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cuddles-and-kisses · 2 years

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There's No Way You Live Like This

(Forgot to add this) Triggers for: Stalking, breaking in, yandere behavior

2012 words of Reverse Yandere under cut. Gender and race-neutral reader. Enjoy!

Puppy Baby? You’re kidding me, right? Do you seriously live like this? It was cumbersome finding your apartment. Hell invented a lower level to stop me from getting a copy of your keys. Some clay and waiting until I could get your keys was the most grueling thing you could’ve put me through. I’m simply trying to make sure I’m your only one. I’m obligated to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. We’re going to be together soon enough; the more I can learn about you the better. Can I truly love you if I don’t understand you or pay attention to you? No. The answer is no.

As expected, your house bleeds of you. It’s also littered with empty soda cans, wrappers, sprinkled with dirty laundry. How could you let someone as amazing as yourself live like this? I can’t have this. I won’t let this persist. I know I shouldn’t be breaking in. I know I shouldn’t invade your privacy or touch your things without permission but Puppy. You wouldn’t mind if I cleaned up a bit, right? In my opinion, there’s nothing better than coming home to a clean house. Let’s see, start with cleaning up the trash followed by putting laundry in the hamper then put the clean laundry away. Might as well do the dishes then wipe off everything. Your schedule says you’re not coming home for two more hours, so let’s make this quick.

Your apartment is too small for you. How many square feet is this? It’s nowhere near enough for you and your furniture doesn’t make it look any bigger. This palette is so dull while the clutter makes everything feel stuffy. Mismatched furniture doesn’t suit you. I have an idea! Let’s go on a date to Ikea then spend the night building it all! The perfect date idea for the perfect man. Your beige love seat can stay along with the particleboard TV stand. I’ll save up to get a weight rack because particleboard isn’t meant to hold those weights. There’s no coffee table because you’ve opted for a small table beside the couch. Is this where your keys lie when you come home? Should we get a key bowl? A good bit of organization needs to be implemented. It’s not a problem, honestly. A few adjustments here and there; nothing too traumatic.

You’re creative at problem-solving; I’ll give you that. But a card table as a dining table? Are you depriving yourself on purpose because you wholeheartedly believe you don’t deserve good things or? Regardless, I won’t tolerate how poorly you treat yourself. Thanks for finding matching chairs. Do you eat at the table often? I don’t see much room for a sit-down meal between the hoodies, cards, and unopened junk mail. It’s been a while since you cooked. Standing on the borderline of the kitchen and dining room doesn’t disclose what you last ate. Are you eating enough? Do I need to bring food over or send surprise deliveries? Even taking a multivitamin a day is better than nothing. There’s not much time for me to waste exploring. I have a goal and I need to reach it.

I need to set a trap to know if anyone comes in. A zombie apocalypse book from sixth grade says an empty soda can with a few coins would work. I’ve noticed you have plenty lying around. Now set a few cans right inside the door… Now it’s cleaning time! Don’t worry Love, you’ll love our new clean house.

Jesus Christ. Your trash can is overflowing… I can’t go outside. Your neighbors will see me and I can’t take those chances. The best I can do is take the full bag out then replace it with an empty one. Deep breath, remember why we’re doing this. I knew you liked sweets but holy hell; do you have diabetes yet? Snickers, Milky ways, milk duds, Hershey kisses, even a few Lindor truffles are everywhere. You also have enough boldness to drink full-sugar soda on top of all that? I get you have to fuel your personality somehow but Puppy, come on. Think about your blood sugar, please. I want to grow old with you, not just grow old. Guess I can’t complain too much. This much sugar has laced itself into your smile, not to mention that laugh. Ugh, I’m defenseless. Oh right, cleaning.

The sniff test is the only way to differentiate what’s clean from what’s dirty. Unlike someone I’m obsessed with, I don’t have a scent kink. Therefore all boxers are dirty without debate. Plain shirts, plain pants, plain socks, plain shoes. The contrast is nauseating. Sweet Baby, you surround yourself with so many unremarkable things; and yet, you’re so, glorious. I know you don’t see it. I know you let that vindictive bitch get in your head as well as scar you. She used your emotions for her personal gain without regard to any of the consequences. I won’t say she deserved to die but I can’t say I’d do better if I were you. Partners aren’t projects, I’m aware of how toxic that dynamic is. However, daydreams of helping you thrive or see yourself the way I do detains me from sleep. I don’t dream of you as much as I want so it’s not like I’m upset.

Putting your clean laundry gives me a chance to learn how you fold you- Love. You’re really testing me, huh?. Stop treating yourself like trash!! That’s how you tolerated the bitch for so long in the first place! I don’t have ample time to refold everything in your dresser today; hopefully next time. After stuffing your shorts and pants into their respective drawers is hanging shirts and hoodies in your closet. How’s my time? Approximately seventy minutes until you come home. Awesome! There’s plenty of time to straighten up your bed.

The first step is to pull your comforter and top sheet off the bed and then place them over a chair. Don’t worry, I won’t let it touch the carpet. Next is to stack the pillows on our dresser. Please for the love of sugar, tell me you wear a bonnet of some sort. You’re using cotton pillowcases while having locs. If I go into our bathroom only to find 3-in-1? Run Puppy, Run. Anyway. Our navy sheets remind me of the time you hugged me. My face was the perfect height to bury into the base of your neck. We could’ve been in the dead of winter but everything would’ve felt warm. You’ve always felt stable; moreover welcoming to me. Your earthy aroma with notes of ocean swirled with a few different cleaning chemicals drowned me. Everything that was buzzing through my mind became grounded. I knew why you smelled like chemicals. I knew what it meant though I still want to submerge myself in everything you are. Life is never written in stone; but, I felt mountains of bliss because of that hug. I realized it was the one thing I ever needed. You are my home. You are what’s safe and peaceful. I can depend on you for everything. As of late, I’m growing impatient waiting for you to reciprocate everything. Maybe that forced me to do this. You have to understand, I need you to know you can trust me. I need you to lean on me so I can help you. Once bitten, twice shy; I get it. I won’t bite you. I won’t show my teeth. Please let me be the reason you smile so much.

I’ve lost myself in you. Navy blue fabric paints my vision as I’m intoxicated by your presence encompassing me. I have to make sure everything is perfect; that’s the only way it’s good enough for you. There are so many times where I’ve fantasized about falling asleep with you. Our hug helped me pick out squish mellows which felt like you. None of them can compare to your sway over me, but it takes a bit of the edge off. Hardly enough to wait till you’re actually in my arms. Pulling our fitted sheet taut helps the bedding lay properly. A little extra step for you. How long has it been since our comforter was washed? It’s soft but I can tell it’s not clean. Cuddle Puppy, you need me, don’t you? More deep breaths. I need to be patient, you’re worth the time. You’re worth the effort. You deserve love and care and unconditional affection. I’m waiting for you to realize I’m standing here, waiting to smother you.

These pillows genuinely need to be replaced; fluffing them can only do so much. I’ll bring satin pillowcases next time I come. Honestly, your hair needs to be better cared for. I love it so much, it’s a shame to watch how frizzy it gets during your depressive episodes. I’ve been learning how to retwist locs, type four hair care/ scalp care, on top of a few different hair care routines. I know hygiene is impossible when your limbs have been replaced with lead. When it feels like every time you try to get up, it ends in merely sinking further into the mattress. That’s why I’m going through all this “trouble”. You’re delusional if you assume I’ll let you neglect yourself. Our room is looking a lot better after I picked it up. Tidy but not stiff. I really really hope you appreciate this.

Might as well check our bathroom to make sure you’re using the right products and good towels. Right across the hall? Yup, right across the hall. The door was left ajar but there’s no odor coming through. Pressing the door open leads to a basic sink. Toothbrush and toothpaste in a cup on one side with hand soap on the other. There’s an uncapped deodorant beside the soap; Old Spice, Deep Sea with Ocean Elements. My eyes flow over to the corner of our shower. Thank the heavens! I don’t have to gift you proper shower products. There are two body washes?! Why do you need two body washes? Who are you living with? Who the fucking hell is this parasite? Ooh, our extra one is for when the first one runs out. Old Spice Timber Body Wash. Sweetie Baby, you really do live here. Your loyalty defines you to the point it’s soaked into some details of our life.

My camera roll has a few new photos of the products you use. I want to make sure I have a few extra in case you run out. Totally not because it makes me feel closer to you. What are you talking about? I still need to do our dishes then wipe down our counters. There are forty-five minutes until you come home so I hope I can be done quickly. Double-check the drawers are shut and everything is where it needs to be. I’m starting to forget I’m not technically supposed to be here. Focus on what we’re doing. Keep your head in the game. So, our dishes aren’t as bad as I thought they’d be, all I need to do is rinse them off then put them in the dishwasher. Good job Puppy! I’m so proud of you for keeping the dishes under control! You’re doing amazing!

It took a second to find Clorox wipes and a clean dish towel but I’m sure I’m ok on time right? Thirty-five minutes left. A little less than I want but I’ll manage. Our kitchen isn’t that big. We should make a bigger kitchen a priority when we move, ok? I’ll wipe down the handles and knobs while I’m at it. I’m almost done, My Love. What do you think? Are you proud of our place? Is this a home you’d want to return to every night? I know it has me but still, you know what I mean.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“HOLY FUCK. Puppy! Don’t scare me lik-” Oh shit. He has a gun,,,,

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channiebbang · 3 years

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just listen, trust me.

synopsis: a misunderstanding drives jaemin away from the only person that he should've trusted. when reality slaps him in the face he feels miserable and tries to win his love back. or something of the sort lol

characters: Jaemin, Main Character, Jeno, and a bit of Haechan, Renjun, Chenle, Mark and Jisung.

pairing: boyfriend!jaemin x f.maincharacter

genre: angst angst angst and fluff

word count: 7k (fucking hell it's THAT long?) sorry lmao

warnings: none

author’s note: this took way too long to finish jfvamejgf but i really couldn't come up with a good enough ending. or more like i couldn't write down what i wanted to write lol but i finally finished it heheh i hope you like it and it satisfies the wait i made you go through lol 💛💛

the many things people told him echoed in his head. the dimmed lights of his studio room and the slow, low beat of the music not doing much to brighten up his mood.

she's being too friendly with that one friend of yours, don't you think?

he's warming up too much to her.

watch out, you wouldn't want someone to whisk her away from you, she is a bit naive, she could be affected too easily.

and it would all have fallen to deaf ears, because he was never one to let anyone talk about his personal life, only if one of his closest friends hadn't said something.

