#this chapter is late due to the fact that i just finished writing it three minutes ago | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherrynojutsu · 2 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes author's notes

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Chapter 15/?: Isthmus

A few days of effortless routine pass, peaceful afternoons melting into evenings spent out of the heat wave in Sakura’s apartment. She fixes a flare-up in his stump one afternoon, green chakra soothing frayed nerve endings. The next, they prepare rei shabu together in her kitchen, enjoyable in its chill as they overlook the street below her window; it’s exceedingly empty due to the rise in temperature, save the occasional passerby or itinerant bird. They do see her neighbor arriving back home once as they eat, the courier at the other end of the second floor. She’s rather quick for a civilian, darting back out into the street and around the far corner after only a few minutes, an additional bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Her boyfriend lives on the edge of the village,” Sakura comments, hand propping up her chin on the table. “A fisherman; he’s out at the lake or the river nearly every day. Ino knows him.”

Sasuke simply nods. Sakura’s apartment building is nice and in a relatively quiet portion of town. While it‘s in a convenient location in terms of access to everything, he can see the appeal of the edge of the village; it’s more naturalistic. It brings to mind recollections of backyards and clan grounds annexed at another edge of Konoha, wilderness teeming at the fringe and a handful of treasured walks with Itachi, dodging thistles and poison oak.

With the expansion of the village proceeding at what he’s gathered in his short time back is a rather breakneck pace - there’s still construction going on in several areas from what he’s seen - he ponders once again how long the edge of the village will stay the edge of the village. Though he’s been watering the lily buds diligently, he still hasn’t gone beyond the memorial stone, into what used to be the Uchiha District. It’s a task for another month, he thinks. Maybe when the autumn equinox arrives; it’s been ages since he was in Konoha for that tradition.

His usual shared dinner with Sakura drifts earlier and earlier, thus offering such glimpses at the lives of the people who pass by day to day during the waning afternoon time slot. There’s an exordium as of late, to stay longer into the night than he has in the past, midnight and beyond. Usually it’s accompanied by some sort of snack Sakura presents in the later hours of their eves spent together, walnuts or bagged seaweed tempura or his small stash of snacks in her drawer. He surmises it may be partly an effort on her part to get him to eat more, which he doesn’t mind, as he particularly enjoys the indulgences that come before said snacking.

“We could watch another movie,” Sakura says near every night like clockwork, cheeks red and eyes sweeping away from him shyly, as if they’ve made any effort at all to watch the one that’s just finished, credits rolling.

He hypothesizes that she could just be better at multitasking than him, able to ascertain at least some of the plot and dialogue despite her lips melding to his for the better portion of each film’s sprawl. In credence of his theory is the fact that her pile of papers has made three further appearances during the earlier evenings, though she always slides them aside to their designated spot on her bookshelf prior to seven.

Sasuke, however, is convinced he is quite incapable of focusing on anything else when her fingers are sliding through his hair and her tongue is drifting along his, sweltry hot. The scent of raspberries is disarming and overwhelming when he’s this close to her, all audio irrelevant background noise in comparison to the hum of each breath Sakura takes. Sometimes, right when they change angles and in advance of their lips colliding anew, he can catch the hint of a sweet sound she makes low in her throat; he thinks it may be the cusp of something akin to a whimper.

It hasn’t helped his secluded profligacies within the privacy of his own bedroom in the slightest, as he yearns to hear just what sort of other enticing noises Sakura elicits during certain… activities. His subconscious persistently fills in the gaps, should he have such a dream; he wakes on several occasions, flushed from visuals that involve peeling thin crimson fabric and midnight netting away from her freckled skin, clearing the way so that he may caress each and every square inch of her.

He knows he’s not ready for that by a long shot just yet. He’s not even ready to trail his fingers anywhere other than across her cheek or atop her shoulder or through her pale hair, silk in his palm. It will take time.

Still. It’s altogether impossible for him to catch even a hint of what’s playing out on the screen when they’re kissing like that. It’s possible that the masculine system is simply wired differently, utterly subservient to such distractions. The aftertaste of whatever tea she’s been drinking lingers in his mouth whenever they finally part, a sensation he’s quickly become addicted to: peach, white coconut creme, caramelized pear, none too sweet.

It’s still very new, but Sasuke is rather enjoying figuring it out. He concludes Sakura must be, too, as she initiates just as often as he does, which has eliminated most of his qualms; he’d been apprehensive initially that perhaps he’d be bad at this sort of thing, with as many times as he’d ruminated without acting on the desire, but he must not be terrible if she returns every kiss with equal fervor. She seems rather good at it, herself. It makes him wonder if she’s ever kissed anyone else. Realistically he presumes that she must have; Sakura was always a pretty girl, even when they were children. The beautiful and capable woman she has grown into has likely attracted a fair amount of attention.

He would never ask, of course. It is categorically none of his business, given the heartbreak he forced upon her for years and the subsequent wait for him to be ready for any kind of closer relationship. He starkly ignores the part of him that aches with a great deal of jealousy at the mere thought of Sakura kissing anyone else, locking it away behind old doors that usher other parlous and nugatory feelings of his away for containment.

It doesn’t matter now. He sort of wishes he could just lose the key to that sort of cerebration already. Other troubling tendencies linger behind that aged wood and its rusted hinges, insecurities and his penchant for self-punishment and his propensity to overanalyze every situation, sometimes to the extent of onerous and unjustified panic.

Someday he’ll get to them, clear away the sediment; spring cleaning, perhaps. For now, he’s content in relishing this new stage fully. He feels… closer to Sakura than before. He knew that would happen, but there’s a familiar ease, a sedate domesticity, that he experiences within the walls of her home that he hasn’t really had occasion to feel anywhere else, or at least, hasn’t had occasion to feel since he was very young. He loves spending all of his time with her, whether it’s cooking or kissing or sneaking an occasional glimpse of her as she scrawls things into her notes, fine pink brows furrowed and jade eyes scanning the paper analytically. Since he’s begun to sit closer to her on the couch, he’s noticed that they appear to be corrections of some sort, her handwriting with its swooping As flooding the margins with torrents of precisely inscribed notes. He doesn’t pry about what she’s working on; it may be confidential, and thus there’s a sort of implied trust in him there, too, of which he doesn’t wish to contravene.

He used to ache for this feeling, pine for it desperately, the indulgence and eudemonia of hours of quietly shared company and more open affections. As a child, he used to train to the point of exhaustion, pushing his body to the limits in the hopes that he could rip the desire for it out of himself. So now, contrarily and to make up for lost time, he allows himself to revel in it. It’s a nice change of pace from licking his aged wounds to the point of septicity.

Following another heated session of kissing that was abruptly interrupted by rolling credits, Sakura mentions something about making iced tea at home soon, or maybe lemonade, as she rifles through her drawer of snacks. A questioning glance is thrown his way as she pulls out his popcorn.

He nods absentmindedly, barely hearing in his distraction, incalescence still cooling behind his ribs, but understanding at least the visual portion of the offer.

“Is there any kind of iced tea you like?” She’s still a little flushed as she turns to face him. “Other than sencha, I mean.”

His brain has barely caught up to his body standing in the dark of her kitchen, outwardly still feeling each of her fingertips at his scalp and inwardly feeling like his stomach is recovering from its compendiary transformance into molten ardor.

“...What?” That which is feverish floods his neck and licks at his ears. He’s so stupidly fixated on that freckle on her cheek, as well as the way her lips look after they’ve been kissing: slightly plump, parted invitingly. That’s done nothing for his aggrandized and enticing dreams, either, frissons of temptation that enwrap him as they slide down his spine.

“Iced tea; do you just like sencha?” She asks softly as she hands him the bag. “Or are there others you like? Or… I can make unsweetened lemonade, too.”

He latches on to the end part of the sentence the quickest, as it’s the only part that computes initially as he drops his gaze to the bag he’s now clutching.

“Lemonade,” he murmurs, trying to force the color from his face and exceptionally thankful that Sakura is a lamp aficionado. There’s limited light to discern said coloring here, unless one has the Sharingan.

“Okay,” she says, smiling brightly. “The next time I’m at the market, I’ll get some extra lemons to make some.”

The next evening, another movie serving as background noise finished, they venture to the kitchen again in search of an eleven o’clock snack. Sasuke opts for the almonds this go-around - he may need to pick up a second bag for whenever the next team movie is - but Sakura trails to her refrigerator, pulling out a small container of anko dumplings.

Sasuke eyes them curiously in the scant seconds that pass prior to returning to the living room. Their dinner was simple today, and Sakura herself grabbed what they needed for the meal from the fridge, so he hadn’t seen that container before now. They appear well-made, visually appealing enough that he expects she must have picked them up from somewhere; perhaps it was the bakery nearest her apartment, the one that he suspects sells confections.

As she sets up the next movie, Sasuke finds himself recalling one occasion when they were Genin, on their lone mission to the Land of Waves, in which she’d scarfed down anko dumplings with considerable delight at dinner. He’d been preoccupied with a rather juvenile eating contest with their third teammate, but he’d still noticed; if there’s one defining characteristic that he has, it’s his ability to be methodically observant, often to the point of his detriment. Racking his brain, he thinks he can also recall at least one other occasion in which she’d ordered them at a restaurant that Kakashi had taken them all to at the tail end of another Genin mission closer to home.

Though he himself doesn’t like dango anymore - she kindly questions him if he’d like any as she takes her seat scant inches away from him, even though she knows he doesn’t like sweet things, to which he politely declines - he still mentally files this information away for future reference as he eats a few heaping handfuls of almonds. He hasn’t stepped foot inside a bakery since he was seven, but he does have access to his own kitchen now.

In this small collection of days that bring May to a close, Sasuke doesn’t receive any mission assignments. He assumes their old sensei and his returned assistant Shizune must be gearing up for the upcoming Chunin Exams, and thus he is probably loath to send many Konoha ninja out in the next few weeks; there is always the possibility of getting held up somewhere for longer than expected. It’s likely that they’re taking an ample chunk of Konoha’s upper ranks to assist in Sunagakure, too, which means there needs to be an even rounding of capable ninja left here to maintain the village’s security. If Naruto’s going with Kakashi, Sasuke expects he himself will be home for a good while, as will Sakura; most of June they’ll be here, possibly even into July, save any sort of emergency. He supposes it’s probable that he will be assigned guard duties with some degree of regularity in the next month.

Going so long without a mission assignment used to bother him, eager as he was when he was younger to attain breaks from the village, but now he can’t find it in himself to care one bit. Summer heat has hit Konoha with the same reprisal it always has, sweltering temperatures coating everything hot and humid. He much prefers simplistic evenings at Sakura’s apartment, watching movies and snacking and kissing her until time blurs to the waning width of a crescent moon.

Amidst all of this, he somehow manages to acquire a summer sickness.

It begins as a tickle in the back of his mouth, possibly near his tonsils. He notices it as he gently sifts his remaining water over greening lily buds well past midnight, just there behind his tongue, and chalks it up to the fact that he was reading the names, the pain in the back of his throat cresting as it always does here.

Once he arrives back at his apartment, he discerns that his mouth is sort of dry, but he assumes it’s due to the fact that it's brutally humid. Even now, sweat is trailing down his neck in the calefaction. He downs an entire bottle of water in one go to counteract it.

He doesn't sleep particularly well, but it's not one of his worst nightmares - he doesn’t throw up this go-around - so he's grateful. However, upon waking, the twitching feeling at the back of his throat has intensified to an ache.

Frowning once his heart rate has decelerated and he's stared out his window for a bit, he procures a cough drop and relocates the lamp to the living room end table so he can read on the couch, sprawled out lazily in pursuit of distraction. The hours evanesce away, and one lozenge becomes five.

An occasional cough quakes his chest, though he thinks it’s from his mouth being persistently dry rather than from anything severely infectious plaguing his lungs. It's… unpleasant. Torrid and irritating, affliction lurking at the back of his throat each time he attempts to clear it. Muscle memory demands he raise what used to be his dominant arm to cough into his bicep sleeve, but it's empty, so that doesn't work so well. What’s left of his left arm only partially covers his mouth.

He's rarely been ill over the past few years, and only once did he ever have any sort of cough accompanying it. He spent very limited hours physically around other people, he supposes, choosing to say little and retire early on the rare occasion that he was under someone else’s roof rather than sprawled beneath the stars alone. Perhaps he caught something from someone he crossed paths with at the market.

His mouth sinks downward once the fit passes, brows furrowing ahead of another cough rising to take its place. He raises his right arm this time, coughing into the interior portion of his elbow, then rises to procure a drink.

It’s wholly disorienting; the world rotates and knocks something aching in his skull. When his fingers skim his forehead, he deduces that it’s warm as the ground relevels itself. The beginning of a migraine, he concludes, as well as a fever.

Reaching for one of the jars on his tea shelf, Sasuke sets a cup of caffeinated sencha to brew, swallows two pain relief pills from the medicine cabinet, and chases the medicine with a cough drop prior to dragging his spare comforter rather unceremoniously to his couch for further comfort.

The tea soothes his throat incrementally, and his headache eases slightly; whether it was the caffeine or the medication that did the trick, he couldn’t say. It's not until he rises to fix breakfast, most of his book on the history of the Land of Tea finished, that he realizes he has some sort of a genuine chill, too. Sasuke scans the thermostat for confirmation as a shiver ripples through him; the temperature reads the same as it always does.

There’s a frown permanently affixed to his face now. He shrugs out of his usual long-sleeved shirt, deducing that a heavier fabric he usually reserves for cooler seasons and climates would better suit the situation he’s found himself in. It helps a little, but he still encases himself back in the comforter, an occasionally coughing cocoon of a human, brows furrowed as he flips through the art book again in want of something to do to distract him from this infirmity.

The sun has climbed higher in the east, just barely clearing the horizon. He’s trying to decide if he should make the jaunt to Sakura’s to cancel their plans for this afternoon, lest he infect her with whatever he’s caught, when the telltale banging of Naruto's fist resounds against his door.

"Teme!" He calls between heavy knocks that are sure to wake his neighbor if she’s home; they’re boisterous enough that they hurt his head with each sharp pound. "Kakashi-sensei is working with Shizune this morning. Let's spar!!"

Sasuke sighs, lone hand rising to his head in pain at the sudden volume as he rises slightly unsteadily, not at all befitting that of a ninja.

"Hey, teme, are you home?!" Additional banging accompanied by a slight twang of an object resonates atop the vertical stretch of wood. “C’mon, hurry up! It’ll be hot as fuck if we don’t go soon! I already promised Hinata-chan that I’d drink this whole thing of water, and-”

"Stop. I'm coming," Sasuke calls, followed by a swallow that requires some effort. His throat hurts more now, he realizes as he nears the door that’s still being hammered on relentlessly by two fists; the dobe must not have heard him.

There has to be a better system for spars than this, he judges, brows furrowing in disquietude. Some sort of designated day and time. He simultaneously contemplates how often the idiot’s volume has bothered his neighbor or woken her child.

His fingers find the knob and he opens the door, only slightly as he doesn’t want to permit Naruto any kind of opening to barge his way in. He is unsurprised to see his best friend appearing as if he’s just rolled out of bed, blond hair skewed sideways and both fists frozen in midair. One is wrapped around a huge thermos that must have been contributing to the audial uproar.

"Oh, good, I thought maybe you slept at Sakura-chan's or something-"

Sasuke’s neck warms as he pins him with an unimpressed look.

"Oh." Intense blue assesses him as he lowers his curled fists from the air finally. "Uh."

Sasuke narrows his eyes when his best friend’s expression morphs into one of amusement.

"You… kinda look like shit," the idiot chuckles.

Observation of the century, he thinks and nearly says, but it’s about two too many words; he doesn’t wish for his throat to ache further than it already does.

"I'm sick," Sasuke deadpans instead, glaring kunai at his teammate with a pounding head. The warm light cast from the rising sun isn't doing wonders for his headache situation; it’s throbbing worse now than before with the continued exposure.

For some reason that results in the dobe’s laugh intensifying. It starts as a snort but quickly escalates into a snicker, then a cackle. If his neighbor wasn’t already awake, she’s sure to be now.

"What's the matter, teme?" He lilts in a teasing voice that causes Sasuke's patience to run thin and his frown run thinner still, incensed. There's a smug grin on the dobe’s face, the kind that appears when Naruto is about to say something catastrophically fucking imbecilic.

“Swap too much spit with Sakura-chan?”

Sasuke’s brow twitches.

“You know, you should go to the hospital-”

Immediately sensing where this line of reasoning is going, Sasuke promptly shuts the door - not a slam, but not muted, either, and no, he is definitely not red in the face, it’s just the fever.

He blocks out most of whatever the idiot ends up saying - some thinly veiled and highly implicative innuendo about making an appointment - through sheer willpower and a lengthy, irritated exhale. By the time he’s switched to inhaling, a new round of laughter is apparent from the other side of the wood.

Sasuke relocks the door in the most methodical, purposeful, and audible manner possible, scowling darkly.

"Don't worry!" The dobe calls from the other side of the door, laughing. "I'm sure Sakura-chan would love to make a house call, just for you! And anyways, she-"

Sasuke stalks to his bedroom and yanks the comforter over his head, drowning out whatever the idiot’s going on about with another forced exhale and determined to go back to sleep for an hour, at least until nine. He’ll figure out what to do regarding their afternoon plans later, he thinks through an additional round of clearing his parched throat, triggered by the sudden change to a horizontal position.

He's tired enough that it actually works. His last thought afore sleep claiming him is that he really is genuinely sick for the first occasion in a while, and is definitely running a fever.

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He's not sure how long he sleeps for - it feels like twenty minutes or so, strange pieces of a hazy and familiar gray dream just beginning to color his subconscious - but a few sharp, precise raps on the door have him rising haphazardly from slumber, ready to lay into Naruto despite how dry and sore his throat is. There’s sleep clouding the corners of his recognition and the edges of his eyes are watering, irritated, as his hand unlocks the door as if detached from his body just yet. The sleepy retort is already on his tongue when-

He blinks in bewilderment, both at the overwhelming amount of bright light and the colors that are still solidifying before him, below his direct line of sight. Definitively, it is not a blur of orange and yellow that comes into focus.

It's pink and green instead; Sakura is blinking up at him owlishly. It’s nearly midday, judging by the sun well above them both. He's slept for the better portion of three hours rather than the one he intended.

"Hey," she greets softly. "Naruto stopped by and said you might be sick." Pale green is both assessing and caring as she gazes up at him. "I assumed we’d cancel our afternoon plans so you can rest, but I wanted to… to check on you.” She motions towards the bag curved around her shoulder.

He blinks as his pupils adjust to the harsh gleam, trying to process through the splitting migraine that’s now surging with a vengeance. He’s still stuck on how he’s somehow slept for three hours, and how his eyes are, for some reason, itching now.

Must be the light. He blinks a few more times for good measure, slowly.

"If… if that's okay," she says, an uncertain expression overtaking her features as he continues to stare at her, brows furrowing finally as his brain catches up with what she's said. “Or… If you’d rather I didn’t, I… I can…”

"Okay." His voice comes out a shred rougher than it usually does, but he manages, pulling the door open wider to let her through; it feels as though his throat has been coated with sandpaper on both sides and it’s grinding against the remaining contents of his pharynx. “Sorry. I slept longer than I thought.”

Sakura’s face brightens, shifting to something like recognition - he’s succeeded in communicating that his delay in speech wasn’t because her presence was unwanted - and her lips quirk upwards.

“Oh,” she murmurs airily, beaming as she moves to step inside, fingers grasping at the strap of her bag. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“...It’s fine,” he mumbles, still disoriented as he closes the door behind them. He examines the lock for a protracted moment, considering, because the idea of the dobe barging in on an examination is not the most appealing mental picture, but he ultimately decides against it. Sakura likely won’t be here for very long, and he doesn’t want to get her ill, either.

Though now that he’s thinking about it, they did sort of… spend a rather significant amount of time kissing on her couch again, the night previous.

And the night before that.

…And the night before that.

He mentally reviews old lessons on contagions from the Academy ages ago, tiredly trying to discern if he has already given it to her. She would be showing symptoms already if he had, he reasons; she would only be a day behind him at best in exposure. His brain feels muddy, like it’s lagging exorbitantly behind everything occurring in the present, just on the edge of slumber.

When he turns to her, rubbing at his eyes a little as they’re still sort of irritated, she’s already slipped her shoes off and is looking around somewhat uncertainly.

His focus meets hers in silent question.

“Um.” Sakura blinks. “Where should I…?”

Ah. This is only her second time here. The couch is probably more comfortable, but it’s also probably covered in more of his germs.

“...Here’s fine,” he elucidates, motioning to the table prior to absentmindedly flipping the kitchen light on. He squints at the offending brightness once he does, head pounding and blinking as it occurs to him that he might appear a bit… unkempt as of yet. He frowns, briefly recalling that his hair tends to skew away from whichever side of his head he slept on.

If she notices, Sakura pays no mind to it. She simply nods once and then turns to take a seat, beginning to pull a kit of some kind out of her bag. He takes the opportunity to pour himself a glass of water, as he realizes he’s presumably going to have to talk in regards to symptoms and he would rather avoid having to cough in her immediate vicinity.

A stretched sip is taken, hydration temporarily soothing his pharynx, before he swivels back towards the dining table. Within the kit, he can see, was a stethoscope, an ear instrument, a cuff to measure blood pressure, what he assumes is a penlight, and a sealed clear bag that contains several things: a tissue, swabs, small tubes, and one of the wooden sticks typically used to hold the tongue down when examining the throat.

There is also a new package of the menthol-lyptus cough drops among the instruments, shiny azure blue like the others. He notices it last, tired brain processing through each item at a delayed pace.

His haggard gaze flits to her with immense appreciation as he sinks into the remaining seat on her side of the table. He’s only gone through about one and a half of the initial three bags she gave him, but he’ll probably use a lofty number of them up during this bout of illness. It was kind of her.

It seems she reads the gratitude in his expression, smiling under his continued appraisal. Her cheeks flush slightly as she rips open the package and offers him one.

“So,” Sakura says softly as he carefully unwraps it. “What are your symptoms?” Her eyes are kind as they temporarily flick to the glass of water in advance of coming back to rest on him. “I’m assuming a sore throat?”

Sasuke nods, bringing the cough drop up to slip beyond his lips.

“...Headache.” He pauses, situating the cough drop into the hollow of his cheek and thinking. “Chills.”

She surveys him for a long moment as if working through her next words or perhaps considering something of note.

“Runny nose or congestion at all?” She questions finally as she picks up the blood pressure cuff. He places the wrapper on the dining table before offering his lone arm out to her.

“No.”

She situates it easily, securing the apparatus around his bicep in advance of upping the pressure. He focuses on the feeling of the cough drop numbing his throat, dissolving into an essence of relief. Pressure amps and declines around the squeezed muscle of his arm.

��Just a little higher than usual,” she remarks eventually. The pressure releases as she peels it away.

“Pulse next, please.”

There’s a delay as he processes the instruction, blinking prior to holding out his arm again; he allows his elbow to rest on the surface of the table between them. Both of her hands ascend to grip his wrist, plying for his radial artery.

Even with as tired as he is, he can’t ignore the latent tangibility of her fingertips feel against his skin there. He barely breathes for a moment, closing his eyes and overly aware of the ambrosia of raspberry for about the three-hundredth time since he’s returned.

“Hmm,” Sakura appraises thoughtfully when her fingers finally fall away and he exhales, thinking this shouldn’t affect him so, especially not now, given their more recent activities. “Your heart rate isn’t really much higher than normal, but that doesn’t mean you’re not sick.”

Sasuke supposes his heart rate when ill certainly would present synonymous to his heart rate when in the immediate close proximity of his girlfriend, her touch at his bare skin for an extended period of time. He briefly toys with the idea of trying to mentally count the measures of his own pulse when they are next occupied with kissing, but that notion quickly devolves into a frown, because it will probably be a while now before he kisses Sakura again.

“You’re more tired than usual?”

Pulled from the doldrums, he nods stiffly as she reaches for the ear instrument, neck warming.

“Do you think you have a fever?” She questions as she puts some sort of cap atop the instrument for what he assumes are sanitary reasons. “Your wrist felt kind of warm.”

Sasuke dips his chin again in confirmation, rotating his head slightly so she can take his temperature via his ear. It takes only a minute.

“One hundred and two,” she informs him softly, taking the instrument from his ear and removing the miniature cap from it to be set atop the tissue, the pile of things to dispose of later. “So a small one.” She sets the instrument aside, turning back to him. “Any cough?”

“Not really,” he answers. “Sore. Dry.” He pauses, then adds, “I cough if I don’t have water.”

Analytical eyes peer up at him before she procures the wooden stick with one hand and the penlight with the other. “Do your lymph nodes hurt at all?”

His brows knit together.

“...I’m not sure.” They don’t feel swollen, really, but his need for sleep has been attracting all of his focus since the sun rose, to the extent that he hasn’t really glimpsed himself in the mirror at all. He also hasn’t brushed his teeth yet today, he realizes with some regret.

Sakura nods as if this makes sense. “I’d like to look at your throat, if that’s okay.”

Sasuke swallows again as she grabs the wooden stick and penlight. He then opens his mouth; the cough drop is a meager remnant stored in the hollow of his cheek.

Sakura frowns once she’s got the light aimed for analysis.

“Say ah, please?”

He complies, feeling inelegant in all respects.

She pulls the stick away after a short few seconds of study, though for some reason she keeps the penlight on. He closes his mouth and situates the cough drop back onto the main spread of his tongue, blinking slowly as the menthol eases the dryness that came with the open air exposure. His eyes feel like they’re about to droop shut any minute.

"Could I look at your eyes quick?"

His brows furrow as he processes the question, flummoxed - I haven’t used them is on the tip of his tongue, in reference to his doujutsu - to which Sakura smiles patiently.

“I think you probably have a bacterial infection. Your tonsils are swollen.” She motions to the penlight still in her palm. "I'd guess group A strep throat, but you don't have any white spots yet. Sometimes the bacteria manifests in the eyes, too. Conjunctivitis."

He blinks once more, regard flickering tiredly but purposefully to the penlight to grant her permission, as if to say go ahead whilst sparing his pharynx the further motion of words.

Sakura’s gaze softens prior to discarding the stick, placed atop the tissue so the part that was in his mouth doesn’t touch the table.

She then switches the penlight to her left hand and reaches toward him with her right.

His brows knit closer together in sluggish puzzlement before she's sifting his hair away from his left eye carefully, touch gentle and expression soft.

Heat licks at his ears. Ah.

He’s an idiot. Of course his hair was in her way. Perhaps he's more out of it than he thought.

Her fingertips graze his cheekbone and part of his temple slightly as she raises the penlight. She shines it into his left first, then lets her digits fall away from his cheek as she shifts the light over his other eye. He hopes they're not infected, or, if they are, that they don't appear too… gross. He vaguely remembers just two other occasions in which he acquired conjunctivitis; neither of them left his eyes particularly presentable, visually speaking.

“They look a little irritated,” she observes matter-of-factly, clicking the light off prior to setting it aside. She then reaches for one of the swabs. “Could I swab your throat for a test? If it is strep, I’ll prescribe an antibiotic.”

Sasuke nods yet again, to which Sakura smiles in response.

“Alright. Tilt your head back, please.”

He stares at the ceiling above him, moving the last remnant of the cough drop to his cheek again before he opens his mouth.

“Say ah,” Sakura instructs. “This will probably tickle a little.”

He does, and she quickly slides the swab over what he assumes are his tonsils, one swipe on each side. Once it’s out, he clears his throat to satisfy the small itch as she situates the swab neatly into one of the test tubes. He follows it up with a sip of his water.

“I’ll stop by the hospital to run this, and then I’ll be back later if it’s positive,” she says smoothly as she wraps the tube again; he expects it’s to offer it some cushion in the kit. “I’ll bring eye ointment, too, just in case.”

Sasuke nods once more, taking another measured sip. She begins placing the other items back into her kit, though she leaves the stethoscope out.

“I’d like to listen to your heart before I go,” she comments. “Sometimes group A can spread to the heart and damage the valves; scarlet or rheumatic fever. It’s probably too early for that if you just started having major symptoms this morning, but it’s standard practice to check anyway.”

“...Okay.” It’s also standard Shinobi protocol to take every precaution available when it comes to the possibility of impaired health, especially involving a vital organ. He’s not particularly a fan of being poked and prodded given his history, but if it’s Sakura, he doesn’t mind. He has come to know that she excels in every aspect of her profession, and bedside manner is no exception.

At that thought, he forcefully shoves the idiot’s teasing from earlier to the back of his mind as Sakura situates the stethoscope in her ears, lifting the chest piece and pressing it to his sternum. He breathes slowly, in and out as his eyes droop somewhat; it somehow makes him sleepier, inanition ready to overtake him.

“Your heart sounds good,” Sakura comments as she removes the chest piece. “No concern there.” She then plucks the other side of the stethoscope from her ears, moving to return that to the kit, too; he assumes that means she doesn’t need to check his lungs this time. The bag of cough drops stays on the table as she swivels her upper body to grab her tote bag from where she’s left it.

“Do you need anything?” She queries as she turns back towards him, and he gets the distinct impression that Sakura the clinician has vacated the premises entirely. “I could make some soup if you want. Chicken noodle, maybe? If you’re on an antibiotic, you’ll want to avoid anything acidic or with dairy.”

Sasuke’s brow furrows. He doesn’t want to get her sick with extended time spent here, but he would be deluding himself if he didn’t admit that such a dish sounds like heaven right about now with the way his throat aches. He may be able to make something similar on his own in terms of having the ingredients on hand, but his will to produce such a dish is another matter entirely. He’s too tired to consider making anything that’s not ochazuke today, and he also knows he likes Sakura’s cooking; he doesn’t doubt that he would like this rendition of soup, given she seems to utilize her slow cooker fairly frequently.

He supposes it is her day off, and they were supposed to hang out later anyways, so it’s not like she’d be neglecting other plans on his behalf. It’s very kind of her to offer.

You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts.

“...Soup would be good,” he admits quietly after some internal review, realizing she’s waiting for a response and he’s taking too long. He pointedly slides his focus to the cough drops atop the wood grain of the table before refocusing on her tiredly. “Thank you.”

A pleased smile blooms on her lips.

“You’re very welcome,” she says. “I’ll try to get Naruto to leave you alone for a bit, too. I’m guessing he nearly busts your door down each time like he does mine? Between the door and the window, I’m surprised my office is still intact at this point.”

Sasuke snorts, and her grin widens in amusement.

