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headcanonsandmore · 1 year

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Rivers In The Light

Summary: The Fifth Doctor, with Adric, Tegan and Nyssa in tow, arrive in Tudor England for a dance at a local squire's house. However, as Tegan is soon to discover, the local ale (mostly non-alcoholic to humans) has a much more obvious effect on Trakenites...

(Trigger warnings for drinking and drunkenness)

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Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

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Tegan grumbled, stepping into the shoes.

‘I still don’t see why we couldn’t go to the sixties,’ she muttered, irritably. ‘At least the dresses there weren’t so heavy.’

‘I think you look very pretty,’ Nyssa giggled, smiling over at her. The Trakenite was dressed in a similar style of dress, used for Tudor dances. She looked very beautiful.

Tegan felt her cheeks flush slightly.

‘Oh, stop it, Nys.’

Oh, how she wished she hadn’t developed such embarrassingly intense feelings for Nyssa. At first, she’d assumed it was just a little crush, like the sort she’d had on friends when was at boarding school in France, but as the months had steadily widened the gap between their first meeting and the present, Tegan had become more and more aware as to the sheer extent of her feelings.

Of course, she was in love. And it pained her to know that Nyssa probably didn’t even notice. It pained her even more to know that -surely- Nyssa would never see her in the same way.

The Trakenite crossed the floor. She intertwined their fingers, grinning at Tegan.

‘Well, you might think otherwise, but I think you look beautiful,’ she said, cheeks dimpling as her eyes shone. ‘Truly beautiful, Tegan.’

Tegan felt her cheeks flush.

‘Oh, stop making fun, Nys-’

‘I assure you, I’m not making fun,’ Nyssa interjected, giving Tegan’s hand a tender squeeze. ‘Why must you be so harsh on yourself, Tegan?’

‘Thanks,’ Tegan mumbled. ‘I don’t deserve you, Nyssa.’

‘Yes, you do-’

‘Are you two going to be any longer?’

The two young women jumped at the sound of Adric’s voice.

‘J-just a minute!’ Tegan exclaimed, feeling her face burning now. She could hear the sounds of the young boy’s footsteps as he headed back towards the console room.

Nyssa giggled, smiling, squeezed Tegan’s hand again, and led her through the door of their shared room and through the gleaming white corridors of the TARDIS.

As they reached the console room, they found Adric stood by the controls, wearing Tudor period clothing; a pair of stockings with short britches, with a tunic. A slightly-large hat was placed on his moptop of black hair.

He looked even more irritated than normal.

‘I see the Doc forced you into this get-up too,’ Tegan said, in commiseration.

Adric nodded.

‘I suppose it could be worse,’ he said. ‘At least the TARDIS had this in my size.’

At that moment, the Doctor walked in through the main doors. To Tegan’s irritation, he was wearing his normal clothing. Well, if your definition of normal included a beige cricket suit and matching hat, anyway.

‘Ah, lovely!’ the timelord said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them cheerfully. ‘I see you all found clothing in the TARDIS wardrobe.’

‘I see you didn’t,’ Adric said, crossing his arms. ‘Doctor, what was it you said about “fitting into the time period”?’

‘Oh, timelords never worry about that,’ the Doctor said, with an airy wave of his hand. ‘Besides, my clothing fits in anywhere.’

Tegan and Adric shared a look, before sighing. Nyssa giggled, squeezing Tegan’s hand, and led her out of the TARDIS doors after the time lord. Adric followed a couple of paces later.

‘Now, we’ve landed in a lovely part of Dorset,’ said the Doctor, as the four of them walked along the road. ‘The squire of the manor is someone I met while you three were all getting changed, so he knows we’re on our way.’

‘Doctor, how are we going to explain who we all are?’ Tegan asked. The evening was already drawing in, and the sun looked like it would soon sink over the horizon. The squire’s house was visible a few hundred yards along the road.

‘Oh, I mentioned it earlier,’ said the Doctor, voice suddenly rather airy. ‘No need to worry.’

‘Doctor…’ Tegan replied, very slowly. ‘What did you say-’

‘Ah, Doctor!’

A man was stood in front of the main door, smiling widely. He was a cheerful-looking fellow, with a round face and lots of smile lines. Clearly, he was the squire.

‘Hello,’ said the Doctor, shaking the man’s hand. ‘Thank you again for your kind invitation.’

‘No need, no need,’ replied the squire, grinning. ‘It is lovely to meet you; ah, this is your daughter, I see!’

Tegan heard Adric repress a snicker as the squire turned to Tegan.

‘Er… yes,’ she said, suppressing an urge to elbow the boy in the ribs as she shook the squire’s hand. ‘How do you do?’

‘Lovely accent,’ replied the man, smiling. ‘Where are you from, young lady?’

‘And this is my ward,’ said the Doctor quickly, gesturing to Nyssa before Tegan could answer. ‘May I present Nyssa of Traken.’

‘Traken, eh?’ replied the squire, shaking Nyssa’s hand. ‘Is that anywhere near the Baltic? I used to know a merchant who sailed round those parts.’

‘Er…’ Nyssa said, looking a little baffled. ‘Geography was never my strong suit, sir.’

The squire gave a laugh, not seeming to notice Nyssa’s confused expression.

‘Your son, I take it?’ the man asked, now moving on to shake Adric’s hand. ‘How do you do, young fellow?’

‘How do I what?’ replied Adric, looking politely baffled.

The squire laughed, clearly assuming Adric was making a joke.

‘So… are you and Miss Nyssa engaged?’

‘Engaged to what?’ Adric replied, now looking even more confused.

‘To be married, of course.’ said the squire.

Adric made a face.

‘Definitely not,’ he said.

‘Oh, dear!’ exclaimed the squire, with a chuckle. ‘Rather too young for that sort of thing, anyway!’

‘Indeed,’ the Doctor said, quickly. ‘Now, my dear squire, you must tell me about the history of your delightful residence…’

Adric followed the Doctor and the squire inside, looking over his shoulder to shoot an apologetic grimace at Nyssa, who gave a laugh.

‘I don’t think you’re Adric’s type,’ Tegan said.

Nyssa giggled, slipping her hand into Tegan’s.

‘Don’t worry, Tegan,’ she said, cheeks dimpling as she smiled. ‘Adric isn’t really my type, either.’

‘Er…’ Tegan said, mouth suddenly very dry. ‘Good.’

Nyssa let out another giggle, as the two of them headed through the main doors. Tegan, now feeling distinctly flustered, was only dimly aware of the Doctor and Adric continuing the conversation with the squire. She always got like this whenever Nyssa held her hand; it wasn’t fair. Why was her friend so pretty and lovely?

The squire’s house was rather lovely, Tegan had to admit. It was decorated in the sort of style Tegan had seen in history books about the Tudor period, with some tapestries (mainly of nature scenes) on the walls. The floors were mainly wood, but were clearly well cared for. A modest amount of candles were dotted around. This was especially prevalent when they all entered the main hall of the place; it wasn’t especially big, but still large enough to be used as a function room, presumably for dances of the local gentry.

The squire came to a stop beside a long table, and picked up a jug. He then poured the contents into four different cups (glasses being presumably too expensive) and handed them out.

With an air of seeming reluctance, Nyssa let go of Tegan’s hand and took the cup that was offered to her.

‘Cheers,’ said the squire, raising his own cup.

There was a small chorus in response, and then Tegan took a small sip.

It was a lot less bad than she had been expecting. She had always got the sense from History class in school that drunkenness was more common in the Tudor period, but the Doctor had adamantly chastised her for this. Apparently, the assumption that the people in those drank more alcohol due to a lack of clean drinking water was something of an over-exaggeration.

Come to think of it…

‘Doctor,’ Tegan asked, in a whisper to the blonde man, ‘isn’t Ale alcoholic?’

‘Well, in your time, yes,’ replied the time lord. ‘But, in the Tudor period, it was made using a different amount of hops, meaning it was far less alcoholic. I wouldn’t worry, Tegan; the most you’ll get is a little happy.’

Tegan glowered at the blond man as he walked away to converse with the squire, who had started explaining the story of a nearby tapestry.

‘I’m sure the Doctor means well, Tegan,’ Nyssa said, smiling as she took a small sip of her ale.

‘Can you blame me for getting worried?’ Tegan replied, as the two of them sat down in chairs nearby. ‘Adric’s too young to be drinking and, more to the point, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink alcohol before.’

‘True,’ Nyssa giggled. ‘But maybe you can relax a little and just enjoy being back on Earth without us all being in mortal danger.’

Tegan took a look at Nyssa’s smiling face, and her heart softened, as it always did whenever the Trakenite looked like that in her direction.

‘Fair point,’ she said, taking a small sip from her own cup. ‘It is a bit different from Earth in my time, though; Australia hasn’t even been invented yet.’

‘Yes, you can’t regale anyone with stories about… what was that animal you mentioned the other week? The one with soft hair like you?’

‘Koalas?’ Tegan exclaimed. ‘Pretty sure I never mentioned their hair. Why? Do you think my hair is soft?’

‘Just a scientific observation,’ Nyssa said, quickly as she took another sip. Were Tegan’s eyes deceiving her, or were Nyssa’s cheeks turning slightly pink. ‘Your… your hair is very soft.’

‘Er… thank you,’ Tegan replied, feeling slightly out-of-sorts. ‘Listen, I don’t think this ale is my drink of choice; I’ll be back in a bit.’

Nyssa nodded, and Tegan stood up. She headed across the room, and placed her cup down on the table.

‘Miss Tegan?’

She turned. A boy -presumably, a servant in the house- was stood on the other side of the table.

‘Yes?’

‘Would you like something to eat?’

The boy was about Tegan’s age, and had short brown hair, a rounded nose and a few freckles dotted across his face. Lanky, with clothes that didn’t seem to fit quite right, he definitely looked a tad out of place. But his eyes were cheerful and kind.

‘No, thanks,’ Tegan replied. ‘I’m good at the moment. Nice to meet you, by the way; do you work here?’

‘Yes,’ said the boy, smiling. ‘In the kitchens.’

‘I’m Tegan.’

‘Henry.’

The two shook hands.

‘Have you worked here long, then?’ Tegan asked, pouring some spring water for herself out of another jug.

‘Couple of years,’ Henry replied, cheerfully. ‘My sister works here as well; well, when she isn’t giggling with her best friend, that is.’

‘Close, are they? Sounds like me and Nyssa.’

‘Yes, they seem to be in love, so I suppose Miss Nyssa and yourself are very close.’

Tegan choked on her water. Henry gave a laugh, handing her a napkin to wipe her face.

‘Y-yeah,’ Tegan said, feeling rather embarrassed. Oh, god, was she blushing? She probably was. ‘We’re friends.’

‘Yes… very close friends,’ Henry replied, grinning. ‘Are you feeling warm, Miss Tegan? Your face has turned pink.’

‘Oh, stop it!’ Tegan moaned, fanning herself. ‘It’s just that ale!’

‘The… non-alcoholic ale?’ Henry cheeked. ‘If you say so.’

Tegan glared at him for a second, before giving up and letting out a laugh. She then finished off her cup of water.

‘Do they pay you well here?’

‘About right for the area,’ Henry replied. ‘Enough to live on; I still live with my family. Bit of a nightmare when my sister brings her best friend home overnight; I get no sleep at all, with the racket they make.’

Tegan snorted with laughter.

‘My brothers used to get loud with their girlfriends, so I know the feeling. Good to speak to you.’

‘Same here,’ the boy said, smiling. Tegan gave him a quick wave and headed back across the floor. The Doctor was still in the middle of his lengthily conversation with the squire about the history of the house. Knowing the time lord, he probably already knew the place inside-and-out.

Tegan sat down next to Nyssa, who hadn’t moved from where she had sat down earlier. The young woman was still nursing a glass of the ale.

‘Who were you talking to?’ Nyssa asked, her voice slightly slurred. Her frow seemed to furrow in suspicion as she stared over the room at Henry.

‘Boy from the kitchens. Hang on, are you still drinking that ale?’ Tegan asked, bemused. ‘I didn’t think much of it, myself.’

Nyssa let out a little burp, before giggling.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, slightly slurred. ‘This drink is rather wonderful. I feel all… tingly and merry.’

The Trakenite swayed slightly where she sat, leaning against Tegan’s shoulder.

‘Nyssa?’ Tegan asked, slowly. ‘Are you… alright?’

‘Never better,’ Nyssa said, smiling sweetly at her. ‘Oh, you look wonderful in the candlelight, Tegan.’

Tegan felt her heart beat faster. Why was Nyssa looking at her like that? And… wait, something was definitely wrong. Nyssa was not in the habit of being so carefree in the way she moved.

‘Er… shall we get you some water?’ Tegan said, quickly. ‘There’s some over that; come on…’

She stood up, and Nyssa awkwardly followed. However, as she rose to her feet, the Trakenite stumbled, landing against Tegan. The young woman looked upwards into Tegan’s face through her eyelashes, face flushed pink.

‘Oh…’ Nyssa breathed, very softly. ‘Pretty…’

Tegan swallowed. Something was definitely wrong.

‘Nyssa, c’mon, you’re being very…’

‘What?’ Nyssa whispered. ‘What am I being, Tegan?’

‘I… that is…’

Nyssa giggled again, and awkwardly leaned away from Tegan, who took the opportunity to grab the younger woman by the hand.

‘Doctor!’ Tegan exclaimed, half-dragging Nyssa along behind her. ‘Something’s wrong with Nyssa!’

The time lord turned away from the tapestry he had been examining (the squire had presumably been called away for something), and bent down slightly to the level of the two women.

He then snapped his fingers in front of Nyssa’s face. The young woman blinked sleepily.

‘What has she been drinking?’

‘The same as me,’ Tegan said, worried. ‘That ale stuff; but you said it wasn’t alcoholic.’

‘Oh, that would explain it,’ the Doctor said, sighing as he stood back up to his full height. ‘The ale brewed around this time isn’t alcoholic to humans, but it seems that it’s affecting Nyssa’s biology differently.’

‘You… you mean she’s drunk?’

‘Afraid so, yes,’ the Doctor replied. ‘I think perhaps you ought to get her back to the TARDIS and put her to bed.’

‘You… you’re sure there won’t be any other adverse effects?’ Tegan asked. ‘It won’t be poisonous to her or anything?’

‘None more so than alcohol normally is to humans, since it seems to be effecting her the same way. Don’t you worry, Tegan; Nyssa will be fine after a good nights’ sleep and a couple glasses of water.’

The Doctor handed Tegan his TARDIS key.

‘She’ll be fine, Tegan,’ he said, encouragingly. ‘Besides, she’s not going to run into any trouble when she has you with her, is she?’

‘Not bloody likely,’ Tegan said, gripping Nyssa’s hand tightly.

‘Good,’ replied the Doctor. ‘See you later, then.’

Tegan swallowed, and nodded. Nyssa giggled as Tegan turned her around and headed towards the door of the hall, hurrying the younger woman along, with a protective arm around her waist to stop her wobbling too much. Adric gave them a quizzical look as they passed him, but seemed to ascertain Nyssa’s certain and nodded in apparent understanding at Tegan. Somewhat surprisingly, he didn’t even laugh as the two women excited the hall. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf?

‘Miss Tegan?’

It was Henry, the servant boy. He had poked his head out of another doorway.

‘Oh, hi,’ replied Tegan. ‘Sorry, Nyssa’s not feeling very well.’

‘Is she ill?’ asked Henry, looking concerned. ‘Sorry, Miss Nyssa; would you like a cup of water?’

Nyssa stared at him in apparent confusion, as if not quite sure what he was asking.

‘She definitely needs some water,’ Tegan said, steering the younger woman through the door.

It was a kitchen of sorts, albeit one very much different to the kitchens Tegan was used to. No shiny cabinets and running water, that was for sure. Tegan guided Nyssa towards a chair next to the wall, and helped the Trakenite into it. Nyssa wobbled slightly as she sat down, brow still quizzically looking around. Henry was already heading towards another door, presumably the room where the jugs of water were kept in cold storage.

‘I’ll help you, Henry,’ she said, before turning to Nyssa. ‘I’m just going with Henry to…’

Tegan went to move, but found Nyssa’s arm suddenly wrapped around her own waist.

‘Er… Nys?’ she said, looking at the younger woman in bafflement. Nyssa was glaring at Henry with undisguised animosity.

‘Tegan’s mine!’ Nyssa exclaimed, pouting and pulling Tegan closer to her. ‘You can’t have her!’

‘Er… okay,’ said Henry, looking a tad confused as Tegan felt her face flush crimson. ‘I’ll just grab that cup of water…’

The boy hurried into the next room.

‘Nyssa!’ Tegan exclaimed, turning around to the younger woman as best she could, given Nyssa’s arm still wrapped tightly around her waist. ‘That was really rude!’

‘Don’t care,’ Nyssa said, pouting further. ‘He can’t have you.’

‘What are you talking-’

‘Here,’ said Henry, walking back into the room. He passed Nyssa a cup of water with a kind smile. ‘Your water, Miss Nyssa.’

Nyssa begrudgingly took the cup with her free hand and took a sip.

The water seemed to have something of an effect. At the very least, Nyssa removed her arm from around Tegan’s waist, and sat still for a moment, her eyes fluttering shut as she drank a few sips.

‘That’s good; just keep sipping that,’ Tegan said, squeezing Nyssa’s shoulder softly. She then looked over at Henry. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have some spare napkins, would you? I’m worried about her spilling stuff down her dress…’

‘Yeah; just through here.’

Tegan followed Henry into another room that jutted off from the kitchen. Nyssa didn’t object this time, although Tegan could feel the younger woman’s gaze on the back of her head.

‘Er, sorry about that,’ Tegan said, standing in the kitchen as the boy began to look through the cupboards for the napkins. ‘Nyssa’s normally a lot more polite than this. Not sure why she’s being so unpleasant.’

‘Really?’ -Henry let out a chuckle- ‘I would have thought it was quite clear why.’

Tegan ignored that as the boy continued to open and close cupboards, tidying up as he went.

‘Neither of you are from round here, are you?’ he continued, cheerfully. ‘You definitely don’t seem like locals.’

‘It’s…’ Tegan said, slowly. ‘Well, it’s a bit difficult to-’

‘No, I think I understand,’ Henry said. ‘Miss Nyssa is an alien and you’re from the future. It’s fairly obvious.’

‘O-oh,’ Tegan replied. ‘And… this doesn’t bother you?’

‘Why should it?’ the boy replied, smiling. ‘Although I think Miss Nyssa feels a tad threatened by my presence.’

‘T-threatened?’ Tegan repeated, feeling her face heat up again. ‘What are you-’

‘I do have eyes, Miss Tegan,’ Henry chuckled, as he finally found the napkins into Tegan’s hands. ‘You and Miss Nyssa look at each other like my sister does with her best friend.’

‘O-oh.’

Had she really been that obvious? She usually tried to keep her feelings under wraps when looking at Nyssa, just in case it became noticeable.

And-

Wait, was Nyssa looking at her like that as well?

Tegan swallowed. Too much to think about. She needed to focus. Especially on the fact that Henry had probably assumed she was flirting with him earlier; she had a habit of coming across like that with men she met, although she had never understood why.

‘Er, sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, Henry.’

‘Oh, no; you didn’t at all,’ Henry said, cheerfully waving away her apology with good grace. ‘I don’t see anyone that way, so no harm done.’

‘Really?’

Henry nodded.

‘Anyway, you best get back to Miss Nyssa; I imagine she’s already worried that I’m “stealing” you away from her-’

‘Oh, stop it!’ Tegan exclaimed, face burning. ‘She’s drunk; she doesn’t know what she’s saying!’

Henry snorted, as if he didn’t believe a word of it.

‘If you say so, Miss Tegan,’ he replied, grinning. ‘But she was holding on pretty tight to you earlier.’

Tegan unlocked the TARDIS doors with the key, and awkwardly helped Nyssa inside. The younger woman was getting even wobblier on her feet, and it was with relief that Tegan finally opened the door to their shared room. The lights inside automatically switched on, as if the time machine itself understood that Tegan would need both her hands free to help Nyssa across the room.

Although, for some strange reason, the TARDIS decided to only turn the lights on halfway, meaning that a soft, delicate light was the one that illuminated the room. It was as if they were wading through rivers in the light as they approached Nyssa’s bed.

