#not the 10K words requested but an expansion pack

[jomiddlemarch]

reunions, expansion pack edition

You decided, brunette pixie cut and outdated stereotypes about blondes notwithstanding, to play dumb.

“I’m not sure—”

“Miller.  From 11th grade English. Though I don’t generally go by just my last name anymore,” he said and then extended a hand to shake, which obviously, you had to take. He had a firm grip, calluses across his palms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit you were turned on. “Joel.”

“I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted. 

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re the only reason I decided to come to my high school’s 20th reunion,” he said.

“Me?” you said, actually feeling pretty dumb at the moment. More like the struck dumb kind and your mouth was probably hanging open, given the way Joel was smiling at you. You shut it, feeling your teeth clatter against each other, biting your lip but not in the tentative sexy way it happened in a movie or a romance novel. You considered taking a sip of your drink but figured you’d probably spill it or gulp too much and end up spluttering. You couldn’t take a deep breath to calm down, he’d notice, so you balled up your free hand in a fist and then relaxed it. It didn’t work.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be so hard to believe. I had a crush on you back then. Wanted to ask you to Prom—”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Maybe you’re actually dreaming, this can’t really be happening, but if it is a dream, it’s a good one, probably the best you’re going to have in the next decade, so you decide you should really push it. The chances of it going off the rails with like some Fraggle asking you to do the Electric Slide (Mokey, not Red) are high, but the chances of Joel telling you he had been interested and Still Was were good enough you’d risk it.

“Lots of reasons. Didn’t think you’d say yes. Couldn’t afford a limo. Or a tux, the little rosebud corsage in the plastic box with all the ribbons and shit. Didn’t want to ask you to go in my dad’s pick-up. Get you all dirty maybe,” he paused and you were both standing there with all dirty hanging in the air between you, hovering, making you blush. Joel looked a little abashed too, which was a relief. “Too scared, basically,” he said.

“I don’t like limos,” you said. “Never have.”

You’d sort of blurted it out, but there was only warm interest in his dark eyes, no mockery.

“Good to know. Didn’t take one here tonight,” he said.

“Me neither,” you said and he laughed.

“Look, you rather talk or dance? I know my limits, I can’t do both. Not with you. Not well,” he said. The DJ the reunion planning committee hired had started to play and people were heading to the dance floor. You thought about Joel’s hands on your hips, your arms looped around his neck. You thought about the revelations he’d already shared, his ringless hands, whether you were going to wake up and when.

“Talk?” you said. “These heels, they’re kind of high—”

“You can take them off, you know,” he said. “Whenever you want.”

“Later,” you said.

“Later’s good too. You want another drink?” he replied. 

“Sure. Surprise me,” you replied. You weren’t aiming for sultry but magically, you’d gotten about 47% of the way there. Joel held your gaze and it was definitely a promise, not a challenge.

“I aim to,” he said.

*

“So, cards on the table,” Joel said, having set down a brightly colored cocktail with a wedge of lime and a matching green umbrella in front of you and a fresh beer in front of himself and nary an actual card. “Graduated, went to UT, run my own construction business with my brother Tommy, you probably don’t remember him. I got two girls at home, eleven and eight, divorced for over five years, don’t see much of either ex and yeah, I got two. Third time’s the charm, so they say.”

“Um, yeah,” you replied, trying to take it all in with some facsimile of nonchalance, a phrase your favorite journalism professor would have struck-through with red pen instantly. “They do say that. I feel like—”

“It’s a lot,” he said. “I know. But my girls are my whole life. I can’t, I won’t hide that. Can’t French braid their hair worth shit, but being a good dad’s the most important part of my life.” 

“No, it is good. I appreciate you not dancing around stuff. It’s just, I feel like I’m in the speed round of a game show maybe,” you said. You took the umbrella out of the glass but you didn’t pick it up. Not yet.

“You think you’re gonna win? Joel asked. He did take a long swallow of his beer, then grinned. God, he was attractive, his features a little too rough to be conventionally handsome, which was better in your opinion. “I’d always bet on you, Scout.”

“Christ, no one’s called me that since high school,” you said. You’d carried your paperback copy of To Kill A Mockingbirduntil the cover nearly disintegrated. It had been tucked into the inner pocket of your navy-blue Jansport backpack but word had gotten around.

“If you don’t like it, I won’t,” Joel said.

“It’s okay. It’s just a blast from the past, you know? Like this whole thing really,” you said. You paused and both of you looked around the room, filled with people you’d seen every day, but never in a setting like this, the hotel ballroom much more nondescript than the gaily decorated lockers that lined the high school hallways, hand-lettered posters plastered in the cafeteria. Everyone was all dressed up in a sort of uniform, Joel like the rest of the men in a nice button-down and chinos, you wearing a cocktail dress that was a little too tight for anything work-related, your heels a little too high, designed to make your legs and ass look as close to amazing as you could manage north of thirty-five, plus or minus Pilates and/or running 5Ks. In your case, definitely minus both Pilates and 5Ks. Joel did not seem to mind, based on the frankly appreciative glances you kept catching.

“My turn—graduated, went to college up north, worked on a couple papers before I ended up back here. I’m trying to make a go of the whole journalism thing but I’m going to take some education classes, hedge my bets. Maybe I’ll end up back at our old school, teaching English in Mr. Pascal’s old room and being the faculty advisor for the drama club,” you said, running through the last twenty years and where you’d gotten to: back in Texas, not sure of yourself. Tonight, you were back in high school but now there was Joel, looking at you like you’d been away too long. Like he knew who you were then and he recognized you now and if anything, he was more interested, where interested was a good enough word for a journalist to use when a man looked at her like Joel was looking at you. 

“Not the advisor for the Herald?” Joel said. “I remember the drama kids being a hot mess most of the time.”

“If I end up back there, advising the Herald will be salt in the wound,” you said.

“Maybe not,” Joel said. “You’d be an amazing teacher and faculty advisor, I know it. And hey, I heard a piece on NPR when I was drivin’ the girls to school the other day and they couldn’t stop arguin’ about what station they wanted to listen to, so I pulled the dad card and picked, and they, the NPR folks, were talking about how lots of people want to support local news these days. Have some faith in yourself—”

“You don’t have to say that,” you replied. “No one comes to their high school reunion to give an old classmate a pep talk.”

“I came hoping to see my high school crush,” Joel said. “Hoping not to make a fool of myself. Hoping you would show up. That you wouldn’t be married or seeing someone…”

Here, he paused, shrugged, and you remembered you hadn’t said yet what your relationship status was.

“I’m single. Totally. Very single,” you said in a rush. 

“That’s a fuckin’ relief, Scout,” Joel said. “Maybe now we can have that dance?”

“Sure,” you said, reaching over to pick up your drink and toss it back. Liquid courage and all that. Joel put his hand on your wrist, lightly enough though it stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Don’t. Don’t want you too tipsy,” he said, his voice soft, maybe the voice he used with his younger daughter if she was having a hard time settling down. “I want you to be able to say yes and mean it.”

Okay, that was not the dad-voice. 

You left the drink untouched.

*

“Never would’ve believed this, back in the day,” Joel murmured. The DJ had switched over to what seemed like an endless medley of the popular slow dances of their high school era and every couple on the floor had reverted to the most basic sway, except for Maria Gonzalez, who was executing what looked like a professional tango with some guy whose name you couldn’t remember who’d been on the basketball team. You’d spent exactly one second trying to remember and then focused on how it felt to have Joel’s hands at your waist, his cheek grazing your temple. He was holding you close, so you could tell he smelled like cedar and leather, like he’d put on an actual cologne to get ready, but just enough. He’d been careful.

“Me neither,” you replied. “I never thought you thought about me like that.”

“Like this,” Joel corrected. Somehow, he brought you closer, his hips pressed snug against yours. “I thought for sure you knew. It wasn’t like I was real subtle—”

“What d’you mean?” you said.

“You serious, Scout? I caught so much flak for watchin’ you instead of the board, I was always hangin’ around your class or your locker. I sent you those pink carnations for Valentine’s Day senior year,” Joel said.

“Those were from a secret admirer,” you protested. “It was signed in block print. You literally wrote ‘from your secret admirer’ without a single hint or clue about how it was you. I thought my mom felt bad and had one of my friends buy them for me.”

“I figured you’d know it was me,” he said.

“How? Telepathy?” you said. Joel laughed and his hands tightened on your waist.

“Okay, maybe that one was on me. I liked you so goddamn much, I wanted you so bad, I thought you’d feel it,” Joel said. You both swayed together for a moment and you rested your cheek on his shoulder. You could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, wished you were rubbing your cheek against his bare chest. Finding out what made him moan your name.

“This all right? Not too much?” he asked. 

“Is it past tense? Liking me, wanting me?”

“No. It’s so present tense I’m in danger of embarrassin’ myself,” Joel replied. 

You took one hand from the back of his neck and cupped his cheek, pressing a little to incline his head towards yours. You looked into his dark eyes and then, almost exaggerating, down at his lips. His left hand slipped down to your hip and then briefly touched your ass.

“That makes two of us, I guess,” you said.

“Not possible, darlin’,” he said, his voice, the endearment tender where his body was hard, demanding. He shifted so you’d feel his erection against your thigh, his arousal undeniable.

“This isn’t just messing around,” he said. “This isn’t just tonight, for me. If that’s all you want, I understand, but I can’t—”

“It’s not all I want. Tonight. It’s more than I thought could ever happen,” you paused, arched your back to get even closer to him, “but it’s not more than I want. You didn’t ask me why I came tonight—”

“Why did you?”

“Because someone said Miller was coming. Probably. Maybe. There was a chance you’d show up,” you said. “I bought this dress, these heels thinking you might show up and you’d see me across the room and smile. Maybe lift your beer up in sort-of a toast, like, lookin’ good, and then you’d go back to talking to your friends.”

“I really should have signed that Valentine’s Day card,” Joel said. “If that’s all you thought might happen.”

“Well, it’s all I expected was possible,” you said. “I hoped—”

You broke off then, because it was a lot to confess and also, Joel was now stroking the curve of your hip with his thumb and letting his lips touch your temple, the shell of your ear in what was basically a kiss and then definitely a kiss when you felt the tip of his tongue on your ear and gasped.

“What’d you hope for, Scout?” he said.

“That you’d be good with your hands. Able to help me with my zipper. It was tough to reach to get zipped up and I think it’d be a little tricky to get this dress off,” you said. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and thank God he’d somehow guided the pair of you over to a shadowy corner of the dance floor because you were in serious danger of someone yelling out Get a room already!

“I hoped you’d like black lace,” you said.

@tinytinymenace @goodwithcheese @tessa-quayle @sheepdogchick3 since there was perhaps some interest in more of this drabble, I (ahem) elaborated.

#tlou fanfic #joel miller #alternate universe #no apocalypse #high school reunion AU #joel/you #dad!joel miller #rom-com vibes #not the 10K words requested but an expansion pack #gets a little spicy

[imnotwolverine]

Written in Egyptian Cotton

Henry Cavill x OC (Naomi) one-shot

Disclaimer: NSFW, sexual tension w/ someone outside of relationship, emotional blackmailing, break-up, smut

Word count: 9.982

Author’s note: It took a while, but here’s a fic I’ve written on request of darling @cherrybloomn​ (thank you for all your wonderful ideas, patience and help! ❤️). It may have changed quite a bit from your original idea, going from pure smut to something with nearly 10k of backstory - WOOPS - but here goes.

PS. I just got back from work ..and..eh..WHAT?! I got like 200 notifications, which is like 10x what I’m used to getting in such a time frame. So, whatever’s going on; thank you sweet readers, it’s such a joy to see you enjoying my work in such great numbers, and what a great way to start my weekend! YAY!!  🎉

--

Written in Egyptian cotton

‘Well you could have just told me. Yeuss Henry..’ The pretty brunette rolled her eyes and turned away from him, her face pouting as she scooted back, further expanding the already significant distance between the two.

‘But..I did! I…’ He sighed, realising she was no longer listening, her arms crossed in front of her ample bosom as she looked out of the window of the jeep, the vehicle bouncing left and right as it drove over the uneven desert road.

The blond woman in the shotgun seat, Naomi, bit her lip, the petty fight behind her reminding her just what a ..joy..it was to not have a partner of her own. And this definitely wasn’t the first petty fight between her two clients, the two near endlessly bickering over the past week. They were far from the calm, loving couples she was used to giving tours, being a personal traveling guide for the well-to-do.

‘I hate this.’ The brunette softly muttered under her breath, the air in the jeep now so tense that it would only be a matter of time before the ticking time bomb that she, Victoria, was, would completely explode.

The other day she had in fact almost jumped out of the car after a full hour of nagging that she didn’t want to go. And now? Now she was picking a fight over the fact that Henry hadn’t told her explicitly that we wouldn’t be back before dinner, since..well..the name kind of implied as much; we were going to do a “Night Tour”.

The darling brunette had not packed any extra clothes, which is, no matter what you are going to do in the desert, ab-so-lute-ly ridiculous. People got stuck here all the time and nature didn’t care about your pouting face and stomping feet. Carefully looking over her shoulder Naomi caught a glimpse of Henry’s eyes as he bit his tongue again, the large man quietly clenching his fists before his blue eyes quickly looked away, avoiding Naomi’s knowing gaze.

It was going to be a long, long, long afternoon..and probably even longer night.

Shivering in the cold night air as she had given some of her spare clothes to Victoria, Naomi called a silent prayer as she heard the wind in her back carry the all familiar nagging voice of one very unhappy client.

Would this ever end?

‘My feet hurt. Can we go back?..HENRY? Hello? Earth to Henry?…I’m tired.’ The small company just trudged on through the sandy dunes, some pocket lights shining the way to a small beduin village where a local would tell about life in the desert and explain how the stars were used to travel in the vast expanse of this sandy landscape.

It was a pretty night. The wind laying low and the stars sparkling bright like a million tiny freckles on a black velvet canvas. Almost perfect. Almost, the peace and quiet of millions of sand grains not being able to muffle the never-ending wails that escaped Victoria’s lips, no matter what her lover Henry tried - the shame and annoyance clear on his clean shaven, handsome face.

‘Vic..- URGH - Victoria. Please. Just…’ Henry’s voice came out strained and choppy. ‘Stop.’

‘Oh YOU WANT ME TO STOP. Well here.’ She stopped her dragging feet at once, soon falling even further behind. Henry halted as well, shining his light at her, her face turned up in an angry scowl. ‘..I stopped.’ She growled.

‘Vic..baby come on. I promise once we get back I’ll make it up. We’ll..’ He hesitated. ‘We’ll..just..reschedule our plans. Look for a..a..swimming pool..and..hammam. Get you pampered, hmm? Just a few more hours, okay babe?’

‘FUCK. YOU.’ She near-screamed over the listening landscape, the small gathering of other tourists that had arrived for the tour now also halting to hear and see what was amiss with these two.