“...That’s the reason my door is usually locked,” he admits, something occurring to him as he speaks the words. The knocking earlier, sharp and precise, was not how Sakura normally knocks on a door. Not that he’s heard her knock often as of late, now that he’s thinking about it, but when they were younger, servicing clients in and outside of the village on missions, it was usually a few gentle raps, more of a grazing of her knuckles against the egress. It was a sharp contrast to Naruto’s discordant and careless whacks even back then.

Which means that she likely knocked lightly at first today but he slept right through it.

Suppose it wouldn’t hurt. It’s overnight, always, when his issues with sleep disturbances emerge, surpassing further than a few hours of slumber as a nap does. It should be fine to provide her a way in for later today in case he’s asleep.

Sakura rises with a musical laugh, shifting her tote bag back in place on her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.” Shining soft green levels him, beautiful and rich with mirth as she turns towards the door.

“...Sakura,” he says as he also rises abruptly, inwardly wincing at what it does to his head. She pauses halfway to the door, angling herself back towards him with a curious expression.

Crossing the small kitchen to the drawer on the far left, Sasuke pulls it open quietly. He doesn’t own enough kitchen supplies to fill all of the compartments in the space, so this one has remained mostly empty, save for the spare nickel-brass key that came with the place. He’s never had a use for it, so he just left it in the same location the previous tenant had: at the back of an unused drawer.

He turns to Sakura with the cool metal in hand, sluggishly so he doesn’t get disoriented again by sudden movement. In one gradual but sure motion he’s extending it out to her.

She blinks twice, staring at it with widened eyes and a nonplussed countenance that makes his throat tighten uneasily.

It is in this moment that his pulse pounds in his ears to the point of careening as he second guesses himself entirely.

He didn’t really think it over much before retrieving it; he just didn’t want her to be stuck waiting outside his door if he’s out by the time she comes back with soup or medicine. He dimly soaks in that this is possibly a bigger deal than his somnolent mind is capable of fully processing just now.

“...If I’m asleep,” he expounds expeditiously, voice marginally hesitant now as he begins to overthink, a sliver of rationality cutting through the haze of fatigue and settling in the form of presage just behind his ribs. Suddenly it feels like there’s something poring through the soil there, disturbing vines and dirt and roots, scrutinizing them afore flinging them away carelessly with the aid of a rusted spade.

They’ve barely been together for two months. Perhaps he has vastly overstepped, made her uncomfortable-

“Okay,” she says as her expression morphs into a shy smile, palm brushing his to take the key.

Once his pulse finds its place again, no longer rushing and echoing in his ears like a torrent of an alarm, he slowly lets go of the sleek metal. Sakura’s eyes are filled with something that looks an awful lot like awe, fractals of seafoam atop a shifting reflected fluorescent light.

Her soft fingers are, as ever, incredibly distracting as they slide away, nimble and graceful. She’s out the door in a few seconds, a sweet-natured glance cast back in his direction before she turns. The door creaks open and closed, and the latch clicks softly behind her.

She locks it for him, eternally polite.

He blinks once, staring at the wood grain for a lingering moment in advance of rotating to land his study on the bag of cough drops.

A feeling is settling somewhat behind his ribs that is rather nice, twisting vines and disturbed roots and other things he’s entombed pushed neatly back into place, utterly at odds with his physical afflictions.

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Several hours pass, more half-formed thoughts a rippling gradient in his subconscious that are not given quite enough time to begin to stew, along with strange scraping noises that filter in and out of his skull.

He eventually blinks groggily to the aroma of chicken soup invading his olfactory senses. It effectively fades the blur of cinereal to simple off white plaster, and he rolls out of bed rather unceremoniously. His headache is at least a little better, he finds, though the dryness in his mouth is not. He gulps down some of the stagnant water in the glass astride his bedside from earlier. He then proceeds to his doorway with it in hand, pushing the door open.

Sakura is stirring soup in what appears to be the slow cooker from her kitchen he was recalling a short time ago, brought here. Savory roasted shiitake mushrooms and sliced green cabbage intermix with the scent now that he’s closer, and she turns to the soft click of the door opening and closing.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a hushed tone with kind eyes, smiling. “You’re awake.”

“...Sakura,” he says in response, somewhat disoriented.

“Your strep test was positive,” she murmurs, turning back to the pot to tap the remaining moisture off the ladle before setting the lid back atop the soup. “I brought you an antibiotic; it’s on the table. Eye ointment, too.”

His focus sinks to the table, and sure enough there are two medications: a tube of ointment that’s labeled Bacitracin Ophthalmic Ointment and a small bottle of pills that reads No. 860015-5578, Uchiha, Sasuke, Penicillin 500mg, Take twice daily. Quantity: 20 tablets. Dr. Haruno, Sakura - No refills.

There is a lengthy moment in which he stares at the clear orange container. His vision adjusts lethargically, lingering on the material transparency, the way it colors the stark white pills contained within it. There is a scattering of seconds where the air momentarily feels crisper in his lungs, harder to respire.

“Thank you,” he finally responds, cutting through the haze of his own thoughts as cleanly as a swipe of his chokuto can cleave through paper. He exchanges his glass of water for the garishly bright container, using his teeth to rotate the lid off.

“You’re welcome,” Sakura acknowledges to his left, reaching for cutlery and beginning to fill the sink, apparently to soak the dishes. Now that he's fully awake, he sees that the cutting board is among them. She must have added a few things to the mix just after arriving here for the final additions to the soup.

“Just make sure to finish the whole thing, even when you start feeling better.” She smiles at him. “In twenty-four hours, you won’t be contagious anymore, either, so you can return to normal life if you’re feeling up to it.”

Lone pill popped into his mouth, he reaches for what’s left of his water. It drags along his throat, scraping irritated tissue; it takes a few more gulps of water to force it all the way down, effectively draining his glass. He shoves away his disdain for the feeling.

“...You don’t need to wash those,” Sasuke says quietly, frowning as he rounds the table, intent on obtaining a new glass of water. “I’ll do it later.”

Fine pink brows arch, then furrow furrow as he places it on the counter nearest the fridge. She’s peering at him as if he’s grown another head.

“Of course I will,” Sakura insists, expression confused. “You're sick, and I dirtied them. After dinner, though.”

His frown sinks deeper, pursuance of the water pitcher in the fridge momentarily forgotten.

“...You’ll get sick.”

There is an enduring pause where she appraises him carefully, as if he’s said something completely nonsensical.

"I… don’t think you need to worry about that,” she finally replies, cheeks flushing a little as she swipes her hand across her skirt once to dry it. They fidget there, bunching in the violet fabric. “You probably got it from me.”

His brows furrow as his fingers rest atop the fridge handle. Briefly she meets his eyes, and her cheeks darken further.

Ah.

He angles his vision momentarily in the direction of the counter, studying the pattern in an attempt at distraction from the acute sensation of flame licking up his neck.

"...Wouldn't you be sick, too?"

Sakura shakes her head in his peripheral vision.

“Well-” She begins, then stops. “Well… I mean technically, I have it, but… I’m mostly asymptomatic. I had a small fever when I checked, running your test, so I did one of my own and it was positive; I’m taking an antibiotic, too . Group A strep has never really given me symptoms other than that, though. And…” She pauses long enough to pique his curiosity, so he meets her stare.

Her cheeks are incarnadine, but her countenance is more akin to apologetic than embarrassment. Her fingers are still restless at her sides.

“I had a patient with strep come in on Tuesday. Group A has a two to five day incubation period, so… Relatively sure that you caught it from me."

Slowly Sasuke nods, and she smiles, but then she turns in a way he can only describe as meek, back to the dishes as if searching for something new to keep her hands occupied.

“So… take this as my apology for getting you sick,” she quips, speaking in a rather regretful tone, one that quickens with every word she speaks, aflush with offers that he immediately clocks as being laden with some sort of misplaced guilt. He’s struck by the tired, absurd notion to laugh, because Sakura is the last person who should ever be apologizing to him.

“Is there anything I can take care of for you? I could bring some new books, if you’d like. If you’ve finished your other ones, I mean. Or… I don’t have to eat here, if you’re too tired. I can come get the slow cooker later if it’s easier for you to heat it up that way. Maybe when you’re feeling better? And-”

“Sakura,” he murmurs, carefully placing his lone hand on her bicep, and she quiets instantaneously, pupils honed in on his.

“...I don’t mind being sick.” The words are out of his mouth before he can overthink them, but they’re true and enunciated as clearly as he is capable; he doesn’t mind at all. He would take being ill again a hundred times over if it means he gets to spend the amount of hours with her he’s been able to recently, and furthermore, to kiss her, like that. There’s a comfort in it, similar to the comfort of seeing her in his apartment for a third occasion or the amenity that comes with someone you love offering to eat soup with you when you’re ill, despite the weather outside being blazing.

It’s arduous for him to voice such things, but he hopes she can understand through his expression alone, as she often can.

I want you here.

Her pupils have widened to the size of saucers, a thin slice of jade green circling their edges just so.

“Oh,” she intones faintly. She peers down to where his hand is still resting, curved gently around her arm, and her face flushes darker somehow. The corner of his mouth twitches; she really is utterly oblivious to what her touch does to him and his pulse, yet is endearingly affected by his touch on her in any way, shape, or form, innocent as it may be.

“...Good.” She says it with what sounds a little like relief, and the spell is broken; he lets his fingers fall away as she reaches to turn off the faucet, sink now brimming with suds and hot water. “We should probably eat, then.”

Sasuke dips his chin once in agreement, reaching to obtain the bowls from a nearby cabinet. He ladles out large servings for both Sakura and himself, more content now that he knows she’s not getting exposed to illness unnecessarily on his behalf. Similarly to the last occasion she made soup, the pot is full to brimming; there will be plenty of leftovers for tomorrow, or tonight, should he wake again or have trouble sleeping in the first place. He’s hungry, he realizes; he didn’t eat lunch. In fact, he has to side-eye the clock to see what the time actually is just now: a few minutes prior to five, the continuance of their newly adjusted meal schedule.

Sakura reaches into the silverware drawer while he oscillates in the small space. Her bowl in hand, he crosses the kitchen to deliver it to the table, placing it in the same spot she sat the previous time she was here for dinner. He embarks on a second trip back for his own, during which Sakura deposits their silverware in their respective spots.

She’s heading back to the kitchen for some reason as he sets his bowl down, the sound of the fridge opening at his back. When he glances her way in question, his gaze softens, because he realizes she’s taking the water pitcher out to fill his glass, forgotten on the counter.

“Would you like some tea?” Sakura questions as she pours, vision colliding with his briefly. “I know you don’t like sweet things, but I brought some honey in my bag; a little might help your throat until the antibiotics kick in. If I brew the sencha strong enough and just use a bit, you probably won’t taste it.”

He shoots her a look that he hopes communicates his appreciation, nodding, before he turns to the table, transiently trying to place what’s missing. His point of study flickers to the eye ointment, then to her bag.

“There’s some in the cupboard,” he mentions absentmindedly, slightly hoarse, wondering if he should apply the ointment now or if it would make him look stupid for dinner. He doesn’t really want irritated eyes - they’re itching a bit, again - but he also doesn’t want them caked with gunk while Sakura’s still here.

“Tea?” She questions with a curious tone. He hears running water from the faucet begin anew, plunking levelly into the saucepan.

“Honey,” he clarifies, distrait before he finally pieces together that the lamp is still in the living room from earlier. He crosses the breadth of the apartment to collect the light source, unplugging it from the outlet nearest the end table.

It’s not until he’s back at the edge of the kitchen, hooking the lamp’s cord into the outlet and flooding the space with softer light, that he realizes silence is still reigning and Sakura hasn't moved an inch.

Sasuke shoots her an inquisitive look, raising an eyebrow as he slides the light flush with the wall atop the table, next to his stack of library books.

“Honey?” Sakura echoes finally, and his unthinking admission catches him.

Calidity blooms on his neck, blistering all the way up to his ears and rushing through the twisted pathways of his veins.

“...Yes,” he mumbles after extensive pause, implication clear and body resolutely still until Sakura turns toward the cupboard with a perplexed expression. It reminds him of the look on her face when he proceeds with a move she clearly didn’t expect him to whilst hours into a match of chess or go: a black piece waltzing willingly into her reach only to parry away in the next turn, if she doesn’t seize it in favor of the continuance of her own strategic maneuvering.

He supposes this is no exception. Sasuke seizes the opportunity to grab the ointment and noiselessly escapes to his bathroom to apply it. The only sound is the open and shut of his bedroom door behind him, a duet of soft clicks.

He takes his time, washing his hand thoroughly and tilting his head back to apply the cool ointment into the small pocket behind the lower lash line of each eye. It’s a bit of a challenge to accomplish the task one-handed without touching the tip of the applicator directly to his corneas - it’s not something he’s done since gaining his handicap, really - but he manages by pulling the skin out with two fingers and holding the tube with the other three. Closing his eyes is a welcome distraction, rolling them in their sockets to distribute the ointment throughout, as it says on the back of the tube not to rub at them with one’s fingers.

After washing his hand a second time, he examines himself for a long moment in the mirror. They don’t look too bad, though the typical white sclera is pretty pink, more clearly afflicted after a few hours of sleep in which the bacteria could apparently fester untreated.

His skin tone has mostly returned to normal, save his neck; he dislikes the slight tinge of a flush that’s hovering stubbornly at his cervical spine, refusing to concede to his will.

Following a deep breath and another minute’s passing, Sasuke crosses the divide of his bedroom and returns to the dining table to the tone of two more mild and muted clicks, gaze shifting to Sakura as soon as he’s carefully drawn the door closed. She’s shut the kitchen light off, it appears; her back is to him, white circle emblazoned brightly across the space between her shoulder blades, but the water is steaming in the saucepan atop the stove, and she’s fastidiously scooping out a vestigial amount of what appears to be the lavender Earl Gray mixture into his lone tea infuser.

There’s a small part of him that’s relieved. It had seemed like something she would like, though he’d picked up a jar each of the loose leaf decaffeinated matcha and the caffeinated peach, too, as well as a modest container of the shop’s honey. He wanted enough variety that she could have tea here no matter what time of the day it is. Sakura’s apartment is vastly superior to his own in terms of variety of things to do, and he hadn’t been sure if she would want to come by again, but it’s good to be prepared, and he’d reasoned that if she didn’t, he could simply deposit the jars and honey discreetly into her contraband drawer sometime.

The scent of sencha overwhelms his nostrils as he sits, intermixing with the aroma of the soup. A mug filled with it is placed next to his bowl; she brewed his first, it seems. He takes to the distraction of food and drink rapidly, bringing a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.

It’s just as excellent as the last time. He savors the way it soothes his throat even as his neck continues in its rogue goal of staying stubbornly blazing. Hearty chunks of chicken, noodles, and a minuscule mushroom slide down his esophagus, drenching everything in a different heat, one that’s relieving. He takes a sip from the mug, after, and it’s definitely stronger than he usually prepares it, but he can't taste the honey much, as she said.

He's alarmed when a muffled sniffle intermixes with the sound of jars being picked up and pushed back into the cupboard. Sasuke watches Sakura uncertainly out of the corner of his vision as she closes the front of the cabinet, and sure enough, she brings one of her hands to her face as if to wipe tears from her eyes.

Now it’s guilt that runs aflame down his spine like a fuse, though this time it burrows sharp into his gut. It wasn’t at all his intention to make her cry.

He experiences a grand moment of internal conflict as he returns his gaze to the table, torn between rising to his feet to do something akin to wiping her tears away clumsily - her name is on the tip of his tongue - and staying put to cede her privacy, as it’s possible she didn’t want him to see that she was crying; she turned the kitchen light off herself, after all. He also doesn’t know if she’s taking anything for conjunctivitis; he washed his hand well, but he doesn’t want to chance giving it to her if she doesn’t have it already.

The remaining water in the saucepan creates a small echo as it’s poured into a cup, shortly followed by a spoon chiming against ceramic as it stirs the contents; then, there are soft footsteps.

“Sakura-”

He is saved from the decision in short order. At his left, she shifts his hair away from his eye and cheekbone with solicitous gentleness prior to pressing her lips there. They linger longer than they have in the past, achingly tender.

“That was sweet of you,” she breathes as her lips depart his skin, voice a little shaky. Even through his fever, the warmth sears him, drizzling down his lungs on the inhale and into his heart. “Thank you.”

When she takes her seat across from him, he sees that her eyes are glassy, reflectant in the lamplight and tempered with such love that it makes him ache.

The dinner is drawn out, yet comfortably quiet in the way that many of their shared meals tend to be. Spoons clink against ceramic bowls and the inside of Sakura’s cup as she stirs her brewing tea. Mugs are raised and lowered, occupying paltry and ever-shifting circumferences. Sasuke puts away two helpings to the tune of it, the soft rhythms of shared life. His throat feels a bit less like sandpaper by the conclusion of it.

“I’d like to check on you tomorrow, too,” Sakura says once they’ve done the dishes and stowed the leftover soup in his refrigerator, carrying over the routine they’ve fallen into at her place just as easily here. She’s standing near his doorway with her bag shrugged over her shoulder, sandals pulled on and twisting the spare key nervously in her fingers at her side.

“Okay,” he murmurs, glimpsing pointedly in the direction of her hand, then back to her to show he understands what she’s asking him. She can keep it as far as he’s concerned - it’s not like he has any use for it, anyway, and he knows Sakura is nothing if not cognizant and respectful of his boundaries, possibly overly so - but perhaps that’s a conversation for tomorrow.

“Okay,” she agrees, flashing him a dazzling smile. Her digits close around the key more surely, fidgeting coming to a standstill as her dimple sinks into existence.

There is an expectant pause where there is usually some sort of kissing, but even if they’re both on the antibiotic, his mouth still tinges with a little dryness now that he’s not consuming some sort of hot liquid. Coughing all over her is the last thing he wants to do.

Sakura exhales slowly. “Well… I’ll see you tomorrow, Sasuke-kun. Good night.”

“...Good night.”

Sasuke stays rooted by the door once she’s gone, lock long since clicked into place for him a second time and her visage burned into his retinas. Torpidly, carefully, he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the threshold.

How is it possible for someone’s mere presence to transform a space in such a way?

He would have been terribly bored - irritated, even - in his apartment alone this evening, and he knows as sure as the sky is blue that any soup he crafted alone wouldn’t have tasted half as good as what Sakura prepared for him.

Reasonably, Sasuke is aware that such things are possible, though he learned that lesson the first time in reverse. He recalls it vividly as he traipses to the memorial stone to water what he’s planted, the way in which someone’s absence robs a house, a backyard, an entire district of all joy.

He shrugs off his shirt once he’s sojourned back home in favor of doubling up on his comforters; the top was coated in sweat from the humid walk. Both blankets are clean currently, he reasons, and if he has them, he might as well use them.

The sheets are cool to his skin initially, a nice feeling against his still fevered skin as he suspected they might be. The blankets enwrap him comfortably, endlessly warm.

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Sometimes Sasuke contemplates what happens after people die. He’s dreamed about it often, ensnared in nightmares of eighty-six bodies or otherwise: if it hurts or if it’s peaceful, like sinking into sleep, and if there is something after all of this. He perceives that there is some truth to reincarnation from their encounter with the Sage of the Six Paths, and that has set him slightly to ease, in the sense that in some liminal way his clan lives on: his brother, his mother and his father, his aunt and uncle, and the rest.

It has also given him additional questions, though. Does part of their soul stay adrift endlessly, clutching their memories like a keepsake to their chest, a threaded nexus tied to their previous life? Or does the spirit depart completely into their next existence, flitting to the most fitting and available vessel to embark on a new annal? The thought of his mother not remembering him or the lilies in their backyard makes his chest ache terribly, brittle and easily broken, and Itachi forgetting him is another agony entirely.

He also wonders if part of their memories could be geographical, tethered haphazardly in pieces to places they loved in life. He knows his Aunt Uruchi loved the bakery with its smell of toasting senbei and pastries. He suspects Itachi enjoyed the bakery, too, with his affinity for dango and other sweet things. He vaguely recalls a festival when they were very young in which they polished off twenty multicolored sticks together and ended up with bellyaches. They’d used the wooden remains to construct a form reminiscent of a simplistic house, lantern glow illuminating the scant lines in the dark, ephemeral and easily ended when it came time to collect them and embark on the journey home.

Sasuke likes to think Itachi also enjoyed the pond he took him to occasionally, the wildflowers they picked to take home for their mother, and the resultant scent of budding blooms that lilted through hallways with dark floors on those handfuls of occasions, intermingling with the scent of their salt-grilled catch come dinner. He knows his mother loved their yard, and their kitchen, too, lilting with freshly brewed jasmine tea in the morning or the quiet din of family once everyone sat down for a formal meal. His mother plucked a bone from his mouth once, a small one he’d nearly swallowed. He remembers her softspoken instructions to be more careful, voice comforting as she reached to the back of his throat methodically with tweezers in the soft light of early evening.

But he is not sure of the sorts of places his father liked, or if there even were any, and that compels worse hurt. Thinking of his father is bruising and convoluted in general, as there is much Sasuke would like to know of him, and further he would like to say to him - most of it, should it ever bubble out of his lungs to be lost in the interminable abyss, is anger - but he was so closed off in life that Sasuke can only wonder aimlessly in his death. His mother was the only person who truly knew his father at his core, he thinks, silent as he was and unyielding in his convictions. He mulls on whether their marriage was truly happy or if that was colored darker by the planned coup, too. He cognizes that his mother likely spent her final days sick with worry about that; Uchiha Mikoto was a caring woman, everything he could have asked for in a mother.

It makes Sasuke doubly furious with him. Didn't he know the risks, what it would mean for the children of their clan if they failed? It is no easy thing, to stumble over the bodies of their ilk again and again and again, the Uchiha children, adolescents and toddlers and one newborn, desperately clutched by a cowering mother in an alley, drained white and nauseatingly pallid, and he still can’t get their faces out of his mind, the way their noses were identical when viewed from the side as he lurched over them in his cowering, tripped-

Stop.

It also makes him furious with Konoha, the most bellicostic he’s been in a long while since the Land of Iron a year ago when he last dreamed this dream, passing through and revisiting his greatest failures, Danzou and the fucking council that forced this further cataclysm of an already cursed lineage on him. Didn't they know annexing an entire clan and letting wounds fester would lead to spilled blood eventually? What the fuck is the point of a village, of shared civilization, if its malfeasant corruption gorges itself on the innocent over and over and over? There is only so much one can take of their life boiling away in their veins with untempered rage until they snap -

Not their blood , a grotesque susurrus inside him whispers, one that envisions the aspostates that signed his clan’s death warrant and one he has desperately tried to drought out of existence to be replaced with better things over the past couple of years: Kakashi’s particular brand of cutting and commiserate wisdom that lingers years after he’s spoken it, Naruto’s relentless optimism and the sense of vying brotherhood that reminds him of Itachi ad finitum - You’re trying to be alone again and I can’t let that happen! - Sakura’s unwavering kindness and altruistic affection - What if I said… I’d go with you? - the feel of her seal against the tips of his outstretched fingers, her soft lips against his as she threads her fingers through his hair, the way the jasmine plant dangling above her window warps a perfect chiaroscuro to frame the freckle on her cheek once the sun has sunk below the horizon just so -

Not their blood, so why would they care?

Take notice of what light does, to everyth-

Corrosion-

For now, for now, for now-

Yes, Sasuke likes to think his years away changed him in at least some marginally minute way. Yet his subconscious returns him to this place cyclically to reread moribund chapters, the single lone instance in which he thought maybe, just maybe, his father was proud of him. He’s still searching for answers that will never come, from a man he has come to realize he holds a monumental amount of resentment towards.

He almost doesn’t wish to contemplate this, as he recognizes it is ages away and much can happen between now and then - and also he is utterly undeserving and woefully ill-suited to care for a child, both physically and otherwise - but if he is ever blessed enough to someday be granted one, he does not want to be like his father. He doesn’t want to perpetuate this sort of aimlessness, the weight of expectation and a mentality of being a slave to blood. This gloom and despondency and misplaced pride will be his end as it was Fugaku's, he knows, if he doesn't rinse the wound out on occasion, acutely feel its sting, its agony.

In this anamnesis, he is barefoot on a dock as he always is, tiny feet placed firmly atop a thin dusting of snow. Orange flames spout from his mouth, chapping his lips, crowning gold and climbing higher and higher into the brumous sky as his throat dries with the heat and amelioration, a thin veiling of illusory safety that was everything to him when he was small and alone and desperate for some sense of control, grasping at straws.

When he turns, coughing from the smoke and faintest remnant of crushed pills pelted into his eyes by bitter winds, he half expects even now to hear the lone set of words from his father that he has tried to replay in his head thousands of times.

As expected of my son. The only way the words live on is via an echo of Sasuke’s own voice speaking them into existence again. He can remember the visuals perfectly with near photographic recall, the day that his father told him that: the ripe fever of life and late summer, the rippling of the leaves a stark contrast to the chill that haunts him in this overplayed dream where he clutches an emptied and mangled marigold prescription bottle. He watches now with his brother’s eyes as he throws it skyward and torches his own name out of existence with the last of his chakra, all of seven years old.

He can perfectly recall his mother's lilting halcyon inflection - When we're alone, all he talks about is you - and he can remember both of his brother's last words to him - I'm sorry, Sasuke. This is the last time , and No matter what happens from now on, I will love you forever -

But he cannot for the life of him remember what his father’s voice sounded like; not the inflection, nor the tone or tenor. It was the only time it ever felt like he held an ounce of affection for him, fleeting and gone the next hour. He only remembers the way their family crest looked as he said it, presented to him boldly as his father turned away from him.

And isn’t that just the richest metaphor? He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

He doesn't know what it says about him, but he assumes it's nothing good. The phrase inferiority complex has crossed his mind on many such occasions. As he has aged, he's reviewed it with fresh eyes, and wondered if it was all an act, some passing dalliance to satisfy his mother. Shinobi are capable liars, and he knows his father was one of the best. It would be easy for him to feign the mirage of happiness about saying such things.

What would his father’s face have betrayed? Would there have been any certitude had he caught up with him on the walk home instead of trailing a few steps behind in his shadow? Uchiha Fugaku was not a man who smiled often. Conversely, his mouth was wrinkled from being set in a frown so regularly that there was a permanent line just below his lip. Sasuke deems he himself will expediently encounter an identical issue as he ages, though primarily he also believes both he and Itachi took more after their mother, physically. He sees her nose each time he views himself tiredly in the mirror. Her eye shape, too, and the inky black hair, a shade darker than their father’s.

It will be fitting, he thinks, he knows, to watch his mother’s agreeable features bleed out of him and reveal what he’s always been.

It would hurt her deeply, if she heard that thought.

He loathes that about himself.

He loathes a lot of things about himself.

There is no one behind him to offer platitudes or words of encouragement in this particular brand of dream; there never is. The dock of the pond within the Uchiha District and the shore surrounding it, just around the corner of another dead relative’s house, is empty, packed with a fresh dusting of snow and charred blue particles. The wind is blowing, though, almighty chilling and true, making branches ripple in the zephyr as it carries away the gray and the meager amount of heat he's created with it. He outgrew his coat that first winter, and his shoes, too.

“Where did you go?” He is compelled to ask, intonation a scant whisper against slate air rippling as if this whole thing is an illusion - Am I caught in Tsukuyomi again? - but there is no answer. That used to terrify him when he was much younger; he had been afraid his father was trapped in the childlike depiction of hell he’d conjured up in his brain, and that that was why he couldn’t really recollect the way he spoke, the gruffness or whether his voice was tenor or bass.

He returns to land, taking extra care of his steps, and wonders, if nothing else, if the earth will remember his bare feet, a sign that he’s still here, sinking through the snow and other remnants that divide them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He awakens to the smell of tea and rice and something else. It’s disorienting, tumultuary, the feel of a warm blanket at his toes and soft noises clinking from the kitchen when just prior there had been cold snow and acutely lonely roads. It distracts him a bit from the morose stinging in his eyes, enough that he can rapidly blink it away, forcibly shrugging off the melancholy as if it was nothing more than a weighty winter cloak, ushered over his shoulders like the layer of his second comforter and pushed back down deep.

“...Sakura?” He calls once he’s been awake for a minute, speech cracking a little at the last syllable, still groggy as he sits up in bed and promptly regrets that decision; the change in position triggers a fresh pounding in his head, aching thumping at his temple as his blood rushes. He reaches for the water at his bedside table with first his left arm, a phantom sensation echoing in empty space before he remembers to use his right.

There is the sound of soft footsteps as he gulps down tepid liquidity, and then a tentative knock at his bedroom door.

“Sasuke-kun?” Her voice resounds faintly from the other side of the wood, as if she’s unsure if she actually heard him call her name.

He blinks, unsure what the hold-up is, then realizes through the fever and rapidly materializing headache that she’s being polite.

“...You can come in.”

The knob turns, and in she comes, very much awake and wearing what he now recognizes as her summer training gear, the cropped top and short skirt framed by dark transparent mesh. He pointedly takes notice of the clock, then, for multiple reasons that are all overshadowed by the fact that his internal monologue has undertaken a fatuously lascivious turn, greedily seeking distraction and here in his bedroom, no less. He then puts together that it’s still somewhat early, only six thirty; she's dropped by to prepare breakfast before her spar with Ino.

For him.

He tries to get a grip on the warmth that’s nudging at his heart, insistent in its beckoning. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s made him food, but he knows she’s occupied on Mondays till after lunch. She’s gone out of her way to do such a kindness for him, added additional things to her schedule.

“Hey-” she says softly as he turns back to her; she’s taking a step toward him with a mug of what appears to be steaming water and the pill bottle he left on the table. He stares at the marigold plastic, slightly desaturated and less contrasting here in the darkness of his room. “Er. I mean… Good morning. I was up early, and I… I thought I’d make you breakfast.”

He nods slowly as his eyes prick at her sweetness. Now that the door’s sitting open, he would recognize the aroma of ochazuke anywhere. He’s never directly voiced to anyone that it’s one of his favorite breakfasts, though he supposes it’s rather easy to piece together that he would like it given his other food preferences. He made it several times when they were away on missions as Genin, too.

Still. In addition to all of the other qualities that encompass who she is, Sakura is as observant as she is kind.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, heart swelling with the relief of being cared for, simple and true, even as his throat aches and his head pounds.

Her lips tilt upwards into a smile, and it is then that he notices, pulled back to normalcy and something providential that’s swelling in his chest, finally tearing his vision away from the pill bottle, that her cheeks are bright red for some reason; the light from the cracked door has her illuminated.