It had taken a while to get Nyssa out of the house, although Henry had helped her through the servant entrances, which cut off a good deal of the route. He had also helped them through the now-dark grounds and out onto the road, holding a small lantern aloft.

He had cheerfully offered to walk them the rest of the way, but Tegan had noticed Nyssa bristle again, and quickly declined. Henry had grinned at her in a somewhat knowing way, before bidding them goodbye and heading back towards the house.

Luckily, it was a clear night and the stars in the sky above had been bright enough for Tegan to help Nyssa along the road without too much issue. She hadn’t even had to use the modern battery-powered-torch she had stashed underneath her dress.

‘Feel hot…’ Nyssa mumbled.

‘That’s the alcohol taking effect,’ Tegan said, helping her friend to sit down on the edge of her bed. ‘I’ll grab you some water and your nightie in a mo, but let’s get you out of your gown, okay?’

‘Too hot…’ Nyssa muttered, nodding in agreeing.

Tegan slowly undid the clasps of the dress, and helped Nyssa out of it. The woman sighed as the weight came away from her. Tegan tried not to look much at Nyssa, instead focusing on folding the dress neatly away. She had always tried to avoid looking too much at Nyssa whenever the younger woman was changing clothes; partially out of a sense that Trakenites might have considered it embarrassing to be looked at whilst disrobing, and partially due to the way her heart hammered painfully against her chest at the thought of Nyssa partially clothed.

Tegan then undid the clasps of her own dress, and climbed out of it. She had to admit, she wasn’t a massive fan of these dresses; they were a little too heavy for her taste.

‘Pretty…’ Nyssa said, staring at Tegan. ‘Very pretty…’

‘C’mon,’ Tegan said, ignoring the flush on her cheeks. ‘Let’s get you some water and then you can get changed.’

Tegan stepped quickly into their bathroom, and filled a cup with water from the tap. She then headed back across the room towards Nyssa, and handed the cup to the Trakenite.

Nyssa took a drink of the water, her eyes flickering softly shut as she swallowed.

‘Feel better?’

‘Mmm,’ Nyssa said, nodding softly. ‘Still a bit too hot.

‘Probably because you’re still wearing your shift,’ Tegan replied, sitting down next to Nyssa. ‘Probably time to get undressed.’

Nyssa grinned. Before Tegan knew what was happening, the young woman had leaned forward and put her hands on the straps of Tegan’s shift, dropping them down over her shoulders.

‘Not me!’ Tegan exclaimed, feeling her face burn as she put the straps back up. Nyssa gave a giddy laugh.

‘Now,’ Tegan continued, trying to establish some calm. ‘You really ought to-’

Tegan’s face flushed as she quickly pushed Nyssa’s hands away from her chest.

‘Nyssa!’ she exclaimed, heart racing. ‘Please!’

The young woman giggled.

‘Whyever not? Oh, Tegan, you have ever such lovely br-’

‘We need to get you into bed!’ Tegan said, quickly.

‘Oh, yes,’ Nyssa said, cheeks pinkening prettily. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

Before she quite realised what was happening, Tegan found herself pulled sideways onto the mattress. With a giggle, Nyssa climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.

‘Bedtime…’ Nyssa slurred, hiccupping again and letting out a giggle. ‘Come to bed with me, Tegan…’

Nyssa leaned down and pressed her lips to Tegan’s. The Australian startled, and Nyssa took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, her hands sinking into the curls of Tegan’s hair.

‘N-Nyssa…’ Tegan gasped, against Nyssa’s lips. ‘What are you-’

Nyssa giggled, angling her head to kiss Tegan better.

‘Ssshhh, my darling…’ she whispered, slurred, inbetween kisses. ‘I can’t kiss you properly if you keep talking…’

Tegan was so flustered by the combination of Nyssa’s lips against her own, Nyssa’s delicate whispers against her skin, and the term of affection, that she was unable to do anything for another few seconds, during which Nyssa deepened her kisses. And, oh, Nyssa really was enjoying this, wasn’t she? Her enthusiasm was shocking and yet exciting at the same time.

And, damn it, Tegan was enjoying it too.

Nyssa’s legs finally gave way, and she landed gently against Tegan, the alcohol presumably making her unable to keep kneeling over the Australian any longer. Nyssa gave another giggle, and continued kissing, now taking the opportunity to begin trails along Tegan’s jawline and down her neck. Nyssa’s hands moved to Tegan’s hair, with one slipping down her chest to-

‘Nyssa; stop,’ Tegan said, softly. She hated it, but she knew she couldn’t let this go any further. ‘You’re drunk, okay?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘You… you don’t really mean what I think you do.’

‘But I do…’

Tegan sighed.

‘That’s just the alcohol talking. I know when you’re sober, you’ll be embarrassed about this, so… just leave it, okay.’

Nyssa pouted.

‘But I do mean it,’ she said, looking adorably earnest.

‘Listen,’ Tegan said, sighing again. She pulled herself up on her elbows, and Nyssa sat up in her lap. ‘Once you’re sobered up and you still want to, we can then, okay?’

Nyssa’s face broke into a huge smile.

‘Really?’

‘I promise,’ Tegan replied.

Nyssa smiled, placing another -far softer- kiss against Tegan’s lips. It was far more tender than the hungry kisses earlier, and it almost felt like a promise.

Tegan gently helped Nyssa out of her lap, and the young woman lay on top of the duvet. Her eyes were already fluttering shut.

Smiling softly, Tegan slipped off of the bed, and eased the duvet out from under Nyssa before placing it on top of her. Nyssa sighed, snuggling into the warmth of the material.

‘Goodnight, Nys,’ Tegan said, softly.

‘G’night…’ Nyssa said, sleepily. ‘Tegan… stay…’

Tegan sighed softly, before climbing under the covers to lay beside the Trakenite. The lights around them slowly lowered, until they were in darkness. Nyssa reached forward and wrapped an arm around Tegan, cuddling up next to her. Tegan smiled, feeling herself steadily falling asleep, in line with Nyssa’s soft breathing so close to her.

Tegan dimly opened her eyes. The clock on the bedside cabinet was showing 7.30am. The TARDIS had a weird internal timekeeping, but it did exist on some form of day and night cycle, if purely to put its inhabitants at ease.

Nyssa stirred next to Tegan, rubbing her eyes blearily.

‘Morning, Nyssa,’ Tegan said, softly. ‘How are you feeling?’

Nyssa stared at her for a second, and Tegan saw the signs of recognition in the young woman’s face as the events of the previous night seemed to come back to her.

‘Oh…’ Nyssa murmured. ‘I… I…’

‘It’s okay,’ Tegan said. ‘You were drunk; you don’t need to explain anything.’

‘E-explain?’

‘The alcohol made you react differently,’ Tegan said, playing with a loose strand of the duvet. She suddenly found that she couldn’t quite look Nyssa in the eye. ‘But it’s okay. I know you don’t see me like that. It’s... fine.’

‘Oh… Tegan…’

There was such emotion in the young woman’s voice that Tegan’s eyes snapped up on their own accord. Nyssa was staring at her, eyes wide and…

‘N-Nyssa?’

Before Tegan quite knew what was happening, Nyssa was straddling her hips, their faces barely an inch apart.

‘Don’t you ever think that I don’t love you.’

Nyssa was staring down at Tegan, her face burning with a fierceness Tegan had never seen before.

‘I… y-you do?’

‘Of course, Tegan,’ Nyssa whispered. ‘How could you ever… oh, Tegan; why else do you think I wanted to kiss you so much for?’

‘O-oh.’

‘I mean, I thought I was being fairly obvious,’ Nyssa continued, now stroking Tegan’s cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I… I wanted to show you that I love you as much as you love me.’

‘W-wait, what?’ Tegan spluttered, face now turning a deep crimson. ‘You… you knew?’

It was Nyssa’s turn to blush.

‘It was rather difficult to miss,’ the Trakenite whispered, cheeks dimpling as she smiled. ‘I had to check the TARDIS databanks to make sure you weren’t ill, given how often the pupils of your eyes were dilating.’

Tegan stared at her, utterly flummoxed and mortified.

‘So… you’re fine with it?’

‘Need I repeat that I love you too, Tegan?’ Nyssa giggled, now leaning in even closer. Her other hand began to trace a line down Tegan’s side. ‘Can we please stop talking? The alcohol’s effects have gone so we can…’

‘N-Nyssa!’ Tegan exclaimed, feeling her face burn even further. She could heat sharply rising in some other -more southerly- places too. ‘What are you-’

‘Tegan,’ Nyssa whispered, gentle as a summer breeze. The light of the room seemed to catch on her long eyelashes. ‘You did promise, my love.’

‘Oh,’ Tegan replied, before letting out a laugh. She grinned up at the woman, feeling her heartrate joyously increasing. ‘Fair point. So… speaking of that promise…’

Nyssa giggled, pressing her lips to Tegan’s once again. It was shaping up to be a rather wonderful way to keep a promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

#doctor who fanfiction #tegan/nyssa #nyssa/tegan #tegan x nyssa #nyssa x tegan #indestructible #heathrow scientific #tyssa #tegan jovanka #nyssa #nyssa of traken #fifth doctor #adric #tw: drunk #tw: drinking #tw: alcohol

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readingsimp · 2 years

Text

the cheerleader and the freak

*The above image is not intended to force the reader to identify with any of the people in it. Its purpose is to present the concept of the story.*

pairing: eddie munson x reader

theme: fluff, a bit of angst and a lot of flirt

warnings: mentions of drugs, mentions of weed, mentions of struggle with public image

word count: 1675

summary: basically you are chrissy but you don't get murdered by vecna; you go to eddie to buy drugs but something else happens

a/n: ok the original plan was a smut, but i think that this is much better :)

»»————-　　————-««

The breeze flows into your hair as you wait for Eddie. He's late as usual, but this time his tardiness could put you in real danger. Anyone could find you in that clearing.

It is actually really peaceful, with a picnic table and a shed as decorations. The trees that surround it are home to many birds, in fact they make beautiful noises as you are sitting down the bench.

Suddenly the quietness of the chirping is disturbed by the trampling of branches and dry leaves. You flinch in that direction just to see a thick-haired figure walking towards you.

«I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,» Eddie says, approching and sitting before you. He has a little metal box with him, so you immediately assume that it is where he stores his weed.

«Can I just say that this whole situation is surreal? Never I would have imagined selling drugs to the cheerleader captain,» he confesses to you. «But, hey, I don't judge,» he shrugs.

It is, in fact, very strange. You are a cheerleader, the prom queen, the most perfect girl in school. But it is not easy to stay that way. Nobody knows what’s behind all that and turning to weed to escape from this reality, even for a little while, says a lot.

Eddie notices that you haven't said anything yet. «Hey, don't worry, nobody can find us here, I promise. Beside we don't have to do this, just give me the word and I'm outta here,» he reaches out his hand to touch yours, but then he reconsiders it.

«Oh, no, no, it's okay, it's just that this is my first time... buying drugs,» you finally speak, reassuring him but also yourself.

He smiles. «I get it,» he says, hiding his box. A moment of silence passes by when suddenly Eddie stands up.

«You know, this isn't the first time we hung out,» he walks in circles laying his eyes anywhere but you. He's waiting for your answer.

«Oh really?» you try to remember when you first saw him.

«You don't remember? You're hurting me,» he puts his hand on his heart, mimicking a fake pain in his chest.

«No, I'm so sorry,» you laugh in embarrassment. You really can't remember him.

«Okay, I'll help you: middle school, talent show, you were doing this cheer thing, while I was playing with my band–» he is suddenly interrupted by you.

«Corroded Coffin! Oh God, how can you forget a name like that?!» you clap happily, your laugh is genuine this time.

«Yes, I knew you were a freak y/n y/l/n,» he laughs with you, jumping joyfully.

«You were so different back then,» you say smiling at him.

«Well yeah, my hair was buzzed and I didn't have these sweet old tattoos,» he says while showing one of his tattoos on his chest.

Your eyes wonder on his body in search of all his tattoos. His arms are muscular and full of gothic and dark drawings. You start to wonder how many does he have.

«So, should we start our business?» his question breaks the cute moment that he created and your expression falls again from serenity to anxiety.

He sits down again and he opens his metal box, which is more likely an old lunch box. He shows you many small sachets with small doses of weed inside.

«How much do you need? I have several doses and types,» he starts to explain all the kinds of weed he has, but as he describes them you are not convinced on their strength.

«Look, just for you, I can do a 25 percent discount, so only 15 dollars, how does that sound? You're robbing me,» he finishes his speech, but you don't answer.

Your eyes are fixed on what's in the box, then they move on him. «Do you have anything stronger?»

He seems confused by your question. «Well, yeah, but not here,» he closes the box.

«Look, y/n, if this is your first time I don't think you should go for something stronger than this, I really don't want you to get hurt, they're gonna blame me and I really can't do this right now,» Eddie tries to explain.

He keeps talking as fast as a train, the words flow out of his mouth in total panic. He stands up and walks away from you, gesturing his way out of this deal.

You get up and try to follow him while he walks with great strides around the clearing. You try to call him.

«Eddie, wait please, I'm sure of what I'm doing, believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't need it so bad, you have to trust me,» your hands land on his shoulders, trying to stop him and turning him towards you.

He's towering you, but your eyes are still fixed on his. There's a moment of silence that you both decide to soak in. Your breaths are synced and his eyes are wondering on all your body pressed against him.

You finally notice it, you scroll away your hands from him and take a step back. Your gaze falls on your shoes. «Please, Eddie, I need this, I need you to trust me,» you beg trying to fight back your tears.

Eddie takes a big breath as he tangles his hands in his hair. «Let's get this over with.»

____________________

«Welcome in my castle,» Eddie exclames as he enters his uncle's trailer. You step in right behind him.

«Excuse me for the mess, I forgot to call the cleaning lady this morning,» he jokes, hinting at the chaos.

«Oh, it's okay,» you take another step in what seems to be the living room. «May I?» you ask pointing at the couch.

Eddie sprints on it to clean it from the clutter and old pizza boxes, or at least he tries. Just as a sit clears out, he points at it, bowing theatrically. «M'lady, you're sit is ready,» he says.

You laugh in response as you sit matching his energy. «Thank you, My Lord.»

Before standing up straight, he turns to you. Your faces are inches away and your eyes are intertwined. You smile at each other before he speaks.

«Okay, wait here, your order is coming right up,» he says with a sigh, as if he didn't want to break away the gaze.

You look around the trailer. It is very messy, but homey at the same time. Between the shelves you see many pictures of Eddie and his uncle, many are very old. You decide to get up and watch them closely.

The frames are a bit dusty, but it doesn't discourage you to pick them up. You grab and caress each one to let the dust fly away and reveal who the people in the photos are.

But the only picture that stands out is one of a child holding a little guitar. You smile as you immediately recognize Eddie's features. The background of the photo is the same trailer park as the one where he lives now. It reveals much about his life.

As you put the photo back to its place you hear a presence behind you. «I've lived here as long as I can remember,» he explains, «and I've played the guitar as long as I can remember.»

You turn around and you find him very close to you, with an hand on the shelf, enclosing you between it and his body. You look up to him and smile. «You were very cute,» you admit.

«"Were"? What about now? Am I not cute enough?» he asks pretending to be offended, but gifting you with a smirk.

You suddenly feel your cheeks on fire and you mentally thank God that the trailer is not that much lit. You chuckle as you try to answer his question. Finding the correct words is hard since you have to reconcile the truth, which is that yes, he’s very cute, and the detachment, which is that you just came to him for drugs and nothing else.

You clear your throat. «So, uhm, do you have it?» You squat to pass under his arm that still blocks you.

Eddie sigh. «Yeah, it's on the counter, but forget the discount for that.»

You approach the little packet with the green substance in it. You pick it up and suddenly many thoughts came in mind. Do you know how to smoke it? What would happen if anyone found out? Do you really need it?

You stay there for a moment, while Eddie is right behind you waiting for a reaction from you. But as soon as he hears you sniffle, he sprints to your side.

Your face is hidden by you hair as little drops fall on the counter. Eddie moves your hair behind your ear.

«It's okay, you don't have to do this,» he says cupping your shoulder. You sniffle again, taking your hand on you face and wiping the tears.

Eddie picks the sachet and he hids it in his pocket. «See? There's no need for that,» he smiles at you even if you're not facing him. At the disappearance of the packet you turn to him and look him in the eyes.

You never noticed him at school, or at least that what's you were supposed to do. He's the freak and you're the cheerleader. There's no place for you to coexist, but here you are.

«I'm sorry,» that's the only thing you can say and do, apologize for how people treat him, for not getting to know him before, for being named 'the freak' or 'the banished', for everything that goes on in his life.

You englobe him in you arms, hugging his waist. He's caught off guard, but he soon reciprocates, hugging your shoulders and caressing your hair.

His smell of cigarettes and old aftershave assails your nostrils, but it doesn't bother you, because you know that, from now on, it won't be the last time hugging him.

And he knows it too.

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robbyswayzekeenes · 3 years

Text

fuck up our friendship━ eli moskowitz imagine

eli moskowitz x fem!reader

set after the party in 2x09, pretty wholesome with admitting feelings but also angst bc the reader is tryna be friends with both eli and demetri and it is NOT going well

Once the police busted the party, Y/N knew she had to find Eli. The girl was a Miyagi-Do student, and she knew full well that Sam and Robby would not appreciate her going to find her oldest friend and Cobra Kai’s number one asshole, but the pair were having their own issues, so it was unlikely they would find out. Y/N and Eli had been friends since the girl moved to the Valley at the start of freshman year. She wasn’t exactly a loser as someone like Yasmine or Kyler would word it, and many people never understood why she signed away her high school popularity to be friends with the two biggest dorks in school-- Demetri and Eli-- but she wouldn’t have wanted anybody else. Demetri and Eli had been best friends since kindergarten, and the h/c slotted into the group perfectly. They may have had it pretty bad at school, but they had each other.

Then, two years later, at the start of their junior year, karate came back to the Valley. Whilst Y/N and Demetri had always been seemingly content with living their lives as losers, apparently Eli didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the mohawk or the new name they particularly had a problem with, or his newfound popularity that bothered them. It was the way he went about getting it. Hawk was becoming the very person he had always hated. Both of his best friends knew this wasn’t the person he really was, but when Demetri had addressed this, Eli declared an all out war against him. So now Y/N was left as the middle-man, trying to care for both of her best friends and bring them back together without choosing a side. And neither of them made it easy.

Tonight, at Moon’s party, Y/N had been so hopeful. The two sat talking about Doctor Who whilst the girl stood beside Robby and Sam, sipping her drink and pretending she wasn’t listening in to what Demetri and Eli were talking about. She allowed herself to get distracted for one moment to talk with Robby about skateboarding and suddenly, Eli was pouring his drink all over Demetri’s head. With a shameful sigh, Y/N walked over to the two, handing paper towels to the dark haired boy and raising her eyebrows at Eli. The red haired boy gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile before wandering off to join the other Cobras.

In all fairness, Hawk had it coming when Demetri stood up on that stage with the mic in his hand, but the brown eyed boy didn’t need to take it that far. Watching from where she stood with the other Miyagi-Dos, her e/c eyes flitted between Eli and Demetri. It pained the girl to watch her two best friends fight, but it hurt more knowing she was watching her best friend and the boy she was in love with attempt to tear each other’s heads off. Y/N had developed the biggest crush on Eli in their sophomore year, and everybody knew it except the boy in question. Demetri knew it, too, which was why initially he was so hesitant to launch an attack against his best friend, no matter how much he deserved it. But that night, he hadn’t held back.

Once the cops pulled up outside, everything descended into chaos. Her eyes met with Demetri’s, which were filled with remorse, and he nodded at her. “Go find him. Make sure he’s okay.” Y/N offered the boy a small smile in return. She knew Demetri still cared for Eli, and Eli still cared for Demetri. It was just Hawk who appeared not to. Rushing out the house so as not to get caught by the police, the h/c found Eli walking out the back of the house alone. The rest of the Cobras weren’t around, which reassured Y/N, but only slightly. “Eli!” She called, causing his head to swing around, his blue eyes catching hers. “What do you want? Come to humiliate me even more?” “Eli,’ The girl breathed in response, sounding exasperated as she caught up to him. “You know I wouldn’t do that.” “I didn’t think Demetri would, either,” He responded, allowing Y/N to see how hurt he really was. “And I didn’t think you would attack him when we were at the mall the other day. Or pour beer on his head.” Eli let out a sigh-- he was Eli now he was around Y/N. She was the only person he trusted enough to let his newfound guard down around.