Naomi quickly paced back to check on her bickering clients, her heels sinking away in the heavy sand before she halted next to Henry, his voice just biting back a quiet; ‘I wish we’d at least do tha..’ - ‘Hey. You okay?’ Naomi looked Henry up and down, his face long and exasperated. He looked positively DONE with his darling girlfriend.

‘Yea..it’s..we just..’ He looked at Victoria and wetted his lips. ‘..Just a..just a moment, okay?’ He offered Naomi a pleading look and took a shaky breath before quickly moving down the dune hill to talk some sense into Victoria.

They truly were an interesting pair. Victoria playing Henry like a fiddle. A sweet caress, a little flirt, followed with an on-slaught of ..well..emotional blackmailing?

Naomi watched Henry disappear in the half-light, her blond hair flailing in the gentle night air as was lit up by the dozen pocket lights that shone behind her back, the rest of the group now also watching the scene unfold.

The scene where Victoria broke with him, Henry.

AGAIN.

Yea..this was emotional blackmailing.

‘Hey.’ - ‘Hey…’ Henry hesitantly stepped into the corner of the hotel bar, Naomi sprawled onto a low sofa as she was typing away on her laptop, the hour late and her hand keeping a cocktail right within arm’s reach. ‘Can I eh..’ He bit his lip. ‘..join? I mean. I don’t want to..’ - ‘Oh yes, of course! Please!’ Naomi hastily sat up and pushed aside the scattering of paper that had gathered around her as she worked through the plans she was making for her next trip.

‘I really don’t want to disturb you. Please…I..’ - ‘Henry.’ Naomi looked up at him with a stern but friendly look. ‘Sit down.’

He sighed and smiled hesitantly, the falling out with Victoria clearly having scarred his confidence a little, his large feet carefully stepping into the small nook to take a seat on the dark blue sofa. With a sigh escaping he let himself sink into the comfortable pillows, his whole being obviously very exhausted with all that had come to pass.

‘See. The couch doesn’t bite.’ Naomi winked, hoping it would lighten the mood ever so slightly as she moved to place all her stuff on the seat next to her.

‘Well that makes one thing that doesn’t bite me in the butt.’ He snickered, his voice echoing the tiredness of his body after a long day of attending to the every need of Victoria - who had thankfully retired to the hotel room by now.

‘Yea..’ Naomi said softly, her voice trailing away in the incense heavy air, the temperature inside the hotel lounge so very comfortable after a few long hours of hiking through the cold desert dunes. She had fallen into a bit of a rosy state, her pale cheeks slightly flustered, a fluster that got even worse when Henry finally laid a good eye on her.

He had that effect on her.

Always had.

‘So..’ Naomi quickly swallowed, reaching for her drink in hope it would cool her down somewhat. ’..that was an eventful night, hmm?’

‘You can say that.’ Henry sighed, sinking even further down in the pillows so he could rest his head on the backrest. It didn’t look like he was going to share his thoughts with her, and Naomi couldn’t blame him.

‘Hey..shall I get you a drink? Looks like you can use a drink.’

‘Oh no..please. I can..’ He tried to get up from his comfortable position but Naomi gently coaxed him back in the pillows. ‘I’ve gotcha, no worries.’ She said, using her fingertips to push him back down. A gesture that made their eyes interlock for another brief moment, both their mouths falling open ever so slightly as Naomi’s nimble fingers felt through the soft fabric of his shirt, noting Henry’s rapid beating heart, his pupils blown out wide.

Naomi hastily pulled back her hand and smiled. ‘Sorry.’

Darn it Naomi! He literally broke up with his girlfriend two hot seconds ago!

Besides..HE’S YOUR CLIENT.

’No..no..please..It’s okay.’ Henry muttered, pushing himself up from the pillows all the same, his eyes looking for hers but she already evaded his gaze again. A mere look of those ocean blues did things to her that she should not even think about. She shouldn’t make the same mistakes she made earlier.

He’s a client. And a very good, returning client at that. Behave yourself!

‘Yea..okay..drinks.’ Naomi pushed herself off the couch and with long strides she carried herself to the bar, out of his sight, one heated night in the city of Rome springing back up in her mind.

Ugh..Rome..

‘Can I ..can I at least have a pillow and a blanket?’ Henry tried, standing in the corner of his and Victoria’s hotel room. ‘Pffft! You run so hot in the night..like you fucking NEED it.’  

‘VICTORIA dammit! I’m trying to just…ARGH..’ - ‘WHAT?! HUH? Make amends?! Oh look at me being all goooood, your superhero ready to serve your every need. I am Henry, I am too good to keep my girlfriend involved when we plan OUR SHARED FUCKING HOLIDAY.’ Victoria fumed as she pricked her long, prettily manicured nail in his chest. ‘Or is that not how it went, hmm? HMMM?’ She moved to spin around on her heel, but Henry caught her arm before she could reach the bed, his hand gripping awkwardly around the silky smooth fabric of her black bathrobe.

Black like the poison in her words.

‘Vic..I’m sorry..really..’ He sounded at loss for words, his every attempt to make things better between them, only causing more damage. His voice got close to breaking as Victoria’s words echoed in his ear.

‘Don’t Vic me.’ She growled, fiercely pulling her arm from his grip and reached for a little blanket and a pillow. ‘Here. You sleep on the fucking couch.’ And with that she threw the items at him before pointing at the couch that was situated behind a curtain in the corner of the room.

Henry blinked and held his breath, the fabric of the little blanket coarse beneath his finger tips.

Another uncomfortable night on a couch, it was.

‘Wow, look at that!’ Henry’s eyes glittered as the boat coasted over the smooth water of the Nile, a number of land workers digging through the wet soil on the river bed to create water trenches for their crops. ‘Cool right.’ Naomi stepped in besides him, joining him as he watched the men work. ‘They’ve been doing it like that for thousands of years. In fact the Egyptians became one of the first cultures to develop such large scale agriculture. And actually.. if you look to the..’ - ‘Hi!’ Victoria peaked in between the two of them, her face all smiles as she squeezed herself through, trying to get a glimpse of what Henry and Naomi were looking at.

‘Whatcha talking about, hmm?’ She smiled at Henry, who blinked at her like she had just slapped him right in the face.

‘Eh..the..the..fieldworkers.’ He quickly gathered himself, stepping aside to make room for her, ever the gentleman. ‘You see those men there?’ He pointed at the bronzed figures in the distance, toiling in the harsh midday sun.

‘Mhm, what about them? Hey, by the way, they have cocktails on board, did you know that?’

And just like that the conversation was diverted back to the many luxuries that Henry didn’t care much about, but Victoria? Oh Victoria most definitely did.

It had played out like this on a near daily basis. Like the bipolar sexbomb Victoria was, she was either a sweet, happy and bubbly spirit, or a projectile of red clawed nails and vicious words whose sole purpose was to hurt whomever got near.

Which, usually was Henry.

As Victoria pulled on Henry’s arm to attract his attention, he looked past the brunette to meet the worried gaze of Naomi. He knew what she thought. All in just one simple look.

Oh...If only his life could be so simple as to understand his lovers with just one look.

If only everything in life was so simple, so gentle, as the caress of her fingers over the cotton sheets of her bed.

Trailing her finger pads over the notoriously soft Egyptian cotton, Naomi looked up at the ceiling of her hotel room. Usually she had a near endless pool of energy to tap from. Traveling, in the end, was her life’s dream. Now, however, she was simply exhausted. Truly, truly exhausted.

Naomi just hoped that beneath the childish nagging and materialistic bullshit that seemed to make up 99% of Victoria’s being, there was somewhere deep underneath that 1% that made her a good match for Henry. Because honestly, she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see what made the two a good fit.

Happy, cheerful Henry seemed honestly depressed. She had known him for years and never had she seen the large man shrink so small and unsure. And Victoria? She seemed truly restless, her gaze and attention falling a bit too often on other men. Rich men. As if she was setting up a back-up plan.

Poor Hen..

*knock knock*

Naomi blinked and turned her head slightly. Had she just imagined that? The room was near quiet, some muted sounds outside the third floor window of a few people walking through the nightly streets of Caïro. Hmm, strange. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She looked back up at the ceiling, her fingers trailing back over the soft cotton.

Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could..

*knock knock*

Alright. There was definitely something, or someone, there. Sitting up and slipping into a bathrobe to look at least a little bit presentable, her bare feet padded over to the door as she searched for a light switch, hands flicking open the lock to see who was there.

Henry, his lips curling in a tentative smile as he carefully let out a little breath.

‘H-heyy..Henry.’ Naomi blinked, then looked into the hallway left and right, almost as if half expecting a vicious Victoria to come chasing him down the long hallway. But, there was nobody else there.

‘Hi. Eh..mind if I eh..’ He gestured over her shoulder and she gulped a quick agreement, stepping back to let him inside.

Did something happen?

‘Yea..sure, sure. Come in. Don’t want to wake the neighbors haha.’ - ‘Yea..the neighbors.’ Henry swallowed, his eyes flying around her small, but comfortable hotel room. On one side of her king sized bed a scattering of maps and tourist info, obviously moved aside so she could go to sleep in the other half, sheets already tousled.

‘You know what...I..It can wait til morning. I didn’t know you went to bed.’

‘Oh no, please, please. I couldn’t sleep AT ALL, actually. Tired yes. Sleep no.’ Naomi shrugged.

‘Hmm.’ Henry’s brows furrowed as he looked back at Naomi, seeing she indeed looked quite tired. So unlike her, the steady force of happy, bubbly excitement in his life right now.

‘I hope it’s not about..Victoria..I really am so sorry about-’ - ‘It’s fine. Truly. I mean, you can’t really help it now, can you? Sometimes things are easy, sometimes they’re...not?’ She smiled at him and quickly moved past, hand accidentally brushing against his as she reached to fold back the sheets, a quick attempt to make the room look somewhat more presentable.

‘So. Anything I can assist you with?’ She turned back around, the energy in the room suddenly very tense.

Oh..they should never be alone. She just knew it. Everytime they were alone, things were bound to happen.

It was past 11 o’clock and Henry, her very hot-hot-hot client, was standing here in her small hotel room. Why?

‘I guess I just..eh..’ He looked around the room again. ‘..wanted to apologise. I mean you had to..’ He gestured at the paperwork on her bed. ‘..change your plans. And I really, truly appreciate all your hard work and how you are dealing with this situation with me and Victoria.’

‘Eh..but of course. I mean, that’s what you hired me for.’ Naomi shrugged it off, barely noticing the restless shuffle of Henry’s feet. ‘It’s not just that though, is it?’ She gave him a discerning look and he slowly shook his head. ‘You know what. This is really silly on my part. It’s late and we both should catch some sleep. Great plans for tomorrow, right?!’

And before Naomi could even blink he had left again.

Was it just her, or was Henry acting increasingly weird now things were crash-and-burning with Victoria?

--

A day off. It was almost strange to have a day off when you were going on a holiday, but right now Naomi was more than a little glad that they had planned this day for everyone to go about their business alone. And, from the looks of it, that was just what everyone was doing. Naomi had given Victoria some tips on local spas that she could visit and Henry had simply vanished into thin air.  

Which was fine. Naomi wasn’t sure if she could handle being alone with him again. Not after that night he had visited her hotel room. And most definitely not now, after she had some hot and bothering dreams in which she explicitly thought of what COULD have happened, had he stayed.

All scenarios including very..VERY unprofessional actions on her part.

Naomi was feeling tense and all she really needed right now, was a nice..relaxing..stretch session.

With her room being simply too small to even sit on the ground properly, she had opted for the hotel’s gym, the midday hour meaning practically all tourists were out in the pool or on excursions. There was nobody else, which made it just a little less awkward to roll around in some shorts and a tank top as she followed along with a Youtube video she would always resort to whenever things in her life got stressful.

Deep relaxing breaths escaped her slightly parted lips as she sat there in a cobra position, head tipped back, eyes closed, arms pushing up her upper body as her legs lay stretched out behind her. Just..breathe in..and..breathe out. Breathe in ..and..

*scchwwupp*

The door of the gym quietly slid open.

Okay, just, don’t pay attention to it. You’re here for you, Naomi. Just..breathe in..breathe out...breathe in..

Not managing to calm her curiosity completely, she peaked through the ceiling height mirror to check who it was. And well, have you there, it was of course a gleaming, beaming, slightly sweaty Henry.

‘Hi.’ He breathed, smiling, getting back his breath after what probably had been a run out in the scorching hot Egyptian sun.

‘Hi.’ Naomi swallowed, quickly reverting her attention back to the video before her and acting like there was nothing awkward about sitting there in clothes that really left nothing to his imagination. And oh how absolutely wonderful it was that she was right in front of that darn floor-to-ceiling mirror, the reflection making sure that he could not only admire her back..but also her front.

UGH..the gods had a sense of humour, didn’t they?

Swallowing back those thoughts she sat back on her buttocks to follow the instruction along, the stretch continuing with a focus on the legs, her hands reaching out to touch her toes, back straight. And ..breathe in...breathe out..breathe in…

She could swear he was watching her, but it was probably rude to check.

And breathe in..breathe..Fine, a little peak then.

Making sure she was not too obvious she quickly eyed Henry, his attention averted to adding weights to a bar.

He looked good. His broad chest sporting a grey shirt that sat snug on his pecs, his shorts begging for mercy as they stretched over his generous booty and thighs, long legs covered in a fine sheen of sweat and hair.

Oh, he was truly a thing of magnificence wasn’t he?

[ Florence, Italy, a few years back. ]

‘And here, the one and only..David by the great artist Michelangelo!’ Naomi pointed at the humongous statue as it rose high above both their heads, Henry’s eyes admiring the smooth stone that bulged with perfectly hewn muscles and sharp facial features much like his own.

Though, not entirely like him, his eyes dragging down to the crotch area before raising a careful eyebrow.

‘Aherm..yes. Times were quite different then,’ Naomi chuckled. ‘..with the Greek also having pretty clear opinions on ideal genitalia sizes and shapes. Smaller, back then, was considered to fit the ideal Greek man, since it fit with the profile of being rational, intellectual and authoritative, whereas bigger penises were related to lust and foolishness. And that was very much opposite of what Greeks wished to exude.’

Henry frowned and slowly shook his head. ‘Why not both?’ To which Naomi broke out in a loud chuckle, making Henry snicker in turn. ‘Sure..why not..both?’ She winked.

--

Why not both?

Well. Not much later that week she had learned what Henry had meant with that little joke. And what he packed away beneath those tight gym shorts she was staring at right now, the fabric straining around his muscles as he bent over to start a timer.

Oh he surely would have made Michelangelo’s David blush - both by those ridiculous gym shorts and what was beneath.

Henry was a man of intellect, authority ..and ..well..he sure as hell was packing.