“Of course.” Her focus falls to the glass of stale water he’s put back on his bedside table, then the mug in her hands. “Want me to..?”

Sasuke nods prior to repeating himself. “Thank you.” His words come out raspy and raw.

She pays it no mind, still smiling with scarlet cheeks as she places both the mug and the pill bottle on the surface, taking the glass in exchange. “Of course,” she murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly prior to his reaching for the pill bottle.

“I’ll… um. I’ll go… watch the rice,” she stammers as he sets to opening the lid with his teeth. She turns to go, then pauses, casting her focus back at him, though the trajectory of her eyesight seems directed mainly at the area above his head. “Do you still like ochazuke? I thought, maybe…” She trails off and purses her mouth as he finally pries off the lid, setting it aside.

“I do,” Sasuke discloses immediately, pausing in his ministration of procuring a pill from the bottle, as he recognizes the tone of her voice and the expression she’s wearing as being betwixt and between, unsure of her assumptions or his availability for breakfast together when ill, or, perhaps, uncertain if she’s welcome in his room. “I have it often. Thank you.”

Her posture relaxes completely and any uncertainty dissolves.

“Oh,” she breathes, lips curving upwards. “Good.” She lingers a second longer, jade eyes soft on his directly before she turns and trails out of his bedroom, closing the door behind her.

He stares at the threshold for a lengthy spread of seconds, thinking. He then turns slightly to try to ascertain what she was looking at above and behind him - perhaps some sort of spider managed to entrench the corner with a few spools of web in the night - but there’s nothing he can discern aside from the small amount of texture coating the walls.

Perplexed, he reaches for the mug, pill bottle placed atop the blanket in his lap. A measured sip floods the pill down first, drenching his insides in blessed heat and ease. It feels so incredibly good on his throat that he quickly drains the cup. It does nothing for his head, he realizes once he shifts slightly, extending his arm to place the mug, then the pill bottle, back at his bedside.

A pause to alleviate the pounding has him locking his gaze onto the inscription on the bottle’s label.

Uchiha, Sasuke.

Haruno, Sakura.

He muses less than fleetingly on empty space, the ever-changing weight of melancholia, and the way the earth feels beneath one’s feet.

Turns out that rising doesn’t do much for his head, either, but he does it anyway, padding first to the closet for a change of clothes.

It is then that he promptly recalls that he did not wear a shirt to bed. His face warms at the quandary, realizing he directly invited his girlfriend into his bedroom while half-dressed.

In addition to a little self-consciousness, satisfaction begins to unfold in his belly, because he gathers, unraveling and rewinding the interaction for closer examination, that Sakura was definitely not unaffected.

He journeys to the bathroom to apply the eye ointment and brush his teeth thoroughly before joining Sakura for breakfast, shaking off this new development that he’s sure will beset his dreams the next time he’s asleep and his endocrine system decides to torture him.

Sakura, still red-cheeked, makes ochazuke with nori instead of sesame seeds, he learns.

He finds he likes it better.

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He drifts back to sleep with a full stomach, slipping away into genuine rest in the hopes of cowing his fever, and with it, his headache, into submission until the early afternoon.

This sleep is dreamless, deep and paradisiacally empty aside from a strange clunking noise or two, no room for ruminating on the nature of omneity and complexes.

It’s a sign that the antibiotic is working that he awakens as he hears the key twist in the door. He’s tired, but not as much as earlier this morning or yesterday. His throat is less dry, too, he realizes.

He then sits up in bed and promptly discovers that he still has a headache.

“Sakura,” he calls lowly, just loud enough to be heard through the door as he blinks, vision adjusting to the light now that he’s pushed aside the blankets that were previously encasing his head in darkness.

“Sasuke-kun,” she answers. There’s the sound of an object being placed on the table before she raps on his bedroom door twice.

You don’t need to knock, he would say if the events of earlier this morning had not come rushing back to him.

“Come in,” he says instead. He has a shirt on this time, at least.

The door pushes open.

“Hi,” Sakura greets, regard settling on him fully after only a second of delay at the empty space above his head. Her hair is damp and she’s switched into a different set of clothing. There’s an expression on her face that’s hard to describe as anything but dotingly affectionate. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head, eyes finally adjusting to the light. “...I should get up.”

She grins for some reason. “You should,” she agrees, her countenance filled with levity.

He arches a lone brow in question, at which she chuckles, soft.

“Naruto gave me lunch to deliver to you,” she informs him, looking utterly amused. “And you’ll never guess from where.”

Sasuke exhales heavily, rolling his eyes prior to shifting to rise and promptly pausing at what it does to his head. He apparently doesn’t succeed in minimizing his wincing; before he can continue with the motion, he sees her smile morph unmistakably into concern.

“...Do you have a headache?” She questions softly after a lengthy quiet, stepping away from the door frame and closer to his bed. “I can fix it,” she adds, just prior to halting a foot away.

He blinks up at her, immediately reaching the conclusion that he’s been incredibly stupid. Of course she can fix headaches. It just… didn’t occur to him to remember that, or to ask. Conceivably it could be the fever, clouding his judgment.

“Just… if you want,” she tacks on hastily, fingers twitching at her sides. He realizes she’s holding herself back from reaching for him without his express consent.

Sasuke nods, then, just once, but very sure.

“...Please,” he whispers, shifting more so that he’s closer to the edge of the bed. Her fingers stop their anxious repetitions as his feet finally shift to the floor, upper body now easy for her to reach.

He contemplates if this oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal will ever cease in making his affection for her feel like it’s overflowing from a teacup filled to the brim. Sakura’s expression is unendingly soft and a bantam smile plays at her lips as she closes the rest of the distance between them, fingers coming to rest expertly at his temples. Ten points of contact coalesce as she threads her chakra into his being, alleviating the pressure from whatever sort of swelling causes such headaches slowly but surely.

He maintains eye contact with her this time - she’s so short that he’s nearly eye-level with her while sitting - studying the small nacreous circle of jade and tilleul at the outer edges of her iris; the black of her pupils have expanded to fit nearly the entire contents of the space, but there are still microscopic flecks of gold here and there that catch the light. It’s challenging to pull himself back from activating his Sharingan to capture the way she’s looking at him just now. The convolution of tomoe could etch it into his memories perfectly, he knows.

He concludes that she’s studying his eyes, too, or rather, his brother’s. He wonders silently if they appear terribly different from his own eyes, close up. Sakura’s observant; she might be able to discern if there is any noticeable variance from when they were younger, enough to demarcate between the old ones and the new.

Eventually her chakra tapers and her fingers trail away.

“Better?” She questions.

It feels as if his heart is in his throat when he answers.

“Better.” He holds her gaze for a moment longer, exhaling contentedly and struck stupid with the urge to pull her closer to him so he can breathe in more of her scent. “Thank you.”

Her lips curve upwards, and he wants to kiss her badly.

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning and biting her lip once.

She then surprises him by leaning in, apparently overcome by the same inclination as him. It’s a chaste kiss, achingly slow and gentle, unmarred from the pressure that’s been plaguing his head. Her lashes slide against the highest point of his cheekbones.

Her cheeks are ablaze when she finally pulls back, darker in color than her hair.

“You… should probably eat it while it’s still warm,” she reasons quietly, smile guilty.

“...Probably,” he agrees, taking in the green of her irises one more time before tearing his ocularity away.

He rises to trail after her to the dining table, where he finds a to-go container of ramen. The clear lid of the styrofoam container has been haphazardly carved into sloppy handwriting, he assumes by way of the tip of a kunai.

Sorry. Get better soon, asshole.

-Naruto!

The tail end lettering of the word asshole drifts down the side of the container onto the styrofoam, as the moron clearly ran out of room to finish off his sloppy scrawl. Sasuke resists the urge to shake his head, settling for rolling his eyes instead.

It's a nice gesture, he supposes as examines the soup through the transparent lid: there’s broth swimming with noodles, seared chicken, and chunks of spring onions and mushrooms. His brow furrows and he looks up, then, to Sakura.

"...You already ate?" He questions. Her slow cooker is still on his counter, the pot laden with soup from yesterday in his fridge.

"With Ino," Sakura confirms. "Naruto caught me walking to the library and ran to go get it."

He blinks, curious that she’s visited the library. He doesn’t suppose she’s been there much on her own since he returned; they usually go together. He’ll need to return his own books in the next week or two, come to think of it, since he’s finished the one on the Land of Tea now. It’s sitting next to the lamp on the kitchen table, stacked on top of Art From Around the World . Sakura’s tote bag is lying there, too.

“I think I convinced him to push our movie night to next week,” Sakura offers; apparently his face belied his curiosity. “Ino said Sai was wondering if you’d finished the art book; he finished the one you recommended.”

Sasuke nods. “...I did.” He decides to keep his books until next week, then, if Sakura’s already exchanged hers. He can reread one of them to keep busy, since he feels more awake today. He’d rather go with Sakura than alone anyways, and then he can take it to Sakura’s for the movie. He’s mildly curious what sort of strange comment Sai will have on the book about kenjutsu.

It would probably be fine to voice that, he decides. “...I’ll bring it to the movie.”

Sakura grins at him in response, before her body language morphs into that which belies bashfulness.

“So… Do you feel any better today?” She questions quietly, seemingly searching his expression for something. “Or do you need more sleep, do you think?”

He blinks, searching her own in return.

“I’m awake,” he finally answers honestly, chest warming at the tone in which she asked the question. He recognizes the way she speaks, timid and almost unsure, as the way she acts when she’s about to suggest they do something together, though she shouldn’t be. There are few things that he wouldn’t agree to if they involve her.

“...Better now with no headache,” he adds gratefully after a moment in which she appears to wait patiently for an answer to the other part of his question; it’s hard for him to focus on words when it feels as though his chest is unfurling behind his ribs, flooded with warmth and metaphorical sunshine. It’s the truth, besides; the only thing plaguing him at the moment is the minor hint of a dry throat, which will ease after he eats the ramen from the dobe.

“...I’m glad,” Sakura murmurs after a sustained pause in which he gathers that she’s contemplative. Her gaze flicks to her tote bag on the table for some reason, and then she’s reaching into her pocket, and out comes the key.

“I’ll give this back to you, then,” she says softly, smiling as she presents the flash of nickel-brass to him with an open palm, its polished sheen bathed in light drifting from the living room window. Her focus shifts to her tote bag again briefly. “And I was thinking…”

He reaches out silently, vastly enjoying the way her eyes widen as he presses her fingers back around the key with his own. He holds them like that for a second to emphasize his unmitigated insistence, enjoying the warmth of a hand dwarfed by his own. He momentarily wishes for his other arm, so he could use it to press her fingers in place, too.

“Keep it,” Sasuke counters in a husky voice, amused at the way her mouth has parted in surprise and simultaneously looking forward to a few days from now, when he can get back to pressing his lips to hers on her couch, until they’re plump with evidence of their kissing.

“Um.” She beholds him with an endearingly dazed look etched into her features. Dark pupils examine his hand clasped around hers and then ascend upwards again. Her face flushes with color the longer he looks.

“...Keep it?” She finally whispers, tone questioning as if she’s unsure she’s heard him correctly. Her fine pink brows have risen as high as her facial muscles seem to allow in surprise.

“Keep it,” he affirms, squeezing her fingers around the cool metal once more ahead of allowing his lone hand to fall away.

Her pupils fall to her palm again, slender fingers wrapped around the key, before traveling back up to hold his smitten stare.

Her face is as red as an heirloom tomato. He thinks she’s gorgeous like this.

“...Okay,” she finally mumbles, apparently completely flustered. “I…”

Sasuke gives her a look that he hopes conveys both his seriousness on the matter and his amusement simultaneously.

Her mouth closes once, then opens, then closes again. Her lips are gorgeous, too, endlessly distracting.

“You’re sure?” She questions softly, finally.

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in amusement, because there have been few things in his life that he’s been more certain of than this.

“I’m sure.”

Long lashes skim her own cheekbones as she blinks before acceptance washes over her. A wide smile adorns her features as she returns the key to its place in her pocket.

Her own mouth twitches ahead of directing her focus to her tote bag again.

“Um. So…” Jade eyes flicker to him again hesitantly, blushing in a manner he finds charming. “So I was thinking. Just… if you’re feeling better. Since we’re both contagious until later today, I mean. I… Well, I talked with Ichika through the window and she set the books outside for me. So…”

She pauses, inspecting his countenance hesitantly prior to smiling again and reaching for her bag.

“If, maybe you wanted some company… If you don’t need to sleep more…”

She pulls out Hazel Wood and Isthmus, the book about the fisherman Ichika recommended to him. The spines catch the light from the window, too.

“...Book club?” She finishes in a questioning voice that’s euphonious to his ears, a suggestion of shared affinity and her smile turning sheepish.

His eyes soften.

“Yes,” he murmurs soft and sure, initiating oblivion by holding her gaze. “...Book club.”

Sakura beams, and he wonders for the upteenth occasion if she knows she’s the brightest, most felicific thing in his life, the breath in his lungs, intenerating and lambent sunlight on seafoam and all the rest.

He eats his meal while she chatters, asking questions at appropriate intervals when his mouth isn’t full. He’ll begrudgingly admit that it’s good while ill; he supposes he accepts Naruto’s apology, though he recognizes that it certainly won’t be the last time he’s teased by the idiot. He silently wonders if Sakura endures the same annoyances from their third teammate when he’s not present, the thinly-veiled raillery and endless stupidity.

That thought is somehow both comforting and amusing. He ponders it a moment further while depositing the last chunk of mushroom into his mouth, chewing methodically.

The pleasant thrumming in his chest momentarily hushes in quiescence when Sakura mentions, “I think you might have a new neighbor soon.”

Sasuke blinks, pausing his sipping of the last bit of broth. The sudden stillness reminds him of the Land of Beasts, the way the lush grasslands stop swaying just before an ugly storm rolls in.

“...What?”

Sakura tips her head to the side, the direction of the wall he shares with the woman and her child next door.

“Your neighbor. I saw her taking boxes downstairs.”

Ah.

The mysterious scrapings and clunkings suddenly achieve perfect retrospective clarity. She in all probability planned this, he realizes glumly; listening carefully to steps and visitors and doorways, searching for the opportunity to make her escape, surreptitiously moving things out and elsewhere to get away from him.

He ruminates briefly if her lease ended this month or if she broke it early, if she paid a penalty in her desperation to get her and her child as far away from him as possible.

There’s a moment in which he becomes keenly aware that he has the volition:

Let this knowledge consume him, allow the inner voice of the parts of himself he loathes to speak.

Or, to focus on the good things that are right in front of him, split evenly and clearly to his cognition as a prism divides light into its according colors, easily recognized as the rose color of Sakura’s hair, the rich berry of her scent, the pale peach of her complexion, the gold and seafoam green of her eyes, the calm azure of her gentle touch and the lilting, mesmeric lilac and honey complementaries of her voice, soft and rich with candor and compassion.

Sakura shifts slightly, surveying him with a curious expression as if she doesn’t understand his sudden disquiet - she probably doesn’t - and a sunbeam settles on the right half of her face and its corresponding shoulder. Two more freckles have inked into existence on the expanse between her trapezius and her neck, a testament to her morning spent outdoors training with Ino.

In an instant, he knows his choice.

“Hm,” he says noncommittally, rising to discard the container and place his chopsticks in the sink. “Guess so.” He takes in the newest flecks dotting her skin again as he passes behind her, allowing his gaze to linger, though he is excruciatingly aware that it will later drive him mad, this overwhelming urge to drag his lips across her skin there, up the column of her neck in a trifold of reverence and adoration and utmost, aching apology.

He’ll contact his landlord, he decides, and pay the penalty for her if there was one. He hopes that, wherever the woman and her child end up, it will bring her comfort and a sense of safety. He knows what it’s like to go without.

He also knows what it’s like to find such senses again, and maybe this is the point: to exist in the blink of an eye in divine space, to be cared for in the iterum, in the coruscating flash that they inhabit the earth. There’s augury to be found in place, surely, the compelling fibers of memory interlocking at the corners of one’s consciousness and a corollary post factum, but it principally tethers back to the person that made the event memorable in the first place, whether it’s a fisherman returning to dry land following a long journey or a girl and her mother inheriting an estate rife with mystifying writings or Sakura taking her side of his couch, closer to him than the last time; the redolence of tart berry overwhelms him, fresh and new.

He admires the way the highest points of her face look when bathed in sunshine, smooth lineaments arching and adorned aurelian, before he realizes for the thousandth time that he’s staring and settles into the mystery book instead.

They read until evenfall, content for plenary horizons to slip into violescent gradients as they discuss the more remarkable points of both books by lamplight to the scent of soup and tea. Sakura tries the decaffeinated matcha, and he watches quietly as she ladles honey into her mug, shooting him a glance that can only be described as sweet and highly appreciative, cheeks glowing deep red.

They return to the couch after dinner, antibiotic anodynes swallowed and roughly halfway through their respective texts.

He thinks he dozes around eight or nine in the evening, book at his chest as he had thought he was just resting his eyes for a minute. Sasuke blinks groggily in the direction of Sakura’s side of the couch as he awakens from the nap; at seeing it empty, his attention flits accordingly to the clock.

Eleven thirty, he notes, shifting ahead of the realization that one of his comforters has been laid carefully over him. She must have switched off the lamp they were reading by, too. He blinks, staring at the cast of moonglow atop the fabric in the desaturated night as perspicuous warmth pours into his belly. Sasuke marvels at the feeling for longer than is stringently necessary, examining the way the blanket is tucked in slightly around his feet as his vision adjusts. It was probably a challenge to situate, especially without waking him; being tall comes with some disadvantages.

Eventually he rises, turning the direction of the kitchen - it was hot today, too, he gathered, so the lily plants likely need another drink - and stops short, eyes zeroing in on that which is out of place.

There is a lone key laid purposefully on the corner of the dining table that is not his own, glinting gold in the scant sliver of moonlight cascading in from the living room window.

His chest ignites anew as it coalesces with his fingers. He turns it over in the soft glimmer of night, relishing the way it feels in his hand, every tactile cut of the metal and every small scratch from extended use. Judging by the amount of wear and the fact that she had it with her, he thinks it must be her original copy, the one she herself has carried around since first residing there instead of a spare.

It feels real in his palm, the physicality of it honey sweet and sinking into his very bone marrow.

For now, he thinks. It clinks into place purposefully next to his own on the key ring before he departs.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sasuke #sakura #sorry this is VERY late it's just life is so FRUSTRATINGLY BUSY

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nightlylaments · 1 year

Text

SWOT | UPDATE NO. 3

date — 04/14/23 wordcount — 73.5k

so, I've come to terms with the fact that I don't think I'm gonna finish this draft by my deadline in May, but I'm ok with that. It was kinda unrealistic anyways, considering how busy I get during April and May due to school/finals. I have started writing again, so that's good, but I've still been busy. I only have 14 more chapters to write, and like three of them aren't supposed to be long. Also, since I've been procrastinating on writing, I've been thinking of what I want the book cover to look like, so I have an idea of that, and if it comes together the way I want, I think it will look amazing. Anyways hopefully, the next update will be better. For this excerpt, I'm just gonna let you guys read the opening to SWOT because I would really like some feedback on it.

TRIGGERS | n/a

(EXCERPTS + TAG LIST BELOW)

an excerpt from chapter 1

It wasn't strange to see it raining this far out into the autumn season, yet the dark clouds casting thick shadows over the heights of Furon made me uneasy. It wasn't raining hard yet, just a slight drizzle, but I knew the weather would only get worse.

I sat between my friend's legs as her gentle fingers combed through my tangled hair. We had stayed up late into the wee hours of the night and woke early this morning to finish the style; now, there was only one patch left. I played with my fingers and chewed the dead skin on my lips, trying to sit still, but I couldn't help the antsy feeling that had crept into my bones overnight.

Mazu hummed softly in my ear, but it did nothing to calm me. I sat there for a few more minutes as she finished the last few braids and oiled my scalp. When she finished, I still did not move from my position. I leaned back, resting my head on her thigh.

“Do you think he will come?” I asked, pulling a few of my braids to the front to play with them. The prince had been gone for months fighting a war in the north, and there had been whispers in the manor that he would be returning home soon.

I glanced up at Mazu’s calm face as she took a moment to think, now brushing her shoulder-length dark hair. “When it comes to Prince Sadad, there is no room to assume,” she answered truthfully, rubbing the warm oil behind her own ears. Mazu was the definition of calm, but I had known her long enough to see the worry on her face.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST.

#w.swot #OC: NEZI'A #WIP EXCERPT: SWOT #WIP UPDATES #MY WRTITNG #BLACK WRITBLR #WRITEBLR #WRITEBLR COMMUNITY #BLACK CHARACTERS #BLACK WRITERS

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drangeax · 2 years

Text

To know you like the back of my hand

Pairing: Aqua/Terra

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,556

Summary: His mental booklet didn’t have an answer to that question yet. When Aqua deviated from her norm, he began a process to try and figure her out. It helped, most of the time, and he would get to the root of the problem…eventually.

Chapter 1: Mente

Read on AO3

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Summer...hot, humid, and bothersome.

It was a quiet night, except for the whirling of rarely-used ceiling fans and the sway of papers.

Terra skimmed the book before him, taking hasty notes. Studying was a hassle no matter what, and the heat made it particularly tedious. He exhaled sharply, his hot breath offering no relief as he glanced at the clock. Ten, still. He pulled another piece of paper and began drafting the essay due tomorrow evening, his quill unable to keep up with his hand. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave the suffocating library, return to his room and be free of his damn clothes.

Aqua sat across from him, brow furrowed and cheeks flushed while writing madly. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and fanned herself with her free hand. Nothing unusual for this time of the year. Except she kept stealing glances at him while occasionally playing with her hair—too short to stay in a ponytail, yet she kept attempting the action. A little tell. She was restless, physically there but mentally far away, engrossed in overly complicated and unnecessary calculations. Years of friendship made him an expert in Aqua habits.

Like him, she was almost down to her basics: shorts and a top. She eyed her white sleeves before discarding them in the chair next to her. Gaze fixed on her papers, she shifted in her seat and hunched over. Her ponytail came undone, and there she went messing with it again.

"Just leave it alone. It's distracting you," he said. Their eyes met briefly before he returned to his work. It was distracting to him as well. "And straighten your back. That posture's terrible on your back."

Aqua sighed and closed her book abruptly. “Let’s finish this tomorrow. It’s kind of late. Don’t you think?”

He ran out of ink mid-sentence, dipped his quill, and finished his thought before looking at her. Odd. She was usually the one to lose sleep in lieu of studying and completing assignments on time. In fact, she fell asleep in the library more times than he could count.

What’s gotten into her?

His mental booklet didn’t have an answer to that question yet. When Aqua deviated from her norm, he began a process to try and figure her out. It helped, most of the time, and he would get to the root of the problem… eventually. He was too exhausted to even think right now.

“I do feel worn out.” He glanced at the clock again. It wasn’t even eleven. "Let's not push it," he said, collecting their books.

He walked past three shelves and turned left, stowing each book in the appropriate section. A misplaced book meant a lecture on order and responsibility from Master Eraqus. Although Aqua hoarded a couple of books in her reading corner, Master Eraqus turned a blind eye to the peculiarity.

“You know, we could skip training in the morning and have it done by breakfast,” he said, returning to their table only to find her chair empty. His gaze traveled to the opposite corner, where he found her by the last window.

Aqua unhooked the latch, opening the window carefully. Night air rushed in, and her hair and the curtains swayed gently in the breeze. She took a deep breath and let out a small sigh of relief. She stared silently into the distance, lost in her thoughts and far away like the stars. It was such an Aqua thing to do.

Terra continued tidying up the mess from the study session: parchment, notes, ink, and quills lay scattered across the table with their unfinished essays. His eyes fell on her assignment—a few paragraphs—full of crossed-out mistakes, uncharacteristic for her. Curious about how she approached the subject, he confirmed she was still by the window before venturing to read her work.

Darkness... is it defined by the absence of light? Or is there more to it than meets the eye? Is it worse when it settles in the mind instead of the heart?

We do not know the answer to these questions, only that we are told to drive it away and give it no quarter in the heart. Yet it is always in our thoughts at all times. We fear suffering from it, just like an incurable disease. It spreads like spilled ink; it scars, corrupts, destroys…

It turns the beautiful into the horrid, the pure into the wicked.

That was it? He stopped and skimmed over another paragraph—four hours of excruciating work in silence, and that was all she had to show for it. It didn’t make sense. She would have written six pages at a minimum by now.

Aqua spoke before he had a chance to. "Have you ever felt something you can't easily put into words?" He placed her papers on his and pretended to rearrange the chairs. She was critical of her work and wouldn't want him to look at it if it was incomplete. "I mean, you think you know what it is, but it's difficult to fully understand," she said, her gaze fixed on him. "Any thoughts on that...?"

Thoughts? He hardly understood the question.

"Like what exactly?" he asked, leaning against the table. His eyes fell on her long stocking-clad legs, pointing away from him. A half-truth?

She blinked twice. “Well, feelings obviously and...” She noticed his stare. “Are you listening at all?”

“ Yes,” he responded as if he hadn't been distracted by her legs.

He understood where she was coming from. Unfortunately, he was the wrong person to ask. When it came to feelings, he had a lot to learn. Suppressing and denying them left no room to deal with them. It was easier to keep his emotions under control if he rarely showed them. A penance to keep the darkness in check.

Perfect unfeeling apprentices with wills as strong as a blade and a heart of stone. It was what Master Eraqus wanted…

“You have to be straightforward if you want my opinion,” he said. “Why are you worried anyway? If you meditate, it’ll go away—"

She frowned. Just listen, her gaze said. He went silent. “I don’t think I want to dismiss it...”

He gestured for her to continue.

“Let’s see…” she said, a hand across her chest, the other under her chin. “I feel off lately." I know. “I daydream frequently, and when I feel this way...I can’t concentrate.” I've noticed. “It gets worse when I’m with…” she trailed off. Her eyes shied away from his and fell to the floor, troubled and guilty. But guilty of what?

Probably something dumb and insignificant, like when she helped Ven pull off a lame prank on him. Maybe she put three teaspoons of sugar in her tea instead of one this morning. Who knows? Or she cheated on an exam. Aqua could never be guilty of anything serious.

On the other hand, this was the time of the day they shared truths and pondered the things that mattered.

Yet, he couldn’t ask directly. Aqua strives to appear collected at all times. She would get on the defensive immediately, blocking and dodging his questions as if it were a fight. Just to maintain that impeccable image of hers. He had to steer away from the topic and make her relax. If he wanted to get anything out of her...

Time had proven Aqua couldn’t think on her feet when caught off guard in a conversation.

"I knew this day would come. You like Ven. Don't you?" he teased.

“What?! No, of course not,” she protested. “I mean, I do like him, just not like that…”

Could she blame him for the assumption?

Aqua pampered and cared for Ven in a way one could easily jump to conclusions. Truth be told, he was a bit jealous of the boy. Still, he wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of attention. Now that he thought about it, she barely spent time with him lately aside from studying and training. Had he done something wrong to merit that?

His hands tightened on the edge of the table. I've been decent...I've behaved. There was no reason for her to treat him differently. And the last time he checked, she couldn't read his mind. All should be right.

She eyed him warily and turned to the window again.

Terra joined her vigil, merely a few feet away from her. The night was in all its splendor, infinite stars adorning the sky—far—off worlds shining bright as every night. Below, the lit path leading to the summit shone spectrally against the surrounding darkness, small halos showing the way back into the safety of the castle.

Maybe he should invite her to gaze at the stars from their usual spot. They could lie on their backs and enjoy the show until three in the morning. They could truly be alone and maybe...allow themselves to feel.

That thought, tune it off.

The lights in the library flickered and dimmed. Master Eraqus had enchanted every light source to darken as soon as it was eleven. An indirect way to say it's time for bed. An unspoken rule. "Make it to your room in the next thirty minutes, or you'll have to do so in the dark."

They'd never broken that rule—any rule at all. After learning them, that was.

"We should get moving," he said.

Aqua didn't move in the slightest, still in that mood of hers, undecipherable. He wanted to make her laugh or at least take her mind off her worries.

"So if it's not Ven..." he began, eyes fixed on the moths dancing near the lamps by the entrance. "Could it be that you have a weird secret crush on the Master?"

She remained distracted by the outdoors, absently fiddling with the silver badge on the straps across her chest. Ok, maybe she did.

"Umm, isn't he too old? I mean...by the time you're thirty, he'll be dust." Not to mention it would be weird and the myriad of reasons why— Oi! She didn’t protest again. He cleared his throat to get her attention. "Master Eraqus?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in disbelief. She blinked twice, then gaped at him as the question finally registered.

“Terra!” She slapped him on the arm. “I didn’t need that image in my head! Ahh, I can’t unsee it now,” she said, covering her eyes as if the visual would disappear.

He laughed at her embarrassment. Aqua crossed her arms and shot him a withering look, furthering his amusement. “What? I just asked. You didn’t have to picture it.”

She sighed. “You’re hopeless. I swear, sometimes you’re such an idiot. It’s frustrating and annoying and…” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning shock. “I’m serious. There are days I just want you to disappear or…piss off.”

“Hey, language,” he said, a frown on his face.

“What are you, twelve? Piss is hardly inappropriate. Fuck, on the other hand…” He cringed at the word. Cussing didn’t go with her sweet and mild-mannered disposition. Although she did look funny using words she wasn’t used to. “Seriously, Terra?”

He smiled, readying his reprimand. "I suggest you wash your mouth with soap next time you do laundry."

"Mmm, if I remember correctly, it's your turn to do the laundry. Guess I’ll just have to make sure you scrub your tongue properly," she said, hands resting on her hips. “I might make you eat the soap given everything inappropriate I’ve learned from you, mister...”

He chuckled. “What do you know about inappropriate, miss goody-to-shoes?”

Aqua leaned in as if she were sharing a secret with him. “Oh, a lot more than you give me credit for…” she said, an oddly suggestive expression on her face. “Do you think Master Eraqus knows about those things under your mattress…?”

His eyes widened. How did she know? The answer came a few seconds later. He’d forgotten she cleaned his room occasionally. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a few magazines for him to admire the female anatomy. Last time he checked, it wasn’t a sin to let the mind wander…

“Do you think he assumes we’ve done that sort of thing?” she asked, her gaze fixed on him and a sly smile on her lips. It was doing things to him.

Terra swallowed and diverted his gaze to the nearby pile of books. “He can assume all he wants.” He examined the cover of the first one. Dark Dealings, it read in golden lettering. With a name like that, it certainly wasn't an innocent book. “What about you?” He glanced over his shoulder. “You think he’s aware of those kinky books of yours?”

