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watevermelon · 5 years ago

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Just Enough | Diluc (Genshin) x Traveler!Reader

✧ Summary: Between freeing Dvalin and pursuing the Geo Archon, you were constantly moving forward to find your brother with hardly a second to look back. You were in a rush to find your lost sibling, not realizing how your heart had stopped in Mondstadt. Visiting the city while waiting for things to die down after Rex Lapis’ death, you return to a… jealous Diluc?

➳ Spoilers for the Dark Knight Hero quest and some of the manga background ➳ Notes: lots of fluff, slight angst and jealousy, character development, mutual pining at one point, a long one-shot that covers the (1.0) beginning of the Liyue story ➳ Navigation

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If he had only asked you to stay.

To say that these past few weeks were a blur would be a severe understatement. For months you were simply a lost wanderer, traveling from world to world for any sort of clue that could lead you to your brother.

And in just a matter of weeks you were suddenly Mondstadt’s hero.

From bringing peace to Dvalin’s heart to meeting Mondstadt’s infamous Dark-knight hero, you were familiarizing yourself with a people and a place for a world you knew you did not belong to. Learning of the history of the Seven Archons, the Gods’ of contracts or of freedoms, suddenly you were being thrust into it all at once.

You shared the burden of knowledge with a few of Mondstadt’s elite, the true God of Freedom walking in plain sight to the citizens of his nation. And with him, were the quick allies you found side-by-side when fighting a dragon.

It was all happening so suddenly and Lord Barbatos himself was giving you directions to the next country over, to continue on your journey in meeting all seven Archons to Liyue.

To this day, you could fondly recall your final celebration in Mondstadt.

“To think that despite his small stature he can drink so much.” Kaeya commented from his seat at the table, eyes slid in the direction of Venti at the bar next to you. You could see the impatient stare behind Diluc’s eyes, not at all happy that their God was indulging himself so freely.

“Honorary Knight, Mondstadt thanks you for your service.” Jean formally stated, for the nth time since Dvalin had been freed.

“I’m just glad I was at the right place at the right time.” You answered back, offering a placating smile in return.

“Humility doesn’t pay for dinner!” Paimon hmphed next to you.

“But aren’t we at a feast now?” You countered, gesturing to the table.

She sighed again before moving to get a taste of some of the honey roasted ham. “Fine, don’t blame me when we have to settle into that poor excuse of a tent!”

“Please, do not feel you are in any rush to leave.” Jean offered, “You are welcome lodgings at our Favonius Headquarters.”

“With the other Knights of Favonius?” Diluc asked, face completely blank if not for the small upward tilt of his left brow.

Kaeya flirted with you from across the room, uncaring of the other partygoers, “You could always stay with me.”

You laughed lightly and responded, “That’s a hard pass.”

The Cavalry Captain simply shrugged, offering it to you again if you changed your mind before grabbing another glass of wine and walking with Jean toward the busy table.

Barbara was trying different dishes and offering some to her older sister, spouting descriptions with medicinal purposes and flavors that compliment one another. Lisa was no better as Amber egged both of them on, completely sober as she continued to feast on the food laid before her. Other Knights of Favonius that you recognized were scattered about, enjoying the first truly peaceful night in the past few weeks.

“You are welcome to stay at the Dawn Winery, while you look for your brother.”

He relished in the sight of your smile.

“Thank you, Diluc.”

That was three months ago.

And since then you had been thrown into more of not your business but suddenly IS your business, business.

You remembered your last day before setting off from Mondstadt. The Knights of Favonius would surely call on you again and so you had quick goodbyes with Jean and Kaeya the day before. Venti was saved for last, a somewhat light-hearted and yet somber goodbye as he was the first and last person for you to see in Mondstadt.

But Diluc… How could you even start that conversation?

He was the lone wolf with a prickly reputation and an even worse sense of patience. You remembered the first time you even spoke to him, clipped words meant to get straight to the point. Not to mention that he was the first person to antagonize Kaeya, who was one of the few people you kinda trusted in the beginning.

It was not until the side adventures, the little quests you did one-on-one that you realized how much more there was to the edgelord that was Diluc.

Of course, he was still the strict type to focus solely on the mission.

But you realized more about why Diluc had come to be this way.

‘The uncrowned king of Mondstadt.’

As you worked together against the possible abyss invasion of Mondstadt, you poured over strategies and testing of his slime potion. And while slimes were not the hardest enemies to fight, he still complimented you on your form and appreciated your quick style with the sword.

You had a unique style, unlike Kaeya or anyone else of this world.

“Elegant, but deadly.”

You took that as a compliment.

And little by little Diluc opened up to you, cluing you into his personal history.

He and Kaeya were step-brothers, growing up together at the Dawn Winery. How he knew Jean since he was child and once served as her superior in the very organization he now despised. How he still has things to protect, to avenge. And while his description about what happened to his father was nothing more than a quiet stare, you were still grateful that he was entrusting you into his world.

You remembered Kaeya’s words as he discovered Diluc’s nighttime secret:

“I’m glad you’re working with an assistant.”

Kaeya’s tone may have come out scathing, but you knew better. Kaeya and Diluc used to be close, close enough to entrust their lives with one another. There was no doubt that Kaeya still cared about his brother, but with Diluc pushing everyone away….

Again, you were so appreciative that he chose to let you in.

When Kaeya finally left the bar, you turned to Diluc with a smile. “I think my work tonight earned me at least one glass of wine?”

That broke a small smile on his face, not the slight tilt on the sides or the wistful, far off look he got when he recalled something beyond your knowledge.

“Alright.” He waved over a nearby waitress, all of the customers tonight employees of the Dawn Winery. “Let’s take this up to the balcony, I’m going to close up anyway.”

“Oh?” Paimon’s squeaky tone somehow went up another octave in curiosity, “I just remembered I have to ask Venti something! Why don’t you two enjoy your date alone.”

She flew away before you could swat at her for her teasing words, blush apparent on your face. Diluc kept his flat face as he maneuvered things behind the bar, wiping at something before putting something in the below cabinet.

To your surprise, he handed you a bottle and two glasses, motioning with his head toward the second floor. Charles was among some of the ‘customers’ tonight, taking his usual spot behind the bar as Diluc stepped out.

You followed him wordlessly, walking up the steps and out the second-floor door closely behind him. He pulled out a wooden chair next to the table outside, you taking the seat underneath the stars as he plopped down alongside you.

“I thought the stars here in the city would get overcrowded by the lights.” You admitted, “But they’re beautiful even here.”

“Yeah, they are.” Diluc agreed, making you smile before turning to him.

“You’re not even looking at the stars.”

The pyro-user simply smirked, before looking up at the starry sky with you. You relished in the moment, glad to have some time alone with Diluc. Many had commented that the winery owner was so elusive, missing from the bar weeks at a time and unseen within the city walls. And yet here he was, enjoying the crisp air and a glass of wine with you.

“Thank you.” You started.

“Shouldn’t you be demanding thanks from me?” Diluc asked.

You laughed lightly, “Yeah, cause I’m sure that the abyss mage would have totally kicked your ass without me.”

Diluc had that slightly amused expression on, looking a bit more light-hearted as he turned to you with a slight tilt at the corner of his lips.

You continued, “I mean, thanks for entrusting me with your secret.”

Diluc paused, looking you straight in the eyes, probably to gauge your honesty. And he would concede that there was nothing else there. You wanted to be his friend, the first in a long time to have approached him without your own agenda regarding either the winery or his fortune.

In return, he poured you a glass of wine and replied, “You’ve long earned it.”

“Thank you, Diluc.” You took the glass and felt your heart flutter at the brush of his fingers. “I’m glad I got to know you.”

“I’m glad you’re in my life too.”

He shot you another one of his genuine, millisecond smiles before pouring some from the bottle for himself.

“Wine and not grape juice today?”

But he did not answer, instead eyes latching onto the rise of goosebumps on your arms. You could not help it against the crisp Mondstadt air, naturally feeling a chill at this time of night. Without a word, he shrugged off his outer coat, the thick black one he wore at almost all times of day, and rested it casually on your shoulders.

You muttered a small thanks as you snuggled into it. Diluc’s iconic dark coat, a complete contrast to yourself. While you wore a white dress with open sleeves and plenty of skin, Diluc wore black covering most of his body with the exception of his neck and face. Seeing it on your shoulders only reminded you of that fact.

“Don’t need you getting sick anytime soon.” Diluc stated plainly, as he returned to his seat.

You huddled into it more and replied, “Aw, Diluc cares.” Again, you were rewarded with another flat expression. “Or rather, if the events of today are to show anything, you’ve always cared. Just in your own, protective way.”

He slung an arm across the back of your seat, leaning closer before stating in a low voice. “Don’t forget that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, the both of you basically sharing the same breath in your close proximity. His scarlet eyes, usually a searing color when on the battlefield, looked surprisingly tender only inches from yours.

“You mean so much to me, Diluc.” You whispered back, afraid that anything above a whisper would punctuate this amorous atmosphere.

He slowly dragged his face alongside yours, stopping beside your ear and continuing in his low voice. “So do you.”

There was no stopping the shiver of anticipation that crawled up your spine.

You could feel the small smirk grow against your skin before he pulled off and grazed his lips against your forehead.

The expression on your face was practically begging him to kiss you. From the small lean in your side against his arm slung around you to the way your eyes slowly fluttered closed, it took all of his self-control to stop himself before he pulled you closer. He wanted nothing more than to grasp you by the back of your neck, relish in the way you melt against him. To kiss you now and tomorrow and maybe even the morning after at the winery.

Diluc had to remind himself that in less than a week you were going to be long gone.

He did not want to ruin this memory a week from now, asking what if and why. And so he settled on a simple kiss above your brow before leaning back in his seat, enjoying the moment he had with you tonight.

You were disappointed, but actually not surprised. It was a feat in itself that you were so close to Diluc in this short amount of time, it would do no good in pressuring him into anything else. But also, another more rational part of you, had to remind yourself that getting attached to the people of this world would only make it hurt more when you had to return home.

This was for the better.

But no matter how much rational thought Diluc used to push you away, you were sure that you had already fallen for him. From the small interactions with Diluc, you could barely recognize the moment that you were completely enamored with him. It was not during the first time you saw him fight or even the night he leant you his jacket. No, you feared it was much before then.

To think you had gotten attached to Diluc in such a short amount of time.

But then you had to say goodbye.

“Safe travels.” Diluc stated from behind the bar when he saw you enter on your last day.

You were not sure what you expected, a drawn out goodbye or a fore longed hug, but Diluc was still, well. He was still Diluc. And to see him re-erecting his walls before you left for your journey was a sad thought, but needed while the two of you were hundreds of miles away from one another.

But you would regret it if you didn’t say anything.

Instead you settled on, “I’ll miss you.”

The hopeful look in your eyes spelled out exactly what you wanted to hear back.

Diluc instead replied, “You fight good.”

“Oh. Um.” The hesitation was clear in your voice.

Was this really how you were going to leave things?

But with Diluc turning his attention back to the wine glass he was previously wiping, yes. It seemed that this was exactly how he wanted to leave it. Paimon scoffed, but said her own goodbyes before flying away.

“Goodbye, Diluc.”

Outside the tavern, you let your frown grow at that interaction. After everything you had been through together, Diluc complimented you on your fighting? Then said peace out?

“That was really lame.” Paimon commented aloud as she floated alongside you. You could not help but internally agree, but you had a whole journey ahead of you. At least the busyness of Liyue would keep you busy from dwelling on that conversation.

But as you said goodbye to Venti, the both of you stood in silence under the giant tree staring at the city. You thought about going back three times, to get a proper goodbye out of Diluc. But doing so would do neither of you any good, since it would only open more issues.

“No more questions about the other Archons?” Venti asked, voice surprisingly serious.

“Can’t think of anything.”

“None even of a certain… winery owner?” You could almost hear the smile in his voice.

You rolled your eyes and responded, “You’re such a little shit.”

“Hehe.”

You both continued to stare at the city, the marvels of its people and history within its high walls. To think Barbatos and Dvalin were finally free, because of your otherworldly intervention. Venti was truly thankful for you, and while he knew his words were on the more mischievous side, he knew that you understood.

Venti’s voice permeated the air. “Be safe in Liyue.”

You smiled back and offered him a tight hug, replying. “As always.”

To think that the same day that you stepped into Liyue, Rex Lapis was murdered before your very eyes. It was like the Gods actually hated you, having to rely on a Fatui to run away from the government officials hot on your trail.

Since then you had been working with Zhongli to prepare for a parting ceremony. From running around for certain types of Jade materials to singing to flowers, you were happy to take a second to yourself at all. You were afraid that trouncing around Liyue with a bounty on your head would do you no good and often stayed in the wild areas. Visits to the city were for necessities only, which often left you relying on the ever so truthful Childe or the mora-averse Zhongli.

More than three months after your initial departure to Liyue, you stepped back into the walls of Mondstadt’s bustling city, a commission nearby and you figured you were safe simply due to your reputation under the Knights of Favonius.

Venti was the last face you saw and the first face that greeted you, beckoning to join him for lunch. With your final commission of the day finished, you joined him with a smile and ordered some honey roasted ham.

You recounted some of the news to Venti, meeting many of the adeptus and how out of touch they seemed with the region. You described Zhongli from the funeral parlor who always felt like he knew more and played a higher part in Liyue (and you inwardly noted how Venti’s eyes lit up in recognition at the name). And also, Childe the Fatui Harbinger that had you on edge.

“You’re hanging out with a harbinger?” Venti asked.

“Uh oh.” Paimon reacted.

“Well.” You remembered your last encounter with Signora. “It’s complicated.”

Venti paused before sighing, “Is he cute?”

“That’s not why!” You huffed back instantly.

“So he is cute!”

“And rich!” Paimon added, joining in on the teasing.

“Not the issue here.” You stated, “He saved me from the Millelith and helped me get into contact with the adepti.”

Venti’s mischievous smile from the earlier teasing turned blank, as if he was fully ingesting your words. “... Why would he do that?”

“Huh?”

But Venti quickly recovered, waving away the question and urging you to move past it. “Just thinking out loud, continue. What happened after?”

And so you recalled everything from then. How the soldiers followed you all the way up the mountain and how you had to defend yourself from people that were supposed to be on the same side as you.

How there was someone out there with the strength to take down a God.

Venti laughed at you for like, twenty minutes.

After his laughter subsided, he held a hand over his stomach and asked. “They think you killed Rex Lapis?”

He took another look at your pouting face and laughed again.

It only made you scowl further. “I’m glad you think my supposed war crimes are so funny.”

“I think I’m missing the punchline again.” Paimon added.

“Hehe. You’ll be fine.” Venti shot back his mischievous smile, “Besides, I’m sure you’re looking forward to laying low here with a certain… someone here.”

You paused and put your fork back down, “What are you trying to say?”

“Well, the Dawn Winery is throwing a festival tonight.” Venti stated clearly, “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Wait, really?”

The mischievous light was back in Venti’s eyes, “I’m sure the winds of fate have brought you here purely on coincidence.”

You sighed and turned to him fully. “You trying to fight, old man?”

“Hehe.” His signature giggle, one you found almost endearing, was undoubtedly mocking you. “We should go together later.”

And true to his word, somehow you found yourself with the Anemo Archon heading over to the bar. To think that it was Venti who introduced you here and now he was bringing you along again.

That is, if you even had a chance to make it inside at this rate.

The area was packed to the brim, all the seats outside in front and on the side of the building already taken. There was a line out the door, many hopeful young women with gleaming eyes trying to get a one-on-one conversation with the current barkeep and owner.

You peered into the open door and saw Diluc and Charles behind the bar, the red-head adorned with his usual flat-expression. It was the first time in months since you had seen him, but he looked exactly as the day you had left. Still the same colored wardrobe and prickly atmosphere, Diluc was still, Diluc.

What did not help was the ever growing line of flirty men and women trying to vye for his attention.

It only seemed to further nail the pit in your stomach.

Was this… jealousy?

You didn’t dwell on the thought for long.

Instead, you considered for a single-second if you should just turn tail now, but Venti must have seen your hesitation and grabbed you by the arm to walk inside. Dozens of eyes followed you on the way in, many people recognizing you as the young hero of Mondstadt and honorary knight of Favonius.

The crowd was surprisingly less inside, but knowing Diluc he probably would have tried to corral everyone to the outdoor areas. Venti continued to lead you towards a table in the back and you saw a familiar red-bowed Outrider.

“I didn’t even know you were going to be here today!” She greeted you excitedly.

“Tone-Deaf Bard here convinced us to stay the night.” Paimon replied.

“Oh?” Her voice lifted in a tone that only spelled trouble, “No matter, I’m glad to see you in one piece.”

“I’m assuming you’ve heard.”

Amber stretched in her seat and lowered her voice, smile turning to a smirk. “Well, I won’t confirm anything. But my suspicions are that the blonde person the Knights were pursuing for stealing the Holy Lyre may be the same blonde person running from the Millelith.”

“What a crazy theory.” Paimon responded as she cleared her throat.

“At least it’s just a theory, right?” Amber replied. “Anyway, we’ll hold the seats. Do you mind going up to the bar to order?”

Paimon chimed up as she floated down into the wooden seat, “Yeah, you should go.”

You barely had a second to object before Venti agreed and was motioning for you to go back to the bar. If not for their eager stares at you, you would have rolled your eyes at how obvious they were being.

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” You stated aloud, getting up from the seat you inhabited for at most ten minutes.

Turning towards the bar, you took in a deep breath to collect your thoughts. To think you fought the Wolf of the North and Oceanid with more courage - it was just Diluc.

“Long time no see.” You greeted, trying to sound extremely casual. “Bottle of wine for one of your favorite people?”

Diluc looked at you for a quick second, then back down to the bar, then rapidly snapping back up to you in surprise. “Hey. Of course.”

Unsure what to say, you responded back with a simple, “Thank you.”

“Didn’t know you’d be in town today.”

“It was all coincidence. Venti told me about your event tonight.” You mentioned, motioning behind you to the table where the three of them were waiting. Amber waggled her eyebrows in response and you turned back to Diluc in embarrassment.

But he was looking at you the entire time. “For a war criminal, you look well.”

“Ugh, not you too.”

“Ironic how you delinquents always return here while hiding it out.” Diluc did not answer, instead openly teasing you.

Honestly, it was a little ironic that you and Venti ran here after stealing the Holy Lyre, just to end up back here while the Millelith were on the hunt for you.

Instead you replied, “They didn’t release any names.”

“Right, it’s probably some other sword-wielding blonde with white clothes and access to the Anemo vision.”

“Obviously.”

To think you were so involved in Teyvat's politics. An otherworldly being with no prior connections to the people or nations was somehow involved with the highest ranking people of every country you’ve stumbled into.

Everyone from the Dvalin team knew about your primary objectives: to find your brother and regain your full power through the seven Archons. And when news of Rex Lapis’ death reached Mondstadt, Diluc could almost physically feel the dread in his heart that something had happened to you. And when the Millelith released their man-hunt of your exact profile, there was no doubt that you were involved.

To see you standing before him, in association with an Archon of all people, it was like a breath of fresh air on his heart. You were here in the tavern, fine and even enjoying the night.

A large part of him wanted to ask about your journey, what was it that had you on the run again? But with the growing line out the door, he knew he barely had time to keep this conversation going.

So instead, Diluc grabbed glasses and a bottle of wine from beneath the bar and asked, “Spare a few minutes for me later?”

You nodded quietly, handing him the necessary Mora before returning back to the table.

Amber did not pull her punches, “So, you guys dating yet?”

You almost dropped the bottle, but Venti was quick even through his laughter.

“Yeah and I’m the Archon of Snezhnaya.” Paimon replied sarcastically.

“Shut up.” You pouted, “It was just nice to see each other after all this time.”

“Oh so you had a good conversation? Did he ask you to stay after? Are you going to stay the night? Did he offer for you to stay at the Dawn Winery?” Amber spit out question after question, not a sense of patience or tact in her words.

Venti was still laughing like the Archon of assholes he was.

While they prodded through their multiple questions, you tried to wave them away to another conversation topic. If Amber was prodding you like this, you could only imagine that the other Knights, such as Kaeya and Jean, were also aware of your strange relationship.

Amber tried to push it a bit more, but you were able to spin the conversation to ask what the others were up to. It was interesting to hear about the little tasks in Mondstadt, small commissions that the Knights take care of in the city as well as guarding the areas further out into the country.

And while you hated to drift off with them sitting right in front of you, your mind often wandered toward the red-head behind the bar. Diluc had personally asked you to stay back later, undoubtedly to speak to you about something one-on-one. Would it be cowardly if you left early? Would the others notice if you tried to make a break for it at one point?

Again, it seemed as if Venti was capable of reading your mind, lightly calling you to attention and putting a casual hand on the back of your chair.

He was not letting you get away from this.

Venti even shifted the conversation to you, asking about Liyue and the local adventures you had while in the city. Unable to ignore the direct questions, you told them about the stories of the people you met so far and the strange events you seemed to be dragged into.

“Wait, start over.” Amber cut into your most recent story about a ship just outside of the Liyue city. ”You just glided down onto the Pearl Galley?”

You paused then replied, “Well. I mean the ship was just sitting there outside the harbor and I was curious.”

“And so you boarded a luxury ship without an invitation?”

“Yeah, so?” Paimon answered with a question, genuinely confused.

“And yet you wonder how you keep getting involved in all these crazy schemes.” Amber answered ambiguously.

“Well, eventually I did get an invitation.”

“But after you were already on the ship.” Amber pointed out. “How did you even glide that far out?”

“I climbed to the top of the nearby mountain and then just dropped down.”

“Wow.”

“Is it really a surprise?” Venti commented, “She doesn’t even follow the proper stairs here in the city. Don’t think we don’t see you climbing over every wall here in Mondstadt.”

“You’re such a weirdo.” Amber sighed with a smile, “You’re lucky we love you so much.”

You continued on with your stories, some in the city and others within hidden temples deep in the wilderness, puzzles and timed traps masking treasures you sought to find. Amber and Venti listened on in rapt attention, asking questions here and there and even teasing you about your constant climbing.

You hadn’t even noticed how the bar patrons were starting to slowly thin out.

The night with Venti and Amber was such a refreshing feeling compared to the nights you spent staring up silently at the night sky, only Paimon at your side. It was nice to hear and speak to other people, to not be on the run and always looking over your shoulder.

Feeling a light tap on the side, you turned to see Diluc standing at attention.

“Hey.” He greeted you again.

“We were just on our way out!” Amber exclaimed, standing instantly with Venti not far behind her. “Mondstadt’s star Outrider has to be up bright and early tomorrow.”

“Which is why you’re both leaving…?” You asked.

“It’s my duty to ensure the safety of the city and we said we were going to discuss something.” Venti answered ambiguously.

You crossed your arms, “Discuss what?”

“The— !” Amber paused, “The thing. You know, with the stuff at the Seven Winds Temple.”

“Right! Let’s get going.” Venti turned to Paimon at the last second, “I think this will interest you.”

Paimon winked at you before turning to Diluc, ”Right, the stuff!”

Diluc motioned you to follow him and so, once again, you found yourself following behind the Pyro-user out the second-floor balcony. However, instead of sitting at the table, you learned against the railing while Diluc stood to the side.

“Wasn't expecting you to be gone for so long.” Diluc started with a flat voice.

You turned to him with a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, I ended up getting caught in something important back in Liyue.”

More important than him.

The implication was quiet in the back of Diluc’s mind.

But that would always be the case. To think that the first person in years to open up his shell was someone who could only be in his life temporarily. You intrigued him to the high heavens - the strange mix of both pride and humility as you fought and carried yourself. You were strong, but merciful. Kind, but a purveyor of your own brand of justice.

It had been a while since he met someone with such genuine reservations as you.

But your time together was already ticking down, from your time in Mondstadt to your time in his world. You were looking for your brother and who knew if he was even in Tyvat currently? It would be unfair to be bitter towards you. And so he resolved long ago to simply cherish the moments you had together.

So instead of snapping back, Diluc teased you.

“I’m sure. I’ve heard of your extensive… wanted days.”

You sighed aloud, “How did the news travel here so fast?”

Diluc smirked, “First Barbatos and now Rex Lapis? What kind of luck do you have?”

“The worst kind.”

Of course, there was something he wanted to learn more about. After he had caught wind from Katheryn in Liyue, Diluc still wanted to be informed about your current situation. To think that you were in close association with one of the high Fatui Harbingers after Signora personally attacked you, it was almost like you were openly inviting trouble.

It also did not help that many of the gossip mills included how attractive this particular Fatui was.

He goes by the alias of ‘Childe.’ Young, but deadly!

A Fatui, but doesn’t wear his mask - for good reason! He’s quite the looker.

I wouldn’t mind if he impaled me somewhere. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Needless to say, his sources did not alleviate his worries.

Of all people? A Fatui was one of your close associates in Liyue? A party of him wanted to snarl, the thought a worse downgrade from the Knights of Favonius. At least he knew Kaeya would do you no harm; he doubted the same could be said about Childe.

Archons, why did he care so much?

Diluc told himself multiple times that your abrupt parting was necessary to keep himself from getting too attached to you. But it hardly mattered when he was worrying this much anyway in spite of that.

Fuck, why did he just let you walk away like that?

Diluc was not going to make the same mistake.

He turned to you and asked, “Like the Fatui kind?”

You sighed, “Believe me, I don’t like it either.”

“And yet somehow here we are.”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

“When is it not with you?” Diluc asked, more hypothetically. And while from anyone else, it may have felt offensive, you could tell from his tone that it was just a tired sigh.

“Tell me about your journey.” He continued.

“What?” You answered with a question, genuinely surprised. “It’s a long story, not all that interesting.”

Diluc took a step forward, taking the spot next to you against the rail as your shoulders touched. “I want to hear it from you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “Okay.”

And so you recounted your journey to find the Geo Archon, how the adepti set up strange puzzles and at some point you swore you were pulled into a teacup that somehow contained a full domain.

There were also other missions on the side, other things you would do to collect Mora or materials if you were going to get any stronger. Some of them made sense — doing deliveries, clearing abyss camps, and other mercenary like duties. Other instances, not so much.

“Only you would accept a commission from a ghost.” Diluc teased as you recounted the treasure in the mines.

“In my defense, I didn’t think he was a ghost at first.”

“Right. Nothing suspicious at all about a transparent old man in the middle of an abandoned village.”

“I was reading the poster he was showing!”

“And when did you realize he was a ghost?”

“... After I met three other ghosts.”

Diluc cracked a smile at that, only making you pout more. You had adjusted your postures overtime, standing against with rails to your backs as you faced the tavern.

“He paid me good Mora!”

“How…?” Diluc thought about it before waving it off, “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You laughed back before you saw the lights inside the tavern switch off, complete darkness in the windows as the remaining employees packed up and went home.

“Oh wow, I hadn’t even realized how long we were out here.” You admitted, “I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.”

“Don’t apologize. I wanted to spend this time with you.”

“Still, it’s already late.”

“You’re right. Where were you and Paimon going to spend the night?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You admitted, “Venti convinced us to stay, but I don’t even know where he is.”

Diluc pushed off the railing to stand facing you, “You could stay the night at the winery. We can retrieve Paimon tomorrow.”

What game was he playing? Your disappointing departure with Diluc cutting you off and now he was asking for your time and space back into his life? You hated that he pushed you away just to pull you back in at his convenience. And while you understood his personality tended to keep people at a distance, you had your own limits as to what you could withstand.

“... Diluc, what are you doing?”

“You’ll have to be more clear.”

You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts and hamper down on your rising temper. “Come on, why are you being so nice to me?”

He stared at you expectedly, blank eyes urging you to continue.

It only served to make you more angry.

“Diluc, when I left you hardly blinked. And now that I’m here, after months of us not talking, you want me to spend the night?”

“I told you before how much you meant to Mondstadt.”

To Mondstadt? Not even to himself personally?

You decided it was better to confront him cleanly asking, “Why didn’t you kiss me that night we were drinking here?”

Diluc paused, not a single hint of surprise on his face as you addressed the situation head-on. “Why should I have?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t feel it. There was something between us.” You scoffed.

He noticed your use of past tense.

“Does it honestly matter? You would’ve left anyway, I saved us both the trouble.”

You visibly recoiled in response. “Is that what this is about? I have to go to Liyue and the other counties, Diluc. I have to find my brother.”

“I know that.” Diluc cut in, before you got the wrong idea. “You don’t think I’m acutely aware of that fact? The fact that this is my home and not yours. That one day you’ll find your brother and I’ll never see you again?”

“Wait.”

“Believe me, I know better than anyone that you’re off to find your brother. And I’ll help you in any way that I can.” Diluc continued, not heeding your confused attempts to stop him. “But let’s not pretend like I was anything more than a stepping stone in your journey.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh?” Diluc’s tone was almost challenging, “It’s not? So once the dust is settled, if I asked you to stay here with me, would I be enough?”

You stuttered over your words, “I --”

“I don’t want to hear your excuse because we both know the answer.” He cut you off, “I was trying to save myself from that before it happened.”

“Will you let me speak, you idiot!?” Your voice cut through the silent evening air.

Diluc paused, standing a good ten feet away from you and looking angrier than you’d ever seen. But he did, thankfully, stop talking.

“Is it crazy to think that I feel the same way about you?”

“What?”

“Diluc, I’m just me!” You answered, “I have nothing to my name but an objective to find my brother — if he’s even alive at this point. I need to try and I need to continue on this path…”

He crossed his arms, but stayed quiet as he listened.

“But just because I have so much ahead of me, that doesn’t I don’t care about where I’ve already seen.” You took a few steps toward Diluc as you spoke, “You mean so much to me and I wouldn’t ever want to throw that away.”

“You won’t have a choice if you have to leave this world.”

“If!” You pointed out, “Diluc you’re so worried about the future, about me walking away from you forever, but it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“And suddenly there’s an alternative?”

“There’s always been one, you idiot! You just never bothered to actually talk to me.” You put your hands on his chest, the light material of his dark clothes underneath your palms. “I would’ve tried. If you asked me to make this work, to come back to you at the winery back then, I would’ve done it.”

Diluc closed his eyes, taking in your words as his hands snaked down to your wrists.

“Don’t give me empty promises.”

“I mean it!” You defended, “You aren’t just another person, Diluc. I—“

He opened his eyes then, reflecting back to you as hopeful and curious. “You…?”

“I care about you more than you know.” You settled on, still unsure about the extent of your feelings. “Why are you giving up on us before even starting?”

You stared right back at Diluc, his silence paramount to the inner turmoil you were sure he was going through. From his late father to the betrayal from the Knights, there were plenty of reasons why Diluc was so hesitant to connect with other people.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t try.

Your hands felt heavy against his chest. Despite your small demeanor and even smaller palms, the weight of your hands seemed to play seesaw between his heart and mind. He had logical reasons to keep you at a distance, but here you were trying to carve your way through back to him.

It had been a long time since he cared about anyone like this. And Diluc could not even recall the last time he wanted to sorely kiss someone at all. But how could he not want to now? You stared up at him, eyes blazing with determination as you tried to convey your feelings.

“You mean so much to me.” Diluc stated after a few silent minutes, “Let’s make this work.”

The smile you shot him was wide and radiant, a private blessing that only he was gifted tonight. He wrapped his arms around your waist, eager to feel more of you — to envelop you in his arms and keep you within them tonight.

One hand strayed upward, carding itself in your hair and pulling you closer until both your eyes fluttered closed. The soft skin of your lips slotted against his, an endearing frenzy to give one another tender pecks. You could not help the happy mewl that escaped your lips as Diluc licked against the crease of your skin.

Moaning aloud to his tender touch, Diluc was eager to explore every inch of your wet cavern. There was no battle of tongues, simply moving in tandem as Diluc dominated the kiss. You tried to maneuver to give him more access, but with your height difference it was the best you could do.

Diluc lifted one of your legs, wrapping it around his waist and lightly tapping the other to do the same. Eyes clouded with lust, you did as instructed and quickly felt the soft thump behind you, the wall of the tavern helping hold you upright.

You fell more and more into the passionate lip lock, pushing to match his intensity as Diluc connected you in one of the most intimate ways possible. One hand was still in your hair while the other continued its scandalized trail downward.

You prayed to Barbatos that nobody heard you outside the tavern.

The both of you would later attribute this impassioned frenzy due to the prolonged time apart and mutual pining (culminating in a mistake outside on the balcony, twice inside the bar, and the rest of the night back at the winery).

For the first time, you enjoyed the morning sun streaming in through the windows, a lazy arm strung across your waist as you snuggled in the chest of the man you were growing to love.

Diluc woke long before you, hand threading through your hair silently as he resolved to remember this moment. You kissed at the naked skin of his chest twice before nuzzling him, feeling the light arm pull you closer.

“Good morning.” You started, voice muffled against his skin.

But you would have never expected Diluc to be so affectionate.

He kissed the top of your head, murmuring in a low tone. “Good morning, my love.”

Nothing about your relationship was perfect. You still fought and cried like every other couple. But you both knew that what you had was real, willing to fight for it no matter the obstacles that came with the future.

It did not matter that Tyvat was not your home.

Wherever Diluc was, that was where you’d return.

---xXxXxXxXxXx---

Extra: “What if they end up fighting?” Amber asked the other two as they walked down a side-street of the city.

“Then we’ll find out the moment it breaks out. Trust me.” Paimon replied. After all, your Anemo power would only serve to make any fire larger.

“They’ve both been in that pining puppy phase for so long, I doubt it’ll come down to that.” Venti added.

“500 Mora says they’ll be dating by the end of this week.” Amber bet.

“1,000 that they’ll be together by tonight!” Paimon countered.

“10,000 that they’ll be joined in every way by tonight.” Venti added, the mischievous tone not missed by either woman.

“You tone-deaf bard!” Paimon exclaimed as she slapped her hands over her red cheeks. “The traveler is more dignified than that!”

Amber had a hand on her chin, “Dating? Probably. But more than that…?”

Venti held out a hand to both, vying for both to shake one and accept the bet.

Nothing, but a couple of suckers.

Amber grumbled once when she heard the news, but otherwise excitedly congratulated you two on finally accepting your feelings. Paimon’s whine could probably be heard in a fifteen mile radius and Venti’s proud smile didn’t help either — accepting the easiest twenty thousand Mora he ever made.

And, just to gode the tiny guide a little more, Venti turned to Paimon in the middle of her complaining rant.

“Hehe.”

---xXxXxXxXxXx---

A/N:

The festival idea comes from Diluc’s story 1: “The winery holds festivities from time to time. These events are routinely attended by enthusiastic fathers, eager to introduce their wonderful daughters to the young and single winery master.”

6K notes · View notes

luckhound · 4 years ago

Text

— heavy burdens.

pairing. kaeya/gender neutral reader

genre. angst

description. on an important anniversary, kaeya gets drunk off his ass, bonds with a fellow captain, and realizes some burdens can’t ever be set back down.

warnings. spoilers for kaeya and diluc’s character stories. mentions of alcohol and a character (kaeya) being under the influence.

note. four months later and i’ve finally finished this fic after writing it on and off for that whole time mskfjdks a big thank you to sierra, miya, and grace for reading over the previous drafts of this and giving me their honest thoughts, love you ladies <3

He hadn’t expected to get shitfaced when he had first stepped foot in the tavern. Honest.

His plan for the evening was as follows: Go to Angel’s Share, chat with patrons, share some laughs, learn some secrets, and see where the night goes. Only the information he gleaned would tell how it ended; with him stumbling back to his quarters for a night’s rest, or ruminating on how to dismantle schemes that enemies of Mondstadt were concocting in the shadows.

So, the usual. Nothing too noteworthy.

Then he happened to overhear a conversation on the way there.

The two civilians spoke in low, somber tones about how it has been exactly one year since Master Crepus’s death and his son Diluc’s subsequent departure from Mondstadt. How terrible, they mused as they shook their heads, that the new winery master hasn’t been heard from since. He must still be in mourning over his father.

Kaeya nearly stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Was today really the one-year anniversary of Master Crepus’s death? How had it managed to slip his mind? He’s been busy lately with a promising lead, true, but to think that he would forget...

Which, long story cut ruthlessly short, leads him to where he is now. Tuning out his tumultuous thoughts with the help of alcohol and secrets.

Upon entering the tavern to raucous cheers, he had flitted from table to table like the social butterfly he's purported to be. The usual suspects greeted him with varying levels of warmth, inviting him to sit and keep them company. Stable hands and bandits alike shared a drink with him, words spilling from their lips like the fine wine they supped on.

After some time, though, he grew tired of their monotonous days and banal gripes. So he retreated to the bar counter. As he nursed a Death After Noon, he kept an ear out, listening carefully even as he chatted with Charles between customers.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything juicy yet. So and so is complaining about his wife, while someone else is haranguing her boss, and another is celebrating their birthday. Dull and uninteresting.

Can you blame him for getting so deep in his cups? There’s nothing else to do on such a slow night.

“So this is where you decided to hide out. Colour me surprised.”

Kaeya notes the shadow falling over the counter moments before a familiar drawl reaches his ears. He tilts his head up, blinking furiously when his vision blurs. The drinks he's downed thus far—how many has it been? He lost count after five, how unlike him—have certainly reached his bloodstream.

You stand beside his stool, your lips thinned into an unimpressed line. Despite how inebriated he is, the relevant information he has on you flashes through his mind. A Knight of Favonius. Captain of the Intelligence Team. Once a company grade officer, then sergeant, lieutenant, before ascending to captain upon the retirement of your superior.

As admired as he is by most of Mondstadt, you’re among the minority who are far from his biggest fans. For good reason, he supposes. During your first meeting, he had congratulated you on your promotion, before going on to flippantly insult your old captain. You’ve hated him ever since.

Which is why he’s puzzled by you approaching him first—outside of headquarters, at that. Such a phenomenon is rare, like catching a crystalfly in your hands.

“Captain! Fancy seeing you here,” he greets, adopting a jovial tone. Then your words register in his addled mind. “‘Hide out’, you said? Whatever would I do that for?”

You prop a hand on your hip. “You didn’t make an appearance at the meeting today. Needless to say, the Dandelion Knight isn’t too impressed with you at the moment.” You appraise him, looking underwhelmed by what you see. Ouch. “Strange. You don’t seem terribly ill to me.”

Ah. That. Kaeya had wanted to investigate some curious rumours he’d heard around the city, so he made up a flimsy excuse to dodge the captain’s meeting held this morning. Grand Master Varka likely hadn’t batted an eye over it, but not Jean. She’ll have concerns.

He hums noncommittally. The thought of annoying his oldest ally never fails to bring a smirk to his lips, but he isn’t quite in the mood right now. “Is that so. You must be here to sternly tell me to clean up my act then.”

You scoff. “Surely you don’t need a second babysitter. No, I’m off-duty, so I’m here for the same reason everyone else is: to drink.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifts his tankard as if to toast to you, but the sudden momentum causes him to sway dangerously in his seat.

“Careful!” Eyes widening in alarm, you reach out to steady him. “Geez, Alberich. How many drinks have you had?”

The palm of your hand is warm where it sits on his shoulder; he can tell that even with his furs in the way. He almost leans into the touch but catches himself at the last second. How mortifying. He can just picture your horrified reaction to him drunkenly nuzzling up against you.

Almost falling off his seat in a crowded tavern, instinctively seeking out your slightest touch... He needs to get a hold of himself. Or find a way to halt the conversation here, so he can resume drinking by his lonesome.

“Not nearly enough,” he answers airily, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. You drop your hand to your side; he makes a point to not stare at it as you do. “Where’s your entourage? I’m surprised they aren't following dutifully behind you.”

“They’re my subordinates, not my entourage.” You shift awkwardly. “And they aren’t here. It may surprise you, but they have lives outside of the Intelligence Team. They can enjoy one evening without their captain breathing down their necks.”

He eyes you in amusement. “In that case, you should join me. I would welcome the company.” He finishes off his tankard, then motions to Charles for another drink. The bartender doesn’t even ask which one as he takes the pewter mug. He knows him well by now, after all.

Kaeya expects you to turn him down and find a seat elsewhere. Usually, such an invitation is enough to send you running for the hills. You lean a hip against the counter instead, as if settling in. “If I am not mistaken, you’re needed at headquarters tomorrow. I strongly advise you to call it a night, Captain.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Captain?” He manages a grin at the scowl his reply elicits. “Don’t be. It won’t be the first time I stumble into work hungover. Certainly won’t be the last either.”

“How reassuring,” you say dryly.

“I aim to please.”

He perks up when Charles returns with a full tankard. The delectable taste of Death After Noon still sits on his tongue, warm and heady. He very much wants to experience it again. When he lifts the mug to his mouth, however, he misses the rim. He steadies the tankard before it empties itself onto his lap, but some of the wine drips down his chin, ruining his vest.

Thank goodness he isn’t drinking red wine. Every adult in Mondstadt knows red wine stains are notoriously difficult to clean. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good sip.

“Oh, for Barbatos’s sake.” That’s all the warning he gets before his drink is rudely snatched from his hand. He protests but can only watch helplessly as you bring it to your lips.

Then you proceed to down it.

His brows raise higher and higher the longer your throat bobs. He's never seen you drink with such gusto before. Shouldn’t you be gasping for breath by now? But no, you empty the tankard in a single go, then slam it on the counter (Charles makes a face, but wisely says nothing) and meet his gaze without flinching.

Wow, is all that his intoxicated mind can conjure up at the feat.

“There, all done. Now let’s go. I am walking you back.” Your voice is firm, brooking no argument. How captain-like of you. “Wouldn’t want Mondstadt’s illustrious Cavalry Captain to be found passed out in an alleyway tomorrow.”

On any other day, he’d be mildly irked by your stubbornness. But he did just spill his drink down his front like a newborn babe. No wonder you brought up his rank. In your eyes, his conduct must not befit that of a high-ranking knight. He doesn’t care what assumptions people form about him, never has, but tonight has been a bust anyway. Maybe it's best to call it quits.

Sighing theatrically, he rises to his feet. “All right, I know when I have been beaten. But don’t change your plans on my account. I can head to the barracks by myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” you say, “but letting you walk alone this late in your state would grate at my conscience. So would you stop talking for once, and let me take you home?”

You get what you want. Your words render him silent.

Home, you called the barracks. He supposes you consider that place your home. But is it his, truly?

He thinks of Khaenri’ah, nothing but a distant, bloody memory. He thinks of his father, and how in their final moments together, the man had stared through him like he wasn’t there. He thinks of the Dawn Winery, where he had spent several years causing mayhem. He thinks of Master Crepus, never dad, and a brother who doesn’t exist anymore.

No, the barracks aren’t his home. Maybe he’s never had one to begin with.

When he comes to, Kaeya registers you leading him in the direction of the tavern door, your hand on his shoulder blade. This quickly catches the attention of the patrons. They call out their goodbyes, some raising their tankards and others chuckling good-naturedly.

“Look at that! Our Cavalry Cap’n had too much to drink, eh?”

“What, are you tapping out already, Captain Kaeya?”

“Has to be escorted out by a fellow knight, no less!”

You wave over your shoulder. “Just doing my patriotic duty, that's all.”

Kaeya gives his audience an exaggerated wink (as well as he can with his one uncovered eye) followed by a lazy hand salute. His grin remains fixed in place until the door swings shut. The wooden barrier barely muffles the sounds of conversation and merriment coming from within.

Had it been that loud while he was inside? He hadn’t noticed.

He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because you nudge him in the direction of headquarters. “Come on. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Let’s get to it.”

“Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. I was being sarcastic.”

You nudge him harder, and he snickers under his breath as he walks.

This time of night, the cobblestone streets seem devoid of life. With the exception of Patton, who’s practically asleep standing up, the two of you don’t run into anyone. It's a stark change from how the city usually is, bright and bustling with crowds.

It suits him just fine, though. The crisp night air is sobering him up somewhat, the fog that had settled over his mind thinning. All too soon, he recalls everything he was trying to suppress.

Master Crepus. Diluc. His callousness and cruelty in forgetting them both.

In hindsight, he should have taken his mug back from you instead of just gaping like a fool. Sobriety is such a drag.

“You’re quiet,” you comment. You’re staring at him intently, your expression eerily similar to Timaeus’s when he is observing an alchemical reaction. It’s as if he is a specimen that you are keen on studying under a microscope.

He wants to scowl, to snap at you. “My apologies,” he says instead, as innocent as can be. “Were you waiting for me to strike up a conversation? Hold on a moment, let me think of a good topic...”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. It’s just, usually it’s impossible to get you to stop talking. The times I have seen you...indisposed”—buzzed as a bee, you undoubtedly mean—“that doesn’t change. You talk more, if anything.”

Curiously, your voice softens, an odd cadence colouring it. One he has not heard from you before, not directed at him at least. “I guess I’m just wondering if something is weighing on your mind. Is that what prompted you to drink so much tonight?”

By now, the two of you have walked down the stairway to the Knights of Favonius’s bulletin board. Of course, Hertha isn’t there this late to assign requests and bounties. The pieces of parchment pinned to the board flutter in the breeze. He stares at the sketch of a Ruin Guard, willing his sluggish mind to craft a suitable answer.

After a beat, his eye slides over to you. An impish grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “My, I had no idea that you watched my every move so closely. I’m flattered by the attention.”

Predictably, you sputter. “What even—that is not—you know what, if you want to dodge the question so badly, fine. We can just walk the rest of the way in silence.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Although his words were said to fluster you into changing the subject, as you had correctly deduced, Kaeya means them. You have noticed him far more than he realized. As Captain of the Intelligence Team, it’s your job to be observant and keep tabs on others. He knows that. Still, it’s disconcerting to learn that you’ve had a close eye on him in particular.

He operates from the shadows for a reason; he can’t have you jeopardizing that by shining a light on him. Five months into your new position, and already you have proven yourself to be dangerous.

As you wished for, silence reigns as the two of you turn into an alley and approach two flights of stairs, leading to the center of the city. Kaeya resists pressing a hand against the nearest wall for balance. He had walked down a stairway unaided just moments ago, despite how unsteady he felt. Surely ascending some steps would prove to be easier.

Rather than focus on his feet, he looks up ahead. From his position, he can just barely glimpse the blades of a windmill, ever-turning against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He keeps his gaze there as he climbs, his boots scraping against stone.

He clears the first flight of stairs with little issue. See? Nothing to it.

Halfway up the second, Kaeya stumbles.

His surroundings tilt, blurring as he fumbles for balance. It’s a futile effort. Thanks to how inebriated he is, his limbs are too heavy and uncoordinated. The stone below rushes up to meet him.

Before his face can greet it, however, you catch him.

Your side moulds against his, a hand clasping his hip while the other carefully grasps at his spiked pauldron. His gloved hand covers yours reflexively as his racing heartbeat settles. He feels you stiffen at the touch, but you don't pull away. Neither does he.

For a moment, not a word is spoken between you both. The alley is filled only with the soft sound of breathing.

Then you click your tongue. “So much for heading back by yourself. You can barely keep your feet under you.” Your voice lilts with humour.

He knows this song and dance. It has been ingrained in him after all these months. You snark at him, he snarks back. Rinse and repeat. Although this is the first time he has heard levity in your tone; the first time it has been aimed at him, that is. He almost hadn’t thought you capable of it.

He straightens with a chuckle. “First at the tavern, and now in an alley. I just keep falling for you tonight, don’t I?”

You blink owlishly. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Then a flustered expression crosses your features, before you compose yourself. “You are unbelievable.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips twitch. “You would.”

Kaeya expects you to move away, so the two of you can resume walking, but you don’t. “Not that I mind having your hands on me, but...will you be letting go any time soon?”

“That depends.” A challenging glint appears in your eye. “Can you handle walking on your own? Or do you need me to cradle you the rest of the way to headquarters, like some damsel?”

He guffaws, taken off-guard by the retort. A reply escapes his loosened tongue before he can think better of it, “Archons, that sounded just like him.”

“Like who?”

“My brother.”

In the past, despite being underage, he was sometimes able to charm bartenders at Angel’s Share—new hires unaware of how to deal with him as of yet—into serving him drinks. Diluc would find him eventually, a disapproving twist to his mouth, and put a stop to it.

Back then, Kaeya was a lightweight and had to be supported back to headquarters. Diluc would scowl and roll his eyes the entire way, but there was still a softness in his gaze. His hands were strong, but careful; Kaeya knew that his brother would not let him fall. He could even be persuaded to join in when Kaeya began to sing, their off-key voices disturbing the silence of the night.

Come morning, while Kaeya nursed the inevitable headache and Jean nagged him about violating the Knights of Favonius Handbook, Diluc would snort. “Serves you right,” he’d say, then hand him a draught for curing hangovers.

Now Kaeya must weather the pain alone.

You tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea that you have a brother,” you say softly.

Had, he nearly corrects. But he has told you too much already.

This is why he is so careful when drinking in the company of others. Alcohol is a double-edged sword; as delectable as it is, it also loosens inhibitions. It’s what he relies on when charming information out of allies and adversaries alike, none of them the wiser of what they have given up.

How the tables have turned.

“Well, now you do.” A trace of bitterness enters his tone.

You eye him, quiet, before pulling back. You motion forward with your chin. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll never make it to headquarters at this pace.”

Relieved by the subject change, he listens. He makes a conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other, gaze trained on the remaining steps below. You stay at his side, closer than you were before. He can feel your hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to catch him should he trip once more, but he ignores it.

It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure of it.

The alley opens up to a view of the market district. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to enjoy the reprieve. The two of you turn right, away from the railing overlooking the main square, to climb two more flights of stairs. A left, and more stairways await.

By the time the Knights of Favonius Headquarters looms above you, Kaeya’s legs ache from the walk. He is very much looking forward to retiring to his quarters.

The knights stationed outside stiffen at the sight of you and Kaeya, standing at attention. They perform a salute in perfect unison. Do they rehearse that before every shift? Surely they must.

The guard on the left, with the glasses and unfortunate haircut, chirps, “Good evening, Captains! I hope you are doing well.” He appears wide awake despite the late hour.

At least the one on the right looks appropriately haggard. “Welcome back,” he grunts.

While Kaeya brushes past them with a nod of acknowledgement, eager to head inside, you stop. “Good evening, Athos, Porthos. Your shift ends soon, I hope? It can’t be terribly interesting, standing watch outside headquarters so late.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain!” Athos, as you had referred to him, says. “Guard duty may not be glamorous, but it is still important.”

“Much as I agree with the lad, I can’t bring myself to be so damn cheerful about it,” Porthos sighs, his words tinged with self-deprecation. “Must be ‘cause of these old bones.”

“That’s not true, Sir Porthos. Your bones aren’t that old!” the younger knight argues, prompting the older to shake his head with a chuckle.

“Athos isn’t wrong,” you add. “You are far more sprightly than most knights I know.”

“If that’s true, then Mondstadt is in trouble.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you finally pass by them, climbing the short steps to return to Kaeya's side. He lifts a brow as he pulls on one of the large oak doors, holding it open for you.

It’s almost comical how quickly your smile disappears. Your eyes narrow as you enter inside. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he says breezily, following after you. The door falls closed behind you both with a loud, echoing thud. “Just that I didn’t know you were so chummy with the guards.”

It is blindingly bright inside the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, as if it isn’t nearing midnight. The sconces on the walls are lit up, as is the chandelier hanging in the center of the main hall. The two of you make your way towards the—joy of all joys—staircase. The barracks for knights are located on the second floor, and on the floor above that, separate quarters for the captains.

“I am off-duty right now. It’s not unprofessional for me to speak informally with them.”

His eye widens. “Why, I never said it was unprofessional, Captain.”

You grind your teeth so hard he can practically hear the enamel wearing away. “You implied it.” No, he didn’t. Your distaste for him has you imagining mockery where there is none. As if Kaeya has any room to judge someone for acting unprofessional.

“I did? That’s news to me.” Privately, he marvels at how easily he can agitate you. Him, no one else—he has observed you long enough to know your prickliness is reserved for him alone. Maybe that’s why he annoys you further instead of clearing up the many miscommunications that tend to occur. Not that you’ll believe him, even if he’s being completely honest.

You huff. “How the Dandelion Knight manages to put up with you, I’ll never know,” you mutter.

“How rude, Captain! Jean doesn’t put up with me, she considers me indispensable.”

You cut a look at him. “Yes, I’m sure she thought the same when you failed to show up to today’s meeting.”

“Must you bring that up again? I shudder just thinking of the lecture she’ll have ready for me in the morning. Perhaps my mysterious ailment should plague me for a little while longer...”

“Prolonging the inevitable will do you no favours.” You pause briefly, then add, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. After the meeting, I ran into Inspector Eroch. He was waiting outside and asked after you. He seemed irked when I informed him that you were absent today.”

If Kaeya was not so skilled at masking his reactions, he would’ve perked up at that. He might have even stopped in his tracks or whipped his head around to look at you. But he knows better than to give himself away so obviously. He leisurely climbs the steps, his features revealing only vague interest. “Oh? Somehow I doubt he was upset out of concern for my wellbeing.”

You glance over. “I wouldn’t know. He did not say anything when I asked why he wanted to see you, or if I could pass on a message. He just brushed me off and left.”

“Don’t be hurt by his shameful conduct, Captain. I for one enjoy your company immensely.”

You ignore his thoughtful statement. “I thought that he might have had a prior engagement with you, which you missed due to being terribly ill.”

He shrugs. “If we did, I don’t recall it.”

That earns him another look, longer than the one before. He doesn’t flinch away from it, his expression remaining serene. Privately, he wonders what you know. Are you merely intrigued by what Inspector Eroch might want with him? Or are you more aware than you’re letting on?

After all, Eroch is the one Kaeya has been secretly investigating for the past year.

Looks like the inspector has caught on. About time. No doubt he wants to figure out just how much Kaeya knows—which is not much, unfortunately. He knows that Eroch has more than just Mondstadt’s best interests in mind; a Fatui spy like him would have just the opposite. But he is unsure what the man is up to, or who he even is.

He does, however, have an inkling. Several, even.

Inspector Eroch had been insistent on covering up the details of Master Crepus’s death. For the good of Mondstadt, he claimed, not wanting the citizenry to lose faith in the Knights of Favonius. Grand Master Varka had ultimately sided with him. It resulted in Diluc resigning his position and leaving the city a year ago.