Swallowing back those thoughts too, Naomi finished her stretching sessions with red hot cheeks - her mind trying to blame it on the barely working airconditioning, but she knew better as she returned her gaze to the mirror, finding his eyes there.

Of course he was looking back at her now she was a blushing mess.

With feral eyes, face in deep grunting focus, he pushed the heavy weighted bar high above his head. The weights at either end probably as heavy as she was, her eyes staring in quiet admiration, the air so very tense again that she just had to hold her breath as she watched him lower down the weight.

Turning around, wishing to bid him a good day and leave, she simply couldn’t. Their eyes interlocking and his face turning into a teasing grin, he furrowed his brow and pushed up the weight again, muscles flexing, hair tumbling over his sweaty face.

Ugh, that beautiful chiseled face.

No matter how focused and snarling he looked at her, she couldn’t help but feel all kinds of hot and bothered, completely ensnared in his gaze. And so she just stood there, watching, phone and gym bag in hand, ready to leave but doing none of the sort.

*cla-clang*

With a slightly awkward slip Henry pushed the weighted bar back in its holder, Naomi finally awaking from her stare as a little smirk appeared on her lips.

‘Don’t hurt yourself, cowboy.’ She mused, finding back her teasing confidence.

Henry snickered and shook his head, looking away for a split second to make sure the weight wasn’t causing damage, before realising she was now really making her way towards the door.

‘Unless of course you want me to.’ He teased back, slightly out of breath, making Naomi offer him one more raised eyebrow over her shoulder before she quickly disappeared.

D-did he mean something by that? Or was this just Henry being unaware of the tease he was being?

[ Rome, Italy, a few years back ]

Blond, bouncy and confident, Naomi waved her hands in the air as she explained in great detail how the city of Rome had been rebuilt numerous times over the past few thousand years. “And look here!” She’d say with that grand smile on her lips, attracting Henry’s attention like nothing else could, his eyes barely managing to tear away from her whenever she wished him to look at a grubble of old decaying rock.

It was the first holiday in years without a lover by his side and, though he was fine with being alone, he couldn’t help but wish for having someone there to share his trips with. And thus he had hired her again. Naomi. He had hired for a trip a year prior, which had been with his brothers, wives, nephews and nieces.

So very different was this trip to Italy, being just the two of them, her hands now halting mid-air as she struck a near comical pose, copying the stance of a statue of a grand fountain they were walking past. Henry chuckled loudly, cheeks dimpling and eyes twinkling.

She was cute.

‘Do you dance?’ He asked, near teasingly.

Oh gods..he couldn’t help but tease her endlessly. It was a perfect way to get the rather professionally dressed and well-learned blond woman before him to loosen up and strike a pose like she did just now. Winking at him, a chuckle on her lips, she nodded towards a bridge in the far distance. ‘Only one way to find out, cowboy!’ She teased back, walking ahead and making Henry chase her through the tourist horde.

He enjoyed the chase.

Looking back over her shoulder she offered him a kitten-like, though also quite taunting, little smirk. ‘..tonight, maybe?’ She smiled.

Henry’s heart flipped out of his chest, his ears almost unbelieving of the very subtle flirt that had just escaped her lips.

It had taken him a full year to get the blondine for him alone. And then some weeks before she would as much as offer him a wink or tease back. But this? THIS?! OOPH, this was more than he could have wished for. He may not be much of a dancer, but her offer? He just couldn’t refuse.

--

‘OH GODS.’ Naomi shot up from the bed, the crinkled Egyptian cotton sheets falling down her naked curves, her eyes staring in slight shock at a sleepily blinking Henry. ‘W-what?’ He yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he watched the blondine rush out of his bed, her hands quickly grabbing for her clothes.

Only after her underwear was back in place, did she turn back towards him, eyes big like those of a deer in the headlights. ‘I’m SO..SO sorry. Dammit..ugh..let’s ..forget this ever happened, okay?’ She said, looking at him with intent as she pulled on her jeans with kicking feet. Jeans that he had so deliciously rolled down her legs only a few hours prior.  

Realising what was happening a tad too late, Henry’s sleep muddled brain could only produce a confused ‘Okay..sure..’ As he watched her leave his hotel room.  

Had it all been but a dream?

As a dream is a wish your heart makes

‘UGH..and these don’t fit either!’ Victoria growled, her tone of voice so very unladylike, so very unlike what she presented to the world with her well coiffed hair, elegant white palazzo trousers and silky light blue blouse. It just proved that no matter how pretty a person was from the outside, it could never truly hide what was inside.

Near throwing the “pretty curly shoes” back at the poor vendor, she looked up at Naomi, her mouth curled down in a dissatisfied pout.

Naomi tried; ‘It’s eh..actually rather normal to wear slightly too small shoes here - in fact it’s the reason why you fold the back of the shoe flat beneath the soles of your feet.’

It was obvious that this wasn’t the desired answer.  

With one angry snarl of Victoria, Naomi’s words were quick to die on the tip of her tongue, her lips curling in an apologetic smile at the salesman, the man quickly shrugging before he turned to look for some different shoes that would appease the queen of drama.

‘Pff..it’s not like you know shit about fashion.’ Victoria muttered begrudgingly, looking away from Naomi in annoyance. It was then Naomi decided it was best to just flee the scene, her feet shuffling backwards until she bumped into one large chest.

Henry’s chest.

‘Woops..sorry.’ Naomi swallowed, quickly stepping aside and creating some socially appropriate distance between the two of them - quite a challenge as the little shop was packed from top to bottom with those “cute little curly shoes”, the racks squeezed so tight together that you could barely walk through the small isles, Henry and his wide chest having to actually side-shuffle to move through.

‘No..no problem.’ Henry muttered, quickly eyeing what Victoria was up to over Naomi’s shoulder. And thankfully, she had now occupied herself with her smartphone as she waited for the sales vendor to get back with a new batch of shoes. Naomi followed his gaze and quietly whispered; “Well, looks like prince charming found himself a Cinderella of sorts.’

‘Ha.-ha.’ He said unamused, then rolled his eyes at her, lips curling in a smile. Naomi chuckled.

Then Henry used the moment to study Naomi, her blond hair half-hidden behind a royal blue head wrap - it looked pretty on her. Subdued, but pretty, her face without make-up and her outfit a simple unwashed linen shirt and ankle length skirt. Like..

‘Cinderella? Hmm..I think there’s only one Cinderella here..and Victoria..is definitely not the one.” He smiled, making Naomi blush ever so becomingly as she quickly turned to meticulously study a stand with leather bags.

Pfft..what the hell was he talking about. She was hardly a princess, right?  

Looking back at him through the corner of her eyes she saw him still looking at her, an appreciative smile ghosting his lips.

Right?!

[ Carcassonne, France, a year ago ]

‘WOA..did you hear that?’ Naomi looked nervously over her shoulder, the single street lantern behind them casting long, ominous shadows over the cobble-stoned alleyway. Almost without noticing herself she stepped closer to Henry, the large bear of a man right in step as they walked back to the hotel after a rather late dinner in the medieval old town centre.

Narrow alleyways, uneven cobble-stoned roads, cute little squares. The old fortified city had made for a nice sightseeing trip as they drove with Henry and his team down for a week-long team excursion in the Pyrenees mountains. The rest of the group had taken a cab, but with there being no place left, Henry had been quick to just wave them off, offering to walk to the hotel together as Naomi knew the way and “he would keep her safe”.

Something she had thought quite ridiculous, wishing to call another cab, but Henry had been adamant.

What he didn’t know was that she was in fact just really quite afraid of the dark, and so, with every passing cat or gust of wind, she’d hold her breath, stepping closer to Henry in hope he would in fact protect her if the need arose.

And Henry? Oh, he loved every minute of it.

‘Don’t worry.’ Henry smiled, reaching out his hand and folding it around hers.

Amicably, but spark-inducing anyways. Naomi chewed on her lip as she felt the warmth of his palm ooze into her skin, the simple touch calming her nerves like nothing quite could.

‘I’ll gladly be your knight in shining armour!’ He beamed, winking at her, to which the last of her nerves finally faltered, making way for a tinkling little laugh. ‘Oh...OH!’ Naomi exclaimed, then flailed her free hand extremely dramatically before her face, acting all tender and maidenlike, ready to swoon right in his arms. ‘OH it’s so SO dark! And scary! And..’ They both break out laughing, Henry squeezing her hand and pulling her closer to his chest.

And she let him.

Henry couldn’t be happier, the little moment being just what he had hoped for. Not only having the time alone with Naomi, but also seeing her burst out of her neatly built up walls. Ever the professional, it was hard to get her to join in such banter like they had right now. And he liked every second of it, his feet trying to slow their pace just so it would last a little while longer.

It was unfortunately also the only moment that holiday during which she allowed him to come anywhere near that close to her, further tempering any hope he held to finally grasp her attention.

Did she not feel what he felt? Did she not ..enjoy..being around him, like he enjoyed being around her?

Hmmm...France. It seemed so long ago.

The reality of Henry’s life was quite different now as they once more walked through a dark alleyway. Though this time with Victoria next to him.

No hands being held, though conversation warm and surprisingly pleasant between him and Victoria - she seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps, just maybe, he was simply comparing her too much to others. To Naomi. Victoria was Victoria. He had to give her a chance.

After a little evening stroll they had arrived at a cute restaurant where they’d be having dinner, Naomi having walked ahead to explain in the best of her capabilities that they wished to get a table out of view - so fans wouldn’t disturb Henry during dinner.

Feeling eager to recapture that memory of France, which he had kept so close to his heart, he reached out a hand to Victoria, her face pulling into one of near agony as she quickly swatted it away.

‘It’s too freaking hot Hen.’ She said with exasperation - as if he was stupid for even thinking about touching her - her eyes moving back to Naomi as she and the waiter seemed to come to an agreement, a simple “come-hither” wave of Naomi’s hand gesturing them to join her.

Well. So much for hoping things were okay now. Was it..urgh..was it bad to wish that Victoria would take a cab home, so he and Naomi could..walk back to the hotel again?

--

It was a good question to ask why in the hell’s name he had stayed with her. Victoria. Every time he decided to give it another shot, appreciate the little moments that were good, he was disappointed even more.

Sitting now, alone, on the edge of the hotel bed, it was probably the reason why he didn’t feel any disappointment. Her clothes gone and the hotel room void of anything other than the furniture and the never-ending heat that lingered between these walls, Henry couldn’t help but feel a slight relief. Slowly he let his eyes wander across the room, for the first time truly appreciating what was there.

It was large and with oriental luxury in abundance, a prettily mosaic tiled bath sunken in the middle of the room, heavy dark blue drapes hung around it and candles at the ready might the need for something romantic arise.

Not that such a thing had happened with Victoria. Not in quite a few weeks..or actually months by this point.  

It was always either too hot, too humid, or she had a headache, was tired or just got her period. Excuses, excuses, Henry realised, as he saw her eyes glimpse a touch too often at other men. Rich men. Her laugh and banter directed at those men whenever she could - thinking he didn’t see.

And now she was gone. She had broken up with him, again, though from the definity of her actually leaving, this was probably truly foregood.

Henry could only guess where she was now. With the creepy old Italian, with whom she had been flirting for over a week now? Or perhaps that sjeik that had been a bit too obvious in his curiosity for her as they made a visit to his estate?

Henry felt bad. Bad for how all this had come to play out, as well as that he simply couldn’t bring himself to care for Victoria at this point. He had made sure there was a cab waiting for her, he had apologised for whatever tiny little misstep he might have taken, in hope to salvage the situation, though knowing full well that neither one of them truly wanted that. Not Victoria, but also not he.

He just didn’t like goodbyes. And Victoria had used his tenderness, abused his tenderness, to the extent that he wasn’t even sure if relationships were a good idea for him anyways. He had wasted most of his life on women that may have stolen his heart, but made him insane in the process. Either they wanted his fame, his money..pfft..even just the sex. But never truly, just..him.

*BZZT BZZZT*

Naomi: “Henry! Are you okay? I received the notification that Victoria has just checked out of the hotel. If you need some time, don’t feel pressured to answer. I just want to know you are safe and taken care of. If you need anything, I’m a call away. Naomi.”

Well, alright, at least there was at least someone looking out for him.

He sighed, a smile brushing across his lips as he reached out for his phone that lay forlorn next to him.

Naomi.

Where some hotels had nice, proper running air conditioning, this cooling system seemed to run on the coil of the earth, the walls near sweating with the humidity that hung in the air like a thick, heavy blanket. Naomi wiped her forehead as she continued to fold her clothes, neatly packing her suitcase so they could leave next thing in the morning - that was, if Henry would be ready to.

Just a few hours ago she had walked past the reception desk to inquire at what hour they could check out, only to hear that one of the guests had already done so. Victoria Koberlach. Left without a trace, without a message or goodbye.

And honestly, that wasn’t so much of a surprise. Victoria hadn’t really come across as a person who cared about the well-being of others. Especially if there wasn’t something there for her to gain. She was the most charming woman from a far, but once you got close you could see the fine lines between her brows from the many times the furrowed them, angry pouting and stomping her foot to get her way.

The princess had left the building.

Sighing quietly, she zipped open the inner pocket of her suitcase, wishing to slip in her toiletry bag when something seemed to obstruct it. Something small. With hesitant fingers she reached inside, only to find an old trinket there. And not just any trinket.

That darn fucking ring.

In the low light of the few lights that lit her room, the hour getting quite late, the golden band with the heart shaped cut diamond shone like one of the treasures from Ali Baba. Pretty, but deceiving. Not only was it absolutely not her style - too big and too loud -, it also carried with it the memories of her ex-husband.    

Just like Victoria, he had been a handsome, charming man from a distance. And Naomi had fallen hard for him. So hard that her sweet 22-year-old ass had barely noticed when his caring, authoritative figure was not galant and kind, but overbearing and manipulative.

Before she knew it she barely dared to open her mouth to express her thoughts and feelings, his head already shaking as he laughed it off. ‘Oh you women.’ Which he’d then follow up with a tap to her ass or a squeeze of her cheek. He would be the one to tell what they’d be eating at a restaurant. He’d be the one telling her she looked tired and perhaps should let down her hair so it looked better with that dress he bought her. He would tell her she just needed some sleep, when she was feeling emotional or insecure.

Not in the five years they had been together, had he once truly asked her how she truly felt. Never did he ask about what was going on in her mind. She thought this was what love was. Someone who took care of you to the point you didn’t have to think or feel anymore. You just had to ..get pregnant, be a mom, raise that family and be the good, sweet wife. Before she knew it that gaudy ring was on her finger and she made herself believe that this was happiness.

But it wasn’t. It was a prison. And as they were shopping for a bigger house and she stood there in those rooms that were ready for their off-spring, she decided that she just couldn’t do it. She went on a trip with a friend to clear her thoughts, only to find that not only did she no longer wish to be with that overbearing, manipulative husband of hers.