“I’ve told you this before, Y/N,” The red haired boy said with a sigh. “Demetri chose his side. He went against us. Against Cobra Kai.” “I don’t need to hear it again, Eli,” The h/c haired girl huffed. “I’m just here to make sure you’re okay. Cobra Kai or not, you’re my best friend. I care about you, and so does Demetri.” “Whatever,” The boy exhaled, but he still allowed Y/N to walk the rest of the way home with him, and even come in when he opened the door and headed inside. “Mom isn’t home,” Eli spoke, closing the door and flicking off his shoes, “She’s on night shift tonight.” “Good job I’m here then,” Y/N nodded, knowing how much the blue eyed boy hated being alone. Eli didn’t say anything in response, just smiled smally.

Any alcohol consumed at the party that evening had begun to wear off, as Eli and Y/N sat on the couch in the front room. The silence was awkward for the first few moments; it always was now that there was a clear divide pushing the two apart, but both of them more than anything wanted to stay close. As much as Y/N’s crush on Eli was clear as day (to everyone other than him), the boy’s reciprocated feelings were much better hidden, especially with his new Hawk facade. However, Cobra Kai had thrown in the spanner in the works, and any chance the boy may have had with his best friend was seemingly gone. Yet, every few nights the girl would still come over and spend time with Eli, alternating the time she used to spend with both her best friends.

Eventually, the awkwardness faded, and the two would begin to speak about anything and everything they hadn’t caught up on, considering they had spent most of the summer apart at their separate dojos. An hour or so past, taking the time up to midnight, before Eli invited Y/N to stay the night like she had many times before. The h/c hastily agreed, and followed Eli upstairs to his bedroom, yawning quietly due to exhaustion. Once they made it up, her e/c eyes widened. “What the fuck happened in here?” The once blue walls, littered with posters, were now red and bare. A punching bag stood where a fake TARDIS used to be, and there wasn’t a funko pop in sight, which was not at all like Eli Moskowitz. The bedsheets were just plain black, rather than Star Wars themed, but when the h/c craned her neck, there were still small, glow-in-the-dark stars littered across the ceiling. “I redecorated,” Was all Eli said, flopping down on his bed.

Y/N flopped down beside him. “I think I preferred the Doctor Who merch,” The girl admitted honestly, causing Eli to look at her with wide eyes. “Did you know the new Doctor was female?” “Of course,” The h/c smiled, “Me and Demetri still watch every Friday night.” At the mention of this, Eli’s face fell, causing Y/N to frown. “You know he didn’t really want to hurt you tonight,” The girl sighed, attempting to lock eyes with Eli who was staring down at his fidgeting fingers. “It was a shitty thing to do, but you’ve both done shitty things to each other.” She continued her speech, becoming more and more passionate as she spilled her frustration out to Eli: “Do you know how hard it is for me to watch my two best friends fight with each other? Over something as petty as a fucking karate dojo! I know that I can’t stop you two fighting and the best I can do is try and maintain the middle ground, because the last thing I want to do is choose between my best friend and the others at Miyagi-Do, and the boy I’ve had feelings for since forever.”

Y/N’s voice began to fade out as she calmed down, but Eli was still staring at her, seemingly in shock. Noticing how panicked the boy looked, the girl’s face softened. “I’m sorry for yelling, Eli, I-” “You said you had feelings for me.” His voice was deadpan, showing no emotions as his blue eyes bore into Y/N. The girl’s mouth opened and closed in shock. “I- Maybe I said that. Accidentally. Maybe-” “You have feelings for me?” Eli spoke again, and for a second, he sounded like Eli, like the person he was before all this karate shit took over. With a sigh, the girl nodded. “Congratulations. You’re officially the last person to know.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” The boy asked, his eyes wide. “I don’t know,” The girl shrugged. “Guess I didn’t wanna fuck up our friendship, but I guess karate’s doing that for us.” Y/N’s e/c eyes chose to rest on the bed sheets beneath her instead of on Eli as he responded. “Well, what if I want to fuck up our friendship?” At this comment, however, the girl’s eyes shot up, just in time for Eli to place his hand on her chin and placed his lips against hers.

She was shocked at first, but Y/N soon kissed back, placing her hands on the boy’s face to pull him closer. The girl felt him smile into the kiss as he rolled himself closer, wrapping a hand round her waist to draw her in. “I’ll fuck up our friendship a hundred times over if it means I can do that again,” Y/N smiled, resting her forehead against his. Eli kissed her once again, softly, before saying: “For the record, I like you, too. I’m surprised Demetri didn’t tell you.” “That rat!” Y/N exclaimed, though she wasn’t really annoyed. “I’m going to kill him!” “Right now?” Eli asked, quirking his eyebrow with a cocky smirk. “Hm, maybe not,” The girl grinned, biting her lip and pulling the boy closer. “I think I’ll just stay here and kiss you.”

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how-masterful · 3 years

Text

Remastered

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Chapter 4: The Pandorica Opens

Summary: Roman Centurions. Pandora's Box. Together you and the Master find yourselves exploring the depths of the cavern below Stonehenge and what mysteries lay within. Legend speaks of a box, an ancient god trapped inside its walls. Why does the rest of the universe want it so badly? And what can the Master do when he finally finds out what’s waiting inside the Pandorica is not what it seems?...

Notes: Welcome back to Remastered! Its been a long time coming! I know I promised an update a while ago, but sometimes these things just don’t work out the way you want them to. If we had a dedicated Master show my job would be so much easier! I finally managed to beat my writers block and found an episode i’d like to masterfy, so i hope you all enjoy!

(You know the drill by now. @plethora-of-imagines, my beloved hat and master lover, this one is for you. just like the other ones. and all the ones coming. because who else would they be for?)

All around the Master, ever so slowly, the world he’d found himself in was suddenly starting to make sense. Dangerous, deadly, foreboding sense. On any other day, the renegade Time Lord would see that as a good thing. But that evening, underneath the ancient ruins of Stonehenge, the Master knew the dark was not on his side.

The communicator had crashed out a mere few seconds ago, fizzing and hissing against his ear. He’d thrown the device to the floor with a frustrated yell, gritting his teeth as his fingers returned to rub at his beard in thought. The same hand ran over his cheek and through his tangled fringe that hung over his eye, fingers gripping at the hair as his feet scuffed and disrupted the old dust upon the floor. He was pacing back and forth. This was not good. The high pitched ringing was deafening, his fingers plugging his ears as he stared down as the communicator. Its corner was dented, dust flying into the small cracks that had crawled up the edge of the glass. The screen still flickers with your face and name, the giant red letters of ‘COMMUNICATION LINE DISRUPTED' beneath it not failing to make his stomach churn.

You were both in grave danger. But it seemed like his was getting even worse.

“Master, it's not real!”

You’d yelled down the communicator line. Behind your plea, the Master had heard the Tardis creaking. Her engines were metal upon metal, screeching and groaning as it hurtled through the Time Vortex.

“What the hell does that mean, it's not real? Where are you?”

“Listen to me! All of it, everything’s a lie! The Romans, they’re right here.”

The Master was getting impatient. But you sounded almost terrified. The Roman platoon was hurrying around him carrying weapons and ammunition throughout the Underhenge. Almost like clockwork. At least they’d forgiven your lie about your identities- Emperor Nero and Pharaoh Cleopatra had seemed like clever aliases at the time. The Master sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about, what's all that noise-”

“In the book!”

“You’d better not be breaking my Tardis!”

“Master just listen to me, please!”

You let out a sudden scream. The Tardis jolted forward, sending you slamming into the console. The cloister bells had begun to toll, sparks and shocks of electricity and flame spurting from the central console of the type 41 machine.

All around the Master, the Roman soldiers had slumped forward. Knees locked into position, life drained from their eyes. Weapons, spears and swords clattered to the floor with ricochetting bangs. The Master blew onto the screen of the communicator, banishing the dust from its surface. Every attempt to reopen the communication line was met with an electronic buzz, denying him access. Preoccupied, with one finger plugged in his ear and his shoulder pushed up against the other, he failed to hear the marching footsteps of the platoon behind him.

A unified electronic whirr permeated the room, with all of the soldiers' hands snapping open and small, cylindrical cannons pushing through the exposed middle of their palms. All around the Master, the soldiers were following their commands and drawing closer and closer.

“What was that bang?!”

The Master pulled the com from his ear, before pulling it back closer to his mouth. A Roman had turned to face him, sending him a quirked eyebrow. In return the Master sent a fake smile, before ducking behind the corner of the large box in the center of the room. It would be best if he wasn't seen during this conversation.

“Y/N, talk to me, can you hear me?”

The Master half whispered.

“The Romans are in this book! The Tardis took me back to my house, i don't know why-”

“Your house?”

“When I was a kid. Something else had been there, the grass had these weird scorch patterns and the readings on that thing you gave me were going off the scale. The book on my nightstand, Roman history, i’d studied it at school-”

“You’d said it was your favorite subject, yes.”

Part of you wanted to mull over the fact the Master had remembered your favorite subject, enjoying the fact the hardened criminal had taken the time and care to recall such a trivial fact about his ‘not’ companion. He often mused how preferred to call you his partner. You treasured its double meaning to no end. But you also knew that favouritism was what had led you to visit this Roman colony. You felt slightly responsible over the ensuing chaos.

“I knew I recognized them from somewhere- The Romans, in the book, they’re the exact ones that are with you right now.”

“That's impossible- they’re DRAWINGS, love!”

“I swear! Something has copied the book from my house!”

The Master smacked the side of the communicator, shaking even more dust free from the device. It was only after that he raised his head, suddenly aware of the silence surrounding him. The Romans, or whatever they were, had stood themselves in flank formation, lined up against the edges of the chamber. Blocking his only way out. Beyond the boundary the other soldiers stood side by side in perfect position, surrounding the Time Lord in the purple tweed jacket. Cornering him in front of the Pandorica. Finally, the ringing had dissolved into white noise. Now the Master could think. Almost.

Before he could even begin to spew out a threat, of which he had many planned and ready at the tip of his tongue, the room began to shake with a gargantuan rumble. Lit torches, hung on the walls in metal cages, rattled in their confinements as dust fell from the ceiling like snowfall. The Master's attention was yanked from the Romans, his head whipping behind him as the corner of the Pandorica slowly began to split along its seam. The rumble grew stronger as the stone walls shifted along their mechanisms, the green glow drowned by the emerging, blinding white light.

“Oh, good. You’re ready to come out now?”

Sarcasm and wit had recently become a favorite of the Master. His new body seemed to enjoy plastering on a smug grin and a growled one liner when facing certain doom. He was universally known as indestructible, as his previous faces had bragged. But it seemed this was rapidly misplaced in the current situation.

“I promise you!”

You yelled in protest, slamming hard on a lever and frantically tapping on the interface as you argued.

“They’re the exact same! So is the box!”

The Master reared his head to look at the box he’d pressed his back against.

“What do you mean, the box?”

The legendary Pandorica loomed down at him, the intricate detailing carved into its side glowing with an ominous green light that burnt from within. History had spoken of it, the mystery that lay beneath stonehenge, but to earthly historians, in their ignorant and self aggrandizing ways, it was just that. A mystery. Humanity had chalked the box up to being a folk tale, to ignore the mortifying idea of the supposedly supernatural being… natural: That aliens were anything beyond little green men in flying saucers, and human science simply couldn't, or more likely refused, to explain what had fallen from the stars.

“The Pandorica, I'd said it was like Pandora's box, right?”

You’d clapped with delight, unable to hide your excitement when the Tardis had materialised atop that hill hours before. You’d mentioned how similar the structure seemed to you, even down to the name: Pandora's box…

Your favourite book as a child. He could remember you mentioning it.

The Master did not like where this was going.

“Well?” he asked hesitantly, possibly for the first time in his life.

“It's here, on the cover of the book, my copy of the book, it's the same box.”

The Time Lord could see something peeking through the bright white, the silhouette of something existing within the box. He’d try again with the communicator in a moment, he supposed, slipping it into his endlessly deep inside pocket. He lent forward, peering into the glow, ever curious. Was this the so-called trickster, the universe destroying monster that had dwelled inside that box for millennia? The possibility of an answer was suddenly snatched away, however, when two strong arms punched through the gap between his torso and his arms, sliding under his shoulders and yanking him towards his feet.

The Master let out a shocked sound not unlike a bark, gritting his teeth as the soldiers clutched the man tight between them. His hair flipped madly as he turned to look at his wardens- the familiar, glassy look in their eyes turning the cogs in his brain. He tugged on their grasp, snarling as they dragged him through the dark and dusty cavern. His fingers scrambled to grab onto their own, to try and pry them from his form. Until he saw their fingers were no longer there. Replaced with small blasters in place of their palms. Their living plastic palms.

A sight all too familiar for the Master.

“How can they be the same, where even are you?”

The Master pinched the bridge of his nose once more, giving a disgruntled huff as his head fell back against the side of the Pandorica. Thoughts and possibilities were scrambling around inside his brains, like matadors trying to tame the most frightful of bulls in the ring.

“Master, these are my memories. Why did they go to my house, whatever it is?”

“Most likely, god, mimicry? They needed something that would peak our interest, make us come here-”

The Tardis jolted and screeched once more, her engines whining like a startled parakeet. Sparks and rumbles rocked the floor. You lost your footing, falling to your knees while clutching tight to the edge of the console. The Master pushed himself from the side of the box with a growl.

“What the hell are you doing to my Tardis, Y/n?”

“I don't know!”

You protested, heaving yourself up against the console. You continued to move along the screens, following the rhythm the Master had taught you. It was almost like a dance, especially the way his hands had wandered to your hips while he introduced you to the console.

“Its like something else is controlling it, the controls aren't responding-”

Another bang of sparks. The Master rolled his eyes.

“All those flying lessons I gave you- try and land her, wherever you are. The Tardis has protocols in place to keep you safe. You have to get out of there.”

“I’m trying!”

“The Nestene consciousness, I'd like to say it's pleasant to see you again.”

The Master grunted, trying to yank his shoulder free and almost losing his footing against his own force.

“Romans, a step up from shop dummies and plastic flowers, I'm impressed.”

He truly couldn't tell if his teasing was to intimidate or calm his own racing heartbeats. The Romans whirred and stomped, oblivious to his protests. Also oblivious to his remarks.

“Listen, I'm ordering you to let me go, there's bigger things for me to deal with here-”

Still no reply. The Master grit his teeth, yanking himself backwards in a feeble attempt at escape. He tried to thrash, to worm his way out of their grasp. But it was fruitless. The Autons were just as obnoxiously durable as the first time he’d met them, all those years ago.

“I COMMAND YOU TO LET ME GO!”

Further screams pierced through the communicator line, the timelord wincing as he once more pulled the device from his ear. You sounded terrified, the Tardis spiralling further out of control.

“Y/n? Love, talk to me!”

“Master, I can't control her! Whatever's out there with you, it has to be connected. The same box, the same Romans, the same night, that CAN'T be a coincidence! Master, everything out there with you, It's a trap. It has to be. They wanted us to come here, Please just trust me, you have to get out of there-”

Crash. Hiss. Bang. The Tardis was screaming as it hurtled through the Vortex. The Master was beginning to worry. This time he wasn't going to deny it.

“Y/N! SHUT HER DOWN!”

“MASTER, I CAN'T! PLEASE!”

The world round the Master began to ring with a high pitched shriek. A piercing ring that echoed throughout the underhenge. The timelord winced, scrunching up his face and baring his teeth as he shrunk away from the din. Beside his ear he could hear your screams, the Tardis hurtling towards the unknown. Until suddenly, zap. Crackle. Nothing.

“Y/n, can you hear me!?”

The communicator line went dead.

The Master was growing more tense by the second. And even angrier still.

“I order you to obey! Why do you want me, why do you want my Y/n’s memories-”

The Roman soldier to his left gave a grim admittance, staring forwards at the growing light shining from within the Pandorica. It was almost hypnotic to the lumps of plastic surrounding him, something he’d consider himself a seasoned expert of. But this was different. This still stunk of betrayal and subterfuge. And also a slight loss of pride.

“The Pandorica is ready.”

The Master should have been excited. Ready to meet this mythical creature, a ghost in time, a legend. But now he felt slightly sick. He leered up at the soldier, antagonizing the guard.

“Ready for what, eh? What other big bads have you around their pinkie this time?”

The plethora of Romans did not speak. They simply continued to stare.

“I’m going to tell you again, let me go. You took your orders from me, once- you should know who I am! I am the Master!”

“Correct. Subject has self identified.”

The Master's face practically drained of all color. He daren't move his head to look, knowing exactly what scum of the universe was waiting behind him. The sound of the Daleks still sent a quiver of tangible fear down his spine. It had been years since the time war, centuries since the destruction of Skaro. Of Gallifrey. But the Daleks had not only destroyed his people, they had executed him personally. And in the twisted sense of poetry, were the reason he was brought back from the dead. A soldier to fight in the universal war- the only time he decided to be like the Doctor, running away to the end of the universe to escape the carnage that gave the blood red skies and grass of home a brand new meaning.

He wouldn't say he feared them. But a dead Dalek was much more preferable than a living one.

Just like his old face had said. Stupid tin boxes.

“The subject has identified himself. Scan complete. You are the Master.”

“Well, you lot look different. Fancied an upgrade?”

He watched the Daleks, three in a crow, creep towards his line of vision. They were bulky things now, taller than before, each with a garishly bright color scheme that he almost wanted to shield his eyes from. An ugly design for an ugly creature.

“Or is that a poor turn of phrase?”

“YOUR LIMITS, CAPACITIES AND WEAKNESSES HAVE BEEN EXTRAPOLATED. YOU HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED”

Oh great. More Cybermen. If you were here, you’d tease him relentlessly for the reunion. You had earlier, suggesting he take the Cyber parts home and build his own. With a flash of white and a digital blue haze, the Cyber leader phased into vision, followed by two further Cybermen. All carrying large black weapons, much like what he’d found earlier.

“Oh, I was waiting for you to show up. Just can't stay away from me, can you?”

“Your arrogance is continued!”

Sontarans. Fabulous. In another flash, the squadron of Sontarans had appeared in the Underhenge, proudly brandishing their blasters. Before the Master could even calculate a response, the whole room seemed to glow in fire. The Pandorica was still slowly creaking open, the beam of light shining brighter and brighter. The Master, who stood right in its glow, had to shrink away and squint from its brightness.

Teleportation fields, transfer rays, dimensionally transcendental movement corridors, it seemed the world and his wife were cramming themselves into the cavern below the rocks. The Master, now adapting to the light, was met with an endless sea of familiar faces.

Draconians, Ogrons, Juddoon, Kasaavin, Axonites, Cheetah Warriors, Sea Devils, and even their silurian cousins. Even some faces he’d never seen before littered the crowd, some other foes he’d briefly met but never spared a thought to. Sycorax, Hoix, Zygons, members of the Trickster Brigade, Clockwork Droids- and tall, slender men in black suits with a name he couldn't quite remember. He even struggled to remember they were there, looming in the background behind the busying crowd.

The great monsters of the universe had gathered at the Pandorica.

“The Pandorica is ready!”

The Sontaran leader cried. Hesitantly, the Master dared to ask.

“Ready for what?”

The white Dalek, the new supreme, slowly moved closer.

“Ready. For. you.”

The sides of the Pandorica finally slid into position, the blinding shroud of light dissipating. Finally, the Master could see what was before him in the darkness of the cavern. The box had split open to reveal a mechanised chair, almost like a throne. Callous and black, the metal chair was embedded deep into the heart of the Pandorica. Its exterior was fitted with several restraints, the square shaped shackles glowing the same green as the exterior patterns. Two ankles, two wrists, and over the shoulders- any being within would be unable to break free. Or even attempt to escape.