"jaem," jeno's voice made jaemin turn to his friend. jeno looked around to their other friends before figuring out they wouldn't let what he was going to say out of the circle.

"yeah," jaemin smiled at jeno, remnants of his laugher from what renjun was saying. jeno cleared his throat still unsure how to approach the topic.

as soon as the news reached his ears he had searched for his friend. he was unsure of the news but he figured jaemin could always ask y/n and they would solve things if it were to be lies. what jeno didn't know at the time was all the other stuff jaemin had heard.

"listen," jeno started, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips, "i.. people are saying some stuff and i-," he cleared his throat again, in nervousness, "i thought i should let you know. i don't think they are true at all! but... one can never be too sure, right?" he asked, voice unsure as his eyes darted to meet jaemin's. the latter's brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what the hell jeno was talking about and he was just about to ask when he continued.

"in case it's wrong then you guys can always just clear it out but i heard this from someone close and thought i would let you know either ways," jeno's hand scratched his neck in nervousness.

"just fucking say it, oh my god," chenle huffed, impatient with the suspense the older was building up.

"i swear to god, if you say something like a joke," haechan warned, mark snorting.

"i'm serious, just," jeno groaned, wondering why he had to be the one to break the news.

"just tell me, jeno," jaemin smiled and jeno felt the already heavy load on his shoulder get 20 kgs heavier. he took a deep breath. all in one go, he thought, just like a band aid.

"y/n is cheating on you."

and jaemin's world fell apart.

everyone could have been wrong but jeno? could jeno be wrong too?

silence. total silence followed as jaemin's smile fell and his eyes stared ahead to jeno but not really.

he thought about y/n, thought if he could picture her doing anything like than and the answer came right away, even before he finished his thought. no. just no. she could never. but they always said it's the people you least expect it from. but y/n? she could never... right?

"what the fuck are you talking about?" it was mark who had spoken, the defensive tone evident in voice as he did nothing to mask it and jeno looked away from jaemin's eyes to the eldest.

"y/n could never, she's not like that," renjun chuckled drily, in disbelief.

"jeno, are you sure about this?" haechan raised a hand in front of him to assess the grave situation.

"that's what i said. i heard this from someone who's reliable, i can't say who, though."

jaemin cleared his throat catching everyone's attention. he gulped the lump in his throat before he looked around the group.

"i'll handle this, don't worry."

that was all he said but even if he sounded calm and collected, his eyes said a different story, and his clenched jaw showed a different side of the coin. and as much as they wanted to believe he would handle it with care with y/n, they saw the storm coming even before he did. because jaemin's eyes were on fire, he was aflame. and that uncertainty he had before had just been consumed with jeno's confirmation. jaemin's tipping point was reached. as he turned to walk away a hand grasped his arm.

"jaemin," it was jisung, jaemin waited for him to go on.

"she would never do that." was all he said.

the ding of his phone's notification brought him back from the memory. he reached out to his phone deciding this could no longer be avoided. he was determined enough. with these thoughts running in his head he dialed y/n's number and pressed the phone to his ear.

"hello? jaem?" she answered, and he sighed because how could she sound so angelic, and how was he supposed to confront her when he felt his heart tighten just by her voice. he sucked up the weakness he felt for her when she called out his name again.

"hey, where are you?" he asked softly, but no matter how much he tried to conceal it, the coldness in his voice seeped through.

"i'm at the cafe near my apartment with kyunhae," she giggled and at the mention of the name jaemin saw red. what the fuck was she doing with him?

"when will you be done? i need to talk to you," he deadpanned, voice colder than y/n had ever heard and she felt at alert right away. why was he talking like that?

"jaem?" wonder laced her voice as she silently asked what was up but jaemin said nothing.

"it's urgent," he specified and y/n had asked him to pick her up right away, sensing something was wrong. and jaemin was left confused to stare at his phone again.

how long are you gonna pretend you care about me? why are you doing me this dirty? why are you faking caring about me?

with those thoughts he had gotten up, whisked his jacket from behind his bedroom door and out of the house he was.

as he drove through the streets he tried to think again, he tried to figure out again if she could really have cheated on him. he was desperate for it to be a lie but then again, jeno had confirmed it, hadn't he?

could the girl that held him so tightly when they slept, cheat on him? could the girl he grew to love so much do this to him? how could she even think about it when she cried during children's movies, had ice cream cravings out of nowhere, cried in his arms, clinging to him when he had almost fainted from low blood pressure, helped him stand back on his feet whenever he was sick, babying him through the whole process. how could she cheat on him when she kissed him so softly, as if he was the most precious thing she had, when she held him so close as he murmured sweet nothings in her ears, when she looked at him with so much love when he smiled, when right as he laughed he would look over at her and she would be staring at him. her excuse? she loved seeing him happy. how could the same person that confessed her love for him in between shallow breaths, gasps and whines as he made her feel good be the same person to cheat. how could she make him feel so loved and so important if it was all fake.

it took him a total of twenty minutes to reach the cafe. he parked the car outside as he texted y/n he was out front. he waited for her leaned against the side of his car.

the door to the entrance to the cafe opened and y/n walked out first, face turned behind her as she laughed with kyunhae. jaemin's hands balled into fists as he watched the interaction, the anger swam in his veins as he watched y/n collide her fist against his in a fist bump before calling out a text me later.

y/n turned out front to jaemin and the way her eyes seemed to genuinely spark up in bright stars as soon she saw him had his heart clenching in pain. how long have you been mastering this act? how can you look this genuine?

"hi, handsome," she gushed as she pressed her chest to his, arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. jaemin gulped, eyes trained to her relaxed expression, eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips as she hugged him standing on her tippy toes. his arms shoot out out of habit as they went to wrap around her waist before his hands hovered over her frame. he couldn't do it. he couldn't pretend everything was okay.

as y/n didn't feel jaemin hug her back she pulled away slowly, her eyes looking up at him as her arms slowly fell away from him.

"jaem?" she softly called him and his eyes met hers, cold as ever. her hand raised to rest on his cheek in affection but before she could touch his skin, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and stopped her in her tracks. y/n's brows furrowed in confusion.

"let's go," he simply said as he stepped away and opened the passenger seat door for her, y/n looked at him for a few seconds more as he looked to the side and waited for her to get in, so she did.

the silence was eating y/n alive as she fidgeted with her fingers, suspecting something was wrong. she raked her brain, wondering if she did or said anything wrong but it all came empty.

"jaem?" she tentatively called for him. jaemin waited for a few seconds before he hummed in acknowledgement, but even that small sound seemed cold, colder than he had ever been.

"is something wrong?" she softly asked, hand reaching out to grasp his and intertwining their fingers before resting it on her lap. but as soon as the back of his hand rested against her jeans clad thigh he shook off her hand to grasp the wheel again.

she sat frozen, eyes trained where their hands were, her hand still in her lap the same way he had shook it off. what did i do so bad? she wondered.

"i'm driving," came his excuse but she knew something else was up. he had never rejected her touch like this.

"if something is wrong please tell me, i'll help you," she shook off the hurt before turning to him and sending a small smile, eyes pleading, but jaemin stared ahead, silent.

a few minutes later jaemin parked the car in his apartment building garage before swiftly getting out and waiting for y/n. it took her a few seconds before she was out too. they made their way to the elevators. the elevator came, they got in, and it went up to jaemin and his friend's apartment floor. all in silence.

jaemin walked in first, leaving the door open for y/n. as she closed the door behind her she made eye contact with jisung. the boy smiled warmly at the girl and stepped towards her.

"oh! didn't know you were coming over, want some?" he raised the hot pot of ramen, seemingly on the way to his room, and y/n smiled shaking her head as she took her shoes off.

"i ate, but thank you," she smiled warmly and jisung threw her a thumbs up before walking to his room and closing the door.

y/n walked into the apartment looking around for which way jaemin went before her eyes fell on his seated figure in the living room. everyone seemed to be in their own rooms apart from mark, who stood in the kitchen.

"hey," he waved, a warm smile on his lips before his eyes shifted jaemin and his smile dimmed a bit, y/n waved back.

she shuffled towards jaemin, still confused as to what happened.

"jaemin?" she called for him, his head snapped her way before he slowly stood up.

"do you have anything to tell me?" he asked and y/n thought hard and careful if she had forgotten anything but came up with nothing so she timidly shook her head, hands picking at the border of her tshirt. the one that belonged to jaemin.

"did i forget anything?" she murmured, head low as she felt guilty for forgetting something that affected him so much.

"you have nothing to tell me?" he repeated, a scoff following and y/n looked back up at him, her brows furrowed.

"okay, let me ask you this," he said, hands resting on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling. mark watched, debating whether he should leave or not, but then choosing against it, someone had to try and do damage control.

"what is kyunhae to you?" at the new question y/n's brows furrowed even more.

"jaem what are you reaching at?" she asked, confusion eating her alive. jaemin's eyes sent daggers her way and she realized that she never wanted to have that gaze on her ever again.

"answer my question; what. is. kyunhae. to. you?" he asked again, emphasizing his words. the agitation clear in his voice as he ran a hand through his hair. mark stepped into the living room area.

"jaemin, chill," he tried to calm the younger and prevent him from saying anything he would regret later. this wasn't how he thought jaemin would handle things.

"why can't she just answer?!" jaemin exclaimed. the more she delayed her answer the more anger rose in him. her lips quivered seeing a jaemin she had never seen. he had never talked to her like that, with so much hartred.