Her lips twitched slightly. “I don’t know what you mean. They’re just boring romances.”

“There’s two lies in that last sentence. One, you don’t read books you find boring. Two …I wouldn’t call that romance.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Terra beat her to it. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he said with a playful smile.

She shook her head. “Couldn’t be further from the truth. You’re just trying to get me for calling you out…”

Oh, so this was how she wanted to play it. Ok.

He ran his fingers over the book's hardcover. “Then you don’t mind me taking a look, do you?” He pulled it open. She tensed visibly. He barely made it past the first three pages before Aqua stopped him, her hands atop his shutting the book.

"Don't..." she said, her face flushed and eluding his gaze. “That one’s umm…”

“Something you shouldn’t be reading?" he asked, hyperfocused on the feeling of their hands together. They fit perfectly, belonged together even. He leaned closer. “Inappropriate ?”

Aqua remained quiet, neither confirming nor denying. They were too close for his comfort—enough to notice small beads of sweat sliding under the sheer part of her top and feel her breath on him.

“It’s alright. We’re human,” he whispered. "Your secret’s safe with me.”

Her eyes dipped to his lips. “I…let’s just leave it at Master Eraqus wouldn’t appreciate what I do in my spare time,” she admitted absently. Did that mean she fantasized about what she read?

The lights blinked, and the library grew darker. Shadows danced across her body as if caressing her skin. His eyes followed, his mind wandering into dark corners and less-than-innocent thoughts...of her naked under the dim lights. In bed, eyes closed and mouth ajar with a hand between her legs. His name was on her lips—a beautiful siren’s call. Terra, Terra, Terra.

Desire rushed through him; hot and aching.

Terra took a deep breath and pulled away. The moment was followed by awkward silence and the sound of night critters in the distance. Hunting, sleeping… mating. That was it. He was out of coherent or innocent thoughts for the night.

"We should go..."

Aqua nodded, heading to the far corner of the row of windows and drawing the curtains. He moved to the opposite side, shutting the long, velvet curtains for the night. They met in the middle, their hands clumsily touching as they reached for the last curtain. She glanced at him and shook her head before walking away.

“What?” he called after her.

"Nothing."

Terra followed her, quickly catching up. Nothing never meant nothing.

“Hey…” He placed a hand on her shoulder. "What was that about?"

She frowned, annoyance clear across her face. “Just forget about it.” Quite the mood swing and why understanding her was hard.

“I’m sorry. Whatever it was..."

Aqua crossed her arms. "Sometimes you don't think before you speak, do you?”

He didn’t answer and scratched his head, puzzled. What did he do to upset her?

She sighed and turned to the right into one of the less frequented corners of the library. A dead end away from the main aisle. The musty smell of old books grew stronger. She eyed a couple of books on the shelves as she walked. He knew she wouldn't take any. It was just a way to shut down whatever was stewing in her mind.

Unsure of what she meant, he conceded her point. It was easier to agree with her. "Ok. I'm not the brightest when I open my mouth...sometimes—but it's just fun to see you like that."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is it weird code for something...?"

"I like seeing you feel things. I like knowing that you're just as human as I am," he wanted to say. But that answer would lead down a tortuous and pointless path.

"Why do you always do this?" she asked, irritation in her voice. "You pry, ask me personal things so I will open up, and then...then you just pull away."

He froze. How did he respond to that? Without giving himself away, that was…

She leaned against one of the shelves. “Terra, don’t ignore me—

Terra had enough of the back and forth. He pinned her in the corner, arms resting at the sides of her head. "I'm not ignoring you. What I meant is...I like to see you feel things," he said, his lips hovering close to hers. Those lips he wanted to kiss and taste until he was tired. Did she have any idea what she did to him? “Now, let’s just go to bed and forget about this."

Aqua lowered her gaze to the floor. Now he wanted to say: "Don't ignore me. Look at me. Pay attention to me." But he didn't, and then the unexpected happened.

Lips pressed against his, pink and shy, asking for silence. He stiffened at the feeling of her hands behind his neck. She—Aqua, his best friend…was kissing him. He felt her hesitation, that uncertainty that sent her spiraling whenever she made a mistake.

His hands instinctively went to her hair. Don’t back out of this, he mentally prayed as her lips parted in acceptance. His tongue complied, deepening the kiss. It was better than he imagined. Slow—eternal, like a spell. It came with a blissful high never felt before.

She pulled back, leaving his lips cold and wanting. He stared into her blue eyes—sparkling like sapphires in the low light. “I like you…I like you so much it drives me crazy,” she confessed, her forehead against his. “I can’t focus and I don't know what to do...”

“You shouldn’t feel like that,” he said. His words were meant to be discouraging, yet his hands caressed her soft blue hair.

“I know.”

At that moment, the lights flickered out, and darkness swallowed them. Aqua gasped, her hands grasping his shirt. She’d never liked the dark.

“We’re still in the same place.”

He felt her relax, and a few minutes later, she tried to kiss him again. Her breath tickled his skin, her lips landing on the corner of his mouth purposely. She did it again on the other side, slowly. It was a request to go beyond a simple kiss. Her hands didn't fall behind either, running along his shoulders and down to his arms, feeling his muscles.

Her sweet scent invaded him. It sharpened his senses and quickened his heartbeat…like a predator about to move in for the kill. That part of him, the one that loved her in a way he didn’t dare to whisper—feral and base, screamed: Let me loose!

And in the dark—in that void where it was only them and their senses…he snapped.

He captured her lips roughly, his body flushed against hers. His hands wandered along her naked back, savoring every bit of skin within reach. Her shoulders tensed briefly before relaxing into him; his lips, his body, his attention. She gasped. It only made him want more of her.

Were they taking this too far?

Terra ignored the thought. Instead, his hands fumbled at the corset strings, and her hand flew up to cover his. She dragged a finger across his chest quickly, forming some sort of pattern. He, however, was consumed by the feeling of her against him to give it any thought. She then guided his hands to her waist, and he moved straight to the curve of her rear. Aqua leaned into the touch. He lifted her against the old shelving and wrapped her legs around his waist.

She shifted, causing friction between his legs. He let out a low grunt at the pleasant sensation. Aqua moved her hips again and tightened her legs around him. Yes, he was sure she felt how hard he was against his trousers and—

The doors to the library opened. They froze.

Without thinking, he placed a quick hand across her mouth. She narrowed her eyebrows briefly; he returned her look before they heard footsteps. Neither dared to move, afraid that movement would give them away. As quietly as they could, they untangled themselves from each other.

The footsteps grew closer. Terra secretly prayed it wasn't Master Eraqus.

It turned out to be Ventus. The boy had come for them, oil lamp in hand, wide awake for the time. Luckily Aqua and him had managed to compose themselves before he turned around the corner and noticed them.

#kingdom hearts #aqua #terra #terraqua #fic #ao3 #writing

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spellboundheartsaga · 5 months

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Hearts of Bronze: The Premise

I've been writing the story I'm working on right now for about three weeks. It's a stand-alone novel from what I've planned out, so I really want to get serious about finishing a story for once. I've been pretty obsessive about world-building. I'm really used to pre-industrial, European-centered fantasy romance, both in what I write and what I read.

For whatever reason, this latest story idea takes place not only in a desert but also in ancient times. On one hand, it's been interesting learning about the technology and knowledge of that era, as well as how the relentless desert heat would affect the development of culture and city planning. On the other hand, I've done more research than writing.

I think part of the idea for it came from some of the manhwa I've been reading lately (How to Hide the Emperor's Child, Romance in Reverse, I Got Pregnant with the Tyrant's Child, etc). Basically, a woman has a man's baby, hides or is separated from him for reasons, he finds her years later, and they form a lasting/vaguely more healthy relationship and become a family with the little one.

While some of these Male Leads are straight trash in the manwha I read, it does pass the time and pose a thought: How to Do the Trope with a Healthy Relationship.

Generally, the female lead, for political reasons or due to his reputation as a tyrant, does not want a child with the emperor, got pregnant with a stranger to avoid a forced marriage to a third party, or had a one-night stand with a stranger that led to an accidental pregnancy.

Look, if the characters started off as mature adults who made great decisions, we'd have no drama and no room for character growth.

My spin on this trope is that the lead couple are in a loving, long-term relationship and would be thrilled with a baby but are forcibly separated by a third party. I like my female leads to be more than a little damaged, so Maevia is kidnapped and sold into slavery by a political enemy. Said enemy then goes to great lengths to make it seem like Maevia left by choice.

Ataxis, the male lead, knows he has anger issues, struggles with his self-esteem, and generally feels unworthy of his lover. When he comes home and finds all Maevia's things missing, he assumes she got fed up and finally left him. He decides to respect her "decision" and never looks for her.

Maevia is pregnant at the time. She had been acting distant right before vanishing, not because she was about to leave Ataxis but because she was getting ready to tell him about the baby. I know; misunderstandings are so overused, but the opening scene is the Ataxis defeating the political enemy and learning that his love was, in fact, kidnapped and never left him. The baby threatened the enemy's plan so Ataxis even knows about the pregnancy when he sets out to rescue Maevia. When the pair are reunited in the following chapter, they are brutally honest with each other about what actually happened, and the misunderstanding is short-lived.

The problem is the deep sense of betrayal. There are 8 years between the kidnapping and the rescue. The child, a daughter named Atamora, died just after it was born. When Ataxis finds Maevia again, he knows right away that the four year old son in Maevia's arms is much too young to be his baby. Liberxis is fathered by one of the men in the family that own her.

Ataxis is consumed with guilt over his dead child and the horrors Maevia has endured as a slave. He is determined to do right by the woman he should have already married long ago and wants to honor his lost daughter by taking care of her sibling. Maevia waited for a rescue that came years too late, losing her child; how can she ever trust this man to protect a boy who isn't even his son?

Feel the angst? That's where I like my stories to start. I love a journey that begins in a dark place and is about finding one's inner strength and achieving some sort of peace with the past. I want my leads to grow as individuals and meet each other on equal ground. Ataxis needs to forgive himself for failing to protect his love and losing his baby. Maevia needs to forgive him, too, and learn to trust again, both him and herself.

Hyped to see where it goes. I have an over arching conflict planned and several mid-story plot points to add drama and force growth points. I'm not one to formally plot out a story line but I do have a good idea of where I want the story to go and how to get my characters to their happily ever after.

Current word count: 19,871 words

#writers on tumblr #fantasy romance #romantasy #writing ideas #Hearts of Bronze

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moonlightheretic · 9 months

Text

Hello again!

It's been a while! I haven't really been in the writing sphere since last May. I finished my long fic at that time and posted the final chapter with much relief. I immediately launched into my next project which was due in August and never really....looked back.

Actually, I ended up forgetting about it almost entirely.

I had projects lined up, one after another up until Christmas.

I know it's no excuse, but 7 years of planning and writing The Heretic sort of flew out the window. Hell, I haven't even written anything DA or Fan fic related in the last 6 months. It never crossed my mind again, until very recently when I had someone binge it and nearly comment on every chapter. While the fic has 2000+ hits over its 7-year posting schedule, I have never thought of it as popular or well-received. In fact, it might be quite low in terms of engagement for how long it's been hanging around on AO3. It did have its handful of regular fans which I am immensely grateful for! But after about a week after the final chapter's posting, it sorta died as I expected it to. Which is why it has stayed forgotten in the recesses of my mind until about a week ago.

First of all, I was incredibly impressed that they binged it in 2.5 days It is really not meant to be read that way since I throw so much information out at the reader, plus the twists and turns, and for the fact that each chapter's length is more like two or three in terms of word count, it is really meant to be read, slept on, thought about and then pursued again. Ideally.

Regardless I was overjoyed and grateful that it had engaged someone to that level of commitment. I've never had a reader binge it before! Thank you so much for reading and commenting, it truly made my December!

I suppose my point is, that without the reader, I wouldn't have been brought back to it. I would have continued on forgetting. It was sort of emotional going back through it. Those 7 years flooded back and I finally gave it the credit it deserved.

While writing it in the back of my mind, there was a bit of disdain for it, considering it was my first fic, it must automatically be bad right? I have no experience in the area and it is the first time, therefore it must be bad. But I really don't think that way anymore. I don't think it is bad. I think it could be improved like anything else and I am actually rather proud of it now. It was a piece of fiction I made for fun, why do I need to be so critical of it? If I enjoyed my time writing it, that's all that matters.

This whole week I have been in a sort of strange state of delayed mourning. Like I am depressed that it is finished. I never processed those emotions back in May, I was way too busy completing a massive three-year-long Cosplay project for a competition in August, and every scrap of time was dedicated to EVA foam and glue. Then my health took a turn. So to say the year as a whole was wild would be an understatement. So here I am, in the dark depths of late December mourning over something with no tangible form. Others have suggested I write a sequel to dispel my melancholy. But honestly, I am no longer the same person who wrote it. That person died when she posted the last chapter and I have no idea why. I don't think I could even convince myself back into the headspace. Plus, a sequel would be sort of ....well, I don't want to say impossible, but it ended the way it did for a reason. Don't want to reveal any spoilers here.

For now, with all of this said, I think I will just enjoy it. Maybe I will try reading it from start to finish in 2.5 days too. Haha! But I do want to throw some encouragement to other writers here on Tumblr. Don't ever doubt yourself. Even if it is your first fic, your first drabble, or one-shot, never doubt yourself and your work. Just have fun. <3

Going to post this here, because going forward I am proud to share it.

#fanfiction confessions #darksolas #solavellan #dragon age fanfic #confession #solasfic #dragon age inquisition #dai #encouragement

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little-maynard · 7 years

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Twelve Days of Jack (December 22 - Day 9)

Summary: When Sarah is invited to casually hang out with her Friend With Benefits, Jack, and his group of friends, things suddenly get a lot more serious than she bargained for.

Word count: 1.3K

[A/N] This mini series all takes place in the run up to Christmas. Each chapter takes place the day it is uploaded.

[Extra A/N] This chapter contains mild smut.

Day One - Day Two - Day Three - Day Four - Day Five - Day Six - Day Seven - Day Eight

When Sarah arrived, the party was already in full swing. Jack had told her not to call it a party because ‘we’re just doing drinks at Joe and Byron’s’, but by the look of things it was more of a party. A casual one, but nonetheless a party.

She was late, having watched a movie with Kailee and Amber before coming, but no one seemed to mind her tardiness. She was immediately invited to join a game of Beer Pong by the losing team, consisting of Joe and Caspar, to take on Jack and Conor.

Some rap song was playing loudly from the speakers at the back of the room and the beer was already getting to the members of her team, so it was hard to understand what they were saying. It was probably something along the lines of “kick their arses”, judging by their smug faces.

She was good at beer pong. She had played it plenty back in secondary school and had been her friend group’s wild card every time, knocking entire rounds of boys out as she rarely missed. This time was no exception; she picked up the ball and effortlessly got it into one of the red cups. The boys cheered and Jack picked up the cup, tossed Conor the ball and chugged the drink while his friends egged him on.

Conor missed, was followed by Joe, who also missed, but then Jack got it in. “Go on then, Sarah.” He said, grinning like he was challenging her. As if that was a challenge. As if there was any chance she wouldn’t go all in.

She tossed him the ball and finished the cup of beer all in one quick swig. “Give me something better, Maynard.”

With Sarah on their side the team started to pull the game back in their favour. She watched Jack and Conor get more and more drunk, while they’d been mostly sober when she’d arrived. Joe and Caspar each had a drink, but Jack and Conor kept missing after that. Her own team only had two cups left on their side, while the brothers on the other side had three cups standing. A well-aimed throw from her made that two.

Conor drank the beer and proceeded to throw the ball straight at Joe’s face.

“Dude, our shot!” Jack punched his shoulder.

“Was worth it to get that smug look off his face.” Conor said.

There really had been no need to try and put Joe off his game, as he missed in a manner that was almost comical.

Caspar was a bit better, narrowing his eyes in concentration and hitting the left cup.

When Jack hit the next cup too, it got serious. They both had one left and the atmosphere hung tensely around them.

Sarah picked up the ball, rubbed it on her jumper for good luck, and threw.

It made an awkward bounce of the side of the cup and kept them all waiting just a second too long, but then it popped in and Joe and Caspar erupted in cheering. An already way drunk Jack took the cup and poured its contents down his throat without bothering to take out the ball, which proceeded to fall onto his face.

“An honorary shot for today’s queen of beer pong.” Conor offered her a shot glass of what looked like whiskey, and she was met with more hollering from the boys when she chugged it.

Jack grabbed her arm, and when she turned to face him he kissed her. Right in front of all his friends he was pressing their lips together and holding her with both hands on her face.

Once she got over the surprise, she kissed him back. They ignored the shouts to “get a room”.

2AM found her cross-legged on the armrest of the sofa with a group of random people of whom she knew maybe half. They were playing a lame Who’s Most Likely To drinking game, but she hadn’t joined it, preferring to stick to water after the hit she’d taken from beer pong. Jack had chosen a low alcohol fruit beer, sat on the floor in between Josh and Mikey.

“Who’s most likely to beg a girl for anal?” Someone Sarah didn’t know asked.

There was some shouting and then pointing. Most fingers went to another person Sarah had never seen before, and he shrugged, laughing, and took a swig of his drink.

“Alright.” He said then, “Who’s most likely to become a 35-year-old fuckboy?”

Laughter ensued, fingers pointing at Jack.

“Jack will never settle. He’ll be sixty years old in his mansion with a harem.”

“You’re just jealous because I get more girls than you do!” Jack laughed. He gave in, putting the beer bottle to his lips.

Sarah awkwardly shifted her glass between her hands. This is the universe telling you to get him out of your head, she tried to tell herself. But she wasn’t even convincing enough to sway her own heart.

By half three things were dying down. There were people asleep on strange surfaces here and there, and some others were having quiet conversations on the sofa or at the dinner table.

“Do you think Joe will mind if I sleep in his bed?” Sarah asked Jack, who was standing by the counter to pour himself some Ribena.

“Go ahead. Mind if I join you, though?” He grinned at her.

“Feel free.” She winked, her head hazy but clear enough to know what his expression meant.

He abandoned his glass and followed her to the bedroom.

It was still empty, miraculously, and Jack locked the door behind them to make sure it would remain that way. The moment he turned around she was on him; her hands on his hips and her lips on his. He tasted like beer and was slower than she had grown used to, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The drunk pair didn’t bother messing around for too long, stumbling to the bed within minutes and pulling on each other’s clothes soon after.

“Joe’s going to hate us for this.” Jack breathed as he tossed his underwear onto the floor.

“Don’t care.” She responded, reaching her hand out to touch his cock. He groaned, lying back and closing his eyes.

“You think this shit is free?” She used her free hand to push his shoulder. “Come on.”

He rolled onto his side and pushed his hand into her underpants.

Neither of them lasted very long; they were too drunk and too horny. He turned onto his back just in time, coming on his own stomach, and she followed suit.

They lay side by side for a few minutes, catching their breath and struggling to stay awake, until Jack muttered, “Can I go to sleep like this or is that too gross?”

“Too gross.” She mumbled in reply.

He made a dramatic sound and then got to his feet, stumbling off to the bathroom with his pants in hand.

While he was gone she put her underwear back on and crawled under the covers, relishing in the sudden warmth even though she hadn’t realised she’d been cold.

When he came back into the room he immediately dropped down onto the bed, relying on Sarah to pull the sheets over him, and closed his eyes. “Bye.”

She chuckled, “Bye. Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a minute or two. Sarah tried to close her eyes and go to sleep but her mind was suddenly racing again; back in the moment where one of Jack’s friends said he’d never settle. He’d stay single forever.

“Hey, Jack?”

He groaned in response.

“Will you come play Dungeons and Dragons with me and my friends tomorrow?”

“The nerd game?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Let me sleep now.”

“Okay.” She brushed some hair out of his face and kissed his forehead.

“Bye. For real now.”

She laughed. “Bye Jack.”

#jack maynard #buttercream #buttercreams #buttercream gang #buttercream squad #jack maynard smut #this chapter is late due to the fact that i just finished writing it three minutes ago #I WAS WATCHING A CHRISTMAS PRINCE WITH MY MUM OK

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borathae · 3 years

Text

↳ Index [Chapter 09 - Parasomnia]

Pairing: Namjoon x f.Reader

Warnings: Smut, dom!Namjoon, kissing, fingering, finger sucking, public sex in a library, he is being a little bit pushy, confusion

Wordcount: 7.1k

a/n: besties we are going down together

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up from your book, coming face to face with Kim Namjoon’s smiling face. His dark rimmed glasses are perched up on his nose and one single strand of his raven hair is hanging into his eyes.

“Uhm…not really, but do you have to?”

He laughs, cocking his right eyebrow up in surprise.

“Did I do something to deserve such a cold shoulder?” he asks.

“I honestly don’t want to talk”, you say and look back into your book.

You can feel him looking at you and the dozens of books you had piled up on the table before you. You try to ignore it.

“Vampires”, he says, studying your features, “you struck me as a lover for the supernatural the moment my eyes fell on you.”

You close the book on East European folklore and look at him with an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want Namjoon? Did Taehyung send you?”

“Taehyung?” Namjoon chuckles. He takes off his brown leather bag and sits down on the chair beside you, turning to you, “why would he send me?”

“Because of what happened last week? Obviously.”

Namjoon reaches for a book and opens it. He skims through it mindlessly, making you grind your teeth in annoyance. If he messes up the little markings you put in there, you will personally end him. He drags his pointer finger over a line talking about the horrors of blood drinking, closing the book afterwards. He looks into your eyes.

“I have no idea what happened between you and him. I’m actually here to gather research material for the paper I am due to write next week”, he explains, lifting his notepad so you could see it.

You cringe, “god sorry, I should have figured. Sorry for snapping at you, I’m just a little moody lately.”

“It is already forgiven”, he assures you with a sweet smile, “may I ask what happened? I missed you in our Tuesday lecture today.”

You sigh and shrug your shoulders.

“I honestly have no idea. I was with Tae, you know?”

He nods his head.

“And then the next morning he was gone and left a note saying I should stay in his wing. But then I grew hungry so I went downstairs to get a snack. And I met Jimin in the kitchen and then he cut my hand with a knife.”

“Oh dear, really?” Namjoon gasps.

“Yes, I mean it was an accident I guess. And then he tried to lick my wound clean, which was honestly really weird, and then Tae ran in on us and became all angry and like yelled at me and sent me away.”

“No way. That is not at all like Taehyung.”

“Right?” you agree, “it confused me so much. The entire situation.”

“Understandable.”

He reaches for another book, but you stop him with a firm grip around his wrist. He cocks up an eyebrow in question.

“I’m not finished with that one yet”, you tell him, pulling it from his grasp to place it on your lap instead.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to mess up your order”, he says and turns to the pile of marked books. He reaches for one and flips through it, “Creators…”

“Mhm?” you cock an eyebrow up at him.

“It is said that they are the ones who created the vampire species, hence the name”, Namjoon reads out of the book, “history says that around three millennia ago a group of friends was cursed by a sorcerer to insatiable hunger for blood. He made them immortal, and unlike with normal vampires not even removing their hearts could kill them. It was to ensure that they would never be able to escape their fate of spreading pain and misery on this earth.”

“Don’t read this, it doesn’t make sense”, you tell him and try to take the book from him.

But Namjoon continues reading, turning away slightly so the book was out of reach.

“There is another theory however and many believe it. It is said that they were in fact killable. It was said that a tree grew on the spot where the sorcerer consummated the curse and only a stake made out of its wood was able to kill them. It is said that one day, a group of brave warriors managed to lock all of them in a cave with magic and starve them to the point that they were too weak to fight back. Then they went in to pierce their hearts with the magical stakes.”

“Namjoon stop, I told you it’s stupid what I’m reading.”

“There is also the version of the story that they were all actually a family of bats which bit a person by accident and then turned them into a vampire. This story however is claimed to be the babbling of a drunken person” Namjoon finishes reading and closes the book.

He places it in its original place and turns to you.

“Are you working on a paper about the supernatural?”

“I’m…not actually”, you confess, cringing internally.

“Oh?” he closes the book and turns to you so your knees would be touching under the table, “so are you a believer?”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, not really just that…nevermind it’s silly.”

He tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“Please tell me”, Namjoon stresses, “I am sure you aren’t silly.”

For a moment you consider not telling him, but then you realised that he already found you caved up in the darkest corner of the library with dozens of books on the supernatural surrounding you. He couldn’t possibly think you any weirder if you told him.

“Okay, but first you have to promise me not to laugh at me”, you say and turn to look into his eyes.

“I promise”, he says, nodding his head.

“Okay so”, you take a deep breath, “do you know that feeling when you feel like sometimes you lose control over your own body?”

“Lose control?”

“Yes, as if someone else was controlling it for a moment while your consciousness is still trapped inside and is trying to escape. But it can’t, so you have to do what your body tells you to do whilst panicking inside. Do you know that feeling?”

Namjoon knits his brows, taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t say that I do, no”, he says, putting his glasses back on.

“Urgh”, you groan and exhale loudly, “because I’ve been feeling like this for weeks and I have no idea what is going on with me.”

You look at Namjoon when he doesn’t say anything. He seems lost in his thoughts as if your words made his brain work restlessly with possibilities. You scoot closer to him and open your notepad.

“I’ve been having these really weird occurrences happen to me lately. I do things I don’t want to do, find myself at places without any recollection of getting there, say things out loud I didn’t even know I wanted to say”, you push a hand scribbled list over to Namjoon, “and then there are these concerning blank spaces in my memory too. Here, I wrote all of them down.”

Namjoon takes the list and reads through it thoroughly.

“This does sound concerning indeed”, he murmurs, placing the list back down in front of you, “and you believe that this could have supernatural origins?”

“The logical part in my brain says no and that I’m an idiot for even thinking of it, but the dumb monkey part in my brain tells me that yes it could have supernatural origins. I mean – “, you scoot closer to Namjoon to whisper, “ – when Jimin cut my hand last week and tried to lick it clean, I’m pretty sure he bit me.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen before they start to race between yours rapidly.

“He bit you?” he gasps, looking over his shoulder in case someone had heard him, “are you certain?”

You take off the band aid on your palm, showing him the cut and the two puncture wounds above it.

“Tell me that these don’t look like bite marks to you.”

Namjoon takes your hand and inspects it with squinted eyes.

“I don’t know, they look like regular scratch marks to me.”

You pull your hand away, “don’t you dare start with this too. Taehyung said the same thing. They literally look like teeth marks, you can’t tell me differently.”

Namjoon lowers his eyes.

“Fine I must confess, they do look concerningly similar to bite marks", he agrees and scratches his chin, "perhaps he has sharp teeth?”

You click your tongue, reaching for a specific book and opening it on a specific page. The drawing of ‘a vampire’s anatomy’ looks back at you and Namjoon. There were red glowing eyes with Latin explanations scribbled next to them. And underneath a highly detailed drawing of vampire teeth showed the difference between their human counterparts.

“Do you see that?” you point at the long fangs, “that’s how sharp they have to be to leave marks like that. No human teeth are as sharp as that.”

“I have sharp canines”, he says and opens his mouth.

You inspect his surprisingly sharp canines, even going as far as to reach out and touch them. Your eyes meet.

“Uh sorry”, you pull your hand out of his mouth.

He closes his mouth, “don’t worry about it”, he assures you with a smile, “but you see? People can have sharp teeth.”

You groan and hide your face in the book.

“I knooow”, you whine, “and it shouldn’t even be an option, but ugh I just want to know what’s wrong with me.”

Namjoon reaches for another book, flipping through it and adding markings on a few pages when you aren’t looking. He places it in your bag, watching you wallow in self pity buried in the book you were currently skimming through.

“Tell me, are you and Taehyung an official couple?” he asks.

You raise your head with your brows furrowed.

“Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?”

“I am curious.”

“You really picked out the worst day to ask me that”, you mumble and lower your face back into the book.

“I apologize”, he looks at you from the corner of his eyes, “I assume that you aren’t anymore?”

You gnaw on your lower lip in contemplation, raising your head to sneak a glance at Namjoon before watching a group of students pass you by, they were whispering. You take a deep breath and release it through your mouth, sagging your shoulders.

“I don’t know what we are. Honestly I don’t even know if we ever were a couple in the first place or if I was a mere, fun diversion for him.”

“A diversion? Mhm I see”, Namjoon says and nods his head, “it wouldn’t be the first time”, he whispers.

“The first time?” you straighten up quickly, “what do you mean by that?”

He studies your features with his brows furrowed.

“Oh it’s nothing, you don’t want to know.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me. “

“It would only hurt you”, he says, shaking his head.

“Namjoon, you can’t start something and then backtrack. Tell me.”

He gives in with a sad sigh.

“Very well, if you really must know. Taehyung finds great enjoyment in female company and he does so often and in great masses.”

“Great masses? So you mean what we had was basically just another fuck to him?”

“Now, now these are your words, not mine.”

“But…he told me that he honours loyalty and that, that I make him happy.”

Namjoon frowns, scooting closer. He places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.

“My deepest apologies ___, I really didn’t want to hurt you”, he says softly.

“No, uhm”, you turn away, “it’s not your fault, I wanted to know”, you murmur sadly.

You study the book on vampire anatomy before closing it harshly. You begin gathering all the other books, opening them on the pages you had marked and ripping out said markings. What were you even doing here? You are wasting your time on silly things. It is hopeless after all.

You reach the book through which you had skimmed, reaching for it but being stopped by his long fingers around your wrist. He pulls your hand closer to his torso.

“If there is anything I can do to make this easier for you”, he offers, caressing your knuckles, “perhaps you need a shoulder to cry on? A ready ear to listen? A soul to sit with in silence?”

“No uhm”, you send him a forced smile, “it’s fine, really. Thank you. “

“Are you sure? Because I feel terrible for telling you about Taehyung’s real intentions”, he says with his eyes filled with embarrassment.

“I’m…sure…”

Namjoon fixes his posture and presses his notepad to his chest. He lets go of your hand.

“Either way, I don’t want to keep you any longer”, he says and stands up, “I will be upstairs, looking for books on the human mind.”

He shoulders his bag and gives you a bow of his head.

“It was nice talking to you ___”, he says, taking a step back.

You watch him leave, finding it peculiar how quickly he is going to walk away again after literally ruining your hopes for a reignited future with Taehyung. It makes you wonder if there was more behind his words, an evil scheme to get you to hate Taehyung perhaps. Truly, for only a second you wondered if that could be true.

“Wait!” you call out and get to your feet.