Slowly, the puzzle, not unlike the box in the fairy tale of Pandora, was beginning to slot together. The Master turned to look at the aliens surrounding him- co conspirators, enemies, allies. All had stood to the sides of the room, leaving a walkway between himself and the Pandorica. They stood, watching intently, as the realisation began to appear upon the renegade Time Lords face.

The path was clear. The restraints on the chair had retracted outwards, unlocking themselves. The Pandorica was empty.

But the Master knew.

Not for long.

“Wait, you can't-”

But they already had. The Nestenes began to walk forwards, dragging the Master along with them by his armpits. The timelord kicked and fought their grasp, his grey shoes kicking up dust as he scrambled to find resistance in his footing. The surrounding monsters watched on as the Master fought for his freedom, desperately trying to pull away from the plastic men. He shouted, grunted, bared his teeth, but no amount of tugging and shouting could break the Master free. The Silurians tilted their heads, hissing. The Draconians stood with poised disapproval. The Daleks and Cybermen stood proudly at the front of the line, the Judoon watching silently with the authority of the shadow proclamation. All those creatures, lit by the roaring fire of the flickering torches on the wall.

The Roman imposters dragged the Master to the empty chair, their strength unmatched as they heaved the Time Lord into the waiting seat. He let out a furious yell as the restraints snapped shut around him, his body yanked backwards into the chair. First his wrists, then his ankles, then his shoulders. The entrapments of the Pandorica had shackled him down to his seat. A last set of restraints emerged from within the structure itself, entangling themselves around the Master's waist and stomach, pressing tight against his torso and locking him firmly into the chair. A single light shone from above, acting as a spotlight over the Master’s head. All eyes could see the Time Lord struggle and fight. All eyes knew it was useless. Exactly how they’d designed it to be.

“No, you can't do this to me!”

The Master was visibly rippling with rage.

“All those times I've helped you all!”

“YOUR ASSISTANCE HAS BEEN A SCOURGE ON THE CYBER RACE.”

The Cyberman with black handles spoke, as monotone and electronic as ever. The Master widened his eyes.

“No-”

“Your presence within the universe has caused vital damage to Dalek strategy.”

“All our plans, every time you step in, have failed to reach fruition! The glory of the Sontaran empire is threatened by your hand!”

The Master turned to look at every monster surrounding the box. The pathway had closed, the races and creatures surging forwards, cornering him even more within the machine. Their faces, if they had one, were full of hatred and disdain. Even the robots among the crowd were seemingly glaring. And those without faces watched on with agreement. The Master glared between them, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

“So, what? You blame me for everything? Want to lock me in a box because you blame me for all your problems!?”

“Incorrect.”

The Daleks' voice was scratchy and mutilated. Much like the creature inside the casing.

“The Pandorica was constructed to provide safety for the Alliance. You have aligned yourself with the Doctor.”

The Master paused for a moment, staring down at the supreme Dalek. How it stood there, with all its pride and might, and accused him of such a thing. He couldn't help but laugh. And so he did. The Master barked out a laugh, teeth bared and head falling back as he sat shackled to the Pandorica.

“Me? With her? Who told you that?”

“CYBER DATA HAS CONFIRMED. YOUR PREVIOUS INCARNATION ASSISTED THE DOCTOR IN CYBER DESTRUCTION.”

“Missy? Really? A five foot four mistress of evil scared you so much you had to put me in a box?”

“Your identity as the Mistress has been confirmed to stand in allegiance with the Doctor. It's a well known fact you chose to stand alongside them. Who knows what chaos you could harbour with your… track record of derailment.”

The Draconian leader stood proud among his council. The Master sent him a scowl, his laughter dying out.

“You think I'm the Doctor's little helper? Her weapon against you all, the crazy old Master, happy to do her dirty work? News flash, I've tried to kill her! Yeah, she's a she now, it's her turn! Some of you I've even worked with! I helped YOU with the Cyberium!”

“The evidence shows otherwise. You simply can no longer be trusted.”

The Kasaavin leader dared to talk against him. The Master questioned how he could even be here, after the Doctor's exile of their race from the planet. Their hatred for him must be strong enough to transcend dimensions. It was almost romantic.

“I’m nothing like the Doctor! I don't even LIKE the Doctor! Sure, I had a bit of a wobble in morals, tried to be good..ish… but I'm back!”

The Master was positively exasperated. His messy hair and wide eyes making him look manic.

“So can somebody, anybody: any man, woman, robot… fish thing. I don't care. Can somebody tell me, what do you all think makes me like the Doctor?”

There was silence across the room. The Master's outburst had made them think. The Master watched them, eyes begging for an acceptable reply. Finally, the Cyberman spoke.

“YOU HAVE GROWN SENTIMENTAL. YOU HAVE TAKEN A COMPANION.”

You. Oh, you. This couldn't just be about you.

The variables began to bubble and clash within the Master's brains. Everything seemed to come back to you. Your choice in trip, your favorite subject, favorite book, you attack from the guard, your fake identity as a queen. And your current fate... However unknown it was.

Surely this couldn't be about you.

“The memories of your companion were extrapolated. A scenario was formed as a test of your intentions.”

“Mercy for a human! Defence over a fleshy girl, instead of the opportunity for universal destruction! Your allegiance cannot be guaranteed, your newfound kindness poses a threat to us all!”

The Master huffed, his hearts fighting within his chest. This couldn't be happening.

“It was you, wasn't it? You took took control of my Tardis-”

“YOUR COMPANION WILL BE DISPOSED OF. YOUR IMPRISONMENT IS A RESULT OF YOUR MERCY.”

“You fell into a trap that you simply could not resist. The draconian empire condemns you.”

“You’re going to kill her, and imprison me, just because you can't trust me to not be good!?”

“The safety of the alliance is paramount. Your history of meddling in Dalek affairs, your part in the destruction of Skarro and our creator, the data cannot be ignored.”

The Master couldn't breathe. The surrounding forces were drawing closer and closer, surrounding him and his line of vision. The walls of the chamber had disappeared within the bodies of the alliance. They were really going to turn on him. They really intended to kill you.

“We will save our universe. From you!”

His mouth was dry. His palms were sweating, his breathing shallow, his rage burning like the brightest of suns. The Master glared upon the alliance, eyes twitching with inconsolable rage. This day had been long. He’d been tested far too much, pushed way too far. This morning he was lying in bed, embracing the warmth of the Tardis and your body against his own. But now his world was being stripped away from him.

Angry didn't begin to cover it.

“Now you listen to me- you bring her back, you know for a fact the destruction of a Tardis in the Vortex will ripple through this universe. And then you’ll have me to deal with.”

“NEGATIVE. YOUR IMPRISONMENT CANNOT BE AVOIDED.”

“Your companion will perish. Your isolation will be permanent. This is confirmed.”

The Master let out a furious scream, a bitter yell that ripped harshly against the back of his throat. The tribe of Silurians hissed and stepped backwards, raising their weapons.

“LISTEN TO ME! If she dies, if my ship burns, I will rip this box apart inch by inch and I will destroy every single one of your ugly little races!”

His shoulders were heaving, spit flying from his mouth as he spat between gritted teeth.

“I will bring down destruction on every one of your stupid little planets and your silly little spaceships. I’m a Time Lord, my people have made a mockery of you since the days you formed on your tiny little rocks, floating through space. I’ll show you how merciful I can truly be as I kill you all slowly, one by one, so you can watch what happens when you think you can destroy me. I am the Master, and you will all pay for this!”

The Cyber leader stepped forwards, clenching a fist to its chest. It looked deep into the Master's eyes, its soulless black pits of metal mesh showing no humanity nor hesitation.

“SEAL THE PANDORICA.”

“Listen to me, you will obey me! The Tardis will implode, your worlds are in so much more danger than you could possibly realise!”

The heavy walls of the Pandorica began to slide shut. The Master was frantic, tugging and yanking against his bonds. Nothing. The metal locks were clasped tight, his body imprisoned and trapped against the seat. His eyes were enormous, his hair flopping from side to side as he continued to fight against the seat. Still, there was no way of escape. No amount of fighting would work. That didn't stop him from trying his best.

“The universe will rot and perish if you harm her! Everything you know will be nothing but ash, I promise you! All your suns, your moons, your hopes, I will destroy each and every one of them! You can't do this to me! I am the Master! You will obey me!”

The Master's words echoed through the Underhenge, bouncing off every wall and dissolving into the gathered crowd. The alliance watched on as the timelord begged for his freedom, promising destruction in his wake. But these were songs they had heard before. Plans ruined by opportune chance, and disappointing failure at the hands of his old friend.

“YOU WILL OBEY ME!”

The Master screamed, as the walls of the Pandorica finally snapped shut. With a hiss the edges of the box sealed together, the mechanical insides ticking away as the glowing green sides twisted and interlocked. As the box gave its last rumble, the Pandorica was finally sealed. The legendary trickster, the mischief maker that had destroyed worlds and brought down civilisations, finally locked within.

The Tardis hurtled through the Vortex, crashing against the walls of time, its engines phasing and crying out as the cloister bell rang from within. You crawled across the floor, scrambling back towards the console, fingers grasping onto anything they could purchase. Sparks flew beside your head, the cables linked to the belly of the console fizzing and pulsating as you begged the console to calm down. You’d been with her for years now, you knew how the Tardis would normally fly. This definitely wasn't her doing. This definitely wasn't her in control.

Your hand smacked hard against the side of the communicator, the line still ringing out every time. You’d tried to call the Master several times, each instance ringing and ringing with no return. He never refused to reply. You clutched on tight as another wave of turbulence hit the flight deck, the trinkets and knick-knacks you’d gathered on your travels tumbling from every shelf and crashing into nothingness against the floor.

“Please, Master, answer me!”

Nothing. He simply wasn't there.

You couldn't cry yet, there was still hope. Or at least, you tried to convince yourself. You hoped for a miracle, for something that would help you regain control of the Tardis. You didn't want to die.

“Master, please! I’ve not got much time!”

Your calls were falling on deaf ears. Nothing was going to save you. A rogue spark suddenly flew from the console, knocking you backwards as the Tardis collided with the Vortex once more. You flung back towards the floor, head colliding with the hardwood as you fell. You felt the impact through your whole body, all strength slipping through your fingers as your eyelids felt heavy. From your position on the floor you could see out the window, the reflection of the flaming Tardis console bathing the Vortex in deep orange.

“Master, I love you, I'm sorry…”

You whispered, your vision beginning to fade. You gazed deeper into space, watching as the world shook and disappeared around you.

And as you blacked out, every star began to fade from the sky.

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vicious-vixxxen · 3 years

Text

Mermaid!Kirishima X Male Reader

((Lost the original ask who prompted this, but here’s a little Mermaid!Kirishima to start the prompts off here! Thank you again for being the first to send in an ask, I appreciate it so much! And such a fun and interesting one to kick things off with, so manly! <3))

You’d almost fallen asleep. Again. Jesus Christ. Groaning, you stretched your limbs out as far as they’d reach- stifling a cry as your joints popped, and you became a puddle against the wooden dock you were laid across. The soft plap-plap of the waves beneath you very nearly lulling you under once again. Opening your eyes finally, you raised your arm to block out the harsh mid afternoon rays, and to check your watch for the time. Nearly four. He was late. “Where the hell are you, sharkboy,” You grumbled, sitting up, and stretching your arms out for a second time, stretching them for all they were worth, before slumping over and scrubbing at your tired eyes. Wincing slightly at the soft burn of your palms against your cheeks. Fuck. No sunblock. Of course. You’d be confused with a lobster by the time you went home and scooped up in a net for dinner if you didn’t apply any. Chancing a glance around the open ocean around you, spotting hues of blue after hues of blue- but no red- you sighed, tugging off your sweat soaked tank top- shoving it into your bag with the rest of your things, before retrieving your sunblock, and squirting a liberal amount into the palm of your hand. Slapping them together afterwards to smear it around, before hiking a leg up to begin applying it. The soft scent of coconut filled the air around the dock, and mixed with the salty scent of the seafoam below the dock, it reminded you of Kirishima. How enamored he’d been the first time he spotted you out here, doing just as you were now. The scent, the sight. Long tanned legs, short board shorts, no top. He’d been drooling, it was a whole adorable thing. Of course, you absolutely flipped your shit the first time you saw him. He wasn’t exactly the most subtle creature to catch a glimpse of, especially when he reared up to apologize- fins fanning out, causing you to nearly have a heart attack. You knew of mer-people, of course, but no one had seen any in these parts in decades. You certainly hadn’t. Not in your lifetime. First time for anything, though, you supposed. He’d wandered too far from his pod, and gotten curious of the handsome human male spread out like a buffet on the docks. If there was one thing to be said about Eijiro, it was that he was too curious for his own damn good. Something that both endeared you, and frustrated the fuck out of you. You hardly noticed, so caught up in your thoughts of the creature, the sound of the water breaking- the soft creak of the dock straining beneath the merman's grip as he hoisted himself up quietly, laying flat on his stomach just a few feet away. Eyes wide as saucers, red irises glinting mischievously as he tried to stick to his plan. Thwarted only by all the bare expanse of skin you were showing off. Tan, and soft looking. Soft to the touch, too, Kirishima thought suddenly, mouth too full of saliva as he recalled the feel of your skin beneath his webbed fingers. Shaking himself from his awed stupor, Kirishina grinned- all sharp teeth, as he shimmied across the dock, long tail swishing excitedly beneath the water, where it hung low from the dock. Already aware of his tardiness, Kirishima wasted no time lunging for you when he was close enough- laughing boisterously as you shrieked, and began swatting blindly at him. “You asshole! How many times have I told you /NOT/ to do that?” Y/N Shouted, initial panic already seeping away, as he was rolled over beneath Kirishima- the merman's soggy red spikes haloed by the sun’s rays, making him look….positively angelic. The fucking heathen. “You’re an absolute menace to both land and sea society Kirishima- no, no don’t fucking kiss me, I’m mad at you. Take your fishy kisses somewhere else, they will not be accepted here!” Y/N continued to shout, laughing suddenly as Kirishima nuzzled and raked his teeth along the soft expanse of your neck, webbed fingers digging just this side of rough into your sides, to elicit a fit from you. “L-Lemme g-go you smelly s-sardine! Ah-ahah! S-shit, i’m gonna p-piss myself if you don’t-ah!- stop! Kiri, please, mercy, mercy!” You cried, tears in your eyes as Eijiro wrapped your legs around his broad hips- shifting his scales downwards, as to not scrape you. Cradling you in his arms, his elbows against the dock, to shift you both upwards just a bit. Toothy grin as bright as ever as he gave in, and finally looked at you. Kirishima swore he could look at you forever. Your bright, twinkling E/C eyes, the soft, sun bleached tips of your hair. The curve of your nose. The curve of your /lips/. Especially the curve of your lips. “You can’t just show up late and expect me to be all hugs and kisses, that’s not fair,” You pouted, despite the smile you couldn’t help forming on your face. Ankles hooked just at the small of Kirishima’s back, where waist met scales. One hand splayed across the creatures back, the other finding its way deep in the crop of damp hair atop his head. Fingernails digging gently into the base, in that sweet spot that always had Kiri mewling if you scratched long enough. “Mm, i’m sorry, baby shark,” Kiri cooed, snickering at the eye roll he could practically sense, as he dipped his face back down against your neck, and kissed. “-It was my turn to lead the roundup for dinner. You know how long it takes to completely swarm a school of flounder? Little bastards shoot off in different directions. So yummy,” he paused, nipping at your earlobe, causing you to tense, “-but so difficult to catch. Like, but also kind of unlike, another little fish I know.” “A man of a thousand sweet talks.” You were already putty in the merman's hands, and you both knew it. Didn’t mean you had to advertise it. “I am sorry, baby shark. I tried to hurry, but you know how Denki can be. He gets a little zapped if he exerts himself too much on the hunt. We all gotta get him back to the cove in one piece after that, and he’s such a squirmer, so...ya know,” Kirishima shrugged, arms tightening just barely around your middle, as he leaned back, smile less predatory, and more sincere now, as he pressed your foreheads together gently. “Apology accepted...I guess,” You mumbled finally, breaking the creature's gaze, only to flick your gaze down to his plump, bitten lips. One drop of saltwater still clinging to his cupid's bow. “I missed you, dude,” Kiri whispered finally, blush painting his pale face, as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheeks, and chin. Peppering them all over afterwards as you began to giggle. “Missed you too,” You sighed, closing your eyes, and angling your head to catch Kirishima’s lips in a soft kiss. Just a press of them together, no real urgency. You had the rest of the evening, and long after sunset to spend together. There’d be plenty of time for rough, heated kisses below the docks. When you lost your trunks, and Kiri started losing control of the sharpness of his scales. Leaving small pricks and scrapes over your inner thighs, from how you’d going to his hips. Only to have the merman lay you out on the dock under the stars, and kiss them all better. Webbed hands spread wide over your stomach, your hips. Trailing down your thighs, up, and around… “Whoa now,” Kirishima whistled, pulling back to glance down between you, and you huffed. “Don’t get cocky, asshole. I haven’t seen you in almost a week, give me a break.” Hooking your chin over the merman's shoulder, you rolled your eyes once more at Kirishima’s little giggles. Mesmerized by the expanse of muscle in his back. Gaze trailing down between Kirishima’s shoulder blades. Down the small of his back, where his hips dipped first inwards, then back out. Hips filling out below his scales, bright red at the tips, and a deep obsidian at the base, where they met his flesh. Similar to the hair atop his head. Unhooking one of your feet, you ran your toes down along the soft, slippery surface of his tail, as far as you could go, before bringing it back up. Noting the shiver down Kirishima’s spine, and grinning. “Never gets old, does it?” “No, nope. Absolutely not. You make my tail feel like it’s gonna shake right off,” Kirishima groaned, planting his plans on either side of you now, caging you in as you rested back against the dock. “Should probably get that checked out by a doctor.” “Asshole.” “See if I give you the gummy worms in my backpack now.” “....did I mention how much I love you yet?” “That’s what I thought, seaweed brain.” You laughed, flinching back with a frown as Kirishima nipped at the air in front of your face playfully- reaching back for your brag, to draw out the large bag of gummy worms you’d already opened, when waiting for the merman to arrive. Grabbing one out of the pack, and holding it up between two fingers for Kirishima to slurp up. Humming contentedly as he chewed, and you simply smiled. “Love you,” You whispered, feeding him another- watching as he slowed in his chewing, before gulping audibly, and leaning down close. “Love you too. Beautiful boy.” ((Thank you again to the wonderful prompter who asked for this, I had a blast writing it!))

#eijiro kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x male reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x male reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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a-dorin · 3 years

Text

"it's not a big deal"

pairing: professor!maul x fem!reader

word count: 2.022k

warnings: alcohol use, drinking, swearing, flirting, sexual harassment, slight age gap (no romance yet), sexual tension, mentions of student/professor relationship, 18+

a/n: i do not own the gif below! this takes place between ardor and tempestuous, which are chapters one and two. also i hope y'all enjoy how hot maul is in this like i did ;)

“how many times do i have to tell you this? professor kenobi is banging that hot political science professor. that blonde one.”

“nice word choice hardcase,” a platinum blonde snorts, bringing a cup to his lips, “i think you mean professor kenobi might be having sexual relations with professor satine.”

“isn’t she the pacifist or something?” another voice chirps, “a few of my friends have taken her classes. they’ve all said the same thing about her.”

“and that is?” the blonde arches a brow, his voice raised to a shout over the music.

“do we really have to talk about professors and class right now? shouldn’t we be celebrating our survival of the first week of classes?”

“and so she speaks!” hardcase bursts into a fit of laughter, taking another swig of his bottle, “sorry, you just hadn’t spoken in a while. i thought you went out to the dance floor or something.”

swiveling your head, your eyes dart over to the corner of the car, nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of the mass of students, bodies pressed together, sweat plastering their bodies and clothes. why were some of them wearing jeans in august? surely they were overheated, the air muggy and thick. summer in coruscant was awful, even if the sun was well set.

the scent of alcohol and sweat hung in the air, almost clouding over your booth. shaking your head, your gaze falls on hardcase, his eyes glinting with the promise of more teasing, “i would rather not be included in the student body orgy.”

“everyone must be took drunk to care that they’re getting showered in sweat,” rex mutters, “tup, do you know what time coach buir said we had practice?”