"he's just a friend! that's all! why are you asking me that!" she answered, her voice a notch higher as she felt attacked. the way he talked to her made her feel defensive. she had never felt attacked by him and she was scared, she didn't know what happened, why he was acting like that. but no matter how naive she was she wasn't stupid.

she heard what people said about her, she knew things reached jaemin's ears in the past and she had done everything in her power to show him he was the only person she loved, only person she cared about. that he was her everything, her all. she had gifted him with a matching promise ring, to reassure him that she was his, always will be. she had told him not to listen to anyone, only her. she loved him, she really did. that's why she always told him when she would be out with kyunhae, she wanted him to know that whenever he needed it she will drop him and come running to jaemin. because jaemin was her priority. she had told him about meeting him today too but jaemin had forgotten it seems.

"then why the fuck do i hear different things?" he all but screamed and y/n stood frozen on her spot, scared. he had never raised his voice at her, much less in the process of accusing her of anything.

"i swear jaem," her voice came out in a trembled whisper as jaemin breathed heavily, "none of it is true, i swear," she pleaded, her eyes stinging in desperation. she needed him to believe her.

"you're lying," he shook his head, an empty chuckle leaving his lips as he threw his head back in disbelief and anger, "you've been lying for who knows how long," he muttered and y/n's brows furrowed, offended.

"i have never lied to you," she breathed out, before she remembered mark standing nearby. she took two quick steps towards him, taking a hold of his hand softly, "jaem, let's talk about it in your room, okay? let's solve this," she pleaded as she softly pulled his hand but jaemin snatched his arm away from her.

"no," he shook his head, "we're gonna do it here, so you can't lie to me anymore," his voice rose as he pointed around him and y/n's eyes blurred in frustration and hurt. how could he be like this.

"jaem what has gotten into you?" she asked, voice a tremble as the first tears threatened to spill, "please, i don't want to lose you, let's calm down and talk about this," she pleaded again.

"if you didn't want to lose me you should've thought about it before you cheated on me!"

y/n felt her heart break at his words, she felt like he had pushed her off of a building, she felt like the ground was snatched from under her feet and she was left falling into the void. the emotion swam in her expression.

"what's going on?"

mark's head snapped towards renjun and haechan's figures as they stepped out of their rooms and into the living room, eyes widened in alarm shifting from y/n to jaemin and then to mark.

mark shook his head. the three looked at y/n, her emotions set on her face and they knew right away they had the whole situation wrong. jaemin had it wrong.

she didn't look alarmed, caught in the act or guilty, she looked down right betrayed, hurt, and deceived.

"i did nothing of the sort, jaemin," her voice came out offended, disbelief swimming in her tone.

"jaem," haechan walked in front of his friend, partially blocking y/n's view, "that's enough, calm down," he muttered lowly, only jaemin hearing him. jaemin shook his head as he pushed haechan away softly.

"no, i need to know why," he insisted, "why would you do that to me? why not just tell me?" he asked again.

"i didn't do anything! i understand you heard it somewhere but hell, jaemin, at least ask me before you assume the worst!" she exclaimed her arms raising and dropping by her sides.

"and you're still fucking lying to me!" he raised his voice again in exasperation.

"i have no reason to lie to you! why are you saying all this to me? how could i ever do that to you, jaem?" her voice grew quiet at the end, just the thought of his implications finally sending the tears tumbling down her cheeks. jaemin scoffed.

"exactly, how could you do that to me?! all i ever did was treat you with care, i always put you first!" he countered again, the vein in his neck popping.

"jaem, you're not listening to me, please, just listen to me," she pleaded a sob escaping her lips as she stepped closer t him, her hands grasping his cheeks in desperation for him to look at her eyes, to believe her, "i love you, i would never ever do anything like that, please trust me, let them all be, just trust me."

but jaemin took a hold of her hands and let them fall in between them.

"what if it's someone close to me that told me," he scoffed stepping away.

"jaemin don't," renjun interfered, standing in front of y/n, blocking her completely from jaemin's eyes.

"just go home y/n," jaemin shook his head as his fingers ran trough his hair and he turned away.

"yah, you're exaggerating," mark called him out and jaemin threw him a glance.

"then why bring me here? why do this in front of everyone when you could've done that when you met me, why this whole thing?" she asked quietly. she didn't know what she felt, she didn't know who this person in front of her even was.

she understood jaemin, she really did. hearing so many things from so many people must've played with his head, she understood it. but fucking hell she wished he had talked to her about it, about all of it. she wished he didn't lash out on her, she wished he had just remembered who she was and how much she loved him. she was a person too, wasn't she? she could get hurt too, right?

when jaemin didn't answer she hurriedly turned around, making her way to the door. she fleetingly saw the youngest two silently standing in front of their door at the commotion but she paid no mind to that. all she wanted was to go away. y/n felt so lost, so betrayed; why didn't he believe her? why didn't he just ask her?

"y/n wait-" haechan tried to call back the girl but she was already out of the door, quickly walking to the elevator and pressing repeatedly on the button.

"fucking hell jaem, is this how you planned to handle it? really?" renjun scolded the black haired guy. jaemin sat on the couch, head in his hands and eyes brimming with tears. suspiciously all their phones dinged one after the other. chenle and jisung looking at each other in confusion as they were the only ones to notice.

mark ran out of the apartment slowly coming to a stop in beside of y/n. she kept her head down, tears dripping on the floor from the tip of her nose as she sniffled.

"y/n," mark took a hold of her elbow, "wait for a second, you can't leave alone. it's late, I'll take you home, hmm?" he tried to persuade her softly, careful not to be too loud. but she shook her head.

"thank you, but i need to be alone," she whispered, her shoulder shaking as she took in a harsh breath. mark's eyes softened.

"let me call you an uber, at least?" he offered again, hand caressing her hair in affection but she shook her head again.

"I'll be okay," she muttered as the doors to the elevator dinged and opened. y/n took a step forward before coming to a stop when another pair of shoes came into her view, she stepped aside muttering a sorry.

"oh, y/n..?" jeno's voice was surprised, his phone held on his hand and his eyes wide. he looked at mark, who held the most disappointed look on his face, brows furrowed. jeno looked back at y/n in confusion.

she looked up at his voice and the sight of her wet cheeks, red nose and swollen eyes sent an alarm to jeno. his eyes widened as he stammered.

"fuck, y/n, I'm so sorry- i didn't know-" jeno was at a loss of words as realization dawned on y/n and she smiled bitterly.

"it's okay," she simply said as she walked into the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

jaemin looked up as mark and jeno walked into the apartment, just at the same time as jisung and chenle stumbled out of their rooms, phone grasping in their hands.

"hyung, you gotta see this," chenle shoved his phone into jaemin's face. the latter took in a deep breath, taking the phone from the younger.

"jaem," jeno muttered, eyes remorseful, "i'm so sorry," he solemnly muttered out, and jaemin furrowed his brows in confusion before looking at the screen of chenle's phone.

under the instagram picture, written in bold letters, the words "SHE SAID YES" and the small line underneath "thank you y/n for helping me make it even more memorable" were mocking him. and as jaemin ran his fingers through his hair for the nth time that evening and gripped his roots in a vice like grip, his eyes scanned the picture. the picture of kyunhee and who he assumed was his fiancé now. jaemin felt like the biggest idiot in the planet.

so as y/n helped kyunhee with the preparations of his engagement party with the biggest smile she could muster up, the happiness she painted on didn't quite reach her eyes. jaemin had tried again and again to contact her but y/n made it a point to ignore all his texts and all his calls, only using her phone when extremely needed.

she helped her dear friend through the whole process, never missing a beat to tell him and the lucky girl how proud she was of them both.

kyunhee felt guilty taking her help, so much so that y/n had screamed at him to not give her the pity look. she had explained that she needed the distraction and after much thought he let her handle whatever she wanted.

he told himself if he ever came face to face with jaemin he would've made him taste his fist, but he knew they would resolve their misunderstanding. of course they would, they loved each other infinitly after all.

y/n was surprised when two days after the break up her mother came knocking on her door. at first she had thought jaemin had called her and as soon as she was about to send her mother away, the older woman had told, "i knew something wasn't right, i could feel it." and so y/n had her dearest mother at her apartment, making sure she got the energy she needed and she ate well.

jaemin on the other hand was lost. completely lost. he beat himself up for how he had talked to y/n, he scolded himself for not having talked it out. he regretted not listening to her when she was asking for him to listen.

he tried calling her a thousand times. he tried texting her from the boys' phones and every time he would let a dry laugh out when she would reply "tell jaem i don't want to speak." he knew his girl knew him too well and he felt worse every time because how did he let go of her? what an idiot.

so it was with a heavy heart and jaw clenched in embarrassment that jaemin was standing in front of a building, waiting for the one he misunderstood. truth be told, he was nervous, for what he still didn't know but he had a hunch.

"jaemin," a voice pulled him out of his thoughts and jaemin turned to his right to come face to face with a poker face kyunhee. he cleared his voice, holding out his hand for a handshake.

"hey, i hope i didn't mess up your schedule, i can only imagine how busy you are," jaemin smiled a tight lipped smile. kyunhee stared at him for a second before deciding to be cooperative for y/n's sake. he grasped jaemin's hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go.

"you technically did," he sighed, jaemin's brows furrowed, a confused sound leaving his lips, "mess up my schedule. i had an appointment i had to cancel," kyunhee said, arms crossing over his chest. jaemin blinked for a few seconds before muttering a soft sorry in embarrassment. silence fell upon the two guys. kyunhee's eyes stayed put on jaemin's wavering ones. he could practically see the wheels turning in the black haired guy.

"what the hell are you guys doing?" kyunhee sighed then. jaemin's eyes snapped on him, eyes wide in alarm.

"i-i'm very sorry for misunderstanding your intentions. i really am," jaemin blabbed, kyunhee rolled his eyes.

"why are you apologizing to me when the person you should apologize to is somewhere else?" kyunhee asked as a matter of fact.

"she doesn't want to talk to me," jaemin whispered, eyes looking away and jaw clenching. kyunhee scoffed catching jaemin's attention again.