Kaeya had kept an eye on the inspector after that. He knew there was more to the situation than just preserving Mondstadt’s trust in the Knights, and it had everything to do with the dangerous and evil power Master Crepus had harnessed. It was only a matter of figuring out what. And once he has all of the information...

Well, he knows what Diluc would do, once upon a time. Blazing with righteous fury, he’d take his findings to Grand Master Varka, insisting on Eroch’s arrest and expulsion from the Knights of Favonius. He would see it as retribution for how poorly his father’s death had been handled.

But Kaeya suffers from no delusions. Maybe he looked into Eroch because of Master Crepus. Maybe he wanted some kind of revenge for what happened. Maybe he yearned to atone for his past inaction. None of that means he has any heroic intentions.

If it serves his interests better, he won’t expose the inspector immediately. He will hoard his knowledge instead, keeping his cards close to his chest until it’s the right time to play them.

That is how he has always operated. Master Crepus's death and Diluc's departure have not changed that. For a brief, nonsensical moment, he wishes they had. Then common sense returns to him. A foolhardy sense of justice is of no use to him. He’ll leave that to Diluc.

While he extricates himself from his wayward thoughts, you turn away to clear the last few steps. “If it is important, surely he will try to approach you again,” you say.

“I look forward to it with bated breath.”

You scoff, rightfully skeptical, but don’t respond. Clearly, you are content to leave it at that.

He wonders at how easily you let the subject drop. Had you suspected something, you would have pushed to learn more, wouldn’t you? Now is as opportune a time as any; it’s late, he’s tired and drunk, and the both of you are alone. Does that make you oblivious, or an idiot, or crafty?

Having made it to the third floor, the two of you make your way down the hallway. His quarters are before your own, three doors on the left. He stops in front of his door, reaching into one of many hidden coat pockets to produce his key.

He glances at you. You have yet to leave for own your room. “You don’t have to hover at my side, you know,” he says with a touch of amusement. “I may be tipsy, but I am no longer in any danger of being harassed by ruffians or passing out in the streets. Unless you're secretly harbouring nefarious intentions towards me, Captain.”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” is your unruffled response.

Chuckling under his breath, he unlocks his door and lets it swing open wide. It’s dark inside, faint moonlight shining through the small window above his desk. Coupled with the sconces out in the hallway, however, there is enough light for him to stumble to his bedside without stubbing a single toe. He doesn’t bother to close the door on you; he has nothing to hide.

Kaeya knows what his quarters must look like to a stranger. They’re a mess, as if someone had searched them in a haste and not bothered to clean up afterward. The walls are bare, save for a map of Mondstadt that he’d hung up ages ago. Tomes of all sizes and loose leaves of parchment litter his oak desk, pushed up against a wall. A quill lies abandoned atop a half-finished note with ink drying on its nib. His closet door is cracked open, a discarded boot dissuading anyone from forcing it shut.

Yes, his quarters are a mess. But he knows exactly where everything is. Should someone actually attempt to search his things, he would know immediately. Not that they would find anything particularly damning. He isn’t foolish enough to leave important documents or sensitive information lying about—nothing he is unwilling to part with, anyway.

“Horrifying, but unsurprising,” he hears you mutter to yourself.

Kaeya doesn’t even consider slipping out of his ruined clothes or engaging you in further conversation. Now that he has made it back to his quarters, all he can think about is the sweet embrace of sleep. He sinks into his unmade bed, draping an arm over his face.

You continue to linger in the doorway. “You should change before you fall asleep.”

“Mhm.”

“You'll regret not doing so in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alberich. You stink of booze.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy, Captain. I’m impressed.”

You sigh, long and loud. He waits to hear the door close behind you, only for you to walk up to his bedside. Your steps are slow, hesitant yet purposeful. He stiffens, immediately on-guard, but fights his instincts in order to remain still. What are you planning?

He feels you grip his boot. Metal jingles as you undo the buckle. Then you pry it off.

He lifts his arm to peer up at you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You set his boot on the ground, then move on to the other one. “If you won’t change, you should at least take off your shoes. You’ll dirty your sheets otherwise.”

Oh, you make it so easy for him to twist everything you say into an innuendo. For once he resists the urge. “You forgot something,” he says instead. He wiggles his sock-clad foot at you. Just to see if you will do it.

You grimace, swatting his leg away. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be anywhere near those.”

So you say. But you’re taking his boots off for him out of your own volition. There is no need for you to do any of this. It’s not your duty to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor, or walk him back to headquarters unharmed, or all but tuck him into bed. Yet here you are.

What is it that you want? There have been plenty of opportunities for you to try and take advantage of his drunken state, but you have sidestepped every one. Frustration brews in his sternum.

“Do you do this for everyone who you hate?” he finds himself asking, tone purposely lighthearted.

You pause in your ministrations to stare at him. “What? I don't hate you.” At his disbelieving look, you insist, “I don’t. You have always been a pain to deal with, sure, but I never once felt that way.”

He smiles, unconvinced. “Not even when I insulted your dear old captain?”

“Insulted my... That was months ago, when we first met.” Despite your bewilderment, you take a moment to contemplate his question. “I was upset with you, yes. But now that I’ve had this position for some time...maybe your assessment wasn’t off. When I was lieutenant, I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my captain. They were too set in their ways and scorned most criticism. I respected them, and still do, but I shouldn’t be ignorant of their faults.”

Your gaze meets his once more. “In a way, what you said that day led me to realize that. You weren’t badmouthing my captain; you didn’t have a vendetta or want to get a rise out of me. At least, I don’t think you did. You must have legitimate issues with their leadership, as a captain yourself.”

He watches you shrewdly. Your tone was even, your expression clear. He cannot detect any deception from you. Of course, that means little. Still, perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

A headache, newly formed, pounds at his temple. If he were more sober, he would be better equipped to handle such a revelation. He’ll have to come to a proper conclusion later.

You fiddle with the buckle on his remaining boot. “And what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?”

“You have ample reason to look down on me. Most of the knights know that you aren’t just Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster. Your role is more important than that. Surely you would make a better...” you trail off, your jaw working silently.

Kaeya knows how that sentence ends. Surely you would make a better Captain of the Intelligence Team than me. It doesn’t come as a surprise.

Up until now, he thought he knew you well. You made it no secret you loathed him. You have never said so explicitly, but he has a talent for reading people. It’s a classic case of envy. He has seen it many times before. You compare yourself to him and find yourself wanting. It colours the way you interact with him; your words brusque, your gaze narrowed.

Not only did he insult your captain, but you consider him more capable than you. Your hatred makes sense. It’s predictable.

Or so he believed, until tonight.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.” Uh-oh. Seems he took too long to respond. You busy yourself with unbuckling his boot, avoiding his eye.

If he were to be honest, there are many ways he could answer you. He thinks you are a better captain than your superior could ever hope to have been. He thinks you are a leader capable of inspiring undying loyalty in your officers. He thinks you have a deep, unflinching love for Mondstadt and its people. He thinks you constantly push yourself to greater heights, to the point it lights a fire in him as well.

He admits to none of those things, in the end.

“Give yourself some credit, Captain,” he murmurs. You glance over in surprise. He meets your gaze. For perhaps the first time in a while, he hopes his words sound sincere—not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does. “I know the officers under your supervision think you’re a good leader. They wouldn’t want anyone else to take your place.” Certainly not someone like me.

Instead of reassuring you, however, his answer seems to do the opposite. You look frustrated. “That isn’t what I...” you trail off. You search his features, silent, before your brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you mean what you just said. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever can.”

He takes care not to allow his features to visibly harden. Of course you would doubt him, the one time he tries to be honest with you. What else did he expect? Maybe you don't hate him, maybe you never have, but that means little. You won’t ever fully trust him. To be fair, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth tastes unbearably bitter. It must be the wine.

“At this point, I’m willing to say just about anything if it’ll mean I can get some shut-eye.” He feels no satisfaction upon seeing your shoulders stiffen. He still manages to grin. “Well, Captain? Any other requests?”

“No,” you say. Then you tug off his boot with a brisk motion.

He stifles a yelp. “Hey, now! No need to be so rough.”

“My sincere apologies.” You set the boot down next to his other one, your lips thinned. “I should go. Wouldn’t want you to lose more sleep than you already have. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, after all.”

Talk about vindictive. Despite his irritation, he has to fight a smile. Knowing you, you’ll see it and take it the wrong way, as you usually do.

Having finished removing his boots, you turn and walk for the door without another word.

He’s struck with the odd urge to stop you. To reach out, take your hand in his, and tug you back. Not because he wants something from you, or needs to tell you something. He wishes you would stay a little longer, that’s all. Wants the silence to be filled by your voice instead of his thoughts.

Now he knows he’s had too much to drink. He’s contemplating such ridiculous things.

Before his addled mind can catch up and he can say something, apologize perhaps, you shut the door behind you. Your footsteps travel down the hallway, slightly hurried. The door to your quarters creaks open then closed.

He’s too late. It’s for the best.

Kaeya lies back and stares up at the ceiling. His vision swims, as if he’s adrift at sea. Closing his eye only makes it worse.

His mind pores over the events of the day. Investigating Eroch, remembering Master Crepus and Diluc, visiting the tavern, running into you. He feels restless, pulled in several directions at once.

With a harsh exhale, he rises to his feet and locks his door. Then he begins his nightly ritual.

His pauldron is first to go. It hits the floor with a dull noise. Then he peels off his gloves and tosses them on the desk. The burns on his hands have long since healed, but he still deals with numbness now and then. Not many know they even exist; he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of a potential weakness. His eyepatch follows closely after.

He removes the Cryo Vision from his belt last. He stares at it, its blue glow washing over his scarred palm and turning his skin a sickly brown hue. If it’s been a year since Master Crepus’s death, it has been about a year since he was gifted a Vision as well. The sight of it has been a hard reminder ever since. Of how he’d won a difficult battle. Of how he’d finally revealed the truth. Of how he can never speak it again.

He tucks the Vision under his pillow, then collapses back into bed. An odd sensation fills him, as it does every time he completes this ritual. It’s like he has taken off every scrap of armour he has and foolishly exposed himself to danger, despite being alone in the stillness of his quarters.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him under.

It never does.

#genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #m writes #i can't believe this is finally finished n uploaded... wrow #never thot i'd see this day #i'm nervy posting this ngl it's been. a while since i've written smth like this #hope y'all like it !!!!

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radiorenjun · 4 years ago

Text

drama love || qian kun

¤ pairing: qian kun x reader

¤ genre: comedy, slight angst, drama, college!au, drama club!au, president of the drama club!kun x star of the drama club! reader, enemies to lovers-ish, frenemies to lovers, friends to lovers, fashion major! reader, business major!kun, tsundere!kun.

¤ synopsis: You and Kun always have this weird relationship where you’re not necessarily enemies but not exactly friends. Most of the time, you would be seen scolding by Kun for skipping club meetings to hang out with the other seniors despite the fact that you were one of the main lead actresses of the club. And as time goes on, watch as you and your senior’s relationship blossom into something more than a simple friendship between two college students.

¤ warnings: tsundere kun! swearing, probably some innuendos but nothing too bad, kun is a year older than the reader, height discrimination against Ten and Kun (I’m sorry), kun a bit more chaotic here than in real life. Lots and lots of teasing and insults, slight mentions of burdening someone, arguments, genz humor, probably a plot hole or two, bullying kun supremacy

¤ wordcount : 23.5 k words

¤ playlist: double take by dhruv, free love by g, if i could write a bike by chevy, lovely night by ryan gosling and emma stone, kataomoi by aimer

¤ a/n: featuring a few of my moots!

“Oh,Y/n, good to see you here,” your underclassmen greeted with a polite bowl as you shot them a smile.

“Hey Chenle, Furou,” you waved, adjusting the beret on your head as you tugged on the saddle of your back to adjust it on your shoulder. “Y/n, meet Sungchan. He just transferred from the Business Department,” Chenle introduced, putting a hand on the taller boy beside him as Furou let out a soft chuckle. You smiled at the tall boy, looking up at what you assume to be a 180 cm giant standing in front of you. “Wow, you’re pretty tall. You know you could be one of the main leads of the drama club,” you raised your brow with a light laugh, shaking the younger boy’s hand.

“Jisung is almost taller than me,” Sungchan chuckled bashfully, looking down at his feet as he retracted his arm. “Oh hush, you’re still taller than our male lead. He’s literally 170 centimeters, I don’t even know how he’s able to get the part. Curse his pretty privileges,” you grumbled under your breath, remembering how your co-partner on the stage was constantly flirting with his girlfriend during practice instead of actually helping with painting the props like the rest of the club members.

“You also have pretty privileges too, though,” Furou raised her brow, a smile tugging at her lips as you huffed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, honey,” you joked, a sinister smile playing at your lips as you watched a deadpan expression flash over your underclassman’s features. “What are you three up to?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips. “We’re just going to go to a nearby cafe, they say they’re having a huge discount on their infamous cheesecake,” Chenle explained, pointing his thumb behind him as Furou nodded in agreement.

“I don’t want to be the third wheel, so I’m off studying and catching up with my major,” Sungchan informed with a nervous chuckle, a distressed expression making its way onto his face afterwards as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I see. Well, I hope you all have fun,” you chuckled, pulling the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal the watch on your wrist, your eyes widening slightly at the time. “Oh dear God, would you look at the time,” you blurted out loud, a panicked smile forming at your lips.

Furou laughed at the sight of your terrified expression. “I suggest you should really get going, too,” Furou added, stretching her head to look behind you to spot a certain someone. “Yeah, if you don’t hurry, your escort will get here,” Chenle snickered, nudging his girlfriend’s sides as they both shared knowing looks. “Escort?” Sungchan furrowed his brows in confusion, watching you gulp heavily as the two continued to tease and snicker at you mischievously. “Y/n’s pretty notorious for skipping her drama club,” Chenle explained, his sinister grin never leaving his face.

“Therefore, everyday, the club president comes down to pick her up. The drama club escort is pretty scary,” Furou added with a small snort, making you let out a scoff as you crossed your arms against your chest with a roll of your eyes. “I skip club meetings because I love interacting with all my seniors and underclassmen, duh,” you said, lifting your brow as if it was the most obvious thing ever. “Sure, whatever you say then, Y/n,” Furou and Chenle nodded with a roll of their eyes.

Now, you would probably imagine said club president would arrive in some sort of carriage. Probably the same pumpkin carriage Cinderella used back in her fairytale story. You would probably expect said escort would at least show up in a white or black suit, a button up shirt and beautiful slicked back hair. You would expect an escort to say ‘my lady’ and gently hold your hand as you step into the carriage and take you away as two horses pull the carriage away to your desired destination.

At least that’s what Sungchan thought.

Of course, it’s not a usual sight to see some random guy sprint down the halls shamelessly yelling your name at the top of his lungs with anger flaring his pupils, his fluffy blond hair thrown back against the wind as he ran as fast as his legs could take him as if he was running for the Olympics. He looked exactly like that running emoji except this guy had blonde hair and was wearing a baggy hoodie over his form, some black jeans and a pair of Nike shoes to accent his whole look.

“Y/N! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT BEING LATE TO THE CLUB MEETINGS?!”

“That’s my signal to leave, I’ll see you guys arou-” before you could sprint the other way or finish your sentence, you felt someone grab the back of your sweater tightly to keep you from going anywhere. “I have been looking for you for the past thirty five minutes! And now you’re going to fucking run away?” Kun gave you a bittersweet smile, his eyes screaming bloody murder as you paused in fear. You gulped, looking back with a nervous toothy smile, giving your senior a small thumbs up.

“Good afternoon, Kun, how may I help you?” you asked in the sweetest voice you could muster, sweat dripping down your forehead as you watched Kun’s stare grow even more murderous with your words. “I’m sorry for the interruption,” Kun said in a genuinely nice tone, turning to your underclassmen with an angelic smile before glaring daggers at you before tugging you back to the direction of the school theater room with all his might. You stumbled over your own feet, gripping the saddle of your bag as Kun continued to practically drag you against the floor to the theater room.

“W-Wait, Kun! I can walk myself,” you grunted, an awkwardly nervous laugh elicited from your lips as you used one hand to grip on your bag and used the other to keep your beret to your head as Kun continued to pull you by the back of your sweater. Kun sighed heavily, grabbing your arms and pulling you up to your feet before turning you around and wrapping his fingers against your shoulder blades and began to push you to the direction he came from. “I swear, one of these days I will fling you to the theater room,” Kun grumbled under his breath as you both walked through the crowded halls filled with eyes boring into the back of your skulls.

“Kinky,” you snickered, waving at the people you recognized as you and Kun speed walked to the theater room together. You felt him squeeze your shoulder as a type of indicator that you should keep your mouth shut before he actually flings you to the sun like a frisbee. “Shut up, you horny creature. I am not going to be provoked by your unholy perverted thoughts. This should be counted as harassment,” he hissed as you finally stopped once you opened the door to the theater room.

“Why do you even skip practice, you’re the main lead for pete's sake,” Kun groaned, releasing his grip from your shoulders to wrap his fingers against your wrist and head to the stage where the rest of the actors had gathered around.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Brooke snickered as Kun let you take a seat right beside her, huffing as you cupped your cheeks in your palms and propped your elbows up on your legs. “Yeah, yeah. Do kiss my ass more, would you, Brooke?” you giggled, shaking your head as Kun started talking about repainting the old props as the paints were chipping off because Angie and Renjun forgot to buy more primer for the last play you had over two weeks ago. “Y/n, please do try to not fuck anything up while we paint,” Kai joked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“It’s in my blood to fuck things up, Kai,” you shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous grin taking place on your lips. “Where were you off to, though? It took Kun half an hour to find you this time,” Haechan, Kai’s boyfriend, whispered from beside her in curiosity. “That’s like a new record, you had a great hiding place this time,” he gave you a supportive thumbs up, earning a smack from Kai afterwards for tolerating your irresponsible behavior. “The other side of the building,” you grinned, giving the boy an innocent peace sign.

“That’s our lead actress right there,” Brooke shook her head profusely, chuckling softly at you.

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

“Wait, Kun, since you’re in charge of the sets and props. Does that mean you aren’t in the plays?” Shotaro asked, dipping his brush in the can of pain before splattering dots on the surface of the wooden board by brushing his fingers against it to resemble stars. Shotaro was the newest member of the drama club, therefore Kun, being the president of the club, had the responsibility of guiding him a lot on what to do and what not to do. Which was a fairly simple job considering all he had to say was ‘never follow in Y/n or Ten or Kai or Angie’s footsteps and you’ll be just fine.’

Kun hummed, running a hand through his hair as he sat down in front of the younger boy with crossed legs. “I used to be in the plays but I think I like this a bit more,” Kun said with a charming smile, waving the large brush around as he helped Shotaro paint the skies. “I see,” Shotaro nodded in response, flinching when he felt your hand on his shoulder as you came barging in their conversation. “No, no, Shotaro, you got it all wrong,” you shook your head at him, earning a pout from Kun.

“Kun wanted to win the male lead and grow taller to fit the role of the prince of the stage, but alas,” you leaned over to sling your arm over your senior’s shoulders, earning a death glare from said man as he furrowed his brows and frowned at you. “Our Kun here suffered from malnutrition, therefore he stopped growing completely and now he isn’t tall enough to make it to the male lead,” you grinned, over-exaggerating your words just a tad bit as Kun raised the can of paint by the metallic handle. “I am this close to throwing this can of paint at you,” Kun deadpanned.

Shotaro hummed, raising his brow at the two of you. “Isn’t Ten shorter than Kun, though?” Shotaro asked, his eyes wandering to the boy in question who was currently chatting up his girlfriend as they painted over their own set of props. “Yes, thank you! Finally, someone who looks at things through my eyes!” Kun groaned, grabbing Shotaro’s hand and shaking it rather vigorously in his grip. “Shotaro, you are an angel,” he complimented, causing you to frown at this.

“Ah yes, all it takes to get on Kun’s side is to tell him that he’s taller than Mister Chittaphon. Of course,” you huffed, sitting back in between them as you placed your cheek against your fist, looking back down at the prop. “Again, this close to throwing you this can of paint,” Kun repeated with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll sue you, Kun,” you sent him a cheeky grin, patting your senior’s shoulder in mock pity as he rubbed his temples in frustration, causing you and Shotaro to giggle.

You weren’t quite sure if it was obvious, but you’ve always admired Kun. You didn’t know if your feelings were in the romance department or the mentor department, but you couldn’t help but admire your lovely senior. He was at the top of his major, studying hard everyday and managing his own things while keeping the club in good shape despite the fact that he has three hooligans (consisting of you, Ten, Kai and Angie but mostly you) to handle on a daily basis.

You knew he was an explendid cook, too. Considering he brought a whole buffet for the whole club that he cooked all by himself to celebrate the new anniversary of this club. Kun was talented and good looking, you couldn’t deny it even if you tried.(and thankfully, you don’t need to because no one ever asked about your thoughts on your handsome senior) He was caring, despite the fact that he was always yelling at your ear everyday, but nonetheless you knew he actually cared about you deep down.

Kun was the reason why you had joined the drama club in the first place. You weren’t much of a theater kid, but you were pretty good at acting back in highschool. Just as when you promised yourself not to get involved with the art of theater, you saw Kun acting as a prince in a play at a fair your college hosted back when you were in your first year of college and you couldn’t help but sign up immediately so you could get a closer look at his acting. And as time went on, your playful nature was the reason why he was always by your side.

You refused to think deeper about your feelings on the boy, but you knew they were crossing the line of friendship. Considering the true reason you always skipped classes was (partially to socialise and chat up your seniors and underclassmen to catch up with them) the fact that Kun would always be there to bring some entertainment into your day whenever you even attempt to skip the club meetings. Pushing aside the fact that you almost lost your life over it countless times, you didn’t mind facing the wrath of Kun everyday just to get a few laughs out.

Infuriating and teasing him was always a fun activity.

Quite ridiculous, you gotta agree.

Though, you gotta admit that sometimes his words hurt. You knew he was probably joking most of the time but you couldn’t help but feel saddened sometimes whenever he would grumble on and on about how you shouldn’t have joined the club if all you’re going to do is annoy him all the time. But you didn’t let his words linger in your mind for too long and chose to focus on annoying him either way.

“Damn, Kun. You should stop getting angry so much before your veins pop out, I don’t think any of us are mentally stable enough to call the ambulance for you,” Kai joked as she stood next to said man who was currently trying his best not to beat the living crap out of you right next to you. “Agreed. You’re old enough, Kun, you don’t need any more wrinkles than you already have, you know?” you teased, poking Kun with the wooden hand of his paint brush with a smug expression on your face.

“This is age discrimination,” Kun mumbled under his breath after a big sigh of exhaustion, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “Okay, I discussed this with Ten early and I figured I should have informed you too so I’m telling you now about the new story we’re going with for the next play,” Kun ran a hair through his hair, adjusting the glasses on his face as you cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Wait, what’s wrong with the story I suggested?” you furrowed your brows, offended at his sudden decision to change the story.

Kun narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing at you as if he was trying to decipher if you were joking or not. “Are you mental?” Kun asked, crossing his arms against his chest as his eyes went wide, a smile of disbelief on his lips. “How the hell did you think a made up story between the dragon and the donkey from Shrek was ever going to be a good plot for a theatrical play?” he exclaimed in disbelief, causing you to scoff as he waved his arms around in confusion. “You just don’t know what a real beautiful story is, Qian Kun,” you scoffed, crossing your arms against your chest.

Kun groaned, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose to keep himself from exploding right in front of you. “I get how you want to make people around you laugh, but I don’t want this club to be the laughing stock of campus, Y/n,” he groaned, hunching his back as he massaged the space in between his eyes to try to reason with you. However, seeing the older boy in distress was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, you couldn’t help but get on his nerves and push on his buttons even more than you should.

“People need some laughter, Kun. What are you planning, anyways? Some boring Romeo and Juliet type of shit? Twist it up a bit, if you don’t like the donkey and dragon trope I can give you a new one on the spot,” you waved him off before gasping loudly as an idea popped into your head like a lightbulb turning on. “What about Romeo but make it a furry Rapunzel? Romeo, Romeo! Let down your hair! Or tail, whichever works. Be original, Kun!” you nudge your friend with an encouraging wide smile.

Kun opened his mouth to speak as his brows furrowed in confusion before closing it after a small pause. “Dear god, you’re even worse than Yangyang when he asked if he could put crocs on Louis,” he hissed, sighing heavily when he made a note to himself to never come to you for plot ideas for the play. “You should be in the Writing major instead of the fashion major, it suits you,” he commented with a sarcastic thumbs up. “Nice try, Kun. Flattery is no way to get me to change,” you winked, earning a small chuckle from Kun himself.

“Anyways, I was talking over story inspirations with Brooke and Angie. They had some really good suggestions and we ended up choosing this movie called La La Land-” he frowned when he saw you slowly lay down against the wooden floor boards with a loud annoyed groan. “Dear God, Kun. Couldn’t you at least go with something original? My Furry Romeo concept was way better than this,” you swung an arm over your eyes as Shotaro let out a loud alarming yelp when he saw your arm almost knock over a can of blue paint over the props.

Kun rolled his eyes once again, taking a loud exhale as he met your eyes that practically screamed ‘please don’t yell at me, it was an accident. I cry easily’.

“As I was saying, it’s about a pianist and an actress falling in love while attempting to reconcile their aspirations for the future. It’s an enemies to lovers-ish type of story,” he ignored how you kept groaning and complaining in the middle of his words. “And I’m supposed to be playing this actress?” you asked, removing your arm from your eyes to lay it on your stomach as you turn your head to look at Kun with a raised brow. “No shit, you’re our lead actress,” Kun leaned over to smack his hand on your knee with a small chuckle.

“You know if you still want the lead role so badly, Kun. You can take my place in this play, just this once,” you grinned, raising your index finger at him and twirling it in front of his face in circular motions as you sat up. Kun frowned, rolling his eyes as he gently pushed your finger away from his face. “No thanks, princess,” he teased, standing up after ruffling your hair with his hand to go check on the other members on their painting progress so far. “Hey, watch the beret! It’s new, you know!” you hissed before pausing when words that slipped out of Kun’s mouth had finally sunk into your brain, feeling your heart skip a beat at his soft tone.

Kun has never used nicknames or pet names on you. It was always the regular ‘dumbass’, ‘y/n’, ‘l/n, ‘the bane of my existence’ or the occasional ‘the reason why I wished murder was legal’. But it was never ‘princess’. It felt weird being called that, a good kind of weird. You didn’t know if you liked it. The sound of the pet name rolling off of his tongue did something to you and you didn’t know whether to find it ominous or exhilarating.

“Did he just call you ‘princess’?” Brooke gaped, her jaw dropping to the floor as she ran over to your shocked state. Your eyes widened slightly at her sudden appearance, playing it off casually afterwards as you shrugged nonchalantly at her. “I think so? Why?” you asked, leaning back a bit to relax your posture as Brooke gave you a knowing smirk. “That literally has never happened before,” she grinned, sitting down beside you with a half beta-read script. “Really? Then you must’ve never watched his acting performances before,” you snickered, your mind having flashbacks to Kun’s face always flushing beet-red back when he was the male lead of the play.

You always teased him for not being able to say ‘my love’ without being a tomato on stage during practice before he stopped auditioning for roles half way through your first year of college. “God, I missed his acting days. Back then, I would be the one making fun of him off stage,” you sighed, chuckling sinisterly when you remembered how Kun had to hop off the stage unceremoniously in his prince costumes to chase you down the school halls whenever you made fun of a certain gesture he made when rehearsing his lines with the previous lead actress. (who had graduated early to pursue a career in music, if you recalled properly)

“Ah yes, Lunatic Prince Kun chasing down one of the well known clowns this school had ever seen. I still remembered laughing my ass off when Kun dropped his crown midway and had to hold it to his head as he ran down the halls to catch you,” Brooke snickered, shaking her head at the vivid memory, remembering how Kun had cursed out loud when he dropped the (quite expensive) fake crown onto the tiled floor of the halls. “Damn, someone should’ve taken a picture. I didn’t look bad that day considering I was wearing my latest designer shoes back then,” you pouted, putting your chin under your palm as you let out a huff of breath.

“You know,” Ten, Brooke’s boyfriend, spoke up behind the two of you as he came up to sling an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders with a smug expression. “You and Kun have been getting a lot closer than usual. He’s picking you up for practice everyday, right?” he asked, a smirk adorning his lips as he wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively. You snorted, waving your hand off. “The man almost ripped my sweater off because he was practically dragging me against the floor. We’re close, alright,” you nodded in agreement, patting the beret on your head afterwards.

“Sounds like Kun has some kind of crush on you to me, though,” Ten added, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips, attracting attention from another one of the club members, Angie. “Kun? We’re talking about Qian Kun, right?” she jumped into the conversation shamelessly, wrapping her arms around your neck to engulf you in a small back hug. You were taken aback by this sudden statement, gently pulling her arms away from you as you shook your head aggressively. “Where the fuck did that come from, Ten Lee?” you spluttered, a flustered expression making its way onto your face.

Angie laughed. “Are you shitting me, right now? Kun? The Qian Kun? Having a crush? On the Y/n L/n? I knew you were on crack but I didn’t know you were that high, Lee,” she snorted, doubling over laughing at the thought of Kun having a crush on you with Brooke joining in on the ridiculous conclusion her boyfriend has come to. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening,” she shook her head at you, wiping an invisible tear from her face as Angie leaned her arm on your shoulder.

You furrowed your brows as you leaned back with an offended expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you exclaimed, looking at your two friends who were bawling their eyes out laughing with a confused expression. “No offense, Y/n. But with the reputation you and Kun have the past two years and people occasionally shipping the two of you for your chaotic interactions, once they truly walk into this theater, thoughts on you being a couple would be thrown out of the window without any hesitation,” Brooke shook her head, giggling behind the back of her hand.

“Don’t get us wrong. I personally think you two would be cute together once you stop getting at each other’s throats. But right now? I think Kun is more interested in his own toenails than you,” Angie jokes, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “The other day, the man was about to throw a bag out of the window at you when he spotted you running away from the third floor,” she added, wheezing out afterwards as she and Brooke continued to giggle. “She isn’t wrong, perse,” Brooke shrugged.

You couldn’t help but shrug in defeat, a small laugh eliciting from your lips afterwards. “I guess you’re kind of right.”

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

You didn’t know what’s wrong with you lately but you couldn’t get Brooke and Angie’s words out of your head since last week’s practice for some odd reason. You would find yourself thinking them over as you were embroidering on one of your clothes for a school project that was due in a couple of days, your brows furrowing as you got lost in your own thoughts as you sat next to your classmate in the fashion department room.

What the hell did they even mean by ‘Kun was more interested in his own toenails than you’? Clearly he’s more interested in you than you would think considering he always picked you up everyday after your morning classes are over for the afternoon club meetings. They clearly don’t know what they’re talking about. Just because you’re always facing the wrath of Qian Kun doesn’t mean he despised you, right? He knows you just like to joke around and push on his buttons, you overheard him laughing it off and calling your silly antics ‘amusing’ once when you were passing by his side of the building.

You cursed incoherently when the needle you were using suddenly broke in half from how hard you were gripping it, grumbling as you realised you have to continue with a new one. You tied the string into a knot against the fabric, cutting the string off as you stood up to walk over to the trash can near the entrance door to throw away the broken needle. A sharp click of the door caught your attention, figuring that it was probably your professor, you turned around only to face none other than Qian Kun, the man of the hour.

“Kun?”

Kun looked up from his papers, his doe eyes gazing up at you before widening slightly. “Oh, Y/n, hey,” he gave you a kind smile, removing one of his hands from his papers to give you a small wave. “What are you doing here? Have you finally decided to accept my offer of throwing away all of your clothes in exchange for my masterpieces?” you couldn’t help but tease, raising your brow at him as you placed the back of your hand on your hips, inevitably causing the older boy to frown.

“One day I’m going to really fling you to the sun,” he deadpanned, eliciting a small giggle from you. “Sure thing, old man. For real, though, what are you doing here? Came to see your favorite underclassman?” you wiggled your brows, laying your fingers on your chest jokingly as Kun rolled his eyes with a small chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I did come here to see my favorite underclassman,” he nodded, a genuine smile settling upon his facial features as he waved the back of his papers in front of your face.

Taken aback, you waved him off with a hand, laughing lightly as you felt your heart increasing it’s pace. “Stop, I feel honored to be the infamous Qian Kun’s favorite underclassman. I always knew deep down you liked me-,” you avoided his eyes, chuckling nervously at his word before you were suddenly cut off by one of your classmates who called out Kun’s name behind you from the other side of the room. “There he is! My favorite underclassman,” Kun raised a hand to wave at the boy who called out his name with a smile.

You furrowed your brows, turning around to see the charming Jung Jaehyun jogging up to the two of you with a smile on his face. “Hey hyung,” Jaehyun greeted giving Kun the typical weird bro-hug the male college students in your school often did. “Hey, y/n,” Jaehyun greeted, giving you a polite smile and a small bow despite the fact that you were bugging him a couple minutes ago while he was finishing a new sketch while calling with his friend, Doyoung, who was in the culinary department.

“Hey Jaehyun,” you eyed the boy suspiciously. “Jaehyun’s your favorite underclassman? And all this time I thought you and I had something, ‘hyung’,” you mocked the same tone Jaehyun used, crossing your arms against your chest as you huffed, eliciting a few laughs from the two boys. “I’m sorry that you’re too delusional,” Kun grinned mischievously with a wave of his papers, patting your head with the small stack of papers in his hand before walking off with Jaehyun to the desk he was using.

You gave him the stink eye, earning the finger from Kun, himself. Scoffing as you walked back to your desk where your friend,Abhie, was making no effort to hide the fact that she was laughing at your little misunderstanding. “Stop laughing, it’s embarrassing enough as it is,” you huffed, sitting down on your chair with a sour expression as you reached over the desk to grab a new needle to use to finish the design on your old shirt. “Let me take in on how embarrassing that was first,” she laughed, watching as you try your best to cover your flustered expression.

“Kun and Jaehyun have been spending time with each other a lot more than usual, don’t you think?” you asked as you grabbed a new embroidery thread from the bundle in front of you, measuring the thread as you unwind the bundle. “They’re in different majors but they look quite busy, I don’t think Jaehyun’s even in the drama club. I’m pretty sure he has to deal with his own writing club so I’m sure he isn’t joining the drama club,” you analysed under your breath, your brows furrowing in concentration.

“Guess someone got sad that her senior didn’t see her as their number one underclassman,” Abhie raised her brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she placed her finished embroidery on the table you were both sharing. “What are you talking about? I may not be his favorite underclassmen, but I know I’m definitely his number one,” you lied, huffing dramatically to make your friend laugh even more. You knew very well that you’re definitely not Kun’s number one, but seeing your friend laugh was amusing. And you felt the urge to push on Kun’s buttons as payback for deceiving you. (sort of)

Abhie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Believe what you want,” she laughed, an amused smile taking over both of your faces as you stood back up and placed your needle back on the table beside your embroidery hoop. “Observe,” you snickered, turning around to walk towards said senior with a loud call of his name, ignoring how most of your classmates instantly gave you death glares from every corner of the room for disrupting the quiet atmosphere you all had developed over the past couple of hours.

“Kun! Qian Kun!” you exclaimed, jogging up to him as he continued his talk with Jaehyun.

“I sense an incoming dissatisfaction,” Kun deadpan, sighing heavily as he felt your presence grew closer with every step, causing Jaehyun to snicker at the older’s half annoyed and half embarrassed expression. “Who’s cuter? Me or Jaehyun?” you asked, putting an arm over his shoulder and tugging him towards you. “Jaehyun,” he stated almost immediately with a monotone, his gaze never tearing away from the papers in his hands.

You frowned, causing Jaehyun to laugh even more than he already has. “You didn’t even hesitate to think,” you frowned, retracting your hand to put your hands on your hips as you narrowed your eyes at your senior. “Didn’t need to,” Kun grinned sinisterly, shooting you a small glance before looking back down at his papers with a poker face. “Ouch, my heart hurts now,” you winced dramatically, laying a hand on your heart as you took a step back and swung the back of your free hand against your forehead.

“My heart’s been broken so many times-”

“Don’t you have your embroidery assignment to finish?” Jaehyun asked, an amused smile on his face as Kun gave you a perplexed expression, his brows furrowed and his mouth gaped open as he tried to find the words to speak. “Oh shit, right, nevermind,” you lowered your hand with wide eyes, closing your mouth shut at the reminder. “I’ll see the two of you later,” you waved, waddling back to your desk when you remembered that you had two days left to finish said assignment and you were barely halfway done.

“As you should!” Kun exclaimed.

“So?” Abhie raised her brow at you with a small hum. “I’m definitely his number one,” you popped up, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up and a wide smile. “I am not believing that,” she giggled, shaking her head as you scoffed and went back to finishing your design on your shirt. “Why do you and Kun fight 24/7, though? I swear, you two are infamous for arguing on a daily basis. You’re not even in the same year or major, it’s hilarious,” Abhie laughed in disbelief, running a hand through her long hair.

“Tough love,” you exclaimed with another enthusiastic thumbs up. “Unrequited tough love,” she added with a soft snort, causing you to laugh as well. “He’ll learn to love me soon enough, just you wait,” you waved her off, sticking your tongue out as you tried to slip the thread into the tiny hole in your needle.

“What if we do a musical for the next play?”

“Kun, stop flexing. We know you just want to sing.”

Kun frowned upon the sound of your voice, turning his head to glare at you as you laid down on the wooden floorboards of the stage. “I swear, if violence weren't against my morals, I would’ve kicked her to the moon. God give me strength, I don’t have enough cash for bail money,” Kun groaned, rubbing his hands against his face in distress as you and a few other club members laugh at his reaction. “I admire the amount of patience God has given you, Kun,” Gwen patted his back sympathetically.

“Gender equality at it’s finest,” you cheered, raising your hands up enthusiastically before they flopped down almost painfully against the floor of the stage. Kun rolled his eyes, walking over to the other side of the room to discuss the play with the other members of the club. “You really like Kun, huh?” Brooke raised her brow at you, wiggling them afterwards when you met her eyes with an enthusiastic nod. “Of course, I do! He’s my senior after all,” you sat up, stretching your arms over your head with a yawn.

“The smile on your face makes your words seem so passive aggressive,” Kai chuckled, shaking her head profusely. “Oh hush, it may seem like I’m pushing his buttons on purpose but I actually really admire Kun. He’s the reason why I got into this club in the first place,” you exclaimed with a genuine smile, turning your head to watch the older boy flip through the script with Ten and Renjun from the other side of the theater room. “Wait, what?” Kai’s eyes widened at your sudden statement.

“Yeah, I actually got into this club because of Kun! I remember it like it was yesterday, I was just walking around campus and I passed by the theater. He was practicing for a play and I was like ‘damn, mans got skills.’ And at one point he gave me a flyer to join this club and encouraged me to join, which is why I’m here now,” you explained, shrugging casually as you leaned back against your hands behind you with a soft smile. “And if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have met you guys,” you added on.

“Cool, but I was asking about the part when you said you weren’t pushing his buttons on purpose,” Kai chuckled, earning a soft smack to the arm from you as Brooke let out a loud laugh in response. “Same, same. I can’t believe you’re not annoying him on purpose, I mean, I’m not complaining. It creates more romantic tension that I could use for my literature essays,” she shrugged, slinging her arm over your shoulder with an enthusiastic grin. “Of course I’m annoying him on purpose,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m not that big of an airhead, you know,” you scoffed as you pushed Brooke’s arm off of your shoulders.

“You know, there’s a chance that Kun would replace Ten in the play this time?” Haechan asked, plopping himself down beside his girlfriend while chewing a mouthful of bread. “Excuse me?” your eyes widened, straightening your back up as you and the girls lean over to hear Haechan more clearly. “Ten got an opportunity to go to an Art Gallery in Busan, he’s not sure if he’s going though but if he does, he can’t be back in time for next month’s play,” Haechan informed, pulling out a cupcake from his bag and handing it to Kai.

Brooke’s eyes lit up at this. “Oh yeah, he told me about that! It’s a great opportunity for Ten, I doubt he’s going to deny the offer for some play,” Brooke chuckled, shaking her head at her own boyfriend. “So, you’re telling me that there’s a chance I’ll be doing the play with Kun?” you asked, eyes wide as a wide smile spread across your face. “Oh god, I’ve never actually acted in a play with Kun before. He stopped acting by the time I joined the club,” you exclaimed excitedly, your hands balled up into balls at the thought of acting side by side with your senior on stage.

“More opportunities for you to bully our Kun,” Kai giggled, nudging your sides with her elbow as you nodded eagerly. “That too!” you agreed with an enthusiastic nod, raising your hands up in the air at the thought of finally seeing Kun act on stage once again. “Honestly, I thought I’d see myself on Mars sooner than seeing myself and Kun on the stage together performing,” you scratched the back of your neck with a nervous chuckle as Kun began walking over with stacks of paper in his hands.

“Here’s your script for the next play, rehearsals are going to start tomorrow so y/n,” Kun gave you a knowing look, eyes boring holes into your head as you gave him an innocent smile and a peace sign as you take the paper away from his hand, your fingertips grazing his own. “Don’t be late,” he sighed heavily, smacking the stack of papers on the top of your head softly before distributing the actors their own scripts.

You purse your lips, rolling your eyes. “‘Don’t be late’,” you mocked his tone, shaking your head at the elder. “As if you don’t pick me up every morning class before I even have the chance to be late,” you mumbled under your breath, earning a smack upside the back of your head from your friends, letting out a yelp in response. “What was that for?” you rubbed the spot where your friend hit, turning your head around to see Furou with a cocky grin. “Come on, we actually have a pretty strict deadline this time,” Furou sat beside you, patting your back.

“They say the school is holding some sort of event next month and Kun’s taking this pretty seriously considering the money we earn from this play will be donated to charity,” Furou explained, kicking her feet as she looked around the theater. “So you’re going to be dragged around Kun a lot during rehearsals,” Furou chuckled, giving you a look of mock sympathy, causing you to groan loudly and lay back down on the wooden floor of the stage.

“Oh well, at least I get to see our lord and savior, Qian Kun, act on stage again,” you gave her a sarcastic thumbs up, smiling at her as you turned your head around to look at the boy in question who was furrowing his brows as he read over Kai’s script with an intense expression, a hand pushing back a part of his dyed hair that was covering part of his eyes, his parted lips mouthing the words printed on the paper.

Your friend chuckled at how intently you were staring at the older boy, shaking her head profusely. “Does this mean you’re going to stop being annoying momentarily?”

“Keep dreaming.”

“As you may have heard from our precious club members, I will be replacing Ten as your supposed love interest on stage,” Kun said, popping out of nowhere as he pulled the chair in front of you to sit right across the table. You furrowed your brows, “are you stalking me?” you frowned, looking up from your phone as you carefully sipped your beverage. You swore that this man was psychic, he can sense where you are whenever and wherever and it was almost not funny.

Kun rolled his eyes at you, crossing his arms against his chest as he let out a heavy sigh. “We have practice in two hours, I just happened to be in the library the same time as you do. Except I don’t come here for free coffee and free wifi,” he smacked his bag filled with a stack of books on accounting right on the table with a click of his tongue, taking you by surprise at the sudden sound. “I figured we could chat for a bit and walk to the theater room together since you’re oh-so-busy,” he grinned cheekily, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Excuse you, you’re not my babysitter. I can go to the theater room myself, thank you very much,” you huffed, frowning deeply at the unusual sight of his cheeky grin. You couldn’t help but admire how his eyes crinkled slightly as his lips stretched across his face, thus revealing his cute dimples that made you suppress the urge to poke them. Kun’s smile always had that weird effect on you and you didn’t know why. And you didn’t know if you liked it either.

Which was probably the main reasons why you liked pissing him off all the damn time.

“Sure, as if I don’t have to run like Sonic the Hedgehog all around campus to ensure that you’re not skipping,” Kun chuckled, shaking his head at you in amusement. “I’m just helping you, Kun. You always go on and on about losing weight even though you’re literally one of the fittest guys I’ve seen on campus. I’m helping you by making you exercise by disappearing every five seconds,” you went on dramatically, waving your hand around in circular motions as you spoke, sipping your drink with your free hand.

“You never fail to blow me away with your weird respon- did you just call me hot?” he raised his brows when he took a small pause at your words, causing you to stop sipping your cup. You paused, your eyes grew wide as they scattered to look everywhere but him, replaying your words in your head to figure out where he got that idea from. “I just called you fit, there’s a difference,” you slowly pulled your drink away from your mouth, trying to appear as casual as you could.

‘Keep calm, Y/n. Qian Kun can sense your fear.’ as you would often say.

“So you’re basically saying I look good?” Kun cocks his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his brow at you, taking you aback at his sudden cockyness. You paused, gulping as you stared into his eyes for a brief moment, sipping your drink loudly as you desperately tried to think of a good comeback. “What did you say our next play was about?” you spluttered, coughing when your voice cracked, putting a hand on your throat out of habit as you looked down at your feet.

Kun chuckled, looking down at his own hands when you changed the topic. “Since we did La La Land for the last play, I figured we’d do something old timey. A classic. Brooke and Xingyi managed to come up with a few plots and we came up with this story of a princess having a secret affair with her musketeer bodyguard,” Kun explained, choosing to let your words slide momentarily as you revert back to your casual self. “Oh god, Brooke and Xingyi came up with the plot?” you groaned, putting a hand on your face as you rubbed your forehead.

“Don’t tell me. It’s going to end in despair, isn’t it? Dammit, they know full well I despise getting all emotional on stage, I swear, they’re doing this on purpose,” you grumbled under your breath, plopping your now empty cup on the table with a scowl on your lips as Kun let out an amused laugh. “Oh shut up, they’re taking this chance to see me cry too, you know,” he raised his brow at you, leaning back and relaxing against his chair. You paused, taking his words in before clicking your tongue.

“You’re going to cry on stage?” you blurted out, your eyes going wide at the thought of seeing your senior cry in front of hundreds of people. “Can I rent a camera crew to take HD pictures of you in tears in front of me? I think that would be one hell of a sexy cinematic piece to go with my photography portfolio,” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows at the older boy with a teasing smile on your face.

Kun chuckled, tutting as he waved his finger at you rather sassily. “Look who’s being a stalker now?”

You leaned back, a frown settling upon your lips at his words as you huffed at him. “I’m doing this for humor purposes, it’s for the good of the world. And my own amusement, of course. Don’t you think a lovely picture of our dear president bawling his eyes out on stage would be a perfect decoration for our stage?” you asked, putting your hand up in the air as if you were caressing an invisible wall. Kun pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh, a hand on his chin and his fingers covering his lips.

“I think I’ll have to reconsider changing the plot to whatever donkey dragon furry type of fanfiction you came up with in your head back when we were doing La La Land.”

“You know, I thought you were gay,” you mumbled, drawing circles on the smooth surface of the piano as you continued to listen to Kun practice on the piano the music department had been using to practice for their own music show for the event. Kun let out a soft chuckle, “is this about the Jaehyun question you asked a couple of weeks ago?” he asked with a staggering breath, flipping through his music sheets as you continued to hum in confirmation.

Nothing had changed after Ten left for his trip to Busan. Other than the fact that Kun has been rehearsing his lines with you 24/7 considering you were his partner on stage after all. Though, he wouldn’t be as aggressive and you don’t have to sacrifice your perfectly good sweaters getting ruined as these days his ‘aggressive dragging by the back of whatever top you were wearing on that day’ technique had morphed into ‘pulling you by the wrist like a rag doll’ with a script in his hand.

You could see from a mile away that Kun was more than excited to finally be on stage again. And you couldn’t help but let a smile stretch across your lips whenever you sat beside him when you were reciting your lines together, watching the passion glimmer in his eyes as his face contorted with emotions as words spewed out of his mouth like a song bird chirping on a tree branch on a bright morning.

Kun had called you over after your class to try on the costumes that just arrived and to check on any imperfections and minor details. You were always his go-to fashion kid whenever he needs help with anything that involves fabric and accessories. The moment you opened the door, you were immediately greeted with melodious piano music and a rather handsome senior behind said piano with his brows furrowed in concentration. It was a rare sight to see for you.

“You said I needed to try on some outfits and inspect the costumes?” you put a hand on your hip, walking around the stage as Kun closed the piano lid while he got up on his feet. “As always,” Kun rolled his eyes, grabbing the saddle of his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he walked over to you. “I told the others to place the costumes near the changing room, come on,” Kun placed a hand on your shoulder as you walked side by side to the changing room, his sudden touch sending shivers down your spine.

“You okay?” Kun asked all of a sudden, pausing in your steps.

You hummed, looking up at him in surprise, your eyes going wide. “You just shivered, is the ac too cold or something?” Kun asked, retracting his hand to slip it in his pocket as he looked around the theater room, extending his other hand to feel the cold atmosphere. “Yeah, I’m kind of chilly, I guess,” you mumbled with a slight nod, rubbing your arms to cover up your lie. You weren’t going to lie, you kind of liked the comforting way his hand felt on your skin.

“I’ll be fine, Kun. Let’s just go back to what we’re doing,” you scurried off to the changing rooms, spotting the opened box filled with plastic wrapped costumes and their props. Trying to shake the thought of holding Kun’s hand in yours out of your mind as you sat down on the wooden floor and began opening a few of the costumes to examine the details to look for odd spots or ripped fabric, hearing Kun’s footsteps catching up to you a few seconds later.

After a while of sitting side by side, focused on spotting any minor mistakes with the stitching and the quality of the costumes, it was finally time for you to test your own individual costumes. “So, which one do you think I should try first? The pretty princess gown or the Belle from Beauty and The Beast before she developed Stockholm syndrome?” you asked, nodding your head at the two dresses hanging by their clothing hangers in each of your hands. Kun laughed lightly at your small joke as you turned to the mirror, humming as you furrowed your brows.

“Try the peasant one first, the fabric looks pretty low quality compared to the dress,” Kun hummed, pointing at the brown dress in your left hand. You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed the princess dress on the empty space on the chair beside Kun. “No shit, it is a peasant dress after all. Look at those improper cross stitches, they could’ve done a better ladder stitch on the waist,” you mumbled to yourself as you walked into the changing room and began to change into your new costume.

“This dress is kind of tight, though,” you commented as you tugged on the ribbon around your waist with one hand and unlocked the door with the other, seeing an unbothered Kun looking through his phone with his brows furrowed. “What do you think? See anything wrong with it?” you did a slow 360 twirl in front of him, tugging the edge of the dress down when you spotted a few wrinkles. “Could use some ironing,” Kun joked, putting a hand on his chin as he looked up at you admiring yourself at the mirror nearby.

“It’s a peasant dress, Kun. They purposely didn’t iron this to fit the aesthetic,” you turned around to your senior with your hands on your hips before outstretching your hand for Kun to give you your princess dress. “Princess dress, please! This is the one I’ve been looking forward to the most,” you grinned, causing Kun to chuckle as he grabbed the clothing hanger with the dress clinging onto it beside him and handing it to you. “Thank you, old man,” you snickered as you hopped in the dressing room again, dismissing the loud offended ‘hey!’ Kun had let out behind you.

Once you walked out of the dressing room, you were tugging on the gloves you were supposed to wear, adjusting the fake plastic tiara on your head. “Okay, Kun, round two. How do I look?” you asked, patting your sparkly dress to remove any dust sticking to the fabric. Kun looked up from the costume he was examining himself with unbothered eyes, which grew wide slightly at the sight before him.

To say you were astonishing to his eyes was nothing but an understatement. The way the dress defined the shape of your body, the way the crown had accented your face, the way the gloves covering your hands made you look so elegant and delicate. His heart raced as he watched you scratch your hair while examining yourself in the mirror to look for any rips in between the fabric and the designs. He had to keep himself from letting his jaw drop to the floor as his eyes scanned you from the cute little hello kitty socks you were wearing to the beautiful red crown placed on your head.

“Are you smiling at me, Qian Kun?”

He blinked, his eyes lowering down from your crown to your eyes, gulping silently as he realised you had caught him checking you out. He kissed his teeth nervously, leaning back against the chair as he looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head abruptly as he felt you take a few steps closer towards him with a smug expression on your face.

“You think I look good, don’t you?” you pointed an accusatory finger at the boy, who shook his head vigorously at you. “I was looking at the realistic tiara,” Kun coughed, clearing his throat as he stood up suddenly, taking you aback by how close the proximity between the two of you have become once he got to his feet. He resisted the urge to boop your nose as his hands went up to gently lift the tiara from your head, careful to not get any of your hair as he examined it in front of you with a sheepish smile.

‘God, what am I even doing?’ Kun thought to himself as he used his superb acting skills and squinted his eyes at the tiara in between his fingertips. Though, his attempt to cover up the fact that he was internally flustered was futile for your next words had thrown him into a state of shock for a few seconds. “You know you have a pretty smile,” you commented, your eyes boring into his casually as you watched Kun examine the tiara with a small smile.

His eyes grew wide at you, his body froze as his smile became crooked at the sound of your words escaping your lips. “Excuse me?” he said after a pregnant pause, your words echoing in the back of his skull over and over again like a broken record player, sending jolts of electricity into his own heart. “You have a very pretty prince smile,” you couldn’t help but reach up and poke the dimples protruding from his cheeks with your gloved finger, grinning mischievously when you saw how Kun’s nervous expression melted into one filled with embarrassment.

“Thanks,” he muttered, gulping as he plucked up the courage to carefully place your tiara on top of your head again, his fingers caressing your hair slightly. You felt your heart raced as he gently placed the tiara back where it was as if he was crowning you princess himself. “You should smile more,” you mumbled, feeling yourself grow sheepish as Kun’s hands carefully pulled away from you. “Yeah?” he hummed back, almost inaudibly as he looked down at your feet with a soft smile on his face.

“Can you smile more so you don’t exactly look like a body that just got pulled out of the river?”