“i think he mentioned something about weights at five,” a new voice remarks, flicking a water drop at hardcase, “that means if we leave now, we’ll all be getting about four and a half hours of sleep.”

“here we go,” hardcase lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes, “typical wolffe. always gotta ruin the fun.”

“i’m just trying to look out for your dumbass because i know you’re going to bitch about it tomorrow morning. i’d rather not run laps in the morning either for any tardiness. you know how much coach hates when we’re late,” wolffe growls, before taking a glance at his phone, “i don’t know about you guys, but i’m going to be responsible and head out now.”

beside you, rex mumbles a strand of curses under his breath, leaning his head against your shoulder, “sorry but i should probably head out too. the last thing i want is wolffe bitching and shit tomorrow. you know how he is, bein’ captain and all.”

closing your eyes, you exhale, gritting your teeth, “so you’re just going to leave me here?”

“i’ll leave my ringer on if you need me,” lips graze your temple, “hey, maybe you’ll run into that hot professor of yours. he can pick up a couple drinks for ya on his tab. i got the ones from earlier on mine. don’t worry about paying me back either.”

sliding out of the booth, you allow rex to make his way past you, “is this your ‘i’m sorry for leaving you behind on a packed night’?”

“perhaps,” the blonde shoots you a wink, patting his pocket, “again, if you need me, please don’t hesitate to call. i can come get you or pay for your uber. love you.’

“love you,” shifting your head upwards, you place a gentle kiss on rex’s cheek, “make it back safe. drink some water and take some tylenol. don’t want you feeling hungover in the morning.”

“i’m more worried about the ass-beating that’ll ensue when hardcase doesn’t show up on time,” a warm chuckle fills your ear, “see ya, bestie. make it home safe.”

“i will,” you take rex’s hand, squeezing it gently, “bye.”

“bye,” rex takes a step forward, waving a hasty goodbye before catching up with the rest of the boys, loud laughter rumbling amongst the group as they make their way towards the exit.

swallowing thickly, you slide back into the booth, fingers gripping the half-empty cup. of course they all had to leave, abandoning you on one of the busiest nights of the year. students of all ages, undergrad to grad, linger in groups, chatter filling the space as the song ended, leaving a pause before the next one started.

“you look lonely,” a voice, smooth and brassy, sounds to your right.

next to your table, stood a nautolan, drinks in hand. squeezing your cup, you blink, registering he was speaking to you, “oh -- um, uh, hi.”

“mind if i join you?”

“not at all,” you shake your head, “feel free to take a seat.”

“i’ve never seen you here before,” he states, flashing you a dazzling grin, “i’m nigel, a junior in bio. how about you?”

“oh,” you pause, biting your lower lip, “i’m just in health sciences. i’m a junior too.”

“a gorgeous girl like you doesn’t have a name?” carefully, nigel slides a cup towards you, “i talked to one bartender but another brought me my drink. somehow i ended up with two.”

cautiously, you accepted the drink, but didn’t take a sip, “thank you, but i’ve had my fair share tonight.”

which, you weren’t wrong. as you sat in the booth, you couldn’t help but feel this tingly feeling, as it rippled from your head to your toes. it was almost as if you weighed nothing, as if you were bouncy and light. a blissful sensation, really.

yet, there was this other feeling in your stomach, gnawing at you, threatening to consume you whole. the leather on the seat clung to your thighs, the temperature of the air elevating a few degrees as nigel’s eyes narrow into slits, his lips falling.

“come on, you don’t want a free drink?”

“like i said,” you clear your throat, “i’ve had my fair share tonight. i don’t want to feel it in the morning, ya know?”

“hm,” nigel hums, a hand darting across the table, finding yours, “could i interest you in something else, maybe? something like you come home with me instead, and i can offer you something other than drinks? we could have some fun, and then i could eat you for brea--”

“hey love,” suddenly, a hand falls on your shoulder, “i asked for what you wanted but they were out for the night.”

glancing upwards, your heart skips a beat at the person beside you.

warm amber eyes lock with yours, nearly glowing in the dim light, “i didn’t frighten you, did i?”

“hey,” nigel’s voice cuts in, “we’re having a conversation here, bud.”

his attention shifts, eyes hardening at the sight of the nautolan, “i was not aware that they hadn’t taken the trash out for the evening.”

“m-maul--” you begin, but you’re swiftly interrupted by his lips connecting with yours.

the kiss was brief, only a mere peck. yet, you couldn’t help but melt. his lips were soft, and gods were they so tantalizing as he pulls away, glowering over to nigel.

if only a moment could have lasted just a second longer.

“i believe you should have left the moment she expressed her disinterest in you. she can hold her own but gods you must be a fly or something. some sort of pest. leave her alone.”

nigel did not utter another word, exiting the booth promptly while you remained seated, cheeks burning hot, a fiery feeling in your chest. maul cleared his throat, lingering at your side.

“do you need someone to walk you home?”

“do you always kiss your students?”

there’s a brief exhale, the zabrak’s fingers finding your chin. he was more dressed than the last time you saw him, a light cotton tee clinging to his torso, the color complementing his tattoos. a pair of heather grey shorts hung on his hips, the cotton leaving nothing to the imagination. it helped him blend in, giving him a facade that he was just like you. a student stopping by the bar for some fun.

tilting your head upwards, you meet his gaze once more, finding it increasingly more difficult to maintain your composure as he leans in, chain nearly dangling in your face.

“i only kiss the ones who have my utmost attention.”

“how did you manage to slip in without people noticing? you’re pretty popular on campus, you know.”

“kallus lets me slip in through the back,” in the corner of your eye, there’s this shiny object.

quickly, you realize it’s a six-pack of bottles. beer bottles.

maul continues, his voice gravelly as his fingers remain on your chin, “this is the only bar in town who carries this kind of beer i like. now, is that a satisfactory explanation?”

“it’s good enough,” you’re surprised that he could hear the words your voice was so low, “you should leave.”

“not without getting you an uber first,” maul sets the six-pack on the table, pulling his phone out, “what’s your address?”

“i can make it home just fine,” you scoff, “just go already before we draw in any more unwanted attention.”

“i know you can make it home just fine,” you tense at the firm tone in his voice, “i just need to know you’ll get there safe. it’ll bring me some peace of mind. also, why are you here by yourself?”

“rex had to leave,” you mutter, fidgeting with your own phone, “just go, all right? it’s not a big deal.”

“all right,” the zabrak gives in, huffing, “i’ll see you in class on monday.”

“what if nigel recognizes you and reports you?” bringing a hand to your mouth, you feel horrible for even asking the question.

but, it needed to be said.

after all, your psychology professor conducted some very unprofessional behavior. not only in front of one student, but an entire bar full of them, no less.

“don’t worry about it,” maul places a tender hand on your shoulder, “if i do, it was worth it. i’m sure that prick was too intoxicated to even establish who i was. don’t worry about it too much, okay? i don’t want you losing sleep over your professor.”

“i lose sleep over your class anyways,” taking your cup, you finish off your drink from earlier, recoiling at the lukewarm taste.

grabbing his six-pack maul shoves his phone in his pocket, clearing his throat.

“be prepared to lose some more, love. you won’t sleep much when it comes to me. see you in class.”

“s-see you in class.”

as the zabrak slips into the crowd, weaving between all sorts of species and humans, the ambiance seems to crumble away, leaving you in the booth, mind reeling, wondering what the hell just happened.

maul, the professor from your psychology class, the one you saw at the gym, nearly half-naked, clobbering away at a punching bag, also happened to run into you at the bar, stepping in to prevent any more harassment from a very drunk nautolan. he kissed you. his lips were on yours, leaving you dazed and entranced, somehow craving more.

fingers brush your lips, and for a moment you forget that they’re your own, ghosting over the plush skin where his mouth once touched.

gods, this was only fuel to the fire, this attraction that left you yearning more and more.

yearning for him.

this wasn’t a big deal, was it? surely he would’ve done this for any other student? surely he wasn’t giving you some sort of special treatment. this was just some sort of fucked up incident. a fever dream, of sorts. gods, it sure fucking felt like one.

surely this wasn’t going to make things awkward in class. after all, you were going to see him bright and early within a matter of days. maybe he’d forget about it. maybe it was nothing.

this wasn’t a big deal. he said it wasn’t.

you were sure of one thing, though.

monday morning was going to be an interesting one, that was without a doubt.

☆☆☆☆☆

taglist: @maulieber @galacticdream @anakinswhore @zabrak-show @justalittlecloud @hounding-around @meshlamando @fandom-gal44 @xcertaindarkthingsx @maximumninjavoid @alwayshappysith @doobiwankenooku @javierpenaspinkshirt

#maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #darth maul #professor maul #professor!maul #maul smut #darth maul smut #star wars x reader

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 14 first part

(RR The Untamed Masterpost) (Canary’s Pinboard - more Masterposts)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Murder Turtle, Continued

Lan Wangji wakes up after a good night's sleep leaning against a rock wall, to find that his leg is no longer splinted, and his perfectly clean and unbloody headband has been put back on his head while he was sleeping.

Leaving aside the "not waking up" part of things, how, exactly, did Wei Wuxian get his headband on without mussing his hair? Did he bring a crochet hook?

Wei Wuxian gives him a sitrep and then they cozy up and have an extended conversation about the nature and history of the Tortoise of Slaughter. Wei Wuxian is interested in everything Lan Wangji has to say, and Lan Wangji talks a lot more than usual; they are completely on the same wavelength here and are enjoying swapping obscure knowledge.

Lan Wangji: My lacerated leg and I are actually super aware that it has big teeth, but thanks for the reminder.

In the course of the conversation, Wei Wuxian mentions his plan to 1. sneak into the tortoise's shell and 2. drive it out of its shell so they can attack it.

OP did a little tortoise research and learned that the only species of turtle that can leave its shell is the Koopa Troopa.

Good news for Wei Wuxian: If you jump on its shell in the right spot, you can rack up a pile of extra lives.

Does that make the Tortoise of Slaughter a giant Koopa Troopa? Perhaps...the king of the Koopa Troopas?

I'm gonna say yes.

(More after the cut)

Let’s Go Killing

Wei Wuxian is exhilarated by the idea of fighting a giant dangerous monster with Lan Wangji. Some day Wei Wuxian will found the Nike clan, because his motto is definitely "Just do it."

It's sweet how, in his romantic notions about chivalry and Lan Wangji, he's completely elided the original reason they were (sort of) told to venture together.

Wei Wuxian: I'm still on the "find the Yin Iron" quest; I'm just skipping the "suppress it" part.

Wei Wuxian weighs up their chances against Bowser and tells Lan Wangji that even if they die, it will be badass to be killed by a famous monster, so they won't have to feel embarrassed.

This is the exact moment that Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian go from "smitten" to "gagging for it."

Lan Wangji: as soon as we get out of here I'm going to borrow a whole lot of books from Nie Huaisang

The boys come up with a plan that involves a rather long montage of collecting archery equipment and deconstructing it. This potentially-dull montage is fun to watch because they are both very, very good looking.

Artists who want to draw Wang Yibo as an elven archer, this is your episode.

Now we suddenly have, with zero explanation, telepathy. Ok, sure. It seems to work kind of like a phone conversation, in which they say specific things to each other, rather than like Cherry Magic telepathy where you can hear everything the other person is thinking. Or at least, neither of them is embarrassed, so I assume they are maintaining some mental privacy.

Club Ruohan

Same, Wen Chao, same

At some point there is a boring sequence at Club Ruohan. Wen Ruohan doesn't know where Xue Yang is, but really wants his hunk of Yin Iron. Wen Chao thinks that WRH's 3 pieces of Yin Iron should be able to beat Xue Yang's 1 piece, but apparently he is dumb and that is not how math works. O...kay? OP does not understand this either but whatever, Wen Ruohan is boring, moving on. This scene is really just here to make us think about Yin Iron before Wei Wuxian jumps into Bowser's shell.

Bigger On The Inside

So then Wei Wuxian climbs into Bowser's shell, which is, to quote The 12th Doctor, bigger on the inside.

Bowser’s shell is the approximate size of my entire house. It is also bathed in a hellish pure red photo filter, which OP has done her best to remove for these gifs, because it gives me eye strain and it obscures Xiao Zhan's hotness.

Camera Operator: What did I do?

Wei Wuxian wanders around inside, finding random corpses encased in slime cocoons. Tortoise, spider, xenomorph, whatever. There are also random curtain things hanging all over, and then at one point Wei Wuxian stares into the face of a corpse, and then does a jump scare response at the camera operator even though nothing particular happened.

I imagine the corpse was supposed to open its eyes and say "killl meeee" but it got censored. He also makes about 8 other faces at the camera operator, so we get that the inside of this TARDIS-like tortoise shell (must...resist...temptation...to...say...TORDIS) is yucky.

Lan Wangji waits outside listening to Wei Wuxian telepathically complain about the smell. He is anxiously clenching a bundle of string and an arrow, and wishing he could clench Wei Wuxian Bichen instead.

Serendipitous Yin Iron

Wei Wuxian backs his way through the TORDIS until his butt bumps into a sword that is steaming with resentful energy. That's right: Wei Wuxian is about to pull a piece of Yin Iron almost literally out of his ass.

He grabs it and is overwhelmed by its screaming resentful energy and has to let it go again.

So this is what a vibrator with 4 batteries feels like

When Bowser comes looking for him, however, he quickly decides to go for it, grabbing the sword and singing "I've Got the Power (Gonna Make You Sweat)"

Wei Wuxian plunges the sword into Bowser's lower jaw, and Bowser pulls his entire head out of his shell with Wei Wuxian attached, while leaving the rest of his body and all rational laws of physics inside the shell.

Gamera Versus the Cultivators

What follows is one of the more ridiculous action sequences in the history of the world, and I say that as someone who likes Mothra movies.

Wei Wuxian hovers in a perfect horizontal plank while “hanging from” the sword, which is held well below the level of his torso. While Bowser spins him around. For much of the time, Bowser keeps his head still and just waves his neck around.

Lan Wangji and the camera operator do everything they possibly can to make "guy pulls on string" look interesting.

Everybody tries really, really hard and the actors are great at pretending something is there when it isn't, but this whole sequence is just horribly conceived.

What works well, though, is the Yin energy and Wei Wuxian's wrangling of it. He starts off being frightened and overwhelmed, and looking like it's too much for him; I dont' know if they made his face puffy on purpose or if that's just what happens when you spend days hanging from the ceiling fighting an imaginary monster. But he looks slack and unwell as he grapples with the iron sword.

Which makes this moment, when he gets control of it, deliciously creepy. He uses the power of the Yin Iron to stick a bunch of pokey things into Bowser's neck.

Lan Wangji has seen him struggling and now sees him...not struggling. Which scares the piss out of him, and he moves to finish the fight as quickly as possible, slicing up his hand and breaking the string. Combined with the pokey things, this does the trick and Bowser dies while Wei Wuxian faints and falls into the water.

Do the Whumpty Whump

Lan Wangji rescues him and wakes him up, and Wei Wuxian clutches the Yin Iron sword and tells Lan Wangji that he was knocked out by the screaming of disembodied voices.

This certainly sounds like a strange and dangerous phenomenon, so Lan Wangji carefully asks him to explain everything.

Ha ha ha j/k. Lan Wangji asks him exactly nothing about the strange sword or the black smoke or his weird evil smile or his new power over pointy objects. Lan Wangji appears to have a Star Trek: TNG level of unconcern about strange phenomena happening directly under his nose. But in fact he has noticed what's up, which is why he will be instantly distressed when he sees Wei Wuxian's flute moves at the Wen Corporate Headquarters.

Wei Wuxian has a fever (stay positive test negative) and comments on Lan Wangji's being so nice to him.

Wei Wuxian: I could never have imagined Lan Er Gongzi acting this concerned about me. Lan Wangji: what else have you never imagined me doing, while we're on the subject?

Lan Wangji transfers a stream of spiritual energy to him. Lan Wangji has so much spiritual power he can be a battery for Wei Wuxian without breaking a sweat or, like, noticing whether Wei Wuxian has a golden core or not, for that matter.

Wei Wuxian basks in the nice feeling of gigajoules for a while but then decides he's bored. So then he pouts, whines, and cajoles Lan Wangji in exactly, EXACTLY the way he whines at Jiang Yanli. I think this, while annoying of him, is a leap forward in his relationship with Lan Wangji.

He's letting his guard down and not just allowing Lan Wangji to take care of him; he's demanding to be cared for on multiple vectors, when he asks the guy who's already busy healing him to sing to him as well.

Lan Wangji obliges, singing him the song he composed about their love cultivation journey, while Wei Wuxian (or possibly Lan Wangji) (or possibly both) has a flashback to assorted sexy interactions that they've had so far.

Wei Wuxian memorizes the song perfectly on one hearing, before passing out.

Writing Prompt: Baldur’s Gate III / Untamed Crossover AU featuring elf archer Lan Wangji

I DARE YOU

Soundtrack: 1. Everybody Dance Now by C+C Music Factory 2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf

Wei Wuxian fainting tally (cumulative): 3

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #the untamed spoilers #restless rewatch the untamed #my gifs #canary3d-original #asian whump

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beinmybonnet · 4 years

Text

29th June 1613 - London, England

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.”

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs. “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

part one of this series can be found here

#god this one took years off me #but it's done!#thank you bones for the final shove over the finish line #i am so soft for this found family #and they deserve happy memories #yusuf would 1000% have been a theatre kid #the headcanon is lodged #userbones #usermarwan #tusermj #tuserceleste #the old guard fic #the old guard #mine

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bang-to-the-tan · 4 years

Text

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 8

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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Water. Rushing water, in your ears, in your eyes, in your nose, and you can’t even tell which way is up. You can’t breathe, the river—it’s too fast. Warmth, strength, snakes around your midsection despite your flailing, and pulls.

You wake, disoriented, just as you breach the surface, still gasping. Sunlight sneaks through your curtains and paints the ceiling in bands of yellow above you. Your blankets, tossed in your restless, fitful sleep, circle your legs, and you have to shake them off to sit up. Your nightmare spins in your head as you sit and ground yourself to reality. It’s been a very long time since you dreamed of drowning...You shake your head. Best not to think about it any more than necessary. An old childhood fear, brought about by sleeping in your old childhood home. That’s all.

You stretch, yawning. You’re listening absently to the distant birdsong outside, and that’s when you realize the birds aren’t the only ones making noise. A distinct voice is holding a one-sided conversation just outside your house. It occasionally breaks into a loud laugh or some odd sound effect, halting here and there for some answer that you can’t hear. You pause. Maybe whoever it is is only passing by? But no, the voice doesn’t move anywhere. The wood beneath your feet creaks traitorously when you slide to the window, sneaking a peek out the corner of it, to around the front where the voice is. From here, you can see very little, but for a shape that moves out of sight just as you spot it.

Confused, you get dressed, and check your appearance in a nearby mirror. You aren’t going to be winning any awards, but you’d like to at least know what they’re doing out there. You make sure to slip the cat’s totem around your neck and check for the bracelet around your wrist.

Moving to open your door, you brace yourself to put on a brave face. Maybe the locals are themselves getting ‘squirrely’ around Spirit Lights. It is tomorrow, after all. Your facade proves to be wholly unnecessary once you actually swing the front door open. Hoseok turns to beam at you cheerfully, pink and gray hair ruffled, his hands and knees covered in dirt. He’s cradling an uprooted tulip in his palms. For a moment, you go to protest, heart sinking at his demolition, but you pull up short once you realize he’s not destroying it. He’s replanting it; settling it at a more comfortable distance from its brethren, judging by the hole at his feet. Much of the garden has been likewise tended, the color seeping back into the plants and the dirt turning a dark, rich brown. It smells like fresh greenery, roots, and clean soil out here, the wafts of breeze bringing with them that distinct scent of blossoming lavender. You wonder that he was able to accomplish this much just in the time that you were sleeping in.

Behind the gardener, sitting atop your fence like it had been born on it, is the cat from the first night you spent here. You would recognize those eyes anywhere. It’s black pelt glimmers in the sunlight, turning almost blue in the warmth of its rays. Even as it lounges, watching Hoseok work with its paws tucked beneath itself, you are again given the impression that it knows and observes plenty.