"yeah no shit she doesn't," the newly engaged one spat out and jaemin let out a humorless snicker, head nodding.

"you acted like a total dick to her, i don't even know how she hasn't blocked you yet," kyunhee shot again and jaemin listened, for he knew he deserved it. the former's eyes softened for a second at jaemin's obvious miserable eyes, before hardening again.

"oi, dickhead," he called jaemin, foot kicking at his shin, jaemin ducked to hold his shin out of instinct, eyes snapping up in despair.

"oi! what was that for?" he called.

"i won't tell you to go to her place and beg for forgiveness, because quite frankly, that's not going to work," kyunhee deadpanned and jaemin nodded, hanging to his every word.

"give her time, jaemin, she's hurt," he continued.

jaemin stared at the floor at his feet as he thought. guilt enveloping him in its arms as usual these days. he took a deep breath again and looked up at his girlfriend's friend, he offered a small smile.

"thank you, really," jaemin muttered, genuine gratefulness in his voice, "for holding her up, i know it should've been me but i'm glad she has a friend like you, i'm really sorry again."

"it's okay, don't worry about it. just think about what kind of pose you need to hold when you're begging on your knees for her forgiveness," kyunhee bit back in a lighter tone, feeling weird about all the formality. jaemin snorted the real smile in a while, grateful kyunhee got rid of the heavy serious air around them.

"congratulations on your engagement, by the way," jaemin clapped the side of kyunhee's arm and the latter thanked him, before a thought hit him and his eyes squinted as he looked at jaemin.

"uhhh why are you looking at me like that?" the black haired one asked, an unsure tone to his voice.

"you know what? why don't you..."

"the place looks so pretty!" y/n turned to her mother with a proud smile as the older woman looked around the engagement party venue with sparkling eyes, "you did a great job, love," she turned to y/n and lovingly caressed her face.

"thank you, mom," y/n giggled, her hand grasping her mom's as they made their way through the crowd.

the venue was decorated in hues of white and lilacs, the stage at the front of it was decorated with fresh flowers and thin branches giving it a very fresh look.

her eyes lit up when she saw her dear friend and his fiancé in the distance.

"let's go say hi to kyunhee," she told her mother as they made their way towards the couple.

it was thirty minutes later, when y/n was enjoying her time with a few friends and their families that the murmurs started.

at first y/n didn't pay any attention to it because who cares if a handsome guy was at the party, she was already taken. well. not anymore, but that didn't change the fact that her heart lay where jaemin was.

so imagine her surprise when she turned around to look around the place and her eyes fell on none other than the handsome guy everyone was talking about. na jaemin.

as soon as their eyes met y/n's head snapped towards kyunhee a few meters away, talking to another guest, and the piece of shit had the audacity to smile at her and throw a wink before returning his eyes to the guest.

jaemin slowly came to a stop beside her, back as straight as a wooden plank, shoulders tense. he threw a tight lipped smile around the few people surrounding him as he greeted them.

"jaemin dear?" y/n's mother's eyes sparked up in adoration and y/n smiled softly at the scene as her mom engulfed a chuckling jaemin in her arms, hands grasping his face softly as she gushed over him.

"how long it has been, love, how are you?" she asked and jaemin chuckled before patting her back and stood back up straight to look at her.

"too long, sorry i couldn't come to say hi sooner, i was stuck with all the assignments i pushed back," he apologized, ever the gentleman and y/n's eyes stung a bit as she blinked.

"ahh you study so well, but don't neglect your health," she smiled again as she hugged him tighter and jaemin nodded hugging her back. what he didn't expect was the words the older woman whispered in his ear as she pulled away.

"make things right, love, fight for each other," and she gave him the most loving smile as she said something about enjoying the evening and walked to a group of ladies.

jaemin's eyes fell on y/n and she looked away as jaemin stepped up beside her as she pulled away from the small group, saying something about getting a glass of prosecco.

she threw him a side glance as she stopped at the table.

"why are you following me," at the sound of her voice jaemin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. his hand twitched to hold hers.

"i wanted some prosecco," he muttered and a small smile pulled at his lips when she blushed in embarrassment before nodding and moving away with the glass in her hand, jaemin doing the same. the two stood at the side in silence.

"y/n," jaemin called after a while and y/n hummed, her eyes trained to the live band, "i'm very sorry," he whispered. y/n stopped in the middle of taking a sip before detaching the glass from her lips.

"i don't want to talk about it, jaem," she muttered before taking the sip, finishing the content in the flute all in one go. jaemin's hand rested against the back of her waist in reflex.

"slow, you're gonna get dizzy," he muttered and y/n could hear the worry in his tone, and she hated it because how could he sound like that after all he had said.

there were a few things that put jaemin's worry at rest. that assured him that y/n was still is girl. he felt a small smile tug at his lips when she called him by his nickname, when she didn't push away his hand on her waist, his chest puffed out, and when she nodded at his words of worry he felt himself relax a bit.

"you're beautiful," he muttered loud enough for only y/n to hear as he took a sip of his prosecco, eyes set on her as she turned around with narrowed eyes, only to blush like crazy when her eyes met his. jaemin's eyes held an intimacy she couldn't hold right now. he let out a deep chuckle when her chest and neck set up in flames.

they stood there side by side as they watched the many couples dancing. jaemin's eyes would settle on her every few seconds, so much so that she could feel it every time.

"what are you two doing?" y/n's mother's voice made the couple's head snap to the side. y/n made sure a soft smile settled on her lips as her mother's friends followed her.

"who's this, y/n?" one of them asked, curious eyes settled onto jaemin, the latter giving a polite smile and a bow as he muttered his hellos. before y/n could answer, her mother chimed in.

"oh! this is jaemin, i told you about him! he's my daughter's boyfriend, such a gem, let me tell you. sweetest boy i ever met," she gushed, and y/n's panic stricken eyes met jaemin's smiling ones. her eyes narrowed at his pleased look.

"oh my, he's so gorgeous! you're absolutely stunning, dear!" one of the women smiled as she caressed his cheek and jaemin chuckled, muttering a thank you.

"well, what are you two doing here? go for a dance!" y/n's mother ushered as she pushed them to the clearing, where other couples were dancing.

y/n made to protest and push back but her words got swallowed up by the encouraging giggling of the older women as they stumbled upon the floor.

y/n looked at jaemin as he settled his prosecco flute on the tray of a passing waiter.

a few minutes later the two found themselves slowly swaying to the music. one of y/n's hands in jaemin's as his other hand rested against the middle of her back. his thumb brushed slowly in a comforting manner, so much so that y/n found herself stopping from leaning her head on his shoulder out of instict.

jaemin's eyes stayed on her features as hers looked anywhere but him. his heart hurt that she didn't want to even look at him, but he also understood. he had hurt her deeply, after all.

"y/n," he called, voice loud enough only for her to hear. she hummed in acknowledgment, "look at me," he tapped his thumb against her back and she reluctantly looked up at him.

"i'm sorry," he squeezed her hand, and she remained silent. she didn't know what to say. what do you say to sorry when you can't say it's okay? do you ignore it? do you say i heard you? do you just nod? what do you do?

people say sorry and expect everything to be fine, they say sorry when they know the answer is going to be it's okay. but, to y/n it wasn't okay, it couldn't be okay. she didn't know if it would be anytime soon or anything. all she knew was that she was hurt, extremely hurt. so she couldn't say it's okay.

she loved jaemin tremendously. so much so it was scary. she loved him so much her chest hurt sometimes, her lungs felt like giving out and her heart felt like squeezing the life out of it. it was painful how much she actually loved him. she felt like crying if she didn't ignore how much she actually loved him.

not because it was unhealthy, but because she knew she would give it all up for him. she couldn't dwell too much on the love she harbored for him, she just had to live with the knowledge that she loved him a lot. she knew if she tried to think about how much she loved him she would cry so much it would worry him. and she didn't know how she could ever explain that.

because how do you explain to someone you love them so much you want to cry because your heart hurts, it hurts so much because even your heart is too small to contain that much love. because you love everything about them, all of it. and you know how cheesy it is when people list out all the reasons why they love someone but your love is different; you can't pin point what exactly you love, you can't pin point what makes you happy about them, and you can't bring yourself to just find one physical attribute you love about them because that would be a lie, because that's not why you love them, and you can't say personality because as much as that's the closest thing as to why you love them, it's not quite there yet.

you just love them. the essence of what and who they are, with all their flaws and imperfections and all things perfect, it's just them entirely. it's their ability to smile when they're hurting, it's the way they make mistakes and they learn, the way they just are. and you can't explain it so you just accept it that when someone asks why you love them you'll just have to say a measly i love everything about them, and as cute as that sounds it's so basic and so underwhelming to what you actually feel but that's all that you're able to say.

so y/n stared at jaemin's eyes and her eyes stung and moistened up because she could feel her heart hurting, because she let herself actually feel how much she loved him. yes, he hurt her. yes, she was in pain. but the pain she felt from loving him was so much greater and so much more overwhelming.

jaemin was quick to softly push his hand on her back and encourage her to rest her head on his shoulder, knowing how much she hated crying in public. she gladly took the support, resting her forehead on his shoulder. he hushed her as his lips pressed against her hair.

"you hurt me," she said, and jaemin rested her hand clasped in his on his other shoulder, fingers squeezing hers, arm tightening around her back.

"i know, i'm so sorry, really, i'm so sorry, princess," he muttered, lips pressed to her hair.

"i felt like i lost everything," she started, voice trembling as she forced herself to not cry, "everything we build up, everything we went through, i felt like i lost all of it. i tried to care so much for you, i tried to show you how much i loved so hard, but i-" her voice choked, "-i felt like i lost it all, and you wouldn't even listen to me. i was so alone, i felt so alone," she continued, and jaemin's eyes stung as he listened to her, because that was all she needed; for him to listen to her.

he brought her hands behind his neck as he grasped her face in his hands and pulled her back to look her in the eyes. he sent her a soft smile as his thumbs caressed her cheeks.

