick to jump forward and catch his arm, feeling a sudden searing heat into your palm. You instinctively leapt back with a yelp.

“Shit,” Jimin cursed, eyes wide, and hurrying over to check on you. His hands reached out, but you cowered back unconsciously, expecting his touch to burn again. His eyes lit up with distress and fear as he quickly retracted his hand, slowly taking steps back away from you. “Sorry, sorry,” he winced, “I-I haven’t really had anyone touch me out of the blue like that. I forgot to regulate my temperature. Hell’s been warm.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly clarified, clearing your throat and feeling thankful that he hadn’t left yet. “I shouldn’t have just touched you. That was my bad.”

It was hurting you to see him so close yet so far. He maintained his distance as he stared warily at your stinging hand. “Run it under cold water, you don’t want to leave a mark,” he advised, taking another step back and hand already reaching for the knob.

“Jimin, stay,” you blurted out and he froze.

For once,  you bit back your pride and looked at him. Really looked at him. This was Jimin, the man who had been there for you, who had cared for you, and in spite of the multiple incidences in which he messed with you, you couldn’t deny that his presence meant something to you. “What?” he whispered, disbelief coating his voice.

“Stay,” you said again, coughing, “for dinner at least. I-I kind of want some some company.” You were rambling and you just knew what he was going to say next, so you added, “I want you as my company. No one else. Not Taehyung. Just… you.”

Jimin looked at you carefully, wondering if this was real. “You know you’re no longer bound to me right?”

“I know,” you nodded.

“Then why?”

You licked your lips. “Because I’m choosing you know. Because… I want you here,” you breathed in, “because I really miss you.”

The revelation must’ve been like a thunderbolt to his otherwise tranquil day. He stood, stunned speechless. His lips tightened into a firm line that had your nerves hanging on the edge. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned, “ever since you left, I can't stop thinking about it, about you. It's just weird not having you here anymore. I feel stupid always waiting around for you, always expecting to suddenly poof in here out of thin air. It’s strange that you’re no longer here and I just miss you.”

For a while, Jimin said nothing, his glance wandering again to the food on the table. His gaze flickered over to your hands where you fidgeted uncomfortably at his quietness and attention. Then he approached you one step at a time, each time his foot landed on the floor was like another loud beating in your heart. Taking your hands in his, he intertwined your fingers together. You felt as if you had climbed all the way to cloud nine, completely at a loss that Jimin really was back here with you.

His presence was tangible, nothing like what your nostalgic memories had pictured. You could touch him, feel his warmth on your own fingertips. “Not healthy to be this addicted to my presence,” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone, “guess my hellish charms did its job right, huh?”

You pouted, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

Jimin raised his hand and thumbed a stray one away, smiling down at you. “Why are you crying?” he whispered, leaning down to brush his nose against yours.

It was so familiar, yet so foreign. This was what you had been waiting for. You closed your eyes, tattooing this moment into your memories and tucking it away. This was an instant you wanted to keep for yourself for future reference.

“Angel,” he said again quietly.

Fuck, even the nickname. He really was out to get you. “I missed you,” you admitted.

Jimin chuckled, warm breath kissing your cheeks as he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “Missed you too, angel, hope you haven’t been up to too much mischief while I was gone.”

You shook your head, “N-no, just been doing this and that.”

“Hoseok said you’ve been moping.”

Pinching your lips together, you frowned, “Hoseok has a big mouth.”

Mirth sparkled in his irises. “Hoseok doesn’t lie at least,” he huffed.

That brought you back to the actual reason why the two of you had separated. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was jealous and it was stupid. You may be an annoying piece of shit most of the time—” he choked “—but you’ve been so kind to me, always taking care of me.”

“You were right though,” he spoke gently, “I should’ve given you that choice at least, should’ve courted you the right way.”

“Courted me,” you huffed a laugh, “we should’ve done this before.”

Jimin hummed happily, “Missed you a lot, baby.”

The two of you cleaned off the plates you had prepared, Jimin scarfing down and vacuuming up everything in sight. He moaned about how delicious everything was, how perfectly you had cooked all of it. You had only giggled and added more to his plate.

“You wouldn’t believe what it’s like in hell, angel,” he grunted, “food tastes like crap. It’s like the prison food you see in American TV shows.” He talked about his time in the underworld which surprisingly was tamer than you thought, the bits and pieces he told you about at least. Jimin must’ve sensed your hesitance to hear about the gory details so he kept swerving the conversation to topics about how he had gone there.