“Good morning!” Hoseok crows, his grin pushing dimples into his cheeks. “Did we wake you?”

“Um…” you look to the cat, a faint smile curving your lips at the familiar animal. You wave a little at it, wiggling your fingers. It blinks slow at you, turning its luminous eyes elsewhere. “Kind of. What are you doing here?”

“Gardening,” is Hoseok’s cheerful reply.

“...right.” You aren’t sure you want to look the gift horse in the mouth, but is it odd that he just...showed up? Then again, that’s how you met him in the first place.

“Yoongi wanted to apologize.”

You blink at him, amused and baffled at once. Yoongi? Ah, you recall the brown-haired youth calling the cat by that name. Absently, your hand drifts to the bag around your neck, inhaling the faint smell of cinnamon. You level a stare at Hoseok. Has he been talking to...the cat? This whole time? If the cat really is Yoongi, and Namjoon and the young man are both right, then the cat is definitely a kepry—really, it’s not that surprising, then, that a local tradesman would be holding a conversation with him. He probably has to deal a lot with them. You wonder briefly if he’s ever met the kepry under your house.

Probably, if they both are working on the garden. Considering the bright, sunny nature of the two of them, they probably would get along.

You pull out of your distant musings. “...The cat wants to apologize? What for?”

“He says he scared you on accident. Something about his totem? And Taehyung?” Hoseok shakes his head, laughing a little. “It’s always something between him and Tae, though, so I don’t know about that much.”

Right. The dog and the cat have a rivalry. That tracks. You raise your eyebrows. “Scared me?” you echo. You wrack your brain, throwing back to the last time you saw the cat. Scared you by disappearing, maybe. You really were concerned for its safety to begin with. But what does that have to do with Taehyung?

Hoseok shrugs, bending to place the tulip in its rightful place, patting the dirt around it with the ease of someone well-practiced in gardening, his face soothed into a gentle expression of focus.

“He chickened out when he got here.” He throws a sly grin at the cat, who beholds him with incredible disdain. “I’m not apologizing for you.”

Uh-huh. You watch Hoseok dig around in the dirt for a moment longer before realization careens about your head and crashes into the opposite side with almost an audible sound.

“Payment!” you say, aloud. He blinks at you but you’re already turning to dash back inside, scrambling through the cupboards for the candy you had left. You rush back outside before either of them has even moved, presenting the half-empty bag of sweets to him.

“I had to,” you start babbling, as he flicks his eyes comically between you and the bag, a surprised smirk creeping across his face, “I had to, use the rest for something else, someone else, there’s—” you quickly abandon the thought of trying to explain the kepry. If he knows, he knows, and if he doesn’t, you’ll only confuse him or make him think you’re crazy. “—but the—for the gardening, I can’t pay you much—”

“You already—” he starts, bemused, but you’ve already started and its very difficult to stop even as you’re becoming breathless, plowing forward.

“—But I hope we can be friends anyways and I just wanted to say thank you for not ruining the garden,” you finish, having to draw in an embarrassingly deep inhale at the end.

He breaks out into a full smile, teeth bared, and laughs, bending with the motion. He takes the bag from your hands gingerly and sets it on a clear patch of grass beside him without looking directly at it.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’ll put it with the rest.”

“The garden looks beautiful, by the way.”

Hoseok glances back up at you, obvious pride crossing his fine features as he stands, dusting his hands off on his pants leg.

He practically glows, posing with his hands on his hips and surveying his hard work. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Between you and the spirits, this place is going to be the loveliest garden this side of Eden,” you add, half-joking, reaching to caress a nearby daisy, feeling the soft petals between your fingers like the kiss of sunshine across silk.

He pauses thoughtfully for a minute before shaking his head and giggling.

“Jin wasn’t kidding. You really are clueless, huh.”

Jin. You start with a gasp, turning to lock the front door and rushing past the gardener to the gate, swinging it open and throwing yourself through it. You almost forgot! How could you forget?? You’ve got to go and help Jin finish cleaning the pond today! You hope he isn’t too upset with your probable lateness... Your steps hesitate. You throw a quick glance over your shoulder.

“...Are we...are we okay?” you ask after a moment, directing the question at the gardener. “Is the candy okay?”

“It’s all I wanted,” he replies, nodding reassuringly, eyes glinting with humor. “Thank you.”

“Good. And…”

The cat, Yoongi, cranes to watch the ground a little ways from you, only momentarily looking up to meet your gaze. The gesture is definitely as close to repentant as you think you’ve ever seen a cat manage. You pause again, reaching to curl your fingers around the totem around your neck faintly.

“...I...I forgive you. For scaring me. Thank you,” you add. “For the totem. I promise I’ll use it well.”

His head dips, pretending suddenly to be incredibly engrossed in stretching, bending to deftly clean his paw, but the cock of his ears tells you he isn’t not paying attention, nor is he entirely discontented. Hoseok bursts into another bright peal of laughter.

You peer at him, a smile crossing your face. You wonder if keprys can purr. But even as you ponder that idea, now that you’re aware of your tardiness, it’s like there’s a clock counting down in your head, and every second passing is more disappointment from Jin.

You start moving down the path, keeping an eye on the strange man tending your garden and the strange cat pretending not to watch you go before you turn and start to run. Maybe if you finish up with Jin fast enough, you can continue your search for the elusive little dog.

You’re reminded of the youth you met yesterday when the wind hits your hair, fresh and clean from the morning. The pound of your feet against gravel and stone and dirt. The quickening of your heartbeat in your throat, assuring that you are alive and well. The sunlight ahead bathes the trees in gold, dapples the ground beneath as you continue along, turning across the pathway and emerging at the bridge. You scour the clearing for your companion, catching your breath in heady gulps of sweet air that tastes like springtime. There, beneath the willow, on the opposite bank. He’s sitting against the trunk, head bowed and eyes closed. Guilt sinks into your chest at the thought that he fell asleep waiting for you.

The bridge carries you over to his side of the water, and you gingerly navigate a way down the steep incline towards him. You have to brush the long, trailing tresses of the tree out of your face as you approach, peeling it apart like the lifting of a veil. Not for the first time, you’re struck both by his beauty and his timelessness. He looks like if you left him, he could sleep forever. A statue, carved out of the moon. But you reach forward, quickly wiping your sweaty palm against your trouser leg, and touch his shoulder.

His dark eyelashes flutter and he blinks sleepily, casting a look up at you.

“Hey, Jin.” You admit, “I don’t know what time it is. I’m sorry if I’m late.”

The smile he gives you is radiant, warm, creases his eyes and softens his lips.

“Not at all,” he returns. “You’re just in time.”

You grin back, moving to crouch by him. “Good. Thanks. So where do we start today?”

Jin’s mouth purses and his eyes flit to the bridge, hesitating. “Start?” he murmurs. “I don’t know...Maybe today we take a break?”

“A break?”

“Yes.” He shuffles, patting the dirt beside himself with another gentle smile. “Yes, why don’t you join me here? How was your day yesterday? Tell me about it.”

You pause, considering. It sounds nice, just to hang out with Jin all day. And admittedly, you’ve been wanting for some real companionship. What with everyone around you disappearing into smoke. But on the other hand...you kind of want to find Taehyung. It’s not just a matter of the librarian anymore, really. You’re legitimately becoming concerned about the small dog’s wellbeing.

“Maybe later,” you reply. “I’ve got other stuff to do today.”

Jin frowns, and for a beat, you can sense a strange energy from him. You’re reminded of when you caught him talking to Taehyung over your fence. That same coldness. It dissipates when he turns away from you, casting a melancholic look over at the pond.

“Other stuff to do today?” he echoes. “Other...people to be with?”

You aren’t sure where he’s going with this train of thought. “...Yes? Kind of? I’m going to go looking for Taehyung after.”

He goes silent, watching the surface of the water with a distant gaze, his mouth briefly quirking. An uncomfortable quiet settles between you, broken only by the sound of the wind through trees and the occasional distant birdsong. You straighten, looking for something else to say, maybe you can sit for just a little while after all, but he sits up before you have the chance, moving to stand with one fluid motion.

“You want to finish quickly so you can look for Taehyung,” he says, his expression faraway.

It’s your turn to frown, staring at him incredulously. “I don’t get what you’re so upset about.”

He shakes his head, turning back to you with a long sigh drawn through his nose and a bitter smile curling the edges of his lips.

“Never mind.”

You eye the man. What’s up with him? “Let’s finish the pond, then.”

He blinks, hard, gaze briefly casting to the side before meeting yours again. He takes the space between you with a step, his expression turning earnest, his hands rising to his sides as if to placate you.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he puts in, low. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. I like you.”

“I like you too.” You add, “When you aren’t being weird. What is this about?”

“I miss you when you’re gone. It gets so lonely up here. Nobody comes to the pond anymore—no one tends the pond, or visits me, or prays at the shrine. It’s been so long…” He hesitates. “If we complete our deal...you’ll leave, too.”

“I won’t, Jin. I said I’d come and visit, and I meant it.”

His short laugh is humorless. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.”

He interrupts before you can reply, shocked at how bitter he sounds. How sad.

“Taehyung is happy with you. He adores you. You take care of him. And he protects you. And now that you’re here...now that you’re back...he hasn’t left your side, has he?”

You pause. “He...he disappeared yesterday,” you confess. “I’ve been looking for him since. But I don’t get what—”

“ You’re searching for him .” He sounds heartbroken. “You miss him.”

“...of course I do. He’s my…” You catch yourself in your confusion, unsure of what you were going to say and finishing lamely with, “...my dog.”

Another beat of silence falls between you that feels significant. You don’t understand why. The wind that cards through the air, entices your hair with it, brings with it the cool of the water’s surface. It soothes the touch of the sun shining above you, filtered through the willow tree into spots of sweet gold and dappled shadows that encase the two of you.

When Jin reaches for your hand, his expression soft, his movements gentle, you let him. You jolt in surprise when you feel something press into your palm. Wasn’t his hand empty just a moment ago? Looking down, you watch as he curls your fingers faintly around a small charm. About the size of a walnut, it looks like it used to be a brooch of some kind, but the fastener is long gone. A lily, fashioned out of clouded glass so thin and delicate that despite its size, it’s incredibly light. The edges are gilded, though the gold has rubbed away in places. It’s beautiful. Fragile, and old, but beautiful. Your confusion only heightens when, as he bends your fingers to wrap around it, you can feel electricity course through you. Like a wildfire, but warm and soothing instead of burning, crackling down your neck and hands, centered around his peculiar offering, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his cologne. Lilies. As clearly as if you were the one wearing it. All around you, the world has ceased making noise—allowing you your own private world in itself. All that is, all that matters, is you, the radiant man in front of you, and the tiny sun blazing heat into your palm. The wind holds its breath.

“Would you miss me?” Jin murmurs. Even his voice seems to have changed, almost sonorous in tone.

You look up. He looks different. He looks vulnerable, strangely tired, even as he seems to shine, the sun outlining his frame and lighting up fireflies behind his eyes, through the strands of his hair.

You’re taken aback, but you’ve misunderstood the question.

“Please?” he adds, earnest, pressing on your fingers again.

“Secret club.” A voice suddenly weaves through the spell that had fallen across the two of you and you jump faintly, turning to spy the pink-haired boy craning past the willow’s tresses with a wide, playful smirk. “Can I come in?”

Jin immediately breaks the silence with an offended scoff. When he speaks again, he’s gone back to normal, sounding at once both harried and annoyed. “Jimin, go away.”

All around you, the world has returned as if it never left. The birds calling far away, the gentle sound of the air through the trees. Why is that surprising? It’s hard to recall what, exactly, that moment felt like, even though it was only a second ago.

‘Jimin’ throws his eyes skyward and sags exaggeratedly against the willow leaves, swinging. “Ah, but I’m bored ,” he complains. Even his whine is musical, pitching into a huff at the end.

“We are involved in something,” is Jin’s deadpan reply. “Leave.”

Jimin squints at him, pausing. “No,” he says finally, brattish. “I want to play.”

“I am busy.”

Jimin swings gracefully one last time, disentangling himself from the willow and ghosting nearer to you, his smile growing until it pushes his eyes into crescents, his cheeks buxom.

“I don’t want to play with you ,” he snipes at Jin. He reaches forward to grip the edge of your shirtsleeve with his small, delicate fingers, childish. He bounces slightly when he tugs at your sleeve. “You and me! Let’s go!”

“She’s busy, too,” Jin tugs on your hand a little, turning his body towards the other boy as if to physically block him out.

Are they...arguing over you ? Like schoolchildren? There’s no way of defining the cross between humor and disbelief that washes over you at the realization. Grown men. Grown strangers.

Jimin’s pink hair waves when his head snaps upwards, a sharp look crossing his face suddenly. His grasp on your shirt tightens, fingers spidering upwards for a firmer grip, though still avoiding touching the meat of your arm.

“She’s in my debt,” he says, low, warning. “And I just decided on my payment.”

“Whoah,” you interrupt, eyes wide, brow cocked. “Wait, debt? Payment?”

“Go play with Taehyung,” Jin ignores your questions.

“He doesn’t want to!” Jimin protests. “He’s really upset for some reason.”

“You know where Taehyung is?” This time, your outburst catches both of their attentions. Though Jin looks dismayed, frowning, Jimin only looks curious.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment.

“Could you take me to him?” Hope, excitement rises in your chest. Could it really be that easy? Maybe this whole time he’s been hanging out with someone else? That hope turns a little questionable when Jimin’s face smoothes into something sweetly conniving.

“I could,” he replies, light. He tugs on your shirt again, pointedly. “But you have to play with me first,” he adds in a singsong.

Jin huffs.

But you quirk your mouth and nod, moving to step away from Jin. “Alright. What are we playing?”

Wait, is your hand empty again? Did you drop the brooch? Shocked, you turn to look for it, already forming apologies in your head, but you can’t see it anywhere near your feet, and when Jin speaks up again, he sounds more annoyed with the newcomer than concerned for the delicate item.

“You’re being rude, Jimin.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out at the other man, scrunching his nose in the process, while he turns to you and starts excitedly half-pulling you back up the incline, towards the bridge.

“I wanna play Red Jay!”

“You would!” Jin calls, trudging after you sullenly. He brushes off a spot on the bridge’s wide railing and seats himself on it, watching the two of you like someone jilted.

“Isn’t it blue jay?” you ask. You aren’t exactly an expert on bird types, but you rifle through your limited knowledge anyway. Blue jay? Red robin?

“No.” Maybe this far out in the stix they have their own versions of games and/or birds.

Your pink-haired consort leads you to the mouth of the bridge and circles around until he’s facing you, holding his hands out, palms forward. He waits expectantly.

You blink at him.

“I...I don’t know what red jay is,” you confess after an awkward beat.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You used to,” he says, and before you can comment on that, he reaches for your hands, holding them up in the position his had been in. “You’ll want to know how to play it for tomorrow, at least.”

His eyes sparkle. “Kids love Red Jay during Spirit Lights.”

“Like this,” he directs. “First, you’re the red jay.”

He presses his palms to yours, crossing his arms over one another, then moving in a circular direction until his are straight and yours are crossed.

“‘Red jay,’” he begins, “‘O, red jay, when will the spring come?’

And then you turn your hands like this,”

You obligingly switch your palms to face you. He taps the backs of your hands with his.

He nods at you.

“Your line is ‘When snow has stopped falling / and winter is done’.”

You hesitate, watching him, but repeat it back slowly.

The two of you continue in this manner, him feeding you your lines and teaching you to move your palms up, over, sideways—like a slow game of patty-cake.

“Red jay, O red jay, when will you come home?”

“When tears have stopped falling / and I cease to roam.”

Curiously, you think, you might actually remember doing this. Your body tenses with excitement without really knowing why.

“Red jay, O red jay, again, shall you run?”

Jimin’s eyes glint and his smile grows wide.

“When lights have stopped glowing,” you reply, seized by a rush of giddiness. “and my work here is done.”

“And now, we run —” Jimin barks, turning, beginning a game of tag. You’re the red jay, adrenaline courses through your veins and you remember this, suddenly kicking a leg out, obeying the laws of the child’s game by keeping your hands folded to mimic wings, but filled with triumph when you hook your ankle under Jimin’s and he trips with a scandalized yelp, falling to the ground beneath you. Unmatched glee washes over you. The red jay, victorious, spreading its wings above him and squatting to cradle him in your arms, laughing.

“And now I take you with me!” you shout, enthused. “Across the river and through the forest we’ll go!!” He whines, struggling out of your grasp.

“You cheated!” he complains, but even though he’s trying to pout, frowning away from you, he’s obviously still pleased that you played along.

You’re still giggling, allowing him to clamber upwards, your arms dropping to your sides. “I win. Take me to Taehyung.”

“I want to keep playing,” Jimin protests.

“No. I won.”

“One more game,” he wheedles. “One more game. Something easy. If you win, I’ll take you to where I saw Taehyung.”

“Jimin—”

He ducks his head, lips pursing into a perfect pout, searching your eyes through bubblegum strands of his hair, his own wide and glittering in the sun. “Please? Just one more game.”

He looks at you like his heart is breaking. Like he’s never known loneliness so terrible. For sure, some of it is an act, but there has to be something there for someone to pester a stranger so much...Besides, he’s sweet enough, you think.

You hesitate, feeling pity for him despite yourself. “...What game?”

The smile that bursts across his face is brilliant. “Hide and seek! See? Easy.”

“You live here,” you point out with a wry smile. “You probably know this town better than I ever could.”

“I’ll give you a huge head start.”

You consider it. But there’s no real reason to deny him this last game, and eventually you cave.

“Alright, one more—”

“Yay!”

“—and then you take me to where you saw Taehyung, no matter who wins .”

He immediately pulls up short, voice pitching into a whine. “But that wasn’t—”

“Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

Jimin pouts again, throwing his arms across his chest, but he nods anyway, looking put-upon and deeply upset. “Okay, fine.” You don’t worry about him for too long, because he almost immediately sneaks back into a grin, mischief raising his brows. “Ready? One…” He spins on his heel and starts counting.

Suddenly at a loss for what to do, you flounder, spinning around wildly to look for a good hiding spot. Under the bridge, maybe? Up in the willow tree? Neither of those will do at all. You’ll be found so quickly….Why do you care? The sooner the game is over, the sooner you can get your side of the deal.

You jolt when a hand winds around your arm, tugging you gently to the side. Jin, standing just to your right, his expression unreadable but for the grim, strangely serious, curling one side of his mouth.

“This way,” he urges in a hush. “I’ll hide you.”

You aren’t sure why you nod, but the minute you do, he starts into a run. He’s fast, footsteps sure as he leads you back over the bridge, past the trees, swift and almost silent. Behind you, Jimin’s voice softens and fades until you can’t hear him anymore. Tugged along ungracefully, you struggle to keep up, but Jin never yanks too hard, and never slows. Beneath your feet, the path peters out, yet still leads faintly through the foliage as it grows denser, less tame. The wind whips at your hair, soothing over your face, sunlight turning to filtered rays and dollops of sun warming the green leaves ahead and the soft grass below.

Jin takes you around a corner, his pace finally, finally slowing, and you’re treated to a small clearing edged with tall trees and old, climbing foliage. He lets go of your hand. You bend at the middle to reclaim what breath you can manage, thankful for the breeze that cools the sweat at your neck. When you can, you straighten to survey your surroundings, casting a doubtful look behind you. Could you find your way back out of here? Probably not. Even now you aren’t sure between which copse of trees you burst through to get here. Hopefully Jin doesn’t disappear before he can lead you back. Now you can hear the river that rings around the back of the town, but there’s no hint of the road that must surely be just as far away.

Before you, ringed by light, is a shrine made of stone. It reminds you of the one behind your house; a boulder about knee-height set in front of a lantern carved of the same type of rock. Ontop rests a shrine about the size of a birdhouse. The entire thing is cracked, covered in moss, vines threatening to overtake one side of the lantern and snaking into the walls of the shrine.

“I’ve seen these before,” you manage to wheeze to Jin, gesturing. You straighten with a steadying breath. “There’s one in the forest down the road.”

“They used to be everywhere,” he replies quietly. He doesn’t seem out of breath at all as he steps forward to caress the tip of the lantern with a familiar touch. Something in his eyes gleams.