Kun’s head shot up in alarm at your words, all of the bashful and giddy feeling bubbling up in his stomach evaporated instantly as he could feel his vein pop under his skin. Watching as your own flustered expression morphed into a smug one, adjusting your tiara with your gloved hand as you broke the intimate aura that had crawled its way between you two merely seconds ago.

“Just when I thought you were going to say something normal for once.”

“Oh, five minutes late! That’s the earliest you’ve ever been,” Lin exclaimed, putting the back of her hands on her hips as she watched Kun drag you across the floor into the theater room by the wrist as if he was dragging a body from the fiery pits of the underworld. “I wasn’t fast enough,” you groaned, standing up straight as your back was starting to hurt from your terrible posture. “You are not the Lightning McQueen you think you are, y/n,” Lin chuckled, shaking her head at you as Kun shut the door behind you and released his hold on your wrist.

“Exactly my thoughts,” Kun nodded in agreement, giving you an amused smile. “I like to believe I’m Sonic the Hedgehog or the Flash, but you do you,” you huffed, crossing your arms against your chest as you walked over to the other members of the club, who were all currently helping the others with their costume as you were all finally starting rehearsals considering the play was in less than two months.

“She’s coming in earlier than usual. Usually it would take you about fifteen minutes to half an hour to find her and another ten minutes to drag her here,” Lin commented, taking a step closer to Kun as she examined your figure socializing with the other club members, who were looking at you as if you had grown two heads. (no one could blame them for being shocked to see you on time, usually you would take centuries to get to the theater)

The boy beside her hummed as he shrugged. His hands dug through his bag for his phone and his script, oblivious to the smug expression Lin was giving beside him. “Mostly because we meet up before rehearsals start in the library to go over our lines,” Kun shrugged, pulling out the crumpled stapled papers from his bag pockets. “We might as well normalize seeing her arrive on time now,” he chuckled, flipping through the pages as he read through the sentences he highlighted a couple of weeks ago.

Lin raised her brow suspiciously, crossing her arms as Doyoung walked up to Kun with a confused expression. “Did something finally happen between you and y/n?” he asked, putting a hand on his chin as he stood in between Lin and Kun, squinting his eyes at you as he and the girl watched you revise your lines with your brows furrowed with the other members of the club. A tiara was placed on your head as you helped your fellow actors with their lines, your free hand making grand motions as you read your lines aloud.

Kun furrowed his brows at Doyoung’s statement. “What do you mean ‘finally’?” he asked with an incredulous expression, his head shooting up from his papers as he furrowed his brows at his friend. “I don’t know, there’s something suspicious with you and her arriving together. There’s something even more suspicious with the fact that you’re both arriving on time!” Doyoung exclaimed, crossing his arms against his chest, narrowing his eyes at his friend who gave him a confused expression.

“Apparently they’ve been having library dates everyday before rehearsals so they’re only a teensy bit late now,” Lin informed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, causing Kun’s frown to deepen even more. “They’re not library dates, we’re just discussing and reading over our lines together,” Kun retorted, feeling his heart race in his chest at the thought of being on a date with you. He felt flustered at the mere thought of hanging out together as more than friends, but yet again, your little meetups felt more than just a casual hang out.

Though he was probably overthinking it again.

“Oh, so it’s definitely a date,” Doyoung confirmed.

“Agreed,” Lin nodded with a hum.

“It’s not, I’m just there to keep her from escaping campus before rehearsals start. I mean, we are having our big assignments coming up so I guess she doesn’t have that many people to talk to as a reason to ditch practice. “They’re just friendly meet-ups. How can it be a date if all she does is infuriate me and make my college life a living hell even more than Yangyang has. And that’s saying something considering I live in the same dorm,” Kun rambled on, his hands moving around and making dramatic gestures as words of complaint continued to spill out of his mouth like a leaking tap.

“Yet that doesn’t stop you from having a crush on her for the past two years, does it?” Doyoung smirked, raising his brow at his friend who had stopped talking upon hearing his question. Lin giggled, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth as Kun’s expression became flustered. You could practically hear ‘kun.exe.hasstoppedworking’ from the boy’s thick skull as Kun froze in place, trying to come up with some random reason to deny his friend’s words.

Alas, Kun was not much of a liar.

“Yeah,” Kun chuckled, looking down as he flushed, a giggly smile spreading across his features as his gaze shot up from his shoes to you. Okay, maybe he wasn’t much of a big liar but he was too whipped to deny it.

The soft, innocent smile on your face as you made a few of the club members laugh with your witty jokes and silly antics, watching them cackle and hold their stomachs to contain their laughter. That was Kun’s favorite smile. “It doesn’t,” Kun sighed rather dreamily, relaxing his figure as he leaned his head to the side to get a better look of your smile.

Truth be told, it really was no secret. Literally everyone in the club knew about Kun’s obvious crush on you ever since he ‘retired’ from being the male lead. Ever since the day he met you when you were just in your first year, looking for new friends and new hobbies to do. Ever since the first day he saw you audition for the main role back when the drama club was doing ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for the annual event your campus always hosts.

Watching you act on stage as part of the audience made Kun feel as if he was looking up at a sky scattered with stars. The way your personality completely morphs into the character you were portraying and the way you conveyed whatever message your character was trying to send out to the audience had made you find your way into his heart throughout all these years. The way your beauty sparkled under the lights, the way your expressions captured his heart on stage. The way your voice sends butterflies into his stomach as if you were ordering them to fetch his heart like an ominous siren.

He didn’t mind being teased by you every single day if it meant that he was getting your attention, he didn’t mind dragging you to the theater room everyday if it meant he got to get close to you. He didn’t mind being the target of your jokes if it meant that you two could get a tiny bit of interaction during practice, despite the fact that you two get nothing done together if so. After all, those were the original reasons why his liking for you grew ever so stronger. It was almost laughable.

Hell, it was making him crazy.

“KUN! Y/N IS RUNNING AWAY AGAIN!”

“DAMMIT, Y/N.”

Quite literally.

“Oh, how I longed to be in your arms after all these years, Abdul!” you cried out, clutching the dress with both of your hands as Kun wiped the invisible sweat off of his brow, dropping the sword he was clutching to the wooden floor of the stage as a look of despair stretched across your face.

You only had less than three weeks left of rehearsal, therefore, everyone had to be focused. You had been practicing for the past two hours now without breaks, your throat was sore from delivering lines and dehydration. One of the air conditioners wasn’t working very well this morning and maintenance was coming the next morning, leaving you and the rest of the club members under scorching heat. It was the middle of June, after all. And the god forsaken dress you were wearing was no help whatsoever.

“Princess Putri, my love, my little songbird! Oh how all of these years of holding myself back, all these years of fighting and hoping to reunite with thou,” Kun recited, his face scrunched up as if he had really been fighting a dozen of thieves to protect the princess. The expression on your face did nothing to show how awed you are at the sight of Kun’s acting. It’s been so long since you’ve seen Kun shine on stage again and quite frankly, you missed it.

You were seeing Kun’s superb acting performance right in front of you. He wasn’t even taking this as seriously as he should in the actual performance. You couldn’t imagine how magnificent his aura would be once the lights shine down upon him on stage once the day arrives. And you couldn’t help but admit that you couldn’t wait.

Though as much as you would stand on the stage to admire your senior’s acting performance, you were on the brink of being one with the sun itself. You watched with a sorrowful expression as Kun walked over to you, his boots making soft noises with every step he took, his hand on his chest as he came closer to you. You smiled slowly, focusing on staying in character as Kun recited the words written on your scripts.

Reciting the words as he perfectly brought the message his character, Abdul, was conveying to your character, Princess Putri, to life. It was like music to your ears.

You and Kun were standing in front of each other now, proximities close as the room grew dim save for the two stage lights shining down upon the two of you. The theater was almost as silent as a mouse except for the soft piano music Chenle was playing below the stage. The atmosphere felt seren, it made you feel as if it was just the two of you on stage, stuck in your own little world.

Eyes gazing into each other, your hands placed gently against his chest. Your fingers fiddling with the tassels on his shoulders, his hands coming around you only to land on your hips as he pulled your body towards his own, his face oh-so-close to your own. “May I indulge in the feeling of finally having your lips pressed on mine, my love?” Kun whispered, his soft voice booming across the speaker, half lidded eyes gazing down your lips before glancing back up to your eyes.

With glossy eyes, you looked up at him, sniffling into the mic softly before slowly nodding. A sad smile stretched across both of your lips as Kun leaned his head towards your face and leaned it to the side, thus covering both of your faces with his hat, giving the audience the illusion of the characters actually kissing. Upon hearing the club members clap for you, a few whistles from all around the theater room as the lights finally turned back on, you pulled away, making sure to add distance in between the two of you as you coughed awkwardly.

You couldn’t even stop your heart from beating so loudly in your ears as you clasped your hands behind your back, squeezing your hand into tight fists to calm yourself down. You’d like to think that it was the heat affecting you but you knew very well that there was no point in lying to yourself considering Kun was also avoiding your eyes for a brief moment. For a short moment, you couldn’t get the thought of Kun’s face being so close to yours out of your head. You couldn’t get the feeling of your heart which was on the brink of bursting out of your chest.

This never happened whenever you were acting with Ten on stage before, or any of your partners. It was odd to say the least. But your thoughts were cut short when your co-director spoke up to break the tension in the whole theater room.

“As expected of the president and our star,” Doyoung clapped unceremoniously, looking down at the clipboard he was holding in his arms as he flipped through the pages. “Okay, so, the play is in less than three weeks. We just need to adjust a few things then we’re good to go,” he announced with a loud clap, putting the clipboard in between his arms. “You all did good, we’re going to cut rehearsals short today, you all deserve it!” he added with a wide smile, earning enthusiastic cheers from the people around you.

You let out an exasperated groan, rubbing your face with your hands as you internally thank the gods that you decided to use your waterproof make up set today. “Dear god, I am literally being roasted alive,” you groaned, wiping the sweat off of your brows as you pulled the tiara off of your head and placed it on the props where the rest of the other crowns were being placed. Kun walked to your side, pulling his hat off of his head, being careful as to not get the feather on it. “I could tell how much you were practically dying out there,” he chuckled as you both made your way backstage.

“Why are our costumes so damn hot, too? The fabric is literally acting as an aluminum foil for baking us alive, the maintenance better be here before we arrive tomorrow or else I’m going to fling myself to the sun,” you tugged the bow off of your collar, fanning yourself with your hand as Kun pulled his gloves off of his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be here to help you fling yourself to the sun,” Kun joked, running his hand through his hair to mess it up a bit.

“That’s so romantic of you, Kun.” You placed your hands on your hips, grinning mischievously at him. “Nice try, you’re never going to get rid of me until you graduate,” you stuck your tongue out teasingly at him, walking over to your bag filled with your clothes and heading off to the changing room.

As soon as you left your stall, you were immediately pulled by your friends into a group huddle. “Dude, you were amazing out there. God I can’t wait until the big day comes,” Kai exclaimed, slinging her arm around yours as you watched Angie grab your costume out of your arms and placed it in your opened locker. “Agreed, the chemistry between you and Kun are just-,” Gwen gave a chef’s kiss with her fingers at the end of her sentence as she walked beside her.

You smiled, laughing lightly. “Thanks! Damn, I wish I was one of the audience. It’s been a while since I actually watched a play and not act in it,” you hummed, slinging your free arm around Ren’s shoulders. “Oh my god, I remembered seeing you in the audience two years ago. Look at you now, acting on stage with Qian Kun!” your friend exclaimed, putting her free arm in the air to emphasize her words.

“More like ‘being the reason why Kun is taking anger management classes’,” Angie snickered, earning a pout from you as you huffed at her. “As he should,” you joked, shaking your head profusely before they began to speak up again. “Are you sure you aren’t into Kun? That scene looked pretty intense and I’m 100% sure the theater hasn’t been this intense since that day you tripped over a can of paint and fell off the stage,” she added with a raise of her brow, her lips quirking up into a small grin.

You grimaced at the embarrassing memory of tripping over a few cans of pain, thus falling off of the stage and twisting your ankle. You remembered how Kun had to carry you with a disappointing shake of his head to the nurse’s office. However, thanks to your shamelessly bubbly personality, the tension in the atmosphere was cut like a knife when you patted Kun’s back with one arm and raised your uninjured leg up the air, pointing your free hand to the entrance as you yelled “onwards, donkey!”

“I remembered that! Did you really have to call Kun ‘slower than a snail who didn’t study their Math test because they overslept’? We could’ve lost another club member, you know? And what if Kun goes to jail for attempted murder? We’re all too broke to bail him out. Who am I going to ask Yangyang to sneak into their room for pictures of their elegant notes to?” Kai smacked your arm with her own, a joking frown on her lips as you let out an amused laugh. “Chill out, you’re never going to get rid of me,” you waved your hand off, rolling your eyes at your friends.

“Also, I don’t like Kun like that,” you deadpanned, sending a glare to your friend, who grinned even more. “Are you sure? The chemistry was hella spicy back on stage, and that kissing scene? Oh god, I was so close to pushing both of your heads together so you can actually kiss!” Gwen gushed, groaning as the other girls agreed with affirming nods and light laughter. “She’s not wrong,” Brooke added with a simple shrug, crossing her arms over her chest when she saw you looking at her to back you up.

You rolled your eyes. “That just means that Kun and I have superb acting skills, thank you very much!” you exclaimed with a bright smile, earning more smirks and grins from your friends as you all walked down the campus hall to head to the nearby cafe across the street. “Come on, you two looked like lovers who have actually been longing to be with each other for years!” Kai exclaimed, her tone becoming slightly whiny.

“Again, superb acting skills,” you stated with a silly grin.

“I swear, you’re so oblivious to your own feelings. Dude, no one looks at their co-star like that!” Gwen groaned, smacking you upside the head gently, causing you to let out a surprised yelp in response. “You’re making a big deal out of this, I swear to god,” you rolled your eyes at your friends, rubbing the back of your head. “As much as I hate to say it, they’re not wrong. You two were all googly-eyeing each other up there,” Ren chuckled, shaking her head at you.

You groaned once again, scratching the back of your head.

“For fucks sakes, I don’t like Kun!”

“Is that literature?”

You glanced up from your paper, not surprised to see your senior, Kun, sitting down on the empty chair across the table from yours. “Yeah, I was absent last week so I had to catch up on some assignments,” you nodded, tapping the highlighter against your lips as you gazed into your laptop screen filled with nothing but long paragraphs of letters and random words. “Though the professor refused to fill me in on anything and my friends who are in that same class are too busy right now to help,” you groaned, leaning your head on the highlighted literature book on your desk.

Kun chuckled, sipping his coffee before placing it on the table. “Mind if I take a look? I’ll see if I can be any help,” he asked, putting his forearms on the table as he gave you an amused smile. “Go ahead,” you waved your hand off, your voice muffled by the thick pages of your book as you let out an exasperated sigh. Kun smiled sweetly, leaning over to pull your laptop and turn it so that he could see the screen better.

“Oh, I did this one a couple weeks ago,” he hummed, scrolling down through the questions your professor had given, furrowing his brows as he read over your answers. “As a drama kid, you’re not much of a literature fan, huh?” Kun chuckled, raising his eyebrows at you as you leaned your head up, placing your chin on your book as you shrugged casually. “It’s just not my cup of tea,” you confessed truthfully, knowing full well that you have no idea what you’ve been writing for the past thirty minutes.

“When is this due, exactly?” he asked once again, scrolling down your google docs. “Saturday?” you sat up straight, groaning as you looked down at your book with a hopeless expression. Kun let out a small ‘ah’, looking down at your barely finished assignment, thinking so hard you could probably hear the gears in his head turn. “Tell you what, I think I still have my old notes. You can revise and find the answers there instead of working your ass off all night for this,” Kun suggested, giving you a tightlipped smile, sliding the laptop over to you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden statement. “Wait what? Kun, no, you’re going to need it too once the exams starts,” you frowned, shaking your head at him as you gripped the sides of your laptop to slide it over right in front of you. “It’s fine, Hendery borrowed it the other day, too. I don’t mind if you borrow it for a day or too as well,” he shook his head at you, his charming smile never leaving his face.

“Kun, no. Dude, it’s fine, really. It’s just forty numbers, I’m sure I’ll get it finished before the deadline,” you shook your head vigorously, a firm frown placed on your lips as you gazed up at your senior. “You know you want to,” Kun taunted, his teasing tone sending sparks into your chest as he leaned his cheek against his knuckles, a loopy smile spread across his face. Oh how the turns have tabled. You always found it immensely attractive whenever Kun became cocky.

His usual cranky, mature, responsible self was an admirable feature of his, you weren’t going to lie. But there was something attractive and endearing when Kun’s cocky side popped out, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself that his loopy smile was the definition of ‘hot’. Of course, you weren’t going to admit it to his face. Not today, at least.

You stared into his eyes, watching as one of his eyebrows turned upwards as he waited for you to accept his offer, his loopy smile gradually turning into a smirk as the seconds went by. At this point, you were just having a pointless staring contest. “No,” you deadpanned, huffing as you shut your laptop and carefully placing it in your bag. “I refuse to accept your help, good sir,” you gave him a cheeky grin of your own.

“Are you sure?” Kun asked, his smirk never leaving his face as he leaned back in his chair to run a hand through his slightly disheveled blonde hair, pulling his glasses off of his face. “Why are you so persistent in helping me over something so small? It’s just an assignment, Kun,” you placed your hands on your hips as you squinted your eyes at him suspiciously, pondering if he wanted something from you to get him so persistent on letting him help you.

This was not the usual Kun you knew. Usually, Kun would smack you with whatever papers he had on hand whenever you even joke about asking him for help with your assignments. And now, he was suddenly offering to let him help you? It was enough to convince you that Kun was possibly replaced by an alien. Or even worse, brainwashed by those aliens Renjun had always ranted about. Oh god, you regretted ever doubting and snoozing off during his annoying explanations.

“Who are you and what have you done with Kun?” you asked, shakily holding up your pen at him as if you were ready to strike at him at any given moment. Kun furrowed his brows, smiling softly at you as he pulled his face away from his knuckles. “Why are you acting as if I’ve been possessed by a ghost or replaced by some sort of imposter, this isn’t among us,” Kun exclaimed incredulously, biting his lips to keep himself from laughing.

You pulled your bag closer towards you, tightening your grip on the pretty yellow gel pen in your hand. “How do I know if you’re actually Kun and not some kind of alien? Last time I checked, you nearly banished Yangyang from your dorm when he asked you for help on his homework,” you furrowed your brows at him, waving your pen in circular motions as Kun balled one of his hands up into a fist, pressing it into his mouth.

“Yangyang and Hendery had to perform a whole ass satanic ritual to get you to help them with their studies, it only makes sense for me to be suspicious if you’ve been abducted and brainwashed by those aliens Renjun always talks about,” you slowly got up from your seat, pursing your lips as you began to add on to whatever evidence you have in mind to prove that Kun was probably not himself at the moment. “I’ve watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and The Maze Runner: Scorch Trials before, I know how this alien shit works,” you hissed.

Kun’s body began to shake as he tried his best to conceal his laughter as his eyes scrunched up into cute little moon shapes, his dimples protruding from his cheeks, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to keep himself from doubling over laughing and disrupting the other students or teachers in the library. “And then? Go on, I’m listening,” Kun managed to gasp out as he took his glasses off to rub the space in between his eyes as he laughed silently.

You couldn’t help but grin, watching as Kun patiently waited for you to go on despite the fact that he was probably on the brink of laughing himself to death. You then pouted, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned your head away from the older boy, tapping your feet against the carpeted floor. “You’re really being suspicious, you know,” you grumbled under your breath as Kun let out another wheeze of laughter.

“Alright fine, how about this? You do something for me in return if I give you my notes,” Kun asked, a wide smile stretched across his face as he leaned over against the table, raising a brow at you as he placed his glasses back on. You lit up at this, turning your head at him in curiosity. “Yeah sure, name your price. As long as it’s not anything weird,” you nodded, earning another laugh from Kun at your sudden change of reaction.

“Alright in exchange for my literature notes, you let me treat you out a day before the big day of our spectacular performance. I heard there was a carnival near the park, we could just meet up there,” Kun raised his brow, letting out a small hum as he looked at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. Your eyes widened at his sudden proposal, uncrossing your arms from your chest you leaned your head to the side in confusion. “Like, just the two of us?” you asked rather hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat increase slightly.

Kun chuckled once again, nervously scratching the back of his head in an attempt to hide how flustered he felt at that moment as he stood up, grabbing his cup of coffee with him with one hand and snucking the other inside his pocket. “Why not?” he shrugged casually, a shy smile stretched across his face as he spoke, looking up at you with a soft expression on his face. Oh how fast your heart was racing at that exact moment.

You bit your lip, looking down at your shoes for a brief moment before gulping slightly. “Is Qian Kun asking me out on a date?” you teased, a cheeky grin forming on your lips despite the fact that your heart was practically ramming against your ribcage. Kun let out another chuckle, his soft smile sending a swarm of butterflies fluttering around and about in your tummy.

“You can think of it whatever you like.”

You smiled at his words, giggling lightly.

“Well, better be prepared to be penniless after the charity event ends then, Kun.”

Yeah, you definitely take back what you said about not liking Kun.

“Y/n! Truth or dare!”

“Excuse me?” you cocked your head to the side, dropping your bag at the side of the stage as you walked up to your group of club members who were all huddled up into a huge circle. “We’re playing truth or dare, join us, won’t you?” Ren asked, grabbing your hand and pulling you to sit on the empty spot next to her and Shotaro. “Truth or dare? What are we? Elementary schoolers? I’m definitely in,” you chuckled, scooting over as you rubbed your hands together sinisterly.

Brooke laughed, shaking her head at you. “I love how we’re just here playing truth or dare while the fossils are over there doing business,” she snickered loudly, looking over the only three responsible members of the club. More infamously known as ‘The Fossils’ which consists of one of the oldest members of the club, aka, Gwen, Doyoung and Kun. Pushing aside the fact that Gwen is only in her second year of college.

“We can hear you!” Gwen exclaimed from a mile away, furrowing her brows as she flipped through the schedules of the events with the other two seniors. “We know!” Brooke yelled back, a cheeky grin spread across her face as you let out a light giggle. “Okay, so, who’s next?” Haechan asked, spinning the empty wine bottle in the middle of the group circle. “Wait where did you guys even find an empty wine bottle? Isn’t heavy alcohol not allowed on campu-”

“Shotaro, hush! It’s stopping!” you gently pushed the younger boy’s face away with a palm to the side of his face to hush him as you all watched in anticipation as the bottle slowly came to a stop, the empty tip pointing at Renjun, who groaned in annoyance as the others cheered for joy. “Oh fuck,” Renjun cursed, a frustrated smile stretched across his face as you rubbed your two hands together.

“Dare,” Renjun chuckled.

“I got a good one!” you exclaimed raising your hand, receiving mischievous grins from your friends as Renjun’s smile turned into an abrupt frown. “I dare you,” you looked around, spotting a small empty plastic doritos bag and placing it in the boy’s hands with a cheeky grin. “To throw this out of the window to aim it at the security guard,” you grinned, your eyes glimmering with mischief as you laughed sinisterly.

“What did the security ever do to you to make you dare someone else to litter from the third floor?” Haechan asked, laughing along as you all watched the colour fade away from Renjun’s face. “He scolded me for accidentally dropping my juice box to the ground,” you rolled your eyes, patting Renjun’s back and pushing him to get up on his feet. “I swear my juice box didn’t even touch the ground and the old man had to go ham on me,” you grumbled under your breath as Renjun got up to his feet with the plastic bag in his hand.

Renjun looked back at you, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re making me a victim of your revenge here,” he deadpan, furrowing his brows as you handed him the finger. “It’s a dare, Huang,” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. “Either that or you put that maid dress costume we bought earlier on with cat ears for the next hour,” you placed your hands on your hips. “Renjun, put the maid dress on,” his girlfriend barked, pulling out her phone and opening the camera app, eliciting laughs around you as you all watched her serious expression in contrast to Renjun’s terrified one.

“I rather not embarrass myself publicly like this, thank you very much,” Renjun shook his head, glaring at everyone who was hoping for him to choose the maid dress instead of knocking on death’s door. “Well? Off to it, we don’t have all day,” you grinned, waving your hand at the boy as if to shoo him away from you. “I swear, I’m going to pull an uno reverse on you someday,” Renjun grumbled as he opened one of the windows of the theater room, peeking down to spot the unsuspecting security guard along with the other innocent bystanders.

You all cheered unceremoniously as you watched Renjun ball up the plastic bag and throw it down to the security guard before quickly shutting the window close so as to not get caught by said grumpy security guard. “Great, who’s next?” you exclaimed with an enthusiastic clap of your hand, ignoring the death glare Renjun was sending you from across the room as he walked back to the circle. “Oh god, I hope we get someone good,” Kai mumbled under her breath as she spun the bottle.

You all waited in anticipation, sucking on your bottom lip as the bottle slowly comes to a stop, the tip pointing right at you. ”Shit,” you exclaimed with a sarcastic smile, looking around your friend group who gave you all evil glares as if to say they were finally going to have revenge for all the stupid dares you made them do the past two years you’ve been here considering the bottle rarely goes to you.

“Truth or dare?” Brooke asked with a sinister smile, rubbing her hands together as they all scooted closer to look at you in anticipation. Watching as you gave your friends a tight lipped smile, gulping inaudibly as you nervously blurted out a small “truth?” almost questioningly.

“Do you have a crush?”

“Hah?”

You furrowed your brows, confused. “What are we? Middle schoolers?” you raised your brow, scratching the back of your head. “Just answer the stupid question, y/n,” Kai deadpanned, her sinister smile never leaving her face as you continued to stare at your friends with a confused expression. ‘Well this isn’t as bad as I thought,’ you thought to yourself with a small shrug. “Yes, I do,” you admitted shamelessly as if it was an everyday question, giving them an innocent smile.

“Who?” Shotaro asked, squinting his eyes at you. You raised your brow, crossing your arms firmly as you giggled. “One question per truth, suck it,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at your friends. Someone else spun the bottle quickly, causing it to stop right in front of you, causing your jaw to drop, eliciting a round of applause and laughter from your friends. “Okay, now spill, who?” Brooke repeated Shotaro’s question, tapping her nail against the wooden floor in anticipation.

“But I haven’t chosen whether I wanted truth or dare, yet,” you shot back, raising your brow as your friends shared knowing looks. “Still,” they replied shortly, tight-lipped smiles stretching across their faces as you frowned abruptly. “This isn’t fair, I can’t get asked twice!” you retorted, feeling your anxiety creep up as you saw Kun’s figure discussing the events with Gwen and Doyoung at the corner of your eye, hoping to god that he wasn’t listening to any of this.

Haechan shook his head, tutting at you softly. “The bottle landed on you fair and square, therefore you have to answer the damn question,” he grinned, laughing sinisterly as you purse your lips at how you’re literally cornered by your friends right now. “Fine, I’ll say who it is,” you grumbled, adjusting your sitting position on the floor. “He’s someone who hates me,” you stated, half jokingly, giggling as their reactions dimmed down only to realise that you have pulled an uno reverse card.

“What? That’s not fair, you have to say their name!” Angie exclaimed, pointing an exclamatory finger at you as you stuck your tongue out at your friends with a cheshire grin. “Suck it, you didn’t say I have to specifically say his name!” you giggled, giving them enthusiastic jazz hands. “Anyways, I’m not playing anymore to save whatever's left of my dignity,” you scooted backwards, giving them two peace signs, your wide grin never leaving your face.

“Wait, she said ‘he’. And she said that he hates her, which only leads to one suspect,” Kai explained, looking at the rest of your friends with brows furrowed with concentration. They all gasped in unison, looking at you with wide eyes before looking back at your precious club president (aka the poor unsuspecting victim slash bystander) with an equally shocked expression.

“KUN! DO YOU HATE Y/N?” Angie shouted at the top of her lungs, cupping her mouth to attract the three Fossil’s attention.

“What?” Kun shouted back, turning around with his brows furrowed, papers in his hands as he used the heel of his palm to push his glasses up to his head. Oh how you felt your heart dropping to your stomach. The fact that you had found out you had developed a small crush on your lovely senior merely less than three days ago wasn’t helping the fact that he looked immensely attractive in his attire.

With his glasses pushed up to the top of his head, causing the bangs in front of his forehead to mess around a bit. His platinum blonde hair was a little bit messy and disheveled, probably the result of his hands running through them too much in distress. Considering Kun had a morning class today he was wearing a baggy white t-shirt over his tall, built figure. The sleeves were short and wide enough to reveal his muscular forearms. His black ripped jeans giving him that edgy, sort of ulzzang boyfriend look that you would see on pinterest.

“DO. YOU. HATE. Y/N?” Angie repeated.

“Stop yelling, you’re going to make us all deaf!” Gwen shouted back.

“Do I hate Y/n?” Kun repeated, pointing a finger at himself before looking at you, his adorably confused expression sending butterflies in your stomach. When the hell did he have that big of an effect on you? You swallowed down your nerves and used your superb acting skills to shoot him a loopy wide smile, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up, earning a soft smile from your lovely senior.

He chuckled briefly, putting the back of his hands on his hips. “Yeah, I do!” He teased, his cute dimples appearing on his cheeks as he grinned cockily at you, causing you to frown abruptly. “It’s scientifically proven by Qian Kun, our lord and saviour himself!” Kai exclaimed, raising her arms up in the air as if she had just received an invitation to the Grammy awards. “Y/n, you like Kun?!” Angie gasped dramatically, shaking Lin’s shoulders aggressively as if she had just found a priceless artifact.

You laughed, trying to conceal how flustered you felt knowing full well that Kun was joking considering what happened approximately three days ago at the library. You know damn well that he was definitely lying. “You all have a huge misunderstanding,” you exclaimed, standing up to your feet as you jogged on over to stand beside Kun, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling his head towards you as if you were putting him in a headlock.

“You can’t see it but he is in love with me!” you joked, giggling lightly as Kun began to start smacking the papers he was holding against your back gently as a sign to let him go. “Get your filthy hands off me,” he joked, his body shaking as he laughed. “You aren’t the draco malfoy you think you are, Kun,” you grinned, looking down at the guy whose neck was stuck in between your right elbow.

“This is harassment, I should sue,” Kun laughed as you released him from your grasp, smacking his papers gently on your head.

“See, guys? Kun is infatuated and lovesick.”

Oh how you didn’t know how true your words are.

Today wasn’t one of Kun’s greatest days.

He didn’t know why he was so upset that day but it was one of the rare times when he would wake up on the wrong side of the bed. The fact that the moment he got out of his room only to see Yangyang’s stuff all over the couch angered him even more, despite the fact that the younger was probably already off to class. Kun had an afternoon class that day as his professor had postponed the classes due to personal reasons, which left him to go to the theater room early to practice his lines before the other club members arrived.

He wasn’t in the mood to take anyone’s bull crap today and the fact that the event is coming up in a week wasn’t helping his terrible mood. All he wanted was to crawl back to bed and sleep until his emotions weren't bubbling up inside of him, waiting to burst. Though, thankfully for him and everyone else, the club members were able to tell that Kun wasn’t in a very happy mood at that moment.

So they were pretty cool with Kun using whatever patience he has left and replying with short one worded answers unless needed. Funnily enough, today is the last day of rehearsals so Doyoung decided that you should all just retouch the props and backgrounds with paint and mod podge to be sure that the paints don’t chip off if something happens during the big day. Though, unfortunately for you, you were too high on serotonin (in other words: caffeine) to acknowledge the scary aura Kun was radiating.

“Qian Kun!” you exclaimed, jumping on him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Lovely morning we’re having, don’t you think?” you grinned, cocking your head to the side to have a better look at Kun’s face, your mood wavering in the slightest bit when your eyes came in contact with his cold, exhausted ones. “Yeah, sure. Have you done your part of the props, yet? We have to make sure everything’s good by the end of the day,” Kun asked, gently pulling your arm away from his shoulder as he tried his best to keep his temper.

You frowned slightly, putting your hands on your hips. “Of course not, I just got here,” you informed, shaking your head at him firmly. “Well then, get to it. We don’t have much time today and I really want to go home,” Kun waved you off, his tone strict as he looked down at the clipboard in his right hand, using the left to rub his eyes.

His strict tone caught you off guard. He wasn’t usually this strict to you, he sounded like your 80 year old science professor after the man lost his glasses and refused to find them because there was 20 minutes of class left. Those aren’t really good memories to reminisce at that moment. But nonetheless, Kun wasn’t in a good mood and you didn’t know if you should keep cracking jokes or shut up.

“Kun’s being unusually not himself today,” you commented under your breath as you walked over to Renjun and Angie, who were repainting the tree barks for the play while you were carrying a can of paint for them. “He’s been like that since he came here, man’s probably having a shitty day, don’t bother him,” Renjun shrugged casually, dipping his paintbrush into the paint can you had set on the floor beside you along with the other cans of paints, earning an hum of agreement from his girlfriend.

“I agree. Kun rarely gets this pissed off and from what I’ve heard from past club members, an angry Kun isn’t a good thing,” Angie added with a nod, pointing her wet paintbrush at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes. “So try not to anger him, most of us are trying our best to just get shit done and go home, too,” she told you, her tone slow as if she was gently telling off a small, stubborn, bratty five year old who’s prone to mess things up with every step they take.

In this case, you were that five year old.

“What if he just needs some cheering up, though?” you asked, sitting down on one of the crates filled with props, careful as to not accidentally knock over the paint cans around you. “He might be in a terrible mood but maybe he needs some cheering up or something,” you mumbled, drawing patterns on the wooden crate with your finger as your eyes glanced from the wood to Kun’s distressed figure. Leaning your chin on your palm as you watched Kun walk around with an emotionless expression on his face.

Renjun clicked his tongue, bending down to open another can of paint to add more details to the leaves. “Y/n, no. Please don’t, just help us with the props. Angie’s almost done with colouring each individual wooden bush, you should help and actually do something,” Renjun shook his head firmly, narrowing his eyes at you as you gave him a frown, looking down idly at the can of paints surrounding you as Angie carefully dipped her paintbrush in one of the paints, her tongue stuck out at the corner of her lips as her shaky hand carefully added more details to the wooden board.

Before you could open your mouth, you heard the senior in question call out your name with a heavy sigh following after it. “Y/n, get down from there before you break something. Help the others with the prop won’t you?” Kun sighed heavily, furrowing his brows as he placed the hand that was holding his clipboard to his hip and raised the other to pinch the bridge of his nose as he felt his blood boil in annoyance. “Relax Kun, I’m simply observing,” you grinned, giving him an enthusiastic wave which only happens to make his frown deepen.

“Observing isn’t going to get anything done around here, why can’t you help out for once other than laze around?” Kun glared daggers into your skull, but alas, you didn’t appear to be as fazed as you were on the inside. “Who took a shit in your cornflakes today, Qian Kun?” you asked, crossing your arms across your shoulders as you grinned gingerly at him, earning a soft groan of annoyance from the older boy.

He took a deep breath as if to keep his composure and hold himself back from doing anything he’s going to regret. But alas, was murdering you on the spot really that big of a crime if all you’ve been doing the past hour was chat around and push his buttons by simply breathing?

“Y/n, I don’t have the patience to deal with your shenanigans today. Just get off the damn crate box and help out for once,” Kun was beginning to grow restless. He didn’t know why he was getting so worked up over your daily nonsensical antics, he didn’t know why seeing your pretty smile was making his patience run out like sand in a tiny hourglass. The way you responded with a quick “nope!” with an eager shake your head wasn’t helping him tame the flaming fury inside of him.

“Y/n, I swear to God. You’re so ludicrous and infuriating, I don’t even know why we haven’t kicked you out yet,” he hissed, his eyes darkening as he felt his mind grow numb, oblivious as to how your bright smile had faltered at the anger lacing in his voice. “Hey, you don’t need to be so mean!” you exclaimed, furrowing your brows as Kun’s eyes shot up to look at you. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kun said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

“I think I have the right to express my frustrations if all you’re going to do is mope around. It’s literally the last day of rehearsals, you should be taking things seriously,” he laughed in disbelief, running a hand through his hair.

You opened your mouth to say something before closing it when you realised you had run out of comebacks considering Kun was ‘kind of’ right in a way. But you believed that you should all have a good break before the actual performance considering you’ve been practicing so hard for the past few weeks. You all deserve a good rest and you were sure you were going to get it if it weren’t for the fact that Kun was currently in a shitty mood and none of you were brave enough to ask for one.

“Just get down from there and help Angie paint before my brain explodes into smithereens,” Kun sighed once again, furrowing his brows as he waved his hand off. You huffed, mumbling small curses under your breath as you blindly hopped off of the crate you were sitting on before your feet accidentally knocked over a few cans filled to the brim with paint, causing them to spill to the wooden floor. “Shit,” your eyes widened as you quickly bent down to pick the cans up, earning a few frustrated calls of your name from your club members.

“Shit, I’m so so sorry I wasn’t looking!” you stammered as you saw Renjun hopping off his stool to look at the mess you had accidentally made. “I’ll get the mop, we can still wipe it off before the paint fully dries,” Renjun exclaimed, running his hands through his hair in distress. “I’ll come with you,” his girlfriend patted his shoulder with a heavy sigh. “Y/n, what the hell?” Kun exclaimed, walking up to you as his eyes grew wide, fury glossing over his pupils as you fumbled with your bag to find the wet tissues as your friends ran off to the nearby janitor’s closet.

You pulled out a box of wet wipes as you knelt down, trying to wipe off as much as you could as you looked up at Kun in a panic. “I didn’t mean to knock it over, I swear! It was an accident, I didn’t-” you were cut off with a frustrated groan from Kun, watching as he rubbed his face with his palms as if he finally had enough of your nonsense. “Shut up, just shut up, y/n. Oh my god, see this wouldn’t have happened if you just fucking listened to me!” Kun scolded, the anger in his tone holding no mercy as everyone stood still in the room in awkward silence.

Your jaw dropped in surprise, needles slowly piercing your heart as you watched Kun’s face get even angrier as the seconds went by and at this point you ran out of tissues to wipe the paint off. “Kun, I said I was sorry. It’s not like I purposely kicked the paints, I was just getting off the crate like you told me to,” you shot back defensively, careful as to not grip the tissues in your hand as they were dripping everywhere on the floor.

Kun rolled his eyes, a deep frown on his face as his expression darkened at your words. “I told you to get off of the crates, not walk around like a drunk blind bat. Did you get hit in the head or something? I swear I still don’t understand why we haven’t kicked you out of the club. You’re lazy, reckless, clumsy, you never help around. All you do is cause trouble for everyone, you’re late all the time that you need me to babysit you 24/7,” Kun began ranting, oblivious to how every word was like a dagger shooting through your heart.

“It’s so annoying and sometimes I just wished I never asked you to join this damn club if all you’re going to do is pile up more work onto not just me but the other members of the club. We were suppose to finish early if it weren’t for your clumsy ass fucking up once again!”

It was pretty rare to see Kun curse. And when he did, it’s usually a sign that you have gone too far or you’ve pushed his limits. You’ve never seen Kun this angry at you before in your two years of knowing him, you’ve never seen him this livid even if you pushed his buttons way more than you should. But the way he looked at you was the one that hurt the most. The way he laughed sarcastically in disbelief as he continued to rant on and on how he’s so close to kicking you out of the club.

The way his expression was telling you to leave his sight for good. The way his dark eyes held nothing but hatred and anger.

It hurt you.

His cold angered stare did nothing but pierce your heart as you blinked back the tears that started to gather in your eyes. A lump began to gather in your throat, begging for you to let it out as your eyes burned. You looked down sadly to avoid Kun’s angered eyes, gripping the half dried tissues as the paint stained your hand and dripped down in between your fingers and back to the floor.

“Look, Kun, I’m sorry okay. Just let me clean it up I swear I-”

“Why did you even join this club if all you’re going to do is burden me and the other members?” Kun snapped.

“Kun, that’s enough,” Doyoung spoke up upon entering the theater room with a bucket filled with water in hand, putting the bucket down in front of you before placing a hand on Kun’s shoulder to stop him from saying anything else. “Y/n, calm down. It’s not a big deal, you didn’t even spill that much, you can just go home for today,” Doyoung gave you a comforting smile, reaching over to pat your head as you took in a deep exhale to keep your tears in as you felt eyes boring into the back of your skull.

“What? No, she needs to clean this up and face the consequences of her clumsiness,” Kun’s eyes went wide at his older friend, shaking his head as you bit your lip to keep yourself together. “It’s no big deal, Doyoung. Really, I’ll just clean it up myself,” you shook your head, leaning down to lift the bucket up towards you. “No, you two can go home early. Kun, you’re clearly in a terrible mood so I suggest you just go home and take some rest. Y/n, it’s okay, I’ll clean up. I haven’t been doing much these days anyway,” Doyoung shook his head profusely, grabbing the bucket from your hands.

“Doyoung, you can’t just-”

“Doyoung, it’s fine I can-”

“Just go home before I dump paint on the both of you,” Doyoung hissed, shaking his head at both of your stubbornness. ‘They really are perfect for each other,’ he thought to himself as Kun clicked his tongue in frustration, walking back stage to grab his stuff to cool off. You stood there in silence, you didn’t know what to say and honestly you were scared that if you were to take one more step, you would fuck something up again and make Kun get even more angrier at you.

Doyoung chuckled, shaking his head at you as he walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he spoke up, attracting your attention. “Go home already. Don’t take Kun’s words to heart, you know very well he didn’t mean them. He’s just having a bad day, he’ll be back to his nice self tomorrow,” Doyoung gave you an encouraging smile, causing you to muster up whatever strength you had left in you to smile back at him. You gave him a small nod, despite the fact that you weren’t so convinced.

“Thanks, Doyoung.”

You were an idiot. It was no surprise to anyone.

After three days of no interaction with Kun whatsoever, you still decided to go to your little hangout? Date? Friend date? (You don’t even know anymore.) That you both had arranged two weeks ago at the library. You remembered the excitement you had suppressed all week at the thought of finally going out on a date with Kun but that was before the fight that happened at the theater club three days ago. Could you even call it a fight if you were the one who was apologizing and Kun was the one uncharacteristically yelling at you?

You didn’t know anymore.

You were also hoping to patch things up with Kun when this date finally came up considering you couldn’t find him anywhere on campus. Hell, you even had to ask Yangyang for Kun’s whereabouts which wasn’t much help considering all he told you was ‘he comes and goes like the wind’ but you were desperate to talk it out and apologize to your senior.

Was this the effect your crush on him had? Usually you would just wait it out until things get better between the two of you but you knew that this wasn’t a minor fight. You actually pissed Kun off to his limits and you knew you had to apologize if you wanted him to continue to like you. That is if he actually does like you and wasn’t flirting and messing with you in the library for laughs and payback for all the mischief you had caused during your two years of knowing each other.

However, to your dismay, you had been waiting at the park right across the carnival for three hours. And you were getting quite chilly (curse your past self for wanting to look good and had decided to wear you newest short sleeved shirt) and the wound in your heart was slowly opening up again the longer you waited. You’ve sent around five to seven texts by now and you were starting to wonder if he was just busy or if he was purposely ignoring you.

Y/n: Yuh Kunners 16:49

Y/n: are you coming anytime soon?? Remember we were gonna hang out today right????? 16:50

One missed call from y/n

Y/n: I’m waiting in the park like we planned. Are you on the way lol 17:10

Y/n: kun im getting cold lmfao get over here before i turn into a living ice cube 17:37

Two missed calls from y/n

Y/n: dude i spent an hour choosing my clothes pls come ive been waiting for hours 18:49

Y/n: kun???? Cmon i know u were mad but u cant just stand me up here lmfao :,} 19:00

Two missed calls from y/n

Y/n: i guess ur not coming, huh 19:45

You sighed heavily, feeling your eyes burn as you watch people coming in and out of the carnival, gripping tightly onto the saddle of your bag as you begin to walk to the exit of the park. You pressed the back of your hand to one of your eyes when you realised you couldn’t hold back a tear, blinking rapidly when you started to feel them begging to leak out of your eyes like a broken tap. But you knew you couldn’t just cry like a loser in public just because someone stood you up.

Your thoughts begin to wander as you make your way down the sidewalk and towards the bus station, feeling your heavy heart slowly sink down to the bottom of your stomach with every step you take. You could admit that you did go a little too far back at the theater room considering so many people had warned you to lay off the joking around for just one day so as to not make Kun’s temper go off the charts. You should’ve listened to them, you could admit that.

But you also knew that you didn’t deserve to be stood up like this.

And it sucked.

How could he just yell at you, storm off, proceeded to ignore you like the plague at school, then ghost your text and stand you up just like that without an apology or an explanation? Hell, he didn’t even read your texts.

“Y/n?”

You looked up from the ground with wide eyes, recognizing that melodious voice you’ve been longing to hear for the past three days. “Kun,” you mumbled almost inaudibly, your eyes widened slightly to see Qian Kun in his casual attire that could easily send your heart into a heart attack. “What are you doing here?” he asked, coughing awkwardly as he took in your whole look, feeling his breath being taken away by the mere sight of you being more dressed up than you usually are.

“Waiting for you,” you deadpanned as if it wasn’t obvious enough, feeling your tears dissipate when you finally made eye contact with the boy in front of you, whose eyes grew wide at your words. “Me?” Kun’s eyebrows were raised in surprise, confusion glossing over his facial expression as he pointed a finger to himself. “Remember we planned a carnival date two weeks ago? Or are you just still mad at me for what happened in the theater room?” you asked, giving him a sad smile.

Kun’s face turned pale at the reminder, your words hitting him like a brick when he realised he had stood you up for who knows how long considering the bus stop you two were standing on was quite the long walk from the carnival. “Oh fuck,” he blurted out when your words finally sink into him, an apologetic expression washing over him as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Are you that mad that you just had to stand me up?” you furrowed your brows, taking a step towards him.

“Y/n, I’m so so sorry,” he started but you cut him off to give him a piece of your mind. “Look I admit, what happened at the theater was my fault and I should’ve listened to you instead of pushing your buttons and causing trouble. But was it really that bad that you had to keep me waiting here for not two- but three hours? I know I was- I am immensely annoying and I’m truly sorry for that,” you took a deep breath to keep yourself from getting too emotional in front of him as Kun stared guiltily at you.

“That was completely on me but that doesn’t give you a valid excuse or reason to stand me up for three hours, Kun,” your gaze hardened as you stared teary eyed inot Kun’s sad ones. He gazed up at down at your hopeless figure, swallowing at what he’s about to do as he leaned towards you to grab your hands in his, giving them a tight squeeze as he lifted them up to his chest. Your eyes widened at the sudden contact, despite the fact that you’ve literally hugged him on stage before. But there was something in his actions that made it seem more intimate in a way.

“I don’t know what to do or say to make you feel better but all I can say is that I’m sorry, I'm so so sorry,” he started, running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I swear, I know it isn’t an excuse but I’ve been so stressed the past couple of days with the play, the big assignments at the end of every semester and I recently got this internship deal and I just started today. I completely forgot about today, I’m so so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you, and about the theater-” he swallowed down the guilt bubbling up inside of him as the memory of your hurt expression resurfaced in his mind once again. (which sort of brought him to the point of avoiding you all around campus)

“I had my phone on mute during the internship and I must’ve missed your texts. I’m assuming you sent me some because I know for a fact your impatient ass would probably bombard my phone with calls and texts,” he joked, laughing lightly when he realised now isn’t the most appropriate time to joke around considering you two were in a very tight situation. He gave you a small smile, his eyes filled with a small glint of hope as he took a step and tugged your hands so that he could enclose whatever proximity you two had left in between you.

“I’m so sorry. I know you might not forgive me but I hope you can give me a chance to make it up to you. Right here, right now. The carnival isn’t closing until midnight after all,” he suggested with a small shrug, looking down at his wrist watch before gazing back up to your eyes with a soft expression. You bit your lip, gazing down at your hands being held delicately in his, his thumb caressing your knuckles softly as you gave it a small thought.

You gave him a genuine smile, your heart lightening as you came to find that you couldn’t refuse anything when Kun was giving you a look as if you were the only thing valuable to him in the world at that moment.

“Sure, Kunt.”

“Can we just have one day without you pushing my buttons?”

“I have the right to call you day considering you’ve been an absolute Kunt this week, get over it.”

“Okay, ladies. I have a confession to make,” you took a deep exhale as you walked over to the food table where your friends were sitting in before the actual performance. “You like Kun?” Brooke raised her brow, opening her mouth as Ten leaned over the table to give her a spoonful of the sweet dessert he was having. Your jaw dropped when you realised she beat you to your own confession but however you weren’t backing down from an opportunity to mess around with your friends.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“I really really like Kun,” you confessed all of a sudden, causing Kai to choke on her ice cream at the sudden news. “That’s so sudden,” she exclaimed with a hoarse cough, leaning over to steal Hyuck’s cup of coffee as she chugged it down while patting her chest. “Cat’s out of the bag, I like Qian Kun. But are you all really surprised?” you sighed, sitting down beside Lin as you sipped on your own drink with a nonchalant shrug.

“Excuse me?” a sudden voice spoke up.

You stopped sipping loudly at the familiar voice, turning your head around slowly to come in eye contact with none other than Qian Kun himself who was in the middle of eating his fruit salad. His brows furrowed in confusion as your eyes grew wide, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as your jaw dropped open, your thoughts messy as you try to find the words to speak. “You didn’t tell me Kun was here,” you hissed at your friends, choosing the option to act as if Kun wasn’t sitting right beside you this whole time.

“Dude you’re literally blind, he was here the whole time,” Kai deadpanned, giving you a look that completely expressed how she was fed up with your idiocy for the day. “Can I speak now?” Kun pipped up, a smirk stretched on his lips as he watched your flustered figure retaliate against your friend’s words for calling you blind despite the fact that you kind of are in a way. “Nope, nevermind!” you shook your head abruptly, standing up as you gripped your handbag and slung it over your shoulder.

“You didn’t hear me say shit! Obliviate!” you used the straw the cashier gave you as a wand, waving it in front of Kun before you ran for dear life to the one place where he can’t get in: also known as the women’s dressing room. “Oh no you’re not! You can’t just Harry Potter reference you’re way out of this confession,” you could hear the chair grinding against the tile floor, signalling that Kun had got up to follow after you as you both laughed loudly.

“Go away, Kun!”

You knew that confessing that you like Kun wasn’t that big of a deal considering you did almost cry in front of him when he stood you up a couple of days ago on your carnival date. And you were definitely more than sure that he had reciprocated your feelings considering how he was smiling nonstop (Plus the fact that the apples of his cheeks and ears were tinted pink) after you pressed a small peck on his cheek at the end of the date right as he dropped you off at the bus stop.

But it wouldn’t be fun if you continued to act as bashful as you did back at the carnival date, would it?

You and Kun let out small lighthearted giggles as you shut the door of your dressing room to his face, provoking him even more as you jokingly told him to ‘fuck off’ considering you two have about thirty minutes left until you have to get on stage. Yes, you were using this as a delightful excuse to do your make up and dress up fifteen minutes earlier than the rest of the cast considering it was quite a long play and you wanted to reread your script and calm your nerves before show time.

“Princess Putri, my love, my little songbird! Oh how all of these years of holding myself back, all these years of fighting and hoping to reunite with you once again and hold you in my arms,” Kun recited as you ran towards him, into his arms which were stretched open wide, waiting to wrap around you in a tight and loving embrace. With a single, meaty tear, you jumped into his arms. Letting him spin you around like the princess you were portraying as the piano music became loud and almost deafening, almost letting you believe that you were in your own world.

Going against the script, you wrapped your arms around Kun’s neck, leaning your head towards his to nuzzle his nose against yours lovingly, eliciting a laugh from said boy as he placed you back on your two feet. “Oh how I’ve been longing to feel your lips against mine,” he leaned his forehead against yours, his words going against the script as he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. Placing his free gloved hand on your chin, his thumb caressing your lips as the camera zoomed in on your expressions.

Your raw emotions being captured on the camera as you gaze back at Kun lovingly, a loopy smile stretched across your face as you scanned his features. His blonde hair poking out of the hat he was wearing, his front bangs messy and slightly wet with sweat with the sword fighting scene he had with Haechan earlier on stage moments prior. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest, your breathing hitched as Kun slowly leaned his head towards yours, closer than he should be as the piano music in the background began to slow down.

His eyes gazed up and down from your eyes to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own as his dark pupils sparkled under the theater light, the audience as silent as mice as they waited in anticipation for the long awaited kiss scene. “May I?” he whispered almost breathily, his melodious soft voice sending shivers down your spine, the microphone attached to his cheek picking up on his almost inaudible words. His eyes gazed up at yours for your consent as your lips parted into a wide grin.

You leaned forward, nodding softly with a wide smile on your face. He let out a soft chuckle, lips inching closer to yours as your free hand tugged on the tips of his hat to tease the audience by blocking the kiss scene completely from them as his lips pressed against yours. His hand that was on your chin moved up to your cheek as he leaned his head to the side slightly for a better angle, hearing the audience break out into a loud applause as you gripped onto his hat tighter to cover up the fact that the two of you were practically making out in front of a hundred people.

Your eyes shut tight as you basked into the feeling of Kun’s soft, slightly chapped lips against yours, the cherry lipstick probably making a mark on his lips as you moved yours against his in sync as Kun’s hand that was on your cheek moved to turn off your mic and his own as he refused to pull away from you. He leaned his face so that he could deepen the kiss, not caring about the lipstick you were wearing that was currently smearing and staining his lips a rosey pink.

“Holy shit, are they actually making out?” Haechan whispered aloud backstage, leaning his head forward slightly so as to not accidentally get caught by the applauding audience as Lin and Doyoung pulled on the rope to close the curtains. “Did anyone get that on camera?” Kai hissed, looking at the other club members in hopes of finding someone with their camera phone up, smiling widely when she saw Ten and Brooke holding up their phones up with big grins on their faces.