She wanted to truly be free.

And here she was. A private travel guide, following her life long dream or travelling for her job. Setting out her own path.

Love, had to be side-tracked. It only caused her pain.

Men, in fact. Needed to be side-tracked. Because not ever did she want to sink down in that hell hole again. Not ever again would she let herself make the same stupid mistakes.

*BZZ BZZ*

Henry is calling.

‘Hey’ She answered, quickly letting the ring slip back in its initial hiding spot.

‘Hi..eh..I saw your message.’

‘Hey..yea..do you need anything? Can I..?’

‘Eh..could you maybe come over? To my room?’

A soft shuffling of feet and zippers being zipped told Naomi that Henry was indeed in the room, her head peeking around the door that had been intentionally left unlocked and cracked open. What she saw was probably one of the prettiest sights she had yet to lay her eyes upon.

The room was mutely lit, small speckles of light dancing over the ceiling, large drapes hiding most of the room from sight, Henry on the right near a large bed, folding his clothes just like she had done moments earlier. Engrossed with his task, he hadn’t noticed her presence just yet. He looked..okay..she guessed. Not distressed, panicked, angry or sad. Just..normal.

Closing the door behind her, stepping further into the room, the soft click of the heavy lock finally made him look up, big blue eyes meeting hers.

So...now what? She wasn’t sure what to say or do.

What do you do after someone just left you? What do you want, need? What did..Henry..need? She wasn’t sure, his eyes surprisingly calm, his lips curling up in a warm smile. ‘Hi.’ He greeted, standing back up and turning towards her.

Was this just him acting like nothing was amiss, whilst his whole world was in fact crumbling? After all, he was an actor..

‘Are you..are you okay?’ Naomi asked carefully, quickly looking around her now she got a better impression of the room, her eyes almost inadvertently looking for any items Victoria may have left behind. Any sign of that she may return. But there was nothing of the sort.

She really was gone.

Henry smiled again and shook his head. ‘It’s..hmm..I think this had to happen for a very, very long time. It’s..good. Yes. Good.’

‘Okay then. So..’ Naomi quirked her head, trying to see if he was lying or hiding the truth, but not finding even a flicker of doubt in his gentle eyes. Clearing her throat she looked back into the room, her feet stepping just a meter ahead, taking in what was hiding behind those curious heavy blue drapes. A bath. Ha..of course. A bathtub in the middle of the room. Why not.

Her lips curled up in a half amused smile as she felt Henry’s presence come nearer, his eyes following her gaze.

‘Nice bath, for sure. Though the couches aren’t great. I’ve..unfortunately.. spent plenty of hours there.’ Henry grinned, pointing at a little sitting nook in the far back, making Naomi grimace at the thought that Victoria had probably made him sleep on the freaking couch.

‘She really was a treasure, wasn’t she?’ Naomi said, looking back at him and finding an amused smile on his lips, making her feel less concerned for him. He looked truly relieved. Their eyes met, bodies now far closer together, a mere meter or so left in between them. He swallowed and squared his shoulders, the already humid air feeling even more tense all of a sudden.

‘Are.. you okay, though?’ He asked, quite unexpectedly, his eyes not missing the slightly reddened eyes that Naomi sported.

‘Me? Yea...I eh..’ She frowned and suddenly felt the need to turn away from him, turn away before he’d come bursting right through the meticulously built walls around her heart. Gosh that darn ring. She should have gotten rid of it the moment she had gotten rid of her ex-husband. Sniffling her nose she quickly turned on her heel, deciding to act as if she was to inspect the bed now.

Henry frowned and followed Naomi with his gaze, seeing her shoulders stiffen as she moved towards the bed, her hand flicking over her cheek as if to wipe off some sweat - though obviously it wasn’t sweat that was leaking from her eye.

‘Is this the moment where you’re going to tell me that it’s common in Caïro for local rain showers to make their apparition indoors?’ He asked, trying to somewhat lighten the mood. Naomi laughed and turned back around, watching him with watery eyes.

Just like that her walls crumbled like they had never even existed.

‘W-w...noo. Henry. Oh come on.” She sniffled, quickly brushing away her tears. ‘It’s…’ She shrugged. ‘UGH..it’s just so fucking stupid. I was thinking about this ex of mine. And..pff..you know what, it doesn’t matter. Victoria just left and now your travel guide is in tears in your room? Ha..quite a show, aren’t we women?’

She turned back to face the bed and took a calming breath, eyes roaming over the soft Egyptian cotton sheets - she really should bring some of those sheets home -, before halting on the sight of Henry’s open suitcase. Without meaning to, her eyes fell down on a pack of condoms. Unused condoms. The box still wrapped in its original plastic wrap.  

Well. At least they both didn’t get laid this holiday.

‘From the looks of it we men don’t fair much better..’ Henry said carefully, watching Naomi’s shoulders slowly release their tension as she looked over his bed..over his suitcase..over..oh..dammit..the condoms! He forgot to hide those condoms.

Naomi didn’t really seemed to be fazed by it. ‘I’m sorry I left you like that..’ Naomi said gently, looking back at him, her eyes suddenly holding a certain fierceness. ‘That wasn’t..’ She took another deep breath. ‘That’s wasn’t right of me to do. You didn’t deserve that..’ She blinked, feeling the scorching heat of this arabian night suddenly catching up with her.

‘R..rome you mean?’ He stepped a little closer, eyes flicking for the slightest second to her lips, the air thickening with every excited beat of their fluttering hearts.

‘Yea.’

Did time just come to a halt?

‘Ugh this is silly. Do you want to talk about it?’ She asked, knowing full well that neither of them truly wanted to talk. The tension in the air was sparking so delightfully - just like it had that night - that it didn’t take an evil genius to decipher what was going on here. What was going on between them.

‘I mean if you want to.’ He tried.

‘Me? Ha..’ She breathed, blinking slowly as her body almost automatically pulled towards him, her tears long dried, the sweat beading on her heated body but an afterthought. Tonight it wasn’t too hot, too humid and nobody suffered from headaches, or periods or tiredness.

Tonight had been postponed for years now. And in this slight slip of time, where both their guards were down and nobody else was there to disturb, it felt almost natural to smile at one another, to step closer, to forget for just a moment that this was very..very..

Unprofessional.

Naomi stiffened again as Henry traced a careful finger over the back of her hand, wishing to grasp it but noticing the near immediate flinch that rushed through her body.

‘Oh this is very unprofessional of me. I’m so..so..sorr-’ - ‘Ninny.’ Henry stopped her rambling.

She blinked. ‘What did you just ..call me?’

‘Ninny.’ He smiled. A nickname. Her nickname. She blinked again, her body stepping back, needing to sit down for a moment, her legs hitting the edge of the bed as she slumped down on those ridiculously nice, soft sheets.

DARN this. What the hell was going on with her. Him?! THEM?!

‘Ninny..huh..you’re going to call me by my nickname now, hmm?’ - ‘May I not?’ He said carefully, a smile tugging at his lips. She looked up, her initial shock making place for a slightly amused grin.

‘Pff haha..oh gods Henry. Of course you may. You’re one of my best clie…-’ Her words died on her tongue once more as he moved to sit down besides her as well, his presence causing that electricity to spark in every cell of her body. And truly, Naomi was not a shy person at all. She haggled with corrupt police officers, she could tell aggressive street salesmen to piss off without a blink of the eye, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to back down from anyone who dared to speak up against her.

Not after she left her husband. She took care of herself now.

And yet...Here she was, flustered and giddy, her heart beating loudly in her chest and her whole body so aware of how close he was to her, how good he smelled.

‘Hi.’ She smiled. ‘Hi.’ Henry chuckled, turning his body slightly towards her, knees touching hers. ‘I can call you Naomi too, if you like that better.’ He said, averting his eyes from her curious gaze, his ocean blues looking back out into the room.

‘You called me Ninny on that night in Rome.’

‘I did.’

‘So I guess you’ve forgiven me for that bit of my unprofessional behavior?’ She looked back at Henry, having collected herself again. It was in the end so very comfortable talking to Henry, being with Henry. He didn’t seem to be bothered one bit by the memory of what had happened between them then.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by what was happening between them..now.

‘I think I was actually the one who made the first move there..’ Henry shrugged, teasingly looking back at her.

‘Ho..oh no you didn’t.’ She chuckled, rolling her eyes at him. ‘If I remember correctly you wished to order room service at like 2AM at night. And it took so long that I practically stole that phone from your hand...and THEN we..’

He kissed her.

The dance they had avoided for so long now was danced once more. Him, her, a flurry of arms and legs tangling into one another, the first move quickly followed by a cascade of new ones. Caressing finger tips, giddy laughter, tentative pecks on the lips, hands growing bolder, roaming, claiming, until every piece of clothing only seemed to have become an obstruction.

Shakily breathing Naomi started to tug on the white shirt Henry was wearing - for once not a blue shirt, huh? -, his lips curling in an enbolding smile, hands reaching down to help her strip him down to his bare chested glory.

‘Ha..’ She breathed, a hand immediately reaching down for his pecs, abs. He was bigger now. Bigger than the last time.

‘I can shave it if you want.’ He grinned, feeling her finger tips move through his patch of chest hair.

‘What?! No..no. absolutely no freaking way. It’s..’ She started to slowly nod her head. ‘..nice.’

He chuckled, eyes interlocking with hers as his fingertips in turn moved to her shirt, the cotton slightly sticking to her heated skin.

Not that he cared.

His eyes got more greedy, eating up every inch of skin as he pulled up the material, her breath choking in her tight chest as she reached up her arms so he could remove the obstructing piece of fabric altogether.

With tender fingers he traced the valley between her breasts, her dark blue bra thankfully semi-sexy - it wasn’t laundry day.

‘Want me to shave?’ She teased back, making him chuckle even louder.

‘No..no. Absolutely no…’ He leaned in closer, smiling against her lips. ‘..freaking..way.’ He claimed her mouth again, eager tongue begging for entrance as his hand became bolder, moving over the hills of her bosom, soft flesh hidden beneath a lacy harness.

‘Take it off.’ Naomi breathed, feeling equally annoyed with the thing, her throat sighing in great relief when Henry didn’t need to be told twice, his other hand eagerly reaching back and unclasping it with a flick of his fingers. Practised fingers.

‘I fucking missed Rome.’ Henry muttered, dipping his head down to sniff a long stripe up her swan-like neck.

‘Did you now?’

‘Why else did you think I hired you?’ He smirked, pulling back ever so slightly.

‘And bring the girlfriend just in case?’

FUCK..she should NOT have said that. Naomi gasped quietly, biting her lip as Henry raised an eyebrow.

‘Ouch.’ He chuckled.

‘Oh gods..I should not have said that.’ Naomi uttered.

‘Ninny. Please. You are more than allowed to make such a comment. I mean. Yes. I brought along a woman I already knew, full well, would not be in my life for much longer. Like all those women before her.’ He sighed, his smile becoming slightly more watery.

He had been hurt a lot of times.

‘I’m just terrible at choosing a woman who is right for me.’

Naomi sighed and shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. ‘And I AM the right woman for you, hmm?’ She chuckled.

‘Oh well..I guess I have to admit that I did in fact have a little crush on you. And…’ He raised his shoulders slightly.

‘What?’

‘The stretching session didn’t help. Much.’

‘Ah! You! Cheeky monkey!’

‘Hahaha..more like a cheeky bear, right?’ He winked, using the moment to push Naomi’s back flat on the bed, his body moving on top of hers, arms and legs caging her beneath him.

‘I did call you Bear, huh?’

‘Yea..’

‘Ninny and the Bear.’

‘Quite romantic..’ Henry smiled, his fangs shining in the low light as he looked down upon Naomi, her blond locks fanned prettily around her head. ‘..oh I could actually light some candles..talking romantic.’ He sat up slightly, but was immediately pulled back, head now dipping down as Naomi eagerly tugged on his curly locks.

‘Henry. Another time, okay? Please..just…’ She bit her lip.

‘What’s that?’ He teased.

‘You know what.’

‘Do I now?’

‘UGH.’ She rolled her eyes and tried to pull him down. Unsuccessfully so, because he was too strong, his pecs flexing ever so slightly as he tightened his arms to stay on all fours above her. ‘..just fuck me already. Leave the romance for later..please?’

Henry lifted a teasing eyebrow, but was not going to decline such an invitation, his lips quick to press back down on hers.

In mere seconds the hot arabian night brought with it a new memory that was written in the soft embrace of egyptian cotton. Bodies colliding, dancing, writhing, those condoms finally unpacked, as was their emotional baggage after evading feelings and needs at either end of their finger tips for so long.

‘Henry, stop stalling.’ Naomi growled, feeling his eyes on her as she lay face first, ass up on the bed.

‘Are you in a hurry, milady?’ He purred, slowly crawling on top of her, his weight pressing her down further in the mattress, in the silky soft sheets. ‘Mmpfff..no..it’s just..a few years of waiting..you know.’

‘Ah..’ He breathed with a chuckle, playfully nibbling on the shell of her ear. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting then.’

And with that said, he finally, finally claimed what was his, their mingled moans echoing off the sweating walls, the lights dancing along with their body song as he pressed on, in.

‘Oh bear.’ Naomi growned, her aching walls finally soothed.

It may have been years of waiting, but every second had been worth the way he stretched her out, the way he fit perfectly to her body, their hands entangling and hips writhing. Rolling sharply the crescendo of his hip thrusts reminded her just why she had called him bear.

Because where her ex-husband would have been a lazy, selfish prick. Henry? Henry was a big, burly carebear, perfectly balancing between a tender lover and ruthless beast, strong beyond compare. And as he crashed into her hips, filling her ache, burning her skin with that itchy patch of hair - which he definitely shouldn’t shave -, she was happy.

--

‘What are you smiling at, huh?’ Henry stopped his hip thrusts for a moment, looking down in Naomi’s broadly smiling face, the soft London morning light trickling in, caressing the feather light cotton sheets beneath her blond locks.

‘Mmm..nothing. Just thinking about how much I love these sheets.’ She teased, making him quirk an eyebrow, hip jerking in her to punish her for her little tease, her lips “o”-ing with a little gasp. ‘The sheets? Really?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She snickered, feeling him dip down and bite down on the tender skin of her neck, tickling her with his slightly out-grown week old beard. She chuckled, arms and legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer to her so she could whisper in his ear.

‘Six-hundred thread count, extra long fibres, and the more you use them..the ..HAHAHAH..no..the better..HENRY STOP..HAHAHAH. The better they feel.’

‘Mrrrwpfff.’ Henry growled biting down on her laughing lips, his teeth catching her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, their mouths entangling in a sensual slow dance, their hips quite naturally following in a slow, erotic rut.