"i'm so sorry i made you feel like that. i'm an absolute asshole,-" "yes you are," he chuckled as she interrupted him, "i will make it up to you. i swear, i will, please accept my apologies."

his lips downturned as she shook her head before his brows furrowed in confusion when she rested her head back on his shoulder and crossed her fingers at the back of his neck.

"make it up to me and maybe i will," she spoke softly and jaemin smiled fondly as he rest one arm around her waist and the other rose up to caress her head lovingly, and y/n's eyes closed at the action, a smile pulling at her lips.

"deal," he chuckled, before he smiled teasingly, "i'm surprised you didn't cry, you crybaby," he teased and she mutter a fuck you.

"why would i cry," she scoffed and jaemin laughed at her words.

after a beat of silence, "i read somewhere if you clench your butthole right when you're about to cry it stops the waterworks, guess it works."

and jaemin laughed loudly as she shook in his arms from her own laughter.

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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Prompt: Favorite Food Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out. ao3

The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.

“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.

“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”

“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”

“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”

Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”

Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.

Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.

But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.

Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.

And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.

What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.

He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.

He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.

He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.

It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.

The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.

And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.

But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.

But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.

He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.

Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.

It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.

He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.

It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.

As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.

The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.

It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”

It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.

The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.

He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.

He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.

He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.

“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”

Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.

Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.

Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”

“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.

“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.

“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”

He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.

He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.

It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.

Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--

“Geralt?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.

Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.

“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.

He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.

It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.

And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.

Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.

Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”

Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”

Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--

“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”

Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.

Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.

The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”

“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”

“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.

“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”

“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”

“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.

Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?

A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.

“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”

Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”

“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.

“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”

“But they weren’t--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”

They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.

“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.

Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.

“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.

Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”

It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.

“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.

This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #my work #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #fluff

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mizelophsun11 · 3 years

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Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 11

Pairing - really diving into General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner in this chapter, but it is also getting closer to when it will turn to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner

Summary - Two sides of the same coin are finally coming together but it will be up to them to see where things lead. Nature might know that these two balance each other out, but is it intended that they will end up together? Time will tell where their story will go.

Word Count - 1956

Anna was deep in a hazy dream when she was suddenly awoken by a knock at the door, she quickly sat up and felt her sketchbook fall into her lap. She rubbed her eyes then grabbed the book, closed it and put it back under her pillow where it normally stayed. Another knock at the door brought her attention back to whoever wanted Anna awake at a much earlier time than what had become normal.

“Come on in!” Anna said, wanting to make sure whoever was on the other side could hear her

Genya walked in with a few maids and a large beige bag in her arms “good morning sunshine”

Anna laughed a little “I don’t exactly look like sunshine right now..” she had cried herself to sleep last night, she was sure her eyes were a little bit puffy

Genya hung the bag up and walked over to the bed and looked at Anna “we have a bit of time before you are to go horseback riding with General Kirigan to fix you up” Genya had heard about what had happened and felt bad for Anna

“Wait, horseback riding with General Kirigan? Should I not be training? Seems like Ivan thinks I should be constantly training instead of goofing off with horses..” Anna was still feeling uneasy about what had happened at dinner

“It doesn’t hurt to have a little bit of fun, yes you could be training, but it is also healthy for you to be able to go out and be a girl for once and not a training machine” Genya smiled, she had seen Anna try and go beyond the Little Palace court yard and was stopped every time, hopefully this would do her some good “plus, I thought I could show you this” she brought a beige bag over that she unzipped to reveal a black kefta with gold swirls

Anna was blown away by the kefta, she ran her hands over the black, she loved it “well, if I wear this it will definitely make Zoya jealous” she laughed a little at the idea

“Didn’t you hear? She is off the palace grounds, he sent her away to reassess her priorities” Genya never really liked Zoya, she would always enjoy times when Zoya was sent to the front line so she would be out of the Little Palace

Anna nodded and continued to examine the new kefta “I know black is his color.. But I really want to wear it” Anna got up and changed

Genya began to work on Anna to fix her hair and anything else that was needed. Once she was done, she helped Anna put the black kefta on and she looked at herself in the mirror. This was a piece that she did not know she needed, but now that she had it would not want to go back. Anna had liked the blue kefta a lot, but the black one made her feel just a bit more comfortable. After all, she had always worn black in Ketterdam, this is what she knew and it felt like now she had a little piece of herself. Her and Genya walked out to the courtyard where General Kirigan was, he was amazed by seeing Anna wear the black kefta.

“You decided to wear it” He was captivated by her, it didn’t take much because to him she was the light wherever she went

Anna nodded “yeah, I really liked the blue, but wearing the black one just felt right” she walked up to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek “thank you for letting me wear your color” she pulled away a little

General Kirigan rested his hand on her cheek “it’s our color” he smiled down at her then pulled his hand away

She smiled back and looked over at the horses, she approached the white friesian horse she would be riding “oh he is beautiful”

General Kirigan watched her “I thought you would like him”

He got on his horse and she had help getting onto hers, she gathered up her reins and they galloped off. It was a good day for riding, it wasn’t too hot and was partly cloudy, a little bit of shade with the nice breeze. Anna felt free, she was finally able to be off the ground of the Little Palace, she never realized until now that it had become a bit suffocating. Now that she had this, maybe life at the Little Palace wouldn’t be stuck behind the same four walls every day. After about an hour of riding, General Kirigan showed Anna the pathway to a hidden spot away from everyone else where a small fountain was placed. When they got there they tied their horses to a tree and walked over, General Kirigan pulled out a few coins from his kefta and gave some to Anna. She walked up and tossed one of the coins into the water, she approached and looked at herself in the water.

General Kirigan walked up and stood behind her “what is it you see?”

Anna thought for a moment “I'm not sure.. I have been trying to find myself, but every time I think I do everything changes..”

“Well, maybe your search is finally over” he watched from behind seeing what she would do

She looked over her shoulder at him “I sure hope so”

He moved to standing next to her “how has your time been at the Little Palace so far? Are you adjusting well?”

“I think it’s good, combat training has been good, I met Baghra yesterday and that went well, I think. I feel like people normally have a hard time with Baghra, am I right?”

General Kirigan nodded “everyone has some sort of challenges with her, what about your room, is it satisfactory to you?”

“It’s amazing, I have never had my own room before” Anna had always shared a room with Alina and in Ketterdam she didn’t even have a roof over her head “I am glad Genya has been at my side, I feel like I can always talk to her about anything.. I just think right now I am trying to find out what this life here will be like. I want a home, nothing has really stuck until I have come here and been given the chance” she felt stupid talking about having a home, one that is forever, but she had never had one before and Anna really wanted one

“I understand Miss Mizeloph, more than I think you know.. When I was young, I would be on the move, never really finding a home until here. However, even then there were times when I would come to this fountain because I could not outrun the fact that I am the descendant of the most hated Grisha in all of Ravka. I questioned how I could feel welcomed in a home that I feel like did not want me.. So at this fountain I would make a wish and hope that maybe things would change”

Anna watched General Kirigan “but if you found a home here, maybe I can too” she stepped closer to him and took his hand into hers, they were each other's support “this fountain is beautiful by the way, and the carvings are well preserved, it tells the story of the Black Heretic, correct?” she let go of his hand and backed up a little to look more closely at the artwork

He turned around and looked at her, impressed “from these old photos you could tell it was his story?”

“My nose was stuck in a book the moment I arrived at the orphanage, and not for the right reasons..” she looked at the pictures, examining the story “Hundreds of years ago King Anastas hired the Black Heretic to be his military advisor. However, the Heretic became hungry for power and the King feared a coup so a bounty was put on his head, along with any Grisha that stood by him. He knew he would be outnumbered so he tried to create his own army with a forbidden science, he failed. Instead he created the Fold and was killed by it along with many others..” Anna looked to General Kirigan, trying to see if she had any errors in reciting what she had been taught

He listened to what she said “I have devoted my life to work on undoing the problems created by my forebears, but I realized that I am not the solution. I am just a reminder of the problem and someone always needs to be blamed”

Anna looked over at him “is that why you look at me sometimes like I am the solution? The legendary Sun Summoner has been found and all problems will be solved.. But if people decide that I am not the hope they wanted, I will become a Heretic that people paint in a dark story..”

“Anna Mizeloph, I promised I would keep you safe, and I will make sure that does not happen to you” He said, approach her and taking her hands into his “you and I are going to change the world”

She looked up to him and smiled “you didn’t call me Miss Mizeloph.. Like you normally do”

He didn’t even realize that “well, if I can call you Anna, then can you please call me Aleksander?”

Anna nodded, looking deep into his dark eyes, they were truly alone, since they had gotten to the Little Palace they had not been alone like this, far away from others. At that moment it was like they were the only two people in the world. Slowly they began to lean into each other and when Anna closed her eyes she could feel his lips meet hers. A kiss, their first kiss, it was a very sweet moment for them. They had found each other, two sides of the same coin, a balance that the other needed to feel whole. For both of them they felt like the kiss lasted forever, but really it was only a few seconds. Both pulled away and gazed into each other's eyes, they did not want to leave, but reality waited for no one.

“I.. should probably get you back to Baghra, she is not the biggest fan of tardiness” Aleksander said

Anna nodded “yeah”

They both didn’t move right away, standing there for a minute before going back to their horses and riding back to the Little Palace. However, they both mutually slowed down and wanted to continue to spend more time together. Both of them had blossoming feelings and now that they were out, they wanted to not be apart for too long. Once they finally got back they dismounted and went to each other.

“I hope we can do this again sometime” Anna said grabbing onto Aleksanders hand

Aleksander nodded “we will”

They watched their horses be put away by the stable hands then they walked towards Baghras place. On their way to Baghras, Aleksander brought Anna's hand up and kissed the top. As they got closer, Aleksander stopped, wanting their last interaction before Anna went to work on her summoning be private.

She got on her toes and gave him a quick kiss “thank you for such a wonderful morning Aleksander”

“You are welcome Anna, maybe we could do something together soon, just the two of us” he held her close then kissed her forehead

Anna smiled “I would love that”

General Kirigan and Anna parted, their hearts growing closer to one another. Two sides of the same coin were coming together now and nature could only tell what would happen next.