“Kinda seems a little out in the open for a hiding place,” you add, throwing another look around. This time, you’re certain you don’t know the way back. The thought makes your skin crawl a little, but if you just keep an eye on Jin, he won’t be allowed to vanish into nothing—as apparently everyone in this town can do at will. So much for a quick game, you guess.

His hum is wry. “I’ll keep him turned around for a minute. I still wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean to frighten you at all.” When Jin turns towards you, his face is earnest again. “I...I just…” he hesitates. “I get lonely.” He ducks his head, picking absently at the vines crossing the lantern. “People used to come up here all the time. And now...”

It's the second time he’s mentioned people visiting the pond. Admittedly, you’re curious. “Why? What are those for?”

“To pray. They used to pray.”

You watch him remove a tendril creeping inside the shrine with a delicate hand, and as he does, you recognize a shape hidden inside. A tiny bronze swan, with its head curled back towards its wings. The shapes carved into its back tell you it might have been an incense burner, though by now much of it has turned green and mottled. How long has it slept here?

“The swans? People prayed to the swans at the pond?...” You pause. “Miss Eunju and Mr. Sungmin did say that people don’t believe in the older stuff anymore. I guess they stopped coming when they stopped believing.”

“I never needed the faith,” Jin adds. “That was never the point. But reverence turned to fear, turned to….forgetting.”

“People think the pond is haunted, you said.”

“Yes.” His frown deepens, his eyes desperately sad, aching with some ancient scar.

“An old god, shunned by its people...”

Jin’s laugh is a sudden one, hiding bitterness. “Was never a god. Didn’t mind being treated like one, though.”

You think of the swan, with all its enchanting, ethereal beauty, and can’t help but smile at the thought of it lounging on silk pillows, being fed fanciful scraps of expensive bread. “I bet.” Was that Jin’s job, you wonder. A caretaker for the godlike swans? But surely not—not for how old this shrine must be. Why does he take the town’s crisis of faith so personally?

There is a moment of silence, punctuated only by the rush of nearby water and the distant calls of birds. The shifting of tree branches in the wind. The man standing before you looks like he belongs here, in the strangest of ways. A perfect addition to a painting depicting the ancient shrine, the greenery growing up around it, and a tall man with years beyond his time in his stare.

Maybe he’s like you, you think. His family must have ties to this place, considering the man in Granny’s photograph. Years and years of history. He must feel an obligation to the pond, the shrine, the bridge...But the locals avoiding it must make him something of an outcast...yeah.

Yeah, you can understand that.

“You don’t have to bribe me with antique jewellry,” you say finally. “To come and see you.”

He snorts, still not meeting your eye. “Bribe...?”

“Yeah. I...you know, I like it here. This town. I haven’t made any real decision yet,” your hands raise in premature defense, “but...for as long as I’m staying...I don’t mind just. Coming to see you. To hang out.”

“You don’t?” His voice is quiet.

“Of course not. We’re friends.”

“We are?...”

“I’d like to be.”

Seokjin turns to blink at you, like he’s in awe. At first, he seems unsure. Unconvinced, but the longer you watch him patiently, the more he appears to understand. His eyes catch the light, pushing into glittering crescents when he smiles broadly, without some of that bone-deep sadness you’re so used to seeing from him. He looks hopeful. Hesitantly so, but eager enough to try. “Friends. Yes...I-I’d like that, too. I really would.”

“Maybe once we’re done with the pond, we can come back here and clean this up, even?” you suggest, stepping to place your hand on the shrine, feeling the sun-warmed stone under your palm. “Get some foot traffic back here?”

“It’s okay.” He’s still grinning, brushing absently at the moss, his hand hovering. A beat, two, before he finally touches down, his long fingers curling faintly over yours. “It was a long time ago, anyway.”

There’s a moment that you take, there, in that clearing, standing by this tall man as the mild breeze dances around you both, smiling softly and feeling warm where your hands meet. You seem to have banished whatever cloud was casting its darkness over him for the time being, his entire frame lit by the sun and brightened still further by the legitimate, excited smile he’s wearing.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I think I see now.”

To your shock, he leans forward, craning closer. Heat rises in your face. You back up, balking, but before you can react properly, Jimin’s voice once again shatters through the clearing, ruining the mood threatening to descend upon you.

“You’re such a cheater!” The pink haired man complains loudly as he clambers through a thicket, popping into view just to your right. That’s...now, that’s strange. You could have sworn the path was the opposite direction….? “Both of you! Cheaters!”

Jin halts, his entire frame sagging with an exasperated look that almost makes you laugh with all the nervous energy now buzzing in your skull. “Distracted for two seconds,” he grumbles, raising a brow at you. “And that’s all it took for him to worm through.”

“Distracted from doing...what?” you return, edging backward and sliding your hand out from under him. He lets you go easily, turning to survey Jimin instead of replying.

“I won’t count this, you know,” Jimin continues in a whine. “It doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does,” Jin replies, scoffing.

...Was Jin going to kiss you?

“It doesn’t , you interfered—”

“—the terms that you laid out—”

Would you have stopped him? Of course. Of course you would. You shake your head at yourself, more engaged in recovering from your slight shock than their argument. Your cheeks are still on fire, heart pounding just at the memory of the handsome man’s proximity just then.

“—between me and her —”

“—explicitly said—”

Maybe he took it the wrong way. You said you’d be friends, he said he was lonely...How likely is it that he’s just gotten the wrong idea? How long has been alone for, exactly?...But you did mean it. You don’t want—can’t, with a clean conscience—to leave him by himself. And you do like him. As a friend. When he isn’t being weird.

“—for your own ends, you always do this—”

“—at my pond—”

“Hey,” you interrupt their bickering when it threatens to turn to yelling, stepping forward, arms raised placatingly. “Alright, enough. I agree with Jimin.”

The shorter man throws a triumphant look to the other, head cocking, eyes wide.

“The game was supposed to be between me and him, and I had help. Those weren’t the terms. I’ll admit to that.”

“ Ha .”

“But—” you add, hesitating. You don’t want to promise Jin you won’t leave and then leave. You also don’t want to leave him with whatever... that was supposed to be. If you run off with Jimin now, he might keep the wrong idea. “But...I think Taehyung will be okay without me for a little while longer. So long as he’s doing alright.”

“ What ?” Jimin sounds devastated. When Jin looks over his shoulder to recapture your gaze, he’s practically glowing.

“I think I should keep up my first bargain.”

“You were —”

“Fixing the pond. With Jin.” you continue, interrupting Jimin’s scowl. “And maybe hang out. As friends.” You make sure to put extra emphasis on ‘friends’, but if it has any particular effect, Jin doesn’t show it. He still beams like you’ve gifted him the stars.

“But….but you…” Jimin’s face crumples into a familiarly distraught look, plump lips parted beseechingly. “But you said…”

“You can always help,” you point out. “And you said so yourself, kids love playing during Spirit Lights. So why can’t we play tomorrow?”

“Not with me, they don’t,” he harrumphs, glaring at a branch as he reaches to tug at it absentmindedly. “Not anymore.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.” Jin’s voice has gone surprisingly cold, enough so that Jimin physically flinches at it, rolling his shoulder to deflect the words themselves. He pouts at the tree beside him as if it could rise up and defend him.

“ Hey ,” you recapture their attention, shifting your weight to the opposite foot. “Look, I came here to help Jin clean the pond, and that’s what I’m going to do. Jimin, you’re more than welcome to join. I’m sure we could use an extra pair of hands.”

There’s a beat of silence, but eventually, all parties agree. Some more enthusiastically than others. Jin practically nods his head off his neck, while Jimin mumbles something incoherent at the tree he’s pulling at.

To his credit, Jin does lead your merry little band back out of the clearing and towards the pond. (In a third different direction from where either you or Jimin had entered the clearing—which you quickly decide not to ponder too deeply. Obviously, you don’t have as good a sense of direction as you might have originally suspected.)

And to his credit, Jimin does help. Somewhat. Kind of. Mostly he complains, refusing to wade through the muck and instead tugging petulantly at weeds by the banks. You come to enjoy the banter between them, Jimin’s high whine and Jin’s playful nagging. It feels like an old friendship, and it leaves you wondering why, if they’re so comfortable with each other, Jin doesn’t have him for company.

Sooner than you would have thought the sun is threatening to go down, the air cooling around you, and you begin to think of calling it a night. How long were you in that clearing anyway? It’s hard to remember. Coming back it didn’t seem like it was too far away. You frown at the weeds you’ve plucked from the pathway, as if they could answer your questions.

“So,” you begin, directed at Jimin, who’s squatting by the bridge, distracted from weeds by a stray dandelion. “Could you just tell me where you saw Taehyung? Maybe I can look for him after Spirit Lights?”

Jimin shakes his head, pulling his hands into the sleeves of his fluffy sweater absently. “The festival lasts until sundown,” he replies in a faraway pout, resuming his fiddling with the fluff-headed flower.

“Yeah, but—”

“You can’t be out after dark,” Jin puts in, firm, from his position waist-deep in the water, tugging at the growths on the underside of the bridge. “Not on Spirit Lights.”

“But—”

“Not without a mask,” Jimin adds.

“Still not a good idea to go looking for Taehyung, though.”

“That’s true.”

“What about before?” you try again.

“He’ll be at the festival, maybe.”

“He isn’t usually.”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. So. What you’re saying is that I just need to give up.”

Jimin cranes to grin at you, his cheeks going round at the corners when he does. “Maybe after,” he says. “The day after. We’ll play again, and I’ll take you to where he was today.”

“What good does that do me if he isn’t there?”

He shrugs, but his smirk doesn’t abate.

Jin starts to walk towards you through the water, sloshing through the muck as he goes, clambering up the bank past Jimin. He flicks his fingers at the smaller man who shrinks with a scandalized noise. “You could always come back here.”

For a brief moment, you think of that half second in the clearing, where you were almost sure he was trying to kiss you. But you think next of after, of the cleaning, the banter, the laughter. Surely the strange mood that had snapped him up then has dissipated to something more...friendly? Acceptable?

“I might do that.”

His answering smile is like the sun.

When you bid them goodbye, Jin is for once the more vibrant of the two, waving and smiling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. “At the festival.”

“But not after dark,” Jimin adds quickly.

“Not after dark,” you agree, chuckling inwardly at how adamant they are about the old superstitions. “But tomorrow.”

Your house is still so strangely empty when you turn in for bed. Hoseok and Yoongi are of course, long gone, and Taehyung is still missing. (Though, according to Jimin, alive and well—which soothes your worry for the small dog greatly.) But the sheets are cozy, the bed is soft, and there’s something exciting, exciting about the thought of the upcoming festival that has you asleep in moments, drifting off the moment you land on the pillow.

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#bts x reader #bts faerie au #bts fairy au #bts fanfic #bts fluff #stray cat strut #this is a long 'un #nearly 7k this one #i never get that far for stray!#had to do a still image for the header bc the gif one wont. load?#i dont pretend to know but who tf reads my shit for the frankly awful headers LMAO

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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

Text

Uncertainty ~ PART TWO (Frat boy!Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

PART ONE

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of smut

Author’s Note: Aaaaaand here’s the long awaited continuation! I was almost convinced that I was giving up on this idea, but then I felt compelled to continue the journey for these two. I hope you all enjoy. Let me know if you’d like more parts and what you’d like to happen between these idiots. Take care and TPWK.

Harry didn’t know whether he should be feeling elated or uneasy. It was precisely forty seconds before his calculus class was set to begin and Y/N had failed to show her face. One one hand, she wasn’t here and that meant Harry wouldn’t have to face her after what happened at his party this weekend. She wasn’t able to ask him questions that made his chest vibrate with anxiety and he wasn’t going to have to tell her about how he had been in her apartment when she was more or less unconscious from having one too many cup fulls of the punch his fraternity brother made from several mismatched bottles of liquor in their basement.

However, on the other hand, the fact that she wasn’t here made him almost feel like losing his breakfast into the nearest trash bin. What if she remembered him taking her home and was so appalled that he’d invaded her space that she couldn’t even stand to look at his face? What if she remembered him buying her chips and making her nurse a cup of water in the car ride home and untangling the delicate straps of her dress until she was down to her bra and panties and felt so violated by it that she dropped the class? Better yet, why did he care so much about what someone who was merely an acquaintance thought of him when he was only trying to take care of her?

Because of this, because of the fact that the obnoxiously pretty girl he sat beside in calculus had unknowingly dug her claws into the pores of his psyche and refused to release him from her grip, he was almost certain that her absence was worse.

He didn’t think his leg had stopped bouncing on the metal support bar of the uncomfortable desk chair since he’d taken his seat fifteen minutes ago. Every time there was even the slightest disturbance that wasn’t his profressor’s obnoxious voice or the squeaking of a marker on the white board, his head snapped up to the weighted, wooden door to see if it was her finally making her grand entrance into class. In an attempt to busy himself, he checked his phone - A few texts from the president of his frat about sweatshirt orders that he knew he was going to ignore before he finished reading the first sentence, one from his sister about his mum’s birthday that needed to be planned two months in advance for some reason, one from his friend about the girl he had fucked at the very party that Harry was trying very hard not to think about right now. The pads of his thumbs were clammy and catching on the screen; it was no use. He wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about Y/N until he saw her face.

He kicked himself for not leaving her his phone number along with the pain medicine and water that he’d laid out on her counter so that he could have at least checked up on her and explained himself then. Had he made it worse by not saying anything or leaving her a note? Had she spent all weekend knowing that it was him who had taken her home, or did she have no idea that he had quite literally saved her from being assaulted at his frat house and more or less tucked her into bed that night like a toddler sans the bedtime story before ducking out without a word? If he asked himself one more fucking question, he thought he was going to explode.

Nearly twenty minutes into the class and Harry had convinced himself that she wasn’t coming. He had accepted that he’d have to sit with his anxiety for two more days and pray to whoever was listening that she’d either show up to class on Wednesday and ease his qualms or tell him off and he’d never be able to hear her sweet laugh when he made one of his dumb math jokes again. It was right when the weaselly profressor with glasses that made his eyes look three times their actual size and a comb-over hairdo to mask his premature balding starting babbling on about derivatives that the clicking mechanism of the door handle pierced the walls of the lecture hall -- and there she was.

She scurried in with her head down and muffled her footsteps the best that she could in order to not disrupt the lesson any further. A sweating, plastic cup of coffee clutched tightly in her hand, careful as to not allow the ice to slosh around and draw even more attention to her tardiness (most likely a soymilk latte with an extra shot of espresso - Harry had picked up on her caffeine preference when he’d steal glances at her and read the markups the barista had made on her cup). Harry finally let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when she muttered quiet apologies to the students around her and took her unoffical seat next to him.

“Hi,” she whispered as she quickly but quietly pulled her spiral notebook from her worn, canvas backpack.

Harry suddenly felt his heart beating in his ears and knew for a fact that a startling blush shade of red was creeping up the neck of his stretched out Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. The best he could muster was a tight-lipped nod of acknowledgment in her direction, as he felt like he might melt into the seat and slip away if he tried to do anything else.

No other exchanges were made throughout the remainder of the lecture, just Harry mindlessly jotting down whatever notes the professor had written on the board in attempt to look busy and her occassionally pulling sips from the dilluted espresso through a chewed, flimsy straw. He didn’t know if she felt it too, the tangible awkwardness that lingered in the air like cigarette smoke in a dive bar in the deepest depths of New York City. But she did.

In fact, she had been thinking about Harry just as much if not more than he had been thinking of her ever since she woke up on Saturday morning with a pounding headache and pain reliever laid out conveniently on her counter top. She couldn’t shake the lurking thought that it was Harry that had taken her home from the party she’d been dragged out of the house to go to. Her friend wasn’t her escort, as she’d spoken to her later in the afternoon and found out that she’d ended up going home with an ex-girlfriend. She was beyond drunk, that wasn’t a question. But in the midst of her downward spiral of sobriety, she remembers his face. She remembers a thick accent and an emerald green, intimidating gaze and conversations about calculus and something about, “no peeking.” At least, she thinks she does.

It loitered like a pinched nerve in the back of her brain. She couldn’t for the life of her come up with a reason as to why Harry would have been the one to take her home on Friday night, but she couldn’t think of who else it could be or why he was the first one to come to mind whenever she pondered the notion. Her patchwork of memories taunted her; tangled dress straps and greasy chips and sitting on the lip of a bathtub that wasn’t hers. She had the pieces, but she couldn’t put them together.

She toyed with the idea of asking Harry about it. She knew it was the right thing to do seeing she sat by him in calculus three times a week and it would be incredibly awkward if he was who brought her home and plugged her phone in to charge and laid out hangover-curing meds on her counter and she didn’t bring it up. But what if he tells her something she doesn’t want to hear? What if he tells her that she rambled embarrassing secrets the entire drive back to her apartment or what if she accidentally told him that she thinks the way he reflexively rubs the tip of his nose with his ringed index finger is the cutest thing she’s ever seen?

It wasn’t a hastle for her to admit to herself that Harry was attractive. Hell, he was better looking than most of the men she’d encountered in college thus far. She’d chalked his persistent need to engage in conversation with her during class up to the fact that he was bad at math and was milking his advantage of sitting beside a smart girl to get the passing grade he needed and not up to the idea that he might possibly be looking for a way to ease into more casual banter that lead to exchanging phone numbers and hanging out at her favorite bar on the east side. However, it didn’t stop her from paying a little more attention to the lectures and showing a little more extra work on her assignments so that she’d be ready to talk to him when he undoubtedly asked her about the homework each morning when she took her seat next to him. Maybe all of this was something deep inside of her that made her want to think it was Harry - a strange, unrealistic, romantic daydream come true where he was her knight in shining armor and swept her off her feet and away from beer pong and novelty Reagan/Bush ‘84 memorabilia.

Neither of them realized class was over and the professor had dismissed everyone until the uproar of scuffling chair legs and zippers burst the bubble of their inner turmoil. They were slow to face each other, slow to muster up the courage to be the first one to start the dreaded conversation they’ve been festering over all weekend.

The room was nearly cleared now, sans a few lingering bodies and a handful of confused students needed assistance from the professor. Y/N’s “I have a question,” came out at the same exact time as Harry’s, “Do you remember-.”

“Oh, sorry,” she chuckled nervously, “Go ahead.”

“S’okay. You first,” Harry’s baritone oozed from his naturally watermelon-colored lips and made butterflies flutter violently in her tummy.

"Umm, this might be kind of strange but...” she paused, exhaling shakily in a way that Harry was able to comprehend that she was probably going to bring up the same exact thing he was.

“Where you at the party on Greek Row last Friday?”

Harry nervously stuffed his hands in the pockets of his loose jeans.

“Erm, yeah. I was. That’s my frat actually.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

“Ye’.”

There it was again. That fucking adorable non-existent itch on the tip of Harry’s nose that he scratched with the knuckle of his index finger that she had grown so fond of over the past few months.

“Okay, well....Did we? I mean did you...umm.. did you take me home that night?”

He could tell that it made her uncomfortable to talk about, like she was scared to know the answer or scared to see the look on his face when she found out he had no idea what she was talking about.

“It’s just...I woke up on Saturday and I don’t remember much, but I swear I remember you driving me back to my apartment? I’m sorry if that’s weird. I just feel like we were together at some poi-”

“Ye’, that was me,” Harry confirmed her suspicions that had been eating her alive for the last two days.

“Found ye’ in the bathroom. You were pretty trashed and couldn’t tell me where ye’ ride was so I just took ye’ home.”

“Jesus Christ,” a wave of relief crashed through her like a tidal wave.

Thank fuck she now had confirmation that she hadn’t lost her mind.

“I thought I was going fucking crazy. Thank you. Seriously. You didn’t have to do that.”

“‘S no problem. It was the right thing t’ do. Plus, I don’t know what I wouldn’t done for the rest of the semester if something happened to m’ math buddy,” he nudged his shoulder into hers in attempt to lift the strain from her composure.

Her soft chuckle filled his ears like the sweetest melody he had ever heard. The way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled and how she turned her head to side as if she were embarrassed of the way she couldn’t help but bear her teeth when he laughed stirred something inside of him. Not anything he could necessarily place, just something that he recognized as foreign however it wasn’t particularly unpleasant either.