‘Very good sheets.’ Naomi whispered, causing Henry to gasp in unbelief, his chest thundering with an even louder growl, his lips attacking her every reachable patch of skin, marking her, his cock making sure she’d feel him even long after this little morning session was over.

Naomi gasped and swooned beneath her bear’s administrations, her lips parted and her brow slightly sweaty. Just like that night. And many nights after that night. And mornings? Mornings too. And afternoons? Oh, you get the jest..

She smiled, fingers tangling through Henry’s curls as his lips hesitated, hovering above hers, his deep blue eyes searching hers.

‘Then again..’ She sighed, smiling. ‘..the sheets just can’t compare..to you.’ Her little confession made him smile, honestly, his life now calm and easy-going, their love a tale that was told with luxurious kisses, wrapped in the silkiest of Egyptian, 600-thread count cotton sheets.

--

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #oneshot #smut #breakup #makeup #evil girlfriend #travel #slow burn #romance

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Extraordinary

from An Adventurer’s Guide to Romance Part 2 of the series collaboration between myself & @guardians-of-exo​! Please go check out her blog! Her moodboards are *chef’s kiss* magnificent and she listens to me scream about plants while she fixes all of my horrific punctuation! She is wonderful. <3 Pairing: Yixing x reader Rating: M (for mentions of sexual activity and semi-graphic gore). Words: ~10k

The sun is just bright enough to be an annoyance to your eyes. Bringing your hand to shield your eyes in a mock salute, a smile graces your lips anyway at the thought of your herbs appreciation for the burning star. During your route, you wonder if your Coneflower and Thyme are ready for pruning. Chewing your lip, you worry they aren’t but hope they are. As more soldiers return injured from outside the city limits, your stocks of herbs have begun to run low. Dealing with the current threats to the Kingdom, you’re concerned that the growth of your medicinal herbs won’t be enough to heal everyone. Just one week ago you’d expressed such concerns to the Lady of the Palace, who promised to bring them before the King. For days you stressed, fluttering about the ward and checking your inventories twice, thrice, just to keep busy when you were not tending to the wounded. If your calculations were correct, you would run out within the month. Especially with the pesky Knight Captain and his recklessness. You vividly remember the moment the Lady of the Palace returned to you with a smile gracing her lips. Elegant and regal as she may be, her professional exterior faltered just enough to let you see the pleasant side of her happiness when she came to tell you the King had found a hopeful prospect of resolution for your concerns. Seeing the value of his people’s safety, he sent a guarded caravan to collect an Apothecary living outside of the city's walls to the North. One with a quirky but excellent reputation. That was three days ago, explaining that they’d just arrived and in two days’ time it would be the first day of a new contract between the palace and this new Apothecary. You giggle to yourself at the events that followed. The Knight Captain barging into the ward carrying his Lieutenant as they bickered like siblings. You learned she was part of the caravan and somehow managed to fall from her horse and break her leg.

She was frustrated by the situation and was every bit as loud as her temper, complaining about being bedridden for a couple of days. She went on a rant about who was going to babysit the Knight Captain while she wasn’t there, Chanyeol huffing with an offended look on his face.

Loud peals of laughter startle you from your memories as a pack of children chase one another across the street ahead of you. A shaggy black mutt runs between them with a tongue too big for its muzzle flopping out of one side.  You see Frost Flower Inn on the opposite side of the street, laughing at the irony of its name while it’s lit up in the warmth of the sun. The owner moves across the porch, sweeping before the crowd picks up later. Sensing your eyes on him, he turns his feline gaze to you with a kind smile.

“Good morning Y/N!” he calls across the expanse of stone, waving a hand at you excitedly. Removing a hand from your skirts, you wave back as you pass, “Good morning, Minseok!” From the directions you were given by the palace Cartographer, the new shop should be just around the corner from the bakery. You sigh contentedly as you draw closer. The smell of freshly baked goods gets heavier the closer you come to its source. Several women are loitering around the outside, their eyes trained to the open walls of the building for something. Just as you’re rounding the corner you hear an angelic male voice greeting them, and they swoon. Immediately, you trip over something large, “Oh!” Careful not to land on it, you straighten and look back to see a man lying asleep on the path. A pair of round wire-framed eyeglasses lays cracked on the dirt beside him. Surging forward, you watch his chest rise and fall before touching his cheek gently a few times, “Sir?” He's out cold. He doesn’t respond to your touch or your voice, but you’re satisfied he’s alive. Looking around, you notice he came from the open door of a shop not ten feet away. You need to get him up. While you’ve had your share of moving dead weight into the medical ward at the palace, you’re not sure you can do it alone. Weighing your options, girlish laughter comes from the corner once more. None of those women would be of assistance, but perhaps the man from the bakery would help you move him without much fuss. You rise, looking around the quiet alley before you move back out onto the main stretch of road. It takes a moment of polite pushing to reach the door of the bakery, but you manage. Entering, you spot two men standing behind the counter, one older and one younger. You’re aware the establishment is owned by a father and son, and you can see the resemblance. “Ah, excuse me?” you call to them. There isn’t anyone else standing at the counter other than you. The older of the two notices you first. “How can I help you, miss?” he asks. His smile crinkles his eyes.  Twisting your body backwards toward the door, you’re not sure how to begin without causing a commotion, “Ah... you see, I actually need some help? Something... heavy, fell over and I can’t move it by myself. Would you mind assisting me? It will only take a moment.” Considering your request, he turns, “Son, can you help this young lady?” The younger man looks up from the dough he is kneading on the counter with a curious expression. He pats his hands on his apron aggressively and rinses them before coming around the front of the counter. “Can you help me lift something for a moment?” you inquire. His smile also crinkles his eyes, like his father’s. “I can,” he confirms, gesturing for you to lead the way. The moment you’re outside, you realize the commotion the women are causing is for him. None of them make a sound as they watch him follow you around the corner. Shuddering, you feel their heated gazes like daggers in your back. “Ah...” you begin, scratching at your head and pointing at the man still sleeping in the street. The young Baker gawks, “What happened to him?” Heaving a sigh from your lungs, you pluck the glasses from the ground and pocket them before you crouch and hold each ankle in one hand, “I don’t know, I nearly tripped over him. I think he came from this shop,” you explain, tilting your chin toward the open door.  With a strong, furrowed brow, your assistant moves to the man's head, gathering his shoulders into his arms. Lifting him together, you move him through the door. Taking in the chaos of boxes and crates scattered around the main room, you notice an abundance of shattered glass vials and a mess of brown colored powder on the floor and decide to investigate later. A staircase is behind the counter. “There’s got to be a bed upstairs,” you suggest. “Here,” replies the Baker. “Let me carry him then.” Together, you maneuver the sleeping man onto his back. As you move up the staircase, it creaks beneath the combined weight of the men, and you’re grateful for the help.  Surely as you thought, a single bed rests below a window on the second floor. With your aid, the man is eased down onto it and laid on his side. The young Baker rolls his shoulder, releasing a huff, “Well then. What are you going to do with him?” Twisting your lips, you consider your options and decide to stay until this man recovers, “I’m the Head Physician at the palace. I can sit with him until he wakes up. I'm here to meet him anyway.” Running a hand through his hair to push it off of his forehead, the man nods, “Ah, I see then. You must know the Lady of the palace.” “Oh? Yes, I do,” you begin, pausing to question. “Do you?” His bottom lip juts out and his eyes flick around the room. “I met her last week,” he says. “She came to check out this shop. Something about an Apothecary to help the sick and wounded. She got a little lost and asked for help.”  “I see,” you nod in understanding. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name,” you realize.  He smiles politely, “It’s Junmyeon.” Nodding, you return the sentiment, “Thank you, Junmyeon. I'm Y/N. I appreciate your help.” He hums in reply, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ve got to get back to work then. It was nice meeting you,” he states cordially as he leaves. Just before he disappears on the staircase, he adds, “Tell him to be more careful when he wakes up, please.”  It makes you laugh as he leaves. For a few quiet moments, you watch the sleeping man. Or rather, sedated, is your best guess. You're nearly positive the powder on the floor downstairs is Valerian Root. Nobody sleeps that heavily under natural circumstances. You watch him rest quietly, taking note of his features. His ears are pointed just slightly, and his cheekbones are high, with a straight nose, curved slightly at the button. Even with relaxed features during sleep, he’s handsome. The line of his lips makes a shape you find cute.  Having ogled him enough, you look around the room. A bookshelf full of journals and a desk are set up against the opposite wall of the bed, and a chest of clothing sits open at the far end of the room. Several pieces are spilling over the edge of it, and various types of accessories are gathered on a low table beside it.  A large woolen rug swathes the floor beside the bed, and a washbasin kisses the edge of it where it stands along the wall. There’s also an impressive oval mirror leaning against the corner of the room next to it. You can see your reflection clearly in its flawless surface. The sound of stirring among sheets pulls your attention back to the bed, where the man is moving. Awkwardly, you stand in the center of the room hugging your arms to yourself.  He blinks a few times and takes a large breath, yawning. The man sits up and puts one palm to his head, groaning. “Take it easy,” you comment quietly. His attention snaps to you, finally noticing he isn’t alone. Curiously, he looks at you, “Hello, can I help you?” You laugh. It’s not that you meant to, but his kindness immediately pulls the endearing sound from your chest, “Are you alright?” “I’m sorry,” he begins, coughing slightly. “Who are you and what happened?” You sit beside him at the foot of the bed, “I’m Y/N. I tripped over you lying in the middle of the street and brought you back here with some help.” He nods, knitting his brow as he remembers, “Ah, yes. I think I knocked over a crate of Valerian powder. Tried to get outside but I guess I breathed in too much.” That would explain the vials of broken glass and the powder on the floor downstairs. A swell of pride wells in your chest at your correct deduction. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble and thank you for helping me,” he begins quietly, still rubbing his head. “I just moved in and it’s been a little difficult.” He pauses when he squints at you, “Have you seen a pair of glasses, by the way?” “Oh,” you jolt, snapping your fingers together. Reaching into your pocket, you procure the pair of frames with the damaged lens that were lying outside. “They’re a little broken,” you state in a sad voice.  He smiles as he takes them from your hands, holding them up to inspect the crack, “I can fix these.” Your mouth drops open in shock, “Really, how?” The man grins at you with mischievous eyes, “It’s a secret I’m afraid.” He rises and moves to the stairs, turning to look at you expectantly before descending. You stand a little too quickly, nearly tripping on your own skirts to follow him. Down in the shop, you hear him click his teeth, finding him crouched over the pile of wasted dust. “It’s no good anymore,” you muse aloud sadly, remembering why you’re here in the first place. The man stands up again and smiles at you. A dimple forms in one of his cheeks. “Perhaps not all is lost,” he reports wistfully. “Why are you so sad?” “Oh...” you suddenly remember you’ve yet to introduce yourself to him, “I’m Y/N, the Head Physician. That Valerian powder was something I was hoping I could purchase from you, among other things.” The man perks up, his eyes bright with understanding. “Oh! Has it been two days already?” he chuckles to himself, looking around the room sheepishly. “I got so busy trying to set up the shop I hadn’t realized it was time for you to come already.” “It’s okay, I understand,” you reply. He turns toward you fully, extending a hand. “I’m Yixing. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I look forward to working with you,” he smiles kindly. His dimple appears again when you take his hand and return the gesture with a warm smile of your own. “What else were you hoping I have? It's yours if I’ve got it. I can have more Valerian powder for you by this time tomorrow if that’s okay?” he asks, moving to the counter and reaching for his ledger. “I’m not open for business with anyone else yet, but the Royal contract starts today of course. I won’t charge you for anything you take with you today,” he turns around and pauses to meet your gaze. “As thanks for your help.” You realize your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling for so long, “It’s really no trouble. I’m glad you’re alright.” Yixing, as you’ve learned, grins back at you with a wink, “Never slept better.” Both of you laugh at his jesting. You think the sound of his laughter suits him. Taking a peek around the room, you spot something you’re looking for. Yixing’s eyes chase your form deeper into the room where you reach up to pluck three sprigs of dried Thyme from the ceiling, “These will do.” His smile falters momentarily, “That’s all?” “Well,” you hum, looking around the room while tapping the dried herbs against your fingertips. “This?” you question, moving to a crate of Yarrow root. Yixing moves to your side with a small burlap sack, “Take however many you like.” You count two, letting them sink into the bag he holds out for you one at a time. Up close, now that’s he’s awake and standing in front of you, his attractiveness comes to life with the mid-morning sunlight casting oddly shaped shadows against his skin.  When you look up at his face, he’s wearing the same smile and waiting patiently. You step away to pluck a string of garlic bulbs from the opposite end of the wall. Yixing follows, grinning as you drop them carefully into the bag, “Always a good choice.” “Can never have too many,” you agree with a smirk that matches his own. Both of you pause, smiling like idiots. You admit to yourself Yixing certainly seems interesting. You find yourself curious for what this new partnership has in store. “I think that will do for today,” you announce. Nodding, he shuts the drawstring tightly, offering it to you. “Thank you,” you express, taking the bag and turning to leave. When you turn around to look back at him, he’s leaning on a stack of books nonchalantly. Slowly, it begins to slide with his weight. “This time tomorrow?” you ask just as the books give way and fall from under his palm. He catches himself, standing up straight and looking at you with wide eyes, ignoring the mess of books on the floor, “Yes.” You laugh, shaking your head and waving to him, “I look forward to working with you, Yixing.” Passing by the front window as you leave, you catch sight of him inside the store. He’s talking to himself, repetitively pushing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Then, he disappears to the floor, probably to pick up the pile of books. With a smile, you make your way back to the palace. __________________________________________ The following morning, just as promised, Yixing has a basket with vials of Valerian powder wrapped neatly and ready for you.