Namjoon twists around, watching you jog up to him.

“Can I come with you?”

“Of course, it would be my honour”, he says and smiles.

“Great, that’s great.”

The upstairs library is almost empty at this time of the day as most of the students are either in their lectures or at home working on their papers. You pass by one single boy, reading through a book of mathematic formulas with his forehead creased in concentration, and then you already cross the corner into the psychology section.

Namjoon’s steps are silent, just as Taehyung’s steps always are.

“What are you looking for Namjoon?” you ask him.

“I am currently working on a thesis about the human mind and how stress can change it. I am trying to find this one particular book about said topic.”

“Huh”, you fall silent, fumbling with the straps of your backbag as you feel yourself get lost in your thoughts.

“Do you perhaps know which book I am talking about?” he asks you, making you look at him.

“Huh? No, uhm no. I was just…”, you zone out on the psychology books in front of you, “…thinking.”

Namjoon steps closer and touches your arm.

“Are you feeling alright?”

You shiver and look at him, realising as you blink and feel your eyes tear up that you had forgotten to blink in minutes.

“Yes I-I’m fine I was just thinking for a moment.”

“Thinking about what if I may ask?”

“Just what you said, about the human mind and it changing under stress”, you take a step closer, “do you think something like this is possible?”

“Of course it is, there are dozens of studies about it. Why? Are you considering writing a thesis about it as well?”

“No, it’s not…that”, you drift off and fall silent.

You begin looking through the dozens and dozens of books, looking for something but having no idea what exactly you are looking for. Maybe an answer. A logical answer to all the questions you were having. Why you were feeling so dizzy all the time, why your mind blacked out when you tried to remember certain days, why your body acted against your will in some moments, why you felt like you were gradually losing your mind. Perhaps you could find your answers here in those hundreds of books instead of silly ghost stories, perhaps there is one that finally has everything you were looking for.

He had followed you with his forehead showing great worry.

“Is this about the things happening to you?” he asks.

You pull out a book on Schizophrenia, flipping through it.

“They have to have an explanation. And we both know that freaking vampires are highly unlikely”, you say, placing the book back where you had gotten it from, “so my answers must be in the human sciences.”

“Have you talked to a professional already?”

“No, of course not”, you laugh, “how should I even start something like this? Hey Misses Psychologist, I feel like someone else is controlling my body as if I’m their little puppet? I’d feel completely silly saying that.”

Namjoon takes a book on sleep and dreams, flipping through it until he lands on one specific page.

“Well, then at least tell me when such occurrences happen. Is it during the day or at night?”, he turns the book so you could look at the page he chose, “perhaps you suffer from parasomnia without even realising that you do.”

“No it’s not sleepwalking. It’s just randomly throughout the day. Most of the times when I talk to…talk to uhm…talk to…to…talk…”

When exactly does it happen? Who are you talking to when it does? Or are you even talking to someone in the first place?

“I, I suddenly can’t seem to remember”, you murmur, “holy crap, I literally can’t remember.”

“Huh, peculiar”, Namjoon says and places the book back on the shelf, “peculiar indeed.”

“Namjoon, do you know now what I mean? It’s literally deleted from my brain, like it never happened. Am I going insane?” you ask, prancing from left to right nervously.

“Hey, calm down. Calm down”, he says, stopping you by placing his hands on your shoulders, “calm down, breathe.”

You take a deep breath with him and then another and another.

“That’s better”, he says and exhales with you, “how are you feeling now?”

“B-better I guess”, you stutter, shivering with your whole body, “urgh Namjoon, I literally feel like I’m going crazy. I’m normally always so sharp, but now I constantly feel all hazy.”

“Do you know about FTD?”

“Frontotemporal Dementia?” you gasp, “what? But that – no, just…no”, you shake your head.

“It could be a possibility.”

You laugh dryly, shaking him off.

“Nono, you just want to scare me”, you say and turn to walk away.

This can’t be it. You would have noticed sooner and the symptoms would be different too. This doesn’t feel like you imagine it to feel like. This is different. It’s different. It must be.

“I apologize if I scared you”, Namjoon had caught up with you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, “come now. Don’t run away, I am trying to help.”

“Then don’t start off with the worst possibility out there”, you say and send him an icy glare.

“I’m sorry”, he says, bowing his head in apology, “it was just an idea, I wasn’t saying that you had it.”

You stop, “urgh I know”, you whine, “I’m sorry, I was a little rude right now. I’m just slowly losing my mind from not knowing what is going on. On top of actually losing my mind. So yeah, I’m losing my mind.”

Namjoon chuckles.

“It seems like you are losing your mind”, he jokes, earning himself a nudge to his chest.

“You are not helping”, you hiss.

Namjoon places his hand over yours and laughs softly. You look into his eyes, frowning for only a second before you break into laughter too.

“Gosh”, you laugh, “I’m literally going to cry, this is driving me insane.”

“Hey now, don’t cry I’m here now”, he says softly and drapes his arm around your shoulders, “we will figure this out together.”

You look up at him. He is so close that you can smell his aftershave. Cedarwood. It suits him.

“Thank you Namjoon, that’s really sweet of you”, you whisper, gazing at his dark brown eyes for a little too long, “you know, I thought you were a complete snob, but you are actually really sweet.”

His deep chuckle vibrates in his chest, you can feel it against your arm.

“Many people think like that. I think it’s the hair.”

“I think it’s the way you give yourself and also the clothes too.”

He chuckles.

“Do you have something against my clothes?”

“Not at all, they just look a little intimidating.”

His eyes crinkle up in a laugh, his voice bouncing off the shelves like a sweet song of amusement.

“Oh ___, you are adorable”, he says, pulling your closer until you can practically feel his body heat creep into your muscles.

You feel your cheeks heat up and your heart flutter. He is so close that you slowly get the feeling that he wants to kiss you. So you turn your head away and clear your throat.

“Uhm, uh sorry I was staring”, you say, wiggling out of his hold.

“I didn’t mind”, he assures you, peeking at you over the brim of his glasses.

You look away again, shaking your head to get rid of the heat on your cheeks.

“Either way, uhm”, you pause to cough, “what book are you looking for?”

“Don’t worry about it, I already found it back there”, he says and points over his shoulder.

“Are you not going to get it?”

“Later.”

He steps closer. You take a step back.

“What are you doing?”

He closes the distance between you and him, pushes you against a bookshelf and kisses you deeply. You squeak, eyes opened widely and throat constricted in shock. You couldn’t escape even if you tried to, he is towering over you, caging you in with his toned body and strong grip. He is so into this kiss with his eyes squeezed closed and his chest vibrating in a guttural moan, plumb lips dancing with yours desperately. You whimper, closing your eyes as looking at him felt too flabbergasted to do. You still don’t know if you actually wanted this and you still don’t know once he pulls away. You just know that your lips are tingling in the memory of his kiss and you feel lightheaded and breathless.

“Why did you do that?” you whisper.

“Because I couldn’t resist”, he rasps, minty breath fanning over your face. His hands are propped against the bookshelf above your head, the smell of his aftershave became stronger.

“But – you don’t even know me.”

“I’ve talked with you enough to know that your mind has enchanted me.”

“My mind?” you laugh nervously.

“I mean that you are so smart and witty that it does things to my body.”

You feel heat kiss your cheeks again.

“You think I’m smart?”

“Very”, he rasps.

“And that’s sexy to you?”

“Yes, very.”

You giggle, averting your gaze to the floor. He tilts your head up with his pointer finger under your chin.

“Don’t turn away from me, please let me see that pretty smile”, he whispers.

“Stop it.”

“Why?” he asks in a chuckle.

“Because you are flustering me.”

"Why is that bad?"

"I, I don’t know."

“Adorable”, he says, drawing closer.

You giggle, lowering your head, “Namjoon don’t”, you whisper.

Namjoon stares at your lips with half-lidded eyes, smirking lazily.

“Please ___, just one more kiss”, he rasps, drawing closer again.

Truly, your heart is racing unbearably. You look into his eyes then at his lips. They are so tempting, so plumb and pouty. Namjoon leans closer, stopping just milimeters away form your lips.

“One more, beautiful”, his minty breath is tickling your lips, “pretty please?”

You are truly a goner at this point. Namjoon is such an attractive man and he wants to kiss you. This feels so wrong and yet you feel your ever fibre aching for it.

“Yes”, you whisper.

He acts the moment he has your consent. He kisses you deeply, tasting your gasp. Your eyes are closed in an instant, brows furrowed and fingers grasping the front of his turtleneck. Your neck is strained from having to tilt your head up to reach him. Namjoon steps even closer, adding more strain to your neck, cradling you in his strong arms. He adds tongue to the kiss, licking over your lips until you allow him entrance. Oh how hungrily he explores your mouth, showing you just by the way his tongue dances with yours that trying to take control would be fruitless for you.

He moans deeply and rolls his hips into you. Holy fuck. He’s is completely hard. How much power do you have over him? You haven’t even kissed for more than five minutes.

“Fuck, beautiful”, he breaks the kiss, chuckling lazily, “do feel that? That’s how much I craved you ever since I opened that cursed door for you.”

“Are you serious?” you gasp. He had wanted you ever since your first day here?

He nods his head, staring at your lips obsessively.

“Touch it.”

“What?”

“Feel how hard you make me”, he rasps.

You blame it in his devilishly handsome face, but your hand travels down to his crotch and palms his hardened cock. You would not have done this three months ago when you first walked through that threshold with Namjoon by your side, but you became so brazen these days that cupping a man’s cock in the middle of the library sounds like a good idea in your thirsty mind.

“Fuck baby”, Namjoon groans, eyelids fluttering. He chases your touch with eager rolls of his hips, drawing closer until he has your neck under his lips.

You shudder, tilting your head back. Namjoon’s deep grunts ring in your ears, your skin tingles where he drags his teeth down your neck. It tickles so much, your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

“Can I touch you too?” he whispers, “please, please?” he adds and sucks on your most sensitive spot.

“Ah! Yes!” you exclaim, shivering.

His touch is instant, as if he just asked for your consent. He touches your shoulder first, dragging his hand down your body until he has your clothed breast in his palm. You feel the sensation all the way down to your toes. You gasp, arching into his touch for more, but too late. Namjoon’s hand has already travelled further down your body, opening the button of your jeans. Your muscles tense, a gasped moan leaving your lips. He soaks it up hungrily, smirking darkly as his fingers disappear inside your jeans, now playing with the hem of your panties. God, it makes you feel so shy. You picked out the ugliest panties to wear today.

He breaks away, keeping his lips close enough that they would ghost over yours as he speaks.

“Do you want me?” he asks.

“I want you”, you answer him before your brain could even process his question. And it is true, you want him so much that your knees are shaking. Truly, you became such a brazen woman.

“Good”, he rasps, slipping his hand inside your panties to drag his fingers through your folds.

You tense and gasp, back of your head hitting the shelf as you flinch away in surprise. Your hand falls from his cock, grasping his hip instead. He draws closer, letting two of his fingers disappear inside of you as his thumb begins rolling circles on your clit. It burns as he slips inside, making you mewl.

“Relax”, he rasps, leaning down to kiss your neck, “you’re so tight, it’s going to hurt if you keep clenching like that”, he whispers, carrying a certain teasing tone in his voice.

“Y-your fingers are so t-thick”, you whine, basking in his neck kisses while at the same time feeling like he might rip you apart.

“Hush, it’s okay. Relax”, he breathes, nibbling on your earlobe, “it will get easier.”

“B-but it’s too m-much.”

“Sssh it’s okay”, he silences you with a kiss.

You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You push at his chest, making him stumble.

“Please slow down”, you plead.

“Does it hurt?”

You nod your head, lower lip trembling.

“Then let’s try one, alright?” he says softly and slips one of his fingers out. He curls the one still inside, rolling figures of eight on your clit at the same time, “how does that feel?”

“B-better”, you stutter, gasping for air.

“There we go beautiful. You’re a good girl aren’t you?” he rasps, curling his long finger inside of you.

“Ah”, you gasp, grasping the hair at the nape of his neck.

Namjoon lets you pull him closer, lowering his eyes seductively.

“I know you are. Always looking so pretty, always smelling so nice, always being so tempting. You’re such a good, good girl.”

He presses the flat of his palm against your clit, grinding it against you smoothly. You gasp and shiver, twisting his hair.

“I-I can’t”, you stutter.

“What?”

“I-it’s too much”, you stutter and moan, “ah Namjoon”, you sigh, arching into him.

Namjoon smiles darkly, “oh beautiful. How else should I stretch you out so you can take my cock?” he asks, curling his finger, “I have to prepare you, your little body wouldn’t be able to handle me otherwise”, he says with a cocky smirk in his voice.

His words make your knees wobble, his touch steals your ability to answer him.

“W-what? Here? B-but people…” you pant.

“You just have to be quiet”, he draws closer, “I know you can do this for me.”

“But…Taehyung”, you choke out.

Namjoon halts his movements, your mind clears for enough seconds for you to realise what you had just said.

“Why are you mentioning him when I am the one giving you pleasure?” he hisses.

Your eyes meet. They are darker than before, carrying jealousy.

“I’m dating Taehyung”, you whisper.

“Oh? So now you want to feel guilty? When you are soaking my fingers while your heart is racing in your chest?”

You swallow nervously.

“H-how do you know that my heart is racing?” you force out.

“Doesn’t matter”, he dismisses you, moving his fingers again, “concentrate on the pleasure I give you.”

You gasp, arching into him with your eyelids fluttering. Whatever the fuck just happened to your body in the time you were speaking to him you feel like you might literally fall apart.

“What, what is this?” you gasp, writhing in his arms. You are almost ripping his hair out, it feels like you have wet yourself just from how much arousal has suddenly collected in your pants.

“This”, he slips a second finger inside and fingers you quickly, “is what I can give to you if you just stop thinking about pathetic, little Taehyung for one second”, he growls, rolling his thumb on your clit with such force your knees actually give up on you.

“Oh god! Yes!” you exclaim, twitching uncontrollably.

“There we go, I knew you couldn’t resist me. Nobody can”, he challenges, kissing your neck sloppily, “you’re mine now.”

“Yours…”

“Yes, exactly little one. Mine.”

He slips his fingers free, sticking them into his mouth instead. He sucks harshly, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure. You are gawking at him, feeling at a loss of words.

You just wanted answers to your questions. Answers to why Taehyung would only see you as a quick fuck. Answers to why your body is doing things against your control, just like right now. You are so wet, so fucking wet that it is literally soaking your panties and it confuses you so much. Why are you so wet? Why are you literally shaking in the desire to feel Namjoon’s fingers again? Why are so out of breath from pleasure when you know that your body needs a lot more to feel that breathless? You know your body, your needs, the way it likes to be touched and yet right now your knees are weak and your core aches for a touch of Namjoon. How is he that good?

He pulls them free, moaning sinfully. His plumb lips curl into a dark smirk, his long tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re so sweet”, he says, voice deep and raspy. He almost sounds like you imagine a hungry demon to sound like. He swallows heavily and you swallow right with him.

He lowers his head, eyes locking with yours. But you don’t notice his eye contact, staring at his teeth with your heartbeat speeding up. Are you going insane or have they grown?

“Look at me”, he orders and your body obeys, “there we go, beautiful.”

He grabs the back of your neck, smearing his spit all over your skin. You squeak, knees wobbling as the sensation of his touch shoots through your veins like electricity.

“Now turn around and bend over”, he orders, doing the work for you.

You part your legs for him on instinct, quivering when you can feel his cock rub against your ass.

“So arched for me”, he observes, “you are such an obedient little pet.”

He tugs on your jeans in an attempt to undress you, making you gasp.

“So pretty”, he chuckles, “gosh ___, I can’t wait to have you bared for me.”

He reaches to the front and lets his hand slip inside your jeans to draw circles on your clit. You gasp, shivering uncontrollably. You have to bite down on the tip of your tongue in order not to scream. Why are you so fucking sensitive? What is happening?

“That’s it, you are doing so well. You know that I can only fuck you once you are nice and relaxed”, he leans closer, “we don’t want it to hurt, do we?” he teases.

“No”, you mewl, shaking your head vigorously while chasing his touch with a needy roll of your hips.

“Of course not. So relax for me, I won’t hurt you.”

“N-Namjoon I don’t know about this”, you confess, “what if someone sees us?”

“Nobody is here, don’t worry”, he assures you.

He tugs on your jeans again, managing to slip them halfway down your butt. You mewl and dig your nails into the wood of the bookshelf.

“So pretty, gosh ___. Do you want me to eat you out for a while?”

“I, I don’t know”, you choke out.

“Or can you relax for me? Let me undress you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well what do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine, then I will try again”, he says, tugging on your jeans a third time.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Excuse me! What the hell do you think you are doing? This is a public library!”

Namjoon is gone from your body in an instant.

“Good Sir, you must have picked out the worst time to run in on me”, Namjoon says with a dark chuckle.

“I think the timing was perfect. How dare you do such awful, disgusting deeds in….” the voice of the librarian drowns out behind you.

You acted quickly, pulling your pants back up and running down the hallways until you could see the exit. You bumped shoulders with a girl as you ran, finding no time to apologize as you kept on running and running.

This is so embarrassing, you are literally going to die in a hole now. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. Now you will never be able to show yourself in this library ever again. Oh god what have you done? Why are you so stupid? You never should have said yes. This was such an idiotic idea.

“Hey! ___!”

You run faster, down the stairs. Quick, quick, quick.

“Don’t run away!”

You can’t face him. Not anymore. You are way too embarrassed. Not only did you almost allow him to see you naked from the waist down, but he is the reason you are in this predicament in the first place. You don’t want to see him.

Namjoon waits for you at the end of the stairs, making you collide with his chest.

“Holy shit!” you scream, making everyone in the hallway look at you.

Namjoon catches you before you could fall.

“Careful.”

“How the fuck did you get here?! You were behind me!”

“I wasn’t, you just didn’t see me pass you”, he says.

“See you pass me”, you repeat, feeling dizzy in your head, “you passed me.”

“Exactly”, he smiles, “now tell me, how are you feeling?”

You shudder.

“God damn it Namjoon”, you whine, hitting his chest softly, “I told you that this is a bad idea. Now we can never go back there.”

Namjoon chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I fixed it”, he assures you, “he won’t remember a thing.”

“He – Namjoon he ran in on you waving your dick around.”

Whispering and gawking. People are staring at you as they walk by, whispering to each other. You feel your cheeks heat up most ardently.

“Come on, let’s go outside. Fewer people”, Namjoon says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“No, I don't want to hold your hand. You idiot embarrassed me so much”, you whine.

Namjoon chuckles and drapes his arm around your shoulder instead.

“Very well, then let’s hold each other like that instead.”

You groan, “fine.”

Namjoon leads you outside in silence. You squint your eyes as you walk, needing it to concentrate better. You are pretty sure that you are not supposed to be so clingy with him. You can’t remember a time before today that you were that clingy with him and yet the more you try to remember if this was true, the more it feels like you and him had been lovers for ages. This would explain why he tried to love you in the library or why you felt so giddy while he was doing it. But then. Did you really feel giddy? Why does it feel like you didn’t? You can’t remember.

“So”, Namjoon turns you to him, “now it’s just you and I. How are you feeling?”

“Weird and dizzy”, you confess.

“It must be the shock. Don’t worry, he won’t remember a thing.”

“How? Joonie, he ran in on us wanting to make love.”

“I know my beloved, but I fixed it”, he steps closer, “like always.”

“Like always”, you smile, “gosh Joonie you always know what to do.”

“I know”, he smiles and kisses you.

You gasp, wanting to wrap your arms around his neck. You stop before you could. No! You break away, stumbling back.

“Holy shit no!” you blurt out, pressing your hands over your mouth, “what the actual hell just happened?”

Namjoon tilts his head to the side.

“You tried to kiss me and then panicked”, he explains, “don’t worry I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I tried to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Urgh I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today”, you sigh, sinking down on one of the many benches.

He sits down next to you, placing his hand on your knee.

“Hey it’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Okay but first you have to promise me not to laugh at me”, you say and turn to look into his eyes.

“I promise”, he says, nodding his head.

“Okay so”, you take a deep breath, “do you know that feeling when you feel like sometimes you lose control over your own body?”

“Lose control?”

Namjoon knits his brows, taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t say that I do, no.”

“Urgh”, you groan and exhale loudly, “because I’ve been feeling like this for weeks and I have no idea what is going on with me.”

You look at Namjoon when he doesn’t say anything. He seems lost in his thoughts as if your words made his brain work restlessly with possibilities. You scoot closer to him and open your notepad.

“I’ve been having these really weird occurrences happen to me lately. I do things I don’t want to do, find myself at places without any recollection of getting there, say things out loud I didn’t even know I wanted to say”, you pull out a hand scribbled list and hand it to Namjoon, “and then there are these concerning blank spaces in my memory too. Here I wrote –“

You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

“What is it?”

“We, we had this conversation already.”

He laughs, tilting his head to the side.

“No we didn’t.”

“Yes we did! When, when we were in the library a-and you asked me if I was okay. I, I – “, you gag in panic, “holy shit what is happening to me?”

Namjoon rubs circles on your back.

“Have you tried waking up?”

“Waking up?”

Namjoon opens his mouth and screams. You cower away, covering your ears at the intensity of his scream.

You gasp, sitting up harshly. His screams have morphed into the beeping of your alarm clock. You slam your hand on it and fall down with a groan.

Another dream?

You rub your eyes, realising that you had been crying.

“What’s wrong with me lately?” you choke out.

You are so sure that this wasn’t a dream. It was too real to be a dream. Everything was too real. You can remember walking to the university with your shoulders sagging because you felt sad from your fight with Taehyung. You can remember eating lunch with the boys of Sanguis and trying to distract yourself by laughing with them. You can remember missing out on your Tuesday Latin lecture because you remembered the fight with Taehyung and felt too sad to attend the lecture. You remember reading books on vampires and then…. your head aches so badly that you actually groan and sit up.

“Holy fuck”, you choke out, almost throwing up at the pain.

It stops as soon as you stop trying to remember what happened after you read the books on vampires. You breathe out in relief, fixing your posture.

Perhaps you were actually dreaming all of it. If you weren’t dreaming then you would be able to remember the rest of your day. It must have been a really vivid dream, nothing more. It was still Tuesday and you were still running terribly late for your study date with Namjoon.

You roll out of bed and hurry to the bathroom.

Yes, you need to get ready for your study date with Namjoon. You promised to see him in the library today.

You leave after eating breakfast, not once looking at your clock which displays the time next to a clearly written Wednesday.

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steamberrystudio · 3 years

Text

18/12/2021 Devlog

Hey everyone! Time for our bi-weekly (sometimes tri-weekly) update to tumblr! And a short recap of the year. It's a bit early because it's already typed up and I just wanted to get it out of the way.

Summary:

Many CGs

Worked on Yuu's first chapter

The Ramble:

Honestly. . .I have lost track of the CGs I've done. LoL There are so many.

Some quick math and hard thinking revealed that since my last update I completed all the kiss CGs. Then recoloured and coded all said kiss CGs.

The kiss CGs were all actually CG sets of 2-3 CGs. Some of them were small variations like Morgan closing her eyes or moving her hands. Others were significant pose changes. Recolouring all these CGs was a monumental job honestly. There was a lot of stuff to save and recolour and code. I also really needed to take a break from drawing this week as my hand was in significant pain.

So I only started working on CGs again yesterday.

CGs are now about 70% complete.

All the routes have about 2-3 CGs left to do.

Honestly. . .

I really felt the routes needed more than 5 CGs each but 7 CGs per route is SO much more work. I wish I'd capped it at 5 and just accepted that. LoL It's too late now because the order I've done the CGs in means if I reverted back to 5 CGs per route, I'd have to toss out some work I've already done or else some routes would have extra CGs.

I am committed to 7 per route at this point but honestly. . .

LoL

I think it wouldn't be so bad if Morgan wasn't customisable. Her recolours really do add a lot more work considering I'm just one person. But I hope, hope, hope that the final product is worth it and that all the work pays off.

I have also done some writing. Specifically, I worked on Yuu's first chapter. I didn't get finished with it but I'm going to try to finish up this weekend.

I do think I'm going to be working on Quill's route first. It's the one I'm most interested in if I'm being honest.

I am going to be playing around with the plot of Reuben's route too. I like the plot I have but I kind of came up with this new idea as well and I want to see how much of his route would need to be totally reworked if I went with the new idea.

(New idea would need fewer sprites and would divert his route away from existing plot points touched on by other routes and into new territory, which might be nice. I might be able to take the old idea and merge it into the new idea as well. It also kind of hearkens back to a very, very old subplot in the original Gilded Shadows concept. So that could also be kind of interesting.)

ANNUAL RECAP

This year has been another really tough year for everyone. It's been a roller coaster of stress, drama and, frankly, loss. I don't think there has been a single year in which I've personally lost this many family members and family friends. It's been staggering.

Incessant lockdowns have been a constant companion as well. When I look back to my first update of 2021. . .

I was still writing! I was about halfway through Magnus' route. I hadn't even started writing Lance's route.

That means this year:

I wrote nearly 200,000 words

Edited a full 700,000 word game

Finished up all the sprites

Coded the entire script including all the writing, music, backgrounds, sprite expressions, etc

Created and coded all the flowcharts

Completed around 25 or so CGs (and recoloured. . .and coded them)

Planned and outlined the remaining three routes

I also dealt with my laptop dying, having off-and-on work on an ancient windows surface for a while, trying to get computer repairs during lockdown. And generally dealing with the world imploding around me to the point that some days I couldn't work simply due to the fact I was left reeling by the reality of what life is for everyone right now.

It's been rough.

Even so, I'm looking forward to 2022 and hoping that somehow it will be a better year than the past few.

Sneak Peeks and Previews:

I can't really post too much from the kisses since. . .spoilers adn all that. But here are a couple of snippets that are SAFE since no one's lips are actually touching (yet).

LoL

Upcoming Weeks:

CGs. . .working on some writing, probably.

Of course we're at the end of the year now and this means holidays. Multiple major ones and my wedding anniversary. The next few weeks will be hectic so I'm not sure how much work I'll actually even get done.

If I don't post again before the New Year, please know that I'm hoping all of you have a happy and blessed holiday season for whatever holidays you do and do not celebrate.

And here is hoping 2022 is somehow better than 2021.

#upcoming game #amaregame #otome #english visual novels #indiedev #updates #gilded shadows

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writingabouteverything · 3 years

Text

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:))

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever.

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex?

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish.

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that.

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again.

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle.

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar.

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird.

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.”

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.”

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health.

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.”

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have.

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.”

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh.

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.”

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.”

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.”

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible.

I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut.

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?”

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach.

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.”

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.”

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.”

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.”

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected.

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!”

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go.

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.”

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.”

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?”

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.”

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black.

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between.

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.”

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.”

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.”

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.”

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.”

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.”

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.”

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--”

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse.

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.”

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.”

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.”

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #jane the virgin #jane the virgin AU #lot #hslot st louis

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

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For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o y o u h e a r i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . . Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

Pain Pain боль

боль

Pain Pain

боль

Pain Pain Pain

боль боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.” His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough. Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well.

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 3 years

Text

Irresistible Danger - Part 60

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,229

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Author’s Note: We’re back! Omg y’all...I finally have a path to the ending for this fic! After this chapter, I’m planning for there to be 5 more chapters until the end, which will give ID a total of 65 chapters. I’m still working on writing and editing these last chapters, but I’m pretty confident in that timeline :D I also plan to post each Friday again, so there should be chapters now through September 10th, if all goes according to plan.

PDA

You woke with a smile the next morning, partially because of the happiness filling your chest like a balloon. The other part was because the warm body behind you, accompanied by a rasp of beard on your shoulder and soft lips on your neck, signalled that you weren’t alone.

The florid orange rays coming in the large windows told you that it was still early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. Turning over onto your other side to face Negan, you took in his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze.

“Mornin’ doll,” he said, voice raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his irresistible mouth. “No crack-of-dawn meetings today?”

His lips quirked against yours. “Nope, thank fuck,” he murmured, before rolling atop you and spending a good portion of the morning taking you apart with pleasure, then putting you back together piece by piece with cuddles and toe-curling kisses.

When he later glanced over at the clock and saw that it was almost 10am, he gave a groan and flopped onto his back with a forearm covering his eyes. “Much as I’d love to stay here all day, I gotta go with a couple Saviors to check out one of the nearby outposts. They reported some concerns about their fucking security measures, and also requested a few more men be stationed out there to help divvy up their shifts, so I wanna go see if there’s any fucking issues for myself.”

While you felt a tiny thrill that he was so willing to tell you this information, to let you know about his duties as leader, you also had a moment of worry about him possibly assigning more men out to work the outpost. “Is that the one you brought Simon in from a couple weeks ago?”

Knowing exactly where your thoughts were headed, he said, “Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, doll. If the outpost needs more hands, I was planning to send a couple of my newer Saviors.”

Pleased at this response, you smiled and leaned in close so your mouth was hovering mere millimeters from his, before whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties to get in a bunch.”

Before he could react, you rolled out of the bed and strode to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing to your hips. The growl and unmistakable rustling sound of sheets being thrown off was your only warning before Negan scooped you up into his arms and marched into the bathroom.

An hour later and you were both sufficiently clean (after first getting extra dirty against the shower wall), and you saw Negan off from his rooms with a kiss and warning to be careful. He gave an arrogant smirk at that, which got him an eye roll and playful shake of your head as a response.

You watched as he strode down the hall towards the staircase, shoulders encased in leather and his whistle echoing off the walls. While they’d never dare ask him about it, you couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of his men wondering why the hell their usually punctual leader was almost ten minutes late to leave for the outpost...and why he seemed so happy about it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Unable to contain your excitement over the events of the night before, you headed over to Ben’s room not long after Negan left. Thankfully he was there, having just returned from finishing up serving breakfast. His roommate was out this time, so you were able to huddle across from one another on his bottom bunk and catch him up on your conversation with Negan.

Ben listened intently, mouth slowly falling further and further open as you went on. When you got to the part about Negan admitting he wanted only you, and called you his partner, Ben let out a whoop of joy and threw his arms around you in a hug.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “That big lug is head over heels for you.”

The two of you chatted happily for a bit, before you left and wandered back down to your own room. It had felt like forever since you had a chunk of time to just relax in your bed without over analyzing or stressing over something Negan-related. Gone was the weight of that padlocked box of questions, which made both your brain and subconscious very happy. The three of you snuggled up on the bed and spent the next couple of hours finishing your re-read of Harry Potter before it was time to head down to the kitchen for dinner prep.