Author Note - Hi Everyone! Thank you for everyone who has been sticking around to read my story! I know that I have been a lot slower about updating and I am really trying to get back to some schedule which I hope will be soon. Soon I will be moving into an apartment and so after that things should hopefully slow down a bit in life to wrap everything up. Also, if anyone would like to leave a comment, message me or be added to the tag list please let me know!

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh @herbatkazmilosica

#grisha fic #the grisha series #grishaverse #grisha netflix #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone netflix #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander x reader #freddy carter #freddy carter x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader

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waiting4inspiration · 3 years

Text

Darkness before Dawn XVII: Dawn

Summary: Geralt returns to you and admits that he does love you. But when the dawn comes after a long dark time for you, you realize that it seems you can’t have the man you love and your family’s kingdom at the same time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of murder, mentions of hauntings, itty bitty smut, strong language, magical themes, it’s a bit longer than what I normally write

Word Count: 3,805

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

No portal opened for Geralt. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. Eventually, he decided to figure out where the hell he is and make the journey back to Eronia and he didn’t care how long that would take. All he cares about is finding out if he managed to save you and if he broke the curse.

It will take almost a week on horseback to get back to Eronia, Geralt figures out. A week to find out if he failed or succeeded. But, he thought, if he hadn’t heard from Ida in some way it could only mean that something’s happening in the castle. They must be occupied with something else. Something bad most likely. Geralt only hopes that it doesn’t have to do with you.

There are only so many times where he has failed at a job. And though he knows that he can’t save everyone, there’s still a tinge of guilt and disappointment when that happens. And when it comes to someone whom he has grown close to, someone he’s grown fond of, maybe even come to have love.

Yes, he’ll admit it. He’s fallen in love with you.

His affections go deeper than they can ever go with Yennefer and he’ll admit that to Jaskier, Ida, your father. He’ll admit that to you. If he ever sees you again.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that he’s traveling back to you. It gives him time to think things through. There’s no doubt that things are complicated. You’re the heir to a throne and he’s a Witcher. There’s a good chance Dominic won’t approve of the match and, as Uza said, his sterile nature will prevent you from producing an heir and your father’s line will end. Not to mention what people will say.

Witchers aren’t normally seen in good light and no relationship can change that. People will talk bad about him - not that he’s used to it - and about you. That’s something he can’t bear to think of. It’s something you don’t deserve. Not after everything you’ve been through now.

He barely gets his thoughts together when the castle appears in the distance. A week has passed and he hasn’t thought of what he will, or should, do.

Getting into the city, Geralt sees that things are different than before he left. There seems to be an almost somber atmosphere. People walk around silently, some with sorrow on their faces as they filter out of the temple. Others walk in with flowers in their hands. Geralt knows these are the signs of death from someone in the royal family, especially when he notes the missing flag from the castle.

His mind goes what he hoped for a week won’t be true and it urges him to speed towards the castle.

People marvel at his appearance and he hears them saying “There goes the Witcher.” “No doubt he’s here to receive his payment.” Geralt doesn’t pay attention to their words. He just has to know if his suspicions are true or not.

The guards don’t even stop him from entering the castle. They just stare at him as he passes, pushing the door open so he can walk into the throne room. “It is what she wants and I am instructing you to see it carried out,” Dominic orders a man walking beside him as they cross the hall.

Upon seeing Geralt, Dominic stops in his tracks and turns to face the Witcher that walks towards him. The man takes this as his time to leave and he does so quickly with a quick bow of his head to the King.

“Geralt of Rivia. I did not think you would return.” Dominic almost sounds disappointed, something that confuses Geralt for a moment as he comes to stand in front of the King. “No doubt you have come to collect the coin I promised you.”

“No,” Geralt quickly says causing Dominic to frown. “I’ve come to see if (Y/n)- the Princess is alright.”

Dominic nods his head, his bottom jaw tensing as he turns his gaze across the room. “She’s in the gardens.” Those words make a wave of relief wash over Geralt and he breathes out a silent sigh as Dominic raises his hand to point him in the right direction. “You’re free to see her, if you wish,” he states, giving the Witcher a reassuring nod.

Geralt turns after nodding thanks in return. You’re alive and that’s all that he needed to know. Hearing that you’re out of your room only means that you’re doing well. Well enough to move around. When he sees you, he can’t stop the smile growing on his face.

You’re painting, standing by yourself, seemingly stronger than ever. And laughing at the scene in front of you. Jaskier is in a pose with his lute, pretending to serenade Charlotte and making jokes that are the cause of your laughter and your sister’s. You’re in a better state than he thought you would be.

Jaskier catches Geralt standing in the distance and drops his foot off the bench as he smiles brightly. “Geralt! It’s about time you returned!” Your head snaps over your shoulder at those words and you slowly place your paintbrush down. “I want to hear every detail about how you saved the Princess of Eronia from the claws of death.”

“Jaskier,” Charlotte hisses, grabbing his arm before he can walk towards Geralt and pulls him back. “You can interrogate him later. Give him time with (Y/n), hm?” she suggests, nodding to you as you slowly start to walk forward.

Seeing how invested you and Geralt are in each other, not really paying attention to anything else around you, Jaskier chuckles as he turns to walk away with Charlotte.

Geralt walks forward, intending on meeting you halfway. His stare never leaves your face and he can’t stop himself from standing close to you. So close, all he has to do is lean down to close the space between you two so he can kiss you. “You came back,” you whisper, making him smile.

“I needed to know if you were alright,” he says in a low voice, his hand reaching out to take yours resting at your side so he can entwine his fingers with yours.

You chuckle, drop your gaze to his hand and bite your lower lip. “I’m sorry we didn’t open a portal-”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters,” he whispers and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of having him so close to you again.

“Kurst killed my mother and there was nothing I could do to stop him.” Geralt drops your hand and cups your face in his hands.

Geralt doesn’t feel sorrow for your mother’s death. Not after what she offered him to do. Your mother was a horrid person and she got what was coming to her, he thinks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You nod lightly, bring your arms up to wrap around his neck. “I’m glad you came back,” you whisper before he leans forward to press his lips to yours.

Knowing that Jaskier and Charlotte might be watching, you use magic to grow a wall of shrubs to block their view and to give you and Geralt some privacy as he deepens the kiss. This is why you came back, why you decided not to stay in the spirit realm. You could never replicate this kiss, this moment. Nothing will ever compare to this, or the next time he’ll kiss you. Being in his arms, under his touch is worth more than a thousand lifetimes.

You hope it lasts. Knowing Witcher’s nature, they’ll move on to the next job as soon as their current one is done. You hope that Geralt doesn’t do this. You want him to stay in Eronia. With you. You will fight anyone who opposes it because you don’t think you’ll love as you love Geralt.

If he stays, not sure what he will do. Perhaps he can become your bodyguard. But what a scandal it would be for a Princess to have her lover as her bodyguard. You’re sure you can find a way around this mess once you are queen. Or perhaps, even before then. Surely you can talk to your father about it and hope he will listen to you.

But, Geralt has other ideas. It’s in your kiss that all that thinking he has done over the week that he finds his answer to what he wants to do. And he pulls back, keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he breathes out a deep sigh. “We need to talk.”

You were afraid he would say that. Still, you know that it has to be done. You’ve learned that almost everything can be solved if you just discuss it. Since you’ve gotten your strength back, you’ve continued learning how to be a Queen and how to rule a kingdom. You’ve learned a lot, but learning about politics will never be as fun as learning new magic spells and conjuring things from thin air.

“Come with me,” you whisper, leading him out of the gardens and back into the castle.

He follows as close behind you as he can while avoiding stares from others. He knows the path you’re leading him through goes to your chambers because he’s walked it many times before. And it will always feel great knowing that it’s just you and him, that no one can suddenly disturb you two when you close the door behind you.

He watches you as you walk towards him, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth and your gaze on your folded hands. He knows that you have a feeling about what he wants to talk about when you don’t look up at him after a while. “We knew this was going to happen-”

“Why does it?” you cut him off, lifting your gaze up to him as letting your hand unfold from each other. “Why can’t you stay?”

Geralt shakes his head, his jaw tensing as he turns his head to look away from you. “You know why.” He knows you’re not stupid. You know why he can’t stay.

You take a small step forward, reach out to turn his face back to you, make his gaze lock with yours as you rest your hand on his chest. “Tell me anyway,” you challenge, wondering if you can use your skills of persuasion and debate on him to try and get him to stay. But you also have a feeling that his stubbornness will prevail.

“If I stay, it could ruin your family’s name.”

That doesn’t sound like his words. It makes you frown and take a small step back, pulling away from him as you stare with a slightly open mouth. “What did my mother say to you?” you ask, feeling that she must have something to do with this. Of all people, you didn’t think that Geralt would care about reputation. Why else would he have kissed you in the first place if he wanted to protect what people think of you and your family? No, reputation was your mother’s thing and you know how her words could ensnare someone’s mind and make them doubt...everything. She must have gotten to Geralt.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does because you need to know that she was wrong. Whatever she said to you was wrong and it shouldn’t affect you because she’s dead and I’ve made sure that her body will be burnt to destroy her spirit because I know how powerful her words can be, Geralt,” you ramble, stepping farther and farther away from him as you shake your head in disbelief.

You thought that with your mother now dead, you wouldn’t have to worry about her affecting your life anymore. You can’t believe that this is happening. Everything seemed to be going well and now she’s trying to take the one thing you want so much away from you. You see her in your dreams, laughing and mocking you, saying that you can’t even get rid of her now that she is dead. She tells you that she will never leave you. And in fear, you’ve ordered that her body be burned instead of buried because you know that fire kills the spirit too. Even though your curse is lifted and you shouldn’t be able to see ghosts anymore, the fear will never leave you.

Geralt, seeing you retreating from him, takes a step forward and reaches out to take your hand. “Do you love me?” you ask, stepping out of his reach again as his head snaps you to you.