There’s a gentle smile on his face when he passes them to you, and it grows wider with joy when he hears your soft gasp of delight. “Oh these are perfectly well balanced! Thank you so much,” you praise him, meeting his eyes as you pull one out and hold it closely to your chest. He laughs softly, maintaining the same happy expression. “You’re very welcome. I’m happy to help,” he says. Your eyes follow the movement of his delicate fingers as they push his glasses up the length of his nose. There’s a dusting of rose color to his cheeks. Before the moment lulls for too long, you wonder aloud, “Where did you learn such perfect skill?” Yixing blinks at you once, twice, opening his mouth and furrowing his brow before he sighs, “Ah, I just have a lot of practice.” “Was it a family practice?” you ask. His smile falters for a moment. He looks at the floor and sadly meets your eyes, “Uh, no. My family is long gone.” Frowning, you touch at your own chest, “Oh… I’m sorry for asking. I di-“ “It’s okay,” he waves a hand at you with wide eyes. Then he moves to sit on the high stool behind the counter, “They died when I was three or four. Occupational hazards.” “I see,” you nod sadly. Yixing clears his throat then, standing. “I um,” he begins, folding his arms across his chest and looking seriously at you. “I wonder if I might be able to come and watch you work? Or see your ward?” You were not expecting him to ask these kinds of things, but you pause, “Why would you want to do that?” He unfolds his arms and stuffs his hands in his pockets, “It will help me conclude what I need to focus on to help you to the best of my ability.” You’re touched by his willingness, “Yixing, you don’t need to do that.” “I want to,” he immediately responds. He refuses to let you deflect his wishes. “Would it make you uncomfortable?” You flush, though you’re not sure why. It’s a simple request to watch you work for the sake of providing the best resources for medicine. Medicine and healing are not something most people would think of as intimate, but most people aren’t in the field. There’s something about it. Something calm and quiet and yes, you would say intimate, about carefully practicing medicine and healing to ease the suffering. The compassion and bonds you make with your patients. Regardless of your feelings, you know it would be good to do this, “No, it’s okay. You can come.” His single dimple forms in his cheek with his smile. “Tomorrow?” he asks. “Alright,” you nod. ________________________________________________________________________ Tomorrow comes, but your stomach is too nervous to have any food before you begin your rounds. Three more soldiers were admitted to the ward overnight, having sustained Drauger-related injuries. You’ve finished redressing wounds on two of them when a knock on the ward’s door interrupts you from the third. “Master Physician, the Apothecary has arrived,” says the guard, turning to leave the moment Yixing walks through the door. He waves briefly to you before holding up a book of parchment and pointing to a seat at the desk beside the door. You smile and nod at him before turning back to your task. You pick up a mortar and pestle from the cart beside the patient’s bed, crushing and grinding a clove of fresh garlic. With a match, you then hold the flame out to kiss a pair of forceps for a few seconds before whipping it with your wrist to extinguish it. You pinch some garlic with the instrument and give the soldier a stern look before you drop it into the wound on his abdomen.  He hisses and you can feel Yixing’s eyes shift from his notes to your frame. “Hush now and let me wrap you up. This will help,” you mutter to him. “Next time don’t go picking fights with undead, lest you end up like they do.” “Yes ma’am,” the soldier grunts. He watches you pluck a bandage from a bowl, steeped in thyme paste before he holds his breath. You lay it over the wound as gently as your hands will allow, patting the man on the shoulder when you’re done. You can still feel Yixing watching you as you pull out a roll of thick, soft gauze from a drawer lower on the same cart. Even though you can’t see him, you know his gaze lingers on you as you touch the half-naked man in front of you. You ignore the flush it brings to your cheeks as you nearly press your cheek to his pectoral, struggling to reach behind him as you wind the gauze carefully around his torso. Finished, you turn back to your mysterious business partner. Before either of you can say a word, another Physician moves into the ward with a woman retching into a bucket. The rest of the day carries on this way, until you’re exhausted, but you continue to work diligently to relieve the pain of the suffering. It’s well passed supper and the moon is rising to the peak of the sky before you are finally finished. Yixing, patient as ever and thirsty for fulfillment, has not left you. He did give you some space to deliver a baby for a woman earlier in the afternoon, but even the food he returned with for you remained there beside him at the desk. In the quiet stillness of the late evening, you approach his side, noticing the way the orange candlelight casts warm shadows across the bridge of his nose and gives a soft glow to his dark eyes. You pull a chair up beside him and collapse into it rather unceremoniously. There’s little grace left to be had when you can’t feel your feet beneath you anymore. “Long day?” he guesses with a dimpled grin. His eyes watch you expectantly as you nod, yawning into the back of your hand, “Something like that.” “You should get some rest,” he says. “A wild guess but I think you need to eat, bathe and sleep.” You roll your head back across your shoulders, smiling at him from the odd angle of your head, “He’s cute and smart? Who would have guessed.” He laughs happily at your flirtatious sarcasm but says nothing else, “I should probably let you get some rest.” “Wait,” you whisper when he stands to leave. “At least let me see what you’ve come up with before you go.” His smile crinkles his eyes this time, conceding to your wishes. Yixing turns to move the cold plate of forgotten supper into your lap with a raised brow, effectively fixing you with a daring look as he smooths his notes across the desk. You eat as he begins speaking, pointing out things he noticed about your preferences to different herbs and treatments and laughs as he explains an expression of disgust you always make when dealing with Ginger root. “I don’t like the smell,” you laugh and take a bite of bread. He continues, but you stop him when his fingers crosses a particular herb, “Ah, not Goldenseal, please. I don’t use it for a reason. The effective doses are so close to the line of poison and I have other remedies for what it treats. It’s also endangered.” Yixing nods, carefully pulling the quill from the ink bottle and crossing out the word on his list. “I would also suggest cutting back on the mount of Winter Savory you’re using. You can mix it with other herbs to help it last and it will have the same benefits,” he says before adding, “But it’s just my opinion. I can get you more Summer Savory if you need it.” You shake your head at him, “No, you’re right. I should cut it back. I just don’t have enough time to do the cutting so I mix it all at once just so I have any salves at all.” He smiles at you, picking up his papers and taking the empty plate from your hands to set it back on the desk, “Well that’s part of why I’m here now, so let me worry about that. You just focus on treating these poor people.” “What about the Fennel? Why do we need that?” you ask curiously, tilting your chin toward the page. He turns to you fully and regards you with a blank expression momentarily, “Well they’re delicious, that’s why.” You bark out a loud laugh and give him a soft smile, “Thanks, Yixing.” He nods and leans forward to pat your shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Turning to watch him go, you notice your feel more awake since he put his hand on you. Willfully, you try to pretend your heart also doesn’t race. ____________________________________________ Yixing comes the next morning and settles into this routine for eight more days as well. Every day you feel nervous about him watching your movements and curiously scribbling notes about your work. Always, after a few hours you forget he is there and act more naturally. He seems to have made some friends among other palace staff members. You had even seen him delivering a letter to your friend the Lady of the Palace once three days ago. Her smile upon seeing the folded parchment made you suspicious, but you’re much too busy to do anything about it other than be happy for her. By the time the sun is at its peak in the afternoon, you’re reminded by his gentle fingers touching lightly at your elbow to ask you if you could pause to eat. He always reminds you your health is important, too. What are these poor people to do if their greatest source of healing is out of commission. In the afternoons he works from the room adjacent to the ward, working hard to mix salves and cures and prep jars of steeping bandages. He also tends to your garden of herbs, watering and pruning at the right time. Twice you’ve caught him talking to the plants and giving them extra attention although at first you were not sure if he was talking to them or himself. You grow weary as the days drag on and neither of you wants to admit that there has been an increase in patients admitted for wounds caused by the Draugers. Neither of you acknowledges that the injuries are graver as the days go on. Somehow, he has met Kyungsoo, the Head Chef, and the pair have become fast friends. Kyungsoo spoils him with food every day as thanks for his help. You’re thankful to Kyungsoo in return. Since Yixing began helping out and making most of your salves and remedies for you, he has also made deals to ensure you have a hot meal at the end of your shift. Today, in spite of the fear beginning to seep into your tired bones, Yixing surprises you. He walks in and greets you as usual, but held in the crook of his arm are not only his notebooks, but a large selection of flowers are wrapped in a lovely color of paper and tied with twine. His eyes flick to yours briefly across the room while you place stitches in the thigh of a wounded soldier, and your eyes widen when you see what he’s carrying. Yixing avoids your gaze until you finish your procedure and are stepping closely into his personal space. You lean over him deliberately to look at the arrangement, “Did you bring me flowers?” He balks, clearing his throat, “They’re for medicine.” He pretends to look over his notes, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Feverfew?” you ponder aloud. “Migraines and headaches,” he clarifies offhandedly. You smile, “Passion flower?” You let your fingers pass delicately over the colorful petals as you wait for his reply. He grins but still refuses to meet your gaze, “Depression and blood pressure.” “Hm…” you muse. “What about the Paganum Harmala?” “The seeds are good for your skin, among other things,” he says with a shrug. “Camomi-“ you try but he cuts you off. “Same thing but better,” he states. With each flower your smile grows. “What about Sunflowers,” you ask. He scoffs, laughing and finally looking up, “You already know most of these. Why are you asking?” You shrug in return, “I don’t know all of their uses, and I just like to hear you talk about them.” He nods, lips tightening as a grin splits across his face. “What about the lavender?” you pry after a moment passes, even though this one you already know. He smiles wider at you, “Calming.” “The Sunflowers are beautiful,” you comment, running the pad of your index finger through the center of one. Yixing agrees. “They’re good for supporting digestion and your immune system. Promoting healthy skin, too,” he says matter-of-factly. “And the eucalyptus?” “Stress,” he whispers. You’re not entirely sure how all of these are going to help patients, and you panic briefly if there isn’t anything else left in his shop. Yixing, attuned to you after so many days of observing, immediately catches your rising concern, “These are for you, not the patients.” He pushes his glasses higher up his face again. He doesn’t say anything else for a few moments, letting you think back through each one and what he means until you realize how caring he is. Each and every one of these flowers is beautiful, and he picked them all based on their benefits specifically with you in mind. Regardless of your professions and the relation they have to your partnership… the gesture feels very romantic to you. Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks when your head snaps to his and you stare at the dimple in his cheek while he smiles at you kindly. “Yixing…” you try, needing to swallow through the dryness of your throat. “You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you quietly. A pained moan pulls your eyes away from him again, and you smile gently at him before you turn back to your patients. _____________________________________________ All night you tossed and turned, your head full of Yixing and what his gesture meant to you today. For days now he has done nothing more than quietly observe you. No, that’s not all he has done. He has quietly observed you and acted on his findings. Making sure you’re eating and advocating for your well-being on behalf with other palace staff members. He has worked tirelessly to make proper treatments and remedies and even improved upon some of your recipes. He has admired you. You’re very grateful to him. From your bed, your eyes settle upon the sprigs of eucalyptus you hung from the side of your bath earlier, letting the steam of the water pull essential oils from the plant to help you relax. Slowly, you let your eyes wander away from the basin to the bundle you pulled the plant from. It rests, still wrapped in twine, on the plush cushion of an armchair near the door. Furrowing your brow, you realize you don’t know how to crush some of those flowers into effective benefits for yourself. Closing your eyes and turning over, for another hour or so you contemplate taking them to Yixing in the morning and asking him to teach you how. Surely he knows if he gave them to you from his own supply, and you happen to have a day off tomorrow. ____________________________________________________ The sound of someone shouting stirs you from sleep in a panic. Lifting your head from the pillow, you realize it’s nearly midday. “I told you to put it over there, not here!” another voice hollers back. With a sigh, you will your heart to calm its racing upon your realization that it isn’t anything to panic about; just staff going about their normal duties. You roll out of bed and hiss as the cold stone bites at your toes, padding across it with large strides to stand on the woolen rug in front of your armoire. Tying the knot of your corset, your eyes finally land on the wrapped flowers still sitting right where you left them. Your lips stretch into a giddy smile, and you quickly finish dressing and brushing back your hair. There’s an extra bounce of excitement and butterflies in your stomach as you take them into your arms and bring them to your nose. You laugh and pull open your door, intent on making your way to his shop, officially named The Honeyed Ram. The moment you step onto the main stretch of road in town, warm summer rain begins to pour down. It catches you off guard since the sun is still shining brightly, and you are helpless to escape it. Instead, you laugh as you ball your skirts in one fist and run down the street with your flowers. By the time you make it to the Apothecary’s door, you’re nearly soaked. Protected under the awning of the shop, you take a moment to collect yourself and adjust your wet hair as best you can before you push open the door. Hearing the bell, the handsome owner emerges from the room behind the counter with a his ledger balanced on one splayed palm and a quill in the other, “Welcome to The Honeyed Ram. How may I-“ He stops in his tracks when he meets your eyes over the top of his glasses where they’ve slid down his nose. He moves them from your face to take in your wet appearance, smiling as he sets his things on the counter, “Oh, let me get you a towel.” You don’t move or say anything, standing there dripping rainwater onto his floor while he hastily climbs the stairs two at a time. A moment later he returns with a large towel, immediately stepping toward you and taking it upon himself to cage your head in it with both hands. You can hear him laugh as he squeezes your hair in his hands, gently rubbing the sides of your face and neck with it to dry you off. With the barrier of the towel, you can feel his fingers run along the exposed bit of your chest to wipe away the water and your eyes snap to his the moment the towel is moved. His smile is gentle and kind and for a moment you wonder if he also finds you as attractive as you find him. You wonder if his fingertips brushing your collar bone and over the tops of your bosom make his heart race like it does yours. “Thank you,” you murmur to him when he is finished and satisfied, stepping back to look at you again. Yixing gently laughs, “You’re welcome. But why are you here… is everything alright?” His eyes move to the arrangement in your hands nervously, curious why you’ve brought them back to him. Nodding, you tuck them close to your chest again. “I um…” you try, but your pride makes it difficult. Yixing tilts his head, waiting politely for your answer. You sigh, “Can you teach me how to use some of them?” His eyes widen momentarily, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask him that. “If you want to, I mean. I don’t want to waste such a kind gift,” you blurt out, unsure of how it might make him feel or if you’re just reading into it too much. The man in front of you says nothing for a long moment, eyes narrowing as he considers you, standing there looking like a lamb. “I’d be honored to,” he finally admits quietly. The sun is suddenly overtaken outside as clouds move in and pour more rain over the kingdom. It pounds heavily on the roof as Yixing turns away with a smile, hooking a finger and beckoning you to follow. His work room is small but cozy. Perhaps a little tight for two people to work together all the time, but for today you will make do. There are no windows in this room, but several sconces are placed around the walls with candles lit to provide a warm glow. A gathering of them rests on the table as well, dripping wax onto the wood. There’s a small alchemy table in one corner of the room, already warmed where a bright blue elixir rests in the center well, flanked by coneflower petals and an amethyst crystal in the opposite circles. A blue butterfly’s wing rests off to the side, ready to be added. “Come over here, please,” he requests, motioning for you to stand at the work bench on the other side of the room. He pulls some tools from their resting places hung on the wall above it and passes you a pair of small scissors. The next hour progresses this way, as he teaches you how best to prune the flowers and dry them out effectively without burning them. Yixing shows you how to grind the lavender, but your technique isn’t grinding the buds fine enough. He steps behind you, gently taking your hands in his own and showing you a better technique, curling your wrist as you press the blunt head of the pestle down, and shaking the mortar around after each press. You’re not paying attention though, too distracted by the feel of his body so close to yours, and his hands guiding yours through your work. You realize that he smells like nature, calm and fresh. “That’s it…” he praises quietly. His head is just over your shoulder, leaning into your frame so he can see. The sound of his voice in your ear so pleasantly makes your heart thunder in yours ears and your cheeks feel as if they might burst into flame. Yixing moves to lean beside you briefly. His hand settles on your waist naturally, thinking nothing of it as he reaches over to fetch a glass jar full of a white substance. He sets it in front of you and moves his palm back to your hand again. “Now let’s combine these,” he whispers, plucking the cork from the glass jar. The sound of the pop makes you jump, whipping your head back against his mouth. Yixing makes a sound of pain and leans back, holding the cork as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. You turn around in the space between the table and his body, watching in horror as his hand comes away with a smear of blood. “Oh damn the Maker, I’m so sorry!” you curse, leaning up to take his face with both hands. He stills as you examine his mouth. The center of his bottom lip is split open, and without thinking you hook the end of your sleeve around your thumb and dab it gently against the plump skin. Yixing’s eyes search your face while you tend to his wound. “Where do you keep your thyme balm?” you ask him, eyes lifting to meet his, realizing what you’re doing with your fingers pressed delicately to his lips. Embarrassment creeps up your neck and you release him, attempting to duck out of the space. Yixing grabs your wrist gently in his free hand before you can run from him, holding it to keep you there between himself and the table. Your eyes snap to his tongue as it slowly peeks out from his mouth to swipe over the wound. You stare, transfixed as the wound disappears in the span of a minute. “Magic?” you whisper, immediately intrigued again by the quirky talents of this handsome man. “Just a little,” he confirms. Setting aside your budding feelings for him, you rise on your toes and grasp his face between your hands again, swiping your thumbs and fingers across his lips and inspecting them closely. The lips you’re surveying stretch into a smile and you catch yourself, feeling foolish as you release him. Yixing chases you, leaning fully into your frame against the table and forcing you to lean back as he moves closer and studies your face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to him, suddenly feeling foolish. “For what? You’re very cute when you’re interested in something,” he admits in the small space between you, and you can faintly smell the mint he chews every day. The care that he expressed the words with is not lost on you. Yixing is patient as he moves languidly, letting one hand rest on the table behind you while the other settles against your waist once more. His words paint your ears and cheeks in a rose blush, and his hand feels soothing where it rests on your side. His lips hover over yours and the warmth of his eyes is kind as he meets yours and waits for you to decide. The moment your lips touch you feel like you’ve been shocked. Guilt and shame flood through you and you gasp, covering your own lips with your fingertips. Your body screams at you to run. So you do. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” you choke out, turning on your heel to leave Yixing and The Honeyed Ram. ________________________________________ Yixing doesn’t come to the palace for the next two days. Part of you wonders if he feels upset with you or if he is just as kind as ever and wants to give you space. All of you wonders if you’ve screwed it all up because you let your job get in the way of your feelings for him. Or is it the other way around? Refusing to stew in your turmoil over the situation, you work. Around the clock you tend to the wounded and sick. It’s nearly midnight when you close the curtain on the last patient you needed to see, after giving him a heavy dose of Valerian powder and Poppy to knock him out while you sewed his shoulder shut. You’ve just sat down at the desk when someone quietly enters the ward. “Y/N,” the voice calls. It’s deep and husky; one that you know as you look up to see the Knight Captain standing inside the room. “Chanyeol?” you question, curiously looking him over. “What can I do for you now?” you shoot him a grin even though you’re exhausted. He isn’t dressed in his uniform, off duty for the evening, as he lifts his shirt to reveal a nasty bruise blooming across his ribs and abdomen. “Just got back today,” he says bitterly. “And?” you ask, curious about the battles he has fought. “Still no good. We didn’t lose anyone, but they’re getting smarter. I don’t think it’s just Draugers acting on their own. They’re too coordinated for that, it’s unusual,” he admits, looking sour. You nod at him, “Roll that cart over, will you? Pull up a chair, too. I don’t think you need to stay.” He does as requested and pulls his tunic over his head to let you work. “Anywhere else I need to see?” you ask as you attach bandages soaked in blended Aloe Vera and Catnip to his ribs. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are red as he shakes his head at you. “What about that bruise?” you wonder aloud, pointing to a dark circle in the space between his jaw and ear. He sighs, grinning with defeat, “Ah, no. That one’s okay.” You rise, motioning for him to stand as well so you can wrap the dressing around his torso. Chanyeol lifts his arms to allow you the freedom to work. He hisses as your fingers press the dressing into his back. Curiously, you peek behind him to see long lines of red scratches down his shoulders. “Maker’s breath Chanyeol. What did she do to you?” He laughs gruffly, “She begged me to fuck her into oblivion, so I did.” His comment earns him a smack across the top of his head and a sharp glare. “What about you, then, huh?” he mocks instead, “Don’t act like you haven’t got it bad for that Apothecary.” You gawk at him, floundering for words until none come and he blinks at you expectantly with his wide eyes. “What?” Chanyeol inquires, aware by your actions that something has happened. “He um…” you try, fishing for words to explain. “We…” You huff, looking at the floor and covering your face with both hands. “I’m not even sure if I can call it a kiss,” you trail off. “A kiss?” Chanyeol says loudly through the fabric of his tunic as he attempts to get it back over his head. You hiss at him, “Quiet.” “Sorry.” With a deep sigh, “Kind of, I don’t know. It was like the moment our lips touched I freaked out.” Chanyeol hums, “Why?” Your hands sweep widely around the ward to all of the closed curtains of occupied beds, “This is why. I can’t be off doing that when all of this is so important.” “Do you like him?” he quizzes instead. You nod in response, pouting at yourself. “Then let it happen. You’re not the type to shirk your duties, you’re too responsible for that.” Chanyeol’s honesty about your ethics makes you smile even if you feel like a fool. “Thanks,” you say. Chanyeol nods at you as you help him adjust his clothing over the bandages, plucking the fabric to fall correctly on his frame. “He brought me flowers,” you muse quietly. Chanyeol’s brows raise, “Oh?” You fight a gentle smile breaking across your cheeks, “It was more than just flowers.” The man in front of you remains silent, waiting for you to explain. “Every flower he brought is a remedy for something he thought I might be suffering from. Fatigue, stress, imbalance, anxiety.” “Oh,” Chanyeol says with a quiet whistle. “That is something,” he confirms. “Yeah,” is all you can manage. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?” says the Knight Captain as he reaches for the door. ______________________________________________ The following day everything seems to be normal, sans the presence of the curious Yixing. Well, as normal as they can be when your kingdom is suffering a scourge of undead Draugers that seem more powerful and numerous than usual. That is, until the evening rolled around and two Physician assistants and another soldier burst through the door of the ward carrying a man screaming in agony. Dark blood, nearly black, spills from his sides along with… oh. Oh Maker that’s his intestines. Your body reacts automatically, propelling you forward to help them heave his convulsing form onto a bed. “Get that cart over here now and give me a basin of water!” you shout at the assistants. They disperse, leaving you and the soldier at opposite sides of his bed. “What happened?” you bark at the healthier man. “Um,” he starts, lip quivering as he doesn’t know what to say in his shock. Your tongue feels as sharp as your eyes as you begin cutting away the clothing of the bleeding man, “Spit it out.” “He was fine,” he tries. “Just got back from the latest battalion. Had some minor wounds and scratches but he wasn’t sick.” Water sloshes over the side of the basin as you dunk a rag into the depths of steaming water with urgency, squeezing some out onto the floor before you press it as gently as possible to his side. “I need a spool of gut thread and a candle,” you order the assistants, ripping open a drawer and procuring a vial of dried minced garlic. The soldier continues, “We were just walking back from the mess hall when he doubled over and then his skin burst open like this.” ________________________________________ Six hours later, you’re seated in Frost Flower Inn with three empty pints in front of you. You twirl a goblet of mulled wine between your fingers, staring into the deep crimson liquid. A bad idea to switch to this since it reminds you of blood. You’d seen too much blood today. Too much blood that ended in a loss of life anyway when you couldn’t get the tissue to stitch. You replay the scene in your head over and over. Hearing him scream as your thread ripped back through the necrotic skin of his side like butter, no matter how gentle you tried to be. It makes you shiver, fighting down the bile that rises in your throat. “Y/N, are you going to be okay?” a voice asks. You glance up to see someone leaning toward you from the opposite side of the table, but you don’t raise your head. Thick leather cuffs garnish the wrists of this man. Whoever it is, they sit, and two feline eyes peek into your field of vision as he drops his head onto the table to look at you. “I’ve never seen you in here drinking more than one pint, and certainly not of your own will,” Minseok observes as he watches you. A miniscule part of you hates how observant he is. You groan around another mouthful of wine, raising your brows at him as you knock it back, “I just want to be left alone.” “Trouble in paradise?” Asks a new voice. One you don’t recognize as well, but when you meet the eyes of its owner, you are vaguely familiar with his face. Something about arrows calls to your mind when you see him. Minseok sighs, “I’m not going to let you have another if you don’t tell me what’s got you so drunk.” You lower your head, jutting your bottom lip in your best pout to serve him a glare, “Don’t you like coin though?” The shorter man laughs happily at your honesty, “Of course I do. How do you think I run this fine establishment without it?” The second man drops down onto the bench beside Minseok, motioning for drinks at the bar. “I’ll buy the next round, but only if you tell,” he promises with a curled smile and crescent eyes. “I hate you,” you mumble into the last dredges of your wine. Minseok laughs again, drumming his hands on the table, “No, you don’t. You hate drinking and yet here you are anyway.” A face without a name brings three frosted pints to the table and before you can reach for yours the arrow boy grabs it and tuts at you. You pause briefly, looking at the condensation begin to drip down the side of the mug. “Fine,” you breathe, and he passes it to your waiting fingers. “These Draugers are awful. Knight Captain Chanyeol says they’re not like anything he’s ever seen before. They’re too smart and too coordinated to be regular old undead,” you say. The men nod in understanding while you continue, “I believe it, too. More and more soldiers are coming back with wounds that are becoming truly problematic.” A dog whine breaks out as you pause. Turning your head, you see it sitting at a table with four women begging for a piece of meat from a plate in the center. All of them women are watching you, clearly invested in your story. None of them are wearing typical ladylike attire, either. In different styles of armor with gear and weapons- they look like an adventure party, passing through. Ignoring them, you turn back to the men. “I don’t know much about war or about Draugers but I do know what kind of wounds they inflict,” you say, vividly remembering for the fifteenth time this evening what you experienced only hours ago. “Chanyeol didn’t report any dead and all of the soldiers that were gravely wounded came straight to the ward when they got back from outside the walls,” you whisper. With a deep breath, you clutch the icy glass in your palms and take a deep swig. Closing your eyes, you explain in the simplest terms what you saw. “A soldier was rushed into the ward today with his intestines hanging from a gaping hole in his side. I tried to sew it shut but,” you choke, shaking your head and feeling the frustration and despair of the afternoon amplify with the alcohol. “His companion said he had returned with the party with minor wounds. Some scrapes and bruises, nothing too bad, so he never came to the ward. But then it burst open suddenly this afternoon. The skin was so black and dead my stitches wouldn’t hold.” You don’t dare to glance at the faces of the men sitting across from you. “It smelled terrible. Not like a normal healthy body. It smelled like rotting corpses,” you explain to them. “Then he died, screaming in agony and bleeding out all over the floor while I couldn’t do anything to help him. I didn’t even have time to give him a sedative and stop the bleeding.” When you lift your head just enough to peek at Minseok’s face from under your lashes, he’s wearing an unreadable expression. The sharp-eyed man with dark hair beside him looks like he might be sick. The youthful owner extracts himself from the table, leaving you to watch his back with a knitted brow. From your peripheral, you can see most of the adventure party eyeing your table. One of them is watching Minseok with a look of worry. He returns to your side moments later, expertly balancing a platter full of frothy mugs on one palm. He slams three down on your table and carries the remaining to the table of women. You watch, surprised when he bends down to give the same woman a lopsided half-smile and her expression lights up. In all the years you’ve known Minseok, he’s never been interested in women affectionately. Looking at the golden liquid in your melting glass, you think perhaps it’s been too long since you visited. The mood is still sour but Minseok and Jongdae- you’ve learned- have sat dutifully with you through two more drinks. You know for sure that if you try to stand you’ll surely fall. You feel emotionally charged. Like you’re hopeless and courageous all at once. Ignoring the warnings in your head, you heft your body upright. The hands that steady you are not your own. Nor do they belong to your companions. Instead, it’s the woman that keeps staring at Minseok. “Easy there,” she chuckles happily. Up close, drunk or not, you think she’s absolutely beautiful. She smiles easily at you and steps away once you’re steadied enough she’s sure you won’t fall over. You try your best to mutter a simple thanks, and she laughs cheerfully again. “Don’t worry too much,” she chirps. “We’re actually here to help out with your Drauger problems,” she grins, giving you a thumbs up with a hand on her hip. Another pair of hands takes yours and you immediately feel less like a piece of shit. “Yisthing,” comes out more slurred than you care to admit to yourself when you see his face. He smiles, “Yes, I’m here.” “Why?” you breathe. His presence feels calming beside you. Irrationally, you’re still irritated with yourself for responding to his affections the way you did. His voice is like honey dripping over your ears when he answers, “I’ve been here all along, dove.” The way he says the pet name is both softly pleasant and exhilarating. Through the haze of alcohol, you believe he isn’t upset with you. He wouldn’t be here with his hands steadying you so affectionately if he were.