Today’s menu consisted of lasagna using leftover deer meat thawed from the freezer, with the signature side of rolls. Trixie had unofficially promoted herself as being in charge of roll duty, making sure the dough was the right consistency and the ovens at the perfect baking temperature. She wasn’t rude about it, but the little bit of authority she showed when instructing another staff member how to properly knead the dough seemed to fulfill her need to be seen as a knowledgeable and important part of the staff. And in all honesty, none of her feedback to the others was incorrect, so rather than reprimand her or say she was out of line, you had caught her eye at one point and given an almost imperceptible nod of approval. This caused her smile to beam so bright that it was a wonder you didn’t need sunglasses.

As it turned out, you weren’t the only one who had noticed Trixie’s presence and been keeping a stealthy eye on her. Andrew, a member of the food prep crew, had been not-so-subtly following Trixie with his gaze lately, and today was no exception. He was an attractive man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and kind brown eyes, a much more appropriate candidate for Trixie than her previous choice.

It seemed safe to say that Trixie was aware of the attention as well, as she found every reason possible to flounce past where Andrew was busy loading trays of lasagna into an oven. At one point, she even stopped to chat briefly with him, and out of the corner of your eye you saw her toss back her head and laugh at something he said. If it seemed a bit overly dramatic to you, well, Andrew didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her reaction caused him to fumble with the tray of pasta he was holding, almost spilling the entire thing onto the ground. He thankfully saved it at the last second, otherwise you would’ve had to interrupt and lecture the two of them about focusing on their work and not chit-chatting. And you didn’t want to do that, not when Trixie finally seemed interested in a guy more her age who was actually available and seemed to genuinely like her.

Despite your initial tension with Trixie, you now realized that she had just been struggling to find where she fit in, to feel like an important part of the community. She’d initially been scooped up and led astray by Amber, but thankfully she had found her way back on the correct path and was making progress at getting along with the others, rather than isolating herself and using condescension as an emotional wall. Someone like Andrew, who was kind-hearted and considerate, not to mention absolutely captivated by her, was exactly what she needed.

Focusing your attention away from young romance and back to meal prep, you spent the next forty-five minutes making sure everything was baked to perfection before sending out the first trays of lasagna and rolls. However, your mind kept randomly returning to Negan, almost unable to contain a secret smile each time you remembered where the two of you now stood. The usual worry and second-guessing had been replaced by the stability of knowing how he felt, and each time you remembered his words from last night a flutter of butterflies went off in your stomach.

Negan had told you this morning that the outpost he and a small team of men were going to was less than an hour’s drive from the Sanctuary, so he planned to be back around dinnertime. Sure enough, about 20 minutes into when the first round of food was being served, you saw a small group of Saviors enter the cafeteria and settle down at a table. You guessed that they were the ones who had been out on the mini mission, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them back safely and with jovial expressions on their faces. You could always tell when things went wrong on a run, due to the overall aura of the men who returned, but this time they were smiling and talking animatedly with one another. Hopefully this also meant that Negan was in a happy, and perhaps affectionate, mood when you went to visit him later...

It was as if your thoughts had conjured the man himself. You were out in the cafeteria with a large water pitcher, making rounds to refill empty glasses for people, when a hush in conversation made you still and look up.

And there he was, standing at the entrance to the cafeteria with his signature leather jacket unzipped just enough so that the edge of a white tee peeked out over the top. He scanned over the tables like a king surveying his domain, looking both intimidating and absolutely delicious with the arrogant way he held himself, as if he had no cares in the world but was also ready to take on anything.

When his eyes landed on you, those sinful lips quirked upwards at the edges, and you swore that even from the distance of half a cafeteria you could see his golden gaze light up at the sight of you. He moved, striding with determination and purpose to close the space between your bodies. The breath caught in your chest at his beauty, at the raw masculinity and almost animal magnetism that surrounded him.

He stopped mere inches away, and you gazed up at him in both welcome and a bit of confusion. Trying to act calm and unaffected, and not show how much you wanted to grin and launch yourself at him, you said, “Welcome back.”

Your eyebrow cocked in question when he shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh no, doll, that won’t do at all.” And with that, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lowered his head...

And kissed you in front of the entire Sanctuary.

A wave of shock jolted through you, at the same time as your body automatically responded, molding itself to his. Your brain was flatlined on the floor from the unexpected move, while your subconscious ran around it in circles screaming with excitement.

You could practically feel all the astonished stares from community members, as they watched their all-powerful leader break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you to within an inch of your life. And dear god, what a kiss it was! His lips were firm yet gentle, his tongue just barely tracing your bottom lip, as if he couldn’t help but steal a little taste. He wasn’t holding back, and the primal part of you recognized that he was publicly staking his claim for all to see. There could be no question after this moment that you were his, and that he wanted everyone to know it.

When he finally pulled back, you could only look up at him with what must’ve been an utterly dazed expression, if his pleased smirk was anything to go by. Glancing to his left and then right, his brow furrowed and expression turned serious as he bellowed, “What the fuck are you all looking at?”

His words had the desired effect, as eyes dropped back to their plates and the community stuttered back to action, obviously trying and failing to act like something monumental didn’t just happen. You’d have given a lot of points to know what they were all thinking, but you didn’t see any angry expressionsand no one had said anything or acted out of line, so hopefully that was a good sign.

Negan’s warm hand rubbed comfortingly up your bare arm, and it was then that you noticed he didn’t have his gloves on. That also sparked the realization that he wasn’t carrying Lucille, which was strange since he always had her on his person when making an appearance in front of the community.

Now that you’re thinking about it, did he even have her this morning, when he left?

You thought back to when you had kissed him goodbye and watched as he walked down the hallway. Surely he’d have taken her with him to the outpost...but you honestly couldn’t remember seeing her up over his shoulder. You had to just be forgetting, because there was no way he’d leave her behind.

That train of thought was brought to a halt when the hand on your arm trailed down along your waist and settled possessively on your hip. “I wanted to put in a request for one of your staff members to bring two servings of dinner to my room, for Simon and yours truly.”

Before you could ask if he needed time alone once you were done with dinner, he provided the answer. “We need to go over the fucking outpost inspection results, but I’ll come and find you once it’s done.” It was the second time he’d done that today, answering a question before you had the chance to voice it out loud, which was a sign of how well he was coming to predict your thought process.

You were still a bit in shock at all of this, especially how he was discussing his evening plan with you so publicly and audibly, as if to show that you were more than just his in a physical sense. He was broadcasting to the community that you were what he had already told you last night: his partner. His voice had been low enough that only the nearby tables would’ve heard, but you knew every moment of this interaction would be spread across the entire community within minutes after he left.

Giving a smile and trying to look like ‘yep, this is completely normal, no big deal, I am totally not internally screaming with joy and wanting to climb his fine ass like a tree’, you replied, “Of course. I’ll have it sent up immediately.”

“Thanks, doll,” he said with a final smirk. Then his face morphed back into the intense, badass expression of the Sanctuary’s leader, and he strode out of the cafeteria.

You were left standing there, still a bit shell-shocked by what had just occurred, but also giddy as hell over it. That emotional high was only slightly dimmed by the awareness that now, with Negan gone, you were the sole center of everyone’s attention. A quick scan of the cafeteria showed that most community members were trying not to openly stare. However, the lack of chewing and frequent side glances thrown your way as your legs finally unfroze and started back towards the kitchen were proof that they had all seen Negan’s display of affection.

While the rest of the community might’ve at least been making a feeble attempt not to obviously stare, the same couldn’t be said of the kitchen staff. At least a couple of them must’ve witnessed what happened when serving trays of food, and those members must’ve scurried back to the kitchen to report it to the others. Every single one of them was staring in wide-eyed silence with a mixture of shock and fascinated curiosity when you walked back through the swinging doors.

Even though your face felt heated and you were a bit off-kilter, you still managed to sound slightly firm when announcing, “Alright folks, back to work. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t argue, but a couple of them did give knowing grins, Trixie included, though at least they all seemed good-natured about it. Trying to act as though your world hadn’t just been spun off its axis with that public kiss, you went over to Ben, who was the only one that had stayed fairly composed the entire time. In fact, his eyes danced with mirth and he was obviously trying to hold back a smirk, so you felt only minimally evil when telling him of Negan’s request that two servings of dinner be taken up to his rooms for him and Simon. Ben gave a playful glare when you told him to take up the food himself, saying it loud enough that some others heard, making him unable to say no without looking a bit suspect.

When the tray was ready to go a few minutes later, you quietly murmured to Ben as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen, “Say hi to Simon for me.” The words caused a hint of pink to flare in his cheeks as he gave a halfhearted glare. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but knew Ben would more than forgive you when Negan came through on his promise to get Simon his own room.

Though the kitchen staff still threw glances your way here and there, they quickly fell back into their usual routine and no one made any direct comments. You were safe from scrutiny...at least for now. At least no one seemed to have any extreme concerns about what had happened, making you wonder how many of them had suspected what was going on between you and Negan before now.

Once dinner and cleanup were over, you headed back up to your room. Negan had said he would come find you when he was ready, so you planned to just lay back and relax until then.

Oh, who were you kidding. After that kiss, you were totally going to sit on your bed and think about all the dirty things you wanted to do to him the moment the two of you were alone.

Trying to convince yourself that you could be at least semi-productive and pretend to have a hobby other than fantasizing about the leader of the Sanctuary, you pulled the copy of Harry Potter off your bedside table. You were just opening to the first page, planning to restart it again from the beginning, when a firm knock sounded at your door.

Pulse jumping with excitement, you rose from the bed and didn’t even hesitate to cross the room and reach for the doorknob. It never occurred to you that it might be anyone other than Negan, let alone for it to be the last person you’d have ever expected to see at your door. But things had been going so well today that it was almost as if fate was bored with your happiness and wanted to add some drama to the mix.

Totally ignoring the warning prickle that ran up your spine, you opened the door with a welcome smile. It quickly died on your lips at the sight of who was standing on the other side, hands on hips and eyes throwing daggers your way.

It was Amber...and she looked pissed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#negan #ash writes #negan's thirst squad #irresistible danger #negan fanfiction #negan fanfic #negan x you #negan x oc #negan x reader #fanfiction #fanfics #twd #the walking dead #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #twd negan #negan slow burn

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llogllady99 · 3 years

Text

Au revoir

CHARACTERS | Levi, Erwin, Hange, Mike, Nanaba, Petra, Kuchel

RELATIONSHIPS | Erwin x Levi, Mike x Nanaba, Petra x Hange

GENRE | Reincarnation, Smut, Romance

IV | Alternate Universe- Reincarnation. Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Romance, Smut, Angst and fluff and smut, French Levi, Student Levi, Writer Erwin, Light angst, Alternate Universe - Coffee shops.

Summary | “Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.“

Levi.”

Erwin and Levi meet again in the modern world.Series

Levi will never admit to anyone that he thoroughly enjoyed reading romance novels. Yes, they were a bit too cheesy for his liking and maybe some of the passage were kind of forced, but the way they made his stomach drop and heart flutter was enough to keep him buying one novel after another. His first novel of such kind was: Madame Bovary, a book which he stole when his mother was away at work. At the green age of 12 Levi hid in the house’s library, right behind the couch and began absorbing the words hungrily, gaping and gasping in shock whenever Emma’s affair with Rodolphe or Leon would appear in the book. He didn’t necessarily enjoy the story as it was quite bland compared to the romcoms he and his mother would watch on Sundays, but was instead mesmerised by the rose scented perfume that lingered among the pages, a phenomenon which he didn’t encounter in other books because, as his mother told him later, Madame Bovary had been a vessel for Kuchel to deliver her love letters to the post office back when she was younger.

Coincidently, Levi was now holding the same book, enjoying it with a little more fervour and fascination as he himself, in his twenty-one years of life, had experienced some form or pretence of love at some point with maybe two or three of his lovers. Wetting his finger he turned the page and finished what was left of the chapter he was currently reading. He let the book down and stared out the window of the train he was embarked on in other to return to his childhood home: Marseille, France.

Levi remembered his past life. This life had treated him extremely kindly, almost as if the universe was apologising for the hell it put him through the last one. He was born and raised in the countryside, his childhood being characterised by stealing from vineyards, scraped knees, and dirty faces, a fun and ideal childhood. His mother, although having gone through a divorce when he was small, was now well and alive, indulging herself with a quality lifestyle and relaxing hobbies; his home forever full of jamon, quality wine, fresh sea food, and oil paintings in easels adjourning his hilltop village house’s balcony crowded with red boungainvillea. He had met Hange and Petra in the same village at the sea on a hot summer’s day, introducing himself brusquely, startling the girls, who lacked even an inch of recognition for him in their eyes. Levi quickly realised that not everyone remembered their past life and as such he should keep quiet. Nonetheless, the three quickly became inseparable, their bond not destroyed but only slightly deterred when him and Hange left for university, leaving Petra back home alone. Levi had left to study architecture at the university of Sorbonne and Hange to England to study Medicine at the Imperial College of London, surprising both herself and her friends when she had only applied at the university on a whim not even half expecting to get accepted, but she was the smartest person he knew and if anyone deserved it then it would undoubtedly be her.

Apart from them, Levi had not encountered anyone else from his past life, and by anyone else he only meant Erwin, his blonde, tall, and handsome commander. It was a disappointment that after so much time he still hadn’t managed to meet him, one which left him with an enormous hole in his stomach that would only get bigger every time he allowed himself to think about his past lover. He eventually lost hope and stopped looking for him all together. He had not told Hange and Petra about him however, instead choosing to keep his existence and unsuccessful search all to himself. After all, it is simply expression that gives reality to things. Never mind the fact that he would sound batshit crazy, but if he would have opened his mouth and openly voice the fact that he had not found him yet, then there would have been chances of not meeting him at all. He was still clinging to a thin thread of hope that Erwin will keep his promise of them reuniting again eventually.

At once, the train pulled in Marseille’s train station with a deafening horn, its locomotive letting out clouds of white vapour that swirled fast up in the azure sky, and announced its passengers that they have reached their destination. Levi stepped on the platform, and dragging his black suitcase behind him, he inhaled the fresh country air as a warm feeling came over him. He had arrived home.

On the other side of the globe, free lance writer Erwin Smith was packing his suitcase hurriedly, throwing clothes chaotically in his suitcase. He was terribly late for his flight.

Summer always turned unbearably hot in Miami, the dry heat and the omnipresent smell of sweat managing to deeply irritate Erwin. That had been his initial plan for the summer: change shirt after shirt as he walked the road from his apartment, a small 2 bedroom space that lacked air conditioners and that would turn into a literal oven during the hotter months of the year, and his publisher. Therefore, when Mike and Nanaba invited him to celebrate together their anniversary in Marseille, France, he didn’t hesitate to agree, he actually did with so much desperation that he worried even himself. He had quickly called his publisher making up some shitty excuse to extend his deadline, spattering something about how the sweet mediterranean breeze will to wonders to his inspiration. He lied, and quite horribly so, he had finished the chapter he was due but hadn’t edited it yet, a chore which he assigned himself for when he would return. Quickly closing his suitcase and praying that he didn’t leave everything behind, he ran out the apartment and waved his arm frantically in the direction of a cab that happened to be passing by.

Erwin also happened remembered his past life, something he cursed and treasured at the same time. He treasured the memory of Levi but cursed whenever he would wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat screaming as he felt the phantom pain from when he lost him arm, something that had somehow followed him into this life also. Just like Levi, Erwin also learned that not everyone remembered their past life. His first such experience had been when he woke up screaming when he was small due to a very unpleasant memory, one filled with titans, blood and the death of his comrades. His father had come to comfort him but dismissed everything as just a nightmare that sprouted from Erwin’s wild imagination. At the age of 16 he started writing everything he remembered before being reincarnated and then at the age of 24 after graduating from university he published a book retelling his story. Society, just like his father, quickly dismissed it under the false and shallow pretension of fiction. Erwin didn’t mind, and at an interview when he was asked what had inspired him to write such a masterpiece, he simple answered: “It’s as if I’ve lived this life before”. In retrospect, a bold statement, but one that had triggered incredulous looks and nervous laughs. It didn’t matter, as long as he was the one that knew the truth.

At the airport, he was met with a very angry Nanaba, that proceeded to punch him in the shoulder as soon as she spotted him coming through the automatic sliding doors, dressed with cargo short pants, white t-shirt and one of those hawaiian shirts, espadrilles not missing from completing his outfit. He apologised and shook Mike’s hand, that came up from Nanaba, trying to calm his petite lover from ending Erwin’s life then and there. His friends, like everyone else he had become acquainted with in this life, did not remember their past lives. They had met in college when he tried to hit on Nanaba and earned himself a punch from Mike, who apologised shortly after and bought him a drink.

“You are well aware we’re going to France, right?” Mike eyed his outfit, and scrunched his nose in something close but not quite to disgust.

“The eccentric writer facade ain’t holding up anymore, you seriously need to change outfits.” Nanaba also joined in.

“I was up writing, thence the messy outfit. I do actually have fancy clothes packed.” Erwin retorted, trying to save himself from their scrutinising gazes.

“Good, because I want to enjoy some of those pretentious wines they’re so famous from at one of those expensive terraces that overlook the sea without wanting to crawl under the table from being seen with a hobo like you. Now come on, plane’s not waiting for anyone.” Nanaba flipped him off, her way of reprimanding him.

“Au revoir America, bien venue France!” Erwin exclaimed, mixing french with english.

“How much did it take to learn those?” Mike asked, amused.

“Only 3 thorough Duolingo lessons, of course.”

Levi pushed the door of the little vintage cafe open and was immediately met with the sight of Hange engaging in quite a heated make-out session with Petra. His arrival at home yesterday was met with nothing more than pure joy, as he was bombarded by his mother’s kisses as soon as he walked into the house. They spent a quiet evening on the balcony, enjoying some tea and simply talking the evening away. It felt good to return, he missed the salted air, the chilly breeze, the pink flowers and green bushes, and the exquisite view of the mediterranean sea. Later, when the mosquitoes had started to annoy them, Levi and Kuchel retired back inside the living room, where he was urged by her to play her favourite piece on the piano that had dust on it from never being used anymore. Upon the arrival of the next day, Levi headed to Petra’s cafe, a small vintage shop, which she had opened up quite recently after successfully raising the funds necessary. It was right in the middle of the hill, its glass windows giving a clear view of the stony road and orange coloured walls and roads of the city.

“You guys should get a room, it’s gross.” He said, not one bit of disgust lacing his words. He truly was happy to see his friends again.

“Levi!!!!!” Hange squealed and broke away from Petra, practically jumping over the counter before she threw herself in his arms, hugging him tightly. Petra’s behaviour was hardly any different, surging on the other two and tumbling all three of them down to the floor. They stayed like that for a few minutes until the first customer of the day arrived with an awkward cough to get their attention. For the rest of the day, they chatted quietly, each with a cup of special Petra coffee in their hands, reminiscing about old childhood memories and the things they did while they were apart. Hange had successfully landed an internship at a renowned research company back in London and Petra bought her first place, somewhere they would surely go after she closed the cafe.

“So how’s it going for you Levi? You seeing anyone?” Hange interrupted a peaceful silence then took another sip of her coffee, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, no not really. I guess I’m still waiting for the right person.” Levi replied, his mind drifting off involuntarily to Erwin.

“That’s a pity, tell him Petra!”

“I guess so.” The strawberry blonde sighed, scrubbing the counter. She looked troubled, stressed if Levi knew any better.

“Everything all right?” He asked, hoping she would tell him what was bothering her.

“Theoretically yes, the cafe’s been growing in popularity and the number of costumers has increased exponentially and it has become harder and harder for me to keep up. It’s afternoon and I’m already exhausted.”

“Hire someone to help you.” He offered.

“I would have, I even put up a sign a while ago asking for help, but it’s summer and you know how it is. Everyone would rather bathe than work.” Petra leaned on the counter, huffing exhausted.

“You know, Hange and I could help you if you’d like, until the summer’s end and till you find someone.” Levi scooted over closer to Petra and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Sure! There is nothing we’d rather do, Pet.” Hange joined in, assuring her girlfriend.

“You guys, thank you.” Petra smiled brightly, exhaling in relief.

Their first day in Marseille had been spent at the beach until they were all fried. Well, Erwin had managed to get a nice tan, save for the red slight burns on his shoulders, those didn’t count. Nanaba had made sure to use sunscreen, but with her pale skin tone, she had turned into a lobster by mid afternoon. Deciding that it was enough sun for today, the three settled on exploring the city, in particular the ports, where smell of fresh caught fish would imbue their noses, the hill village, the sights recommended on the internet, like the colourful Noailles Market, Musée des Civilisatons de l’Europe et de la Méditerranée, and following a maniacal Nanaba that sprinted through every shop in La Panier.

As six o’clock came by, hunger made its presence known in their stomachs, they started searching for a restaurant. With an immense amount of luck and without too much time spent looking, the three had found themselves in Restaurant Peron, escorted to a four persons table right next to the clear glass that provided them with an extraordinary view of the sea, admiring the calm relentless waves and snow white moon that reflected itself on the clear water. When the waiter came, Erwin ordered, putting on his best french accent.

“Un Ricard, s’il vous plait.” He managed to make a fool out of himself, sounding exactly like an ignorant American. Un Ricard was an alcoholic beverage made with aniseed and spice that turns an enticing shade of yellow once water is added, a local must try. Nanaba ordered herself an Aperol sprits and Mike a whiskey on the rocks. The waiter bowed and went to get their drinks. While they waited the three engaged in casual conversation, their voices accompanied by the low murmur of the sea and other people’s conversation.

“I believe this has been quite a successful weekend, don’t you think, honey?” Nanaba asked Mike, leaning her face on her hands.

“Indeed. Happy 5th Anniversary, Nanaba!” Mike kissed her cheek tenderly. Erwin watched the display with nothing more than pure envy. It wasn’t fair that they had found each other despite not knowing their past life, it was utterly infuriating and it made Erwin seethe with anger and frustration, both emotions directed more at himself because he had not found him yet, Levi, his lover, his everything.

“Excuse me, monsieur. I brought the drinks.” The waiter interrupted them, making Erwin forever grateful as he was not sure how much more he could bare. He bowed and retrated, leaving them to enjoy their drinks. The Ricard Pastis Erwin had ordered had a creamy texture and yellow colour, bringing the glass to his lips, he tasted it, immediately scrunching up his nose from how strong it was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it, god knows his college years hard served for so much, so many nights spent drowning vodka and absinth bottles, he just hadn’t expected it to be so strong, he thought it would be like Nanaba’s Aperol, slightly bitter and sweet. Mike was sipping slowly on his whiskey and asked:

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

“How about we stick to just visiting the town, my skin can’t take any more sun.” Nanaba proposed, hinting to her burnt shoulders that were covered with a very nice white blouse. Mike and Erwin both agreed.

Levi fumbled with the speakers’ wire trying to get them to connect with his phone. It was his first shift today together with Petra, Hange will come later tonight to take his place, something completely unnecessary as he would stay anyway. It was his turn to choose the playlist and he resorted to a simple jazz playlist that would blend in nicely in the background acting as white noise. Once that was settled, he wrapped around himself the black apron with the shop’s logo on it and went up to the counter, patiently waiting for the first costumer.

Their second day in Marseille was spent indulging in even more sightseeing. Nanaba woke them up at the crack of dawn, excited and completely oblivious to Mike’s and Erwin’s sower moods, dragging them with her to their first destination: Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde. Located in a breathtaking hilltop, this spectacular church is the most important landmark in Marseilles. The site was used in ancient times as an observation point, and during the Middle Ages, was the location of a pilgrimage chapel. Erwin enjoyed the renaissance architecture, admiring the big hemispherical dome with a big golden cross on top of it, the golden statuette of what he reckoned was Virgin Mary, the symmetrical high arches, and smaller, little angel statues. It was truly a sight to behold. Their next destination was also a historical landmark: Abbaye Saint-Victor, a house of worship once belonged to an abbey founded in the 5th century. The abbey's basilica is one of the oldest buildings in Marseilles that is still intact, with foundations dating back to Early Christian and Carolingian times. With its crenellated walls and towers, the foreboding exterior has the feel of a medieval fortress. Inside, the basilica reveals a simple and somber design, which gives it a special aura. The crypt houses sarcophagi of the 4th and 5th centuries, as well as the 11th-century tombstone of Abbot Isarnus. It fascinated Erwin immensely, so much so that he filled his gallery with the amount of selfies and normal pictures he took.

He lied when he said he would find his inspiration here, but he was not so sure that it was true. The city’s architecture and overall way of being, from the local’s lifestyle, to its history and vibe, Erwin was sure to use all of this while working on his new book. Wether he would add a spin off in the book, or make references and parallels to everything he saw here.

It was now mid-afternoon and Erwin was exhausted, the sun constantly warming his head had not done a great job of comforting him in the slightest. They were now in Le Panier again, Nanaba having decided that she did not see all of it the day before and that it was absolutely mandatory they go again. Not wanting to be a burden, although he would have much rather gone to his room, Erwin agreed and set on following closely the two before him who were very much engrossed in their own little world. The old town, like any other part of Marseille they had visited, was also magnificent, with its romanesque architecture, houses that were colourful and joined together, and paved streets. It also housed a lot of shade, making him able to cool down and gather up whatever strength he had left.

The thirst he had tried to ignore for the better part of the day had become unbearable, his throat dry like a desert. As such, Erwin made it his mission to find some place from where he could purchase a water bottle. They passed by jewellery stores and artisan themed shops, displaying their handmade products, like dresses with weird designs from cottons, crystals, wooden scultpures, etc. Finally, in a corner, they had found a small cafe: Haricots vapeur de Petra. Quite a long name for a cafe but who was he to judge. He asked Nanaba and Mike if they wanted to join him but they quickly refused, instead choosing to go ahead. Erwin announced them that they will be seeing each other at the hotel before dinner. That way he could spare a few hours relaxing at the small tables placed outside the cafe, enjoying whatever drinks they were serving. He pushed the front door open and was immediately assaulted by the scent of fresh brewed coffee. The cafe was very nice, inside was quite chilly as there was the air conditioner blowing. Its walls were made of brick, from them hanging several plants, portraits, and drawings of people having coffee and the like. It had small circular tables with purple plush chairs that contrasted perfect to the black counter that housed pastries of all kinds: croissants (of course), pains au chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and macarons of all kinds of colours. It was just like an ordinary American cafe.

“Puis-je vous aider ?” That voice, the familiar voice. It rang through his head and brought back memories of the man he had tried to find for so long. He lifted his gaze and was met with the sight of no one other than Levi freaking Ackerman, cleaning a cup, completely oblivious to him.

“Levi."

“Levi.”

That voice. It couldn’t be could it? Levi refused to look up, he was imagining things, it was because of the song, the song he played the man a life time ago. We’ll meet again was playing through the cafe’s speakers, it was only natural he would be thinking back to when he visited Erwin’s grave one last time. With his hands now shaking he continued to clean the glass even more frantically, wiping away inexistent water, droplets he imagined were still there.

“Levi, is that you?” Once would be considered a coincidence, but twice? Finally, the raven haired boy looked up, only to have his breath stuck in his throat. Right in front of him was Erwin freaking Smith, the man he loves even to this day, the time spent together and the promises still so fresh in his mind. Erwin had kept his promise, he found Levi.

“Erwin.” Levi croaked, overwhelmed by emotions. He ran around the counter, stopping for a moment in front of his lover to look at him again. Erwin was exactly the same, except for an almost unnoticeable tan, his hair was now sitting comfortably on his forehead, instead of being styled back with gel. Levi jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around the other's waist so tight, afraid to let go as he might disappear, proving only to be a figment of his imagination. He buried his face into Erwin's neck, inhaling the scent of cologne, sweat, and sunscreen. His lover snaked his hands around his waist and held him tightly, in the same desperate manner. Pulling away, Levi looked into his eyes again, relieved to see the same warm sapphire blue orbs staring right back at him. They were whole again, together again. Unable to hide his excitement anymore, the raven brought their lips together in a kiss, one in which they poured all of their emotions, the longing, love, and relief they had for one another were all present.

“Tu m’as trouvé!” Levi pulled back, out of breath.

“English please.” Erwin chuckled, running a hand through his hair, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his year before putting him down. Levi looked at him in confusion. If Erwin didn’t know french then that meant…

“We should perhaps talk. Wait here for a moment please.” He told him, pulling his hand away from where it was intertwined with the other’s. Taking a step back, he began untying his apron, then turned on his feet to head to the back where Petra was, baking pastries probably.

“Petra, can you cover for me? Something came up. Hange should be here soon, I hope you don’t mind.” At the sound of his voice, Petra turned around just as she was leaning down to grab the tray with freshly baked pastries from the oven. She searched his face, noticing the look of bewilderment, and made to grab his arm in comfort. Levi pulled away.

“I’ll tell you later, but please let me go!” Levi all but begged, making Petra shake her head with wide eyes as she still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Call me if anything happens.” She demanded. Levi thanked her then bolted out back to the front of the cafe where Erwin was waiting awkwardly in the door, never actually having left the spot. As soon as the blonde spotted him, he offered the other the usual warm smile.

“Why don’t you speak french, Erwin.” Levi asked him and gestured for the other to follow him out the cafe. Once outside they started walking on the direction of Levi’s house, unbeknownst yet to Erwin.

“I’m actually a tourist.” Erwin murmured, understanding finally the graveness of their situation.

“Where are you from then?” Levi croaked, his disappointment taking the best of him.

“USA, came here on vacation with some friends.”

“Américain.” Levi spat, his frustration finally showing. “How are we going to make it work Erwin?”

“I don’t know Levi, I believe that’s a problem for another time. I’m here for another week, let’s enjoy ourselves shall we?” Erwin took his hand and kissed it in an assuring manner, smiling again.

“Okay.”

And enjoy themselves they did. Making sure that Kuchel was out, Levi brought Erwin to his house, taking him through every room while he talked about his childhood, his vocabulary limited because his english wasn’t very good. Fortunately, Erwin was patient and didn’t push him, instead helped him by filling in the gaps with google translate or by using his own words when he understood the direction the story was headed in. At some point, they stumbled upon the piano and the blonde urged him to play it, Levi complying not only by second nature, thinking involuntarily to their time on their battlefield, but also by desire, pouring his heart and soul into each and every key he pressed, eliciting sounds that would later formed the master piece named Canon in D major. Erwin listened intently, absorbing every sound Levi produced, his gaze focused solely and completely on him. His lover playing the piano was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. The onyx black hair hung loosely in the air as Levi played, his brows furrowing in concentration, and shoulders tensing when he lifted each hand over the keyboard.