“I do love you,” he whispers, and his heart almost beats again within the long silence between slow beats. He’s had a week to think about, spend a few nights thinking about it and he doesn’t feel like he’s lying when he says it.

You take a step closer, drop the concerned look on your face and reach up to touch the side of his face. Your fingers touch the bottom of the scar on his temple as you gaze into his golden eyes. “I would fight for us because I love you too. I would fight for people to accept you more than I would fight for them to accept me, someone with magic prowess, being on the throne because I love you too.”

Word has gotten out about Charlotte’s parentage and how you are next in line for the throne of Eronia now but also that you have taken after your mage Aunt. Long story short, many Kings and queens and Sorcerers aren’t sure whether it is a good idea or not. They’re afraid you could become too powerful as a ruler and a mage.

Geralt smiles down at you, his head leaning into your touch as he steps closer to you to rest his hand on your hips. Your words won’t change his mind, but he won’t tell you that. It’s best to make you believe you have won this fight.

He touches his nose to yours, touches your lips with his lightly as his hands run up your sides. You breathe out a shaky sigh, your body trembling at his touch as his hands stop at the laces on the back of your dress. Then, as he pulls on laces, he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that makes your eyes fall shut.

You feel your dress become loose around your shoulders as he starts to walk backward towards your bed. At the foot of your bed, he turns around so your back faces the bed. His hands travel up your arms so he can take your face in his hands. His kiss grows deeper, your hands drop to start unbuckling his armor. It’s a lot to go through, but it’s not long before you get to the shirt he wears underneath the armor that now lies on the floor with his iron sword.

Geralt moves the hair away from your neck as he breaks the kiss, tilts his head to kiss along your jaw and then down your neck as you let your dress fall to the ground. Then, he runs his fingers down your naked arms making goosebumps appear and a sigh falls from your lips. He lowers you to the bed, hovering above you as his lips return to yours.

Your hands fall on his back, pull his shirt up out from being tucked in his pants. And when you touch his skin and trace his scars, he groans against your lips and settles between your legs when he nudges at them with his knee.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, only to sit up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it to the side. Instead of kissing your lips again, he drops his head in the bend of your neck and kisses down your body. You drop your head against the bed, stare up at the ceiling with your heart hammering in your chest as Geralt’s lips move down the valley between your breasts. “Geralt,” you mutter, your fingers weaving through his hair as you press your body against his.

You run your hands over his broad shoulders and down his back when he comes back up to kiss your neck, his hand grabbing the back of your thigh and making your leg bend next to him. Pushing his trousers pasted his hips, he moans against your skin. You feel his hardness poking against your thigh and it makes you shake in excitement.

“I’ll always love you,” Geralt whispers in your ear, making your heart swell and a smile grows on your face. As his lips return to yours, he rolls his hips against yours and slowly pushes his cock into you, making you moan and your eyes roll back in your head.

And with the sun starting to set outside, the golden light filtering into the room makes the moment between you and Geralt all the more special to you.

Geralt watches the sun dawn, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and your head on his shoulder. You’re fast asleep, your naked body pressing against his and the sheet covering your lower body as well as his. He’s glad that no one was looking for you last night because it would have ruined the moment. The moment that he won’t forget and he’s sure you won’t either. It was tender and passionate at the same time. And when you let the moment take you over, you let everything go and it turned out to be the best night he’s had in a long time.

Turning his head down to you, he takes in a deep breath and slowly leans down to gently kiss the top of your head. As you moan and shift in your spot, Geralt takes that chance to pull his arm out from under you and shift to the edge of the bed. He stares at his armor and clothes lying in a pile on the ground for a moment before looking back at you.

He wishes he didn’t have to do this, but it’s what he decided to do. He wishes he could stay with you, but he has other things to do. He can’t stay in Eronia.

Slowly and silently, he stands from the bed and starts to put his clothes back on. He leaves his armor off, not wanting to risk waking you up with the cluttering noise. Then he’ll have to explain everything and he can’t see you heartbroken.

Before he leaves your room with his armor in hand, he looks back at you one last time, glad to see that peaceful look on your face as you breathe shallow breaths. He’s glad he’ll have this image in his mind on his travels.

He doesn’t even think of collecting his fee from the King. He doesn’t care about that anymore. It’s best if he gets out of Eronia and put it behind him. Most of the castle is still asleep, so it surprises him to see Ida standing beside Roach when he comes to the stables. “I knew you’d be here,” she says, gently petting Roach’s neck as she smiles at Geralt. “Which is why I must ask; Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure,” he grumbles, walking past her and placing his armor on a post so he can get his saddle.

Ida turns around to face him, folds her hands in front of her and steps forward. “And you don’t want to say goodbye to her?” she asks, earning a hard glare from him and she raises her hands in defeat. “Alright, I won’t nag. I’m just saying that things could go a lot smoother if you were honest to her and told her the truth.” Geralt looks away from her as he places the saddle on Roach’s back and starts buckling and tightening the straps. “You know, there is a legend that Witchers only truly love one person in their life,” she mentions, taking a small step towards him when he freezes at her words. “You don’t want to lose something like that if it’s true, do you, Geralt?”

He sighs, drops his head for a moment before he looks at Ida. “No, I don’t,” he murmurs, pulling the last strap tight and then turning around to pick up his armor again.

Nodding her head, Ida glances down at her hand as she conjures a small, white flower which she hands to the Witcher. “I hope that this will help you find what you’re looking for,” she softly says, her words making Geralt’s eyes snap up from the flower to look at her in surprise. “And you do deserve this too.” She hands him a bulging pouch of coins. His payment.

Geralt takes both items even though he’s hesitant about the pouch. Still, you can’t buy food without money. “Look after her, Ida,” he grunts as he put the pouch and the flower in a satchel before taking the reins on Roach to lead her out.

He knows he didn’t have to tell her that. He knows that you’ll be in good hands without him.

A knock on the door makes your jolt awake with a skip in your heartbeat and before you can tell whoever it is to wait, the door swings open. You grip the sheets close to your body and quickly look down next to you where you expert Geralt to be. And your heart falls in your stomach when you don’t see him.

“Gods, I knew you had a fun night,” Charlotte playfully teases when she sees the state you’re in but you don’t pay attention to her words.

Your eyes start to search the room, only to find Geralt’s things gone along with him. It’s like he wasn’t even there. Your head drops and you bite your lower lip when you feel tears starting to surface. Charlotte notices your sadness. “What happened?” she softly whispers, sitting down next to you and places a hand on your covered knee.

Shaking your head, you look up at her with a forced smile on your face. “He left,” you say, your voice breaking as a sob breaks through your throat. Your hand shoots to your mouth as Charlotte pulls you in for a strong hug.

“And he didn’t say goodbye?” she asks, gently stroking your back as you lean against her shoulder, sobbing.

You don’t answer. You don’t say that he did or that he didn’t say goodbye because you guess that last night was his way of doing just that and you didn’t even realize it.

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

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Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without.

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him.

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison.

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved.

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?”

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor.

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand.

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father.

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #Kurt Hummel

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destinygoldenstar · 2 years

Text

You’re telling me this wasn’t made by Dhar Mann yet?

DISCLAIMER, this is a PARODY, NOT encouraged to actually exist. Don’t take this seriously

Child: *reading a book and minding his own business*

Mother: Son, I want us to spend quality time together and have a movie night

Child: Okay! What do you have in mind?

Mother: How about we watch a Dhar Mann video?

Child: What?! Ew, no! That’s not even a movie! That’s just a cringe fest of unnecessary preaching, unrealistic scenarios, and a massive ego boost!

Mother: *OFFENDED* HOW DARE YOU?! Dhar Mann is NOT cringe AT ALL! He does NOT have an ego! He is ThE gReAtEsT hUmAn BeInG tO EVER RoAm On EaRtH! NOTHING about what you said is true!

Child: Uh, opinion?

Mother: Your opinion is WRONG! Dhar Mann videos are NOT ego boosts! They teach iMpOrTaNt LiFe LeSsOnS! How do you not like Dhar Mann is you have never watched him?

Child: At least I haven’t been corrupted by the cringe. I don’t watch what I don’t find interest in! And have you SEEN these bold texts that cap locks random words with an awkward meme face by the side?

Mother: You know, you should NeVeR jUdGe A bOoK bY iT’s CoVeR!

Child: Oh, not THIS lecture again! You’re always saying that! Stop it!

Mother: You only read Twilight! Pick up a different book why don’t ya?

Child: You only watch Dhar Mann! Pick up a different video why don’t ya?

Mother: Son, I know that this sounds like an even situation when you put it like that, but here’s the thing: I’m right, you’re wrong! That’s how the world works! EVERYTHING is better than Twilight!

Child: Can we watch something else together?

Mother: NO. You’re gonna learn an iMpOrTaNt LiFe LeSsOn by watching this Dhar Mann video with me!

Child: What lesson is that? How it will change my life?? *sarcasm*

Mother: You always watch and read junk! I used to as well until I found Dhar Mann, and he made me a BETTER person!

Mother: You see...

Mother: *gives an overly long backstory about how she used to read books in her interest circle only and despised Dhar Mann because everyone else peer pressured her into watching them, until she was forced to watch one and became brainwashed-I mean fell in LOVE with the video and decided to watch everything the man made, the whole time gushing over how great of a person Dhar Mann is, so much so that his content alone solved ALL of her social anxieties*

Child: *half asleep* And yet Dhar Mann didn’t fix your marriage.

Mother: You know what? Because you deny his gReAtNeSs, I will make it clear that starting today, you and I are going to watch a Dhar Mann video EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.

Child: Yes, counselor? I’d like to vent to you about my mom...

Mother: You have NO CHOICE! It’s either that... or you will NEVER pick up a book FOR FIVE YEARS!

Child: School?

Mother: Dhar Mann is more important than your education kiddo! So what’s it gonna be?

Child: ...

Child: I’d rather be grounded.