Turns out, Jimin had been punished because he had been too compassionate, too considerate of the souls he was taking. Satan didn’t take his kindness too lightly and instead banished him to the mortal realm as punishment, telling him to feed on a soul and prove his worth or he was to return to agony once again.

“When the thing he hoped would be the worst consequence of my life became the thing that led me to the best,” Jimin beamed and you had blushed with his words. Even when he had just returned, he was still a smooth talker.

Unexpectedly, Jimin had lots bits of his memories — he had known he was the devil when he arrived on earth, knew what he had to do, but in his efforts to integrate with the people and ease the soul feeding, he lost track of who he was. He became almost human, just with side of a magic touch. The final blow was when he met you and he wanted to stay human, wanted to stay by your side because being with you made him feel alive.

“You were like a breath of fresh air, especially since I’ve been locked up down there for too long,” he chuckled, tugging you close in bed. “I liked that spirit, liked how cute and innocent you were when you first met me.”

You swatted his arm, “You’ve soiled and spoiled me.”

“Mm, I want to spoil you for the rest of your life.”

“Think the prince of hell can afford that?” you giggled.

He smirked, “I’ll try.”

BONUS:

You looked at him incredulously, “Say that again.”

“You were never bound to me,” Jimin said in a sigh.

“What?”

“I said it so you'd keep me around,” he chuckled, “and so you wouldn't kill me.”

You threw your fist into his chest but it was like hitting solid brick. “You asshole! But—but that one time, you said that if I hurt you, I would get hurt too, and I did.”

He rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious revelation in the world. He shimmied his fingers in the air, “Super powers, duh, it's not that hard to put a small cut on your arm. I just didn't want you attacking me in my sleep.”

Your attempt to hit him was foiled again. “You jerk!”

“But you took me in anyway anyway, couldn't stand seeing me starve in the cold,” he grinned, “that's just the kind of person you are.”

“I’m going to be the kind of person that kicks you out tonight,” you scowled.

Jimin smirked challengingly, “Try me, babe, you gave me your key, remember?”

Fuck. You forgot about that.

“Thank you though for that by the way, it was touching,” he smiled. You weakly tried to swat him again.

You cleared your throat, looking away with pink dusting your cheeks. “So are you, um, going to stay? You know, like… long-term.”

Jimin shrugged, “Dunno yet, I guess.”

Snuggling into his chest, you hid your face in it so he couldn’t see your expression. “You should—stay, I mean.”

“Yeah? You want that?”

You nodded slowly.

Jimin sighed, kissing your head, “I'll talk to the big boss, maybe he'll let me off. He doesn't really care anyway, has too many bastards to give a damn about one of them.”

“Well, I give a damn about you so you should just stay here.”

He hid his smile, “I think I'd like that.”

[of-another-broken-heart]

Right then. 

I did manage to sleep, very briefly. I woke up with my original alarm at... 11:45. Then took two 15-minute snoozes, so I got out of bed at 12:15 and hustled to get kinda-sorta presentable. AKA, I took off the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the past week or so, put on an actual shirt and my gray sweater poncho thing, and smeared some deodorant in my pits. Oh, and brushed my hair. 

There was a pretty significant car accident on my way to my appointment. I counted at least 4 cars that weren’t police vehicles there, two of which seemed damaged. It looked a lot like someone rear-ended another car. There was all manner of debris in the road, and the incoming traffic lane was completely blocked off with traffic being diverted down a side-street to take a meandering path into town, instead. The lane I was in was thankfully unobstructed, so I didn’t suffer any delay. 

I got to the office a bit early, actually. My appointment was pretty short and pleasant. My psychiatrist let me know she thought I “looked” better. I’ve been thinking about what to say and how to describe my experience on this medication so far, for at least a week, so I “performed” that well. I don’t know how I feel about being told I “looked” better. On one hand... yay, I guess? On the other hand, I don’t want my actual feedback dismissed just because the pieces of clothing I tossed on today made me “look” better or something. 

I set up another follow-up with my psychiatrist. Supposed to be a 2-week follow-up, but the next opening was actually in 3 weeks. Between that and anticipated inclement weather, my psychiatrist went ahead and put through a refill order for me, so I won’t end up without meds before I see her again. 

I have actual therapy on the 28th as my next appointment, and the 31st is my next psychiatrist follow-up. 

I still need to go have my blood drawn for the repeat tests my doctor wants done. I’ve been meaning and trying to do that nearly every day this week, but things haven’t panned out yet. Right now is actually a good time, but... I just finished eating a big lunch. So that’ll screw with at least one of the test results she wants done. 