“YOU MORONS, STOP RECORDING AND CLOSE THE CURTAINS!” Doyoung exclaimed from the other side of the stage.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that you two just made out in front of a couple hundred people?” Ten chuckled, replaying the video of you and Kun kissing in front of the whole campus and probably their parents, siblings and grandparents. “Plus the owner of the school and the theater majors,” Brooke added with a soft snicker as Ten pulled her close to him in a tight embrace as they and a few other club members gathered around to watch the video. “Priceless, who knew our favorite dynamic duo would end up making out in front of the whole campus?” Kai teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, leaning your head down on the table to avoid the knowing smirks of your club members. “I didn’t know you were all suppose to bully me today, I would’ve brought a pan to smack you all into tomorrow if I knew this was going to happen,” you added, mumbling small curses incoherently as your friends considered to snicker at your uncharacteristically flustered and bashful state.

You remembered immediately running off from the stage once your club members started applauding and whistling at you as soon as you pulled away from the deep kiss. You and Kun both had flustered expressions stretched across your faces when you saw the smudged lipstick stains on both of your lips, panting for air as you stared wide eyed at each other. You were also sure Kun had run off to his own dressing room to save himself from any more teasing. (especially from Ten)

As soon as you locked the door to your dressing room, you couldn’t stop your heart from beating rapidly against your chest. The butterflies in your stomach swarming as if there was an earthquake, a giddy feeling bubbling up in your chest. You swore it took everything inside of you to not scream your emotions out into the bag you brought today, but you survived after drinking lots of water to calm yourself down (despite the fact that you could feel a giddy smile stretch across your lips whenever your mind wanders back to the soft makeout session you and Kun had merely moments ago.

“Hey, can we talk?” Kun’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, causing your head to shoot up from your leaning position on the table. Eyes wide as you both stared in awe at each other, feeling your hearts race when Kun coughed awkwardly to break the awkward tension settling in between the two of you. “I-” you were soon cut off by Kai, who popped out of nowhere to push you up to your feet with a mischievous grin stretched across her face.

“Of course, go ahead. Take your time, after all you are done here, right?” Kai gripped your shoulders tightly when you opened your mouth to speak, realising that for once in your life you didn’t know what to say in situations like this. “Right! Now, off you go!” She exclaimed with a soft giggle, shoving your bag in your hands before pushing you towards Kun, ignoring the death glare you were sending her as you followed Kun out of the theater room.

Kun shoved his hand in his pockets, racking through his brain to think of something to say to break the awkward tension. “So,” he started, wincing at how awkward he sounded before proceeding with his words. “Are we going to talk about what happened back there or?” Kun raised his brow at you, finally turning his head to make eye contact. You bit your lip nervously, looking down at your feet before gulping and looking back up at him.

“Not until you- you uh-,” you coughed, pointing a finger at the corner of his mouth. “You got a little- a little lipstick there, bro,” you quietly pointed out, internally cringing at how awkward you two were despite the fact that you were fine with shamelessly running away from him after confessing your crush on him with laughs and giggles in between. Kun’s eyes widened at your statement, wiping the corner of his lips with the back of his hand as he mumbled small apologies under his breath.

Kun paused when you finally told him that the lipstick was finally wiped off. “Did you just call me ‘bro’?” he deadpanned, furrowing his brows in confusion. The atmosphere slowly returning to normal upon his obvious question as your eyes widened in a panic. “I don’t know! I panicked! We’ve never had a post make out conversation before. Or a conversation that doesn’t involve you glaring daggers into my head, I swear if looks could kill,” you shot back, waving your hands around as Kun let out a light chuckle.

“So, do you like Messi?” you asked after a pregnant pause, clasping your hands behind your back with a small smile. Kun raised his brow at you, chuckling softly at your words. “Is that supposed to be a Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo reference?” he asked, letting out a soft giggle when you nodded shamelessly in response, wide smiles stretching on both of your lips as you looked down at your slightly dirty shoes.

“Can we talk now?” he asked, leaning his body against the wall as you both stared at each other in silence. Except, this time the silence was no longer awkward. Hell, it was almost comforting.

“Of course, yeah. Sure,” you nodded, trying to keep your cool as Kun took a step towards you. “Well, for starters, I really enjoyed- I mean- fuck,” Kun started, scrunching his face when he realised he was stumbling over his words, rubbing his face in frustration. “What I meant to say was I really liked kissing you,” he looked down nervously, eliciting a small smile from you as you had never seen the calm and collected Qian Kun this flustered in front of you. And you couldn’t even believe the fact that you were the one who was the main reason why he was like this.

“I don’t know if you meant what you said when you said you liked me before the performance, but fuck it. I really really like you and I really do want to be more than friends or club members,” Kun chuckled, swallowing his nerves down as he fiddled with his fingers in front of you, his dimples protruding on his cheeks as he gave you a cute, toothy smile. You couldn’t help but push your own nerves back to tease him, raising your brow as you gave him a cheeky grin.

“Is Qian Kun simping for me, right now?” you teased.

Kun let out a light laugh, shaking his head at you profusely at the sight of your own light expression. “I guess I am,” he shrugged with a staggering laugh, joining you in your small fit of giggles. “Well in that case, I’m just here waiting for you to pop the question,” you placed the back of your hands on your hips, giving him an encouraging smile despite the fact that your heart was beating oh-so-loudly in your ears.

At this point his eyes had turned into small moon shapes from how wide he was smiling and his cheeks were starting to hurt. “Pop the question? What is this? A marriage proposal?” he teased, raising his brow at you suggestively. Now it was his turn to tease you.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” you smacked his arm jokingly, giggling along with him bashfully.

He took another step towards you, leaning towards you to grab your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours tightly. Giving your hand a loving squeeze, he took a deep breath as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “May I be your boyfriend, then?” he asked, a soft, boyish smile on his face. The happy glint in his eyes never leaving him as he stared lovingly into yours, taking in your features slowly as you giggled lightly.

“Whipped Kun hitting different,” you commented, eliciting a laugh from your senior as he squeezed your hand in his gingerly once again.

“Just say yes so I can kiss you again,” he rolled his eyes at you, his soft smile never leaving his face.

You puckered your lips gingerly, answering him with your actions as you waited for him to press his lips against yours. “I’m waiting, Kun,” you said with puckered lips, giggling softly. Kun let out a light hearted laugh (which was sure to add ten years to your life span the more you listen to it) as he commented on how uncharacteristically adorable you were being at that exact moment, earning a loud complaint from you as you frowned at him. “I guess you don’t want me to say yes,” you sighed heavily, sniffing for dramatics as you raised your free hand to your eyes to let out a fake cry.

“You’re so dramatic, I’m so close to taking it back,” Kun muttered under his breath before reaching over to cup your cheek with his free hand to turn your face back to face his. Pressing his lips against yours in a soft, passionate kiss, he smiled when he heard you giggle against his lips while squeezing his hand that was intertwined against yours at your sides.

¤ tagging: @kunrengui @chiffonymark @lebrookestore @leetaeyonglover @oifelixcmerebrou @fruityutas @vera-liscious @c-sanshine @thats-a-jen-no-no @coco-riki @stayzenniesstuff @stayctday @yunntext @qianinterprises @dreamyyang @channoticedmeuwu @caratinylyfe

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neoturtles #neoculturecafe #nct x reader #wayv x reader #nct x you #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #wayv kun x reader #kun x reader #qian kun x reader #wayv qian kun x reader #wayv fluff #kun fluff #nct kun x reader #nct qian kun x reader

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jennagrinsoverml · 4 years ago

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ML Fic Recs - Ladynoir

I think most readers can appreciate a good rec list, but it’s often the same fics that I see recced again and again. I get why they’re recced - they’re amazing! But I want help finding fic I haven’t already read. So I decided to be the change I want to see in the world. The rule: the fic must have less than a thousand kudos on AO3 (but I’m trying to limit to fics that have less than 500.) Obviously this means a lot of my favourites are not included here, but you’ve probably read all of those already anyway.

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

To get things started and in honour of the quality ladynoir content we just got (which I’m hoping will inspire even more quality fan content!), let’s have some ladynoir recs. Fics are in no particular order.

Amnesiac? More like Amnesi-Chat by therealjanebingley

Oblivio's back, and this time only Chat Noir gets hit. Based on his limited knowledge and the way Ladybug acts towards him, he makes some assumptions.

One-shot. This is hilarious. From Chat’s genuine glee about his superheroes to Ladybug’s affectionate indulgence to having Chat provide an “outside perspective” on Ladybug’s non-platonic behaviour towards him to the teasing... I could see this actually happening in an Oblivio 2.0 episode.

Experimental Kisses by @komorebirei

Ladybug watched him. Maybe it was guilt, maybe sympathy, maybe a streak of playfulness. Maybe the traumatic akuma experience had softened her up. Whatever the reason, a thought wafted lazily through her mind and out of her mouth. “You know… you’re right. It isn’t fair, is it?”

Chat Noir looked up.

“I remember my first kiss, but you don’t.” She hummed and tapped her chin, making a show of remembering. “It wasn’t a bad kiss, but we were in the middle of fighting an akuma, so I didn’t get to enjoy it much, either.”

Oops—that came out sounding a little, no, a lot more flirty than she had intended. Anyway, if she was going to commit to this idea, she may as well go all in.

One-shot. Ladybug offers to kiss Chat since he doesn’t remember their kiss and the way she reacts to the kiss...it lives in my mind rent-free. I have fallen asleep many a night fantasizing about what the repercussions of the kiss might look like.

What's your favourite colour? by @hermionemonica

Ladybug and Chat Noir sit on a rooftop, watching the sunset.

One-shot. This fic is short and sweet and absolutely lovely. It’s set post-reveal and despite only being 566 words it’s full of sweetness and feeling.

Margins of Error by orphan_account

“Do you…” Ladybug's voice is at an almost-whisper. He can feel her breath fire-hot against his face. “Do you want me to show you how I think they should write our kiss?”

Adrien isn’t here anymore, leave a message after the tone.

Adrien was raised on order. His life is meticulously planned, each day as reliable as the equations he studies in physics and calculus. But Ladybug- Ladybug always has him at a loss.

One-shot. Okay, so I know the author of this one since I download all my favourite fics, but since they’ve orphaned it I’m going to respect that. However, since the author was kind enough to leave the work up so people can continue to enjoy it, I’m going to suggest that people do so! Ladynoir kisses featuring my absolute favourite dynamic: sexually assertive Ladybug and receptive Chat Noir. (Don’t take this to mean the fic has sexual content - it’s just kissing.) AMAZING.

Liquid Luck by @somethingvaguetodo

Ladybug enlists Chat Noir's help in decoding the remaining ingredients for the power-up transformation potions. Together, they work on creating them, and possibly destroying the barriers between them.

Multi-chapter. The riddles of the secret potion ingredients are fun to think about, Ladybug and Chat Noir both get to show off their smarts, and the trust and support between the two of them is showcased. Perfect ladynoir.

when you weren't mine to lose by @bugsandchatons

Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It's been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they'll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she'll cross to save him.

Multi-chapter. This is what happens when Ladybug loses Chat Noir. It hurts in all the best ways and the writing is absolutely gorgeous and somehow we still get a happy ending!

well if i'm beautiful and you're beautiful then who's saving paris? by celebreultimaverba

Chat flirts. Surprisingly, it works.

And then it backfires.

One-shot. This one is so cute and sweet! It’s a quick read but you’ll be smiling by the end of it.

sometimes the dreamers finally wake up by magesamell

"Four days ago a mermaid flooded Paris and an ancient guardian introduced himself to his father as a substitute Chinese tutor. He had thought that would be the end of it."

Ladybug tells Chat Noir all of her secrets.

One-shot. Post-Syren. The fic we all desperately need about Ladybug actively working to restore the balance of her and Chat’s relationship after Fu messes with that. It’s not overly romantic, but it’s absolutely perfect.

i fall in love just a little, oh, just a little by @mlady-noir

If she was asked, Ladybug wouldn't be able to give a specific date when her heart decided to fall for her pun loving partner, but she could point out the night she realized it.

One-shot. Sofffffttttttt. This is just a beautiful narrative of Ladybug’s fall for Chat with a sweet, sweet ending.

Someone I Can’t Fall In Love With by @yslen54

Ladybug agreed with Chat Noir when he suggested that they should finally share their identities with each other, but she’s been dreading it ever since.

One-shot. This is short and sweet. An identity reveal that explores Ladybug’s feelings for Chat Noir and then plays with the divided heart trope.

The following fics are amazing and absolutely worth reading, but do feature sexual content, so minors beware.

You can’t stay away from me by plikki

When Adrien sides with his father, he expects to protect Ladybug and buy some time. He doesn't expect that his emotional state will make it so much harder to resist the girl that he loves, until he just gives in.

Multi-chapter. Rated M. Not-quite an enemies AU, but with all the beautiful angst and tension of one. There’s a fair amount of sex, so be warned but it’s SO SO GOOD. And all of the pain and angst is followed by a sweet happy ending.

baby, we don't have time to be coy by Molebear

"What are we doing?" Chat breathes, the words sending a tendril of lucidity back into Ladybug's hormone-addled brain.

It's a fair question.

The origins of this tryst are a little hazy in her mind at this point. Something about a lovesick akuma, maybe? Ladybug vaguely remembers Chat Noir getting struck by something, only seconds before it hit her too. There was a fight, or... there was something she and Chat Noir had been in the middle of doing - something important, like.... save-the-world important - before she'd dragged him underground with the sole intention of climbing him like a tree.

A scorned lover gets akumatized and gains the power to cast Lust. When it comes to distracting Paris' beloved superhero team, this power turns out to be... rather effective.

One-shot. Rated M. The UST of this one damn near killed me. It’s hot AF and I would commit homicide to read the conversation these two have after that lmaoooo

Charmed, I'm Sure by @chatonne-rousse

Friends with benefits. It's right there in the name, and it's what they are - friends. Best friends. This is just a way for two consenting adults to relieve stress after akuma fights, with the only person they'd trust with this level of intimacy. Really, what could go wrong? (The real question is, what could go right?)

Multi-chapter. Rated E. The sex is really, really hot. It’s in character and full of emotion. And there’s an amazing identity reveal followed by “I’m so happy it’s you!” sex.

A Little Too Far by imploder

Ladybug gets handsy, and Chat Noir lacks self-control. Alternitavely: "Plagg's Worst Nightmare".

One-shot. Rated E. This one is hot and in character and just absolutely amazing steamy ladynoir content. Features my favourite: sexually assertive Ladybug. Because who doesn’t love playing with gender role stereotypes?

#ml fic rec #fic recs #ladynoir #ml love square #ml lovesquare #jennarecsml

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tomorrow-and-tomorrows · 4 years ago

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Gojou, education, and the question that started it all:

“What should we do with him?”

It’s easy to take this moment for granted, but it’s a remarkable teacher-student dynamic indicating how Gojou strives to offer his students an environment in which they can express their own opinions and values, rather than demanding them to sacrifice their individual conscience to serve a pre-determined set of rules.

Megumi had saved Yuji in the spur of the moment by pushing him out of the way of the cursed spirit, but there’s also the follow up to this when Megumi tells Gojou he doesn’t want Yuji to be executed. In this latter instance, Megumi is able to take part in saving Yuji a second time because his teacher encourages and allows for this formative moment to happen.

Once again, education and the environment cultivated by adults sets the background for the devlopment of each new generation.

When Gojou was a student, he was given the command to “escort and erase” Amanai, a mere child, for the greater good. As a student, Gojou did not experience an environment in which an educator thought to ask the younger generation, ‘what do you think is the right thing to do in this situation?’. What the authorities demanded of Gojou and Geto was to sacrifice their conscience in service of the prevailing system. As a teacher, Gojou’s philosophy directly pushes back against this.

When confronted with Sukuna’s vessel, at first Gojou ostensibly frames this as a pop quiz to review what jujutsu regulations call for in this situation.

But the questions he actually keeps open for Megumi are: what do you think we should do? What are the principles by which you want to live your life? What are the risks you are willing to take when deciding who to save? These are the formative questions that resonate throughout all the rest of Megumi’s ongoing character arc and development. These dilemmas did not arise in a vacuum: they were allowed to be developed, rather than suppressed, in an educational context.

In discovering Sukuna’s vessel, the significance of this situation as a historical moment cannot be understated: it’s a once-in-a-million chance vessel for the most powerful curse in history. Ordinarily, no adult would seriously invite a first-year student to contribute any input at all. However, this is exactly what Gojou does: he doesn’t disregard or belittle Megumi as inconsequential.

I think this is because Gojou understands the element of human relationships. He perceives how Yuji is not just “Sukuna’s vessel”, he’s a person who fought alongside Megumi and with whom Megumi now has a relationship and emotional connection to. That is why Gojou, having known what kind of personality Megumi’s had since he was a child, recognizes that Megumi is personally invested in Yuji’s fate.

He acknowledges Megumi as someone who should be given the chance to continue learning what it means to make decisions in accordance with his values. Gojou doesn’t tell Megumi what is the right or wrong decision, but gives him the opportunity to form his own judgment.

This is consistent with how Gojou let even first-grader Megumi decide, ‘what kind of life do you want to live? Based on what you value, what do you think is the right decision for you?’

Again to contrast when Gojou was a student, in the absence of being supported by adults, he and Geto had made the decision together to act on their conscience and save Amanai. Again, their decision was due to the recognition that Riko is her own person, someone who has human relationships with others and individual desires. They recognized this even before meeting and forming their own friendship with her.

By choosing together to save Amanai, Gojou and Geto were, consciously or not, expressing the desire to live in a world in which young people in the jujutsu world are treated as humans first above all else, regardless of what objectified role they must play for the greater good.

Even though they ultimately failed, it is the act of deciding together what kind of world they want to live in and want to create that Gojou wishes to carry on with Megumi and likely his students more generally. No one ever gave Gojou and Geto the opportunity to express their values, and no adult watched over them as they tried to do what they thought was right.

Now, by asking Megumi what to do with Yuji, Gojou is offering him what no one did when he was young.

It’s easy to see the persistence of the old order that Gojou has rejects. (The panels from chapter 137 would also be relevant examples to use here, but I think that chapter deserves a post of its own when considering how Yuta relates to all this with Yuji’s renewed execution order.)

At the same time, by allowing Megumi to participate in saving Yuji, Gojou must also knows the risk of the guilt he’d feel if Sukuna ended up killing people as has now happened.

That’s a heavy burden to place on a young person. In ordinary circumstances, one might question if it was prudent for Gojou to do so. But there are contextualizing factors to this that may support Gojou’s methods here as worth the high risk of it backfiring (as it has indeed ended up happening in Shibuya).

Importantly, the moment deciding whether to save Yuji was made jointly by Megumi and Gojou; it’s a shared responsibility. Realistically, regardless of Megumi’s answer, Gojou would have single-handedly fought the higher-ups for Yuji’s right to live just as he had successfully fought for Yuta’s life. But by inviting Megumi to be implicated with saving Yuji in a political context, Gojou offers his personal philosophy in which that fight is made together with Megumi as someone who will not always be his student, but who will one day become an ally to this mission of changing the jujutsu world.

Unfortunately, Gojou could never have anticipated being sealed away at this point and leaving his students without his protection. With Gojou out of the picture to take responsibility for Sukuna’s rampage, Megumi will take on the full emotional burden even more than he has already, and this time without his teacher present to lessen the weight of that by defending Yuji from the higher ups.

In the context of the most recent chapter 137, Yuta’s reintroduction to the story actually complicates all this a little in the scenario that his individual conscience drives him to want to execute Yuta for the sake of his friends. And even in the case that he changes his mind to support Yuji, more often than not, and even with Geto and Gojou’s attempt to save Amanai which risked Tengen becoming an enemy of humanity, individualistic motivations come with much higher risks and moral ambiguities than the conservative, traditional system that emphasizes collectivism; the former not a straightforwardly positive principle. As always, it will be interesting how these ideas continue to develop as these questions are brought to the forefront again with Yuta, and then with Megumi’s re-evaluation of his choices post-Shibuya.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #fushiguro megumi #jjk meta

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zet-sway · 4 years ago

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I wrote something angsty and spicy.

Rated: "E" for "Extremely Spicy" [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Vantablack" Pairing: Thane / FemShep (Unrequited?) Pairing: Garrus / Femshep (Mentioned) Summary: Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing.

THIS IS NOT HAPPY SHRIOS. Most of my recent work has been very soft and warm feeling - this is not that. But I want ya'll to know I have some soft happy shrios in the pipeline to make it up to you <3

Inspired by @shut-up-alexa's fic Weightless, I drew upon the moment where Thane takes a sip from a glass Shepard had just been drinking from - as was her intention. The fic itself says he tastes her lip print and sets the memory aside for when he is "alone with himself in the darkest part of the night." It was then I knew I had been visited by the smut fairy. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME WRITE FANFIC OF YOUR FANFIC :D

Sleep was difficult enough to claim, most nights.

Thane, ever a man of routine, kept to his nightly rituals like an acolyte. He began with prayer. Verses carved into his mind since his youth, silent and still as he bargained with the gods to mull the chaos of his memories, to forgive his misgivings. Meditation lasted as long as it needed to. Sleep was, after all, fruitless without a quiet mind.

Aboard the Normandy, however, nightly meditation felt like a fool’s pursuit. Shepard, returned from the waves of Kalahira’s ocean, demanded much of a man like him. In her hands, the carefully constructed fortress of his mind was like a house of cards. Reborn into the hands of the enemy, she raged, unable to trust the unfamiliar construct that was her body and searching with grief and heartache for a lover she couldn’t locate. She prodded him with questions, seared him with her gaze and her relentless upset.

Raw, heart-stricken, and reckless, her anger was justified - even if she flung it at him underhandedly. He forgave her always. To be her target was to bear her trust. He could see it clearly; she knew no other way to soothe the guilt and isolation that tore openly at both her body and her mind. In time, he was confident she would heal. Until then, Cerberus was no friend to her.

And thus tonight, like most nights, she haunted him.

At 0300, he decided on a compromise. Troubled sleep was better than none at all. After a calming herbal tea and having tended to his hygiene, he settled into his cot, nude as he so preferred to sleep. If he could sleep at all.

The minutes, and the memories, began to tick by.

"The most important aspect is intent," he’d said to her, watching her eyes follow him while he circled behind her. "A breath of hesitation will get you killed, or worse." Hands alighted on her shoulders - a companionable gesture before they both endeavored to threaten her life.

Shepard didn't flinch when he began the demonstration. Thane flattened himself against her back, one arm winding wide around her shoulders. Pressed into the curves of her body, his sweet torture began. She arched her neck - calm, trusting - offering her throat into the curl of his elbow as he tucked his arm under her chin and sealed his hand on her opposite shoulder. He steeled himself against his lust, breathing in unison with her, taking advantage of his proximity to inhale her scent as he demonstrated the headlock. Carmine hair brushed across his fingers where they were clamped on the nape of her neck, his breath washing over vulnerable, prickling skin.

Thane let the silence linger, writing the lush warmth of her body into his memory, caught in the lethal intimacy of his embrace.

"Weaken the spine by twisting," he murmured, his lips nearly brushing her ear, each word sending strands of hair ruffling on his breath. Thane closed his eyes, enflamed by her closeness, praying for mercy as she tilted back into him - a wordless exchange of scorching intent, however convinced she was to not act upon it.

His voice, barely a whisper, poured forth from intangible parts of him that hadn't known a lover's touch in over a decade.

"Apply pressure in the opposite direction."

Careful, controlled, he flexed the arm around her throat and wristed the palm at her neck. Painful to her, as he knew it would be, but not enough to truly hurt her. Nevertheless, she tensed in his arms, a kinetic shiver flowing from her body into his like the sinful call of a siren. Willing herself to trust a killer's restrained tactile intimacy, a hair-trigger away from dropping her where they stood.

"And snap."

Innate human vulnerability gave voice to her wanting. A single breath escaped her lips when she failed to contain it behind clenched teeth, her carotid artery pounding beneath smooth scales. Thane answered with his own hot rush of air against the back of her neck, a contorted gasp he hadn’t realized he was holding, torn from his throat almost against his will.

He allowed himself a blinding second more before releasing her, but not before stealing a brush of delicate skin across his lips as he pulled away. A parting gift to himself - one he paid for just hours later, when she laid her poisoned trap before him.

With the skin of her neck still irritated from their training, Shepard, mildly intoxicated herself and wrapped in a dark silk robe, presented him with a glass of her own venom. Tequila - amber and potent, an indulgence she knew full well he’d deny -- unless it was laced with his drug of choice. Her.

There upon the rim of the glass was the rosy imprint of her pigmented lips. A well of temptation, spiked with her essence. If this was a test, he'd failed spectacularly. Gods forgive him, he raised the glass to his lips under the pretense of drinking and lost himself to the faintest tastes of her mouth, entranced, savoring the traces of her beneath the mask she painted on every morning to reclaim what little of herself she believed was left. Shepard watched him with a carnivore's eyes, drawn over with night-black daggers as if to warn him. Like a rose garden, she was beautiful and wreathed in thorns. He knew better than to stray too close, but he would gladly take what meager offerings she presented - venomous or not.

This was his penance for opportunity’s kiss, stolen behind her back. A petty theft, to be sure. But even petty sins were still sins.

True to her reputation, Shepard was a fast learner. She played his game, abided by his rules, allowed him to touch her under the guise of training. She wasn’t blind to her effect on him - no. She would use him to find her turian lover. And he would let her. Selfishly, begrudgingly - willingly. What she desired would be hers for however long she allowed him to remain in her orbit.

The temptation of her lingered in his mouth and still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be until he could taste it directly from her lips, sealing his arms around her, a serpent beckoning her to taste of her own forbidden desires.

“What does it taste like?” She’d asked, as he sampled her forbidden offering.

The moment played over in his mind as he savored what little he had of her. Wax and pigment woven through with the fire of her essence. The rubicund flavors of her mouth, lit from within by the burn of tequila. The leash of his desire held firm in her little human hands, ever reminding him that she was not his to hold.

Alone, as only a drell mind could, moments melded together like droplets of dew on grass. The ghost of his mouth over her neck. The taste of her painted lips on a rim of crystal. Hair feathering over his fingers, the scent of her body, and the thrum of her pulse tugging at his heart with longing. Filched moments clutched around and within him, lust coiled like a snake in his gut, rearing its head between his legs. A call of arousal demanding to be answered - painfully, without another to share in his release.

He shifted on his cot, loosely draped in the delicate, tight-woven sheets that slipped over his scales as he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm behind his head in frustration. All the meditation and control in the galaxy would not be enough tonight. Like that sinful sip of tequila, his blood was on fire in a way he could not ignore.

Cool air met his scales as he pulled the sheets back, uncaring when his calves tangled within them. Alone and aroused, he would do as his body willed.

Memories welding together behind closed eyes, conjuring visions to answer his need. A slick tongue traced over his - a kiss. A common intimacy that he burned so brightly for, and had been denied to him for what felt like a lifetime. She might hesitate at the first touch, a breath of uncertainty when she met the split of his tongue, unknowing how much he ached to spoil her with that small perk of interspecies diversity. He drank of her mouth, absorbing her heat as he glided one palm over his length in teasing strokes.

As she so often was on the battlefield, the woman he imagined was demanding. Soft, unblemished hands pushed him back, fisting in his clothes as she, lost in her burdened reality, both pushed and pulled them together. Would she think of her lover? Of endless nights entangled in the long limbs of the famously obstinate Vakarian? In truth, Thane did not care. In his selfishness, it mattered not whose hands she thought of when he finally drew back the long elegant robe she so loved to taunt him with. Watching the fabric slip past her shoulders to reveal skin so bright it was nearly blinding in the dim light of his quarters. She was untarnished, even by the freckles that once dusted the high points of her features. The way she hated her body was something he understood all too well. A product of another's vision, a construct and tool to be used by others, with little regard for her dispositions. A weapon financed and fabricated by Cerberus. She obsessed over her body not out of vanity, but in rage. Such had begun their training.

He wanted fiercely to call upon any memory of her hands on him, but he had precious few. As yet, she hadn't managed to land a single blow on him in all of their sparrings. But little by little, she was getting stronger. Almost imperceptibly so. His grip tightened around his length at the thought - hovering over the phantom taste of her on his tongue, the beguiling wrap of her fingers around the neck of a glass bottle. She knew her strength, knew exactly what she was doing. The way she toyed with him, oh, it made his breath catch. Tempt me, touch me.

He wanted her to overpower him, to trail those supple human fingers over the hard planes of his body as she took her pleasure from him any wretched way she chose. Her soft hand coiling around his shaft, a thumb smoothing his own weeping seed over the head of his length. He gripped himself harder, scales beginning their familiar bite into his flesh.

It wasn't enough. No. He wanted more.

Alone, yet weighted down with the shame of indulgence, he paused and reached beneath his cot, searching the small compartment that contained his personal effects. From it, he produced a single leather glove, turning it over in consideration. He disliked wearing gloves, the material impeding finer sensations he preferred to feel through his bare hands when striking for another's life. But they were a tool like any other in his arsenal. Useful for eliminating evidence and now, apparently, for self-gratification.

He couldn't have her hands on him, but he could have this. Soft and worn from wear, the material slid over his palm and fingers and he reached back into the darkness for himself.

It was different. Not quite what he imagined of her hands, but different enough from the texture of his own scales. He squeezed, a quiet sigh drifting from his throat as he tested his grip, repositioning his fingers, letting the sparse fluid of his sheath accumulate in his palm. Touch me, he willed her. Take from me what you please.

In the long years after he'd failed as a husband and a father, the pull of guilt and desire was but an old companion to him. He bore his sin on strong shoulders, praying to his gods, to his wife, to Shepard, for patience and the gentle hand of forgiveness. But even he, merely a man, could succumb to the base desires of sentience. She was imperfect and wracked with loneliness just as he was.

In the maelstrom of his thoughts, her beautiful, terrible wrath and desire descended on him like a drug.

He found it to be true that Shepard did, as he had heard, “fight like a krogan in a bar fight." That tactic had carried her this far, but there was much more to learn. With each day spent in rigor and training, he showed her how to control her fury. It wouldn't be long before she would learn to recognize an opening when he gave it to her. Beneath the lust of his own touch, he could think of little else than to tempt her with feigned vulnerability, if only just to see how far she would go. To let her catch his feet with a sweep of her leg and knock him flat on his back, all for the opportunity to peel him out of his training leathers and shatter the last barriers between them.

Such a union would destroy their delicate alliance. But here in his thoughts, any perceived fragility was his alone to endure. His mind raced with the thought of her entrapping him on the sparring mat, giving himself over in sweet surrender just as he’d done with her lipstick-imprinted well of liquor. How eagerly he would be her captive, submitting his pounding heart and body to her exploitations until she arrived at the manifestation of his need, screaming for her touch, twitching beneath her hands.

He cared little for how she took him. In his heart of hearts, he wanted to worship her, to show her how even reborn into a frighteningly reconstructed body she was still everything he ever saw in her and more. He wanted to taste her lips, her flesh, to map the broad expanses of her with his hands and tongue, to see her skin darken with the distinct human blood-flush of wanting…

But she would never let him. That privilege was for her lover alone, the handsome turian with indigo clan markings the same color as Shepard's lacquered fingernails. Thane's place was beneath her, and even that very thought lit his nerves afire with wanting as he drew out his pleasure with his gloved hand, aching for her to make him dance in her palm as she did when he bested her in combat drills.

If he couldn't worship her, he would more than willingly submit to her control. How he wanted to be the one to satiate the desperate woman within her. To see the visceral spread of her thighs around him, luscious hips rolling like waves over him as she shook loose her robe, and with it, the shackles of her desolation. His eidetic memory pulled forth every gasp and cry she had unwittingly fed him as they trained together. Her sonorous human voice played over his nerves, singing into his blood with every pump of his hand, a soundtrack to the Shepard he'd constructed in his fantasy. Her wide-shut eyes, wanton in the throes of pleasure, drawing him into her depths to answer the sanguine howl in her blood. The feral woman he knew, unleashed and longing to fill the void of two missing years with just a single shred of affection as she held out for her chosen lover.

Even if she overlaid him with vivid imaginings of turian plates and talons, Thane trembled to be the vessel of her desperate need. How badly he wanted to give her this. Heart pounding, he painted her in his mind with too-smooth skin the color of sun-soaked Rakhana sands. Speckled with tiny beads of sweat that carved trails down the valley between her unbound breasts with every rise and fall of her body. Her hair stuck to her dampened, vulnerable throat, still wrapped in a delicate lace of scale-borne irritation from their training. Her eyes fell closed, darkened lashes sweeping across flushed cheeks as she reached between her legs to galvanize her pleasure.

He lost himself to the vision of her face as she used his body to reach her peak of ecstasy. She was wild, clawing back her humanity through animalistic impulse that shredded her reality for what few blissful seconds her biology would allow - and it finished him. Buried to the hilt inside her, he surrendered with every nerve in his body. He choked back a shout, neck pitched back, vicious sparks of need pouring through the conduit of his lust and claiming her in a torrent of screaming, feral possession. For a split second of eternity, he was lost, trembling before the avatar of his own carnal lust, wondering if he could ever be forgiven for wanting her so savagely.

And then it was over.

Minutes drifted by as he laid still, assuaged yet afflicted with the sin of indulgence. Gods forgive him, he wanted her. And perhaps even more forbidden than the pleasures of her body was the thought of holding her.

Indeed, the simple intimacies of loving someone seemed by far the most out of his reach. To stroke the sweat-slicked skin of her back, nudging his face into her damp hair as she laid atop him panting, satisfied, permeated with his essence and high on his venom. The rosy, burning flavor of her venomous gift lingered in his mouth. So close and yet nearly further away than she had ever been, pushing and pulling him in heartache.

Slowly, as he tidied himself, his phantom lover evaporated. Away she wisped, searching for the embrace of her wayward lover, wherever he might be.

His heart rate slowed as the seconds slipped by. 0400. Training in two hours.

#zet writes things #shrios #fshrios #thane krios #ITT: thane has a very angsty fap #don't hate me i promise im still writing soft shrios #lkfsdjflskfjsldfjsldfs

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writinglionqueen · 5 years ago

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My King Tribute Fic | The Boar’s Den

A very considerate follower made me a fantastic fanfic that coincides with my My King universe!!! @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia dedicated her time to create this masterpiece of a story and asked me to post it here to share with you all. Please give her some love and read this story. You won’t regret it. All credit goes to her. The only thing I can take credit for is beta reading this masterpiece.

You considered your life to be very blessed, even by the standards of a Queen. You enjoyed the privileges that belonged to a lady of your status, but suffered very few of the entrapments that often followed it. The food you ate was always fresh and well prepared, but you were never forced to eat what was laid out for you, or forbidden from eating what you wanted out of fear that it would ruin your figure. The clothes you wore were tailored from the highest quality fabrics in the world, for you alone, and yet you always took charge in how you dressed, and by extension, what your day would consist of. You lived in the very castle that young girls dreamt of when they heard tales of brave knights and beautiful princesses, but you were never restricted as to where you were permitted to go. You could roam freely and enjoy your home and all that came with it, especially the training grounds which you happily frequented.

Above all, it was your husband that you were most grateful for. It was he that granted you all of these liberties. He gave them to you freely, and without hesitation. He took on your discomforts, your burdens and your displeasures as if they were his own and always made it his personal task to help you in any way possible. You admired his tireless efforts to give you everything you desired, both as a queen and as a wife, and you always made sure he knew you appreciated those efforts. There were times where you were even convinced that you lived the perfect life.

This was not one of those times.

You had been standing in a single room, that you could not leave, for hours on end dressed in quite possibly the most frivolous (and hottest) garments known to womankind, all while your hunger grew to almost unbearable proportions. However, what you hungered for was not food. It was the man sitting on the oaken throne before you, draped in furs and skins of wild beasts, with his copper and onyx circlet set firmly above his brow, listening to a tailor from a nearby village drone on about the prices of cloth compared to the price of thread.

Drew had been on campaign for the past month, leading his men in battle against a rebel, who was calling himself the True King. He did call himself that. Now he would find it difficult to call himself anything with his head no longer belonging to his neck. Drew had also captured the rebel’s two generals. His sons, the traitor’s only living heirs, and he had imprisoned them; fully intending on executing them once the two revealed any and all plans for further rebellions.

Nevertheless, the King’s long absence did have an effect on the realm’s day to day operations, and although you pride yourself on how you maintained your keep, the villages surrounding your castle needed their King. It had been mere minutes between Drew coming home bloodied and bruised, dragging the traitor’s two gigantic sons by their chains, throwing them in the castle’s dungeon, trading in his armour for regal clothing, and taking his place on his throne to hold court. The only interaction between your husband and yourself was when Drew presented you with the sword of his fallen enemy, and placed a chaste kiss to your lips as you welcomed his return in the courtyard with the other nobles of the castle. But even then, you were in such a... dizzied state for seeing your husband again that you allowed that sword (which looked rusted and dull) to cut your thumb ever so slightly. But above all, even though it was short and mostly for the sake of appearances, that kiss he gave you was all you were able to think about as you stood on the balcony of the great hall with the high ranking ladies of the court gazing at your husband’s profile as he tried desperately not to fall asleep.

All you could think about was how much Drew must have been holding back when he kissed you in front of all those people. How much he wished he could just rip your clothes off, taking you then and there. You knew that when you embraced him after he dismounted his horse and proclaimed to the people that their King had returned a hero, he was desperately wishing that your hands were scratching down his back as you heralded him in a more excited and primal manner. You knew that when the people around you cheered, he imagined the clapping of their hands to be the pounding of your bed-frame against the stone wall.

You knew he was imagining it all, because you were imagining the same exact things. Though there were many, many great privileges to being Queen, being made love to by the King was by far the greatest. You were unsure of other wives, but when Drew let you know that you were to be bedded that night, you felt nothing but pure lust until he fulfilled his promise. Even when he was injured (which was often) he still managed to please you, powering through his pain to give you pleasure… and he always seemed to find his as well.

It was odd, though. No matter how much you desired your husband, no matter how much your body screamed for him to be inside you, no matter how much you wanted to make him feel the same way he made you feel, you always reverted back to a shy, tentative young girl when you were in his arms, just like you were on your wedding night. Drew had some other worldly effect on you that prevented you from initiating intimacy. Not fear. You had never felt afraid of him, but there always was this… hesitation. This expectation for him to take control, as if there were no other option. It never really bothered you, however. With the way that Drew took control over you, there never needed to be an alternative.

As you stood there, suffocating in your ridiculous dress, watching the dust float through the sunbeams penetrating the glass of the windows inside this dry, wooden hall, you nearly hallucinated the scenes of what awaited you that night. You discretely swept your tongue across your bottom lip to only find it as dry as the air around you. The only source of moisture that you could sense in the entire room was pooling itself between your thighs. Every time you shifted your stance in a futile attempt to give your feet more comfort, you were sure that everyone in the hall could hear the sopping noise that it made. Your... wetness had trickled itself almost to your knee at this point, and it was completely unbearable.

Then, if by some miracle, the tailor stopped droning on long enough for Drew to interject that something or other was to be done about his issue and that he could leave the court knowing that he had been heard. Then, the tailor bowed and left. He left. The demon that had been preventing you from heaven has been vanquished.

“One petitioner more. After him, this forum will be continued tomorrow.” Drew’s booming voice echoed across the hall. You swore that you heard everyone give a sigh of relief. As a page left to usher in the final person, Drew turned his head so that his eyes met yours. His devilish smirk met your beaming smile as he slowly nodded to you as if to say, “I know, my Queen. I know how you’ve missed me, and very soon, I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Then, Drew draped his arm over the side of his seat, and grazed his fingers over the engravings of it, in perfect view of you. His hand danced a bit more until it landed on a tiny gemstone, no larger than the bud of a flower. He then slowly swirled his fingers around the nub before shifting his muscles and pressing in on it for just a moment, before circling it again.

You sucked in a breath and held your stomach where you felt heat bubbling inside you. You bit the inside of your cheek and suppressed a moan. It just wasn’t fair. Queen’s shouldn’t be teased. Not like this. Your face hardened as you tried to stay expressionless. Drew smiled and turned his head forward again, still working his hand. He knew the hold he had on you. To everyone else, it looked like the King was absentmindedly fiddling with the etchings in his throne. But you knew better. You knew much, much better.

Then there was a bang that grabbed you out of your painfully bliss-filled trance. You turned your head and put your hand over your mouth. Not out of fear. Quite the opposite, actually. It was to keep from laughing. The man who had just burst through the door without waiting to be properly announced was shorter than yourself, and wearing a brightly colored… outfit, that no true Scot would ever don. You found the garment very hard to make sense of, so you didn’t bother to try. He wasn’t forced to wear it either, like a fool would be. By the way he took strides that his little legs shouldn’t have been able to take, he was very proud of his appearance.

You looked at Drew, whose mouth was slightly open as he stared at the little man who was barreling toward him. For the first time in hours, the King was sitting up at full attention. The walking curiosity stopped a few feet from the throne, dramatically bent his knee and gestured broadly with his hand.

“Your Majesty. Before I begin, I beg of you to allow me time to praise your grand victory over the vile pretender-”

“I am grateful for your praise, friend, and I’m sure that your words would move the ladies of the court to tears if they were to be spoken,” Drew quickly said. There were scattered laughs throughout the crowd. The little man just smiled and nodded. “But I must say that you entered this hall with such... urgency that I can say in full honesty... I would like to know your cause here today.”

At this point, Drew was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. Not quite in a mocking manner, but in a manner of one who was asked an impossible riddle. The little man, however, was elated with the attention shown to him by the King. He stood up tall and proud with his bird-like chest puffed out.

“I am Slibhin Mac a’ Ghobhainn, and I am here to petition His Majesty for a company of royal warriors to assist me in retaking my home. My home... that was stolen from me... by my very kin.” Drew glanced at you, asking with his eyes if you and he were just sharing a dream one would have whilst they weathered a fever. You just shrugged your shoulders. Drew turned back to your guest.

“I must say, your request has been the most... ambitious one that I’ve heard today. But, I have to ask you how I can give you my men to reclaim your home when they have just returned from defending their’s.” Drew raised his eyebrow. The man called Slibhin stood back a bit, comically intimidated by your husband’s small gesture. Nevertheless, he persisted.

“I must confess, Your Majesty. This endeavor is not as… dramatic as I may have relayed.” He bowed his head in faux humility. “My father is… was... the blacksmith of your keep’s village, and with his passing, I should have inherited his estate and all intended incomes. However, my birthright has been… usurped by my… cursed sister. While I had been away on business these past few weeks, she has been, without my knowledge or consent, conducting transactions with the people of the town and has been calling my enterprise her own. Not only has she taken my means of income, but has destroyed my home and has turned it into a… boar’s den of the most unappealing state.”

Your ears perked up at the word “sister.” You had always had a great admiration for smithing, and had always fantasized about creating something yourself, though you kept this secret. Not even your husband knew... yet. When the image flashed in your mind that a woman was in charge of a smithy, it brought a bright smile to your face that you didn’t even attempt to hide. Drew, however, let out a breath.

“So, you are asking for the arrest of your sister?” You immediately frowned at that. You knew that Drew was compelled by his office to uphold the laws of the land, but… you both knew... just by looking, that the man before you had no right (other than virtue of his sex) running a smithy. Slibhin showed his smile again. The smile that had amused you at first now was the cause for your most sincere disdain.

“No, Your Majesty, that is not what I am asking for. You see, if my sister were to be arrested, then I would be without the means to make my fortune.” His smile deepened. Drew rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was clear that as much as the funny dressed man was enjoying his showmanship, Drew was becoming agitated by it.

“My late father was very keen on having his skills transferred through his children. When I didn’t immediately become a prodigy under his impossible training regime, he turned to my sister who, in an overwhelming need to be praised by him, showed something resembling skill in the field. As much as it pains me to say this, I need her to perform her duties. I just need them done under my jurisdiction.”

“Well, if your father raised your sister to take over his business, what right have I to disrespect a dead man’s wishes?'' the King asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You smirked in a slight satisfaction over that. Even though you knew this had nothing to do with you, it somehow felt like Drew was defending you. Though you couldn’t explain it, you considered Slibhin, the petitioner, as an invader. As a threat. Not a physical threat, not at all. You were certain that even in your present state you could make him bleed. Heavily. It was his mind that you felt put off by. He wasn’t clever, not by any means, but his way of thinking (if you could call it thinking) somehow disturbed you. He just felt so… entitled. Though he hadn’t done anything outrageous, there was something about him you just couldn’t trust. You had hoped that Drew’s questioning would have somehow disheartened the small man, but he just kept… on… smiling.

“Your Majesty, like yourself, I am fortunate enough to have been wed this year...” He smiled and nodded to the space next to your husband. You gasped loudly. There stood your King’s cupbearer. A little girl with soft skin and wide eyes, no older than ten. It was a subtle nod, one that the vast majority court hadn’t seemed to notice, thank the Gods. But you had known what you saw, but you refused to believe it. Yes, she was the closest person to Drew and she was very well dressed, but surely no one could have possibly thought that she was their Queen, or that Drew would ever dare wed or… lay with a... child. Who looked at a child so young and innocent and thought: “wife”? Tears welled in your eyes. Drew leaned forward and inhaled to repute the gesture, obviously aware of what was implied, but Slibhin persisted.

“But I haven’t married just any woman. I have married the daughter of a Laird.” He said the last word as if he were sampling a rare vintage. “Through this union, I have acquired a status that supersedes that of any blacksmith, alive or dead. By both my birth and my diplomacy, I have the right to that smithy. Now all I need is... well, physical support to take what is mine.”

You could feel the veins in your forehead bulging as your eyes stung. You hated this man. Everything he said. Everything he thought. Everything about him filled you with a rage. He had insulted you and your husband. He believed his Queen was a child and his King was a senseless monster. More than that, he was stealing a woman’s right to work. Her livelihood. Just because he could. There was no way he could do this.

“Very well.” Your head snapped to your husband. Drew rubbed his temples under his circlet. “You’ll have some men to help you restore peace to your home, but that’s all. You cannot-”

“WAIT!”

Time stopped. Silence covered the room like a woolen blanket. Even the little gnats that were fluttering about seemed to be suspended in the thick, heated air. Every living thing in the world had turned into a statue, all with their heads turned to you, including Drew’s. Your face felt hot. Hotter than before, if that were even possible. You noticed that your hands were gripping the railing before you. So tightly, in fact, that your knuckles were the color of milk. You looked down at Slibhin. His smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes were small and full of malice. You took some comfort in that you broke, if just for a moment, that boy’s jovial mask. It gave you the courage to speak.

“If I may speak on this-”

“Your King has already made his decree, my sweet girl.” said Slibhin quickly, hoping to put you down as swiftly and as kindly as possible. “I don’t believe he-”

Drew quickly stood to his feet, causing the floor to quake in the process.

“Your Queen has chosen to honor you with her words. I suggest you listen. Kneel, boy.” As if his legs were cut at the knees, Slibhin fell back down with his head bowed once more. You could see that the little man was sweating… heavily, and not because of the blistering heat. Drew looked back at you, his eyes filled with admiration and encouragement. You felt some kind of power in the bottom of your feet, anchoring you to your castle. Your home. Your seat of power. Air gracefully filled your lungs and you spoke.

“Perhaps it is just my female sensibility, or the fragile constitution that poisons my sex,” you said with an overly-sweet tone, so much so, that the ladies of the court tried to suppress their giggles, leaving the men confused, “but it seems to me that sending military force to settle such a small domestic dispute, even without violence, is very... uncivilized.”

You looked at Drew for support. He nodded slightly. “Well said, my Queen. What do you suggest instead?” You hesitated, but only for a moment.

“Send an ambassador. Someone to settle the matter diplomatically. I believe it would spare exhausted men more work, and inspire less resistance from the blacksmith.”

The court murmured in support of your idea, but you couldn’t help but feel disheartened. You didn’t want to send an envoy to solve the matter. You didn’t think there was a matter to be solved. Let the damn girl smith in peace. However, you knew that couldn’t be. The small, hateful man that knelt before you had a right to his father’s business... and his sister’s life if she were not yet married. You just couldn’t bear seeing a young woman dragged out by soldiers to be humbled before her brother; a brother that clearly bore her no love.

“It shall be done, my Queen. I can think of no better alternative.” Drew proclaimed, just happy that the matter was finally done with. “The crown will send the Laird of Commerce to settle-”

“I will go,” you said. “Today.”

Drew’s eyes widened. He turned to you and raised his brow. You did your best to not look directly at him, but instead kept your chin raised and your eyes on the frivolously dressed man. You knew what you had done. The place of the Queen was inside her castle, not in politics. Drew had allowed you some leniency just then, by giving you leave to speak, but that was just because he was so utterly exhausted. The repercussions that may fall on Drew for your actions were not lost on you. He could be seen as weak or incompetent. Your outburst could be seen as him allowing a woman, even if it was his wife, control him. You knew all of this.

But you couldn’t let this happen. Even though you had never met this smith before, you felt a kind of womanly bond with her. You didn’t have a plan for when you met her, or how you could save her, but you also had no plan to speak out a few moments ago. Slibhin looked back and forth between the two of you, hoping that the King would somehow intervene. Though you had never declared your intention to have the girl keep her forge, he could sense your motives... and he didn’t like them. You could tell that he was just waiting for Drew to silence or perhaps admonish you in front of the court… all with that damned smile on his face.

“I suppose you will be in need of an escort…” Your head snapped to your husband. He had a smile of his own. Sincere and cocky. “My Queen. I’d like to offer you my services.”

Your heart fluttered and you nodded. A collective giggle escaped from the crowd. Him doing this not only showed that he approved of your plan, but if anyone dared to oppose you, they would have to go through him first. On top of all that, his attitude was a playful one, showing he wasn’t bothered by your actions at all. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“The court is dismissed. Those in attendance will retire and I will go to fulfill my duties.” Drew’s voice boomed through the hall as the nobles and commoners alike scrambled toward the exit. The room emptied uncommonly fast either out of fear of their King, or because they wanted the ordeal to just be over already. It was most likely the latter. In a moment the only living souls left behind were yourself and Drew. Even the sniveling Slibhin was taken out and told to make his smithy ready for the royals’ arrival.

You walked down to the lower level to meet with Drew. The smile on his face hadn’t lessened, but it did change somehow. As soon as you were within reach your husband grabbed you and held you close. It wasn’t in a romantic way; it was in a very lustful way. Your face was forced into his chest. One hand gripped your hair while the other was pressed into your backside. Drew squeezed his hand and forced you to roll into his thigh. You tried to gasp, but found breathing impossible. The King lowered his mouth to your ear.

“I know what you’re trying to do, little one,” he growled. “You’re trying to torture me. Trying to make me wait. Get back at me for teasing you. But let me tell you something, my Queen.” He let go of your hair and tilted your chin to look up at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your mouth hung open at the sheer sensation you were experiencing. Drew continued, “I may be beaten down, but I still have the strength to take you. I still have the power to ravage you. I still have the endurance to turn you into a whimpering mess. The only thing I don’t have is patience to visit that little idiot’s house and watch you comfort some crying welp.”

Drew lifted you and placed you roughly on his throne. He leaned over you and put his arms on either side of your head, caging you. Your chest heaved as your breathing became erratic. Your husband captured your gasping mouth in a fiery kiss and you moaned unabashedly. After a few moments of bliss, you felt a rough, dirty hand slide up the side of your leg. It reminded you that just a few minutes ago, you could feel yourself dripping as you dreamed of this exact scene. But something felt wrong. Your head was swimming and your thoughts were scattered, but you knew that you had forgotten something. Something important.

“Welcome me home, my Queen. Not like that little farce this morning. Give me a real welcome.” Drew growled and bit your neck, making you hold in a scream of pleasure... and a small amount of pain… just the right amount. “Come on my love. I want to hear you.” By now his fingers were pushing into your core, threatening to enter you. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He was whispering now. In the midst of his beast-like state, he still found softness to give to you.

You felt guilty for what you were about to say. You loved your husband more than anything in this world and you wanted to give him what he wanted. What he craved, but…

“No, Drew. I have to go to that man’s house. I have to see that smithing girl. Today. I really truly have to... Please, let me go.”

Your husband froze. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. You swallowed and started to get up from the throne. Only then did Drew back off from you and in doing so, you felt his fingers leave your core. It was devastating. Drew stood to his full height and stared at you. His face was confusion incarnate. You got to your feet only to stumble forward and be caught by your King. Your legs were still shaking from what he had just done.

“Thank you.” You were barely able to speak let alone look at him.

“Are you serious? You actually want to go?” His voice didn’t have a hint of malice. But it seemed... small. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded. The guilt you felt was immeasurable.

“I’m sorry. I just… I-I… yes. Yes I want to go… and I need to go now. If-If we, um… share each other now, I w-wont be able t-to think of anything else.” You shook, hugging your husband’s chest. “I’m so sorry. I want to give myself to you. I want everything to be perfect when we…” You couldn’t finish your thought. You looked up at Drew’s face, expecting him to be angry, sad, frustrated, anything like that. But the corner of his mouth was turned upwards and his eyes were sparkling. You went to speak before he rolled his eyes and let out a breath of a laugh.

“On we go then…” The King turned and lumbered away from you, shaking his head dramatically. “The things a man must do to bed a woman.” He spoke over his shoulder. “You’d think a King would at least have an easier time.” He stopped and turned to you. “Well? Are you coming?”

A broad smile covered your face as you ran to catch up with your teasing husband.

The first word that came to mind when you walked through your keep’s village was “quaint.” Compared to the village surrounding your father’s keep, this was a bustling metropolis, but that wasn’t saying much. Every building looked the same, some just slightly bigger than others. The people also looked the same… some were just slightly bigger than others. Everything was a different shade of greyish brown. With a few splashes of specific colors to indicate different shops. You could tell that these people were poor, but none seemed like they were “in-need.” They had dirt on their faces, but they also seemed to have food in their stomachs. The noises that you heard were dull but plentiful. Men grumbling about prices, old women sharing rumors with one another, big wooden wheels of food carts crawling along on the soft peat roads.

Luckily, your feet and the hem of your dress were safe from the filth. You rode on your horse a few meters behind your escort, your husband. Though he no longer wore his royal circlet, it was obvious to the village folk around you that he was their King. Everyone got out of his path. From the littlest children play-fighting with sticks to the largest men pulling wagons along because they couldn’t afford a mule, all stopped what they were doing and stared at Drew… from a safe distance, of course. You couldn’t help but feel prideful. You saw how the townswomen stared at your husband. How they lusted after him. They also must resent you for keeping him from them, as if they ever had a chance. You suppressed a giggle. All women wanted him, but he was yours by right. And you were going to lay claim to what was rightfully yours… very soon.