“I’m sure you would’ve managed,” she muttered, unable to hide her smile while rolling her ankle around behind her other leg to busy herself.

“I owe you big time,” she began again after a brief period of silence, “Is there anything I can do to pay you back for being my babysitter? Do you smoke? I know a guy and I can have him get you some-”

“Seriously, Y/N,” Harry insisted, “’S fine. Ye’ don’t have t’ do anything f’ me. I was just being a friend.”

He was beginning to get anxious again, feeling the pores in his skin start to swell with perspiration.

“No, Harry. It’s not fine. You could’ve been doing a million other things besides taking care of my drunk ass. I shouldn’t have even went in the first place. Stupid fucking ex-”

“Ex?” Harry felt the tips of his ears flood with heat.

“Uhh, yeah. I dated, well... had a ‘thing,’ with a guy from that fraternity. Your frat too, I guess? My friend thought it would be fun to show up and make him jealous. Guess I only really proved his point.”

“Erm, who is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The thought that Y/N had been under his nose this entire time, potentially walking around the house in which he lived in and associating herself with any of the vile people he dreadfully called his “brothers” made his skin crawl. He didn’t know her that well, but he knew she was too good for any of them. And most definitely too good for him.

“Oliver. Do you know him well?”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew exactly who Oliver was. Harry’s frat was filled with more boys than he could keep up with, so no, he didn’t know everyone extremely well (and honestly preferred it that anyway), but he was certainly acquainted with the man Y/N had just mentioned. He had buzzwords that came to mind with everyone he wasn’t immediately familiar with in order to keep them in line in his head. Oliver’s just so happened to be “Loud-Mouthed Asshole With No Sense of Personal Space and a Nicotine Addiction.”

“Heard of him. But no, not really. Frat’s pretty big so I just tend t’ stick with my own little group ye’ know? Everybody kinda does that.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. He never really brought me around much anyway, so I don’t really know much about it. Think he was kind of embarrassed of me.”

“Everyone’s an asshole there. Trust me. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t you.”

“Thanks, but I doubt that.”

She seemed duller now, regretting that she accidentally let the mention of the boy that broke her heart into trillions of tiny, sharp shards of hazardous glass.

“Oh, wait!”

The way she perked up was almost immediate, giving Harry a form of whiplash from how quickly her mood had shifted.

“Midterms are next week right?”

Harry nodded.

“What if,” she tapped her chin with her pointer finger in exaggerated thought, “You come over and we study together? And if I just so happen to be cooking a kick ass dinner when you get here, will you accept that as your reparation for taking me home?”

Guess she didn’t remember the part when Harry told her he wasn’t actually bad at math.

“If it’ll make ye’ sleep better at night, then sure,” Harry responded with jest.

Harry had no earthly idea why in the fuck he was agreeing to this. His mind was already racing and he knew damn well that this would end in awkward, uncomfortable disaster, but he couldn’t help but go along.

“It definitely will. I will never stop apologizing for this. I don’t even want to know what I said to you that night.”

“It wasn’t tha’ bad. Promise. Just kept cryin’ about wantin’ chips is all.”

“That explains the wrapper in my trash can,” she brought her palm to her forehead in revelation.

“Anyways, you wanna come over Saturday then? That work for you?”

“Yeah, sure. Fine wi’ me.”

“Great,” Y/N huffed, “I’ll give you my number and we can sort it out later.”

“Alright,” his one-sided smirk was hard to miss.

“Alright,” she repeated, “Guess I’ll see you next class.”

She flashed him her pearly whites before the bubble between them burst and the two of them realized they’d been the only ones in the now empty lecture hall for an unknown amount of time.

Harry made the dreadful treck from his bedroom upstairs to the oversized kitchen meant to harvest enough supplies for the ungodly amount of men that lived in the red brick structure he called home. Curse the human body for requiring food to survive.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he said that he keeps to himself and only really engages with the small handful of boys he actually calls his brothers. The rest of them, for lack of a better word, were mediocre. They treated anyone and everyone around them that didn’t benefit them in just the right way as if they were disposable and couldn’t care less about who they hurt in the process. They drank without remorse, sucked down toxic chemicals from a plastic cartridge without regard for the popcorn lung they’d inevitable develop in ten years tops, fucked any girl that was willing to part their legs for them without reciprocating the very release they confided in them for. Harry often wondered who raised such vile creatures, but found his answer in the fact that his mother had pounded the notion to treat people with kindness, no matter the circumstance, into his body, mind and soul from the second he was sentient.

However, this didn’t mean he didn’t slip up every now and then. It’s hard not to when you’re surrounded by booze and drugs and enough pretty women to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool. You become socialized into thinking that that type of behavior is acceptable, but the reality is that there isn’t quite anyone there to reprimand you for it. Being in a fraternity places you damn near at the top of the college food chain; there’s hardly anything or any one person that has the ability to stop you from doing just about whatever the fuck you want. As twisted as it is, those are the undeniable politics of universities.

Perhaps that’s why Harry joined one to begin with. It’s a security blanket that protects him from feeling alone or being rejected, at least that’s what it was at first. He wishes more by the day that he could pack his bags and get the fuck out of the grimey, yet still immaculately grandiouse boarding house and never speak to or even look at anyone that’s ever lived there ever. But quite frankly, he’s scared of what will happen to him. He’s built his entire identity around this place, around these men, despite how awful they can be to the point where he doesn’t know where his proclamation as a fraternity brother ends and his real self begins. Sure, it’s all for show and he barely believes in any of the bullshit they feed the naive, desperate pledges, but he’s known nothing besides this life throughout his entire college career. If he can just wait it out until after graduation, he’ll be forced to seek solice elsewhere and not prematurely removed from the comfort his fraternity has provided him.

“Dude, are you gonna eat that thing or deepthroat it?”

An obnoxious, almost nasally voice poked the membrane of the train of thought Harry had been wading in.

Harry cut his eyes in the direction of the sound, only to be met with the sole fucking face he had hoped he wouldn’t run into on his once daily run to the pantry for nourishment.

Oliver.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered out of habit (he certainly didn’t mean it, especially after his conversation with Y/N the day before), keenly aware of how stupid he probably looked with an uneaten banana resting against his parted lips as if he was planning on spitting on the tip of it in attempt to seduce the ripened fruit.

“Am I in ye’ way?”

“Nah,” Oliver answered, “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”

Harry remained planted in his spot against the counter, his long legs outstretched as the bottom notch of his spine balanced against the lip of the black marble. Oliver dug around the fridge loudly, rustling glass bottles and crinkly packages of processed foods until his hands landed on the item he had been looking for - a can of sugary soda that just the sight of made Harry’s teeth hurt.

“Hey, Oliver?” Harry called out.

“Sup?” the boy dressed in a baby blue golf tee spoke in between carbonated belches.

Harry winced at the ill-mannered sound, but it didn’t deter him.

“Do ye’ know a Y/N?”

This was a bad idea. This was a very bad and nosey idea and definitely not his business to seek out, but he wanted to know more. He had to know more.

“Uhh, yeah. I dated a Y/N. Y/N L/N. Just broke up with her actually. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Harry stuffed a bite of the sweet, creamy fruit into his mouth to shut himself up before he said too much.

“If that’s who you’re talking about, Christ. That woman was a handful.”

“What do ye’ mean?”

Oliver rolled his eyes as if to say this was a can of worms that Harry wouldn’t dare want to crank open. Harry had a feeling that he was being a tad bit melodramatic.

“She was so fucking clingy. I swear to god, dude. She wanted to be around me all the fucking time. Wanting me to meet her friends and come over just to cuddle and all of that shit. She’s such a fucking prude, too. Wouldn’t let me and Shane eiffel tower her. Goody-good ass bitch.”

“Hold on,” Harry interjected, “You’re upset because she wouldn’t have a threesome w’ you?”

His impatience with the man was growing more miniscule by the second.

Oliver shrugged, “Probably ‘cause I was her first. Also probably explains why she clung to me like a goddamn bat, too. She’s a good fuck, though. Still nice and tight. If you’re asking about her because you’re interested, I’d say go for it but she’s not gonna let you breathe after you do. Swear to god that bitch was in love with me and we were only together for a few months.”

“Good t’ know. Thanks mate,” Harry sneered through his teeth before dropping his half-eaten banana in the bin beside him and all but storming out of the kitchen.

Oliver’s psychoanalysis of the sweet girl he sat beside in calculus with the precious laugh that snored in her sleep and cried over fresh chips and always helped with the homework that he didn’t really need help with couldn’t have been more wrong, that he knew for certain. It was clear to Harry that she had been groomed and manipulated by Oliver so that he could take what he wanted from her and leave her to dry out like a fallen leave in the crisp cold of fall. She was young and naive and believed Oliver when he spewed whatever sugar-coated bullshit he needed to get into her pants (and have the audacity to try and push a threesome onto her). Harry was a man but he wasn’t stupid and could very well imagine the gruesome stab to the gut she must have felt when she realized the first person she’d ever trusted to such an intimate extent turned on her. It made his stomach turn.

Like he’d told himself one hundred times, he didn’t know this girl very well, but he knew she was a good person. She was a human being - a kind and sensible human being that never turned down his constant nags to help him with confusing problems on the homework just to hear her voice. She had just so happened to fall victim to a narcissist’s self-fulfilling profecy.

He wanted to know more about her. He knew Oliver was bigoted and vain and only told him what he wanted him to know and that there was definitely more to the story than what was disclosed to him in the kitchen just now, but he felt a sense of urgency to see it for himself.

Harry had a newfound fondess towards Y/N, and a newfound hatred towards Oliver.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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laudedliar · 3 years

Text

Was looking for some fluff. So I wrote it.

Fluffy wuffy was a mage

~~~~~~~~

Dorian sat watching the sun setting over the mountainous skyline. It’s ray bright and yellow against the fading blue of the evening sky. Dusky reds mingled with darkening purple which gave way to star dappled velvet black. The air was cooling rapidly and it sent shivers prickling down his arms. His breath curled in white tendrils in the cold mountain air.

Cold. He hated the cold. And yet, still, he was here. In the Frostback Mountains, long after they had sealed the breach and sent the blighted ancient Magister to his crypt for the final time. Adaar and Iron Bull had asked him to extend his stay afterward, even as he mentioned returning home to Tevinter. So he had. He’d extended it again. And again.

Though why he felt compelled to remain was a mystery to him. Other than the occasional dalliance into the wilderness to help some hapless soul or other, Dorian had no real ties to SkyHold. And yet... He couldn’t seem to find it in him to leave. Not yet.

“Are you not cold, Pavus?” A warm voice asked, startling him from his musing.

“Commander. I didn’t hear you approach.” Dorian muttered, turning to blink widely at the blonde ex-Templar.

The man smiled softly at him. An almost wistful look in his eyes that locked firmly with the mage’s own. A look that piqued Dorian’s interest as much as it caused insecurities to wriggle within his chest. Insecurities that feasted upon the withered heart he so carefully protected as fiercely as a dragon.

And yet those golden brown eyes that finally broke from his to look upon the darkening horizon had somehow caused a shudder to wrack the precarious foundation of self-assurance he’d been able to rely upon in recent years.

“Yes, I am cold. Freezing, actually. But I’ve found that if you stand in the cold before taking a bath it is so much more enjoyable.” Dorian finally answered finally.

Cullen glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Poised and regal looking in his armored overcoat, ubiquitous sword belted to his hip, palms resting on the plain leather bound brass pommel. “My sister makes the same claim. I find it makes the water feel too hot.”

“Says the man who slept with a hole in his roof for almost a year.” Dorian quipped, smirking at the other.

“We were far too busy to spare anyone to fix it.”

The Tevinter’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he chuckled. “Fereldans. One step away from being Avvar barbarians.”

“We just run warmer than other’s.” Cullen remarked, the last of the sun’s rays glinting golden off his hair.

“Speaking of warmth, I think I’m going to find that bath.” He paused, eyes gazing over the Commander’s shadowed outline. “You might consider one for yourself. I can smell the rigors of your training circle from here.”

The blonde turned his gaze back to Dorian. The air between them suddenly felt oddly heavy, weighted with an unidentified intensity. A hum between them that heated the blood now pulsing quickly through every limb.

It reminded Dorian of when Cullen’s hand brushed his during their chess game a few days before, the Commander mumbling an apology as his cheeks turned red. Or a few weeks prior when Dorian had walked into the other’s tower without knocking (honestly it had been well into the morning by then) and got a surprising eyeful of the blonde standing in nearly nothing while shaving. Mind, Dorian had gone up the ladder even after Cullen had called that he would be down momentarily. He had not shouted or balked at the sudden intrusion, instead only turned those calm brown eyes in the mage’s direction and mumbled a brief apology for his tardiness.

A strong, sword calloused hand reached up to rub at the warrior’s broad jaw line, scruffing along the rough, ever present stubble. “I do need to shave as well.” The blonde muttered, eyes losing focus as he looked over Dorian’s shoulder back towards the courtyard below them.

A still passed over the mage and he scrutinized the warrior for a moment before ever so softly suggesting: “I can help with that, if you like.”

Those honey-brown eyes sharpened and slipped back to Dorian’s face. Even in the dark he could feel them scrutinizing every inch of his face. He schooled his features even as his heart fluttered madly at the sheer audacity of his suggestion.

Altus Dorian Pavus shave Commander Cullen Rutherford? Absurd.

And yet... The very idea sent excitement skittering over his skin, warming him enough that he forgot all about the cold that bit at his fingers and toes.

“Could you?” Cullen said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want a ridiculous moustache.” He warned, but it was tempered by the smile that stretched across his face.

“Never! Only a man of class is capable of pulling off such a statement piece.”

One eyebrow rose as the other’s smile down turned. “Well, as a man of taste, I have to respectfully disagree.”

Dorian’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open with a shocked gasp. “Commander! Your wicked tongue wounds me once again.” He chuckled. A shiver shook his whole frame. “I don’t quite understand how cold can bite straight to the bone.” He said as he turned to walk along the battlements and down the stairs towards the bathing rooms in the lower levels of the keep. He barely heard the soft scrape of booted feet following behind him over the pounding of his heart.

The natural hot springs beneath the keep kept the bathing room warm and humid. Tucked into a small side cove was a table with soap, towels, and baskets to carry any dirty clothing back to the laundry. Dorian paused in front of a table beneath a small mirror, a well cared for (enchanted to ensure no rusting) set of shaving tools in a leather pouch, and a bowl of lathering soap and brush. The communal bathing room was empty, and the soft splash of Cullen’s boots through the gathered puddles on the uneven stone floor echoed through the low domed chamber.

“Perhaps... Perhaps a bath first.” He suggested, eyeing the tools laid neatly on the tables before turning to look at his companion.

The blonde suddenly looked lost, shifting foot to foot, eyes darting around the room to look at anything but Dorian. The Tevinter watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously and nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps.” Cullen answered softly.

Slowly, cautiously, Dorian began to unbuckle the straps on his top. His eyes never left the other’s face, noting each small twitch along the stoic warrior’s facade, every brief glance at the mage and away. It was thrilling. Exciting to watch the color creep up Cullen’s neck and cheeks as he undressed in front of him. Ever so carefully, Dorian let his shirt fall to a nearby empty basket before he began to work on the buttons of his pants.

Cullen swallowed again and stepped back. “Maker’s breath. I, uhm, actually remembered there are reports. In the w-war room. Yes, in the war room. If you have time tom-morrow, I would be amenable-” The blonde stuttered and stumbled over his words, cheeks and ears redder than the rising sun.

“You smell.” Dorian blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Cullen asked, affronted.

“You, my dear Commander, stink. I cannot allow you to wander these grand halls in your state. Think of the scandal! Nobles would flee every time you came into a room afterward. Poor Lady Montilyet would be swamped with requests to have you scrubbed before every important meeting, to be perfumed in the heaviest scents available before your appearances.” Dorian said dramatically.

Slowly Cullen’s lips quirked upwards and he snorted a soft laugh at the imagery. “At least I won’t politely have to decline any more marriage proposals.”

“Ha! You’d never get another proposal again. Not after gracing the masses smelling akin to the back end of an ogre.”

One dark blonde eyebrow quirked up. “I don’t smell that bad.” Cullen groused.

“No, that was an overstatement. But only by a small margin.” Dorian smirked.

“I am rather tired, though.” Cullen said wearily, eyes once more flickering along the mage’s exposed torso to his face.

“A bath would be helpfully relaxing then.” He answered in turn.

Brown eyes darted away and a pink tongue traced along scarred lips as the warrior contemplated the deep pool of warm waters. “I suppose you’re right.” Fingers scarred from sword play slowly began to work free the latches and buckles along the heavy armor.

“Of course I’m right.” Dorian said, a little breathier than he would have preferred. He began to work the buttons on his pants once again, drawing golden eyes back to him with the motion. His skin burned with pleasure as he noted the way Cullen’s eyes widened just slightly as he began to wiggle his pants down over his hips, sliding the leather garment down his thighs slowly.

A soft catch in the ex-Templar’s breath as he kicked the garment off and let it fall into the basket with his shirt excited Dorian in ways he hadn’t experienced in a very long time indeed.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked, voice low and husky with unbidden emotion as he stepped forward towards the blonde completely bare. Cullen’s throat flexed as he swallowed thickly once again, his back going rigid as the space between them was closed.

“I-” The blonde started, then paused as their eyes met.

“You?”

“Can manage.” Cullen breathed out, so quietly the sound would have been lost had not Dorian been mere inches from him.

The atmosphere between the two swirled warm and electric. And Dorian understood then so much more. He suddenly could place the lingering gaze across the chess board, the gentle rumble of laughter at an inane comment, the grazing touch at the dining table. He saw the meaning behind all those small moments. How they built and coalesced into what now sat heavy between them, drawing them in with magnetic force.

“Wonderful.” Dorian sighed and stepped away, moving over to the water of the pool. He dipped a toe in to test the warmth before sliding in gracefully. He could feel his counterpart’s eyes on him, even as he listened to the other’s armor being unbuckled and the clank of steel as it was set to the side.

He turned to look back, lowering himself into the water until it lapped along his collarbone and lounged as he watched Cullen pull his shirt over his head. Revealing a thickly muscled torso wrapped in cream pale skin. Maker’s breath indeed. The warrior’s pants were removed unceremoniously and tossed to the side with his shirt and the blonde stepped quickly into the pool of water, clearly self conscious about being nude in front of another.

Dorian laughed before slipping under the water and swimming just under the surface until he came up beside Cullen. His grin was feral as he took in the man’s flushed cheeks and shifting poise. Lifting his hand he ever so gently traced his fingers over the curling strands that brushed along the back of the blonde’s neck.

“Seems you’ll need a haircut as well.” He said sounding calm and assured even as inside he thrummed in exhilaration.

“Yes. Am I to believe you are a barber in your free time?” Cullen asked, watching Dorian from the corner of his eye as the Tevinter slowly circled around behind him, fingers tracing over the fine hairs along the back of his neck.

Dorian snickered gleefully as gooseflesh pimpled along the blonde’s arms at his touch. “I am a man of many talents.” He said, daring to step close enough Cullen’s arm brushed against his belly and his words stirred the hair curled about his ear.

“Excepting chess.” Cullen teased, turning his head to face Dorian. Eye to eye the two stood so close they could feel the soft puff of breath from the each other. Misty steam rose from Dorian’s skin, swirling in dancing tendrils around them.

“Well, I have to let you win at something. You are a poor hand at cards.” Silver eyes moved down to linger on slender, pink lips and Dorian wet his own nervously.

Cullen huffed an attempted laugh as calloused fingers ever so gently found their way to the underside of Dorian’s jaw where they traced along the delicate bone, following the curve to cup the side of his cheek gently. Brown eyes hooded and the warrior’s head tilted just slightly in invitation, lips parting wantonly. “And what if I let you win?” He asked. “What then?”

“Win at what, Commander?” Dorian replied. They were so close now the movement of their words whispered a touch between them.

“Whatever you want. Whatever you desire.”

“I have quite a few of those. Desires.” He breathed just before their lips met warm and soft. And he knew just what it was that had kept him at SkyHold for so long. And what would keep him there for much longer yet.

#cullrian #kisses #fluff #dragon age #da:i #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #cullen x dorian #short fic

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