“I’ll take her back to the palace,” he announces to the group. Minseok nods with a deep sigh, getting up from the table.

Yixing still holds your hand, afraid you might fall as you sway back and forth in the street. You trip over your own feet, bumping into the hard plane of his chest with a giggle. He smiles at your drunken antics, and you can very clearly smell the mint leaves on his breath with his soft laugh.

If you’re sure of one thing in this moment, it’s the feeling of this man holding you up, and how right it is. With as much grace as you can muster, you lean into him on your toes and let your lips touch his.

A surprised gasp leaves his lips. Slowly, gently, he moves you back to stand solidly on both feet. Clicking his teeth he asks, “Oh? So now you want to kiss me?”

You smile at him, nodding rather than using your words. Your pounding heart catches up with you and you feel dizzy suddenly. It feels like you’re spinning, until you see the blur of Yixing’s body rushing forward to collect you in his arms.

Although you wouldn’t know it, he carries you the rest of the way to the palace. He makes his way past the guards who try to rush at him until they realize who he is and who he is carrying. Yixing doesn’t know where your chambers are, but he can put you in a bed at the ward. Maybe that’s not the best idea though.

While he deliberates with himself, slowing his pace as he wanders down the corridor, two men step out in front of him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yixing politely smiles.

The taller of the two grins wickedly, “Oh, my.”

“Ah…Knight Captain Chanyeol, correct? Prince Baekhyun?” Yixing ponders, “Could you help me?”

The shorter man looks at you, cradled against the Apothecary’s chest, “What happened to her?”

“She drank too much. Passed out as I was walking her back,” he explains to the men.

The Knight Captain shakes his head, “But Y/N never drinks unless I force her to. What happened?”

His frown grows deeper as Yixing explains about the dying soldier earlier that afternoon. He nods, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “One of my own. We’re all a bit affected by the news.”