Narration: “The mom put a strangle hold on her son, furious with him that he did not want to watch Dhar Mann videos. She was going to do whatever it takes to teach her son that he should not judge a book by it’s cover. She chained her son to the couch and forced him to watch Dhar Mann with her every night, hoping he’d learn about the man’s amazing influence on the world. At first, it did not go well, as the kid did not want to watch the videos or find any influence in them at all. It seemed as though the kid was destined to become the devil solely because he did not like Dhar Mann videos... but then her mother pulled out a coin and hypnotized-I mean CASUALLY INFLUENCED her son into submission, and it helped him focus on the video far more and become invested. Soon enough, he becomes entranced by the videos and begins to fall in love with them, and he became willing to watch Dhar Mann videos every night on his own, and even after punishment, he still wanted to watch every new Dhar Mann video that would come out. And it was at this moment that the kid finally learned to not judge a book by it’s cover. And then one day, his father came home to see how much his son has been brainwashed-I mean has changed over the years...”

Child: These are sO gOoD! i lOvE tHeM!

Mother: sO yOu SeE sOn, dHaR mAnN iS a LeGeNd!

Child: I’m sorry I ever doubted you before mom! I should have never judged a book by it’s cover!

Mother: I’m so proud of you!

Father: *coming home* ... 🤨Okay, dear gosh, I don’t know what’s going on here.

Child: I’m a better person dad!

Father: Son, do you want to go outside, get some fresh air, and get some exercise?

Child: No thank you! Watching Dhar Mann videos is all I need to learn about life!

Father: ... and this is why I left.

So you see... never judge a book by it’s cover! It could be ADDICTING

(You’re seriously telling me this doesn’t exist?)

#Dhar Mann #Parody #Brainwashing #Life stories #Never judge a book by its cover

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prettyinpymtech · 3 years

Text

If You Don’t Mind

Part 1

Detective!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader (1920s AU)

Summary: When the famed Darksaber is stolen, Bo-Katan employs the help of her best detectives to solve the case.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of an injury.

A/N: I’ve been watching so many episodes of Frankie Drake Mysteries and I was inspired to write a new series for Din! (And yes, I know the GIF is Javier, but that’s kind of the look I imagined for Din when I was writing this.)

MANDALORE’S PRIZED RELIC HAS VANISHED! KRYZE ASSURES THE DARKSABER WILL BE FOUND!

The headline echoed throughout the crowd. Folks from all over town had gathered along the front steps of the museum, ignoring the severe downpour to catch a glimpse of the hectic investigation in front of them. The sight offered very little to observe, but that did not deter the crowd in their quest to find some sort of amusement to share with their friends in conversations afterwards.

Struggling to maintain order among the masses was a young officer stationed at the very top of the steps. He barked his orders and some composure had finally reached the scene, but the officer paced back and forth with concerns that it would not last for long.

And it was exactly why he stood in your way with an outstretched arm when you stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t come in here. There’s been a crime.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.” The officer did not budge, however, and you offered a business card in his direction. “Y/N L/N, private detective.”

He examined the piece of paper with slight interest and shook his head once more. “Look, ma’am, we already have our best team working on this case.”

“And yet no one has been able to solve the crime.”

The officer immediately turned his attention towards the voice and a tense silence unfolded among the crowd as Bo-Katan emerged. Her repute among the people of Mandalore varied from family to family, but everyone agreed that her presence alone commanded a great deal of respect.

In a brief moment you were escorted inside with little protest, leaving the poor officer alone with his own efforts to keep the people away from the museum.

“Has it been like this all morning?” you asked.

“It’s that damn paper. Some reporter heard all about what happened before the officers even showed up and we had a huge crowd already waiting outside.”

The hallway was a frenzied mess of men and women in uniforms and you tried not to laugh as many of them turned in another direction when they noticed Bo-Katan marching forward. Her crossed expression and fiery red hair certainly stressed her authority, but you had learned to overlook her temper. She was a rather close friend and had been among the first to recognize your efforts as the city’s only female private detective.

“So, what can you tell me?”

“I’m sure you heard most of it by now,” replied Bo-Katan. “Someone broke into the museum last night and when we got here the Darksaber was missing.”

She guided you towards a platform in the middle of the museum’s entrance, where a velvet cushion now sat without a Darksaber to show. The surrounding expanse remained untouched, with no signs of an apparent spontaneous affair. Whoever had done this had made sure to employ both strategy and precision in their efforts.

“Any witnesses?”

“Just the guard that was stationed here last night. You should have seen the bruise she got.” A fierce look overcame Bo-Katan’s expression at the mention of one of her own suffering from an attack. “They ambushed her before she could get a good look at them.”

“Where is she now?”

“I sent her home once the officers finished their questioning.”

With no other witnesses to provide evidence, you asked Bo-Katan for a moment to wander through the hallways to look for clues. She relented in your request, of course, and retreated to her office where a group of reporters were eagerly waiting for her company.

The polished marble walls directed you to a narrow passageway usually reserved for curious guests. There was no one there to admire the paintings of Mandalore in its initial glory and there were no signs of what had occurred the night before. You were just about to return to the front entrance when you caught a glimpse of a man leaning against one of the nearby pillars with a notepad in his hand.

“Morning, detective.”

He didn’t even look up from his notepad. “You’re late.”

You bit your lip in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your smile, amused by his observation. During your first week as a private detective, you had made it a point to arrive to an investigation long before any officers could arrive to interrupt your work. Detective Din Djarin had only expressed slight annoyance in the beginning but, over time, he had accepted your work and had even encouraged others to recognize it as well.

The months that would later follow often found you in Din’s company, though your professions often prevented you from spending too much time together. You refused to complain, however, and found any moment with the detective quite enjoyable.

“Got caught in all of the excitement outside,” you explained. With a teasing smile, you added, “Have you been waiting for me all this time?”

Din rolled his eyes, but he didn’t answer. He only met your gaze with warm brown eyes and a charming smile that always left you feeling dizzy.

“So,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the nervousness in your voice, “what do you have so far?”

He cleared his throat, the professional front returning to his expression. “Not much. The only witness we have is Koska Reeves and she was too shocked to answer any of our questions.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any clues here, either.”

You both decided there was nothing more that could be done and soon walked back to Bo-Katan’s office. She had just finished dismissing the last group of reporters when she took notice of your return. “One of you better have something for me.”

Din gave you a weary look before forcing himself to meet Bo-Katan’s stare. “We’ve looked everywhere, Miss Kryze. There are no signs of any apparent break-in at the front entrance, and the only other way they could have gotten in is through the back door. I think you need to accept that one of your own employees stole the Darksaber.”

“There’s a back door?” you asked.

Bo-Katan nooded. “That’s right. But I already told your friend here that the back door can only be opened from the inside. And Koska would never do something like that.”

Intrigued by this new piece of evidence, you immediately left the office in search of the supply closet. Din and Bo-Katan exchanged inquisitive glances, surprised by your haste, and hurried to follow in your footsteps through the narrow hallways.

The small storeroom was tucked away in the far corner of the museum-a perfect escape from prying eyes. You opened the wooden door, surprised to find it unlocked, and stepped inside to inspect the floor.

“What are you doing?”

You met Bo-Katan’s bewildered stare. “If the back door was used for the crime, and you’re confident that it wasn’t one of your employees, then maybe we should consider that it was one of your guests that committed the crime.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you usually keep the supply closet unlocked?”

“We’ve never had any reason to keep it locked.”

“I think someone walked into the museum during visiting hours, hid in the supply room until you closed-“

“And opened the back door for their friends,” finished Din. The same affection from before returned to his eyes as he joined you inside the supply closet to help you search for clues. You were both mindful of the close proximity and he had reached for your hand more than once to prevent your fall after bumping into each other, though you could hardly voice any complaints for his warm touch.

Shocked as she was from the newfound implication, Bo-Katan watched the two of you exchange apologies with amusement in her eyes. Such obliviousness among Mandalore’s best detectives was certainly an entertaining spectacle and she was just about to comment on your unawareness when you lifted something in your hands.

It was a round pin no bigger than a coin, with black lines etched onto its white surface. You presented it to Din as he cursed at the sight of it. “Do you recognize it?”

You had never seen such rage fill his eyes as he stared at the pin. “It was one of Gideon’s boys.”

“Gideon?”

“He belongs to the Galactic Empire, a cruel band of ruffians that like to cause trouble here in Mandalore,” answered Bo-Katan. “He’s been trying to steal the Darksaber for years. We haven’t heard from him in so long that I almost believed he had given up his irrational claim. I shouldn’t have been so foolish.”

A number of questions gathered on your tongue, but in that moment a reporter rushed in with a few questions of his own, and Bo-Katan was obliged to respond to his demands.

She met your stare with an all too familiar ire in her eyes. “That Darksaber has been in my family for generations. I have no idea what Gideon wants with it, but I can’t imagine it’s good. Please promise me you will find it.”

“I promise we’ll do everything we can.”

It wasn’t quite as reassuring as you wished it could be, but the words were enough to comfort Bo-Katan before she turned to greet her correspondent. Determined not to disappoint her, you returned your gaze to Din with a fierce resolve.

“So, where do we start?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to go down to the station and see what I can find. I’ll give you a call if something comes up, but I think you should let me handle this for now.”

“That’s it? I thought we were going to solve this case together.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Is this about your officers?” It was no secret that many of Din’s colleagues disapproved of your collaboration with their renowned detective when it came to imperative cases. But Din had never allowed such critiques to interfere with his work and you could not comprehend why he was so hesitant to accept your offer. “I’m sure they’d be willing to allow my company this one time-“

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

You scoffed at his remark. “I can handle myself just fine, detective.”

“I know you can, but if you take this case then you’re putting yourself in more danger than any one person should have to face.”

“And who’s going to look out for you?”

Din didn’t answer your question and instead stepped closer. The close proximity surprised you, but you could not force yourself to evade his presence as you caught a glimpse of something so familiar and earnest in his stare. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but with a shake of his head he stepped back and a look of doubt immediately overcame his features.

“I’ll give you a call if something comes up,” he repeated and soon left you alone without another glance in your direction.

You were too stunned to discern his manner and you decided that you would have to solve the mystery on your own, with the pin in your hands to serve as your only clue.

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars imagine

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