“Well, would you look at that,” you could hear Drew proclaim. You craned your neck as the King slowed up to leisurely ride beside you. This time, you couldn’t contain the laughter that burst out of you at the sight of the little Slibhin sitting in the dirt, dizzy with pain as blood steadily dripped from his nose. It was a lovely sight. Drew looked at you and raised an eyebrow. Your laughter subsided a bit as a hint of shame plucked at you. That was very unladylike. Even Drew, who resented the little man almost as much as you did was able to maintain his composure. Still… it was funny. You didn’t think much of it.

Drew dismounted and helped you off your mare. You looked at your surroundings. It consisted of hundreds of grey eyes fixed upon you. Some were trying to figure out who you were. Others were judging you for your outburst. Others still were looking on and wondering how a woman so small could lay beneath a man so large and not be flattened. You began to feel self-conscious and fiddled with your sleeve. You took in a breath to address the crowd before you felt the large torso of your King block out the sun as he stepped between you and the masses.

“Royal business. On with your day.” Drew grunted. Like ants after you pick up the slab they were hiding under, the people disbursed. You reached out and squeezed his hand in thanks before you turned to the building behind you.

Under a shoddy overhang, there stood a gigantic forge with multiple anvils, crafting tables, whetstones, and pieces of different metals and ores grouped together by size and type. Your first thought was that no one man could work this forge alone, let alone one girl. On the wall hung more smithing tools than you knew existed. Each one grimy and well-used. Even the wooden handles of the hammers seemed to be rotting, but you couldn’t help but admire how well organized everything was. As Queen, you were in charge of keeping the largest estate in the country in the best shape it can be, and even you could never be this organized.

You swallowed hard and looked at your husband. By now he had taken the reins of your horses and led them to a water trough. You watched as he sat on a nearby overturned barrel and looked at you. You gave him a weak smile, pleading for some gesture of encouragement. Drew smirked and replied by spreading his legs. Under his kilt, you saw his already glistening cock jutting straight out of a roost of thick, black curls. Slightly less noticeable were the black and purple bruises that seemed like knolls in the tree trunks that were his thighs. They had to be extremely painful, but he didn’t seem to care. Drew gave you a look. “Don’t take too long,” it said.

You turned and knocked on the wooden door in front of you. Slibhin gave a groan of pain and mumbled something incoherent. You just rolled your eyes. The big door creaked open a sliver and you saw two pale blue eyes meekly peer out. You blinked a few times in surprise before crouching to be level with them.

“Umm… may I come in? I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

The two beautiful eyes nodded before retreating behind the door to heave it open with both hands. This was not how you expected the visit to start, but now you were more curious than ever. You hiked up your dress, stepped over the threshold and entered the house.

This was a home. You could tell that these people were richer than most, but they put nothing they owned to waste. The chairs were cushioned, but with makeshift pillows that seemed to be sewn from very fine, but very torn silks. Suspended from the ceiling beams were little figurines of colored glass that others would put in a cabinet and never dare breathe on for fear of shattering it. They gave the house a comforting glow when the light hit them the right way. In the wooden support beams and rafters were etched runes that you didn’t understand, but liked to look at. They had little statues and figures carved from wood that must have been imported from somewhere far away, but they weren’t for decoration. They either had overcoats draped over them or cooking utensils in their hands. Expensive looking urns and pitchers had been stuffed with soil and sprouted mixed clumps of different wildflowers, giving the house a sweet, clean air. Everything had a purpose, and even fluffy, expensive furs that even the highest of nobles would keep locked away safe, were used as carpets and doormats.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but you felt… safe here. It was like a child’s nursery in a way. While you admired the house you were in, the door closed, and your ear twitched at dainty little ghosts of footsteps. You turned.

Standing there was a woman that was somehow even smaller than yourself. Her half-braided hair was so light that it appeared silver in the few beams of sunlight that filtered through the shuttered windows. Somehow, her skin was even more fair, with a sweet but extremely shy look on her face. If you were a child, you would have believed her to be a fae. She wore an extremely well made and expensive looking dress... that appeared to have the sleeves, collar, hem, (and practically all areas that caused discomfort in a woman) torn or cut and resewn. It didn’t restrict her in any way. You would be lying if you said you didn’t envy her. You silently cursed yourself for not changing out of your ridiculous gown before making the journey into the village.

It was only then that you remembered that you had come here to speak with a smith. You quickly glanced at the girl’s arms, noting them to be as weak and as elegant as a willow’s branch. Her fingers were small and lithe, like strands from a spider’s web. Her back and neck … unbent as if it were an icicle, not at all like the hunched over men you had seen working your keep’s smithy.

“My Majesty. I am having a great honor, now, to be receiving your person at my little homestead.”

You were taken aback by her broken speech, but her voice was absolutely beautiful... like the ringing of a bell. She got on her hands and her knees before you, a bit excessive, but you understood her intent. You began to question if you should reciprocate her absurd amount of formality.

“Arise, my good hostess. A woman should never have to kneel in her own home.” You gave her a warm smile, and after a pause she rose to her feet but kept her head down.

“Please have forgiveness for me, Highness. I am stupid to your traditions of the South.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet girl,” you were quick to reply. “I’ve come here as a friend. Please, don’t feel that you’ve insulted me.” The silver girl nodded understandingly, but her shoulders were still tense. You had never met this woman before in your life, but you desperately wanted to reach out and embrace her. To stroke her hair and whisper comforting words to her, like you would a frightened child during a storm.

“I believe you know why I’ve come here,” you gently pressed. The woman nodded.

“Yes, to discuss the business of this family. I am begging you, now, to possess a chair of mine.” You smiled at that. The way she spoke was adorable to you. You grabbed a seat and almost gasped as you sank into the cushion. It was just so comfortable. The girl moved to the chair opposite you as if she were gliding on a frozen pond, and nervously sat. A long unnerving silence blanketed the room until you were finally able to find your words. You deeply wanted to just get it all over with.

“I would just like to tell you that I do wish I could support your claim to your father’s forge. In fact, I- I admire you. Ladies are often not as… bold as you are about your talent.” You spoke about her “boldness” with great hesitation. You have never seen a more meek person in your life, but she must have some bravery in her. If you had learned anything from being the wife of the King, it was that people are not often as they appear.

The young woman tilted her head and furrowed her brow in confusion. You were afraid that she didn’t understand you and were prepared to repeat yourself in simpler terms, when you noticed her eyes widening. She flung her hand over her mouth to hide a gigantic smile as her shoulders bounced in an attempt to suppress giggles. While it was comforting to see your hostess joyful, you were the tiniest bit offended that her newfound laughter was directed at you.

“I am sorry. I am sorry, Queen. Do you… Do you believe that I am the smith?” Her eyes were playful and innocent. A wave of embarrassment flooded over you as all the color was drained from your face. Of course she wasn’t a smith. Any idiot could see that. Just lifting a hammer would exhaust her. The girl gestured to herself. “I am the wife.”

That sentence caught you by surprise and you looked up at her. Then you remembered that Slibhin had bragged about marrying the daughter of a Laird. She did carry herself like a noble, but… the way she spoke showed that she was certainly not a native of Scotland.

“Of course. Forgive me, but your accent…” you tentatively asked. The girl nodded.

“My mother was Norse. She raised me in the old language, being very prideful of her people and of her land.” Your eyes followed her right hand as it played with her left wrist. It was adorned with a pale silver bracelet. Obviously, it had a connection to her mother. “Yrsa,” you heard her whisper to herself, sadly. She took a moment before seemingly returning to the present. The girl continued. “She was for my Scottish father, a reward. A chained bride from conquest. His only desire was to breed savage boys with cold blood. And she did give to him two sons who were strong and brave and warlike... however he was plainly not content with my birth.” She kept looking at the bracelet, speaking as if you weren’t there. “It was his demand for her to swaddle me by the sea and have the waves take me… he sent my brothers along to witness my death, and to force my mother if she were unable to do it… but she did not do it… and my brothers did not force her. She hid me and when I was able, I played the role of a servant-girl. My brothers aided my farce.” She gave a weak smile. “I will now have been dead by his own hand if he had known of my living. By the time he was made aware of me, I was too old to kill quietly and I proved useful for marriages... in exchange for weapons and armour.”

She looked directly at you. Both pride and pain shined in her eyes.

“I am Sigrdrífa, my Queen. The fruit of a mother’s defiance and two boys’ mercy.”

At first, you didn’t know what to say. It was good that you finally knew her name, but you were at a loss for words. You only wanted to hear more of her story. Who was her mother? Was she still alive? Did she know that her husband was lying three feet from the door, knocked silly?

“Sigrdrífa... are you-”

Just then, outside, you heard a loud thump followed by a comical wail of pain. Slibhin must have been struck by something.

“This is the smith, my Grace.” Sigrdrífa muttered, almost amusedly. You were suddenly filled with an excited nervousness. This is why you were here after all. To talk with the smith. If she was anything like this little Sigrdrífa, this would be more interesting than you imagined it to be this morning, and you were imagining quite a bit. At least you would have an easier time understanding her.

The door was busted open with a kick.

“Oi, te’ foockin’ cunt’s still bleedin’ by te’ nose! Ah dun’t even use me good han’! Ah shoulda done tha’ years ‘go! ”

She was massive. Her body nearly filled the door frame, blocking out all the light. Her broad shoulders and arms that were left exposed by her leather jerkin were wonderful advertisements for her trade. Her head was shaved, and you couldn’t tell if the brown that sat on her head was stubble, or layers of ash and dirt that seemed ingrained in other parts of her skin. You suspected it was both. She had no indication of a womanly figure. Her clothes were clearly meant for a grown man, and they fit her perfectly. In one fist, she held the necks of several ducks.

She opened her mouth to speak again and froze. Her eyes were the color of newly unearthed ore with clumps of dirt still clinging to it, begging it to return to the ground. Rough and unrefined, but strong. You felt that her gaze alone was strong enough to knock you down, and it was fixed on you.

You smiled and stood, intending to walk towards her, curious, and only the slightest bit intimidated. That all changed when her once toothy smile was swallowed by her tightening lips. Her nose crinkled and you saw her jaw tighten. You swore you could hear her teeth grinding. She took her tree-trunk of a leg and kicked the door closed. You stopped before you could even take one step.

You suddenly felt yourself suffocating. Not like you were in the morning, with boredom and stillness, but you couldn’t find your air out of fear for the giant before you. You felt like a caged animal, not a dangerous animal that could fight back, you were something small like a hare or a field mouse. There was just no way you could do anything physical to her. The smith tilted her chin up to as if to speak over you. The veins in her neck were bulging, but she still stared at you.

“Te’ son ofa whore wun’t bluffin’. ‘E got te’ bleedin’ Queen… Ya let ‘er in?” Her voice was surprisingly soft. There wasn’t much anger in it, more like she had been slapped in the face… by someone who could actually reach. You looked back at the meek little girl you had just met. She stood up straight with her eyes locked on the smith, not showing one bit of fear. If anything, she seemed annoyed.

“She is here to be settling your business.” Sigrdrífa spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. Patronizing. The big woman sneered and stared you down.

“She dun’t look li’e she’s ready to settle anythin’ wit me.” Your eyes moved to her free hand, where she used her thumb to crack each of her knuckles. Loudly. You gasped when you felt Sigrdrífa’s tiny hand grab your arm. She spoke to you.

“I give you apologies, my Queen. She speaks harshly for she fears losing her-”

“Ah’m naw ‘fraid. Notin’ ta be ‘fraid of. Et’s naw gonnae ‘appen.” The large woman continued to stare at you and raised her eyebrows, as if daring you to challenge what she had just stated. You heard forceful, purposeful footsteps come from behind you. You watched as your tiny protector marched up and met toe-to-toe with the mountain at the door.

“You are behaving as a boar does.”

“Ye’ eva jump inta a boar’s den? Tear ye’ foockin’ guts out, they will. Rightf’lly so.”

“You will lose your neck for speaking so.”

“They’re welcome te’ try ‘n take et.” She still looked directly at you, never breaking eye contact. A ghost of a smile played with the corners of her mouth. She was cocky. She knew that she could do whatever she damn well pleased to you. This was her den, and you had just stumbled blindly into it.

“Yer naw takin’ me forge. Et’s mine.” The smith just would not stop staring at you. Sigrdrífa pushed against the smith’s chest. Her porcelain skin seemingly red with anger.

“She has been sent here to keep the peace.”

“She’s been sent ‘ere ‘cos they don’ t’ink ah’d lay a hand on te’ Queen... Bu’ ah can, an’ ah will.” You felt faint. Your head swam in a freezing kind of heat. You wanted Drew here. You wanted him to barge through that door and rescue you. But you knew he wouldn’t. He only escorted you to keep up appearances as King. He let you walk into this house alone. He must have seen the gigantic girl walk in and kick the door shut behind her. He trusted you to settle things here. He wasn’t coming. If you screamed his name, the smith would still get to you first. It was up to you to save yourself, and you were too terrified of the scene before you to conjure anything that could remotely resemble a rational thought.

The smith saw this, and was loving every second of your horror and fear. She opened her mouth to say something else when the woman in front of her began to sob. For the first time since she saw you, the giant took her eyes off of you and looked down at Sigrdrífa, her face now immense with concern. She dropped the ducks in her hand and shot her arms up to hold the trembling woman. Sigrdrífa swatted her hands away and punched at her vest.

“You are not made of metal! You think that you are, but you are not!” The smith went to hold her again, but again she beat away her hands and continued to wail on the giant’s chest. “You will fight the whole of the King’s army? Yes? You will fight every soldier of this Scotland? You will kill every soldier of this Scotland? You will fight the King? You will kill the King?” The smith took in a breath to respond, but was cut off. “You will be KILLED! You will be dead, and I will wish to be dead!”

Sigrdrífa’s strength seemed to fall away instantly. Her hands stopped their pounding and fell to her side. She fell forward, directly into the chest of the monster, who immediately wrapped her arms around her, giving her the support that her wobbling legs failed to provide. Sigrdrífa’s shoulders heaved as she wept, and the giant just... held her. You couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before you. You didn’t know what to think. Sigrdrífa spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. You strained to hear.

“You are selfish. You are selfish to try and fight the world. When you are dead, I will have lost all of me. When you are dead, there will be nothing to stop him-”

“No.” The smith spoke with a stern and clear voice. “‘E won’t touch ye again. Even if ah lose ev’rythin’ else, ‘e will never touch ye again. Ah promise, little one.”

Little one.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You immediately looked up at the big woman. Her eyes were fixed firmly on Sigrdrífa in a state that you instantly recognized. Her eyes were focused, but so soft. Her mouth ever so slightly curled in a contemplative smile, despite the dire circumstances. Her head was tilted to the side. Her breath was slow and even. She looked at Sigrdrífa the same way Drew often looked at you. Just after you caught him staring, and just before he averted his eyes, pretending he didn’t even see you. It was a look of utter adoration. Pure love.

Your eyes darted down to Sigrdrífa. Her posture was different than it was a few moments ago. Though she was still distraught, she sought refuge in the person she had just been fighting, as if she had nowhere else to go. She nuzzled her head into the smith’s chest, as if she was trying to disappear into it.

Everything clicked into place. Your heart sank. Sigrdrífa was married to Slibhin, the smith’s brother. A brother that she clearly had no affection for... and a man that clearly had no respect for his wife or his sister. They had found refuge in one another. The smith was unapologetic about her brutish nature in front of the dainty girl, and she in turn felt safe to scold this monstrosity of a human without any fear or hesitation. You quickly looked around the room again to recognize the oddity of it all. The unorthodox nature of it. They had taken useless, idle things that Slibhin had most likely purchased using the money that his sister made, and had used them to serve their own comfort, something that Sigrdrífa desperately needed. These two had made a home together.

And you were about to take it all away. You couldn’t do that to them. Even if one of them had just threatened your life. You understood why she did so. Drew would have done the very same thing if someone had threatened to hurt you. Actually, he wouldn’t even utter a word of a threat. He would just kill them then and there. You gasped and held your heart. If Drew knew that this girl had threatened you, she would be killed. You had to do something.

“I support your claim to your forge.” You felt your throat resonate with sound even though you didn’t even feel your lips move. You didn’t feel yourself rise to your feet and take several steps toward the pair, but that’s exactly what you did. Though the smith’s attention was still on Sigrdrífa, you saw her eyes rise up to meet yours. They were red and threatening tears. Somehow, this gave you confidence. You had to take advantage of it.

“Also... no one sent me here. I demanded to come here and settle this matter myself.” The smith stood to her full height once again, but still held the girl. Sigrdrífa turned around in her embrace, wiping her eyes in shame of her outburst. Both of them, waiting for what you were going to say. For the first time since entering the house, you felt like the Queen.

“I may be willing to forgive you for your childish threats if you sit down and let me speak.” Your back straightened and you lifted your chin. In a way, you were trying to emulate Drew when he spoke to his undisciplined recruits. Sigrdrífa gently pushed the smith’s arms away from her, as if they weighed nothing, bent over and gathered the ducks off of the floor, holding them in her arms like a newborn. She took small, slow steps towards you.

“My Queen, may I ask you to pardon me? I must be preparing these for supper.” Her voice quaked. She was completely embarrassed. You felt pity for her. She was most likely the most gentle woman you have ever met, and she was thrown into the middle of all... this.

You nodded and gave a ghost of a smile. She bowed her head and retreated to the fireplace. She sat in a rocking chair and began plucking the feathers from the ducks. The chair and fireplace were extremely close to the table. She was well within earshot and could easily talk business with you, but you understood that she just wanted to disappear. You at least could give her that courtesy.

You looked back at the smith at the door. She was walking toward you, but stopped in her tracks.

“Ah was just gonnae sit down. Ah wun’t gonnae do nothin’ else.” She put her hand up, as if swearing an oath. You had to suppress a smile, keeping your regal composition. Even though you were touched at the big woman’s devotion to the smaller one, and even though you desperately wanted them to live happily with one another, free from the little monster that plagued them both, you still were the Queen, and you had been not only insulted, but threatened by your subject. It was your turn to be intimidating, even if your target was just a stubborn, rough, protective giant. Just like Drew.

“Sit down.” She almost lunged to the seat opposite you. The ground shook with her every step. Even when she was seated, she towered over you. Frankly, you still had trouble believing that she was really that big. You took your own seat. She folded her hands together and hunched forward, clearly trying to show that she was listening. However, in doing so, she took up most of the table. To answer this, you leaned forward yourself and watched in glee as she retreated into the back of her chair. This time, you did smile. Proudly.

“Tell me why you should keep your forge.”

“Ye said ye s’pport me claim.” The big woman was tensing up again. She knew she was being toyed with, but she could do nothing about it.

“I do, but I only support your claim because I don’t want to support your brother’s.”

The smith smiled at that. A broad, toothy smile like the one she wore when she first entered the house. Her teeth were square, and she had a small gap between the front most two. Just like Drew. She was delighted that someone hated her brother. She looked into your eyes, hoping that you would return her smile, and lighten the mood somewhat. You didn’t return anything. Defeated, the smith cleared her throat and spoke.

“Ah’m te’ furst born. Ah’m from me da’s furst wife. ‘E said I’d ‘ave te’ forge when ‘e died… ‘E died. ”

“When did your father die?” You tried to formulate some sort of timeline. You didn’t know what for. You knew you shouldn’t get involved too much in their family affairs, but curiosity got the better of you. The large woman hitched her thumb back at Sigrdrífa..

“Same day Slibhin brought ‘er ‘ere. Died in ‘is sleep,” she huffed and rolled her eyes, clearly insinuating that that was not, in fact, the way her father truly died. But surely there was no way to prove any foul play. When a dying old man finally passes, nobody really questions why, or how. You got your thoughts together. So Slibhin brought back his wife and then his father ‘died in his sleep,’ meaning that she never truly had power over the forge. It had just passed from her father to her brother. But something wasn’t lining up.

“Then… when did you... take control of the smithy? I mean, why is your brother begging for help now?

“Te, King an’ soldiers wen’ off te’ war. Nob’dy te’ enforce it.” She looked at you like you were stupid. You weren’t sure if she realized what her facial expression was offensive or not, but you didn’t like it. Your cheeks grew hot at that insult, but you didn’t pursue it and further.

“So you’ve been in the head of the house for about… one month?”

She nodded her head. You opened your mouth to ask another question about the previous whereabouts of her now unconscious brother, but the smith cut you off, already knowing.

“E’s been livin’ in a whorehouse fer te’ past month. Anythin’ else? Can ah keep goin’?” Her patience was wearing thin, and even though she didn’t intend to scare you, you felt fear creep back up into your chest. But before you were able to even inhale to steady yourself, you heard the faintest sound of someone clearing their throat. You looked back up at the giant woman, who looked confused in turn. You saw her turn in her chair to meet Sigrdrífa’s gaze.

The smaller woman didn’t say a word, just narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, scrunched her nose and gave the smith a curt nod. The universal way a wife signaled to her husband that he was being inappropriate. The smith’s head lowered and she let out a big sigh, causing her shoulders to loosen and drop. Her hand went to rub the back of her neck in embarrassment as she slowly turned back to you, not daring to make eye contact.

“Ah’m sorry, my Queen,” was all she said. You immediately stopped yourself from forgiving her… and calling her ‘Drew.’ In that moment, you saw your husband in that smithing girl. Utterly and completely. That was the way Drew always apologized to you. From the body language to the facial expression down to the cadence of her words; it was an exact match.

“Continue,” was all you said. The smith nodded and did just that.

“Ah’m te’ one tha’ smiths. Ah’m te’ one tha’ earns te’ gold. Me brothe’ dunt kno’ an’thin’ ‘bout makin’ deals wit’ nob’dy. ‘E’s a cunt. Nob’dy want’s te’ work wit’ ‘em. Townsfolk don’ li’e me much, buh… ah’m sure tha’ ah’ve dun be’er than ‘im.. makin’ deals, ah mean...”

You genuinely nodded along with each point that the smith made… well, the ones you were able to understand. With every breath she took, you wanted more and more to give her the rights to her forge, and it pained you knowing that you couldn’t do so. Even though you didn’t like the girl, you knew that she cared about what was hers, and she was willing to fight for it. Just like Drew.

“-Wit’out ‘im, ah’ve made more gold ‘n ah’ve eve-”

“What’s your name?”

That caused the smith to freeze, mid sentence. She looked at you as if you’ve just grown three heads. You didn’t think what you had asked was difficult… Perhaps she didn’t understand the question? The woman opposite you rubbed her knuckles across the palm of her other hand and bit her cheek.

“Brynhildr... Ye’ Grace.”

“Brynhildr…” you repeated. The guttural pronunciation forced the name to get caught in your throat, causing you to cough a bit. You composed yourself and smiled politely. “That’s an interesting name.”

“Et’s a’ ugly name,” she corrected you, looking almost apologetic. “If et’s easier, ye’ can call me ‘Breun.’ Most evr’yone else does.”

Breun, you knew that word. It was Gaelic for something. You took it upon yourself to learn the language, but your teacher became very… excited in hearing you speak the ancient tongue and often cut lessons short to… reward you for being so studious. You had heard the word before. You just couldn’t remember what it was.

The smith read your mind. “Et means ‘filthy… stinkin’... beastly... t’ings li’e tha’...” she rolled her eyes and smiled sadly as she told you. Her voice was much softer than when she first walked in, as if she were trying not to upset you. Her eyes were somehow less harsh-looking than before, but just as strong. You felt like they could hold you up and support you, reliably, just by virtue of them looking at you. You stammered for something to say. Something that would give her comfort.

“Why- why would they call you that?” Stupid question. Anyone could see that breun was a perfect description of her, and she knew that perfectly well. She gave you a small smile and turned her hands over on the table, palms up, presenting herself as evidence. You quickly shook your head, trying to spare her feelings. “I will not call you that. That’s cruel.” She shook her head.

“Et’s true. Well... et wa’ true a month ‘go. Now ah git scrubbed bloody e’ry foockin’ sundown.” The smith tilted her head back when saying that, clearly not talking to you.

“It would not be necessary if you did not insist on ending every day by wearing a coat of ash,” a soft voice chimed in. You leaned to the side to look at Sigrdrífa, who had not taken her eyes off of her work, but was sporting a shining smile and a deep blush on her cheeks. You chuckled as you imagined the scene of this colossus sitting in a tub too small for her, with a sour expression on her face as the tiny, dainty, soft spoken girl scrubbed her back with a horse brush and reprimanded her for being too dirty… while blacksmithing.

“Tha’s naw all et means.” Your attention returned to the smith’s face. “Breun also means bold, loud, an’ unladylike.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Dun’t soun’ too ‘orrible te me.” Her eyes sparkled with pride. “Ah won’ be ‘ffended ef ye call me ‘Breun’, Ye’ Grace.” She offered you a smile once more, and this time you returned it sincerely. It must be a family trait, smiling. Her brother Slibhin, you remembered, often sported a smile when speaking to others, but his was snide and arrogant while her’s was humble and giving.

“Breun, it is,” you conceded with a nod. “It actually is a fairly handsome name, in my opinion.”

Breun’s chest swelled as she took a deep breath, trying not to shed a tear. It dawned on you that you may have been the first person to say something truly kind to her. Well, one of the first people at least. She leaned forward to say something, but froze as she just began to open her mouth. A flush of confusion and a tiny bit of fear washed over you.

You started to speak. “Excuse-”

“SHHH” Breun scrunched her face up and held a finger uncomfortably close to your mouth. Your heart began to race once more. Sigrdrífa stood up and moved to stand by Breun, putting her hand on her shoulder. The smith seemed completely statuesque. The only part of her that moved was… her ears. They seemed to twitch. You closed your eyes and tried to focus your hearing.

At first, you could hear nothing, just stillness. Then, the lightest, faintest dinging sound. It was constant and even, purposeful. Like a musician beating a drum. It was clearly coming from the outside. Drew would be able to see what was happening.

Breun slammed her hand on the table and pushed herself up, leaving cracks and splinters where her palm hit. She almost sprinted over to the door and flung it open, shouting incoherent curses. You looked over to Sigrdrífa for answers. She just closed her eyes and shook her head.

“What man would be foolish enough?” What was she talking about? What was foolish and who was doing it?

“Ah don’ gev a SHITE if yer te’ Fookin’ King o’ Scotlan’! Tha’s MY fookin’ ‘ammer!”

Oh no.

By the time you were able to hike up your ridiculous dress and run outside, Breun had already tackled your husband to the ground and was in the process of wrestling a hammer out of his hands. Both yours and Drew’s faces were full of surprise and confusion. No one had done this to him before. Many have attempted. Mostly it was just soldiers who wanted to earn the respect of their King, but they had fallen from him like raindrops against a stone wall.

At the realization that he had a real challenge before him, Drew’s face quickly turned from shock to savagery. Your husband pushed Breun back and kicked her in the chest, nearly launching her ten feet across the dry, dusty ground straight into the side of an anvil. The girl let out a loud grunt and doubled over. Drew then got back to his feet and looked at you.

“I thought you said that you could resolve this matter quietly!” The King was about to yell some more when he was knocked into the dirt again. Breun had already gotten back up and charged him, this time focusing on his right shoulder, the arm of which was holding her hammer. Surely enough, he dropped it, and like an attacking hound that had just been called back to her master, she pushed herself off of Drew, grabbed her tool from the dust, and pointed it at him.

“Right... now fuck off.”

That was the clearest you had ever heard her speak. Probably because that was the calmest she had ever looked, satisfied with her performance. Drew, on the other hand, was furious. Even though he had sustained injuries that would render a normal man bedridden for weeks, the mere fact that he had been knocked over was enough to make his blood boil. As Breun stepped over your husband to put her hammer away, he grabbed her ankle and tripped her. She fell flat on her chest, causing the ground to shake and a cloud of dust to explode around her.

Breun scrambled back to her feet and threw the hammer on a nearby workbench. Drew got up as well, slower than he should have. You called out to him, but he couldn’t hear you. The two stared at one another, and though you couldn’t tell who initiated it, the two locked up as if they were two bulls. You noticed that Breun was about one head shorter than your husband. Drew started pushing forward, causing the stubborn smith’s feet to skid backwards in the dust until her back hit the stone wall of her house. Her eyes went wide as she realized that she couldn’t best your husband in strength. Drew wore a smirk on his face. He knew he had won. The King raised his eyebrows, taunting his opponent. Breun’s face became flushed with fury and embarrassment.

You didn’t know if it was out of defiance or desperation, but you watched on in horror as Breun cleared her throat and spat in Drew’s face. You heard gasps behind you. You spun around to see that a gigantic crowd had formed to see their King. Maybe it wasn’t a terrific idea to not have any guards accompany you and your husband to the town. Just then, you saw a woman cover her mouth to silence a scream. You turned back around to see Drew with his arm raised and the hammer in his fist. You bolted forward, trying to intervene, when you saw a flash of silver. The next thing you saw was Sigrdrífa hanging about Drew’s neck, trying to stop his movement somehow, but only having the same effect as a silk scarf would.

Although the girl was light, her screams and pleas alerted Drew to her presence. Annoyed, more than anything, he dropped the hammer, shook Sigrdrífa off, and forced Breun to her knees before giving her a swift knee in the gut for good measure. He then marched over to you, wiping off his face.

“I’m sending the soldiers to settle this mess. They’ll humble that little bitch and we’ll be done with the matter. She had her chance to submit peacefully and she wasted it.” Drew looked at you, waiting for your response. You couldn’t think of anything, except...

“Why did you take her hammer?”

That stopped your husband in his tracks. He twisted his face in confusion, and then shook his head. “I figured I could make a full set of armour for every man in Scotland before you finished talking in there.” His answer was mean-spirited and sarcastic. You knew that he was feeling aggressive and embarrassed at the moment, but it still hurt you that he would speak to you like that. You took a step back from him. Drew sighed and rubbed a hand down across his face.

“Let’s go.” Drew grabbed your arm, being purposefully gentle, and screamed for the crowd to disperse once more as he led you over to your horses. He untied your mare and lifted you onto her saddle. You saw him grimace in pain at performing the action, but decided that you could say nothing. You had failed. The forge would fall back into the hands of Slibhin (who was still unconscious at his own doorstep) and the two girls you had just met would go back to their miserable lives that they fought so hard to escape. You went to wipe a tear that was forming in your eye when you saw Drew looking at you. He gave you a small smile in an attempt to comfort you, but you turned your head from him. For the first time since your wedding day, you didn’t want to look at your husband. Drew just sighed and started untying his own horse from the wooden beam, only to be stopped by a small hand grasping the hem of his bearskin cape.

“My Majesty. I beg you to have forgiveness.” Drew turned around and looked down to where the small voice was coming from. Sigrdrífa looked into his eyes and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “The smith... she thinks with her strength, and not her head. She fights before she knows what else to do.” Drew’s eyes softened just a tiny bit. He looked back at Breun, who was staring down at her feet. She nodded in agreement. Sigrdrífa spoke again.

“Your rage for her is within me countless times over. I begged her to be quiet... to be calm... and yet she could not do that. But, you cannot ask the waves of the sea not to crash. It is willed to happen by nature. She has no choice. She did not mean to disrespect her King.”

Drew took a deep breath and rubbed his neck with his free hand. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. This fragile little thing... speaking to the King of Scotland with such grace and calmness after everything that had just happened. And he seemed to be receptive to it all, as well. You couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit jealous of how... regally she was handling everything. The people around you all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. But before he could, Sigrdrífa let go of Drew and reached up to a rip in his shirt that must have been made during the wrestling match a few moments ago and opened it up with her fingers, revealing a deep purple, almost black bruise that was trickling with blood. In a small voice, you heard her almost whisper.

“She did not mean to hurt you.”

In an instant, Drew’s eyes were filled with fury once again. Though she didn’t know it, Sigrdrífa had just insulted the King in the worst way imaginable. She suggested that he was hurt. Your husband refused to ever acknowledge pain around other people, especially those who hurt him. No one had ever heard him even grunt in pain when soldiers sparred with him and landed what would be a devastating hit for any other man. Even you didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to ask to clean his wounds when he came back from battle. He did so himself when he believed you to be asleep. When he bedded you during those times, he would behave much more aggressively, often causing you some pain without realizing he did so. It was an attempt to show you that he was just as much of a man as ever, even when in dire need of rest and healing.

It was the worst possible thing the girl could have said to Drew.

He slapped Sigrdrífa’s hand away... hard. You could hear a multitude of gasps join your own as you tried to process what you had just seen. Sigrdrífa didn’t make a sound. She didn’t even seem to flinch. You figured that she must be used to suffering that sort of pain in silence. Breun was ready to lunge at your husband when Sigrdrífa yelled something in her language, and that prevented the smith from taking a single step. You couldn’t help but marvel at the control the tiny girl had over the beast. Drew hesitated for a moment, clearly regretting what he had done, but knowing that if he were to do anything to apologize, he would appear to be weak. Drew looked at Breun.

“This time tomorrow, members of the royal guard will have come by to inspect the forge. If they find that you are still defiant in obeying your brother, they will do all that is necessary to restore order.” Drew pushed the girl away, and she fell into the dust. Breun ran to her and wrapped her arms around her, almost completely shielding her from the world. Not even paying any mind to Drew. “Does anyone else have any objections?” the King roared. Everyone in the crowd looked at their feet. No one in their right mind would even look into the King’s eyes after everything that had just occurred. Though, you did notice when you scanned your eyes across the masses, that many of the people looked somber. You remembered the smith mentioning in passing that the townsfolk preferred dealing with her over her brother. Through your husband’s decree, not only was Breun losing something, but the village was as well. But you doubted that anyone was going to bring that to his attention.

Drew untied his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. His steed jumped, as if he didn’t recognize his master. Drew grabbed the reins and jerked the animal’s head to keep it obedient. You couldn’t quite tell why, but a wave of terror spread over you.

Watching your husband climb laboriously into his saddle was almost torturous. You saw him bite the inside of his cheek and hold back grunts of pain as he hoisted himself up. When he sat straight, his gaze fixed itself upon you. For a moment you considered turning your head away from Drew, but found it impossible. Be it out of pity, fear, or a mix of both, you were unable to look away from your husband as he stared at you, accusatory.

“You shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up.”

You inhaled sharply, intending to speak in your defense, but after a second, you just bowed your head in defeat. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the strength to say a single word of disagreement. “Yes, my King,” was all you could say.

Drew nodded and moved his horse forward. You followed suit. The sun had just reached its noontime peak. Lunch would do your husband some good, you decided. You were unsure if you would be able to eat anything. Your stomach felt knotted and tight. At least it was all over now.

“Ye cheated.”

Drew’s shoulders tensed. He cracked his neck and turned his horse around, as did you. There, a few yards away, holding the frail silver woman was that stubborn smith who just didn’t know when to quit.

“Say that again.” Drew’s teeth were clenched. Tight.

Breun grunted as she rose, holding the silver girl like a bride. She set Sigrdrífa on her feet, and duster her off, subtly tucking a stray hair behind her ear in the process. You heard a quiet “thank you” from the girl. Breun then smiled and gently pushed her off to the side, to relative safety.

“Ye cheated. Ye were gonnae bash me ‘ead in wit me ‘ammer.”

“You spat in your King’s face.”

“Yer naw te’ King when ye fight!” Breun sounded appalled. “A fist cannae tell te’ diff’rence ‘tween comm’ners ‘n nobil’ty. Yer jus’ a man when ye fight... An’ ye cheated.”

Of all the things to be concerned with at the moment, you couldn’t believe that the smith was attempting to rationalize and delegitimize her loss to Drew. You didn’t believe that Breun had much wits about her, and clearly it had hurt her pride, but standing back up after she had been humbled and challenging him again wasn’t just stupid, it was suicide. You looked to Drew, but surprisingly, his face was stoic and unreadable.

“‘You’re just a man when you fight,’” Drew spoke very slowly, as if contemplating each word’s meaning. There was something in his voice that unnerved you. It seemed... cunning and dripping with malicious intent, like Slibhin had sounded when he was petitioning for some soldiers. Leaning forward in his saddle, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and he raised his eyebrows.

“Is that how you feel when you fight? Like a man?” Drew let out a small chuckle. The crowd around him burst with loud, deep laughter that shook the air itself. The smith had told you that the townsfolk didn’t like her, but you didn’t expect this level of animosity. Breun herself didn’t move a muscle. Whether she was petrified by the comment or it had passed her by, unimpactful, you couldn’t tell. She seemed to be waiting for the laughter to die down so she could speak. She seemed very unamused.

When the thunderous laughter fell into a dull roar of mocking quips and insults from the crowd, Breun walked toward her forge and picked up the blade of an axe that hadn’t been fitted to a handle yet. The crowd went dead silent. You even saw a few men break out into a sprint away from the scene. That would have made you smile and maybe giggle, but you were too preoccupied with all the stupid things that Breun might do with that blade. However, she just looked it over.

“T’is wha’ ye’ were werkin’ on?” She didn’t take her eyes off the axe-head, purposefully avoiding looking at Drew, as if to insult him. The King’s grip on his reins tightened and he gave a curt nod.

“Aye.”

“Aye? Et’s’ done.”

“It’s hideous.” You couldn’t disagree with your husband there. The blade was a dark grey color, not at all like the glimmering pieces that your husband would present to you. It seemed warped and strange, like it was rotting. In short, it was hideous. It didn’t even look sharp. But Breun just sighed and shook her head, as if she was humor in the matter.

She rolled her shoulders back, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Sigrdrífa took a small step back and covered her ears. You wondered what was going to happen when you saw Breun open her eyes and let out a monsterous yell. As she did so, she swung her arm around and smashed the blade into the corner of her house. Sparks flew and you heard the most ear-piercing, shrill shriek that you ever thought possible as the stone was hit. Your horse bucked, and it took everything in you to not fall to the dirt. You shushed and calmed her as you stroke her side. You looked to Drew, but his unfriendly gaze was still fixed on the smith. You doubted that he even noticed that you nearly fell from your horse.

Breun looked at your husband and smiled. The then let her fingers uncurl themselves from the blunt side of the blade and dropped her hand to her side, leaving the axe embedded in the stone. She raised her chin and called out.

“Calhoun!”

You heard an elderly man’s voice ring out through the crowd. “Aye!”

“Ye’ got any logs stronger ‘n stone?”

“Nae!”

“T’is’ll do fine then! Et’s gonnae be ready t’morrow!” Breun then promptly ripped the blade out of the stone and tossed it back onto the side of the forge, never breaking eye contact with the King. She smiled.

“Ah’m better ‘n a man. Ah’m a better smith ‘n tha’ fookin’ King.”

You lowered your head. You truly felt pity for Breun. This was all she could do. Trying to show her strength as a last ditch effort to save something that she had already lost. Like a bear cub would roar in an attempt to terrify the hunter who had already stuck it with a spear. She had nothing left, all that she could do was put on her little show and try not to make a fool of herself any further.

“No you’re not.”

Your neck nearly snapped itself as you whipped your head to look at your husband. Being this close to him, you were able to see the features of his face that you couldn’t before. The corners of his eyes were red from lack of sleep. Directly under his nose was a fair amount of blood that had dried and clung itself to his dark facial hair, effectively hiding it from view. His chest was moving, as if just breathing was a great challenge for him. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind, or else he would have dismissed the insult as a fruitless attempt to provoke him.

But she was getting to him, and she knew it. Breun’s eyes lit up when Drew took the bait. She walked over to the wall where her tools hung and grabbed two identical hammers. Your eyes widened. She was going to challenge him. For the rights to her forge. Either she knew that something was wrong with your husband or she felt confident that she could out-smith the King. You looked to where Sigrdrífa was standing in the doorframe of her house. Her eyes were closed and her head was turned to the ground, she knew what was happening, but didn’t seem optimistic about it.

“Prove et.” Breun stood in the dirt road a few yards away from you, her arm outstretched with a hammer, the handle pointed at Drew. “Prove tha’ yer a better smith ‘n me.”

This couldn’t go on any further.

“Stop!” you heard yourself shout from atop your horse. All heads, including the one of your husband, turned to you. You swallowed hard. You despised yourself for what you were going to say… but it had to be said. “The King and I have both indulged in your childish games for long enough! You work at your brother’s forge, under his authority. Whatever chance you believed you had at persuading myself to pity you has been killed by your idiocy and your lack of respect for your King. It is over, smith. You’ve lost.” Breun still didn’t budge. Out of desperation, you added, “ Just today my husband has killed a man far more powerful than you believe you are. Trust me, I am protecting you. To protest any further would be suicide.”

You raised your chin and gave a definitive nod. Turning to your husband, you saw the smile of satisfaction that you prayed he would have after you had spoken. You looked back at Breun, whose face was unreadable, though she no longer held out her arm. You dared not look at Sigrdrífa. You knew that what you had just said had broken that girl’s heart, betrayed her trust, and damned her to a husband that… you didn’t even want to think about it. You wish you had never learned her story. You wish that you never grew to care about the two women whose lives you were destroying. You wish that you had never seen the home they made together. You wish that you had just kept your mouth shut at Court, and ran to your bedroom to have Drew fuck you until you couldn’t see straight, leaving you in ignorant bliss.

But you had made a choice, and now you were paying for it. The shame that you felt was masked by the inviting grin that you gave Drew, hoping that he would forget about all this and rush you both back to the keep. Just to be safe, you leaned toward him and whispered.

“I would like to give you your apology for this mess… along with your welcoming, as soon as we arrive home.”

A cruel giggle bubbled inside of you. It was extremely ironic. This was the very first time you spoke, or even acted provocatively toward Drew. The first time you initiated intimacy… and it was insincere. But Drew didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mind. He gave one last look at Breun, who appeared to have taken a few steps toward you and your husband. He didn’t say a word, but simply nodded his head and pulled the reins of his horse, showing his back to the smith. You followed suit, not daring to look the woman in the eye as you turned, knowing that if you did, you would run back to her side and beg the King on her behalf, and the whole Hell you had just endured would start all over again. This was all your fault. Your need to interfere in these women’s lives was the cause of all this suffering. You knew you had to leave before you caused any more harm. You urged your horse forward.

“Good on ye’, Yer Grace. Ah nev’r took ye’ fer a man tha’ listen’d te ‘is wife. Et’s a rare virtue.”

You did your best to keep moving forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Drew’s jaw tighten. He was angry, but at least he was still ignoring her. Everything could still work out.

“Ye’ must love yer Queen. Well… ah least more ‘n yer first one.”

All the blood drained from your face as your entire body went cold. You closed your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. You heard Drew rear his horse around to face the smith, but it sounded like there was a barrier between you and the rest of the world. As if you were in a bubble. As if you were drowning.

“You speak of my wife again, you’ll wish you were never born..”

“Ah men’ no ‘ffence, Ye’ Grace. Ah jus’ tha’ well… y’know…”

“WHAT!” Drew screeched, uncharacteristically.

Even though your eyes were closed tight, the vision of the smith standing there and Drew’s enraged face was burned behind your eyes. You could still see what was happening, and you just knew that Breun was smiling. She thought she was playing your husband perfectly. Riling him up, making him question himself. She thought she knew what she was doing. She thought she was going to get him to fall for her trap, but there was no way she knew how close to terrible, horrific pain and suffering she was, even if she would be spared from death. That was probably for the best. No other man would ever face Drew if he knew what The King was capable of.

“Et’s jus’ tha’... we,” Breun took a pause, most likely gesturing to the crowd around her, “found et… odd tha’ when sh’ died… ye’ wed ‘gain awful quick-”

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!” Drew screamed. You almost lifted your head and attempted to calm him, but you found yourself unable to move.

Breun’s voice dropped all of the mock friendliness that it held moments ago.

“Riches’ woman en te’ world. Lives in te’ world’s bes’ castle. Owns te’ world’s bes’ furs. Et’s te’ world’s bes’ food... Dies of a... chill?”

Your hands gripped at your hair as you shook your head. You felt your heart beating faster than it ever had before. Your breaths became shorter and shorter. You felt like you had been poisoned.

“We jus’ wonder wha’ kinda man ye’ are.” You heard the smith take another step toward him. “Wha’d she do? Got too loud? Too ‘pinionated? Not as pretty as she was when ye’ furst saw ‘er? Squirmed too much when ye’d try te’ force a son in ‘er?”

You heard Drew hop off of his horse and land on his feet with a pain-filled grunt. You breathed in the dust he had just kicked up, making it harder for you to get any air into your already strained lungs.

“I’ll show you what kind of man I a-” Drew stopped mid-sentence as you heard a whirring sound of something being thrown and the soft pat of him catching something. It had to be the spare hammer Breun had been holding. You wanted to look, but you were... paralyzed by some invisible force. You felt a cold sweat on your forehead and under-arms. You wanted someone to hold you. Drew. But at the same time, you wanted to run from him. You urged your arms to at least cover your ears so you wouldn’t have to listen, but you couldn’t even do that.

“Tha’ ye’ will. Ye’ Grace. Tha’ ye’ will.”

You could hear Breun pacing in the gravel, like an actor on a stage.

“Now, ye’ can thrash me wit’ tha’ ‘ammer. Beat me ‘till ah’m bleedin’ tru’ me arse, if ye like. Ah’ll recover in a few days... But, if ye’ can win a smithin’ contest ‘gainst me? Ah’ll never wannae show me face ‘gain. Ah’d be broken. Me life’d mean not’in’. Smithin’s all ah am. ‘T’s all ah’ll ev’r be. If ye’ beat me... ye’d kill me.” You heard her footsteps grow louder as Breun took slow steps toward Drew. “And ah t’ink ye’ really wannae kill me.”

A heavy, sharp silence rained down upon the crowd. You felt dizzy. It’s as if you were frozen solid, but constantly being urged to move, as if lightning strikes flowed through your veins. You closed your eyes tighter, hoping that someone would come and take you away from all this, but praying that no one even noticed you.

“We’ll both make pieces. Doesn’t matter what. Better smith wins.” You heard Drew growl.

“An’ te’ judge?”

“The Queen.”

You tried to react, but there was nothing else your body could do. Nothing else you could possibly feel.

“Te’ fookin’ Queen? Naw.”

“The Queen. No one else.”

“Naw.” Breun seemed unbothered, her demeanor was of someone who was trying to figure out what to wear for the day. “She’d choose ye…” You could hear her stance shift. Her voice became gruff and accusatory.

“Ah kno’ wha’ ‘appens t’ girls who defy thei’ belov’d ‘usbands.”

Drew inhaled sharply. More murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Through it all, you heard footsteps that were heading towards you at an alarmingly fast pace. You gasped as you felt a hand touch your thigh and, as if by some invisible force, you opened your eyes.

Standing there, looking up at you, was a delirious and bloody Slibhin.

“My Lady, what have you done?”

And with that, the world went black around you.

Your fingertips twitched and your eyelids fluttered as you slowly began to regain consciousness. Underneath your fingers, you could feel soft, clean linens covering a mattress. On top of you, you felt the gentle weight of a blanket. You gently moved your head and felt the lenient, forgiving pillow cradle your neck. Your eyes fluttered open, and though your vision was blurred, you could tell instantly, that you were in your room. A contented sigh left you as you turned your head once more to look out of your balcony window, as you did every morning.

However, something was different about the sky. You squinted and tried to make sense of what you were seeing. Instead of it’s usual rosy, periwinkle coloring, this morning boasted a sky of bright amber and indigo. You turned over to ask your husband about this, when you found his side of the bed empty. There was not even an imprint left behind by his massive body, as there usually was on the embarrassingly common occasion that he woke before you.

You made a confused face and sat up in your bed. When the blanket fell from your chest, you saw that you weren’t dressed in your nightgown. Instead you were wearing that damned dress. The tight, itchy, uncomfortable thing that now seemed stuck to your skin by your sweat. You rubbed your forehead and saw dried dirt flake from your skin. You gasped as everything came back to you. The petitioner, the smith, the fight, the shame. Everything. You began to cough uncontrollably as the dried dirt entered your lungs.

Enraged, and with tears in your eyes, you fell out of your bed and ran to your bedroom door. You were sure that the sound you made while kicking the door open would be heard clear across the sea. Servants and guards ran to you as you marched down the hallway, unyielding, as if you were made of metal.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty please return to your bed!” you heard one woman yell. “We’ll draw you a bath and bring you some food, my Queen.” you heard another shout. The torches and tapestries all seemed to blur together as you rushed past them. By now, two guards had positioned themselves at the end of the hallway, waiting for you to meet them so they could stop you.

“Saddle my horse!” your voice boomed throughout the keep. You came up to the two guards.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we can’t do that. The King gave us direct orders to-”

“Where is the King? Where is my husband?” you asked with fire in your eyes. You were trying to hide the fact that you were panting, exhausted. A strand of hair fell into your eyes and you violently pushed it back.

“The King is dealing with official business. He will be back shortly. Please let us escort you back to-”

“Where is he? I must speak with him. Now.”

“As I said, My Queen, the King is dealing with-”

“Where.”

There were no mirrors about, but you could tell from the look in the guards’ eyes, that you resembled a madwoman. You decided to use this to your advantage.

“His Royal Highness is not the only monarch here who knows what it is like to brutalize her enemies. Do not give me a reason to doubt you.” The two guards stood frozen. Now, you knew very well that you couldn’t defeat these two in combat, at least in your present condition, but they recognized your power, and recognized that antagonizing you, in your present condition, would be a very stupid thing to do.

“His Majesty is dealing with the smith,” one guard whimpered.

“They have been… negotiating since yesterday and all of today,” said the other, meekly.

A million different things rushed into your mind. First, the smith was still alive, at least for now, and had a chance of keeping her forge. That means that Drew must have accepted her challenge and the two had found another judge. Secondly, you had been unconscious for an entire day and a half, and your husband didn’t stay by your side. Thirdly, and arguably most importantly, you knew that you had to be at the scene. You didn’t care about how you looked. You didn’t care that you had disgraced yourself in front of your entire village. All you knew was that you were heavily involved in creating this mess, and you had to be very heavily involved in stopping it.

“Saddle my horse.” you repeated, gravely. This time, you were greeted with nods and servants rushing about, trying to appease their Queen, or at the very least, avoid her wrath.

As the sun set, you rode fast and hard back to that damned smithy. As you approached, you saw that the entire village had gathered to watch this apparent contest. People had set up tents, and vendors weaved in and out of the crowd, trying to sell their wares. Children sat atop their father’s shoulders. Torches littered the streets, lighting up the town as if it were a festival. Even royal guards were mingling with the common folk. Your brow furrowed as this somehow enraged you.

“Move!” you yelled, hoping to clear a path for yourself. However, your voice was so small compared to the cacophony that was the crowd, that you yourself could barely hear it. Luckily, if the villagers couldn’t hear the weak plea of an angered Queen, they would still run from a charging mare.

You ignored the hundreds of eyes that followed you as you rode by, and finally came across the smith’s house. There, you saw everything.

First, your eyes went to your husband. Drew was shirtless, hammering away at an anvil. His face was almost unrecognizable as it was completely covered in ash and soot. His eyes were a deep red with irritation caused by the forge’s fumes. His hair had become undone and draped along his shoulders. His shoulders. You could see his muscles spasming with every movement. His body was shutting down, you could see it. And yet, these people cheered him on.

Your eyes switched over to Breun, who stood beside Drew at another anvil. She had shed her leather jerkin and now only wore a shirt that she had obviously ripped the sleeves ripped off when she bought it. Curiously, the cambric clothing that she wore revealed that she did have a surprisingly female figure. Her breasts were large… well an average size if not a bit smaller than what was proportionate for her. Her waist was by no means slender, but did appear so due to her wide hips. And yet it seemed like there was no place on her body that was not insanely muscular. Not muscles like Drew had, where he took care in making sure he kept in shape for battle (and for you). You could tell she gained her strength from working. She didn’t meticulously sculpt her strength, but she had it all the same. In an odd way, it seemed completely reasonable for men and women alike to be both repulsed by and lust after her form. You knew that if she were able, she would shed the undershirt altogether. Her neck craned and was clearly cramped. She was clearly in pain as well. However, you noticed that her hammering was just a touch faster and harder than Drew’s.

Suddenly, you saw Breun drop her hammer on the table, grab what appeared to be tongs, pick a small piece of metal and rush to the other side of the area. She dropped it into a barrel where a man made a tally mark onto parchment, before rushing back to her station and taking up the hammer once more. You blinked, and Drew copied her exactly. Then, another man made a tally mark on another piece of parchment.

You looked around, as if searching for someone to explain to you what was happening. You called out for Drew, but he didn’t hear you. You shouted for a guard, but your voice drowned in the sea of shouts and cheers made by the townspeople. An old man came up to you and tried to sell you some small bird he insisted was pheasant. You shooed him away only to realize the pangs in your stomach. You knew that you hadn’t eaten since this morning, but it shouldn’t be this bad. You felt lightheaded and practically fell off your horse, somehow landing on your feet. The world spun around you as the blood pumped in your ears.

“My Majesty?”

That voice. That beautiful little ringing bell of a voice. You gave a sigh of relief and turned to face the sound. But when you turned and saw Sigrdrífa, you were not put at ease. In fact, the exact opposite happened. You saw her there, still as clean and healthy as she was when you left, but dressed in a new gown, one that looked more expensive and more uncomfortable than anything you cared to own. Her hair was fashioned in a gaudy kind of bun, stuck with pins and ribbons. She stood next to an ornate and ridiculously expensive looking canopied seat where her now cleaned off and re-dressed husband, Slibhin was reclined and sipping what appeared to be wine from a goblet (that was also ornate and ridiculously expensive looking.) Soldiers stood beside the two, obviously appearing to guard the two from any unruly peasants or troublemakers, but you knew they were put there by Slibhin to make sure his little wife stood by his side.

Sigrdrífa took in another breath to speak to you once more when her husband gave an annoying “Ahh!” after finishing his drink and, without looking at her, practically threw the goblet into the silver girl’s hands. This caused her to stop in her tracks and look at the ground, obediently. Like she was a beaten dog.