That big lunch was a foot long sub! My aunt gave me a giftcard for Subway that she claimed she wouldn’t use anyway - it had been some sort of secret santa or raffle prize during the holidays at one of her jobs. She gave it to me before I left her place last time. 

Going from my healthcare facility to Subway was not a great cruise. I didn’t use my GPS today, so I best-guessed my way from point A to point B. Thankfully, that panned out. There were some hellish drivers on the way, though. I was genuinely scared I was going to get t-boned at one point, because a car just started pulling out of a restaurant parking lot, towards/into me - in the midst of other traffic, it’s not like I was the only one on the road! - before I had even got in front of them. I was in the actual road/traffic - which you’re supposed to yield to, when pulling out of a parking lot with no traffic light of its own. I swerved a bit into the shared center turn lane, to be safe, because they were seriously fucking close to my vehicle, and slowed down so I wasn’t careening wildly and frightening other drivers- 

And that was a good thing! Because another vehicle had decided to pull out across traffic in front of me from the other side of the road, with basically no wiggle room between it and me, or it and the upcoming traffic roundabout. 

So I came to a complete stop, straddled over the line separating my traffic lane from the shared center turn lane, waiting for this fresh new hazardous dipshit to merge into traffic already so we can all get on with our lives. 

A vicious point of irony, I think, is that this happened within 100 feet of a hospital. I can’t help but wonder how many of the patients in there are harmed right the fuck outside its doors because people are in too much of a goddamned rush to, I dunno, follow traffic law and avoid collisions or something. 

THEN, I finally get to the shopping complex that has a Subway in it, and the nearby parking is pretty packed... but I see a spot that doesn’t have a car shadow being cast from it, so I roll my way over - only for some fuck in a Jeep to do a pull-through, forcing me to dodge a bunch of aimless pedestrians who don’t know what the fuck the sidewalk is, and an armored bank van, just so I can swing back and try a different aisle of the parking lot. 

I ended up parking twice as far as necessary and angrily stomping my way through half the lot in the freezing wind (it was literally 32ºF/0ºC) just so my car was alone and less likely to get victimized by the disastrous imbeciles out in force today... 

There was a line inside, but that was no big deal. It let me cool my briefly flared temper and look at the menu and prices. I’m a Dirty Poor(TM) so familiarity with food place’s menus is not a thing I’ve got. They still had my favorite bread (Italian Herb & Cheese) and all the fixin’s for my favorite build-your-own sandwich, so I waited my turn and got turkey and provolone (toasted) topped with shredded lettuce and red onions and black olives, glued together with a drizzle of ranch. The ranch was a new addition - I don’t usually bother with any dressing on this sandwich. But it was a treat today, so I went for it. And I opted to do a combo, so I got a lil bag of chips and a fountain soda, too. 

I get to the register to complete my order, though, and some uppity self-important nurse from the hospital barges in, cuts the entire line, and interrupts the cashier to demand she be tended to immediately, because “you guys screwed up my veggie sub.” She gives the guy a brief verbal lashing, then graciously agreed to let him finish my in-progress transaction. 

Her replacement sandwich was ready and waiting, because she’d apparently got her sandwich already and took it all the way back to the hospital without bothering to check it, even though she “doesn’t have time” to come back for this replacement... So she called to complain and demand both a replacement sandwich and a full refund because she had to come back. Like... holy fucking hell. If I’d been behind that counter, I would’ve been sobbing. That lady was a nightmare. And also wrong, because the wretched demon with such highly valuable time should’ve taken the two goddamn seconds required to check her fucking order for mistakes. Seriously, I don’t even know anyone who takes their McDonald’s DRIVE-THRU orders without checking that the stuff is all correct! How are you going to be so pressed for time that you order-ahead a sub sandwich, use your whole lunch break to go pick it up (this is bullshit btw, even in heavy traffic it takes about 5 minutes to get from the hospital to this Subway, and this entitled witch definitely was the sort that got a full hour paid lunch), and not check the fucking order??? 

I got out of there as fast as I could, but I’d heard that whole ordeal from start to finish because the gift card my aunt gave me turned out only to have $10 on it, and my order came to about $12, so I had to fish out a few dollars, then put the change away, then fill up my fountain soda (which is located a whole 18 inches from the register...)