As the song came to an end, unable to hold himself back anymore, Erwin scooped Levi up in his arms and brought him to the couch, the other straddling his waist. It was all too much, the smell of Levi, the feel of Levi, the smooth alabaster skin, silky hair, minty breath, and citrus smelling musk. Levi, Levi, Levi. Erwin brought their lips together in a heated kiss, introducing his tongue shortly after, probing the entrance then entering fully. For a while, that was all they did. They kissed like teenagers, running their hands through each other’s bodies, remapping and rediscovering them. Slowly, Levi became more demanding and started to undo Erwin’s shirt, pulling it down his shoulders and caressed his hand over his chest, playing with the curly strands of blond hair that lined it, although scarce. He then kissed his neck and clavicle. All the while, Erwin had been undressing Levi, his fingers now at his entrance, working slowly but steadily their way in. In his arms, the raven writhed, low moans filling the room.

Done with the stretching, Erwin positioned himself at the other’s entrance, entering him slowly as to not hurt him. Once he was fully seated, he waited for Levi’s signal to move, a slow nod in the pit of his neck shortly after. Their rhythm was slow at first, an occasion to feel each other out, but as their moans got louder in volume, the pace, inevitably increased, turning the love making session into something more rushed and more carnal. They had all week ahead of them, they had plenty of time for slow and passionate love later. After a few more minutes each of them reached their climax, Levi first by tensing all of the sudden, his mouth open in a silent scream, then Erwin shortly after with a low groan. The smaller of the two slumped his forehead against the other’s chest and tried to recover, his panting waning.

“I love you.” Erwin brought his lover’s head up and looked him straight in the eye. Levi replied with a lop-sided me too before retaking his position in the crook of his neck, where he shortly passed out, the physical and emotional effort from the day finally taking their toll on his petite frame.

For the rest of the week, Levi showed Erwin the rest of Marseille, taking him sailing with Petra and Hange, snorkelling in the turquoise water, dining in other less famous restaurants that harboured a magnificent view nonetheless, and hiking. Levi also got to meet Nanaba and Mike, a meeting that was awkward at first but then turned casual as the chemistry they had in their past life never had quite gone away. It was now their last day, and they both chose to organise a brunch on a boat Erwin offered to rent. It had started out great, the interactions between the rest of the group going smoothly, but as night inched closer, Levi grew significantly more and more upset. The reason, revealed to him that night when they were alone, tucked in bed together, was none other than Erwin’s departure. It was time to say goodbye, their short week of heaven brought to an end by force of circumstance, a tragic end to an equally beautiful story. A soulmate who was not meant to be, at least not in this lifetime. They could try a long distance relationship, but that was inconvenient for both of them, they would soon fall apart, each having to take care of their lives. Levi had to work towards a degree and Erwin towards finishing a new book.

“Don’t go.” Levi suddenly croaked, turning towards him and taking his hands, kissing each of their knuckles. “I don’t want you leaving me again.”

Erwin turned his head away in thought. He was a writer, he could basically work from anywhere. In Paris he was sure to find a good publisher, working while also living with Levi in his apartment. If he put in a little effort he might manage it. But what about Nanaba and Mike? Would they understand? Would they still maintain their bond? Is he willing to give everything up for Levi? Erwin furrowed his brows, concentrating and thinking even more. Of course, he would go to the end of the earth for Levi, would rip his heart out of his chest and give it to him. Therefore, he voiced the only obvious answer for his lover’s request:

“I’ll stay.”

At the airport the next day Erwin hugged Levi and kissed him on the cheek, bidding his goodbye to his lover. After accepting to stay, they both decided that it would be best for Erwin to return to the states to get his affairs into order and when he would be finished he would return back to France and start his new life with Levi. So, with a waving hand, Erwin fell into step with Nanaba and Mike, who were waiting in line to board the plane. Levi smiled his way and said:

“Au revoir, Erwin Smith.”

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lunaverseimagine · 4 years

Text

Golden

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Hufflepuff!Reader

Request: “hi, i really love everything you've written and I was wondering if you could maybe write a Cedric Diggory fluff cuteness study with a hufflepuff female reader if not that's totally okay, just want to say your amazing! Thanks!” - @erikathehufflepuff

Warnings: Food, slight angst but mostly fluff

Word count: 1.9k

Gif not mine, credit to owner

One paragraph. You were supposed to write a three-foot long essay about the use of boom berry in modern potions, and all you’d got so far was one measly paragraph. Open books lay haphazardly on the table you’d claimed for the evening, their pages void of any relevance to your assignment. You rested your forehead on the parchment in front of you, letting out a frustrated huff. How were you going to finish in time when you couldn’t find anything useful? You didn’t normally leave homework until the day before it was due, but school had been so busy lately, plus there was a quidditch match that you wouldn’t miss, even if it meant detention with Snape.

You loved the thrill of matches, students sporting their house colours, energy radiating from every stand. You donned as many yellow clothes as you could, full to the brim with Hufflepuff pride. For this match you and your friends had made a giant banner depicting a badger that was enchanted to dance when Hufflepuff scored a goal. Holding the banner up made your arms ache, but it was worth the pain to see the Hufflepuff team mimicking the badger’s dance on their brooms. But even that couldn’t beat watching the way Cedric’s face glowed as he became absorbed in the game: eyebrows slightly furrowed, cheeks flushed from flying, hair sticking in all directions. You were convinced he was born to be a seeker. You were so lucky to have him as your best friend, and seeing him so full of life made you feel complete. The most wonderful part of all was after Cedric caught the snitch, earning a Hufflepuff win. Instead of enjoying a victory lap, he flew straight over to the Hufflepuff stand to share the win with his house, grinning at the first years who were so full of excitement they were jumping up and down. After holding the snitch in the air, erupting a cheer from the crowd, he turned to where you and your friends were standing, beaming up at him.

“Nice banner Sunshine.” He winked at you before joining his team, a chorus of cheers calling after him. You had tried to ignore the way his nickname for you made your heart race.

A poke on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts and back into the musty library, where you lifted your head with a small grunt.

“Whaddya want-” You stopped abruptly at the sight of the Golden Boy himself grinning down at you, holding a plate of steaming food. Much to your dismay, your stomach let out a loud groan as the smell of casserole hit your nostrils. Cedric laughed good-naturedly.

“I noticed you weren’t at dinner and figured you’d be here.” He shrugged. “Sounds like it’s a good thing I came.” He let out another chuckle, and you silently willed your stomach to be quiet. Noticing that the table was occupied, he placed the plate carefully on your lap and sat in the chair beside you. You took the cutlery he handed you with a nod of thanks, your heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. Sustenance was exactly what you needed right now. In fact, Cedric always seemed to know what you needed: when to bring you hot chocolate and a blanket because you were so absorbed in studying that you didn’t notice you were shivering. When to crack a joke because you hadn’t smiled in a while. When to hug you because sometimes words weren’t enough. Suddenly you were overwhelmed with a rush of feeling that made heat rush to your cheeks. Your stomach flipped in a way it never did for anyone else. But Cedric was your best friend, and you treasured that friendship with your whole being. You would never want to risk what you already had.

Realising you’d been still for too long, you started shovelling forkfuls of the delicious meal into your mouth. Cedric was perched at an angle so he could face you fully, watching with amusement as you wolfed down the food. “Graceful.” He remarked.

“Shuddup.” You replied through a mouthful, gravy dripping down your chin. You wiped it away shamelessly with the sleeve of your cloak.

Glancing at your parchment, Cedric shook his head. “Did someone spend so long making banners they forgot to do their homework?”

“Oh shove off Ced.” You pushed his arm lightly, but there was no conviction in your words. Honestly, you were grateful he’d come, not just for the food but also the company. Everything felt easier when Cedric was around - your problems felt a bit lighter and the world a bit happier. “You know you loved the banner.”

“Can’t deny it.” You shared a playful look with him, both of you struggling to hold back grins, before placing your empty plate on the floor, not bothering to clear space for it on the table. “Come on Sunshine, let me help.” He nudged your knee with his, and the edges of your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. You couldn’t tell if it was the offer of help or the nickname that made you feel so elated.

“Really?”

“Of course. Now, what fun topic are we working on today?”

“Boom berry.” The monotony in your voice perfectly communicated your level of enthusiasm for this essay. Unaffected, Cedric’s brows furrowed as though he was trying to remember something, and your stomach flipped at how cute he looked when he was concentrating. It was like having a front row seat to a match, seeing the focus carved into his features. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he left you at the table as he roamed the shelves.

Not wanting to sit uselessly, you grabbed one of the books you’d abandoned earlier. You hoped you’d missed something on your first skim-through, that the book actually held all the information you needed. Alas, this was not the book to save your essay. Seconds stretched into minutes as you fruitlessly turned page after worn page, wondering where Cedric was.

Eventually a book thumped on the table beside you.

“Wiggenweld.”

“Bless you.” Cedric laughed affectionately at your joke, setting off a bubbly feeling inside you. There weren’t many people who would laugh at your corniness the way he did - full of fondness and sincerity.

“The Wiggenweld potion. It’s a healing potion that uses boom berry juice! This book has everything you need for your essay, I used it last year.” Cedric’s eyes were bright, pleased he’d found something that could help you. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you so much Ced. Honestly, what would I do without you?”

“Ah, we don’t have to worry about that Sunshine, I’m not going anywhere.” As if to prove his point, he sat on the chair next to you, opening the book to the chapter you needed.

You spent a while poring over the pages, making bullet points on some scrap parchment that would form the outline of your essay. After finishing your last point, you looked up in triumph to find Cedric staring at you.

“What?” You asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Maybe you still had gravy on your chin? You wiped it again just to be safe.

Cedric shook his head as if pulling himself out of deep thought. “It’s- it’s nothing.” You eyed him suspiciously, but sensed that he didn’t want to be pushed, so you stayed silent. He cleared his throat. “How’s the essay going?”

You smiled up at him. “I’ve got the outline thanks to you, now just gotta write it up.” Your smile faltered a bit. “This is always the tricky bit. I never know how to word things.” You stared at the mostly blank parchment, the empty space so daunting, wishing it would fill itself.

“I can help.” He was being so kind to you, but to your confusion you felt conflicted. Cedric noticed the slight narrowing of your eyes, hastily adding, “only if you want me to, of course.”

“I appreciate the help, I just-” You thought about how to phrase your words. If only Cedric could help you with this. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. You do so much for me, but is redoing an essay you did last year really your top choice of pastime for a Friday night?” Cedric blinked, taken aback at your question, as though it had never occurred to him to be doing anything else.

“Well, I… I…” You took his loss for words as an opportunity to continue.

“You have so many friends, you could be with them, and yet you’re in the library with me.” You looked at the books in front of you, comparing them to the music and fire-whisky that you knew Cedric could be enjoying instead. You were holding him back from all of that fun. And yet- you hadn’t asked him to be here. You hadn’t asked him to play exploding snap with you in the common room into the early hours of the morning. You hadn’t asked him to sit with you at mealtimes when he had a whole table of friends to eat with. You hadn’t asked him to lend you his scarf in Hogsmeade when you’d forgotten yours, and then spend the rest of the day with you in the Three Broomsticks. But he chose to do all of those things.

Cedric held your hand in his, sending sparks along your skin. You suppressed a shiver. “Sunshine, this is where I want to be. With you.”

You looked up at him, expecting to see pity, but instead his face reflected the vulnerability on your own.

“With me?” For just a moment, your eyes flicked to his lips, imagining what it would feel like to kiss him. You thought that Cedric wouldn’t notice, but when your eyes met his you knew you were wrong. Cedric noticed. He always noticed. He was attuned to you, to every change in your expression, to every inflection in your voice. He often knew how you were feeling before you did. His attentiveness never ceased to surprise you, to make you feel seen and loved.

His voice was slightly husky as he replied. “With you.” You saw him mirror your actions, glancing at your lips before closing the distance between you, cupping your neck in his hands. You met him halfway, hands on his shoulders, and when his lips pressed against yours, it was better than you’d imagined. It was golden. Fireworks exploded in your stomach, sending a warm feeling to the ends of your fingers and toes. Nothing had ever felt more right. So exciting, and yet so safe. When Cedric finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but admire his tousled hair, the look of wonder in his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks as he beamed at you.

“Sunshine, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Your hands still on his shoulders, you kissed him on the cheek, and he watched you in adoration. He knew then that he would never tire of you. Your smiles were like gifts, and he treasured each one. It was why he called you Sunshine. A smile of yours could brighten up the darkest room, and he always wanted to be around you. Wanted to be the reason you smiled, the reason you were happy.

“Ced, that was...” You trailed off. How could you describe it? There were no words, so instead you kissed his other cheek. He crinkled his nose in reply. “I’d love to say we can make up for lost time but...” Your gaze travelled to your unfinished essay.

“I’ll be having words with Snape.”

End

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed please like/reblog, it’s what motivates us to write <3 Feel free to check out my other stuff too :3

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #cedric fluff #cedric imagine #hufflepuff #harry potter #hogwarts #quidditch #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory fluff #cedric oneshot #cedric fanfic #cedric fanfiction #cedric diggory oneshot #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric

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quokkacore · 3 years

Text

son of wolves IV [park chanyeol and byun baekhyun]

summary: your entire life, you’ve fought bravely to defend the walls of your home from the evil forest spirits of the spearwood trying to destroy it, alongside your family, friends, and your betrothed, baekhyun. until you’re infected by the evil that resides in one of these spirits, and you run away from home, before it can spread to those around you. it’s in your exile, wandering through the spearwood that you meet the wolf prince, a tall man of hardened eyes, few words, and a fiery temperament, raised by these spirits you’ve so grown to resent. it’s here that you begin to question everything you’ve ever known, and wonder whether the evil was out here, in the forest, or inside the walls of a place you once called home.

pairings: hunter!baekhyun x reader, wolfprince!chanyeol x reader

genre: reverse princessmononoke!au, ANGST, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fantasy epic, war au, wolf!au

warnings: reader was drugged, language, MAJOR violence tw (gun violence and stabbing to be specific), animal death, threats of violence, loss of consciousness due to head trauma, body horror, horrible writing!!!

song recs: leave a trace - chvrches // lost it to trying - son lux // i will never die - delta rae // the legend of ashitaka - joe hisaishi // victory song - stray kids // pray for me // the weeknd & kendrick lamar // garden song - phoebe bridgers

word count: 10.0k

a/n: im srry this is so late pls dnt hate me

this is the final chapter of sow!! i’m so glad i finally finished it. i love this fic, i really do. but this is SOO overdue.

main masterlist // story masterlist

A fog hung over your head. You could barely see three feet in front of you, and everything was hazy. What you knew was that you were in the inner circle—it wasn't as cold. The sound of paws and feet crunching against the snow wasn't that far away from you. It stopped a few seconds later.

"Hello?" You called, slowly walking towards the sound. "Chanyeol?"

Again, the sound of paws and feet, but this time in the opposite direction. You reeled, now unsure of which way to go. A sense of dread was beginning to pool in your stomach.

"Sehun? Junmyeon?" Your voice was small and shaky, taking one step forward. "Chanyeol?"

You stood still, waiting for a sign, a sound. The forest was dead silent. When you tried to take a step forward, your body turned rigid. Every single hair on your body stood straight up.

And then, you began to shake. Just as the fog cleared, and two figures appeared in front of you. Both of them beaten bloody, chests heaving, eyes burning with rage. Chanyeol's shirt was torn, and there was a cut running across his chest, staining the ruined fabric. Tears were streaking his dirt stained face.

Baekhyun's left cheek was swollen, quickly turning purple. His right cheek was bleeding. But he seemed more steady. His sword was drenched in drying blood.

And then you noticed the wolves.

All four of Chanyeol's brothers lay dying all around them, warm crimson melting the snow as they bled out. You could hear them whining in pain as they did, legs twitching in pain.

You tried to call out to them, but you choked on black tendrils, bursting through your throat. Your jawbone cracked as they did, tremors wracking your body as you gagged on your cries of pain. All you could do was watch in horror as they charged at each other, hurling curses and obscenities at each other.

The tremors in your body intensified, your injured arm cracking as the black, oily coils shot forward, wrapping around your throat.

Spots danced across your vision, your head beginning to pound as you couldn't breathe. Your vision lost focus, eyes blurring with tears.

The last thing you saw was Baekhyun's sword impaling Chanyeol's chest, the iron bursting through his back. As his younger brother's blood splattered across his face and neck, Baekhyun's face broke into a sadistic grin.

A horrible laugh rang throughout the forest, and you awoke with a start, hands grabbing at your neck to unwrap inky coils that weren't there. You were sweating and your chest was heaving.

Slowly, you sat up, blinking furiously to allow your eyes to adjust to the sunlight. You could tell that it was still relatively early, maybe before nine. When you caught your breath, you wiped the sweat off of your brow. Your throat felt itchy and your head was pounding. Getting up was one thing, walking to the door was another. You were disoriented and dizzy, nauseous, even. You jiggled the door, and sighed when it wouldn’t budge.

You glanced towards the window, even though you knew it was too small for you to jump out of. Rubbing your temples and letting out a deep sigh, you tried to push all of the events of last night to the back of your mind, Baekhyun’s betrayal refusing to fade to the back of your head. You lay down on the bed again, processing everything you knew now.

You loved Baekhyun, you really did. Yesterday morning, when he had kissed you, you felt relieved that you were in his arms again.

But Baekhyun’s kisses, contrary to what you had originally thought, no longer felt as comforting or as safe. Even before he had thrown you to the wolves, metaphorically speaking. Chanyeol’s lips on yours permeated your mind, the memory stuck in your head.

You found that the more you tried to pull away from the thought of that tall, mysterious man, the tighter his grip became—deep down, you knew that only in coming closer would you be released. Vaguely, it reminded you of the toy your father had brought you once when you were a child, woven out of thin strips of bamboo. Sticking your index fingers in, and then trying to pull them out was impossible, as the toy stretched and its hold got tighter. However, when you pushed them together, the toy expanded, and your fingers were released.

Were three weeks even long enough to fall in love? Two, considering the fact that the first week he basically wanted to kill you? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that right now, Chanyeol’s safety, as well as that of his brothers and of Selyne, was all you wanted.

Your thoughts were interrupted with the sound of the front door. You turned to face the door, waiting with bated breath. Had they returned so soon?

You were disappointed when the bedroom door swung open, Yixing standing awkwardly in the doorway. He stared at you, emotionlessly, before he sighed and stepped inside. Your eyes watched his every move like a hawk, and scowled at him when he sat down on the chair where your clothes were.

“I’m here to do a check-up,” He told you, “You’re still recovering.”

“What, from my cold induced madness or the huge stab wound in my back?” You spat. He looked down, face not changing. He almost looked ashamed.

“I’m sorry you see it that way.” His voice was quiet. “I brought you some food and some water. You can eat that and then we can get started. I know you must be hungry.”

He pulled out a bowl wrapped in fabric, as well as a canteen from his bag. When he showed you what was inside—rice and some beef—you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. After last night, you weren't sure you ever wanted to eat anything again. Yixing shook his head once he realized. Which meant he knew.

"There's nothing in it," He said, sounding earnest. "I promise, Y/N."

You would have refused, but the pounding in your head seemed to be unending. It didn’t take long for your resolve to crack. You drank almost all of the water in the canteen, and you practically inhaled the meal.

“The troops left three hours ago. About a hundred and twenty soldiers total. Baekhyun, Minseok and Jongdae are leading them,” He informed you, fiddling with his clothes and staring at the walls.

You didn’t reply, too angry to do so.

When you finished, you allowed him to do his check up. He asked you about how you were feeling, how certain parts of your body felt, like your legs and your chest, if you’d been feeling dizzy or nauseous. He was done fairly quickly, and as he packed away the now empty bowl, spoke up again.

“Remember the time Jongdae dared me to sneak out into the Spearwood when we were younger?”

“When Minseok misfired and shot you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. How could I forget after the way your dad almost punched Min?”

He let out a soft chuckle, but there was no joy behind it. “I spent about three hours out there. I never told you guys, but I got lost pretty quickly. I panicked once I realized I didn’t know where I was. I thought I was gonna get killed by some animal in the name of the gods or something. You know how I panic.”

You nodded, humming, unsure of where he was going. “It was summertime,” He continued, “So it wasn’t as quiet as it is now. And about halfway through those three hours, I heard branches snapping behind me, and… this thing sounded big, Y/N. I-I just about shit my pants when I turned. Because I had never seen a bear so close to me before, and it was huge, and it was headed towards me.”

He looked up at you, eyes full of awe. “I was so freaked out, it didn’t occur to me to try and shoot it or to play dead or anything. All I could do was stand there, trying not to scream or provoke it. It walked right past me, and kept walking straight. I thought I should run or hide, until it turned back to look at me and… she spoke to me. Well, not speak, it was more like—”

“Like an echo in your mind,” You said, sitting up straight, “That… that was Mirren.”

He nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “She wasn’t anything like they told us she would be. She was so… kind, and gentle. She knew I was afraid, and she promised she wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t hurt her. And I was a 19 year old idiot who had a sword. I wasn’t going to try and kill a goddess. So I followed her, and she took me as far as she could without being seen. We barely spoke. But when she told me to keep going, because that was as far as she could go safely, I was so grateful. I… I never would have expected that kind of mercy and kindness from one of the gods, not after everything we were taught. And then twenty minutes later I got back to the wall and Minseok misfired.”

Yixing furrowed his eyebrows, staring at his hands in his lap. “That Chanyeol guy. He’s pretty much the only link between the human world and the forest, right?”

You nodded.

“So if he died or if Selyne died… the forest would lose its only possible bridge between the two. And that would make it harder for them to understand us, or to communicate easily.”

Again, you nodded. Yixing shrugged. “For us, that’s a good thing. The gods would have to communicate directly with us, and we could take them down when they’re vulnerable.”

You nodded, looking to the side and gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Why he felt the need to rub it in made no sense to you, why would he—

“Which is why it would be a shame if you were to escape.”

Your head snapped forward to look at him, eyes widening. He sighed, obviously nervous. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “It would be a shame if you were to overpower me and lock me in this room. An even bigger shame if you were to know that your bow and quiver are in the stables, and that the guards patrolling the east gate change shifts in about… fifteen minutes. A huge shame, really.”

You just about stopped breathing, staring at him wordlessly. Yixing raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to do anything or do I have to knock myself out?”

“Why can’t you just say that I locked you in here?”

“What, you really think they’ll believe that?”

You stood up, shaking your head. He was right, but that didn’t make you feel any better about knocking Yixing’s lights out. “Thank you, Xing. I can never repay you.”

Yixing waved his hand. “You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. If anything, this is me repaying my own debt.”

You sighed shakily, and Yixing stood up. “Please don’t hit me too hard,” He said. You smiled, and shook your head, before throwing up your fists. Before you could do anything, he held up his hands. “W-wait, wait.”

“What?”

“Kick Baekhyun’s ass,” He ordered, “His head’s been getting too big for his shoulders, anyway.”

You smiled sadly, before nodding. “I’ll try,” You answered, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Yixing shut his eyes, grimacing. “Do it.”

With one final deep breath, you swung at his temple, and Yixing fell to the floor. You checked to make sure he was knocked out cold, tapping his face slightly, and setting off when he didn’t come to.

You changed into more suitable clothes to wear in combat, and slung on your snow boots and a dark blue cloak.

Before you left, you walked into the dining room, and looked towards the floor, before something glinting in the low sunlight caught your eye. Heart splintering, you picked up the necklace, and tucked it into your pocket.

This would have been so much easier if you’d been let out before the sun came up. You placed the hood of your cloak up, hiding your face and keeping your head down, hoping to not draw too much attention as you walked towards the stables. Thankfully, the path leading there was still relatively empty given that it was before ten.

When you got to the stables, you found your bow and arrow hung on the wall, right next to Ivan’s stall. For a moment, you considered taking him with you, but decided against it. It would be too hard to sneak a reindeer out in broad daylight. You would simply have to run as fast as you could and hope that luck was on your side.

So you hid the weapons under your cloak, and made your way to the east gate, where, just as Yixing had said, the parapet atop it was empty. And once you had broken the lock, and were outside, you were gone.

Immediately, you realized that the energy in the Spearwood was different. The air was crisper, seemingly even colder. If the forest had been quiet the first time you stepped into it, you could practically hear the sound of your blood rushing throughout your body. A few minutes into your walk, it began to snow, and you found yourself shivering already.

Once you were out of sight of the parapets, you removed your cloak briefly, placing the quiver and bow over it rather than under it for better access.

Being alone in the snow, with everything you knew now, filled you with an odd sense of nostalgia. If a month ago, someone had told you you would willingly march into the Spearwood to try and end the war, you definitely wouldn’t have expected this to be your course of actions, and you certainly would have expected to have different motives.

You did your best to retrace your old steps, but the past 24 hours, the fact that it had been three weeks since you came this way, and the difference in lighting made it significantly harder. You walked for about forty minutes, cautious enough to listen for the footsteps of anyone who might have followed you from Ironbend.

And while eventually you did hear footsteps, they definitely weren’t from anyone you were expecting. The fast sound of paws thumping against the snow, racing at you from behind barely gave you time to turn and spot the giant mass of white fur bounding towards you. With a soft, “oomph!” you were tackled to the ground, tumbling a few times before finally landing on your back in the snow. You opened your eyes to meet a familiar gaze.

We really have to stop meeting like this, y’know, Sehun declared as he stepped back, it’s weird.

“You’re the one that tackled me,” You argued, sitting up and brushing off the snow that was on your cloak. “What are you doing so far out of the inner circle?”

Sehun shook himself off, before staring at you seriously. Emergency patrol. Mama sensed danger.

“She was right,” You said with a nod, “Is she safe?”

Why would she be keeping herself safe? He sounded kind of exasperated.

“Because she’s the target, Sehun. The three troops they brought out are looking for her.”

All of the playfulness in Sehun’s demeanor seemed to evaporate. Shit. Junmyeon knows where she is. Get on. I’m taking you to him.

You got on his back, and he huffed slightly at the new sensation of having to carry you. Sorry if it gets bumpy. I’m not really used to having people ride on my back... That’s usually Junmyeon’s job.

“Shut up, you overgrown spoiled baby,” You answered warmly, “It’s okay. As long as we get there in one piece.”

Did you get there in one piece? Kind of. You had to cling onto him and lower yourself to basically lie on his back. Otherwise you bounced too much and you risked falling off of him. The wind ripped your hood off, whipping your hair in the process and drying your eyes.

He slowed down once he approached a clearing, where you could easily see the brown wolf standing in the white snow. He turned once he heard Sehun’s paws. When he noticed you, he seemed rather taken aback.

Y/N? What are you doing here? Why did you even leave? He asked when you got off of Sehun.

“I needed to warn you. All of you. Selyne is in danger.”

She’s the warden of the forest, he pointed out, I think it’s an occupational hazard.

You sighed, annoyed at how willing the both of them had been to brush off your warnings so easily. “This is different. More than a hundred men are in the forest right now—all of them armed with guns, I might add—trying to find her, because they know that if she dies, Chanyeol loses his link to the forest and any hope for negotiation and bridging the spirit world and the human world is gone. You need to warn her, now.”

Junmyeon, evidently stunned speechless, looked between you and Sehun for a few seconds, before his gaze settled on you finally. We knew about the troops. We didn’t know about their plan. How did you find out?

You pursed your lips. “My… I used to be close to their leader. He’s… the swordsman.”

Shit, Sehun swore.

Fuck, Junmyeon agreed.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widened at the distant sound of the deep voice, turning your head to see Chanyeol, trudging through the snow. His eyes were wide, and when he recognized your face, he began walking faster.

Of their own accord, your feet started moving in his direction. You ignored the voices of Sehun and Junmyeon trying to catch your attention. He sped up again, now making his best attempt to run to you, even though the snow passed his ankles. Your heart pounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears, you sped up as well. As the distance lessened, you took in the familiar features. The pelt that kept him warm, the mask held back atop his dark hair, his cheeks streaked with blood he’d painted on, the round earrings dangling from his prominent ears.

Finally, he was within arms reach, and he reached out his arms the same way you did. His gaze was desperate, almost unbelieving that it was really you. The two of you collided, lips smashing against each other as his hands gripped you in several different places, like he was trying to make sure you were tangible. First at your waist, then your back, until finally, they gripped your face tenderly, calloused hands holding your face. Your hands wrapped around his neck, standing up straight to reach his lips.

The state of catharsis his desperate kisses gave you confirmed it. You knew in your heart who you wanted.

When Chanyeol pulled away, you wiped away the snowflakes that had fallen on his cheeks and nose. “Y/N,” He murmured, “You came back.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

”I had to,” You said softly, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, “I needed to warn you about what’s coming.”

His face fell slightly when he heard your reasoning, but he didn’t step away. “Y/N, I… I shouldn’t have let you leave. A-and I shouldn’t have said those things I said. I was… scared. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, breaking away. “Right now, we can’t focus on that. I need you all to listen to me. I know what the troops are trying to do.”

He nodded, eyes turning serious. “Come on,” He said, turning you to face the clearing. The two of you paused when you noticed the two other wolves sitting in the clearing, watching you bemusedly.

I told you something happened, Jongin said to Kyungsoo, Now you owe me your next part of the hunt.

Chanyeol scowled, and had this not been such a serious moment, you would have laughed. The two of you walked back over to the quartet, where you greeted them all properly. Not wasting any time, you went over the basics. How you’d been found by Baekhyun and taken back to Ironbend, what you told the Council in an attempt to get them to consider a truce, how you managed to escape. Baekhyun and his plan. The danger that Selyne was in, and by extension, the danger that Chanyeol was in.

“She needs to hide, now,” You told them once you finished, “Chanyeol, you might need to hide, too.”

“I’m not going to hide,” He fired back. “This is my home. They’re threatening my mother. I’m not about to stand back and let them do it.”

You stared at him, gripping his forearm. “Chanyeol, Baekhyun knows. He told me he would kill you.”

“And I’m telling you I’ll kill him.” Chanyeol’s eyes were wide, serious. “Y/N, I’m more expendable than Selyne is. If I die, it’s a major setback. If Selyne dies…”

It’s the beginning of the end for us, Kyungsoo completed, The magic of the forest will become unbalanced if it loses one of its Pillars.

And if the magic of the forest becomes unbalanced, we lose our strongest wall of defense, Junmyeon agreed. It’s our job as our mother’s sons to lead in her place in moments when she can’t. One of those moments is now. Chanyeol has to fight.