In an instant, you had forgotten your hunger and weakness as you marched straight toward that gaudy throne. One guard looked at the other and nodded toward you. They both pointed their pikes toward you.

“Careful, witch,” one guard warned.

“Stay back now, we don’t want trouble,” tried the other.

You looked at the two guards incredulously. They stared back at you, confused. Slibhin, without looking at you, rolled his eyes and tossed a bronze coin in your general direction. It fell into the dust a few feet away from you.

“There, now get out of my sight… begging whore,” he spoke under his breath. Sigrdrífa’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. Again, your anger made you forget your appearance and you practically growled through your clenched teeth.

“Is that how you treat your Queen?”

You had never seen someone’s eyes widen so quickly. Slibhin flopped from his chair and into the dirt, groveling and weeping. You saw Sigrdrífa smile ever so slightly at that. The two guards began to walk toward you with immense concern in their eyes.

“My Queen, let us escort you back to-” You put your hand up to stop them and beckoned for Sigrdrífa to follow you. She went to you immediately, but the guards were not yet done. “Please, the King has ordered all of his guards to keep you-”

“Fuck the King’s orders!” you screamed with impunity. “If my husband demands something of me, he will tell me to my face. You-” you pointed at Sigrdrífa again. “You’re coming with me.” You grabbed the girl’s hand and walked toward the front door of her house. You paused as she opened the door for you and you looked back at Drew. He had just finished another piece of… something, and he was running to drop it in his barrel, which made him run directly toward you.

His eyes were upright and you could have thought they were staring at you, but you knew deep down, that he was staring through you. It’s not that he didn’t recognize you. He didn’t know you. You had seen that look in his eyes before, when he was training in the yard. His intensity and focus always inspired the new recruits, but he always snapped out of it when he saw you. But this time it was different. You had seen him prepare for battles before, but right now… he was in battle. And he was terrifying. Donning only a kilt and boots, your King was fighting for his life.

You came to when Sigrdrífa took your arm and attempted to lead you into her house. You ripped your arm away from her and looked back at Slibhin who was attempting to follow you in. “No.” was all you had to say before he fell down once more and crawled back to his guards and his ridiculous chair. You turned once more to Sigrdrífa and nodded curtly before walking into the house before her.

With your head turned down, you marched toward the table and chairs that you remembered from your first visit nearly two days ago. You needed something, some kind of base to hold you up. Some sort of comfort. You plopped down into what you remembered to be a blissful, makeshift pillow, and yowled in pain as your backside fell into flat, hard wood. Your body wanted to hop back up to a standing position, but your legs wouldn’t let you. You stayed seated on the most uncomfortable seat imaginable.

You opened your eyes wide and were greeted by a pristine, beautiful home that held you in like a prison. All of the… personality you saw two days ago was ripped away, crumpled up, and thrown into a far corner to be thrown out later. Replaced by sterile and beautiful… things. The only sign of life you could detect was a hint of embers burning beneath a simmering pot. You opened your mouth to comment on the change when you heard a little grunt and the closing of the front door. Sigrdrífa turned to you and curtsied.

“Hello again, my Queen. Are you well?” She smiled. Like a little doll, she was. Her back straight, her hands holding each other in front of her. Just like your servant girls did when they were awaiting an order. Her smile was perfect. It made her ears perk up and showed a small, charming crinkle in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes, oddly enough, were the ones that betrayed her. They were full of fear. She didn’t feel safe. Her husband had control over her once more, and her only friend in the world was practically killing herself, unable to keep the promise she made of him never touching her again. She wasn’t sure if she could even trust you. She was all alone. This was her only form of protection now. Her beautiful, dutiful doll-like demeanor was all she had for armour.

You stared at her for a moment. She stayed perfectly still, as if she were made of marble. A wave of sadness washed over you and for a moment, all of your anger and confusion subsided. You opened your arms out toward her. It only took a moment before her mask cracked, and she ran to you, falling to her knees and sobbing into your lap. You just held her and stroked her long, silver hair, gently shushing her.

Her shoulders heaved with each gasping breath she took. Her heart beat as quickly as a mouse’s, almost like it was humming. You wanted to let her cry. Let her expel all the fear, sadness, and hatred that was festering inside of her little glass heart. But you knew you couldn’t do that. You needed to act. And in order to do that, you needed answers. You took your hand and gently lifted the girl’s chin so that her red, swollen eyes met yours.

“Sigrdrífa,” you gently tried, “What is happening here?”

She just closed her eyes tightly and shook her head before seeking refuge again in the folds of your dress. You took a sharp breath before taking her chin once again and forcing her to look at you. This scared her, but you held firm.

“Tell me. I need to know.”

She looked at you for a moment, not saying anything. You silently kicked yourself for your aggression.

No matter what urgency you felt, it would be cruel of you to take advantage of this disadvantaged girl. You smoothed your thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Please. I don’t know what’s happening.”

The girl nodded her head. She slowly stood up and sat in the chair opposite of you, bracing herself against the hard, unforgiving wood. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. Her voice shook.

“The smith and the King are in contest, My Queen.” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “They have been smithing to see who can first make one thousand…” she trailed off, her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the correct word. You leaned forward to try to encourage her. She sighed.

“Nagl.” She said, and made a hammering motion.

“Nails? The first to make one thousand nails?” you gently pressed. Her eyes lit up.

“Yes. One thousand nails. It is claimed that in order to be known as a true smith, a man must first make one thousand nails. The greatest of these smiths can forge a single nail in less than one minute, I have heard.”

You immediately tried to calculate in your head how far along those two must be if they had been smithing for almost two days, and if what Sigrdrífa said was true. But your head was too cloudy to come to any kind of answer. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms into your temples. You could feel the world spinning around you.

“My Queen? What is wrong? Are you to become sick?”

You absolutely felt that way, but somehow, you were able to look the silver girl in her concerned eyes and compose yourself.

“I’m fine… I just…” You had to think of something to say. Anything. “How did they get all that metal?” Sigrdrífa looked down. You figured she didn’t understand the question. “For the nails? I don’t remember seeing enough metal to make one thousand nails in the smithy.” The little woman shuffled her feet for a moment before speaking to you deliberately and slowly, as if careful not to offend you.

“The metal was taken from the royal forge. The King ordered it to be brought here after you… were taken back to the castle.”

You nodded your head, accepting the answer. Everything started to make slightly more sense. Forging one thousand nails would eliminate the need for a judge. Also, you supposed that the nails could be used to rebuild houses in the countryside that had been destroyed by the recently ended war. You sighed. Everything seemed more reasonable than it did a few moments ago. It felt like a small victory in a way, understanding what was happening around you when it felt like the world was trying it’s very best to confuse and scare you. You wanted to know more, as if it gave you more power over your situation.

“So, what happened while Drew and I went back to the keep? Did the entire village swarm the house and set up this… festival?” You asked in a lighthearted manner. This caused Sigrdrífa to pause and hold her hands to her chest. She murmured.

“The King did not follow you… He stayed and arranged the terms of the contest with the smith.”

Your heart sank. Drew, your beloved husband, hadn’t even followed you back to the keep? How did he know you were safe? How did he know you were even alive? Did he not expect you to wake up before he had won? And if you did wake up (which you did), did he not expect you to come back to him? The one thing that you had always believed to be true about your husband was that Drew protected what was his. No matter what. And all of a sudden this truth was no longer true. You felt your eyes sting once again, but you held those damned tears back. You had cried enough.

Sigrdrífa leaned forward and gently took your hand, cradling it as if the bone were broken. She took a few breaths before looking you in your eyes.

“My Majesty, is the King… good to you?” she whispered, as if she were telling you a secret while sat in a crowded room.

But, you had been asked this question before. For the first few weeks you were married to Drew, you had received dozens of letters from your parents asking about how your new husband treated you. You assured them in many, many responses that you were being treated well, and that Drew showed you nothing but respect and adoration. However, this time the question put you off, quite a bit actually. You understood her concerns, considering the fact that she had only ever seen Drew as this seemingly aggressive tyrant. But he had only ever acted that way because he was being provoked. Sure, you didn’t appreciate how he was behaving, but you at least understood why he was behaving that way. Breun hadn’t even tried to come to an agreement in a civil manner. She had never even spoken a civil word to Drew after their first interaction... which was her tackling him. Hell, the only reason she had even listened to a word you said was because Sigrdrífa forced her to.

You wondered to yourself how this little thing could control a giant. You looked back at the silver girl sitting opposite of you. Her face was leaned in and attentive. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and care.

“Yes, sweet girl. The King is very good to me. He is just very…” You searched for the right word. “Frustrated.” You paused and raised your eyebrow. “And... I’m positive that the… boarish actions of a certain smith haven’t helped him very much.”

You were wondering what reaction you would get out of her. You suspected she would be embarrassed or ashamed of her sister-in-law, eager to apologize for her actions. Instead, she wore a smirk on her face and let out a small huff.

“I am afraid that the smith’s behavior is my doing,” Sigrdrífa murmured. “When I was newly brought to the village, she never even spoke. She only ate when the food was tossed to her. At night she would lie on straw and rotting furs on the outside of the house, but never close her eyes. Flugur would buzz by her; crawl on her skin, bite her, and she would allow them.”

That was a shock to you. You wracked your brain, trying to imagine Breun as docile. How could someone so hardheaded be so passive? Sigrdrífa said herself that it was in Breun’s nature to be confrontational.

“When did she become so… protective?” you asked her, trying to sound nice. Sigrdrífa’s face turned red and her eyes refused to meet yours.

“Because… I needed to be protected, my Queen.”

There was shame in her voice. Guilt, even. A tear fell from her eye as she shook her head, as if trying to bring herself back to reality. A million things flew through your mind; mostly images. Images of Sigrdrífa cowering in fear. Slibhin with that damned smile on his face, touching her. Breun finally taking action against him for the first time in her life. The look Breun gave Sigrdrífa, letting her know she was safe. Sigrdrífa showing Breun the first kindness the smith had ever known. The most fragile beginnings of trust connecting the two as they both tried to navigate how to live with happiness.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell and the raucous cheering of the crowd outside.

“Only a few nails left,” Sigrdrífa murmured to you.

You turned back to her. “Who has only a few nails left?”

“The King, of course. Why else would the people cheer?” Sigrdrífa crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She let her head hang low. “It’s almost over.” You saw a few tears splash down onto her lap. You didn’t reach for her though. Instead, you were confused.

“You don’t think Breun will win?”

Sigrdrífa shook her head. “Her body is too worn.”

You opened your mouth to ask why she was worn, but your hostess guessed your question before you asked it.

“She has been forging my mundr… my bride-price. I was traded to Slibhin for weapons and armor; the smith had to make these to pay for me. She had been working for months to complete things for my father, my brothers, and their favorites. She pushed herself so far... if she did not complete them in time, I would have been taken back by my father. AND... after she had finished those, she still did not rest. No, she worked twice as hard to finish her work for the villagers that she had missed during that time! Only a few days ago could I convince her to sleep the whole night, and eat all of her food! Now she challenges the King to-”

Sigrdrífa cut herself off with a huff, clearly frustrated. You had to suppress a giggle at how flustered the girl was, but you understood the fear and anxiety she felt. She believed that Breun had no chance against your husband. However, you knew that not to be true.

“Sigrdrífa, the King may not have as much of an advantage as you might believe,” you confessed. “He has been battling a rebellion for the past month, don’t you forget. And he hasn’t rested since returning.

Sigrdrífa, his body is worn as well. I don’t even know how he’s able to stand upright.” You shifted in the uncomfortable seat and cringed at the dry creaking sound it made. Sigrdrífa placed her hand on the side of her head, embarrassed that she hadn’t remembered the rebellion. To be fair, it was a smaller army that took up arms. You weren’t even sure of the name of the traitor, yourself. Sigrdrífa bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile, but you saw hope return to her eyes. There was a change Breun could be the victor.

“Who do you think will win?” She asked the question rather quickly.

“I don’t know.” It was a diplomatic answer, but to be fair, you truly didn’t know. At first, you believed Breun would win only because of your husband’s injuries. But now, you sincerely weren’t sure. However, you knew that that answer wouldn’t satisfy the girl across from you.

“Who do you want to win?” The question stung, as if it were accusatory, even though the tone in which it was asked was innocent. It was a test. An evil test. Of course you wanted Breun to keep her forge and live happily ever after, that went without thought; but you didn’t think your heart could take seeing Drew be defeated after everything you had put him through. Yes, you were angry with him for not staying by your side when you were unconscious, but he only because Breun had insulted you… and Drew’s first wife. You didn’t like his rage but you understood it. You did want Breun to win, but you didn’t want Drew to lose. You looked back up at Sigrdrífa who held your gaze firmly, and answered.

“I want the man I love to win, as any wife would.”

The silver girl nodded. “I would expect nothing else.” Her eyes were sad, but intelligent. Your words had caused her pain, but she understood that you didn’t mean them to. You expected her to read between the lines, but what you didn’t expect was a small breath of a giggle escaping her throat.

“It is strange then. That we are the same, but… enemies. Sitting here speaking as if friends.” You gave her a smile, showing her you understood, but the girl continued. “Two small women with the same, but opposite hope; for their lover to defeat-”

Your smile disappeared. Not because you were unhappy, but because you saw Sigrdrífa’s face somehow turn even whiter than it already was. It took you only a moment to realize what she had said.

She had called Breun, her sister in law, her lover.

You hadn’t been Queen for very long, but you were well aware of what would happen if the town learned of what she had just said. There would be no saving either of them. The two would be hunted down to the corners of the kingdom. The common folk would torture them, treat them like demons; like animals. What would happen to the two girls, you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. If someone knew about this, it would be well within the law, and the interest of your simple-minded subjects, to have both women put to death.

But someone did know about it. You knew about it. And you certainly had the power to enforce the law, and swore to have the interests of your simple-minded subjects at heart. You looked at the frozen girl across from you, her eyes desperately trying to read yours. Trying to figure out what you were about to say... or do.

It took you less than a second to come to your conclusion.

“You misspoke, Sigrdrífa. I know this isn’t your best language. You used the word ‘lover.’ You meant to say ‘family.’”

You couldn’t help but smile on the inside as Sigrdrífa sucked in three lungs’ worth of air and let out a long sigh of relief. The rosy color returned to her cheeks. She gave the quiet laugh of an exhausted woman and placed her hand over yours.

“We both love our family.”

You reached forward with your other hand and covered hers in turn. You felt something scratch against your skin and looked down. Around her wrist, the girl had tight sleeves embroidered with prickly threads. They were very beautiful.

You grasped the fabric with both hands and tore it apart. Underneath, you saw her irritated skin finally touch the air. You looked at her and raised your brow. She gave you a toothy smile and immediately presented her other sleeve to you, and you ripped that as well. After that, she grabbed at the fabric wrapped around her neck and tore that collar away as well. Beads and other small gemstones flung themselves from her throat and skittered across the table. You reached out and undid the ribbons in her hair, letting it fall loosely around her waist. Sigrdrífa kicked off her shoes and freed her legs from her stockings and underskirts. She stood up, knocking her chair to the ground, and took fistfuls of lacing that tied the back of her dress, yanking it loose.

You let your laughter ring throughout the house. The sight of Sigrdrífa dressed in the most expensive of rags…

“That cannot be very comfortable.” The silver girl pointed at you.

She was right, of course; but you could never destroy your dress. You already looked unpresentable as Queen; covered in filth and hair strewn about. The heat of the last two days left you drenched in sweat. You were certain that if you wrung your sleeves a steady stream of the putrid liquid would spill out. The accumulation of dirt and filth that clung to your body itched to no end. That sweat caused the heavy fabric to cling itself to your skin and that dirt made you feel every wrinkle and crease as if they were gashes and gouges of your very own flesh. You had been through so much already, ripping up your dress would just be… be…

You balled up the fabric of your underarm and yanked as hard as you could. A small ripping noise came from your dress, but not much else. You heard light footsteps come towards you and two white hangs join your fist. The next thing you knew, your arm was completely free from it’s silky prison. You waved it around in nonsensical patterns, just wanting to feel the air brush past your skin.

You didn’t even consider the state of your dress as you relished your newfound partial freedom. Sigrdrífa’s giggle resounded throughout the house as she held your sleeve in her arms. Bunching up the fabric of the inside of your other arm, you let out a yelp as you ripped it open. A few more tugs, and your forearm was completely naked, with it’s coverings hanging by a thread by your elbow.

“How do you feel now, My Majesty?” There was a kidding nature to her words. You took in a breath to laugh and became very aware of the restrictive waistline that held your stomach in. You clawed at your back trying to get a grip on any seam or hem that you could use to tear it apart.

“Help me undo this damned sewing and I’ll finally have enough breath to tell you.”

She hadn’t even taken one step toward you when you heard the roar of the crowd outside once again. You looked at Sigrdrífa, your eyes asking what that noise meant. The only thing you saw was a flash of her hair as she raced toward the front door.

You tripped over the threshold and stumbled out of the house, crashing into the dirt. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. It seemed that every head in Scotland was turned toward The King and The Smith.

“My Queen!”

All except for two. The guards that had greeted you when you confronted Slibhin rushed toward you, grabbing you and helping you stand upright.

“My Queen, allow us to escort you back to the castle.”

“Your Grace, please come with us.”

You pushed them off of you. Though there was no strength left in your arms, the soldiers heeded your warning, standing at attention from a very respectable distance (probably doing everything they could not to upset you considering their introductions to you.) That was when your eyes locked onto Slibhin, who stood at the edge of the crowd, wringing his hands in desperation. He was planning something. You just knew it. Those hands were the hands of a schemer. You almost laughed at how different they were compared to his sister’s. His hands were spotless, well groomed, but weak and feeble, and he used them to plot. To gesture and accentuate his honeyed words as he tried to ruin lives for his own benefit. In contrast, Breun’s hands were scarred, rough, and ugly, but strong and efficient. They were used to make useful things, powerful things. Her hands were like the weapons that she made: grotesque, but practical.

Just like that unfinished axe she had forced into the stone wall of her house. It didn’t look like much, but if you weren’t careful, it could hurt y-

Slowly, you lifted your hand to your eye, gazing in wonder at your thumb. The nick from two days earlier had almost healed.

“My Queen? Are… you alright?” The two guards looked at you with apprehension. You turned your body fully to them, and they snapped back at attention.

“Go and get me the sword of the rebel. The one Drew gave me two days ago.”

The two men didn’t move. Perhaps they were uncomfortable with the idea of a less than stable monarch wielding a deadly weapon in a heavily populated area, but you soon put those worries to rest.

“If you don’t, I may mention to my husband that a certain pair of his soldiers believe that his wife is a witch.”

The two men raced off as if their lives depended on their task at hand… which was probably the case… You truly did hope that there would be no need for what they were fetching. You truly hoped that the contest would end in a clear way, or that Slibhin didn’t dare to protest the eventual outcome, whatever it may be. You prayed that you would be able to look the two guards in their terrified eyes and order them to take it back to the castle before the King learned that it had been “stolen”. But you needed the traitor’s sword just in case. Just in case.

At last, you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

The blurred faces of the spectators didn’t hold the fascination and awe that they did when you first rode into town. You dragged your feet through the crowd, absently pushing through the field of brown and grey, searching for silver. As your vision slowly began to uncloud itself, you looked at the scores; there was nothing there. The two men who were making the tally marks just sat and stared with eyes wide as the moon.

Of course this was the last nail. Of course the two were tied at the last nail. Of course.

You couldn’t will yourself to care who won. You just wanted it to be over. Still shuffling forward, you somehow managed to reach the very front of the gathering, all but coming face to face with Drew.

He was turned to the side, hammering away at the anvil. Each hit triggered sparks which illuminated his features. He was tired. His skin seemed to be slipping off of his face. The amber coloring against his black, soot covered body was terrifying. He looked like death.

“Drew.” It was less than a whisper. You didn’t even feel air pass your lips, but you called for your husband. He heard you. Though he didn’t look at you, you saw his jaw clench and a tear fall roll down his cheek, leaving a trail of clean skin in its wake. When it fell, it landed on the piece of metal he was hammering away at, causing a sinister hissing noise. Your eyes fell to the anvil where Drew was banging his tool on a rod of metal, trying to break a piece off; for the final length of the nail, no doubt.

Though you didn’t tell your eyes to move, they did anyway. You looked past Drew to see the smithing woman shaping the head of an already broken off, and squared length of metal. Her nail was almost finished. She was about 30 seconds ahead of him. Just then, another set of tears fell, but this time it came from Sigrdrífa, who was standing opposite Breun; across the anvil. Tears of joy.

You returned your attention to your husband, whose breath was ragged and uneven. He was crying like a child. A child who had lost a game. There was no higher form of sadness and despair.

“It’s alright. It’s almost over.”

Drew shook his head violently.

“It’s alright. We can go home soon.”

You didn’t even know where you found the energy to speak. There was nothing left inside of you. You couldn’t even feel happy for Breun, even though your compassion for her was what started this in the first place. You just wanted all this to end. You wanted to watch it all end. And it was going to end with Breun.

Looking up at the smith again, you were able to see that the nail was done and her hand was reaching for her tongs so that she could carry it to her barrel. You felt an air brush past you as your eyes caught a glimpse of something… fashionable. A dainty hand from an ornate sleeve snatched the tongs from off the anvil. You turned your head to see Slibhin, eyes wide, holding the tongs against his chest.

You knew what was going to happen next, but what you didn’t expect was the sound. Not only did Breun lunge at her brother, but she tipped over the anvil in the process, sending it crashing to the ground with her.

Slibhin shrieked like a woman as he was beaten. Half of the crowd cheered at the sniveling coward being taught a lesson, while the other half gasped in horror, believing that the sounds he made were actually coming from the frail, silver girl they had seen rush past them a moment ago.

As for you, you couldn’t deny that watching the boy whipped gave you a great satisfaction, but your heart sunk upon closer inspection of the actual brawl.

Breun wasn’t actually trying to strike her brother, but instead was trying to recover the tongs from his grasp. But considering that she spent two days exhausting herself, and that the boy was squirming like the worm he was, that task appeared to be impossible.

All this while, you saw fire return to your husband’s eyes. He let out a yell as he slammed his hammer down, separating the piece of metal from the rod. He didn’t even try to shape the metal into an actual nail. He just threw his hammer down and reached for his own tongs.

“NO!”

Your neck snapped to Breun, who (while still struggling with her brother) looked at your husband with fear and loathing in her eyes. He was cheating again. He wasn’t honoring the rules of a fight, like he did when the two first locked up. Her eyes were bright red with tears. With her attention diverted, Slibhin was able to squirm out of her grasp and run off, tongs in hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Drew smirk. He used his tongs to grab the metal, and turned away from her. You wanted to say something, but you knew that nothing you could say would change Drew’s mind about the forge, about Slibhin, about Sigrdrífa and Breun, about anything. To be honest, you were a bit relieved that you had no control over the situation. It was as if no one could blame you anymore. You were surprised as something resembling peace slowly washed over you. You let your eyes flutter to a close and sighed in relief.

That small sanctuary of stillness was shattered like glass when you heard this noise. It was a wail, a shriek, a scream of pain, a howl of desperation, a squeal of something small trying to defeat something big. You opened your eyes and saw Breun, sprinting like she was being hunted; smoke emanating from her closed fist.

You would swear until your final day that you could see the orange glow of the nail burning through her palm, the blaze visible through the back of her hand.

Drew didn’t even have time to look over at her. The smith lunged herself toward her barrel, her arm just reaching over it, and dropped her finished nail on top of the 999 others she had forged.

Clink.

The crowd erupted. In cheers, nonetheless. Whether the smith won their support by her performance, or they were all so happy the damned contest was over, you couldn’t tell. Breun let herself fall to the ground, not even clutching at her still burning hand. The dead skin and blisters of her palm had a few little embers burning at the edges, making it look like she was holding stars.

Everything else seemed to fall into place after that. Drew’s body gave out and he fell into the dirt. Sigrdrífa ran and threw herself onto her lover, holding her face and placing thousands of kisses on her forehead and cheeks, all the while sputtering out Norse gibberish... and crying, for what you hoped would be the last time this century. Breun was whispering things as well.

“Safe… yer safe now… safe… little one… safe… safe...”

You had hoped for a moment that this would be the image their story ended on.

The beautiful hope was dashed once the previously disappeared Slibhin fell in front of Drew, shaking his shoulders and screaming fruitlessly into his face.

“You can’t do this! I’m the only one who can run the smithy! Without me, there would be no smithy! Every single thing that… beast has forged was because I made her! Your Majesty, if I’m not in charge of my sister… this town will collapse! Your kingdom-”

That was when Drew pushed Slibhin away, letting out a growl of agony while doing so. You rushed to Drew, trying to find some way of comforting your husband, but then the boy switched targets, clinging to your skirt and groveling at your feet.

“My Queen. My beautiful, fair, flawless Queen. You now realize that you have made a grave mistake. And I know that you will do what’s right in fixing it. I know that you let your emotions control you when it came to my sister. You were entranced by a woman being able to perform a man’s task, but you must understand: the only reason she ever smithed anything in the first place was because I allowed it! I ordered it! I have made deals regarding everything she has ever forged! Before this month, my sister never even picked up a hammer without me saying so! She’s obeyed me all her life! I’m the reason for her success! Please, I beg of you; allow me to serve the realm through my forge!”

Your patience was at its absolute limit with this one. You glanced back at the crowd. Most of them had turned and left for their homes now, knowing that as soon as their head hit the pillow, it would not be coming back up in at least two days. There were a few stragglers, who had stayed behind to ogle at the exhausted competitors. Luckily, castle guards who had been standing watch over the crowd herded the onlookers away. Good. No one would be around to witness their Queen beat the ever-loving shit out of one of her subjects.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, before you were even able to clench your fist, you heard two voices calling out to you between their panting and coughing.

“Your… Majesty… we… we were able to locate the… the sword,” sputtered one.

“My… My Queen… the… the traitor’s... sword,” tried the other. He fell to one knee and presented the sheathed blade to you. With a swift kick, you rid your hem of the sniveling boy and walked over to the exhausted and terrified guards.

The original sheathe had been lost on the battlefield. This one clearly was taken from the armory by the two guards, just needing something to transport the weapon. The exposed hilt was made from a pitch black metal, but despite the low visibility, it was extremely well sculpted with images. The pommel was a single eye, with a pale blue gem as the iris. It looked hauntingly beautiful. Like the sky on a bright winter’s day, when the frost is hard on the ground. The length of the hit was engraved on both sides with the image of a running horse that had 8 legs. The crossguard was two ravens spreading their wings and cawing.

The guard clearly expected you to grab the entire sword, sheathe and all, but you wrapped your hands around the hilt and pulled the weapon free. Where the blade and hilt met, were the heads of two wolves, each with their mouths wide, as if swallowing the blade.

The look of fear in the eyes of everyone around you made you feel all that much more powerful. You wanted so very badly to use the sword for its intended purpose, on anyone really, but you had a burning suspicion that you desperately wanted confirmed, more than anything else.

You walked over to the side of the forge where Breun had tossed the head of an axe after embedding it in stone. With an aching arm, you raised the sword so it lay side by side with the axe.

It was a perfect match.

Both the blade of the traitor and the axe that split stone were unsightly; grisly to behold. The ripples that seemed to swim within the metals itself were identical. These pieces were unlike anything you had ever seen before.

There was no doubt in your mind that they were made by the same woman.

You marched yourself over to where Breun and Sigrdrífa lay. The smaller of the two was busy trying to heave the larger one into the house. No doubt to tend to her. The smith looked horrible, but not just because she was tired and dirty. Her breathing was labored and heavy. Her chest was expanding and contracting rapidly. You could hear her struggle to inhale. Her arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably, with the tremors kicking up dirt around her. Sweat poured from every part of her skin and her face was beet red, no doubt with fever.

Ignoring the smith’s state, you stood over her, the sword in your clenched fist. You didn’t care about the look of terror on Sigrdrífa’s face. If she wanted to believe that you were about to hurt Breun, then that was her own foolishness. You held the blade across your body, letting the smith see the entirety of it; all of its details.

“You made this.” It wasn’t a question. Breun’s eyes took a second to focus on you, then the blade, then back to you. You could tell she was holding onto consciousness by a thread.

“Aye.”

You were satisfied. Taking a step back and turning on your heel, your eyes fell once again on Slibhin. He was looking at his sister with his jaw so agape that you thought it was going to fall off. His eyes were as wide as an owl’s. It took everything in your power not to cut him down right then and there as he opened his mouth to lie to you once more.

“She admits it. In it’s feverish state the brute lets the truth come to light. She has committed treason, but knows not the severity of her confession. Your Majesty, please find it in your heart to spare my feebleminded sister her life. Yes, her crime is very worthy of a long and painful death, but you must remember that without her, there would be no smith in your village… an essential part of any local economy. Please allow her to continue her practice… under my strict supervision. I promise you that I will do the thinking for her.” Slibhin started to snicker. “You… you clearly see that she has no judgement… she has even brought herself nearly to the brink of death by challenging her King!”

You wanted to plunge the sword through his neck when he threw his head back in laughter. But instead, you joined him in his mocking. You glanced back at Sigrdrífa, whose face was painted with confusion; but not fear. She knew you were up to something, and she knew that you were on her side, but she didn’t know what you were planning.

“It is true,” you said, turning back to the boy. “that your sister is very dull-witted.” Slibhin’s eyes showed a sense of relief that you hated for him to have, but were delighted to know you were about to take it all away. “I would guess… that your sister forged enough weapons and armor for the traitor and his generals… and didn’t even know what it was for!” He laughed even harder at that, assured that you suspected nothing of him, that you finally came around to hating his sister as much as he did.

“But you, on the other hand, are well aware of every deal you make. And you’re very smart about it too, I’ll bet.” Slibhin bowed in mock humility, still bursting with chuckles. He gave you a beaming smile. He felt comfortable. Good.

“And you were well aware of the deal you made with the traitor. You were well aware of what you were making, who would use them, and what they would be used for.”

Slibhin’s facial expression didn’t change one bit. The phony smile stayed plastered onto his face, but you were able to notice the light leave his eyes. You knew that given enough time, he would conjure some words that would allow him to weasel his way free, escape the situation unscathed, mold his circumstances to his liking and find a way to enrich himself while dragging those around him down. You were not going to give him that time.

“Guards. Arrest this boy for acting as a conspirator and as a traitor.”

During the time you were talking with Slibhin, several royal guards and servants from your keep had come down to try and wrangle their monarchs back into the keep, so there were more than enough people more than willing to take care of whatever needed to be taken care of. A plethora of men, and a few scullery maids and stable boys as well, descended upon him. He barely tried to fight them off, only flinging his arms in a weak, sluggish manner. His eyes stayed wide, but now his smile was now gone. Instead, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. After he was forced to his knees by two rather large washerwomen and his hands were bound, he finally found his voice.

“M-My… my... my sister-”

“-smithed under the direction of you and your father for her entire life, and if you somehow believe that you can convince me that she was the one responsible for all this I will save myself some time and cut your head off right here.”

You brandished the traitor’s sword and held it above the boy’s head. He shivered and shook and in that moment, you knew what Drew felt like when he passed judgement on criminals and lowlifes. It made you feel too powerful. Slibhin reeked of fear and you inhaled the stench like it was a gift from the Gods. As if it made you stronger. You looked over to where your husband lay, scanning his broken body until you met his eyes. He was looking at you as if you were a storm. Powerful, terrible, beautiful, and part of him wanted to run into you just to feel your chaos for himself. But you also noticed the tiniest glint of fear as well. You had never acted like this. He didn’t know you could act like this. You didn’t even know you could act like this. But you could; and you were.

Just then, you felt the beginnings of hunger swirl around in your stomach. Not for food, but for him. It reminded you of when your King teased you in the great hall as he held court. When you longed for his hands on you. When you longed for him to take you. To fuck you.

But this time, it was different. You weren’t fantasizing about his power. You weren’t thinking about the things he decided he would do to you. Instead you were lusting after the power that you felt inside yourself. You weren’t feeling gracious for any affection the King showed you. You felt entitled to pleasure. You deserved it. You were the Queen of Scotland, and you wanted to make sure he knew it.

A knowing smirk formed from the corner of your mouth and you winked at Drew. His mouth fell open slightly and his eyes flashed with an emotion that you didn’t recognize.

“B-b-but why? Why would I betray my King and Queen? I-I need you to maintain my status.”

You clenched your jaw so tightly you thought your teeth were going to crack. Your head swiveled back to the kneeling boy who took a small victory in making you turn around to pay attention to him once more. His ears perked up and he straightened his back a bit. He reiterated his point.

“Why would I choose to make so many weapons, to start a war, when I had already achieved everything I wanted?”

You didn’t want to answer him. You didn’t care enough to answer him. You knew he was wrong. You knew he was guilty. You knew he was…

But…

A shadow of doubt crept up from your stomach through your throat. From the bottom of your heart, you felt that the boy was evil, but you had no evidence. No proof that he was a slimy, conniving, untrustworthy, unfaithful, traitorous-

“Because you did not have a choice…”

Sigrdrífa stood timidly by the incoherent, mumbling smith. A few fingers from her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes stared off into nothing, but you saw her mind working something out. A scornful, mocking laugh was heard, and Slibhin forced a look of amusement on his face.

“No choice? I alone was in charge of-”

“You were forced to make weapons and armor…to pay for… me…”

Time stopped. Fire and ice chased one another up and down your spine. You felt everything and nothing all at once. Your knees felt so stiff that they would snap if you attempted to move. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Breun vomit out some burgundy, watery liquid into the dirt by her head. It went unnoticed by everyone else, who was busy staring at the silver girl. Sigrdrífa looked at you. You must have had a stupid look on your face, as she turned and kept talking to Slibhin, as if trying to indirectly explain everything to you.

“If you did not… my father would have taken me back… and… without me… you would not be the son of a noble...and you would have no right to the forge. You had no choice.”

A small giggle left her. You looked at her incredulously. She moved over to her husband. Breun let out a weak whine and reached out, as if trying to stop her from getting any closer to him, but the girl knelt down, putting her face inches away from his.

“You had no choice.” she repeated, savoring the words. Slibhin’s head fell limp. His shoulders shook as he heaved sporadic breaths. His once captive wife had just proved his guilt. She had just sentenced him to death.

You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him weeping. It felt like this was your reward for enduring his utter bullshit for as long as you had. You could only imagine how Sigrdrífa felt. She was the one who had lived with him… or rather lived under him for so long.

Her beaming smile was bright enough to guide ships to shore in the dead of night… at first. You saw her eyes study him, probably mining for more of that satisfaction of seeing the boy defeated. But as the tears ran from his eyes, the snot ran from his nose, and the dribble ran from his lip, the silver girl’s expression started to change. Her eyes began to dart back and forth, trying to absorb all of the pain and anguish her husband was displaying right in front of her eyes. You could tell she was beginning to get unnerved; nervous and unsure. Then Slibhin lifted his face to meet his wife.

His eyes bright red, he opened his mouth to let out some kind of silent cry. You watched as he sniveled and pleaded with his body for… mercy, forgiveness, any ounce of her conscience she was willing to spare him.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that she would show him mercy. Instead, she turned away from him. Without a moment's hesitation. He had already used up every ounce of her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy. Her eyes instead met with the smith’s. That was where her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy lay. That was where her heart lay. In the dirt, and the dust, and the ashes.

So, naturally, Slibhin had no other choice.

With his wrists still bound, he rushed forward and threw his hands over her head and yanked her close to him, effectively trapping her by her neck and pinned her on the ground. He looked Drew in the eye and he began to scream.

“MY KING! MY KING! I GIVE YOU THE DAUGHTER OF THE TRAITOR! TAKE HER! TAKE HER AND KILL HER! CUT HER FUCKING HEAD OFF! ENSLAVE HER! RAPE HER, EVEN! DO WHAT YOU WISH! I AM YOUR LOYAL SERVANT! JUST TAKE THE BITCH AND LET ME LIVE! I LOVE SCOTLAND! I LOVE MY KING! PLEASE-”

Breun lunged herself across the ground and struck Slibhin. You knew he would never speak again. His jaw went sideways and blood poured out of his mouth. His teeth fell and skittered across the soot. The noise he made was primeval. If an animal had made that same sound, even the cruelest of men would concede and put it out of its misery. His body squirmed and twitched. Sigrdrífa was finally able to break free of his hold, though she was covered in his blood and scratched by his flailing. Breun was hurt in her own right, obviously.

It was funny. At the very beginning of this entire ordeal, the very sight of what was in front of you would have left you petrified.

Instead, you snapped your fingers and motioned for the boy to be restrained. And restrained he was. Though the shrieking and gurgling didn’t stop. Slibhin looked at you and tried to speak, but that was quite impossible. You looked down at Sigrdrífa. She had crawled her way over to Breun, draping herself over the bigger woman with her mouth to her ear, whispering something that didn’t concern you.

“Guards!” At least a dozen men in armor presented themselves before you. “Take this boy to the dungeons. Put him with our other prisoners… and make sure that they know everything that he has said about their little sister.”

Your men smiled at you, showing that they would be happy to carry out your order. They marched the prisoner off as he shrieked and wailed indistinct sounds of agony, defeat, and fear of what was still to come. You were done with him.

Turning now to Breun and Sigrdrífa, you saw the smaller one look up at you. Just as you went to take a breath to speak, she spoke your previous words back to you.

“‘Make sure that they know everything he has said about… their little sister?’”

That struck you. All this time, she probably didn’t know if her brothers were alive. If her father was killed in battle, it would be logical to assume that her brothers did as well. Her brothers to whom she owed her life. You smiled and nodded your head.

Sigrdrífa’s voice was barely above a whisper, but you clearly made out the names of her two brothers.

“Erik... Ivar…”

The peace was interrupted by Breun’s grumbling. She lifted her head from the dirt to look at you, but her eyes couldn’t focus. Her face was bright red and beads of sweat littered her face. You turned to your soldiers and opened your mouth to issue the command...

“FOR PITY’S SAKE SOMEONE TAKE THE GIRL INSIDE! AND FETCH A HEALER DAMMIT!”

Your jaw stayed wide as you turned your head to your husband, who was still lying in the dirt, but whose voice still commanded respect. His eyes were fixated on the smith. Men scrambled to pick up a nearly incapacitated Breun, which proved to be quite the challenge as the smith seemed to think that everyone that was trying to move her was, in fact, challenging her to a fistfight. A servant ran down the road to find a healer that could not only treat the girl, but possibly survive her left hook as well.

Luckily for every man in Scotland, Sigrdrífa was able to calm the rowdy young lady enough so that she could be moved into the house. As she herself was about to walk through the front door, she stopped and looked back at you. Though she still had blood stained in her hair and on her clothing, and the exhaustion in her eyes matched the shaking of her legs, she looked more calm and content than ten thousand queens. She nodded to you, a gesture of comradery and of finality before shutting the door, not even giving you a chance to respond.

Drew had been much more lucid than his female counterpart and was rushed back to the keep quickly and quietly. He wouldn't look anyone in the eye and said nothing to anybody. The servants had the sense to go about their duties and disregarded their King. By now you had reached your shared chambers. The guards gently set Drew in your bed as you stood by the fireplace, next to a tub of water that you had requested be filled. You needed a bath. Drew grumbled and winced, ashamed that you could see him like this. One man even attempted to cover the King in a blanket, but was stopped when Drew looked at him with a scowl so deep, you were certain his face would stay like that forever. Drew wasn’t one to be coddled.

The servants bowed their heads to you as they backed out of the room. You heard one mutter to you, “Let us know if you need us,” before he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone with your husband.

Drew didn’t say anything to you, nor you to him. He looked straight up at the canopy of your bed, as if seeing through it to the ceiling. You let yourself sigh. Your husband’s eyes flickered at the sound, but he did not look at you. You couldn’t blame him, but it still angered you. You had just spent the past two days dealing with an immature brute, and you didn’t know if you could handle another one.

First thing was first, you were going to get into that tub. Instinctively, you opened your mouth to call for your husband, asking him to help you with the laces of your dress. No sound escaped your throat, but you felt stupid all the same. Reaching behind you, you were thankful that you had torn a fair amount of the garment, but you still struggled to get a feel for what you were supposed to do. You let out a grunt of frustration as your fingers frantically picked at the back of your dress, not making any progress. Drew looked at you, and your eyes met his. He was trying not to betray his feelings through any facial expression, but you could tell that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he could not help you with something that he did every night.

You felt embarrassed too. Embarrassed that you were unable to do such a simple task by yourself. Though you always loved it when Drew undressed you before, now you resented your helplessness and cursed all the times you didn’t just undress yourself, like an actual self-sufficient person.

Rage bubbled inside you at the thought of your dependence on Drew. Out of nowhere, you screeched like a banshee and tore your dress clean from your skin. Standing there, completely naked in front of your husband, and not feeling shy or giddy was a new experience for you. You took the rags left of the dress and threw it into the fireplace. The heavy cloth covered the flames and greatly dimmed the room, but you could still see your husband’s eyes fixed on you.

Half wanting to cover yourself for modesty, half wanting to punish Drew by not having him see you, you quickly hopped into the tub. The servants had left a scrubbing brush and some soap for you, but you didn’t even think about using them. You just wanted to sit and brood. You were so exhausted that you were certain the warm water would lull you to sleep before you even attempted to clean yourself. If you did fall asleep in the tub, and your head went underwater, you guessed that Drew wouldn’t even be able to save you in time.

“My Queen.”

You had no desire to look at him, but your head turned toward him nonetheless. You couldn’t will your lips to curl into a smile, which you usually did when you looked at your husband. His body was so bruised and battered that you couldn’t look anywhere but his eyes, but that was no better as they were red and tired, threatening tears. His Adam’s apple was quivering. His lips were slightly parted. His voice barely a whisper.

“Forgive me.”

And you forgave him.

Right then and there, you forgave him. Every single sin he had committed in your eyes: the arguing, the fighting, the brutishness, leaving you behind, failing to win. Everything was absolved. You kicked yourself mentally for not being able to hold a grudge, even for just one evening. However, you were saved by the fact that your face was too exhausted to change from the mask of apathy and disregard that you wore. To Drew, you were still his scowling, disappointed Queen.

Some Queen I am. Sitting hunched naked in a tub, covered in filth. Bitter and defeated. I’ve never felt LESS like a Queen. I don’t feel like the wife of a King. I don’t even feel like a wife. I don’t even feel like a woman…

You looked down. Through the muddy water you were able to see your body. Bruises and scratches and scrapes covered it. Your skin was pasty and shriveled. In certain areas, it was rubbed raw from friction with the tighter parts of your dress. Any little touch on any little bit of your body would only hurt you. But you wanted to be touched. You didn’t care how much it would bring you pain. You wanted to be touched by Drew. To be held by Drew. To be loved by Drew. To be fucked-

The fireplace roared back to life as the flames finally caught hold of your discarded dress, engulfing it. The room brightened as if it were almost day. You looked at Drew. His eyes were squinted, as he couldn’t even lift his hands up to shield his eyes.

So you did it for him.

You rose from the tub, your shadow completely covering Drew. His eyes popped open and he looked at you. You swore you could almost feel the air move as he gasped, taking in your form.

“You told me… that despite how beaten down you were… you still had the strength to take me… to ravage me… You told me you still had the endurance to turn me into a… a whimpering mess.”

You tried to keep your voice even and cold. Drew held you with his eyes and for a moment you were excited. You saw his muscles tense up as he attempted to lean forward. Your body shivered from the night air and from anticipation. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, your body’s memory reliving all the times Drew would pick you up and throw you on your shared bed, giving you the love from a wounded warrior, whose heart still beat with hot blood.

“My Queen…” You opened your eyes again to see Drew with his head back on the pillows, his muscles shaking, his chest heaving from his panting. He ever so slowly was able to bring his head back up enough to look at you. “I… I can’t.” His lip was quivering and his eyelids were fluttering. The fireplace dimmed once more as the flames had eaten up the rest of your dress, leaving a small glow of singed fabric behind. Your body stopped shivering in the cold air. It stopped feeling cold. It stopped feeling anything. You stood there in the tub with your mouth slightly open and your eyebrows raised in confusion and sadness.

Of course he wouldn’t be able to take you. You were stupid to even think that he could. You were cruel to ask him to try. And he did try. After everything he had gone through, he still wanted to try and please you. You mentally kicked yourself for trying to get him to exhaust himself further.

Then, you heard… breathing. You couldn’t really describe it. It wasn’t whimpering, and it wasn’t sobbing. Just a strange kind of breathing. You turned again to Drew who had his jaw and his eyes clenched tight. He looked so helpless.

You moved to him. You couldn't even feel yourself walking. You were gliding. Before you knew it you were crawling over the sheets of your bed, staining them with the grime that rubbed off your body.

When you were next to him on the bed, he tried to turn his neck and look at you, but he winced. You kissed cheek and whispered to him. “Just lay with me, my love.”

You lay your head on his heart, mindful of his wincing as you brushed by the bruises on his chest. Your eyelids grew heavy as you listened to the rhythm of Drew’s heartbeat. Through your lashes you saw your husband fight to keep his eyes open, just to look at you. You turned and wrapped your two small arms around one of his massive ones and heaved it so it lay over you. So he was holding you. Drew sighed contently. The very next sounds that came from him soft snores as you yourself felt all the pain of the last three days melt away.

Then you slept.

I am so very honored and so awed that someone dedicated their time to create a fanfic for my fanfic universe....that’s.....that’s so beyond incredible and I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around it. This tribute fic was absolutely amazing. I legit read this fic until 3 am when I was given it. I couldn’t stop reading it and I loved every small detail and the story telling. Thank you again, @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia for this fic. Truly. Thank you so much. I’m so honored you adored my fics enough to write this. From the bottom of my heart; THANK YOU. ~Bri 💛🖤 (Again this fic is NOT MINE. I was given permission to post it here and place it on my masterlist)

Tag: @adriennegabriella @amandalynngraves @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @ar3le @artemisapalla316 @ashkrystal @astolenheartnkiss @axelwolf8109 @baemcintyre @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @beckyann6879 @bigbabyscottishpsychopath @brownskinafro @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @commando-claymore @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @curlyafrogirl @daddyslittlevillain @dalia-corven @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @drew-is-boo @drewshoneybadger @fabulousrockstar @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @gold--gucciempress @hardcoresweet45 @heel-rollins @homeorbust @ihavenowilltolivelol @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @jazzy-tzw @jeffhardyenigmawwefan @junglecassidy @kalliravenne @lilred91 @littlesuperstar @madebypointlesswerewolves @malethirsty @meishaabae @melblacc @meremaidqueen @midnight--luna @monocromaticstaircase @morenokatt @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxnmurphy @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @nevertoofarfromivar @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @pandaluver96 @queenofthearchitect @saiyandude @sassymox @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @sebstanismylife @shieldgirl18 @shortyiceheart @slytherinyourrpants @softmoxymuffin @superrezzy00 @taryn-dibiase @thatnerdwriter @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thepalaceofmelanie @theworldofotps @thewrestlingwarehouse @trashofambrolleigns @twistedbeautifully @unabashedwrestlefics @undiscovereddisneyroyalty @undisputedmorgs @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @welcome-to-lovecraft-country @xbreezymeadowsx @yaint-me @youcantreignonmyparade

#drew mcintyre #drew mcintyre x reader #my king #my king series #my king series tribute #fanfic for my fanfic #WOW!!!!#not my work #not my writing #not my fic #i do not claim ownership #tinkerbell-has-chlamydia

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 4 years ago

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 69 – Would You Take My Hand Now?

“Man, I knew I was born with insight. And I knew you, sir, would pull this off like...”

“Shut up.”

“So you can't cope with compliments when they come from me? Did anybody ever tell you what comes around goes around? That applies to the manner of speech, you know?”

“Then allow me to rephrase myself. I would so very viciously appreciate it if you could please zip those teeth of yours.”

“...You might want to drop the manners, if that's how you're gonna use them.”

“I'll be happy to. Shut your pie hole.”

Despite being the victim of Frankenstein's curses-without-curses for 3 times in a row, Muzaka did nothing to bite back at him.

Few days ago, he received report from Frankenstein and Lukedonia in relay of the situations from Seoul and nobles, respectively.

And earlier in the morning, Frankenstein revealed himself in the werewolf realm without anybody's notice, to demand Muzaka to lead the way to the lab.

As flustered as the werewolf lord was, the blonde human seemingly very inclined to drag him towards the lab if he were not to comply, he had never been so happy to have an uninvited guest.

Because he could think of only one reason why Frankenstein would sneak into his domain to head straight to the lab - diagnosis and hopefully treatment on the mystery of his body's automated refuge during the nuclear missile incident.

And Frankenstein, based on the research files from Ignes he had obtained in advance and the results from his treatment on Yuigi, eliminated to perfection the nanochips in Muzaka's head.

A process during which Frankenstein wore that menacing, sinister looks from beginning to the end, which derived from Muzaka's testament on the behind-the-scenes through which Crombel's nanochips nestled inside his body.

He was aware of the fact that Muzaka had once stayed under Crombel's hospitality, but he has never got a chance to learn what exactly he had been up to with Crombel during the time.

And as soon as he was hit by the comprehension that Muzaka provided himself as a test subject for the dead doctor, Frankenstein held a show of how to directly bombard someone's head with every curse available in human language, minus any syllable that is definitely not meant for the underaged audience.

Muzaka knew he was guilty; now he understood how the Crombel's suggestion he had regarded as a give-and-take deal turned into more-than-troublesome sword and shield against Frankenstein and the RK during their final showdown.

Hence the werewolf lord assumed a silent rock this time.

He doubted Frankenstein would accept an excuse that he had no idea Crombel would develop a weapon to control 1st Elder out of the nanochips he was planted with.

Notwithstanding, Muzaka was a werewolf of manners.

His personality and conscience did not let him forget his gratitude.

“Thanks, Frankenstein. I owe you big. So does Adne. Don't you agree?”

Muzaka peeked at Adne, who had finally risen from his bed.

During his treatment of Yuhyung at Seoul, Frankenstein picked up from his patient that Adne fell unconscious due to the gas he concocted.

While he was treating Muzaka, he injected into Adne the antidote he brewed with Yuhyung's recipe.

Thus Adne opened his eyes, and even though he was advised not to force himself back on his feet just yet, he was watching how Frankenstein was wrapping up Muzaka's treatment, from which he could always learn something, according to him.

“Oh, and I still remember our deal. I will grant you one... I mean, two wishes that you have, no matter what it takes.”

Frankenstein's memory was just as fresh.

He had marked that Muzaka owe him two wishes - one from their deal regarding the latter's body state, and one from his request regarding Lunark's affection.

And Frankenstein already knew how he would expend the two wishes, before which, however, was something he must go through.

Which required more than his power.

He was reminding himself that it is about time for his helper to arrive, when the door slid open.

The resonance of footsteps raised its volume, like the set of notes on a piano, and he spun on his heels as the final footstep waltz-rolled into his heart.

And he was met with Lunark's face, not as startled as he had expected, although she did look as if she were faced with a person she had envisioned as deceased.

He was met with her pink pupils, wide open and spilling alarm from their cores, and her half-open lips.

The lips he once held in his own.

As Frankenstein kept himself busy, choking the outburst of suggestive images in his head, Muzaka greeted his warrior.

“You're back! You did good, Lunark. You did really good. What are you waiting for, Frankenstein? Shouldn't you thank your savior?”

Muzaka speared the air with his nose, copycating a father showing off his proud daughter.

Frankenstein gazed at him with annoyed, questioning eyes before he nodded.

“I'll do that. While I'm at it, let me borrow her for a minute.”

“...Say what?”

Lunark and Muzaka sang in unison as they gaped at Frankenstein.

“It won't take long. So excuse me, but excuse me.”

Frankenstein did not even finish his sentence before his arm extended itself towards its target, and the next moment Lunark was tiptoeing her way out of the lab, caught by Frankenstein's hand.

Muzaka and Adne could only stare at the door, dumbstruck by the event that befell in the speed of light.

“Couldn't you at least give us a hint what this is about?”

*****

'Why are we here?'

Lunark flung her eyes about her, unable to settle down.

Yet she could only retrieve her eyes at the pink poking her eyes.

She and Frankenstein happened to be standing in the sea of wolfsbanes, the site that held the memoir of their first kiss still oscillating with gorgeous pink.

Because of which Lunark could simply fumble in silence, lost in the details of the disaster from the past.

And that was a cue for Frankenstein to begin.

“First of all, thanks.”

“Uh... What's that?”

“Thanks for saving me at Lukedonia.”

“O-oh... D-don't mention it.”

“And sorry.”

“A-about what...?”

“You had to go through all that trouble because of me. And I almost killed you. Not to mention you had to break your long-lived bow.”

“Uh... Oh... You mean the fact that I accepted the Noblesse's power and therefore broke my bow that I shall nurture my natural-born power without any experiment or body modification? Don't be sorry. I knew what I was doing, and I have no regrets whatsoever. Even if I were to go back in time, I would have made the same choice, although I have to admit that was the only option available for me back then. And, uh... No need to be sorry that you almost killed me. It wasn't you. It was the Dark Spear.”

A hurried array of excuses naturally rendered Lunark speechless, which did not bring the same effect upon her company.

“When I drank the tonic with the components altered by 3rd Elder...”

Days were not enough to dilute his nightmarish memories from the time.

The moment he downed the liquid, he could feel sleep - no, he could feel vertigo looming towards him, giving no time at all for him to look for a spare awakening or tonic.

Like a tumult of unstoppable torrent from a dam cracked, the tsunami of sleep he had been long forcing in imprisonment engulfed him.

He could feel the Dark Spear screaming in glee even before he blacked out.

The weapon was screaming, Now it's all over!!!

As he felt his legs and eyelids giving in, the best and the most he could do was picturing a series of faces.

Raizel.

M-21, Takio, and Tao.

Regis and Seira.

Gechutel, Karious, Rael.

Razark, Rayga, and Tesamu.

And......

Lunark.

Soundlessly shrieking out her name was the last thing he did before his mind slipped away from his grasp.

“That was when I realized how distinct my feelings have grown. I realized that my feelings for you can no longer stay unspoken.”

As Frankenstein was stitching the air with a now-I-don't-care-whatever-happens tone, Lunark was still quiet.