I got home fine. The accident I’d passed driving out seemed to be totally tidied up - I didn’t see any debris, and the cluster of flashing lights was gone - but I took the back roads home anyway, just to be safe and avoid the potentially worse drivers/road hazards. 

I settled right down and ate that sandwich, and it was glorious. 

Now I’m full and happy about it, and I was going to try to nap, but instead I typed this novel, and now there’s only 45 minutes until it’s med time... 

I’m going to lay down for a bit anyway. I might get a few actual minutes of sleep in, but if not, it’ll be some rest to help me get through the remainder of the day, at least. 

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 8- Lviv: In Which I Am The Man In The High Castle

I spent the vast majority of my morning catching up on blog business, various pieces of travel admin and sleeping for longer than I should have done; consequentially (and shamefully), it was veering close to one in the afternoon by the time I removed myself from bed.

I walked, bleary eyed to the bathroom. The toilet was still running from the last time I had pressed the flusher. It was, I had learned through experimentation, possible to fix this problem, though each time I did, it would relapse at the next push of the plunger and require ever so slightly more drastic action for its next repair. Not willing to eventually have to dismantle the entire cistern, I had begun to just let it run in between uses; a barely acceptable, though mildly infuriating solution at best.

Barely acceptable, though mildly infuriating is actually not a bad way to describe this apartment in general. It hadn't taken long for the shiny white veneer of the place to crack apart, revealing the poo-brown mankiness that lay underneath (Not literally, though give me time...). The constantly howling toilet and genuinely stomach-turning décor of the place were among the steadily more and more irksome irritations which had begun to surface at this point and in no area was this more apparent than in the kitchen.

The kitchen had been stocked in a genuinely mind-boggling manner, boasting far, far too many of certain items- something like 20 plates, 15 shot glasses, a single pastry brush, because even one of those is too many in an AirBNB kitchen- and far, far too little of others. Zero bowls being the most egregious offender, though an utter lack of any kind of bread or butter knife also ranked fairly high on that list. Two types of spoon were available; teaspoons and giant-ass serving ones. Nothing in-between that you might, say, want to eat cereal with. Also whenever you turned the hob on, touching any of its corners would immediately result in a mild electric shock, which. You know,. Not great.

And so I found myself on my first morning in this apartment, in a bad mood, pouring cereal into a mug. I cracked open the milk I had bought the previous night, gave it a customary whiff to check its freshness and immediately wretched.

“Thaaaat is not milk” I spluttered to myself.

I took the time that I should have taken in the supermarket to translate the Cyrillic on the carton.

“Yuh...ooooh...guh...urt...” For fucks sake.

I tipped the contents of my mug back into the packet from whence it came and decided to have a sandwich instead.

Five minutes later, I was rewarded for my effort with a piece of mangled bread, torn up initially in the cutting and later in the butter spreading process- given that, as I mentioned, I was sans bread and butter knives respectively- topped hastily with clumps of butter, a couple of slices of plasticy Emmental cheese and a few bits of some thinly sliced, cured sausage. It wasn't the prettiest sandwich ever made, but begrudgingly I will admit that I still enjoyed it. Somehow. Nyerr.

And so I left my apartment, full of starch and rage, close to two in the afternoon, with only a few hours before darkness and the freezing cold of eastern winter set in. Unlike Brest, Lviv boasted a great number of worthwhile attractions and museums and whatnot, so I had had rich pickings for the day's plans. A great number of the things I really wanted to do were positioned in the area immediately adjacent to the city's Russian consulate, though, and so I decided to perhaps postpone them for a day or so, pending a check up on that whole pesky martial law thing. Instead I had opted to have a little walking tour of the city, taking me past some of the cooler statues (and this city has some very cool statues...), around High Castle park- which, as the name suggests, is a park, on the top of a hill with...a castle. I think, at least, I didn't see a castle, but I bet there is one- and finally to the arsenal museum, positioned right next to my flat, to gawp at all old weaponry and that for a bit.

I decided to head to the park, first and foremost, as time was getting on and I didn't fancy climbing a big hill in the dark. It was located around half an hour's walk outside the core of the city, so I had hoped the walk would give me an opportunity to take the city in, properly, this time after straight up forgetting nearly everything I had seen and done, the previous day.

I wasn't disappointed; Lviv is a nice city, seemingly walking a line in its aesthetics between its eastern neighbours and something altogether more...Scandinavian. The best of both worlds, really. Particularly, if like me, you enjoy wide open, freezing cold, borderline dystopian spaces. Mmmm.