You clenched your jaw. “Fine,” You bit out, “But someone needs to go warn Selyne, right now.”

Chanyeol and I can go. Jongin, Kyungsoo, you both need to gather the other wolf packs. Call the bears as well, any other animals that can defend the forest. Foxes, coyotes, birds of prey, lynxes. Call the raccoons if you have to. This is life or death. Junmyeon straightened his posture. Sehun, you show Y/N how far the troops have gone. Stay hidden. Let’s rendezvous in an hour and wait for Kyungsoo and Jongin with the reinforcements.

We’ll go as fast as we can, Jongin said, before turning to Kyungsoo. Let’s go.

Sehun lifted his head to gaze at you. You heard him. Get on.

You nodded, turning to Chanyeol, who was about to get onto Junmyeon. “Wait.”

Chanyeol’s eyes softened as you approached him, reaching into your pocket. You tucked the necklace into the palm of his hand, closing his fist around it. “Be careful,” You begged him, “I didn’t betray an entire village just for you to get yourself killed.”

He gave a soft smile, his other hand grasping yours. “I’ll come back to you,” He promised. You peered into his eyes, wanting to say so many things.

Gross, Sehun interrupted, and Chanyeol’s smile disappeared immediately. “Don’t be a dick.”

He’s Sehun, Junmyeon mumbled, giving something akin to an eyeroll, Kind of impossible for him not to be. Now come on, we need to go now.

Chanyeol offered you one small, final smile, before he and Junmyeon sped off.

You turned to Sehun, getting on his back. “Is it that hard for you to not be an asshole?” You asked, tone warm and teasing.

You all love me anyway, he replied. His cheekiness was not missed. The two of you took off immediately afterwards. You remembered to lower yourself and stay close to his back. Sehun explained that the magic of the forest was affecting the troops, leading them on the wrong path.

They’ve been going in circles for about two hours now, Sehun snickered, But we can’t just let them trample through the forest without teaching them a lesson.

“Be careful once we get closer to their location,” You said into his ear, “They’ll probably have scouts patrolling within a few hundred meters of their formation on all sides.”

I’ll keep that in mind.

The pair of you slowed to a walk, and you got off of him, pulling out your bow and nocking an arrow out of caution. Silence reigned over the forest, making the sounds of your boots crunching in the snow cringeworthy and deafening. The two of you were nearing the top of a hill, approaching its steep summit. As you approached it, the sound of stomping and snow crunching became louder and louder. You swallowed the lump in your throat, slowing significantly.

You stopped at the sound of a familiar shout. The boom of the voice actually made Sehun’s ears lower, the wolf flinching at the noise.

“Regroup!” Jongdae yelled, “We’ll stop for ten minutes.”

You stared at Sehun, who in turn gazed at you before cocking his head at a large boulder that should give you both some cover. Slowly, as quietly as possible, you both approached the snow cap rock, before Sehun peeked over the edge of the rock.

They’re at the base of the hill. If you’re gonna come over here, be careful.

You leaned over the side of the rock, releasing the tension in the string of your bow.

120 sounded like a lot of men, you realized, but the visual was somewhat underwhelming. They easily fit in the large clearing at the base of the hill. Seeing them all huddled together in the cold brought you an odd sense of comfort.

Seeing Byun Baekhyun and his two lackeys had the opposite effect.

Baekhyun, Minseok and Jongdae were excellent military strategists. They were better than you, that was for sure, and you came from a long line of military leaders. They worked even better when the three of them worked together. In previous campaigns in other places, they’d done great damage with even smaller troops. You knew damn well that they would turn this relatively small group into a well oiled killing machine, and use each man to the best of their ability.

Still, you knew they had some weaknesses in their formations. Every formation did. They were very susceptible to being attacked from the back. It would catch them off guard very easily.

What are you thinking? Sehun asked.

“They can be very vulnerable from the back,” You whispered, “This is their standard formation. I doubt they’ll change it now that they’re this deep—takes too much time, lowers their guard. See the back line? Those are the reserves. They’re generally the strongest men, but they’re more spread out. That’s where Baekhyun, Jongdae and Minseok are, also—their leaders. The ones meant to be fodder are generally put on the front line.”

That’s… interesting. But an attack from the back would mean taking out a small group of strong opponents, and then fighting a larger group. That’s… not ideal. We would tire ourselves out.

“There are bound to be more than 120 animals in the forest willing to defend it,” You pointed out. “They’re used to combat at a distance, especially with the shoulder guns. If we can approach them and overwhelm them, we might just be able to get them to retreat.”

You watched as Baekhyun, Jongdae and Minseok had a quiet discussion between the three of them, Jongdae’s hands gesturing wildly.

“Jackasses,” You grumbled, before stepping back safely behind the boulder. “Have we seen enough?”

I think so. It looks like they’re going to keep heading west. Which is good. Mama’s den is east. Let’s get back to the rendezvous point.

You nodded, exhaling softly. You stole one last glance at Baekhyun before you and Sehun trudged down the hill, putting some distance between the troops and you both before you mounted the wolf and broke out into a run. You kept your eyes open as he ran, hoping the winds would dry the tears in your eyes.

You were the first ones back in the clearing.

“You’re sure we’re in the right place, right?” You asked, just to be sure. Sehun sat, shaking some snowflakes off of his snout. This is where the pack scent is strongest, and I can still see the tracks from where we all split up, so yes. And look, that’s where you and Chanyeol… swapped spit.

“And you say Chanyeol and I are the gross ones.”

Sehun laughed. Well, that’s what it looked like! Human displays of affection are so odd. At first I thought you were trying to eat each other.

You shook your head. “No. Not at all,” You answered with a laugh, “It’s actually—”

Sehun’s head turned, ears perking up. Your speech died in your mouth, watching as a few seconds later, Chanyeol and Junmyeon came into view. They made their way into the clearing, and stopped right in front of you. Chanyeol slid off of Junmyeon’s back, stretching his legs when he did.

It took her some convincing, but Mother is safe. She’s in one of her secret dens, just in case.

You sighed in relief. “Good.”

We also found Beval and Emyr on our way there. We made sure to warn them.

Well, what did they say? Sehun asked.

Beval is rounding up the birds of prey as we speak. He’s also sending them some heavy snowfall and winds—he called it a welcome gift.

You smiled as the remark before Junmyeon continued. Emyr is rounding up the deer, and he’s sent out a message to any smaller animals to stay in their dens. The deer will be joining us, but they’ll stay at a distance so they can treat the injured.

“Selyne sends her blessing,” Chanyeol added, looking at you. “She also wanted me to return this to you.”

Chanyeol stretched out his hand, holding out a familiar black sheath with a leather band. The silver guards and the pommel of the sword seemed to glow in the daylight.

“So that’s where that went,” You mumbled, more to yourself. You looked up at Chanyeol after you had grabbed the sword. “Thank you.”

He waved his hand. “This is important.”

So, what now? Sehun asked, Wait for the reinforcements?

I suppose so, Junmyeon answered, before eyeing you and Chanyeol. He turned to face Sehun. Mother actually wanted me to talk to you about something. Come on, let’s go.

What on earth could she want you to nag me for at a time like this? I—

Junmyeon bared his teeth, growling in a move that surprised the three of you Sehun’s words died abruptly. Sehun, he hissed, eyes darting between the youngest wolf, and you and Chanyeol, Come on.

...Oh. Oh! Okay. Yeah. It’s probably that… thing I was talking about with her yesterday. Okay, yeah, let’s go.

The two wolves stalked off, Junmyeon nagging the entire time.

You looked up at Chanyeol, before tying the leather band securely around your waist. “Alright, we have some time to kill. Do… do you wanna talk about that night?”

Chanyeol slumped forward, looking downwards. When he looked back up, he nodded. You leaned against a tree, crossing your arms.

“I was an ass,” Chanyeol admitted. “I was unfair to you. But… I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just… I was terrified. I’ve never felt so vulnerable with someone else, before.”

“Chanyeol…”

“I love you. I don’t—I don’t know when or how it happened. And I was so angry when I didn’t go after you. And then when I finally did, it was too late. We didn’t find you. I just… lost it kind of.”

He showed you his right hand, where the knuckles were bruised and cut.

“What did you even do, punch a tree?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

He pursed his lips, ears turning red. “Well…”

You bit back a laugh, and tried hard to hold back the smile trying to break onto your face.

“Oh, gods.”

“Shut up,” He huffed, trying to hold back his own smile now.

“You’re… you’re really something,” You said. Chanyeol shrugged and his face fell again.

“I fucked up. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” You countered, “I was scared, too. Terrified. But after everything that’s happened since then, I know what I want. I want to stay here, with you, and I want to protect this place.”

“Y-you’re gonna stay?”

You looked down, shutting your eyes. You thought over the life you’d had in Ironbend, all of the friends and family you’d ever known. All of them united under one cause, and here you were, about to throw it all away. Guilt swam in your chest at the idea of having to consider them enemies.

“I want to be with you,” You hummed, grabbing his hand, “And if they knew about us, they would kill me.”

His hand squeezed yours. “I’m not going to let them.”

You smiled sadly. “I’m not going to let them hurt you, either.”

He opened his mouth to say something, when the sound of rustling in the distance caused him to turn his head. Instantly, the two of you reached for your weapons.

It’s them, Sehun called, running back into the clearing. It’s time.

You looked at Chanyeol, who squeezed your hand again. “Let’s do this.”

This would have been a lot faster had it been summer. So many animals were hibernating, and while there were still more animals than there were humans, you still wondered whether or not it would be enough. These animals didn’t have the types of weapons that the humans did, save for your sword, bow and arrow, and Chanyeol’s dagger.

A total of 361 animals showed up. Chanyeol’s four brothers, and a total of 97 wolves from different packs scattered throughout the Spearwood, for a total of 101 wolves. It made sense to you that the majority of animals would be wolves, given that Selyne was the one that was threatened the most. Other troops included 51 birds of prey, 46 foxes, 29 coyotes, 32 bears, 55 deer, 19 raccoons, 11 lynxes and surprisingly enough, 17 squirrels.

You weren’t sure whether to be surprised by the fact that squirrels had decided to show up or that the vast majority of them—along with the raccoons—came armed with relatively large jagged rocks to throw at the small army.

At first, the animals were skeptical of your plan. You didn’t blame them. A human, a foreigner, trying to lead them into battle? It didn’t sound safe.

The plan was simple enough. Wait until the troops reached one of the streams, so that it would be difficult for them to cross. Start an aerial attack with the birds of prey, the squirrels and the raccoons, then the front line of animals would attack the back line. The second, third and fourth lines would attack all around, and eventually the lines would open up towards the north, in an effort to push them back. The deer would be waiting past the stream, out of sight, waiting to work on the injured with their magic. You made sure to explain to them how the guns worked, and what needed to be done to heal the wounds.

The troops would be given a wide berth on all sides. The signals to attack would be given via howls, or in the case of the birds of prey, a screech.

Each wolf would be leading from a different direction. Junmyeon would be leading the front line with Chanyeol. Jongin would lead the second line, Kyungsoo the third, and Sehun the fourth lines.

You would be on the front line as well. As the groups separated, the forest seemed to fill with fog. You followed Junmyeon and Chanyeol, who were following the scent of the human troops as they led your group of about 50 or so animals. The only sound you could hear was the sound of snow crunching beneath you. You could barely see anything as the fog hanging overhead seemed to seep into the forest the closer and closer you got. You tried desperately not to think of your dream.

The wind blew harder as well, whipping your hair every which way, drying your eyes. Snow fell even heavier. It became slightly harder to trudge through it.

As your group came to its waiting point, one of the birds—a hawk, you saw—flew overhead before flying back up into the fog overhead. That was the signal to stop and wait.

Junmyeon stopped, turning back to the group. Chanyeol held his hand up, signalling for everyone to stop and wait.

You couldn’t see the troops yet, but you knew that they weren’t too far away. The dense treeline simply made it difficult to see anything that wasn’t a hundred meters away. All you could do now was wait. Your eyes met Chanyeol’s for a second, and he flashed you a soft smile. You looked him once over, your heart doing a backflip when it saw the opal necklace resting against his shirt.

“Be safe,” He mouthed at you, and you nodded as he pulled down his mask.

“You, too.”

The silence of the forest was shattered by a gunshot. You both turned to face the direction the sound was coming from, which was straight ahead. You forced yourself to take deep breaths, flexing your fingers. Your fingertips were numb from the cold. A second gunshot echoed through the forest, your stomach began to sink.

Gripping your bow, you tried to recall how many bows you had in your quiver. 35, 36? No more than 37, that was for sure.

Y/N, You heard Junmyeon say, flinching when a third gunshot came. You nodded once in his direction. Get on. Chanyeol will get off once we’re close enough. Your bow won’t work up close.

“Okay,” you mumbled, approaching them slowly. “We’re not too heavy?”

It’ll be fine, the wolf huffed, Just don’t take too much time with those arrows.

“Got it,” You answered, getting on, right behind Chanyeol. You made a mental note to suggest a saddle for them—if they knew what a saddle was, anyway.

“Hold on to me,” Chanyeol murmured, “Don’t pull out your bow until I say so.”

You nodded. “Be careful. Both of you.”

A fourth gunshot sounded, and you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I’m gonna kiss you so hard when this is over,” Chanyeol whispered.

Gods, Sehun’s right, Junmyeon grumbled, You two are disgus—

A shrieking noise rang across the forest, and all of the hairs stood up on your body as you registered as the sound of a hawk’s screeching.

Now! Junmyeon yelled, beginning to charge forward, all of the other animals running behind you.

“Wait for my signal,” Chanyeol told you, “Stay alert.”

You didn’t reply, too focused on thinking about what was about to happen. As Junmyeon and the other animals weaved through the trees, you began to see something in the distance, barely outlined in the fog. Two more gunshots sounded, sparks glowing for a split second in the mist, perfectly giving away their location.

They were closer now. You could hear murmuring, shouting. The sound of running water, albeit a bit softer than the voices. Any second now, they would hear you.

“Now!” Chanyeol told you, as a large, dark mass came into view, slightly blurred by the fog. You pulled away from Chanyeol, pulling off your bow and nocking an arrow quickly.

“What is that noise!?” You heard a voice yell. You couldn’t recognize who it was.

“STAND FIRM!” A loud voice ordered. Jongdae.

A single figure burst into view, and you knew it had to be a scout. The young man turned, and his eyes widened when he spotted you, grimacing as you aimed your arrow at him.

His mouth opened wide, and he began to screech, “From the nor—!”

Your arrow pierced his chest, and you forced yourself to look away as he fell to the ground.

“The north!” You heard Baekhyun say, “FACE NORTH! NOW!”

You pulled out another arrow and nocked it as well, just as the troops appeared in your line of vision. You spotted Baekhyun almost immediately, but couldn’t bring yourself to aim directly at him. Instead, as the animals charged, you let it fly into someone right behind him, hitting the man straight in the eye. The arrow whizzed past Baekhyun’s head. His eyes widened momentarily when he saw you on top of the wolf, sitting behind Chanyeol’s familiar face, before it twisted into a hateful sneer.

“Attack!” He cried, “Fire, NOW!”

The first gunshots were fired, thick rocks still raining down on the men, hawks and eagles swooping down to claw at their faces.

As Junmyeon turned, he slowed down enough for Chanyeol to jump off. The man pulled out his dagger, charging straight for a soldier of similar stature.

Your turn, Y/N, Junmyeon said, You run out of arrows and I’ll call in the second line.

“On it!” You answered, aiming another arrow.

The two of you made an unlikely duo, working surprisingly well. Junmyeon knew to run slightly away from the fighting, because up close your arrows wouldn’t be much help. Running parallel to the front line, you fired arrow after arrow into the crowd. You even managed to get him to dodge a few bullets. One grazed his side, causing him to yelp, and you countered by sending your arrow into the neck of the man who shot at him.

Truthfully, you tried not to aim at the people you knew. It was too difficult, seeing their shock and the look of betrayal cross their faces for a split second before you fired your arrow. But that was difficult, because everyone knew you, the same way they knew their father.

You couldn’t imagine what they must have been thinking, to see someone who they thought would become their leader in the future fighting alongside their supposed enemies.

All around you, chaos reigned. The rock flinging had slowed down, but birds were still diving down to attack men at random. The men at the other side of the troops were trying to spread out, to extend the front line, but it didn’t seem to be working very well. In the distance you watched two men try to fend off a grizzly bear. You had to turn your attention elsewhere, but from the looks of it, they weren’t winning.

Soon enough, you were down to your last arrow. Which, in a way, was good, because you could tell Junmyeon was beginning to slow down. The sooner he had less weight to carry, the better.

Do you see Chanyeol? Junmyeon asked, and your eyes scanned the front line, stopping when they landed on Chanyeol fighting hand to hand with a soldier. He was on the other side of the battlefield. “I see him,” You answered, “Junmyeon, let me off now and call in the second line!”

What about you? He asked as you slid off his back, firing your final arrow into a man aiming at a bar, cringing when you recognized him as the baker’s son. “I’ll be fine,” You insisted, slinging your bow across your chest, before pulling out your sword, “Just call them, now!”

Taking off before he could answer, your legs set off. As you ran, you assessed the damage. Some animals lay injured or dying, others running off as they got injured, probably to circle around to the deer.

Your breath puffed out as you made your way towards Chanyeol. You heard people call your name, some even calling out for help, but you refused to spare them any glances. You wondered if they had seen you charging in… they probably hadn’t.

When you were about fifty meters from Chanyeol, someone stepped in front of you. Looking up to meet their eyes, you saw Minseok, holding his spear up and eyeing you defensively.

“Get out of here and they might just let you live,” He grunted. You held your sword out, eyeing the movements of his right arm.

“As if you would let the gods live,” You quipped, “In the grand scheme of things, I’m no one.”

“Y/N, I don’t want to have to do this.” His voice was shaky, glancing to the side to avoid your eyes. “We’ve been friends for years, I would never forgive myself if I had to—”

Thwap! You turned the blade so that when you hit him with it, the flat end hit the side of his head. The edge still drew some blood, though, and Minseok stumbled back, giving you just enough time to lift your leg, kicking him square in the chest. He stumbled back even further before falling to the ground, breathless. You hopped closer, hoping to knock him unconscious without hurting him too much.

Looking at him, your heart ached. As you lumbered over him, grabbing the collar of his shirt, you frowned. “I’m sorry,” You murmured, before knocking his head into the ground once, twice, three times, until his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp.

You had no time to check whether or not he was still breathing, instead standing straight up and taking a deep breath before starting to run again. As you did, you heard Junmyeon’s howl echo across the forest. Weaving through the trees, you knew more help would be here soon.

And it did, the second line appearing towards the south within a matter of seconds, sandwiching the troops between two groups of animals. As you got closer to Chanyeol, you felt something pull you back by the cloak, letting out a yelp as you fell to the ground. You fell on your butt, pain traveling up your back. Looking back to see what had snagged your cloak, you watched as Baekhyun ran past you in an attempt to get to Chanyeol, who had his back turned as he fought off another man. Baekhyun didn’t so much as spare you a glance.

You stumbled to your feet, eyes widening as you watched Baekhyun pull out his sword. Your feet somehow seemed to fly across the snow, your body going into overdrive. You’d seen this strategy before. Someone would distract the target, only for Baekhyun to come in and strike them down from behind.

You knew what would happen if you didn’t stop it. Slowing down for only a moment, you picked up a large rock that had to have hit some poor man in the head. Not even hesitating, you chucked the bloody rock at Baekhyun’s feet, causing him to stumble.

That gave you the advantage, making a beeline in front of him, practically back to back to Chanyeol. Your smaller sword met Baekhyun’s with a loud clang, the look on his face turning incredulous when he saw that it was you.

Baekhyun had always been a better swordsman. Every time you had asked him to help you train, it always ended with him pinning you down. But right now, you couldn’t afford to lose. You simply couldn’t.

“You just had to come and ruin everything,” He grunted, countering with a parry. You blocked it, your swords sliding against each other. You pushed him back, breathing heavily.

“I’m not gonna let you destroy this place,” You answered. He let out a scoff.

“What are you gonna do, huh? You never miss a shot,” Baekhyun growled, “And yet you missed me. What is it, honey, still got a soft spot for me?”

Your swords met again, your arms buckling with the strain. You couldn’t meet his eyes, you realized as your eyes filled with tears.

“We have you outnumbered. Call off the attack now,” You pleaded, sounding too desperate for your own good, “It’s not too late, Baek—”

“Oh, darling, I’m not stopping, not until I destroy all of it. Not if I have to burn—” His sword slashed forward, barely missing you as he roared, “—The entire Spearwood to the ground, not if I have to burn down all of Ironbend to get rid of every piece of fucking vermin in this place.”

You stepped forward, tears burning your dry eyes, and that was your mistake. In your attempt to parry, he sidestepped you, knocking you to the ground with a harsh shove. Your blade fell out of your hand, landing in the snow.

As you fell to the ground, you met Baekhyun’s gaze for the first time since your swords clashed. You were surprised to find tears streaking down his face, as well. His eyes looked like that of a wild animal, bewildered and desperate as he lifted his sword, ready to come down at you.

“And if I have to kill you too, my love?” He let out a single humorless laugh, a sad, cold smile gracing his beautifully twisted features, “So be it.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as his sword began to fall, curling into yourself as you did. You didn’t want your last sight of the man you once loved to be this distorted image of him, drunk on the pursuit of power. All you wanted was the end.

Only, the end never came. Not in the way you expected it to, at least. Because a split second later, you heard Baekhyun gasp, and a deep, guttural groan came from above you.

Your eyes snapped open, face contorting into an expression of horror as you saw the tip of Baekhyun’s sword peeking out of Chanyeol’s back, dripping blood. You watched as Chanyeol lurched forward, Baekhyun pulling off the mask, glaring up at his long lost brother with what you could only describe as bitter rage.

“You look just like the old man,” He muttered spitefully, “Go figure.”

Chanyeol didn’t answer, groaning out before coughing. Blood spilled from his lips.

Your heart began to pound, and all of the noise around you seemed to fade into nothingness. All you could focus on was the blood staining Chanyeol’s tattered shirt a dark red, dripping onto your pants and his white pelt. The only noise you could hear was your own labored breathing and your blood roaring in your ears, not feeling the trembling in your necrotic arm.

You barely even registered the ear shattering wail that echoed across the battlefield, inky black tearing at your skin as they branched out everywhere. Your eyes rolled up back into your head, your body convulsing.

You didn’t see the way they wrapped around every being within a thirty meter radius, squeezing with a vengeance. You didn’t see the way the wolves, who were on the other side of the battlefield stopped in awe to watch as you attempted to destroy everything in your path. You didn’t see Baekhyun get ripped away from Chanyeol, getting lifted some ten feet into the air as his eyes widened in terror, because he had only ever seen you hold back one of these fits. You didn’t see the few men who weren’t in your grip freeze, only able to watch as men and animals alike struggled to free themselves from you.

You didn’t see. But Chanyeol did. He watched as all of this happened in less than ten seconds, before one tendril pulled out the sword, causing him to tumble to the ground right next to you. He fell to his hands and knees, wheezing and spitting out more blood that fell from his mouth.

When he managed to register what was going on, he crawled over to you, one hand pressing down on a rapidly bleeding stab wound he couldn’t even feel due to the adrenaline rushing through his body. He watched as your hand bent back and forth, contorting impossibly. Cringing at the sound of the cracking bones and your incessant screaming, he leaned over you and reached out his free hand.

If this didn’t stop, you would kill everyone and everything in your grip and get yourself killed in the process. He grabbed your free hand with all the strength he could muster, trying to ignore the stiffness in your joints. His fingers tried to get your own fingers to grip the opal on your necklace, but nothing happened.

“Please,” He wheezed, “Please, Y/N.”

With your cries ringing in his ears, he ripped his hand from the stab wound and touched your necklace, staining your neck red as he did, before bringing your hand to his neck, from where a second opal was dangling. His necklace, the one you had returned to him only an hour or so prior.

He coughed, cringing again as blood splattered across your face. “I’ve got you,” He croaked, “That—that night, when you asked me to make it stop, Y/N, I’m—I’m here, I’m trying. Please.”

Your screaming began to quiet, and his voice dropped to a panicked whisper. “Pl—please, Y/N. Please.”

He knew it must have taken less than a few seconds, but it truly did seem like an eternity to him. The tendrils recoiled back into your arm, letting go of all of the creatures you’d had in your grip. Baekhyun fell into the snow a few feet away from you, the wind knocked out of him. Your screaming stopped, and your bones snapped into place, but your sobs didn’t stop, not as your body wracked with pain as the aftershocks kicked in.

The shock wore off on the remaining men within a minute or so, most of them beginning to flee north, dropping their weapons as they went. Jongdae came forward, already having guided an unconscious Minseok onto his reindeer. “Baekhyun, we have to go now.”

Baekhyun looked up, breathing unevenly. “No, not before I kill h—”

“There’s no time!” Jongdae barked hurriedly. “He’s gonna die anyway, look at what you did to him. And the more you stay, especially after everyone heard what you said about burning Ironbend to the ground, the worse it’s gonna be for you. So get on the damn reindeer, now.”

Baekhyun faltered, sneering before hurrying onto the reindeer. Your eyes cracked open as Jongdae got on the third reindeer, and they rode off north, presumably to lick their wounds and try and explain everything to the council.

You looked up, just as Chanyeol toppled over on top of you. You ignored the screaming in your arms and the tension in your jaw as you rolled the pair of you over, eyes brimming with tears again when the smell of blood hit your nose.

He looked so pale, beneath you. Your hands pulled his head gently onto your lap, before one of them began cradling his head. The other tried desperately to press down on the wound, but the stiffness in your arms didn’t help much.

“You can’t die like this,” You whispered hoarsely, “I just came back.”

He managed to quip a smile. “You’ll be alright,” He crooned, one hand limply. “It’s—it’s your turn now, to ride with my br—my brothers.”

“No,” You begged.

Chanyeol! You both turned your heads as the four brothers in question ran up to the both of you.

“Hey,” Chanyeol murmured, as if he wasn’t bleeding out beneath you, “That wasn’t... very fun. I… I don’t wanna do that again.”

You idiot, Junmyeon said, voice trembling, the usual chastising tone he had now empty. What’s mother gonna say when she finds out you went and got yourself killed?

You can’t die, you ass, Sehun added. You can’t.

He’s not going to.

Your head snapped up, just in time to watch two figures leap into view, a third lumbering behind them, a fourth flying overhead. Quickly, just as everyone else registered that it was the gods, your head bowed in respect.

Beval landed on a branch overhead, the fog clearing. Selyne and Emyr stopped before you, as Mirren began to round up the remaining animals, directing them across the stream.

Chanyeol, Selyne murmured, tone anxious. You never would have expected that from her. What have you done?

“What I had to do to keep you all safe,” He answered, meeting the she-wolf’s gaze. His eyes moved to look at Emyr.

“My king. I’m sorry for all the loss the forest has felt today.”

Emyr shook his head. It will mourn, but it will forever be grateful for the sacrifice you all made to keep it safe. We will honor you. Heroes, all of you.

You were trembling as you kept your head down, trying to memorize each corner of his face. Every mole, every blemish, every eyelash.

Even you, Y/N.

Your head snapped up, meeting the gaze of the deer god with your tearful eyes. “Th-thank you, great king,” You replied, “But we only did what was right.”

Indeed. But I do believe you deserve more than honor. You’ve sacrificed much. Daresay, I think you’ve proved yourself to me and to the forest.

You didn’t know why your heart sank. Despite this being what you set out to do, you didn’t feel victorious. “Oh,” You murmured, unsure what to say as Chanyeol shifted his head below you.

Oh? Selyne quipped, You’re being bestowed a gift by a god and that’s all you can say?

“I don’t want it,” You blurted, more tears running down your face. You couldn’t control your mouth even if you wanted to, shaking your head. All you could do was weep and stare down at Chanyeol. The light in his eyes seemed to be getting dimmer. “Give it to him, please. He’s done more for this forest than I ever could. Please heal him, my king, please.”

Fascinating. You would allow yourself to die if it meant that Chanyeol would live?

“Y/N, don’t do this,” Chanyeol whispered. You shook your head at him, before nodding at Emyr.

“Yes, absolutely, yes. Without a doubt. Please don’t let him die.”

What would happen to us if I, as the king of this forest, simply allowed all of my subjects to live in their time of dying? Maybe this is for the best, child. This is his fate.

“No, I can’t let that happen!”

Why not?

“Because I love him. Please, please don’t let him die.”

Emyr stared at you for a long time. Until finally, he gave you the closest thing a deer could give to a smile. Very well, he agreed. You’ve learned, girl. You’ve let go of your pride and you have sacrificed everything you previously had for our home. I will heal him… and I will heal you, as well. You’ve earned it. Both of you.

You sighed in relief, slumping over Chanyeol. The deer god approached you both, before pressing something akin to a kiss on your forehead, and then doing the same thing to Chanyeol’s hand.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then, your body seemed to sing as it jumped into the air of its own accord, Chanyeol right next to you. You watched as the wound began to close, before you felt the sensation of a weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Your eyes moved to your arm, watching as it returned to its natural color, the scars of the bite Sehun had given you fading.

You landed on your feet, managing to catch Chanyeol before he fell to the ground. He groaned, slinging his arm around your shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” He admitted, “But I’ll live.”

He faced Emyr. “Thank you, my king. I can never fully repay you for what you’ve done.”

So long as you continue to protect us as you have all your life, consider your debt repaid.

You bowed your own head in respect. “Thank you. I promise to protect the forest until the day I die.”

I never would have expected it to end this way, Selyne said. I never thought I would thank you for saving my son and protecting me.

You looked at Chanyeol, who smiled weakly at you.

Um, I hate to ruin the mood, Kyungsoo mumbled, But they didn’t actually surrender. They retreated. They’ll be back. What’ll we do then?

Your smile faded, heaving a deep sigh. Baekhyun was still out there, currently on his way back to Ironbend—but he wouldn’t get off easily for essentially leading 120 men on what as basically a suicide mission and getting more than half of them killed. And he would definitely get in trouble for what he told you about being willing to burn Ironbend to the ground.

With luck, this would mean severe consequences for him. His reputation would likely suffer, and he might even get booted from the council. But now that you were gone, who was left to govern after your father passed away? You could only hope someone like Yixing would pass on to lead.

Truthfully, you weren’t sure how to answer. But in your silence, Chanyeol spoke up, reaching for one of your hands and squeezing it tightly.

“We’ll be alright,” He said, “Come what may—we’ll be alright.”

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