This time, however, she could not speak up.

'Did I hear correctly...? Frankenstein loves me...?!'

Clutching tightly to her heart that had been fluttering like petals dancing in the moonlight since who-knows-when, Lunark kept attentive to Frankenstein's speech.

“I knew what my heart was telling me, but I could only play deaf. The Dark Spear in me has grown powerful enough to jeopardize my control, after it took over Crombel and his Blood Stone. I was afraid it will hurt those dear to me... I was afraid it will hurt you. But thanks to you, it has lost the Blood Stone and became tame enough -somewhat - so now I have no more reason to avoid you. And most importantly, my master told me this. We should live our lives to the fullest during the time given to us, without any regret. We must look into our hearts to determine what it is that we really want. And we must make a choice for ourselves.”

Sounds just like something from a soul born with eternal time but bound to the burdens of Noblesse, thought Lunark as she nodded.

“And as I came up with your name in the course of my possession by the Dark Spear... I felt regret burning like hellfire inside me. I kept lamenting, if only I were honest with my feelings for just a little. If only I could at least give a signal of my feelings for you. Back then I'd thought my future is no more, so I'd thought I'll be losing you and the rest of my people.”

Lunark's lips were fastened seamlessly as she took in Frankenstein's voice, now turned into a whisper.

For she had gone through something similar rather recently.

When she was pouring Raizel's power into Frankenstein's body via kiss, she did not think about what will break beyond that point.

The only thing she could think of was saving Frankenstein.

Ironically, at the corner of her brain she could view a list of highlights from her life.

The list of every word and time she shared with Frankenstein, ever since they first met as enemies at Seoul.

Her survival instinct screeched at her that she can no longer carry or cumulate these memories, which left bitter regrets in her heart for a second.

She regretted that she did not confess her feelings or make more memories with him.

And here she was, figuring out that Frankenstein had felt the same regret that had haunted her.

His feelings were the same, so she could feel tiny expectation bloating like a balloon.

“And recently, I almost lost you. I almost lost myself. I almost lost everything I treasure... And I shall have no more regrets.”

So you mean...?

Lunark could only reiterate the question stuck in her throat, when Frankenstein at last turned his eyes towards her.

“You might be disappointed in me, since I've been staying single for more than 820 years. Nevertheless, would you take my hand now?”

Frankenstein's confession was quite direct, truthful to his claim of being single for more than 8 centuries, which was regardless faded in the feathery texture of his voice and the heart-melting perfume from Lunark's cardiac muscle.

Which was why Lunark let out a relaxed sigh of laughter in reply.

“I could say the same thing. I had no reason at all to familiarize myself with romance so far... Why would you opt for a terrifying woman like me?”

“Because you're terrifying. Or should I say fiery?”

Lunark did not expect him to remember the semi-jest she threw at him during their first encounter.

She could once again revel at how deep her love is, feeling no cringe at all at his delicacy, and her hand was bound by a quintet of huge, slender fingers.

“Which reminds me, isn't this near the spot we had our first kiss?”

A sentence was more than enough to drown Lunark's cheeks with streaks of red like bombs, and Frankenstein smirked.

“The first one was an accident. And the second one was stolen by the Dark Spear, during a situation that will allow no chance in hell for a romantic mood... Which is why this time I'll do it myself.”

What?! H-hold on a sec!!

The man did not spare a second for her to stop him.

As outgoing as he is, his arm was weighed with strength just as audacious, and its mind-blowing aftermath soon took over Lunark's lips.

And the werewolf was swept in the impression that the entire blood in her body was drawn to her lips.

For each of strokes and rubs Frankenstein's mouth made, a rumbling noise one would hear from a freight train spread from her lips throughout her wholesome form, to raise full blooms of elation to every corner and plain of her body, not a speck to be left desolate.

Lunark's hands, wobbling between sweetness and daze, soon secured themselves onto Frankenstein's chest, to slowly wind across his shoulders and around his neck.

The two figures basked in the kiss more electrical than the first and more ecstatic than the second, while the pink petals of wolfsbanes surrounding them rippled like dancers blessing them.

*****

A follow-up on their fluffy-soft and flowery-perfumed kiss in declaration of love, Frankenstein put on that signature full-of-poise smile of his.

“Now it's time for us to deal with the remaining obstacles. But first thing first - I need you to get changed.”

He pulled out from his jacket a white dress shirt, meticulously squared and folded in a clean bag of plastic.

“Sorry. I know I should've brought a brand new one, but I have no knowledge of your accurate size. So I had to opt for one from my own closet. And don't worry. It's washed.”

Lunark took the bag from him, locking her teeth from spilling that if it is from his collection, he is practically rewarding her.

“But you'll have to grab one from your possessions as for the fabrics to cover your lower appendages. And it'd better be something comfortable for you to move in.”

“Uh... Sure. But why would you offer this out of the blue...?”

Her eyes twitched in puzzlement, earning from Frankenstein an unexpressed pleasure of witnessing her loveliness, and he smirked and retorted with a brief explanation.

“...What?!”

And Lunark could once again realize how outgoing her man could be, as she rolled her eyes in bewilderment.

(next chapter)

At last, ladies and gentlemen, Frankenstein and Lunark are official in my fic! XD It took 69 chapters for them to be together, but guess what - next chapter will be the final chapter for this fic. :P

As for Raizel’s advice mentioned in the middle of this chapter, I made a reference to the theme message from the original webtoon during its early seasons. We must live our lives to fullest during the time designated to us, making choices by ourselves and for ourselves. Back when the webtoon was ongoing, the only impression I got was that it sounds good to me, but nowadays as days pass and seasons change, I’m growing to agree with this idea more and more. Which is why I personally wanted to make a reference to this message in my fic.

Anyways, next chapter will be the final chapter for this fic. I’d like to say you’ve been doing an amazing job of keeping up with me so far, and I’d like to ask you to please stay with me for just one more week. Thanks so much! :)

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #lunarkxfrankenstein #wolfsbane #Mr.Wolf #AnAngelicDay

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lacielre · 5 years ago

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circles over circles, 2 (m)

SUMMARY Your life has been pretty stable from any university task to your social life and love life, everything has been set perfectly like a plate to a dining table. but that changes when you encounter the one person you remember to feel indifferent the most—Jungkook.

PAIRING jimin/reader, jungkook/reader

RATING mature

GENRE college au | smut, romance, heavy angst, friends to “enemies” to lovers, childhood friends, established relationship

WARNINGS lots of dwelling in the past (again), pining, smitten!jk, cocky taehyung, a light touch of dirty talk

WORD COUNT 8k

PARTS 1, 2

FIRST DAY OF PLAYOFFS…

Time is quick and unforgiving.

You realize this when you take a swift sweep of the sixty-person-filled room you’re in and catch the hanging wall clock. Time’s almost up. Everyone’s striving to finish the examinations that will determine the fate of the scholars in this tense chamber. For some, the exams are for the fifty-percent off scholarship grant. For you, however, you’re aiming for the month-long education in New Zealand, which based by the overheard pre-exams conversations is almost everyone else’s aim.

In a few minutes, everyone, you included, submits their papers.

All you’re thinking about is that you better fucking get in. Those dreadful hours in the quiet of the libraries and the fears of walking alone at night better pay off.

Today is also the first day of playoffs and because of the thousand-item test you had, it’s impossible for you to catch up to any game. Even the final minutes of the day’s last game, ice hockey, are not granted to you. Having arrived at the venue, you only witnessed the university’s team winning hoots and cheers, sonorously booming in the stadium from the ice rink while the audience clears up the seats.

And like every college that exists, there’s a house party and it’s only blocks away from your dorm. You’re in the middle of untying your shoelaces when your phone rings with Seulgi’s contact name flashing on your screen so you answer.

Before you could even speak, a voice beats you to it.

“Hey? I’m Yeri, Seulgi’s classmate. Um, you’re on Seulgi’s speed dial so I just figured to call you—”

“Wait—what-why? What’s going on?” you ask instead, not wasting a minute.

The other line is too loud and thank God, the girl—Yeri—you’re speaking with has gone outside to lessen the noise and actually communicate.

“Seulgi is drunk and none of us could drive her home,” she sighs then gets to the point, “she’s wasted.”

“Yeahyeahokay,” you say, tying your shoes back. “I’ll be there in five. Don’t leave her alone please.”

“Yes! Of course, of course! Thank y—oh, my God, tie—put her hair back!”

In no less than five minutes, you arrive to the house party that shows exactly what it is: a Friday night house party. You feel like even if your university didn’t win ice hockey tonight, something like this would still happen.

But hell did you miss going to parties like this.

Sadly, you aren’t here to party; you’re here to pick up your roommate who you caught puking in the last seconds of your call.

Fuck it.

You enter the vibrating house, licking your lips dried-up from the hints of winter soaking and slowly freezing the autumn air. The interior looks exactly how you expect it to from how it presents itself outside.

“Ayy! _____!”

Someone shouts your name over the blasting music and you know it’s Namjoon. You turn to find him but it’s difficult when the inebriation of people around you is also clouding your vision. There’s too many people moving around.

“On your left!”

You turn so and you see Namjoon with spread legs on a wide grey couch, balancing a red cup of what might possibly be beer on his left thigh. He eases comfortably between Seokjin and an awfully good-looking guy with a perfect side profile.

Your lips heartily form a wide smile.

“Joon!” you shout, approaching him.

“Drink?” Namjoon offers, holding the cup to you.

You’re right—beer.

You shake your head. “No, thank you.”

“Alright.” He nods. “I didn’t expect you here tonight.”

“Just here to pick up my roommate.”

Namjoon laughs, not failing to pick up the subtle hint of frustration in your tone. “Been there,” he consoles.

“Why are you even here… drinking? Isn’t your game tomorrow morning?”

“Before lunch, yeah,” he corrects. “I’m not getting drunk by the way. Just here for a few drinks then I’ll bounce. Our coach told us to relax.” The last word hotly grazes against his throat.

“And we did,” Seokjin continues, leaning back. “Nice seeing you, _____. You look great.”

“You know I doubt that but thanks.”

“So, what, I’m just not here or…?” the guy with the perfect side profile says.

“Ignore him, _____,” Seokjin mumbles.

“So, _____.” The perfect-side-profile man catches your name. “I’m Hoseok.”

“Ignore him,” Namjoon repeats Seokjin’s sentiment.

You smile at Hoseok anyway, to be polite. Now he has a name. “I’d love to catch up with you, guys, but I gotta go look for my friend,” you say in a hurry, withdrawing in tiny steps. “Bye! Good luck tomorrow!”

“Yeah, your boyfriend won’t really approve of that,” Namjoon teases.

Instead of replying with a witty remark, you already run off to another, emptier corner of the house and you even heard Hoseok double-checking Namjoon’s statement, asking something like, “How the fuck do all girls in this party have partners?”

Your phone vibrates and lights up with a message from Seulgi or well, Yeri who’s handling her phone, telling you to go to the backyard.

When you spin, time doesn’t construct itself much from your rapid recognition of whose back is facing you right now but meters away.

It’s Jungkook.

It’s Jungkook whose arm is leaning flatly on the wall, caging a girl with his body. It’s Jungkook in the kitchen with a girl giggling in his company and by the way his back bounces, he too must also be sharing the laughter. It annoys you that you could recognize him so easily, and worse, you could recognize him smiling from the looks of his back.

That’s Jungkook, alright.

Fuck it.

It has you reeling how you’re feeling this way but Joohyun’s words from last time ring in your head. They’ve constantly been.

This is a burden you never lifted off your shoulders.

And things like that – they come full circle.

Do they really?

You faintly shake your head.

You pass by them in speedy steps, getting a whiff of Jungkook’s cologne along the way. Some things never change.

It only takes probably half a minute for you to spot Seulgi being forced to stand up by her friends. You hear her say something to them but you couldn’t pick it up since she slurred her way through it. She lifts her head and probably sees you.

She does.

“_____!” Seulgi shouts, barely pronouncing out your name correctly.

“Oh, thank God!” Yeri groans as she follows Seulgi’s gaze.

You help Yeri and two other girls with Seulgi.

“God really is a woman,” Yeri declares in a pained whisper, squeezing her eyes shut when you take Seulgi’s arm from her shoulder.

She groans from relief, rolling her shoulders.

“My car is parked right outside,” you state, wrapping Seulgi’s arm around you instead.

“Whaaayoudyoin…” Seulgi asks, pushing her head back with closed eyes. “Donnbrimehome pleaaa! Jaacallmywoommey. I haa! A woomate!”

Now Seulgi is being a pain in the ass.

Seulgi doesn’t make it easy for you to carry her with her thrashing her body sideways at almost every step you make.

“Hey! _____! I’ll help,” Namjoon shouts from the back door, jogging lightly to your destination. “Saw you from the window,” he adds. “You didn’t tell me this was your roommate. She’s been like this for almost half an hour now.”

You shrug, passing Seulgi’s arm to Namjoon’s shoulder. “Well, that’s for her to remember in the morning.”

“She’s wasted as fuck”—Seulgi kicks and almost gets to Namjoon’s leg—“and stubborn as fuck too. Goddamn.”

“That’s my roommate, alright,” you sigh, words barely under your breath. You watch Seulgi move around and Namjoon could only back off when she turns and sways, but he tries his best to steady her, alternating holds from her shoulders, arms, and elbows. “So, can you…?”

He gives off a nervous laughter. “Yeah, fuck. I’ll just need…” he looks around, “some help.” And he catches Hoseok who’s chilling on the doorstep. “Hobi! Help me out here!”

“What, can’t carry a girl only half your size, Joon?” Hoseok provokes but comes closer.

“How ‘bout you fucking try, then?” Namjoon lets go of Seulgi and Hoseok almost backs off when your drunk friend pushes them off with her arms.

“Oh, fuck,” Hoseok says.

“Are you guys really gonna help?” you ask, frustration pent up, helping Seulgi stand on your own.

“Anything for you, princess.” Hoseok winks.

God, you are so familiar with this type of talks. The sigh drawn from your lungs is probably an adequate answer but Hoseok probably failed to catch that as you do not receive any reaction from him.

With the help of Namjoon and Hoseok, you arrive to your car in no time. The other girls have already gone back to the frat house and rekindle with whatever activities Seulgi disrupted them from. Tonight is a failure to feminism, you think.

“Drive home safe,” Hoseok reminds, tapping your scrolled-down window.

Although unaccustomed of the gesture coming from him, you slowly nod.

“Okay, between the two of us, only I get to tell her that, a’right? Move,” Namjoon interferes, pushing Hoseok aside. He nods to Seulgi who’s dead asleep on the shotgun. “You sure you can bring her up yourself?”

You could only nod. Fuck, you haven’t thought of that.

Fuck it.

You swallow.

With a determined sigh, you say, “Yep. Thanks for your help, Joon.”

He flashes his deep dimples at you. “That’s nothing,” he genuinely says. “It’s nice to see you again, though, _____. Seeing you back there felt like high school, when you were still with that shithead Yoongi—fuck, sorry.”

“I’m fine! You can call him shithead as much as you like.” You laugh and he does too. “Also, yeah, it’s really been a while, huh?”

He agrees by wiggling his brows. “You took your exams today?” he asks.

“Yep! Missed all the games for that one.”

“Sucks,” Namjoon comments, his forehead furrowing in comfort. “Did mine yesterday. See you in New Zealand, baby!”

He raises a palm up and you reciprocate the high five.

You think, right.

He’s both an athletic and academic scholar. Of-fucking-course.

“You can’t be too sure.” You shake your head. “I’m not as smart as you.”

He scrunches his nose to brush off your comment. “Eh,” he deadpans, shrugging. “I’m sure you did well, _____. You’ll get in.” He takes a pause then he exhales, gripping onto the bottom windowpane of your car. “Jungkook also took his yesterday. Hopefully, we all get in.”

You could only nod and Namjoon must’ve seen how that made you tense for a second. He clears his throat and knocks a tin of your car. “Drive home safe. Hope to see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, you will.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Oh, I will.”

He chuckles and repeats, “I really did miss you.”

“You too. Need to catch up with… everything.”

“And ignore Hoseok, by the way. Hasn’t gotten his dick wet for a week, excuse him.”

“I’m literally standing right next to you.”

SECOND DAY OF PLAYOFFS…

Sans the library studies from your morning routine, you take into account to visit Joohyun’s shop, Irene’s, every morning for whatever you need. It could all stem from buying sweets or drinks to reheating lunch boxes to borrowing cash.

Today is for the former.

You’ll be needing to replenish energy and the way to do that is through sugar. Loads of them.

“You getting nervous?” you ask.

Amid your morning walk, you are on line with Jimin who you swear is nervous but tells you otherwise.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I feel… alright?” Jimin sighs.

“That doesn’t sound confident,” you tease. “Where’s my cocky boyfriend?”

“When have I ever been cocky?” he scoffs.

“A few times—mostly in bed—but I’ll take that point,” you goad.

You hear him laugh on the other line. “Can’t wait to see you.”

In that, you feel the syllables stretching with the way he smiles. Before you were with him, you found it corny how you read things like hearing someone’s smile from a call but fuck do you get it now. You get it. And it feels nice catching details like that.

You bite your bottom lip. “Me too,” you reply. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited in weeks. Probably months even, for something. And all I’ve ever been was… tired and annoyed. Mostly, tired.”

“Mhm,” Jimin hums. “I forgot to ask you last night about your exams. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“That’s fine and you know what, I don’t think I did that well.” You pout. “Before you yell at me, I’m not just saying this. I swear I feel this way.”

“That can’t possibly be right.” You hear a shuffle from his line, probably him shifting on his seat. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

You couldn’t help the laugh the blooms from your chest. “Okay, now you’re just lying to my face.”

“Not to your face. And no,” he emphasizes his decline, “I am not lying.”

“It’s either that or you don’t know that many people which is impossible, by the way.”

Jimin laughs again then he composes himself. “You’re getting that grant, babe. I’m sure.”

You raise your brow. “You’re ‘sure’?”

He laughs. “Okay—maybe not sure, but you get me.”

“Whatever, Park Jimin,” you sass.

It only occurs to you that you never actually told Jimin that you’re looking forward to a month-long exchange trip in New Zealand for winter, not a fifty percent off scholarship grant. You aren’t sure why you didn’t tell him in the first place. It’s probably because you applied for it just when Jimin started his training. Then weeks went on and on.

It’s difficult for you to tell him because then, after barely seeing each other for about three weeks because of his training and your preparation for exams, it’s again another month of bare absence, of almost concrete silence between the two of you. It’s again another time for uncertain developments and yearning for lingering touches on your skin.

You’re scared that he’ll think you don’t think much about spending time with him because you do. But the New Zealand trip will be a box full of opportunities too, and you cannot risk not being able to go.

But after this for sure.

Fuck it.

Inhaling sharply, you repeat previous sentiment, “Can’t wait to see you.”

“Cheesy.” His voice is flirty, its rasp sticking to the word.

“What do you want me to say then?” It’s a challenge you don’t want to lose. “I’m ready to suck you like a champ,” you say, tone lacing in feigned seduction before spared milliseconds of bursting into laughter. “How was that? How does that sound?”

“Sexy,” he muses, grinning. “And what if I lose then?”

“Don’t say that.” You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth. “Well, I’ll make you feel like a champ then.”

“Yeah, okay. I gotta admit, that sounds kinda hot,” Jimin laughs.

You grin. “Today should be all about you, babe. Do well and I’ll text or call you when I get there. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When the line disappears into the plainness, into thin air, it’s just on time with Joohyun noticing you from the counter through the glassed walls of the cozy shop, allowing the central color of brown in different schemes to the exit, displaying itself for people to see orange-turning furies from the islands to the select bricked walls and to the waxed wooden floors. She does her usual routine every time she sees you: untie her apron, leave the counter, and pull her phone from her pocket.

You enter, rolling your eyes at her.

“Good morning to you too, _____,” Joohyun exclaims with a wide smile.

“Get back to the counter,” you say.

“What?” She frowns. “But I just got out.”

“Your shop opened literally fifteen minutes ago.”

“I know. I opened,” she says, mocking you with her tone. Barely. “Contrary to what you think sometimes, I do work here.”

“Exactly,” you say sharply. “I’m gonna order something.”

She rolls her eyes, reties the ribbon of her apron, and slip her phone back into her pocket. “What do you want?”

Your eyes land on the untouched blueberry cheesecake caged in glasses as an answer. Joohyun is quick to her senses, crouching down to have herself almost face-to-face with your dessert.

“How many of this do you want?”

“Four slices, please,” you declare, excitement evident in your phrasing.

She straightens her back once all the slices are neatly placed in a small paper box for you. “Aren’t these too much for a morning?”

“Don’t shame me. Also, I have a roommate to feed.”

Her eyes widen at your response then she presents you a tight smile. “Okay.” Then she announces the price of your order. “Will you tip your cashier?”

“No. When can I get like a friend discount in here?”

“You won’t,” she says curtly, processing your order and payment into the slim machine. “Look at you getting all sugar-high for the game later.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I need all the help I need. I barely slept last night. I had to pick up Seulgi from a party then I had to bring her up to the room—it’s all such a mess last night. She almost puked in my car too.”

“You went to a party and you never told me?”

“Joohyun,” you say through gritted teeth. You point your fingers to your ears for emphasis. “Listen. I said I had to pick Seulgi up.”

“Sorry. All I heard was… party,” she says, whispering the last word into a short-lived outbreath. “So, saw anything interesting? Flaring testosterone levels? See any of my ex making out with someone? Or maybe your ex?”

“I saw Namjoon and Seokjin,” you interrupt. “Jungkook was there too.”

“You two talk?”

You shake your head. “You know what, I feel like you messed with my head, Joohyun. Because last night, I honestly felt like there was this part of me—just a small, small, small, tiny part of me—that was just ready to call his name and talk to him.”

She pushes the box with an attached receipt to you before raising her hands, admitting a defeat you never declared her to do so. “Hey, don’t blame this one on me. I was just saying.”

You look away and you could feel your forehead scrunching up to a concerned look. Without feeling the need to, you sigh.

“Well, you saying it,” you bite your lip, “just did something. Opened wounds.”

Joohyun shakes her head, not entirely getting your point. “Can I just ask? Am I okay here? Like, you’re not mad at me or anything, right, for telling you something that I’m sure you already know?”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, good. Because you don’t sound good. That didn’t sound good.”

“Is it bad that I feel this way?” You swallow and continue, “About him?”

“It’s not a crime to miss someone, _____.”

“I never said I miss him.”

“You didn’t have to, though,” she counters, not bothering to pause a little. “I think you’ll only know whether it’s a good thing or if it’s a bad thing once you start talking to him. For now, I don’t think it’s… you know, something—or anything, but you know, don’t miss the chance to turn into something.”

You nod slowly. “You’re right. Not sure about that last part though. I feel like you’re just planting stuff in my head again.” A beat for how ludicrous it sounds and you continue, “Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. In fact, I don’t want to. Maybe I’m just missing high school in general.”

Her brow raises and you’re already so well-aware of what she’s about to say. She really has a way of making you want to eat back the words you just spat to avoid being embarrassed by her teases.

“Oh, you miss high school, huh,” she starts. “Is it because of Jungkook or… maybe Yoongi? Aw, shit. It’s been a while since I even said his name.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you still in contact with him?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Of course, not, Joohyun. Do I look like I don’t respect myself?” You don’t wait for her answer and beat her into speaking by saying, “Okay. Don’t answer that.”

“Do you wanna know some classified information?” she asks, shifting the topic. On her note, at the control of the conversation, she says, before you could even answer, “Jungkook and you must have pretty similar tastes—andandand before you yell at me, I can say so because he frequents here ever since he started ordering here. Thanks to you.”

“Again, fuck you,” you hiss. “I didn’t want to know that.”

She scoffs, ignoring your statement. “Whatever. Enjoy your stuff and see you later.”

The venue is already packed with people when you arrive, many of them are students. The student division of the two universities can be clearly seen from afar. Outsiders are even dressed up to support whoever they’re supporting and it, without doubt, shows. The cheering squads are already up on their feet, performing their bone-breaking choreographies, shouting on top of their lungs to make out their cheers for the players.

You text Jimin about your arrival and where you’re seated. You’re sure he’ll easily spot you later. He does it every time you attend his games.

Instead of proceeding to a crowded spot among the seats, you go to where Seulgi is and she’s sitting beside Jennie, a mutual friend, chilling at a rather bald spot in the seats, but still only a few seats far from others. Between you and Seulgi, you’ve known Jennie longer although you two weren’t that close in high school.

College really couldn’t pull you from high school.

“Finally, you’re here,” Jennie squeals. “I barely see you around anymore. Park Jimin’s really taking all your time, huh?”

“Girl, I wish. Was busy with the scholarship stuff,” you correct, yawning.

“And girl, you better get it,” Jennie proclaims before biting onto her chip. “Seulgi told me about her drunk night. I salute! Thank you for saving our fallen soldier.”

“You owe me. You owe me big time,” you sternly hiss at Seulgi and she nods adamantly. “So what you two been up to?” you ask, shifting comfortably on your seat.

“What have you been up to, huh?” Seulgi teases. “I didn’t know you were friends with most of the guys in the baseball teams! What the fuck, _____? You never gave me this information!”

Jennie faces you with a mischievous smile. “Ooh, looks like Seulgi wants an introduction with the boys. You’re freshman year ‘bout to get spicy, Seulgi! You don’t know the land of opportunities _____ is going to show you.”

“Jennie, stop planting ideas in her head!” You glare, shaking your head. “I’m not introducing anyone to anyone. And Seulgi, c’mon, now,” you say, a bit disappointed. “Them, really?”

“What? You’re friends with them! Why can’t I be?”

“Okay, fine! Whatever. I’m not your mom. But Jennie will do that for you.” You turn to Jennie. “Right, Jennie? Since this is your bright idea anyway.”

Jennie’s smile fades but she blurts a “yes,” anyway after long negotiations with Seulgi.

Soon, the teams arrive in their team jerseys and whatever gears they need, and the volume of the cheers even turn up to a certain extent that has the seats vibrating a bit. The crowd follows the chants through and through. Of course, the cheers are louder from the home team aka your university.

The loudest is probably when Jungkook’s name was announced. But it’s also hard to make that decision when Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok start to make their entrance one-by-one and the cheers seem to get louder and louder. It has your head reeling, that even when the stadium seats are not completely filled, the clusters of small groups have it in them to shake the plate.

“Holy fuck,” Seulgi chuckles as she covers her ears. “My ears!”

“Jungkook. Golden boy,” Jennie states.

The visiting team then makes their entrance and even if they’re the visiting ones, Taehyung gets his share of screams too.

Your friend, Jennie, on the other hand, chooses to sing-shout a romantic song about how time should go back, an homage for your past with Taehyung which was as shallow as it gets. She does that instead of doing what normal people do in a game—cheer. And you could only slap her leg to shut the hell up.

“Imagine you and Taehyung, what it could’ve been.”

“You know what, Jennie? No. And this is getting old.”

“No, I don’t but I’ll keep doing it.” She raises her brow and you could only shake your head. “Lighten up, _____. I was just kidding.”

“Taehyung’s hot,” comes a direct whisper on your ear, making your hairs stand.

“Fuck! When the hell did you get here?” you ask, startled, while Joohyun hops from the back bleachers and take the empty seat beside you.

“I was looking for you and I was contacting you but you weren’t answering your phone,” Joohyun complains, then she winks at Seulgi then Jennie. “Long time no see, girls!” She wiggles her brows. “Isn’t this exciting?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely! It gets more exciting every time one player comes out and we tease _____ about him,” Jennie says, chuckling.

“And so far, who? Just one. Taehyung. That’s right,” you say dismissively.

“And Jungkook,” Joohyun points out.

“We were friends. We didn’t do anything.”

“Looks like you did, though,” Jennie backs.

“Yeah, definitely,” Seulgi agrees.

“You too? Really?” you moan.

“I don’t know—I just thought…” Seulgi defends without an drop of confidence.

“Sometimes, try not thinking.”

Joohyun groans. “We tease you because we lived boring lives, _____. Mundane. Dull. Humdrum. Monoto—”

“Got it, thesaurus,” you interrupt.

And Jimin finally comes out and you’re sure he winked at you, making you bite your bottom lip to suppress your smile. The crowd roars with the announcement of his name and you’re too flustered to even mingle in with the shouts.

“Aw, is _____ wet yet?” Jennie teases, making Seulgi and Joohyun snicker.

“Shut up,” you hiss but you’re smiling.

Fuck it.

“God, we get it, _____. You have a boyfriend,” Joohyun mumbles.

“Damn right, I do.”

Everyone gets to their position and the game starts with Hoseok pitching while Jimin twirls his ankles and gets ready to bat.

A competitive atmosphere envelops the stadium. Throughout the game, even with your few-minutes-spaced reminders to keep your eyes on Jimin, you couldn’t help but allow them to drift to Jungkook. He just plays so damn well. It’s no wonder this university recruited him when it had a chance.

That’s Jungkook, alright.

CUSP OF SUMMER, FOUR YEARS AGO…

“You free on Saturday?” Jungkook had to ask.

It looked like he wasn’t paying attention to you—or to anything really. He was busy fidgeting over your fled and crazed application papers on the counter, while managing an itch on his nape that never seemed to disappear. Crooking his head to the right as his fingers lightly lifted few pages of your forms, he took a peek.

“Hmm,” you hummed, stretching your hands heavenward with an eye closed, moaning at the delicious stretch. “If this is you asking me to go see you play then…”

He cleared his throat. “Then what?”

“Of course, I’m there. Are we even friends or what?”

“Good. I was starting to doubt that.”

“I don’t see you for like three days then you start saying shit like this to me.” You sneered before rolling your eyes. “You’re the one on training, mister.”

“Okay—okay. You win this one.”

“Mhm. There’s a teeny, tiny problem though.”

Jungkook’s brow raised in concern. “What?”

“I forgot to buy tickets.”

“Luckily for you,” he slid a ticket from his back pocket next to your cup of coffee, “there’s this.”

“Aw, no,” you cooed. “You have this reserved for me?”

He nodded then he processed your facial expression. “That’s it. That’s the face of someone who thinks the world revolves around them.”

You ignored him with scoff. “You really can’t live without me around you, huh?”

You pressed your hands to your chest for emphasis while your brows drown a quarter span of your forehead. Your teeth couldn’t even release their bite from your bottom lip, doing their best to suppress your jokey beam. But what came next – you hadn’t expected.

Never.

And it will be in your head for quite some time.

“Of course I want you there. You’re my lucky charm,” Jungkook stated without hesitation, shifting his gaze from the ticket then to your eyes. His were earnest.

Yours were something else but they softened. Fuck it.

You did not expect it and it came worse to you. Because now, you were flustered. Flustered like the times he would envelope your hand in his when crossing streets without telling you beforehand. Flustered like when he had kissed the top of your head because you were crying. Flustered like this.

He flashed you a smile, one that only cared to lift the corners of his mouth, before leaving your sight, attending to the game he abandoned on your computer.

“Lucky charm,” you repeated in a small voice. “Lucky charm, huh.”

Not even your boyfriend said stuff like that to you.

As if on cue, your phone lit up with a message from your boyfriend, Yoongi, asking you if you would be free on Saturday.

You didn’t reply, did not even bother tapping your fingers on your phone screen. You didn’t even bother to draw your phone closer to you to read his message. You just wouldn’t and couldn’t.

You sighed. “Jackass.”

If asked to describe your relationship with Yoongi was like, the first word that would pop up in your head was – messy. That itself was enough to tell how problematic your relationship was with him but you couldn’t end it. Yoongi would fuck it up; miss out on significant events of your life, make you wait for hours for a date, leave you on read for days—weeks even, then contact you back – like today. But you took him over and over again in your arms.

“Heard that,” Jungkook announced, clearing the silence between the two of you.

“Don’t worry. It’s not you, Kook.”

“I know it’s not. It’s always one person when it comes to you and that word, _____.” He scoffed, followed by a short chuckle then his conclusion: “That was Yoongi for sure.”

“Damn right.”

When Jungkook’s game ended or after his team won, his time was quickly occupied by some guy you weren’t familiar with. He was dragged to the corner of the stadium, near the entrance made for the players.

Even then, you did your usual routine after every Jungkook game, wait by the doors of the guys’ locker room. As Jungkook was kept busy by some guy, practically all his teammates had exited the room and bid goodbyes to you along reminders of “party at Namjoon’s later” when they caught you leaning on the wall beside the doorstep.

Almost every one of his teammates were out and about in preparation for the party later, getting doses of alcohol in cans, glass bottles, and even those gigantic jugs, and also probably, well most likely, weed, when Jungkook finally gone to shower. Great. You’d be waiting for another set of dread minutes.

The door once again opened while you were busy formulating a reply to Yoongi, the classic type-and-delete approach over an apology for leaving him on read until Saturday—or today arrived. Actually it was the classic type-and-delete-and-curse approach. You were thinking this was all too late because Saturday was almost over anyway.

This was you giving in again and you surely wouldn’t be telling Jungkook about this.

You were doing so well.

Fuck it.

You started typing.

“Hey, _____,” was the greeting of a deep voice from beside you.

“Hey, Tae,” you greeted back, locking your phone.

Taehyung stood next to you, peeking from the small opening he made with the door. But he was close. Close enough for you smell his mint shampoo and a bit out-of-character baby soap. The scent matched well with his fresh face and sodden dark locks, however.

“There’s a seat here,” he noted.

“Great. My legs are killing me,” you said in relief and he opened the door wider for you.

You followed him to the lockers and it was only him left and of course, Jungkook in the showers inside.

Taehyung closed his locker then leaned his back on it, looking down on you as you sat on a bench across him, only a meter away.

If you were asked to describe your relationship with Taehyung, it’d be very easy to do so. It was as shallow as it could get. Things with him were the epitome of almost’s. He’d make a move then nothing happened next.

“You have plans after this?” Taehyung started.

“Is this your pick-up line?” you teased.

“I guess pick-up lines are my bottom-of-the-barrel approach to finally get it on with you then.” He chuckled, making you take note of the fact that his voice even sounded deeper when he did. “So, what are you up to?”

“To wherever Jungkook goes,” you answered. “It’s his day anyway.”

“So you’ll be at the party later then.”

You scoffed. “With or without Jungkook, I’ll be there for sure. Won’t miss it for the world.”

“Would you mind if we pick up where we’d always left off?” was his brazen request.

That made you stand up from being seated, meters closing into bare inches when you branded the floor with your footsteps.

Taunting to be as bold as him, you smirked.

“And where is that?” you asked breathily, grazing your fingers on the loose part of fabric clinging on his waist.

He smirked, aiming to tear down your dominant demeanor with how he towered over you but you contested, keeping your eyes locked with his. “Pretty,” he merely commented, clearing your face from the stands of your hair.

“Pretty?” you repeated.

Taehyung got a hold of your wrist but he kept his touch merely centimeters above your skin. He skimmed to your elbow and upwards, upwards, upwards until he reached to swipe his thumb on your bottom lip. “So pretty,” he repeated bending down his neck to whisper them in your ears.

He claimed a spot on your neck with a small peck just when you thought he’d claim you in for a kiss.

“You letting me take you home tonight?”

And fuck were you ready to just jump on his request.

His voice dripping honey didn’t help at all.

“That’s a question I can’t answer,” you swallowed when he nipped on your jaw to hide your panting, “right now.”

“Uh huh. Why is that?” He placed a hand on your back, dangerously close to your ass. His other hand cupped your cheek into his palm, making it easier for his lips to fan hot breaths over yours.

Again, you swallowed.

“You’ll have to convince me better,” you said weakly.

Fuck it.

“Later, yeah?” He leaned in and right when you hoped he would finally enclose his lips with yours, he only kissed the corner of your lips, making you yearn as if minutes of him playing with you weren’t enough.

You lifted your head, trying to catch his lips which after two quick attempts, he allowed with a smug chuckle.

It wasn’t a deep one. It was open-mouthed, wet. A trial for what comes later.

“Doesn’t look like you need much convincing though,” Taehyung teased, giving your ass a squeeze.

The only answer you could give him was a moan and another kiss which ran a few seconds before he pulled away.

“What now?” you whined in a shy voice, annoyed, making him chuckle.

“You’ve got to tell me though.”

“Tell you what?”

“What’s up with you and Jungkook? I need to know so I don’t fuck up,” Taehyung elaborated sharply. “I mean, you’re always together and shit.”

Your lips were left agape and you ran your tongue behind your teeth as you contemplated. You didn’t know what to tell Taehyung because you didn’t know the answer for that in one statement. You could say your best friends though but why couldn’t you?

“Jungkook!” you shouted instead, startling Taehyung.

“What?” Jungkook shouted back from the showers. “I’m coming out!”

“Okay! Good.” You turn back to Taehyung. “We’re friends.”

“So, I wouldn’t be fucking up anything then? Great,” Taehyung said that had your heart beating faster. “That’s what I liked to hear.”

“You’ve got to know though,” you added. “I’ve got a very complicated relationship with someone right now.”

Taehyung shook his head, laughing. “Yeah, I’m not really worried about getting in the middle of that,” he said, a finger sliding on your lips.

“Taehyung, back off, please,” Jungkook interrupted, a bit of frustration hinting in his tone. “I already told you; she’s taken.”

Taehyung untangled his hands from your waist but his smirk lingered.

You withdrew from Taehyung, walking up to Jungkook who stood at the boundary of the locker room and the shower room. You mouthed to Jungkook inaudibly with an annoyed expression, “Really now?”

He raised a brow at you as he tongued his cheek. “Yeah, _____,” he said sarcastically, nodding his head. “Anyway, let’s go. I’ve got something to tell you.”

The only thing you could do was follow him. He, who was walking in a real hurried pace with his gym bag. Before the two of you exited the locker room and left Taehyung alone, you looked back at him and he gave you a wink.

You two didn’t really move too far from the locker rooms anyway. Just by the doorstep when you waited for him earlier.

“Okay, what’s up?” you asked with a smile, hoping for some good news.

Before he opened his mouth, he gave in to a wide smile he must’ve been biting on his cheek to repress.

Alluring features of him smiling were of different earthly gifts.

“Oh, my God. It is good news! Wait—wait, let me guess! Is this about the guy outside?” You waited for his nod which he gave. “Okay, wait—no. I don’t wanna guess. I give up. What is it? Who was that?” were your shooting questions, putting him on hot seat.

“So that guy is the baseball coach of the national university,” Jungkook introduced slowly but he didn’t continue.

“Well…?”

“He’s asking me to try-out for them.” He paused to exhale. “And if I get in, which he kept telling me I’ve got a great chance in, I’ll go to college there. Free.”

As if it was your triumph to celebrate, your eyes widened as you jumped to hug him tightly. “Oh, my God! That’s so great! I’m so happy for you, Kook! Oh, my God! This is big!”

He let go of his gym bag to fully wrap his arms around your waist, almost completely burying his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. “It’s still not sure though. Only if I get in—”

“Shh,” you hushed. “One thing at a time.”

“Okay.” He surrendered to you, into the embrace.

“Okay, maybe two things at a time,” you recounted. “First, your win. And this, second. Fuck, I really am your lucky charm, aren’t I?”

“You have a way of making things about you, _____,” he countered instead. But again, he surrendered to you. “But fuck yeah, you really are.”

“Everything’s falling into place for you, damn.” You hugged him tighter, leaving your cheek on his chest. “I’m so happy for you I could honestly cry but to save face, I will not.”

“Thank you, _____,” was his straight reply.

The vibration of his chest suddenly became the beeping alarm in your head on the proximity you two share. But no one was pulling away. Not you. You couldn’t.

Not when hugging him like this felt so good, so warm. So perfect.

You looked up to tease him about the fast beats of his heart, but as if you were caught in act, as if captured to an arrest, you stiffened when his eyes were already onto yours.

But no one was looking away. Again, it was not you. You couldn’t.

It didn’t take long ticks of seconds for you to feel the burning of your cheeks, pinks finally looming to your face. Yet still, you couldn’t, wouldn’t dare look away. And all this time, you were only thinking about how it was you who should look away, not realizing that he wasn’t moving either.

Because it couldn’t be him who would look away too.

It couldn’t be him who would unwrap his arms and pull away finally.

Despite all these thoughts, Jungkook knew that if no one let go, he could lean in. Fuck, he could. You were only a few centimeters away. He really would. He would yet he couldn’t so he stayed the same way you did.

Today was special. This was special.

Today was his.

“You guys have a ride?” Taehyung’s voice suddenly echoed from the locker room, making the both of you jump.

It was you who had to let go.

“Y-Yeah, Tae!” you shouted back.

“Alright,” Taehyung noted, exiting the room and moving past the two of you. He looked back to wink at you. “See you there, _____.”

You bit your lips.

“Really, ____?” Jungkook asked.

“He’s joking,” you defended.

“What is it you see in him anyway?” Jungkook still asked, ignoring your statement.

“Kook, you ask that about every guy I’ve been with,” you stated. “Nothing’s even happened between me and Tae. I just wanna fool around with someone. And everything I have with Yoongi is so close to coming to an end. So, I guess that one’s out the window.”

You waited for Jungkook to speak.

“For real, this time.”

“For real, this time?”

Your statements overlapped, except that Jungkook’s was a question. It was clear that he had enough of you saying the same thing over and over again.

You chuckled.

“Yes, Kook,” you assured. “And you know what? Let’s not talk about this. Today is your day!”

Jungkook chuckled at that, certain that you were only trying to move the discussion away.

“Get drunk as fuck and fuck who you wanna fuck tonight,” you kidded.

He looked down. “You’d think I would,” he mumbled under his breath so silently you barely heard something and you didn’t question it.

In bare silence, the best thing you could bring out was a wide smile on your lips you couldn’t bring to stop. It was enough for Jungkook to feel like he was on top of the world and he could only mentally curse at himself for feeling like this. It was just a smile anyway. Nothing big. Nothing big.

But his chest that barely caged his pumping heart could only do so much. He felt that even with you only a few inches away, you could feel the vibrations in the small space between the two of you.

He hoped it did.

All this over a smile which wasn’t anything big.

Nothing was ever a big deal until he felt your touch. Your fingers pulling at his fingers then upward to wrap them around his wrists quickly, gripping lightly higher and higher until you held onto his arms for balance, in order to tiptoe and kiss his cheek. You felt him tense.

“Congratulations,” you said as you levelled with his stare, as if it was so simple.

It hadn’t been clear to Jungkook that it was you who leaned in.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said when you figured he remained silent.

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

You bit your lower lip and indulged him into another tight hug, crossing your arms over his shoulders. And his, followed around your waist.

There were two chests hammering at that time.

No one could tell if it was their own or the other’s.

PRESENT, SECOND DAY OF PLAYOFFS…

Once the game is over, your arrival outside the visiting team’s locker room is one that could be classified as “a minute too late” but it’s the best thing you could do. The floods of college students and outsiders at all entrances and exits have made it impossible for you to get to the lockers as soon as the game ended.

You are left with an opened door, allowing you access to scan whoever’s left inside and no, Jimin’s not there anymore.

“Hey, _____.”

However, Taehyung is.

“Hey, Tae,” you greet back. “Is Jimin there?”

“I thought he left to come see you…” he trails, “but I do realize that that’s wrong now because you are here.”

“Nice,” you comment curtly.

“Hey, c’mon, now. Cut me some slack. I’m tired,” he says with a chuckle. “You don’t even look like you’re happy to see me.”

You quickly feel bad for how you responded to him. “Sorry,” you apologize.

He raises a brow then leans on the doorframe with crossed arms.

“For being rude,” you continue. “And for you know, the game.”

“Well, what can I say?” he says, ticking his head to the side. “You really are Jungkook’s lucky charm.”

You don’t answer, not really in the right state of mind to do so. Especially when Jungkook’s declaration of you as his lucky charm – that specific moment of your life – is the one thing that’s been keeping your senses awake, having been replayed in your head for so many times amid the game until now.

“Here I thought you could’ve been my lucky charm. Turns out, it’s just because we were on the same team back then,” he quips with a chuckle, wrapping a towel around his neck.

“Okay, Tae,” you breathe out, not knowing how to respond to him. “I gotta go look for him. Also, I am happy to see you.”

Taehyung gives you his most charming smile. “Go find him and tell him not to sulk.”

Meters at a turn of your heels, you see the doorstep for the home team’s locker room and some players are out there, loudly conversing. Before you could even pass by them, Namjoon, being apparently one of the players outside, doesn’t waste a second calling you.

“_____!” Namjoon shouts, making you turn. “Thanks for the good luck last night.”

You cringe. “Yeah, well…”

It doesn’t take him a full sentence to understand why. “Oh, yeah, fuck. I forgot. Sorry. And thank you. But also sorry ‘bout that. Sorry it turned out that way—which is a good thing for us but you know, sorry. Okay—I’ll stop.”

You shake your head. “That’s fine, I guess.” The best you could give is a small smile. “And congratulations, by the way!”

“Thank you!” is his quick response. “I’d hug you but I really haven’t… showered.”

“That’s fine,” you says, snickering a little.

The locker door opens and the players outside hoot because finally, it’d be their turn to shower. Of course, as though the universe has a way of telling you things, the locker room spews a newly-showered Jungkook. A Jungkook of red-tinted cheeks and drenched curls from the hot shower.

Suddenly, it’s quiet and Namjoon isn’t doing any saving.

So you try.

“C-Congratulations,” is your nervous congratulatory attempt.

And just as you think Jungkook would answer you, he doesn’t, not when his teammates round up to him and carry him on their arms to celebrate his successful contributions to the team. As it’s many of his runs that concluded their win.

You shift your gaze to Namjoon who’s just as dumbfounded as you. When you shake your head, he shrugs—the contributing factor to your decision to leave abruptly and find Jimin who still, hasn’t replied to any of your texts.

Fuck it.

#f: circles over circles #bts smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x oc #by:lacielre

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meggannn · 4 years ago

Note

ship meme: shakarian, shepley, vhawke

sorry i’m late babe!! i already answered shakarian so here are the others

SHEPLEY:

What made you ship it?

starting from my first playthrough, Ashley has been one of my Shepard’s favorite companions because of her easiness to talk to, practicality (that conversation about siccing your dog on the enemy and running the other way is crude but accurate, and Shepard knew that), and also I think Shepard sees a bit of herself in Ashley, where deep down, she really doesn’t have that high of an opinion of herself. like most of my ships, I enjoy a “best friends” angle there—I wouldn’t call my Shep and Ashley best friends, because like, Ash probably considers her sisters her best friends, but on the Normandy especially after Kaidan’s death, I think they share a lot of unspoken mutual connections as the only human women combatants who are expected to carry humanity’s legacy in this war.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

they have a lot of things in common at first glance, but the further you look, the more they feel like mirror opposites in other ways. they’re both level-headed marines that take their career trajectories very seriously. in my head, Shepard and Ash are also both woc, so they have that in common on the SR-1 as the only combat women onboard. my Shep and Ash are also both older sisters, although Lydia failed to keep her sibling alive, and Ash succeeded in successfully raising four younger sisters; Ash has a big family and they’re very dear to her, and Shepard has none, and in fact, a lack of family is a big thing for her because she feels she rebuilt herself in the Alliance. yet, they’ve both built identities around being career soldiers.

they both know sacrifices are going to be made in war; they don’t have to mince words with each other. but maybe the biggest thing is that while Shepard is highly recognized, Ashley’s skills are constantly looked over and pointedly ignored, and yet Ashley doesn’t let that bother her at all. eventually, when they both become Spectres (and post-Ash’s promotion) they gain equal footing in rank, but Ash is still more than willing to take orders from Sheaprd because she believes in them that much. so like... the ease with which they’re able to fall into each other’s orbit again after reconciling on Huerta. they acknowledge Horizon was a low point in their relationship that was neither of their faults. if Shep keeps visiting her, Ash trusts Shep entirely again by the time of the coup that she turns on Udina herself. if Shep puts effort into meeting her halfway, Ash returns so much.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

well... idk if this is unpopular but I really only ship femshepley... sorry mshep players...

VHAWKE:

What made you ship it?

I know the exact fic that started all this, Liquid Courage by pibroch. I remember seeing this in a friend’s bookmarks and going “what? varric/hawke? that’s stupid. that would never happen.” then my cursor moved and clicked it without my consent and then suddenly I was reading it. and I remember thinking this had a nice Varric voice, so I kept reading for that at first. iirc the angle was that they start something as friends with benefits, and then Varric realizes as he’s picking up a gift for Hawke he’s caught big feelings and oh shit. and then I was oh shit too.

eventually, damalur’s fic became a big reason I stayed with it—she wrote so much vhawke back in the day—and then her starting starting the hightown funk exchange kept it a regular interest.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I won’t say “best friends to lovers” again, I promise (even though it’s true)

I have a mix of reasons here that are similar to the answers I wrote in my shepley and shakarian responses, about grief, and found family, and juxtapositions, and blah blah. the long and short of it is that they’re both very similar in several ways, but in other ways they’re mirror opposites, but I think, at least with friend!Varric, that their relationship is one of the only reasons either of them gets through DA2 at all.

a big theme for Hawke, of course, is family. DA2 is, among other things, the story of how they slowly end up losing one family and gain another (and possibly lose that one too if their friends leave them in the story). Varric is a little of the same way: he’s lost his parents and eventually loses Bartrand to betrayal; the person who is there for him before, during, and after is Hawke. they both sort of become each other’s lifeline for the greater found family no matter whatever chaos Kirkwall or the rest of their friends descend into. bioware obviously intended for Varric to be your bff, and while in Mass Effect with Garrus I think this attitude of forcing a companion to be your best friend had its problems, with Varric I think it works better because Varric is meant to be a “true neutral” compared to the others that sticks by you not because he always necessarily supports you, but because he finds you interesting enough to tell stories about. morally and politically, this has its issues, because he’s a centrist and even if he’s sympathetic to mages, he’s also a ~both sides have their good points~ kind of guy, and besides, he’s more of a talker than a doer. but Hawke speaks in actions, so it makes sense to me that he’s so fascinated by them: Hawke has the courage to do all this heroic stuff that he’s only ever written books about. of course he’s going to write about them too!

but while he starts viewing them as a sort of iconic, larger-than-life figure, he realizes over the years that by penning his best friend’s exploits, he’s made them a political target as the violence in the city grows—and eventually, he realizes he might have straight-up ruined Hawke’s life. it’s a burden of his own that he bears as Hawke shoulders the weight of the city: they both feel like Kirkwall’s downfall was their fault. post-DA2, they both set off to try to make it right in the best way they can, Hawke by leaving, and Varric by setting the story straight and protecting his friends the best way he knows how, with words. a big part of why all of that attracts me is just the drama of it all if you decide to view that romantically—especially if Varric recognizes his feelings but chooses not to say something, like if Hawke is with someone else—but really I see Hawke and Varric’s relationship as a tragedy no matter if it’s platonic or not.

of course a lot depends on how you play Hawke, but no matter if they’re blue/red/purple, I think they hide their grief behind whatever their facade is. Varric is much the same, where he hides his behind humor and only really expresses himself fully in writing—however exaggerated—but also growing up in a family full of bitter alcoholics has given him the ability to recognize when his friend’s at a low point, and how serious that low point is. since he’s sort of a peacemaker, his inclination is to look out for them without forcing them to talk about their grief; I’m really attracted to ships that have that “I’m here if you need me” energy with no pressure attached.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

hm, I don’t think so? I think this ship has the potential to work in a lot of different ways so where I’m normally picky about the way I like things, with this one I am more open to interpretations I wouldn’t normally like.

I guess, idk if this is unpopular, but I don’t really have any hard feelings against Bianca, although I am not convinced Varric’s infatuation for her is healthy. so in general I am in favor of him finding a way to move on from her, although that isn’t the main reason I like vhawke

#perihelions #megan does memes #shepley #vhawke

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jetsetlife138 · 5 years ago

Text

Imaginary - Chapter 7

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairings: Alastor x Fem!Reader, Alastor x Lucifer x Reader

Summary: Somehow thrown into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Manipulation

Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Holy shit. Oh, fuck. There he was. The creature you had heard about your entire life. The epitome of all things evil and corrupt… the embodiment of sin… and he was standing directly in front of you, meeting your horrified expression with an amused one of his own.

Finding words was impossible as your mouth hung open in shock, unsure of what to say or how to address your current situation. Granted, this Lucifer was an animation, and an extremely whimsical one at that, but considering what you had heard, you were certain that he was capable of terrible and downright unspeakable things.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lucifer teased, quirking an eyebrow.

At that moment, it just so happened that a grumpy cat-demon was passing by. From the hallway, you could hear Husk grumble, “Fuck off,” clearly offended by the remark and probably on his way to the bar. He seemed to be surprisingly unfazed by Lucifer’s presence. Either that, or he was completely oblivious to the fact that he was even there.

Luckily, Charlie broke the tense silence that filled the room. “W-where’s Mom?

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Lucifer turned to address his very clearly emotionally overwhelmed daughter. “She’s on another one of her holidays. She took the gardener and fled to the Lust Ring for some time away. I think that it will do her some good.”

Upon noticing Charlie’s look of discomfort and your perplexed expression, Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Lilith and I have what you would call an open relationship. I adore the woman, but alas, she and I tend to grow tired of each other’s company after several millennia. You could not have come at a better time, little human!”

Changing the subject, Charlie interjected, “So… that’s why you’re here? I haven’t heard from you or Mom in weeks, but somehow you can find the time to cross the Seven Rings to see someone you don’t even know?”

“Oh, Charlotte. Desperation is not a good look on you,” Lucifer sneered, brushing off Charlie’s jab. “You’re a Magne for Satan’s sake. Wipe that dejected look off of your face and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Fighting back tears, Charlie’s bottom lip quivered, but she managed to keep herself in check. “Yes, Dad…”

Anger was bubbling up inside of you and threatening to spill over. You had exchanged a look with Alastor, who very subtly shook his head, indicating that now was not the time to lose your cool.

“Now,” Lucifer declared, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Let’s get moving, shall we? Oh, this is absolutely thrilling! I have so many things to inquire about.”

Finally finding your words, you spoke barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to leave.”