There’s an expression Yixing can’t pin down glazing over the Prince’s face when he glances at him.

“I can take her back. Go on ahead Baek, I’ll meet you in the training pit,” says the tall man after a deep sigh.

The smaller man nods curtly, offering no smile as he rolls his neck and departs down the corridor.

“Thanks,” Yixing replies, slowly maneuvering you into his arms.

Just as he’s about to part ways, Yixing smiles at your form snuggling into the warmth of the silver-haired man.

“You know she’s crazy about you, right?” he asks with a smile that looks a little sad in Yixing’s opinion. “She just has a hard time putting her work aside. Don’t give up though, she’ll come around.”, Chanyeol assures with a dimpled smirk.

Nodding, Yixing smiles gently, touching at his lips as he turns to leave, “I know.”

#yixing x reader #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #lay #yixing #exo fluff #exo angst #exo smut #exo series #an adventurer's guide to romance #collab with Mie

[forever-more-never-again]

The White Lion (Chapter Two)

Word Count: 2849

Pairing: Keith X Lance X Blind!Fem!Reader

Warnings: General Voltron fighting and angst

Masterlist

Chapter: One Chapter: Three

A/n: So this started off as a small idea I had one day. A lot of you showed interest in the snippet I shared earlier. And let me tell you…this fic has grown! It will be multiple chapters cause as of right now I am at 10k Words and still writing! I will have a masterlist for this series so let me know if you want to be added! And enjoy!

Shiro landed first, after the strange white lion. The fact that they had managed to connect with them during Voltron, had been scary and unsettling. They now knew that something else could attach themselves. They didn’t know what this meant for Voltron.

Allura spoke, as they flew to the moon, that there should be no other lion. And that she knew just as much as them, which was...not much.

“Are we sure they aren’t the enemy? They listed Daibazaal as their home planet, isn’t that Galra?” Lance asked. His voice nervous.

Allura shook her head, “It can’t be. Daibazaal was destroyed over ten thousand years ago and unless they are like Zarkon… I doubt they have lived that long.”

Landing, the Paladins walked out of their lions, bayards at their sides. Cautious.

Standing beside the white lion, stood a figure, clad in white robe like attire. A scarf winding around their face, hiding it from view.

~~~

I held my breath. My anxiety spiking as I felt the energy of the lions surround me on the moon.

Blanche spoke to me, calming me down. Letting me know where they were, and how many.

Five pilots. Two Alteans. One of who...I had hoped to never meet again.

“[Y/n] Kolvason, right?” The oldest spoke. The leader. The black lion.

I nodded in his general direction, “That is my name. May I ask yours?”

The darkness in my head blocked his movements, I could not see him nod and wave his hands as he introduced his team.

“I am Shiro, Leader of Voltron. Lance pilots our Blue lion. Keith, our red. Hunk is yellow and Pidge flies Green. Then we have Coran and Princess Allura.”

I recoiled as the energy of the Altean came close. The energy halted, having seen my drastic reaction.

“We wish you no harm, Paladin. You fought along with us, we just wish to know more about you and your lion.” That soft voice.

I paused, choosing how best to say what I needed to. “I am sorry...Your...highness,” I had to bite back the formal introduction that I had been trained to say, “But I would feel more comfortable if you stepped back.”

I could practically feel everyone’s confusion at my request. But I breathed easier when the energy faded to the background, indicating that she had moved away.

“Princess Allura would not harm you. Nor would any of us. You helped us back there with the Galra.”

I smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “I know. And I will explain my odd behavior in a moment. First, I would like to start with saying...I am not from this reality.”

A collective gasp. And then a sharp, eager voice, “Are you saying you’re from an alternative Dimension!? How does that work? How did you cross? What’s your reality like?”

“Pidge.” A warning from the leader, Shiro.

I Was starting to piece together the energy signals to their respective person.

I sighed, knowing that I had to explain, Raising my hands, I gestured to them to stay quiet, “I come from a reality where Galra have all but been exterminated.”

A wary, accusing voice, energy laced with blue sparks, piped up, “How do we know you’re telling the truth? The Galra are ruthless killers!”

I shrugged, “You don’t. You just have to take my words. I do promise,” I added as their energies spiked with apprehension, “That I am telling the truth. I having nothing to gain from lying.”

“Continue.” Shiro spoke. Smoky Black Energy wafting towards me.

“Ten thousand years ago. A comet struck the planet Altea. Their leader, a man by the name of Foreal, used his Alchemy knowledge and built the six lions of Nortlov. At the time, there was peace throughout the Universe. Daibazaal, was a peaceful planet, with strong, willful people. Known as the Galra. They were the guards, protectors, of the Peace.”

A snort of derision. Red flames licking up to the sky.

I turned to the energy, lowering my head towards the man. “You think it’s silly?”

The voice was cold, calculating, but with an undercurrent of something else, “I just don’t see the Galra as being peaceful. And your story is wrong. The comet landed on Daibazaal and there were only five lions created.”

I opened my arms, “Aw, but this is not a story.” I reminded him, “It is my life. There were six lions. Fuschia, the right leg. Coral, the left leg. Violet, the right arm. Vermelin, the left arm. Ebony, the head. And Blanche, or white, as the heart.”

That voice. Femine, soft, hesitant to speak up. Energy swirling white with pink. “Heart? Your lion...during Voltron, had settled in Shiro’s chest. What exactly does the heart do? And why does your lion have a mane?”

I got excited. I loved Blanche, and flying. And the lore of Noltrov was one I loved hearing and telling.

“In a pack of Lions, there is one male and many females.”

Affirmation in the form of grunts from the surrounding people.

“Have you ever seen lionesses on their own without a male leading?”

Confusion.

“It’s true that they can survive without a male. But the females are the hunters. The male's protect the children and the females and cares for them. With no male, the females must be the hunters, protectors, everything. The stress tears at them and it’s not long before they turn on each other. The male balances them out. Keeps them together. He is the glue to the pack. The heart.”

I picked up speed as I grew more excited talking, “There is a head lioness, the main huntress. That would be the head. But the Male protects. Foreal knew this and created five female lions and one male. Blanche. Surely the lions have spoken to you, and you have sensed their femininity?”

I asked. Tilting my head.

Confused energy, before Shiro spoke up hesitantly, “They don’t speak to us...so much as we feel them in our minds. But yes, now that you mention it….I do sense Black is a female.”

“I always knew Green was a girl.”

“Blue has been my best girl since day one!”

“Wait! So Red isn’t a boy?”

I laughed silently, listening to these humans. They were so out of sync with their lions. Nothing like the bond my Rebels had...I shook my head. Clearing those thoughts.

“Anyways. Blanche has a mane, because he is the protector. Each of your lions have an ability? Right? At least, the lions of my reality did.”

The flames, “Yes, of course.”

“Blanche’s is shielding. He can put forward a barrier. And his mane is made of projectiles that can cut through most anything. Blanche can also open Wormholes...it's how my team flew around the Universe.” I loving looked up at my lion. Blanche purred, pleased.

“I saw that. Altean magic. If I’m not mistaken.”

I flinched, “Yes. Blanche changed his controls to Altean Consoles, easy to control with my energy, controls that worked for me when we bonded. Since I had no prior flying experience.”

Silent awe… “So you’re…”

I sagged, “Yes. I’m part Altean.”

“Part?” Blue like the water of the sea I saw once on a faraway planet, caressing around me in familiarity. But I couldn’t forget that these weren’t my Rebels.

I nodded, “The reason why I left my reality. In part. Was my bloodline.”

“What do you mean, partly why you left? What was so bad about your reality that you came to this one?” Fire licking up my face, the heat warm, but not harsh.

“After the lions of Noltrov were built...the Alteans became power hungry. Convinced they could bring peace under their rule. In a panic of what they could do if the lions were all piloted by Alteans, the leader of the Galra took them and hid them around the universe. But that did not stop the Alteans.”

I stopped. Taking a breath. Pain piercing my heart as I told my story.

“They began conquering planets, enforcing their ideals and practices on the inhabitants. The Galra tried to talk to them, tried to reason that this was terror, not peace. But Foreal would not listen. In a large battle that erupted weeks later...Foreal destroyed Daibazaal killing all Galra except for a select few who had been on peace missions elsewhere throughout the universe.”

The somber energies. The confused ones. The angry ones. I let them sweep over me. All but one. Pink with white. Spinning uncontrollably as she absorbed my words.

“As the years went on, the Altean Empire grew. And then Foreal died and a new leader came to the stage. One more ruthless and powerful than the Empire had been. Empress Allura of Altea. She stole Quintessence from planets to prolong her life,Letting her rule over thousands of years, corrupting her further.”

Horrified gasps filled the stagnant air.

Blanche kept up a steady stream of reassuring words, knowing how hard this was for me.

“The Alteans were peaceful people. We wanted to share our knowledge and peace with everyone, but we would not force it. I am not an Empress. I am merely Princess Allura.”

I nodded, “But you see why being near you is hard. I may know you are not like her, but it will take time for my mind and body to realize that. You’ll understand in a bit.”

I took a deep breath, “For the Alteans...Blood determines everything. From how high you can climb in the general ships, to how many slaves and planets you could look over. And for someone to have Altean blood but not be fully Altean...That was a crime of the highest order. The punishment, Death.”

Another shaky breath, “My mother was Altean. She met my father, a lost Galra rebel, during a recon mission. It is why I claim Daibazaal as my home, in honor of my father. My father was not full Galra either. In my Reality, Earth had already joined the vast expanse of the Universe, and so my father was part Human.”

Feet scuffed the moon’s surface. I could hear them thinking, putting the facts together in their heads as I spoke.

“She tried to kill him. But fighting turned to friendship. Turned to love.” I mused softly. A soft smile as I remembered the love my parents found in the middle of war.

“My mother took my father and told everyone he was a slave. But he had freedom to come and go as he wished. They would sneak around. Until...they couldn’t. My mother became pregnant. With me.”

My next words were cold, harsh, “When the Empress found out, she ordered immediate execution of my mother, demanding she tell her who the father of the abomination was. I was not supposed to live. But my mother begged for my life. She pleaded with Empress Allura to spare me and kill her instead.”

I chuckled darkly, “The Empress had a sick twisted sense of morality. She used to tell me the story all the time to remind how pathetic my parents were. I only saw the pain and the courage they had. She agreed to let my mother carry me to term, if she was the one to kill my father. She did it, watching her lover’s blood flow over her hands, tears falling and mixing with the Galra blood that was now growing inside her.”

“I was an abomination in the eyes of the Altean Empire. Someone who had their blood, but shared it with Galra and Humans. Once I was born, my mother was executed. I was raised in the slave hold by an Alkarion. I never had a name. I gave myself a name when I could talk. Growing up, you would never know I was anything but Altean. But once I hit puberty...my markings showed.”

I lifted my scarf from my neck, Careful not to reveal my whole face, showing the triangular purple markings that grew from my shoulders up my cheeks.

“I was assigned as the Empress's personal slave. I served on her battleship. Working day and night, endlessly, to please her. Beatings and lack of food was normal.”

The pink and white energy grew frenzied. I knew this must be hard for her to hear, what her other reality self did, but it had happened to me. And it still hurt.

“One day...I spilled Nunvill...on her robes. I pleaded, and begged, promising to clean it and that it wouldn’t happen again, but the Empress had this look in her eyes. She grabbed me and threw me across the room. None of her generals stepped in. I was an abomination and I often heard them ask why I was still alive and why Empress Allura hadn’t killed me as a babe after killing my mother.”

I lowered my scarf. Getting ready to unwrap it from my face. Hands shaking.

“She looked at my Altean markings. My galra markings. My pale, human skin. And she smiled. She said that I was a mutt, but that I should wear it proudly. That she would even give an Empress royal seal for all to see that I was something special. So she raised her hands...and she did this.”

I dropped the scarf. A strangled scream from the one who said she was just a princess.

“Quiznak” Soft gasp from the orange Altean energy beside her.

“Oh fuck…”

“Shiro..”

“Your eyes...”

“How can you fly?”

I laughed at the causal question spoken from Pidge, the one with the rolling green energy.

The only one who seemed undisturbed at the scarred exes across my eyes, now pure, white. Blind.

“After I was blinded by the Empress, I was thrown into a cell. Left for dead. A week later, I was rescued by a group of Rebels. They had found five of the six lions and had been drawn to my energy. And then Blanche found me.” I gazed up at my lion.

“He came flying through the sky and the rebels fought over who would pilot him, but I heard him. Clear as day. ‘You are my pilot.’ And I walked in without any assistance. I can see...through his eyes. When I’m flying him. He links his mind with mine. He speaks words. Not just emotions. Actual words. In a language I cannot define, but that I can understand.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone having a bond like that..” Princess Allura whispered. Half to herself.

“Blanche, with the other lions...formed Noltrov and we battled the Alteans. We freed countless planets and their people. We called ourselves the Rebels of Noltrov and we were a family…” I trialed off. Tears springing to my nonexistent eyesight.

“I’m guessing this is the other reason why you skipped realities?” Soft, determined Shiro.

I smiled at him, a hardened, grief ridden smile, “We were battling Empress Allura herself after years of running and fighting her smaller generals. But she had been prepared. A shot of pure Quintessence tore us out of formation and then there were nets...Everyone was caught in one except for Blanche and I. We managed to evade them. The nets were made with something...something I had never seen. My teammates couldn’t get out and then the screaming started.”

I couldn’t stop talking. Remembering the horrified, agonized screams of my team, as all I could do was listen.

“Empress Allura was dragging their quintessence straight out of them through their lions. The nets acting as a conduct for her magic. I tried to free them. But I couldn’t...My leader...my best friend… Snark...yelled for me to flee...so that the Alteans would never have the full power of the six lions. So...with tears in my eyes and a scream in my throat...I flew to Altea and found the rip in space time that the comet had left , it had never been destroyed… and with Blanche...I ran.”

I angrily swiped my hands over my face. The feeling of wet tears smearing across my face.

“My last memory of my teammates was hearing them die over our communications...Hearing their last gasp of air...My Rebels...My family…”

A heavy pause as everyone took in my words.

“This just happened?” Red flames, gently folding around my hands.

I gripped Keith’s hands as he supported me, “Yes. Just a few Vargas ago...before you found me and we fought the Galra. I haven’t..” Suddenly my legs gave out and I fell.

Before the ground could meet me, I was caught in strong arms.

“Woah, you okay?” Keith. Scared, nervous.

“Obviously not dude! What kind of question is that?”

A soft smile, Lance.

“Okay! Let’s get her to a healing pod. Between everything she’s been through and us questioning her, her bodies probably run through its energy.”

Straight to the point Shiro.

I felt myself be moved and cradled in someone’s arms and I slipped into unconsciousness to the sound of red heartbeats.

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