Anyway, I progressed through its relatively lovely streets, freezing away- it is still routinely around -5/6 every day- and soon found myself at at the base of the High Castle.

The park was as pleasant as the city, itself and, save for a weird greenish, mustardy colour that the well trodden snow had somehow taken on, was an altogether lovely experience. I clambered my way to the highest peak, which was, I dunno, pretty high, I guess?

...I guess?

snapped a few pictures, as I am wont to do, before, after around twenty minutes, finding myself becoming just a little too cold to justify hanging around any further and unclambering my way back down. Despite the feeling in my fingers fading alarmingly quickly, I decided to continue around the rest of the park, having seen a sign pointing to a thing called a “grot” and having very little idea what that could have been but knowing that I absolutely needed to find out.

TELL ME YOUR SECRETS.

The rest of the park was equally lovely, save for the grot- which was actually a bit rubbish in the end-

Genuinely thought a troll would live here. Beyond disappointed.

though did, by the time I found myself leaving, strike me as being all a bit samey thanks in no small part, I imagine, to the snow covering everything, like the big white bastard blanket that it is.

After another half hour walk back to the city, time was marching on and I knew I needed to move quickly, if I was to make it to the arsenal museum with enough time to ooh and ahh at its pointy wares. My stomach, however, was growling with hunger and my core temperature dropping to genuinely uncomfortable levels and so I took a calculated risk to drop into a cafe quickly to refuel and warm up.

By the time I had made it to the museum, there remained only around half an hour before it was due to close. Perhaps just enough time for a whirlwind tour of the place (which, realistically was all I had really anticipated in the first place). Even this blitzkrieg visit was not to be, however, as I watched in (admittedly minor) dismay as the couple entering the museum ahead of me, were immediately turned away, presumably as they wouldn't have enough time to make it around the entire exhibit before the staff effed off home. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the minorly awkward bit of social interaction had fallen on these other people rather than me and vowed to come back tomorrow, instead. All that was left to do, then, was pick up some food for the night and go home. My next stop was to be the supermarket.

I went to a different supermarket than I had the previous night; a necessity, given that I couldn't find the last one I had gone to and had since entirely forgotten its name. This new supermaket was the fucking worst. Tiny enclosed aisles, bustling with genuinely quite rude people who had seemingly very little in the way of awareness of the space their body occupied or how the way in which they used that space may come off as slightly antisocial; this coupled with the shop's bizarre, almost one way circular circuit of a layout and mind-boggling insistence to not stack like products together, saw me spending the better part of half an hour, walking round and round, being knocked into, tutted at and side-eyed in the pursuit of three paltry items, by, to put it as kindly as I can, wankers; a phenomenon not entirely localised to Lviv's supermarkets, by the way- there appears to be a general culture of being just honestly a bit rude and refusing to get out of other people's ways, here.

Audibly grumbling to myself, like a nutter might, I returned home to warm up and continue my desperate efforts to chip away at the mountain of vagrant admin.

My dinner for the evening was to be a hearty bowl of tuna-pasta. I boiled my fuisilli, diligently for as long as I could be bothered waiting and set about mixing two new additions to the vagrant larder- tuna and mayo- into some kind of grim, almost edible paste. I cracked the top off of the little pouch of mayonnaise I had just bought and, for some weird reason, thought it prudent to give it a taste before I let it touch my precious tuna. Be it due to some kind of weird psychic vagrant-sense, or because the packet, on closer inspection looked like it might not actually be mayonnaise in the strictest sense, I slurped a glob of it into my mouth. For the second time today, I wretched. I wretched hard. I wretched so hard that I was nearly immediately sick as my very nice and also total bastard of a girlfriend with whom I was skyping at the time, laughed herself feral at my obvious discomfort. My mouth was filled with a weird, putrid sweetness that immediately hit the back of the throat. It was like drinking a death milkshake.

[REDACTED]

“...are you sure its in date?” she queried, except more Geordie than that.

Again, I was fairly sure that it wa-ah, no. There it is. Mystery solved. It was more than one month past its sell-by date. I had just eaten a mouthful of rotten mayonnaise, with an audience. Perfect. What a perfect day this was. I put the mayonnaise in the bin, right next to that fucking yoghurt and the Arsenal museum. Fuck this.

Thinking on my feet, I ended up mixing the remnants of my sandwich fillings into the pasta, creating a sort of cheesy, meaty brick of carbohydrates, which I grimly and dilligently munched my way through, on the verge of tears before, almost immediately afterwards heading to bed, with an ominous churning beginning in my guts...