Wagging his finger disapprovingly at you, Lucifer chastised, “I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter. You’re deliciously powerless and at the mercy of Hell’s ruler… who just happens to be me!” He cackled at his own joke, which wasn’t even funny.

“But, Dad,” Charlie couldn’t stop herself from butting in. “She’s doing well here. We’re keeping her safe and she’s just getting settled. We’re making progress, and I really don’t think that it’s a good idea--”

“Enough!” Lucifer snarled, shaking the whole room with the intensity of his anger. He bared his teeth at Charlie, his eyes now a fiery red and yellow as he glared at her. “Do not defy me, child. Your sympathy for other creatures is pathetic and will be the end of you. I will not tolerate it!”

To Charlie’s credit, she refused to cower before him and instead puffed out her chest, challenging him as her own eyes flashed red and yellow back at him.

“If I may,” Alastor’s calm and collected voice cut through the tension in the room. “The princess makes a valid argument.”

As everyone turned to look at the Radio Demon, Lucifer returned to his former self, brushing his hair back to smooth out the blonde strands that had fallen out of place during his fit of rage.

“Ah, Alastor. I see the rumors are true. You’ve decided to embark in the hospitality industry. It’s a far cry from Overlord status, but to each their own, I suppose.”

Alastor remained eerily still, his smile prominently projecting while his eyes narrowed ever so subtly, which Lucifer seemed to pick up on. “Come now, old friend. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your endeavors. Perhaps you can teach my daughter a thing or two about Hell and the roles each must play.”

“I have no intention of soliciting false pretenses, Luci, my dear. I am merely here to watch the scum of the earth struggle for betterment before they trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure.” A shiver crept down your spine as he finished and he had a sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Ha!” Lucifer exclaimed. “I should have known. You’re far too clever to abed Charlotte in a failed quest of humanity.”

“Come now, Luci,” Alastor began, tutting the King of Hell. “Must you be so cynical? If nothing else, she’s providing entertainment. I would think that you, of all sinners, would enjoy that.”

“Apparently, you know nothing of the things that I enjoy, Stag,” Lucifer quipped using a peculiar nickname.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing.”

An awkward silence filled the room as Lucifer cleared his throat before swallowing thickly. Alastor’s cold and calculated stare was unwavering and wicked.

Quickly averting the topic, Lucifer stated, “The fact remains, it’s not safe for a vulnerable human here in the hotel.”

“I beg to differ,” Alastor countered, nonchalantly twirling his cane in his hands. “She’s no safer with you, my king. You have a significant target on your back and were she to stay with you, she would be in constant danger.”

“I could say the same for you,” Lucifer argued, narrowing his eyes while his smile widened. The similarities between Lucifer and Alastor were unsettling. “You’ve certainly made your fair share of enemies.”

“That may be, but I have nothing but free time,” Alastor deflected with a hint of malice. “You have enough on your plate, what with the recent extermination and those dreadful turf wars that are always on the picture show. The last thing you need is to be burdened with something like this.”

Lucifer sneered, pausing to look over the Radio Demon as if he were looking for something to give him ammunition for the conversation. “If I didn’t know any better, my old friend, I would think that you were trying to manipulate me into allowing her to stay.”

Alastor’s smile crept higher into his cheeks, the slits of his eyes thinning ever so slightly. “I think we’re far past the point of manipulation. I won’t beat around the bush. It would be a mistake for you to take her into your custody.”

Lucifer growled, his impatience fracturing the surface of his indifferent disposition. “The mistake would be to underestimate me.”

“Dad, enough!” Charlie interjected, no longer able to stifle her disdain. “Why is it always a fight with you? Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Charlotte,” he warned, not bothering to look at her.

“For the last time, it’s Charlie ,” she opposed, fuming. “I just… we were managing just fine. Why does this even matter to you?”

“Charlie,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Just when I think there might be hope for your future, you set yourself up for failure. You are a disappointment and an embarrassment to me, and I grow tired of your insolence.”

Each word spoken was like a dagger in Charlie’s heart. She was trying so hard to be strong, but she was close to breaking down. Unable to hold back any longer, you snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The words had left your mouth before you could stop them. The whole room fell silent as everyone turned to Lucifer to gauge his reaction.

“Beg your pardon?” he inquired, his expression stoic.

Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Why are you being so unnecessarily cruel? She’s your daughter , and she’s been nothing but kind and helpful since I arrived. Why do you have to openly mock and demean her like that?”

His eyes searched yours as you stood frozen, waiting for him to slaughter you on the spot for talking back to him. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed, clearly entertained by your ignorance. However, just as you thought he was going to let it go, you were thrown up against the wall, his hand at your throat as he lifted you from the ground. Your nails raked at his hands while your feet scuffled, trying to find anything to lift you and alleviate the pressure on your neck.

“Silly pet,” he hissed, his eyes becoming snake-like as he glared at you. “You’re here as my guest, and I am a courteous host, but make no mistake… should you cross me, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Finally, he let go, allowing your body to slump to the ground as you choked and gasped for air.

Brushing off his sleeves and straightening out his jacket, Lucifer sighed before speaking. “She will remain here temporarily until I can make proper arrangements.”

No one spoke as he looked down at you on the ground, grinning wickedly. “Take care, human. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, he saw himself out, not bothering to utter another word, leaving behind a haunting silence in his wake.

You hardly noticed the hand that was being extended to you as you sat on the ground, dazed by the interaction. When you glanced up, you saw that the hand belonged to Alastor, who was offering you a casual smile. “How are you so happy all the time?” you grumbled as you took his hand, allowing him to haul you to your feet.

“A smile does not necessarily convey happiness,” he explained as he looked you over. “Hell is prominently filled with barbaric individuals who favor crass behavior above all else. It’s quite dull. I myself am in favor of a more amiable approach.”

Before you could respond, Charlie approached you, wrapping her arms around you as she pulled you into a tight embrace. “Are you okay?” she asked, still tightly coiled around you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

Retracting herself, she nodded glumly. “I’m used to it. In case you couldn’t tell, my dad and I don’t exactly have the best relationship. And as much as I appreciate what you did, you really need to be careful. He holds grudges, and you don’t want to get on his bad side.”

Nodding your head, you asked, “What happened to Vaggie?”

Sighing, Charlie answered, “She always makes herself scarce when he’s around. It goes without saying that Vaggie is a bit… outspoken, and she doesn’t want to slip up and say something that she’ll regret. She knows that it will only make things worse for us.”

“Ah, got it.”

Alastor thumped his cane against the wooden floor to gain your attention. “Well, my dear. It seems that we are on the clock. I think it would be best to get you back into the mortal world before Lucifer can carry out his plans. Make no mistake, he’s a cheeky fellow, but you do not want to be caught in his web.”

“Hey! What you got against webs?” Angel Dust popped his head in the doorway, scowling at the Radio Demon.

“Nothing at all, Mr. Dust!” Alastor replied cheerily. “It’s a simple comparison.”

“I’m going to go check on Vaggie,” Charlie stated. “After that, we can come up with a plan. There’s got to be something more that we can do than just go through books to try and get you home,” she thought out loud, a determined gleam in her eye.

As she left, Alastor approached you, placing a bony hand on your shoulder, which he meant as a comfort, but instead had the opposite effect, sending a chill down your spine. “Fear not, my dear. I will not let anything happen to you.”

With a wink, he withdrew his hand and glided out of the room, humming a show tune on his way out, leaving you alone with Angel Dust.

“Guess I missed all the fun,” he quipped before he flung back onto the bed, placing his top set of arms around his head. “Heard the Big Guy was in. He’s a charmer, ain’t he?”

“You know him?” you asked, your interest piqued.

He shrugged his shoulders casually. “Not personally. But I hear the gossip. Val can’t stand him.”

“Am I supposed to know who Val is?”

Rolling his eyes, he replied, “He’s the top dog around these parts, sweetheart. Big Vee controls the black market of Hell, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. You wanna know somethin’ outside the norm? He’s your guy.”

Humming thoughtfully for a moment, you asked, “Do you think he’d know anything about returning me to my world?”

“Probably,” he teased, brushing his hair back. “Val knows lots a weird stuff. He might be your guy.”

“Where do I find him?” you pressed, eager for more information.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the spider demon cautioned. “You don’t just show up unannounced. You need an appointment, toots.”

“Okay,” you sighed, losing your patience. “Can you set up an appointment?”

“I could… but what would you do for me in return?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Seriously?”

He flashed a smile at you, showing off his golden tooth as he wriggled his eyebrows.

“What is it that you want, Angel?”

“How’s about an I.O.U.? I do this for you, and you owe me a favor. Capiche?”

“How do I even know that I can trust you,” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

In mock offense, Angel Dust put a hand over his heart, dropping his jaw. “Well, that’s just rude. I’m trustworthy! I haven’t told a soul about your relationship with Smiles!”

Huffing, you snapped, “There is no relationship! You just keep walking in at the wrong time!”

“Uh huh,” he teased, snickering. “Either way, I’ve kept my mouth shut, even when there was nothing in it for me. If you wanna talk to Val, I can make that happen, but no more of this free shit. You owe me. Got it?”

“Ugh, okay, fine. Just… make it fast, please.”

Jumping up from the bed, the spider blew you a kiss before heading out on his mission, leaving you with an uneasy feeling in your gut. If only you knew what you had just done.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #imaginary fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #angel dust #hazbin husk #husk #hazbin angel dust #charlie magne #lucifer magne #vaggie #hazbin vaggie #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years ago

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 68 - The Traitor and the Nightmare

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3

Loghain sat alone in the solar that used to be his wife’s refuge, where she had penned her letters and seen to the affairs of the teyrnir, where they had shared carafes of wine on the long summer evenings when he returned from the capital, and which now let in only grubby light through unwashed windows banked with half-rotten leaves. Around him, dust muted the colours of the furnishings, made duller still by the cold touch of the air that fogged his breath and congealed his barely-eaten breakfast of fried potatoes and bacon. The dreary atmosphere didn’t seem to trouble the witless elven servant the magister had sent to spy on him, but then he too had lost the energy to complain about petty discomforts. His mind drifted in and out of focus, memories and desires slipping away like mist whenever he tried to grasp them.

In a shaking hand, he held Anora’s letter tighter. The paper was creased and stained, ragged from being read so many times. If not for the intimately familiar handwriting, he would have thought the pleas to flee into exile – to confess, abdicate, and run – were just another ploy meant to make him doubt himself. As it was, the words confused him. She mentioned a Nightmare, and a change in his personality leading Ferelden to ruin, and while the accusations rang true, for the longest time he had thought it the effect of the war, a necessary withdrawal for the greater good of the people. Now, with his army broken and nothing more rigorous to occupy his thoughts, his mind drifted to the betrayals, the harsh punishments, and the desperate words of the Falcon in the moments before he ran her through. She had called him a traitor, accused him of being in thrall to a demon. Anora’s letter was dated after the battle at Highever, and Erimond’s spies had reported the Falcon’s survival, so perhaps the new favourite had stolen the queen’s ear, twisted her mind. Perhaps the story of the demon had been nothing more than a last attempt to preserve her own life.

And yet, with the shadows of his dreams chasing him into the waking world, and Erimond’s plans kept from him, could he afford to ignore the warning? If there really was a demon, and if it had already worked such evil through him, then what more might it accomplish if he flinched from his duty and allowed it to rampage as it willed across Ferelden?

The door to the hallway squeaked open. Startled, he shoved the letter into the folds of his winter sleeves as another one of the magister’s servants, more present than his elven guard, stepped crisply into the room.

“Master Erimond wishes to see you, Your Lordship.”

As if compelled, Loghain set aside his fork and rose from the table. In the moment before he moved, he blinked down at his legs, wondering how long it had been since he had questioned one of the magister’s whims. The stray thought was not enough to stop him following down the corridor like a mongrel on a leash, but it occupied him enough to keep his gaze from drifting to his reflection in the mirrors his wife had once added to brighten the hall. He no longer cared to look at himself; his bloodshot eyes and thinning, greyed hair took away what little was left of his appetite. His clothes still remained presentable, not that it could be counted for much.

He traipsed after the servant through familiar corridors until they came to the great hall. The windows had been shuttered but a gap in the roof at the far end let in the light and illuminated Erimond at the centre of a conglomerate of tables, like a gaunt spider at the centre of a huge web. No other room in the castle provided him with a hearth big enough for his experiments, or enough table space to run them simultaneously while keeping notes. Books and broken ends of chalk littered the work surfaces around him, bracketed by arcane equipment and vials of dark liquid thick as blood. The magister himself looked up when he heard footsteps, and in the shadows cast by the fire, the bruises under his eyes made his skin look like wax.

Loghain had little sympathy. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Your opinion,” Erimond replied in smooth tones, “which as always, I value highly. Over there.”

He pointed to the end of the table nearest the window, where a pile of maps was laid across the wood. Wary, Loghain sidled past the magical artefacts to examine the top one, his lip curling at the vague, undetailed cartography he would never have allowed from his scouts. It showed, in broad strokes, the land south and east of the Brecilian Forest, with roads and features sketched out of proportion. Many of the place names had been roughly scratched out using a different ink, rendering it entirely worthless to anyone else who might want to use it.

“Thanks to our enemies, our original plans have met unfavourable ends, and we must turn to less expedient avenues if we are to succeed,” Erimond scoffed, scratching a note into his book, uncaring of the contempt directed at him, if he noticed it at all.

“Yours,” Loghain said.

“What?”

“They are your plans.” He licked his lips. “Mine were to keep Ferelden from the hands of its enemies.”

The magister paused in his work. His expression remained placid as he set down his pen, and his steps carried him across the floor unhurried, but when he spoke again there was a threat in his words potent as a raised whip.

“I require a location,” he explained. “A place of much bloodshed, where the Veil is worn thin by magic. This squalid backwater is not enough.”

Nothing good would come of it. When the Nightmare impressed itself upon Cailan, and then upon the Falcon, he had glimpsed its mind, its intent, and now he shook worse than he had as a boy hearing the thunder of Orlesian cavalry along the road to his farmstead.

“I will not help you.”

“You do not have a choice,” Erimond sneered. “Use your knowledge of this miserable land to give me a location.”

“No.”

Incredulity flashed in the magister’s eyes, before his face closed in a snarl and his hand twitched as if reaching for the staff still on the other side of the room. Loghain grasped for the locket around his neck. Whatever instinct drove him to it came unbidden, but he saw his chance in the instant of hesitation as Erimond stalked towards him, and felt his lips raise in a feral smile. He would not be yoked like a beast of burden.

Light exploded behind his eyes – a searing pain that brought him to his knees. A different, distant pain seized his hand as the metal rim of the pendant burned his skin, giving off an almost sweet, metallic odour that made his stomach roil. When the horror of it finally faded, his throat raw from screaming, his vision focused on the narrow points of Erimond’s shoes. A low chuckle fell from above, cold like the drip of melting ice.

“You are my creature,” Erimond told him. “You will be used as I see fit, and you will remember that for as long as I have use of you. Now get up.”

Loghain’s legs moved, fitful starts as he struggled to refuse the command, but his will had been too worn down for too long, and with a steadying hand on the edge of the table, his body pushed him to stand. The map was still in front of him. Its poor artistry drew his eye against his will, away from Gwaren, along the uneven line of the Imperial Highway, over the desolate expanse of the Korcari Wilds and a place so remote he knew it only through legend and hearsay. He watched a smile grow in a slow curve around the magister’s mouth.

“Perfect.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #f!cousland #loghain mac tir #teyrn loghain

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hadenodom · 4 years ago

Text

On Last Week’s Incident in the Capitol

It isn’t often that I write a long, detailed opinion piece, but I feel like this time in particular is a time in which it is my patriotic duty to speak up.

Sometime late in 2019, I remember coming across an op-ed by a political commentator whose name I cannot remember. This opinion piece highlighted the growth of extreme movements within the United States - namely AntiFa and The Proud Boys and related groups on both sides of the political spectrum - and how they’d become more bold in their violence in recent years. It then dug back into the kind of messaging that was being boosted by Russian and other foreign intelligence agencies on social media during the 2016 election - and in this piece, the author discussed something that is often overlooked: the social media messaging portion of Russia’s efforts during that election weren’t focused on boosting a single candidate’s campaign or even with reaching on side of the political aisle. The messages they were boosting were, across the board, pushing rhetoric to inflame and provoke the extreme elements of both sides of our political divide and to widen that gap. The author finished the op-ed by offering his analysis that these efforts had been effective, and that our country was in the process of being torn apart by divisive and hateful rhetoric - that Americans had been turned against Americans, and that this was going to have a destructive effect on our democracy.

I remember reading that op-ed and being skeptical. Sure, things had reached a fever pitch in 2016, but in 2019 it seemed like everything was calming down. The economy was doing alright, there hadn’t been as much chaos or violence in the news, and the doomsday of Americans turning on each other over political differences seemed far-fetched. I came away thinking that the Russians’ efforts to divide us had been in vain, and that our country was past the pains of that particularly fraught period. We would elect someone other than Trump in 2020, and our troubles would pass.

I didn’t have 2020 vision. I didn’t forsee the economy tanking due to a virus, streets erupting in protests over racial disparities once again, AntiFa and Anarchist elements openly looting and rioting in the unrest, and then, following a chaotic election, Trump’s supporters taking to the streets and getting violent, and then eventually descending on the capitol, fully invested in a conspiracy theory that the election had been rigged. I didn’t forsee QAnon getting an outsize following and inserting themselves into this whole storyline. I didn’t forsee a large portion of our society swallowing an outright lie about election fraud and refusing to believe that our democratic system worked. I didn’t forsee any of this, and I feel like I’ve awakened in the midst of a national nightmare.

Put simply, the situation is dire. The potential consequences are dire. Our nation’s population has large factions that actively believe that their opponents are *Un*-American. The diehard Trump supporters believe that Democrats do not have the best interests of the country at heart, and most Democrats (and most Independents that aren’t leaning right) believe that Trump supporters are fascists, Nazis, traitors, and bigots. The political rhetoric coming from both the White House and from those with large media followings has stoked these tensions and gotten them to where they are today - with a little help from Russian Social Media operations way back in 2016, which seems like a distant memory now.

Making matters worse, these factions seem to have adopted separate realities with separate sets of facts- in one reality, the election was rigged: Covid-19 was either fake or not a serious threat: there’s a cabal of pedophiles orchestrating our government, and some guy named Q is an inside guy telling us the truth when the media won’t; Trump is either not a racist, or is only as racist as their lovely grandparents and their grandparents can’t be *that* bad. In the other reality, the election was thoroughly secured, had a verifiable paper trail, and has been investigated to death -- and Joe Biden won by a large margin; Covid had the capacity to overwhelm hospitals and cause hundreds of thousands of unnecessary deaths if we didn’t take the proposed measures seriously; A Pedophile ring running our government is as patently ridiculous as the day is long; And Q is an obvious bullshitter who moves the goalposts every time his predictions and ‘insights’ fall flat; and finally, that Donald Trump is demonstrably racist and bigoted.

Working on these separate sets of facts, both of these factions have come to believe that the other is everything wrong with their country - that their opponents (including everyday working-class people who support their opponents) are not patriots, are against what America stands for, and are worth lashing out at violently in the streets.

These factions aren’t leaving with Trump, and they proved it in the Capitol last week. They threatened for weeks to unleash violence on the Capitol. They posted detailed plans about how they were going to intimidate our representatives - our elected voice in Congress - with violence, well in advance. They repeatedly used phrases on social media before the attack, and shouted these kinds of phrases during the attack: “We will not go quietly” - phrases that all but indicated that they weren’t done just because pesky Democracy had denied their candidate a victory.

What, then, is our course as a country as Trump leaves office in a couple of short weeks? How will our leaders unite us? Personally, after much reflection, I believe our elected leaders do have a duty to attempt to unite us - or to at least refrain from provoking these tensions - but I believe the real duty is upon all of us.

It is incumbent upon all of us to remember that our fellow Americans are not our enemies - they are our neighbors, and most of us all share the same kinds problems and burdens in life. We all look to some political philosophy that tries to meet these challenges and address them, and seek political leaders who espouse these pet philosophies. If someone’s going through the same struggles as you and has a different idea of how to fix those problems for his or her country, they are not your enemy. Sure, certain things aren’t up for good-natured debate - racism, xenophobia, and bigotry can be excluded. But we should be able to discuss our problems as a country with our neighbors, and discuss differing ideas of how to solve them, without descending into vitriol and animosity. We should be able to understand each other. I feel that the only way to fix that is to make the effort to reach out and talk to those we disagree with. I have neighbors, family members, and coworkers who hold vastly different political ideologies from me, and for too long, when I hear them discussing politics, I shy away from joining the conversation, because I feel like I’d be inviting that kind of vitriol and bickering into my life. It can be uncomfortable and awkward to arrive at that stage of a conversation, where someone things you a radical leftist or a bigot simply because you dared to offer a slightly differing opinion from theirs. Social media amplifies this, because that’s the kind of response it has conditioned us to expect - the kind of response that would come from anonymous shitpostsers on the other side of a keyboard. But I’ve found that when I do, in good faith, step in and have those difficult conversations - and really have a conversation, rather then try to insert my opinion over their - when I sit down and listen to my friends, family, coworkers, or neighbors tell me about their issues and what they care about politically, and I then carefully consider their ideas and offer my own - I’ve found that experience vastly rewarding. I’ve found myself able to identify with people who I’d otherwise completely disagree with, and I’ve even found that those conversations can end with a mutual understanding and even a slight change of heart on one side or the other, or simply a mutual respect. It turns out, we’re all (the vast majority of us) interested in seeing our country and all of its people flourish and thrive, safe and secure, and passing on a better country to the next generation of Americans.

Therefore I’m making an effort to get out of my shell and have those awkward conversations again. We’ve all allowed ourselves to wallow in echo chambers, neither exposing ourselves to differing opinions or exposing our opinions to others. This pandemic, combined with social media’s tendency to be a “build-your-own-echo-chamber” kit, has amplified this in 2020. But in 2021, let’s all resolve to have those difficult conversations and to really listen to each other. If you do it for no other reason, do it to save our Republic from being destroyed from within.

I’ll finish this opinion piece with a quote you may be familiar with, one that I heard repeated on the radio recently and that has resounded infinitely with my soul in recent days:

“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature”

-- Abraham Lincoln

That is from Lincoln’s inaugural address in 1861. We, as a country, failed to listen to Lincoln then. The Civil War occurred, and it took our country centuries to recover. You might argue that it was necessary to eradicate the institution of slavery and that slavery, as an institution, could not have been eradicated as quickly without the civil war. I will not disagree. But I will disagree on the idea that a coming civil war is necessary or beneficial - if we come to that point now, History will remember us as violent and shortsighted fools who destroyed their country, the global bastion of liberty and human rights, from the inside out.

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archiveddvevents · 5 years ago

Photo

DATE: May 15th

TIME: 8 PM

LOCATION: Throughout Verona

It was Viola’s screams that ushered in the new weeks, drifting along the wispy spring breeze and ringing in the ears of anyone who dared to mull over her death for too long. And it was Viola’s blood that cleansed the ever-soiled streets; pushing at the ankles of the broken, the damned and the indifferent as it rolled through the city in great phantom waves, huddling in-between the cobblestones and drying along fissured windowsills and sturdy pillars alike.

It was said that her ghost now haunted Verona. That it tackled burdened Montagues as they passed through the dreary halls of their library, slinking out from between the looming bookshelves and boring its coal-black eyes into them until they fell to their knees and wept in confession of their sins. Even civilians weren’t left unclaimed by the wrath of Viola’s memory, as they, too, were said to fall prey to it at the barest thought of Capulet retribution and all the lifeblood that was spilled in its name.

Viola’s death took up all the room that she could never fill when alive -- and Verona was choking beneath the weight of it.

One wheezing gasp after another, one desperate crawl after another, Verona drudged ahead like it always did. Yet while some couldn’t help but wonder about its inevitable collapse, others followed at its dragging heel with steady gazes and marching steps -- though it remained to be seen whether they did so because they truly wanted to, or because they had no other choice.

Among that ambitious clan of individuals was none other than Damiano Montague, who had continued to seek the solitude of his office and wrangle his plans for the future, even with all the losses that were now looming over him, rising higher and piling thicker with each and every victory that he stole.

MAY 12TH

THE CAPITAL LIBRARY, 3 PM

He sat at his desk, knotted fingers pressed against his mouth, features locked in an expression of stoic calculation. Before him was his right hand, his general, and most notably, his son. He still wasn’t sure of the title he ought to brand him with. Adversary? Kryptonite? Family?

Only one thing was certain; he had most definitely outgrown the title of heir.

It was glaringly apparent to Damiano as he stole a glance at his son, who occupied the seat directly before him, arm poised along the edge of the desk as his index tapped away in a steady, absently patient rhythm. His gaze was trained on the empty chair across from him, distant and glazed. He seemed every bit the thoughtful leader that he had always envisioned him to be.

The only difference was that he was sitting in the wrong seat.

Yet has he truly earned the throne for himself? Was he truly ready?

Damiano frowned, looking away and slowly lowering his intertwined hands until they settled before him.

ROMEO’s eyes instantly cleared, trailing up to settle on him attentively.

He shuffled around in his seat with a minute motion, yet for all his composure, the mild gesture was enough to betray his nervousness, and Damiano didn’t conceal his recognition of it; meeting ROMEO’s gaze for one rigid moment before his attention drifted away to the other occupants of the room.

GERTRUDE stood in the middle of the room, a short space beyond ROMEO, posture straight and hands clasped in front of her. Damiano eyed the bandaged stump of her ring finger for a long, heavy moment. She didn’t move, didn’t twitch or waver. She remained as steady as ever under his scrutiny, and although he gave no indication of it, it was reassuring for him to witness. Perhaps she did, indeed, retain some of the honor that her tainted act had forever defiled in his eyes. Only time and spilled blood would tell.

Beyond their cluster, near the small office window, was ANTONY, who leaned against the wall and peered down into the streets through pallid coils of cigarette smoke. He glanced at Damiano, but seemed in no hurry to come to attention; taking a moment to inhale one final gulp before discarding the cigarette with a lazy flick of his finger and one final glance at the city below -- as arrogant and aloof as ever. In just a moment, he would know his place. Damiano aimed to make the message glaringly clear with the sharp look he threw ANTONY’s way, but the man merely raised a placating palm while the other gripped the window and rolled it down.

It closed with a decisive, resounding clang.

Damiano took a deep breath that utterly failed to douse his flaring temper, pressing his palms flat against his desk for a moment before he abruptly began to drum his fingers against the tabletop. It seemed to coax ROMEO’s anxiety further to the surface; as he began to gnaw on his lip while tracing the motions of Damiano’s hands. Good.

If only the other two could be half as responsive to him, Damiano couldn’t help but irritably think.

“I have a question for you all: what does loyalty mean to you?”

His fingers stilled. His gaze skirted across all three of them with steady appraisal.

He received no answer.

“It’s a serious question,” He beseeched. “I genuinely want to know what loyalty means to each one of you.”

He took a breath, licked his lips, and impulsively decided that in truth, he didn’t want to fucking know.

“See, for me, loyalty is best translated through honesty. And what honesty means is being forthcoming. Direct. Willing to share what you otherwise would not for the sake of the common goal that I should think we’re all working towards.”

ROMEO’s eyes briefly fluttered closed, face turned away with what Damiano was certain was no small amount of exasperation. He would call it foresight if he didn’t know that it actually came down to the simple fact that his son was simply too used to being reprimanded. Yet did he ever take the time to wonder why the blame never ceased before he resorted to his usual self-victimization? Did he ever learn anything from it? No. Even with all the progress he had made, he still managed to land himself in the line of fire. So here they were, and he only had himself to blame.

“It doesn’t mean letting secrets fester for months on end, and in turn leaving everyone around you reeling from the consequences --“ He emphasized, eyes on GERTRUDE. “before finally mustering the courage to come forward, and right when it doesn’t even matter anymore.”

ROMEO didn’t turn to look at GERTRUDE, perhaps to save her the embarrassment. Yet ANTONY made no move to conceal the inquisitive glance he threw her way, though he retracted his attention quickly enough.

The knuckles of her clasped hands blanched, but that was the only indication that she had any particular reaction to his words.

It was enough.

“It doesn’t mean landing yourself in covert encounters with the enemy and sharing nothing on the matter, even though it leaves you incapacitated for months on end and thus an utter liability to the organization,” He looked upon ANTONY, tipping his chin in the direction of his still-healing hands.”While also bearing the risk of dragging the rest of the Montagues into whatever cycle of vendetta you had locked yourself into.”

It was GERTRUDE’s turn to cast a curious glance at ANTONY, who remained slouched against the window. Yet his nonchalant posture was decisively betrayed by the unmistakable frost that had now chilled his expression.

“And finally, it doesn’t mean orchestrating a wholesale operation of your own volition, not to mention after gaining intel that you had absolutely no right to keep to yourself, when it is not your place to do so.” He gritted, voice raised with his spiking frustration as he bore his gaze down on ROMEO, still scathed by the series of events that was ultimately what had paved the way for Viola’s untimely death.

He leaned forward across his desk, voice dropping into a harsh murmur. “Arrogance will get you far, boy, but never far enough while your name remains tied to mine.”

ROMEO’s jaw clenched as he blinked incessantly, undoubtedly in an attempt to keep himself from flinching.

Damiano watched his composure crumble, and then slowly, slowly, leaned back in his chair, once again turning to look between all three of them.

“So… do we see a pattern here? Or has honesty eluded you for so long now that you can’t even tell that you’re lacking in it?”

The words settled with a whiff of heat across all those who were present, and the silence in their wake was blistering.

Damiano began to drum his fingers once again, watching them as he awaited a response.

Again, he received nothing.

Curious. They were always so eager to hiss and holler and let their voices be heard, yet now they were mute all of a sudden. All because he faced them with their faults, even though they have all collectively done nothing but face him with his own.

He scoffed, lips tilting in a derisive smile. “It’s alright. What’s done is done, and each one of you has already paid their own price for their secrecy.” He let the declaration settle for a moment, then he spread his palms. “Now we can turn over a new page. And I’m willing to set the example that we all ought to follow, moving forward.”

Reaching into his drawer, he took out several files that he had compiled on his own, without the knowledge of any of the three. He put the files before him, but gave no indication that anyone was allowed to glimpse the contents just yet. “I think we’re all aware that the Capulets have gone too far at this point. Although Viola’s death is the straw that broke the camel’s back, I believe that this was a long time coming. War is what the Capulets have demanded, and war is what they shall receive.”

He nodded towards the files. “I’ve been thinking it over since the anniversary; how we can retaliate, what moves we can afford to make with the resources that we have. And over the past few days, I outlined the plan that I have in mind.” He opened the largest file, which showcased images of various Capulet territories alongside sheets of outlined information regarding them. “A series of coordinated attacks on significant Capulet territories which, if executed efficiently, will end with us taking over their precious Cathedral.”

He indicated a photo of the building. ROMEO frowned at it, licking his lips in hesitation before arguing, “But the Cathedral is practically falling apart after the explosion. What use would it have?”

With a click of his tongue, Damiano shook his head. “In this case, it’s not about the use, boy, it’s about the message. Those righteous fools take great pride in having a house of God in their grasp. They’ll be left stranded without it. We keep it, and it’ll be a blow that they will take ages to recover from.” He sought ROMEO’s gaze, certain that his following words would convince him. “If Cosimo thinks that what he did with Viola was a display, he has a grand fucking lesson to learn.”

ROMEO avoided Damiano’s eyes, silent as he read over the file.

“Like I said, I aim to set an example with this, so you’re all free to look over the strategies I’ve outlined. Offer suggestions, make adjustments, pick your teams -- get involved, and work to make this a success.”

With a firm motion of his hand, he closed the file. “It happens in three days.”

The door would have slammed behind ROMEO as he stormed out, had it not been for the swift response of GERTRUDE’s hand as she walked out behind him. She let the door hover open behind her for ANTONY to pass through as she trailed after a seething ROMEO, who came to a stop beside her with his fists clenched at his sides and his head shaking in fervent rejection.

“I have to do something about this.” He insisted. “Going after the Capulet HQ is no walk in the park. He’s going to be met with heavy resistance, and many of our people will die for nothing. Even if he does seize the Cathedral, it’s useless. And who knows how the Capulets might retaliate, or if we’ll even have the power to push them back by the time it’s over. They’ve already taken territory back from us once before.”

GERTRUDE was silent, though she seemed to be in agreement with ROMEO. ANTONY merely lingered in the background, not partaking in the discussion but carefully following it.

“I know I have no way of stopping him, but if I can somehow make these attacks count, then that’s what I have to do.”

He searched GERTRUDE’s eyes, then turned to briefly gauge ANTONY’s reaction.

“It can’t all be for nothing.”

Then he turned around, and quickly began marching towards his own office.

MAY 15TH

MEASURE BY MEASURE, 8 PM

The trenches of Measure by Measure sprawled ahead of the invading Montague battalion; an assembly of twelve soldiers with CELIA and ROSALIND at the forefront. Making their entry had been an easy feat, but it was known that the bulk of the establishment’s security lay in the catacombs; in the implicit knowledge that upon descent, one would have no choice but to dig their way out or be buried beneath another’s heel. As such, the nervous energy crackling along the humid air was palpable to all, though none seemed to waver before it. They knew their orders, they knew the mission that lay ahead -- and most importantly, they knew the risks.

Beneath the nervous air was a different sort of tension, however; one that spiked and pulled taut whenever ROSALIND’s gaze collided with CELIA’s, especially when she seemed to take note of the way her cousin was expressly marching closer to the comrades on her other side, enforcing distance that had divided both Aguilars for longer than either of them was willing to admit. It made for a stifling progression through enemy territory, one that had little to do with the constrained air or the cavernous space. Even the soldiers posed at the flanks seemed to take note of it; stealing perplexed glances at the renowned Montague duo as they walked at the head of their pack.

Yet although the ties that bound sometimes frayed, they could never truly be broken, and such was starkly proven by CELIA’s swift response as a wicked bullet strode directly towards her cousin, who was simmering in enough disdain that it seemed to completely drown out her focus. A push of CELIA’s palm into ROSALIND’s shoulder sent her sprawling out of the bullet’s path, and as she shouted at her cousin to take cover, she realized the risk that her selfless actions bore. Only it was too late, as she quickly found herself lying on her back with a gun pressed harshly into her throat. Atop her was CORDELIA, who hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of CELIA’s preoccupation with her cousin.

While the two grappled with one another, ROSALIND was instantly on her feet and working to come to her cousin’s aid, but HIPPOLYTA was quick to throw herself into her path. She was a renowned Capulet captain, known for her calculative disposition and efficient approach to combat. She encompassed everything that went against the aggressive, direct approach of ROSALIND’s training, and it caused the fight to sway in the Capulet’s favor. Though as ROSALIND took note of CELIA’s struggles against CORDELIA, she instantly abandoned defense in favor of offense, taking HIPPOLYTA off guard as she began to fuel more patience and tact into her assaults.

In the end, none of them could remain caught in a stalemate forever.

With a struggling HIPPOLYTA caught in her wavering chokehold, ROSALIND looked around her to find that most of their soldiers were either dead or caught in the Capulets’ grasp, and it took the mindless moment when she called out to the others to translate the bleak conclusion of their defeat for HIPPOLYTA to wrap an ankle around hers and tug her foot from beneath her, knocking her down and swiftly turning the tides of their fight.

Her warning was unnecessary, however, as it seemed that several of her comrades had come to the same conclusion. The first of which naturally being CELIA, whose attacks on CORDELIA had switched from offensive and lethal, to distant and defensive as she turned her focus to concocting a much-needed escape plan.

For a moment, all seemed to be lost -- until ROSALIND felt the blessed weight of a forgotten smoke grenade pressing painfully into the small of her back.

Digging her palm beneath her with great difficulty, she took it out and let it roll away into the middle of the raging battlefield.

Then she held her breath.

One second passed… then two… then the third…

The room was engulfed in smoke, and ROSALIND’s fist rose up to collide with HIPPOLYTA’s nose, dislodging her and giving her the leeway to run towards the exit after passing by her cousin and signaling to her with a quick pat on the shoulder. CELIA understood, rallying what was left of their comrades and leaning against them alongside ROSALIND as they made their ragged escape through the catacombs.

They came up for air with no concern for anything but the sheer relief that they had survived.

TWELFTH NIGHT MUSEUM, 8:30 PM

It was a calm evening in the Twelfth Night Museum, disturbed by nothing more than the whisper of footsteps as they stuttered before paintings and the hum of quiet conversations as visitors indulged in each other’s opinions and remarks. The echo of music drifted down from the upper floor, breezy and soothing, the paintings shimmered in the gentle light, and the sculptures looked upon it all with envying melancholy.

All while the city outside simply lay in wait.

Then all the doors slammed shut. Alarms blared and warning lights flashed.

And a dozen Montagues slinked out of the shadows.

At the forefront were MALCOLM and HAMLET who worked in unison to enforce their operation of taking over the museum, MALCOLM issuing orders to their fellow soldiers, and HAMLET working on closing the area off from any Capulet reinforcements. Soon enough, the museum was locked up like a cell without a key, restricted only to the internal alarms that left nothing for wandering eyes to see beyond its walls.

HAMLET quickly found himself cornered by CORIOLANUS, who spread his palms and looked around in indication of the Montague soldiers that were faltering and falling all around them in the wake of Capulet retaliation, taunting HAMLET with the pitiful sight. It was an act that failed at first, but soon enough served its purpose, throwing them into an entanglement that was desperate and invigorated on HAMLET’s part, while riveting and purely amusing in his enemy’s eyes.

At the far corner of the room, MALCOLM was aiding a fellow Montague soldier before suddenly taking an abrupt, vengeance-fueled knife to his side. Wielding it was none other than LADY MACBETH, who still burned with spite for what he had done to her husband. For a long time, they fell into physical combat, exchanging forceful blows and unflinching strikes, until MALCOLM gained enough breadth to wield his gun, and then LADY MACBETH’s fate was sealed.

Though not quite, for she was quick to grab a civilian and use them as a shield to deter his bullets. It was HERMIONE, who fell into a scream of agony, shoulder torn by the burning metal of a bullet, before she could even grasp what was happening. Once she had served her purpose, she was quickly discarded by LADY MACBETH who went on to taunt MALCOLM with his act of injuring an innocent woman.

Though HERMIONE was discarded, she was not abandoned. Her screams had drawn the attention of a watchful TITANIA, and displeased as they were with LADY MACBETH’s cowardly actions, they were quick to run to HERMIONE’s bloodsoaked side, helping her up and guiding her to a remote corner where they tended to her wound as best as they could.

Across the battlefield, BIANCA was ordered to go upstairs to the Tempest and ensure that no Montagues had infiltrated it. As she ran, she collided with FLORIZEL, who had been making his exit out of the lounge. The two engaged one another in a conversation riddled with underlying motives and looming blades, gauging each other and their stances on the chaos that had erupted around them. Adept at such games as she was, BIANCA had managed to lure him close enough -- and then she ran her blade through his gut. Just because she could. She had orders to take down Montagues, after all, and he had the same rabid air about him. Could anyone truly blame her for acting on orders and instinct alike? And so she walked away along a pool of his blood, unbothered by the chilling footprints she stamped in her wake.

It was just as HAMLET began to turn the tide of his battle with CORIOLANUS that his earpiece crackled with disturbing news. The Measure by Measure takeover had been a failure; they were now meant to retreat and make their way to the next and most essential target in order to ensure the success of the operation. He had no room to argue or discuss, and so he quickly called out to his comrades. MALCOLM answered the call, abandoning his unfinished fight with LADY MACBETH and making his way towards as many soldiers as he could reach, supporting them however he can and ushering them forward. Once there were none left behind except for the fallen, HAMLET gave the order to have their override on the alarm system dismantled, then began to fight his way through the museum alongside what remained of his people.

They made their way towards the Cathedral, hungering for the victory they had just been denied.

THE CATHEDRAL, 9 PM

The broken visage of the Cathedral made for quite a mournful sight. A vision that tugged one’s brows into a grimace of sorrow and lured their gaze into helpless appraisal of beauty torn asunder -- an ill fate that the ancient city of Verona had been condemned to from the moment it birthed the divine Capulet and Montague entities.

Its lower levels lay pliant, spread open before gloating eyes as their shattered foundations wearily leaned into the support of construction beams and wooden pillars. An array of spears sprouting from the Capulets’ crucified heart, drawing grit in place of blood and piercing stone in place of flesh.

Further beyond, among the crumbling ruins of the dilapidated ribcage, lay a cluster of prone bodies. Casualties amidst crossfire. Innocents.

Construction workers and Capulets tasked with security, fallen in the name of the Montague march as though they had never stood a chance.

Indeed, they hadn’t.

The workers were merely unconscious, but the soldiers had been executed, in accordance with the ruthless code with which GONERIL had led a handful of Montague soldiers, shortly before joining ANTONY and MERCUTIO alongside the rest of the battalion once their way into the Cathedral was finally cleared.

Above them, Capulets went about their business as usual, hearts settled and guard lowered. All while VOLUMNIA seethed in her office.

As soon as they were informed of the series of Montague attacks that had been launched on their territories, she had immediately sprung into action, distributing teams and assigning tasks while simultaneously preparing to dive into the battle herself -- only to find herself stopped by Cosimo Capulet. He aimed to go and survey the battle grounds, and it was his wish that she remain in their headquarters and take leadership in his absence. VOLUMNIA had been against it, claiming that it would be a more efficient action if she were to guide their forces on the field while Cosimo led and supervised their efforts. In truth, she hadn’t trusted what Cosimo might do outside the sharp scope of her vision, the bitter memory of the night of the anniversary still curdling in her mind. Yet her attempts at persuasion had been in vain, as Cosimo had firmly decided against listening before finally taking his hurried leave.

She had been mulling over it ever since, mind running itself ragged with contemplation as she considered all the new dimensions that her recent disagreements with the Don opened for the future of the Capulets.

Then her thoughts came to a dreadful halt.

She noted how quiet it had gotten outside.

But then sound began to arrive in small bursts; minute shouts and distant calls that she struggled to translate as she made her way to the door.

It opened up to reveal the dastardly curve of MERCUTIO’s smile.

That was all VOLUMNIA could see before her sight was whisked away into a dizzying blur of sights and colors. MERCUTIO’s gun-wielding hand only lowered from her bleeding temple for a second before the other followed in its tracks, landing a bruising punch to the other side of VOLUMNIA’s face and earning her enemy further leeway into her office. VOLUMNIA stumbled to her desk, throwing herself on the other side of it to put distance between them and steal a moment to regain her footing. But MERCUTIO offered her no breathing room, launching themself across the desk and sending her crashing into her toppling seat of leadership. Yet although MERCUTIO had gained the upper hand, VOLUMNIA was intent on stripping them of it, having learned quite a bit about their fighting style from their recent encounter with one another.

A short distance away, ANTONY and GONERIL were making their way to the other offices of Capulet leadership, yet their progress was soon interrupted by DIANA, who had clearly been on her way to make an urgent exit. ANTONY turned the corner and was instantly spotted by her, but luckily, GONERIL had been lagging behind and so she was able to lean back into the shadowed wall and mask her presence. ANTONY aided her, drawing DIANA’s attention and giving no indication that he was accompanied. It gave GONERIL room to slink away and look for another route towards their intended destination, while ANTONY continued to indulge in rigged conversation with the enemy.

He approached DIANA slowly, arms raised placatingly in a deceptive display of his bandaged hands, taking advantage of what he knew of the enemy and projecting the twisted image of a man too aware of his own weakness, a man unwilling to do what was easy and spill blood when he could instead coax the enemy towards surrender. DIANA indulged him, willing to bite into the bait and guarding against it all at the same time. She slowly closed the distance between them, with a blade in hand, tucked into her side and concealed within the gentle, overflowing ruffles of her dress.

Meanwhile, GONERIL was making her way away from the vacant offices of the boss and heiress alike with her jaw clenched in frustration. She shoved the door to the consigliere’s office open with her foot, almost convinced that it, too, shall be empty. For a moment, that truly seemed to be the case, and GONERIL stood in the doorway and sloughed out a sharp sigh -- right before ROSALINE launched out from behind the door and wrapped a makeshift garrote around her throat. GONERIL managed to raise her hands just in time, hissing as they bled across her neck. They tousled around, crashing into cabinets and colliding with walls, and so ROSALINE, still weakened by her torture at the Montagues’ hands, was quick to lose her strength and loosen her hold. GONERIL threw her off with a harsh kick, whirling around and faltering upon recognizing the woman from her past.

Further across the expanse of the headquarters, there were no clear omens as to whom the battle was swinging in favor of. Capulets hissed, Montagues roared, and the Cathedral was then awash with gold simmering and boiling amidst silver.

Then the Montague reinforcements arrived from the abandoned battle at the Twelfth Night Museum, filtering into the Cathedral like a winding contagion and quickly overwhelming the struggling ranks of Capulets.

Soldiers drifted around, coming first across VOLUMNIA at the mercy of MERCUTIO’s blade.

Then ANTONY as he stood with a dangerously scant space between him and DIANA, leaning close as if they were sharing a secret, though none could see the way ANTONY was eyeing her blade or the way DIANA clenched her fingers around the impulse of brandishing it. The soldiers approached, and ANTONY glanced at them before looking back at DIANA and slowly reaching for her blade. He twirled it in a scar-ridden hand as he led them away, DIANA caught between them in enforced surrender.

Finally, the soldiers came upon a victorious GONERIL, though there was no satisfaction to be gauged from her expression, especially as she was forced to further subdue ROSALINE, who swiped and screamed at the encroaching Montagues like a cornered beast. Even as she lost consciousness due to GONERIL’s decisive strike, she never stopped fighting back.

Upon entry, Damiano Montague took in the chaos with a mild smile. It was his first genuine one in months.

Broken as it was, the heart of the Capulets was now his. A token of victory unlike any other.

He couldn’t help but wonder what his son would bring back in turn.

PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE CAFE, 9:10 PM

It was quite a deceiving trophy that he aimed to bring back, ROMEO couldn’t help but think, eyes taking in the humble, welcoming visage of the cafe as his team slowly approached it. While it would seem like an odd, almost pitiful choice for a takeover target, especially when compared to the jewel that his father was seeking, he saw its value far beyond its image. Although the establishment was simple, and horribly understated in comparison to the other powerful territories that the Capulets controlled, ROMEO understood the intent behind it well enough that he could see the power it held where his father could not. A special brand of power that could only be found in kindness, which was found exclusively in Phoenix and the Turtle perhaps more than any other Capulet territory.

Those who slept on empty stomachs grew to forget the taste of hunger upon finding this place, and it was something that had endeared the Veronesi to the Capulets in ways that the Montagues have failed to contend with for years on end.

His father had spoken on sending a message, and opted to send it through theft of the Capulets’ heart.

But ROMEO was about to steal something far more precious, far more meaningful: the long-cultivated love of the people.

And he had no intention of being kind about it. They certainly hadn’t bothered to afford Viola that kind of respect.

It was for that reason that his expression remained stoic as stone as he heard the panicked shouts and terrified cries of innocent patrons as they coughed and choked and fell to their knees in the wake of the tear gas bombs that his team had thrown in through the windows. By the time it cleared and it was safe for the small Montague team to venture inside, the territory was all but theirs for the taking.

However, Damiano’s attacks had bore the disadvantage of announcing their plan to the entirety of the city, and because of that, Cosimo had been quick to send out teams to every single territory to guard against any remaining Montague attacks. It was for that reason that the Montagues’ victory was short-lived, as a Capulet squad was quick to crash into the cafe and bring their progress to a halt.

The first among them was KATHERINE, who seemed intent on going after GERTRUDE from the moment she spotted her. GERTRUDE deterred her attacks, trying and failing ceaselessly to convince her to swallow her pride and stand down. Yet her words fell on deaf ears, as KATHERINE continued on with her relentless attacks. As the fight progressed and GERTRUDE slowly ceased to hold back, however, KATHERINE opted for a different approach, taking advantage of the pallid remnants of smoke that still clung to the air to elude the enemy and dance in circles around her until she found her opening. Yet there was a great prince to be paid in the wake of her conniving strategy.

While KATHERINE crouched and slinked around under the veil of smoke, GERTRUDE did her best to trace her movements with her gun, and when she was certain that she had spotted her, she didn’t hesitate. The bullet whizzed through the murky air, but in place of the harsh, sharp groan that GERTRUDE expected, came a gentle, resounding scream -- the bloodcurdling sound of someone who has yet to learn of true pain.

It was HERO, who had gone on to expect that the only hardship she would endure on this night was the possibility of getting lost on her way home, and yet here she was, in tears and tremors as she scrambled to halt the ceaseless blood-flow. It was just her luck that the righteous, kind-hearted TROILUS, who happened to have also elected to dine here, lingered close enough to come to her aid. He scrambled away from the upturned table that he had been hiding behind and made his way towards HERO once GERTRUDE and KATHERINE were out of sight, calming her down and helping her with the injury before moving on to guide her towards escape, lips coiled in disdain for the mobs that only ran deeper with each passing day.

Nearby, TYBALT was launching himself at SEBASTIAN, who had taken note of the situation involving HERO and lost his focus in the wake of oncoming dread as he realized just how many innocents were getting caught in the crossfire of this battle -- the one they had been the ones to initiate. The space was too constrained for use of arms, and so the two took to physically fighting against one another, SEBASTIAN solemn and cautious, while TYBALT snarled and pushed, and pushed, and pushed. Though how far he pushed just before SEBASTIAN broke, one could only wonder.

It was OPHELIA and MIRANDA who then came into conflict, hissing and spitting at one another while war raged all around them. OPHELIA and CLEOPATRA had stuck to each other’s side, but they had gotten separated amidst the chaos, and OPHELIA feared for her dear friend and for herself in equal parts, knowing they were much stronger when banded together than when apart. It fueled her attacks against MIRANDA, the desperation to find her friend and make sure she was safe -- a goal that she and her enemy both shared, as MIRANDA, too, was pushed by her boundless passion to stand up for her friends and famiglia alike. But the two never lowered their weapons, and so they never found out just how much they actually had in common.

It was every bit the clash of beast against prey as BEATRICE and REGAN threw themselves against one another, though the modest, brimming space of the cafe did not allow for much freedom of movement. At one point, BEATRICE keenly used it to her advantage, running out into the streets in the hope that her speed would allow her to get the enemy off her trail. Yet REGAN was not the type of predator who was deterred by a chase, and so they followed after BEATRICE with eager hunger, keeping up with her with detached ease.

They caught her quickly, throwing her to the ground and locking her in with their body before antagonizing her with the gleaming weapon they held aloft. The sound of them in the otherwise quiet street drew ARIEL’s attention as they passed by, and at first, they hesitated to act upon taking note of the chaos that had overtaken the cafe. Yet upon recognizing BEATRICE, they decided to help her, distracting REGAN long enough for BEATRICE to escape their grasp. She didn’t run, however. Instead, she stayed and worked together with ARIEL to escape REGAN’s prowl.

Later on, REGAN settled on the concrete, catching their breath and glaring daggers at the retreating silhouettes of their quarry. Yet as they made their way to stand and continue their chase, IMOGEN was abruptly at their side. They claimed to be offering REGAN their help, even though they barely glanced at their wounds, feigning ignorance towards their identity and allegiance alike in the hope of gaining information on the battle that was erupting only a few feet away. IMOGEN had had far too many missed chances as of late, and it was a mistake that they had no intention of repeating.

Back inside the cafe, in a remote corner that was still anything but peaceful, CLEOPATRA faced off against EDGAR, who took a stance of grim determination, reminded of an achingly similar stalemate that he had been locked into with another Montague not too long ago. Though unlike them, CLEOPATRA was calm and unrelenting instead of desperate and eager for self-sacrifice. She clearly had no qualms about resorting to necessary violence, and still she didn’t reach for her weapon. Instead, she negotiated, attempting to convince EDGAR of the inevitable Montague victory and draw him towards peaceful surrender. It was only because of the surprising semblance of honor that she afforded him that EDGAR stilled and listened.

They never had a chance to see if CLEOPATRA could truly convince him.

Soon enough, ROMEO sealed the fate of the battle.

He gave swift, efficient orders, distributing soldiers evenly and tasking them with goals that worked to ensure that the cafe was locked tightly within their grasp. Capulets were subdued and held at gun-point, or defeated and cast outside as fodder for the streets. The Montague HQ was contacted and informed of their team’s success. More soldiers were dispatched to ensure the security of the location and fend off any Capulet retaliation.

ROMEO took in the blessed vision of order, exacted by his hand and his hand alone, and it felt like he was able to draw breath for the first time since day arose.

The taste of victory was not quite as sweet as he imagined, and still he couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

He wondered how it tasted to his father, if his addiction to it was the reason why they had wound up where they were.

Desperately, he hoped that it would grow bitter for him as time passed.

THE OUTSKIRTS OF VERONA, 11 PM

From a castle carved from shadow, LAMPRIUS watched as one battle after another overtook his beloved city. A grating chain of war that had been choking him in its coils for as long as he could remember.

It was tradition as ancient as the Witches who still lived eternal in his memory.

Its life would come to be cut short. Just as theirs had been.

The promise burned within him, and with its ashes scorching the tips of his fingers, he went on to write the following words.

Remember this for when the time comes.

What is dead can never die. Not while there is life and legacy to be taken in its name.

Then he sent them scurrying along the wind, towards none other than Verona’s damned kings.

OVERVIEW: And so the war for the territories begins! Viola’s death has stirred the Montagues into irreversible action, and the stakes are only going to climb higher from here. As you’ve just witnessed, the Montagues are now officially in possession of THE CATHEDRAL and PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE. But fret not, Capulets! The next plot drop will explore their reaction to the blow they’ve been dealt and the action they’ll take in response, which is the reason for JULIET’s absence from this plot drop. Due to injuries too debilitating for them to take part in the action, PERDITA and ORSINO are also absent. A lot of exciting things are coming, so keep an eye out for them alongside changes in our locations page to reflect the recent events! Please date your threads from APRIL 27TH to MAY 30TH, with MAY 15TH as the day where the events of the plot drop occur. Let us know if you have any questions, and have fun!!

#diveronaevent

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